Durgan put down his pipe and leaned in closer to her with his arms resting on his knees. “You’re going to kill the king, love. Alfryd Dermont himself. Assassination at the highest level. Don’t you feel special now?”
Ravenmane’s mouth gaped for a moment at the news. She closed it immediately when Durgan winked and smiled again. He was thoroughly enjoying this, but for the first time in her life, she was terrified. Killing Stendahl had been one thing, but the king? It would be nigh impossible to pull it off without being caught or killed.
Assassinations had never made her squeamish. She’d been taught by both Rekk and Memnon to carry them out effortlessly in the past. But these were low level targets; scumbags or traitors to Nasgothar who needed to be punished. A monarch was an altogether different matter. She had no love for Aldron or its ruler. In fact, she should be welcoming the opportunity. It was Dermont’s own soldiers who had killed Ravenmane’s mother and left her in ruin. But something deep within her felt…wrong.
Idiot! He’s just another target. You can do this, she berated herself.
Durgan noticed Ravenmane was deep in thought, and cleared his throat to jostle her out of it. “You are up for this task, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Of course I am,” she said, furrowing her brows. “I don’t need to remind you of all the people I’ve killed before, do I?”
Durgan shook his head emphatically. “Not at all. I know you’re capable, love. But it’s still a large undertaking. Which is why I’m happy to tell you that there is someone who is more than happy to help you on this errand.”
She looked at him curiously. “I work alone, Durgan, you know that. I don’t need any help.”
“Not an option, Ravenmane. The master insisted on it. The gentleman who’ll be assisting you is just in the other room. Care to meet him?” he said sardonically.
Ravenmane felt blood rushing to her face as it grew hot with anger. Memnon insisted she have help? Did he think she wasn’t up to the task? She tried to remain calm, but Durgan’s body language revealed that he already knew she didn’t like this turn of events one bit.
He stood up from the couch and wisely left the room to fetch the helper. Another moment with him and she might snap.
A few minutes later, after she’d composed herself a little, Durgan walked into the sitting room with a tall, muscular man at his side.
“Ravenmane, allow me to introduce Lord Brandewulf of Allesmeade,” Durgan said, gesturing toward the well-dressed nobleman.
“Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, my lady,” he said in a smooth voice. He grabbed her hand and knelt to kiss it gently.
She had known of Brandewulf for some time, having been exposed to stories of his ruthless tenure as the Duke of Allesmeade. His vanity was infamous, and looking at him, she could understand why. He had long auburn hair twisted into a long braid that curled behind him and onto his shoulder. His face was chiseled like granite, with warm hazel eyes and a perfect smile that could make any maiden swoon. The doublet he wore was a rich crimson with a golden lace design that screamed of his wealth. Curiously, he didn’t carry a sword, but had a large mace hanging from his hip. Brandewulf had a reputation for eviscerating his enemies in battle by bludgeoning them to death. The mace, with its numerous spikes, confirmed those gruesome tales. No nobleman carried a mace over a sword unless he wanted to enjoy destroying his enemies.
“Tell me, Lord Brandewulf, what brings you to Tarshish?” Ravenmane asked as he sat down on the couch opposite from Durgan.
“A good question, my dear. I have been summoned by his Majesty, King Alfryd, for a special council of the Four Houses. I thought I would stop in Tarshish first to…complete some business before going south for the meeting,” he said coolly.
“I see. Are you allowed to share what this meeting in Aldron is about?”
“Not officially, but I’m sure you can surmise its intent given the current circumstances,” he said with a smile. Durgan snorted a laugh and nodded. Brandewulf ignored him and continued, “I’ll cut to the chase, my lady, since you seem to like direct answers rather than the circuitous routes our mutual friend likes to take.”
“Thank you,” she said, glaring at Durgan.
“My uncle was banished from the Aldronian court years ago when I was but a teenager. The exile of him and his family was devastating. It allowed my father to inherit the duchy, which was advantageous to us, but it was a sordid affair I would not wish on any man. And do you know why he was exiled?”
She shook her head, but guessed the answer.
“He was a Draknoir sympathizer. He didn’t believe that aggression was the best way to curb the Draknoir attacks on Aldron. After all, they were in Azuleah first, and they lost so much from Cervantes’ bloody campaigns all those years ago.”
It was true. The Aldronians had thwarted any progress the Draknoir made in Ragnara for ages. They weren’t allowing the Draknoir to settle in their rightful territories in Kroshen or extend their peoples to the Ithileo forests. The Dermonts continued to hem them in, hoping to eradicate them altogether. And the men of Joppa puzzled at why the Draknoir continued attacking and pushing their advance through the continent.
“So I am no friend of Aldron, but I pretend to be in order to advance my interests, Miss Ravenmane,” Brandewulf continued. “What I envision is a kingdom in Joppa which is ruled by a less moralistic monarch who doesn’t throw his royal weight around all of Azuleah. Instead I see a king who can unite all the disparate races of this land together under a common banner.”
The man was charismatic, Ravenmane had to give him that, but she could see through all the political doublespeak. “What you mean to say is that you wish to kill Dermont to replace him, is that right?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
Brandewulf smirked. “Can’t put anything past you, my lady. Yes, that is the ultimate aim. As the duke of Allesmeade, I’m naturally in line to take over the throne along with the other dukes should the king die. And with the largest military force of the Four Houses, I can easily thwart any opposition to my rule.”
“And what about Silas Dermont? He is the heir. Do you intend to kill him too?” Ravenmane asked.
“The Prince? He will not be a threat. I’ve heard rumors that he can’t stand the idea of being king. He’s ill-equipped to the task and would rather spend his days gallivanting on military assignments. I can make sure that he doesn’t return from one of those missions and be crossed off the list of opponents to securing the throne,” Brandewulf claimed, exuding a confident smile.
Ravenmane leaned back in her chair and considered the entirety of this plot. Not only would they need to eliminate King Alfryd, they’d also have to contend with Prince Silas. She knew he was a capable warrior who would not be easily defeated. But Brandewulf was a cunning leader and warrior himself. Despite his heavy-handed approach to governance, his subjects were loyal to him. It was an interesting thought to envision an Aldron ruled by someone friendly to the Draknoir.
“So what is this grand plan that you have for killing a monarch and his heir?” she asked incredulously. Part of her still felt this whole affair was wrong, but she also enjoyed the challenge. Brandewulf’s casual manner toward such a conspiracy piqued her curiosity as well.
“It’s simple really. You will accompany me to Aldron for the council as one of my servants—my cook, in fact,” he said.
She frowned. “Your cook? If you expect to make anything appetizing, you’re going to be very disappointed.”
“The ruse will only be to allow you access to the kitchens of Gilead Palace. Once there you’ll befriend the royal cupbearer and, at the opportune time, poison the king,” he said with a smile.
The plan sounded far too simplistic and even pedestrian to someone with her penchant for sneaking around and stabbing people in dark alleys. “That’s it? That’s your plan?” Ravenmane asked with raised eyebrows.
“Simple, isn’t it? We don’t need anything elaborate, my dear. Once I gain my entry into the king’s inne
r circle, it’ll become that much easier to replace him once you’ve killed him.”
“Exactly how do you plan on gaining the trust of the other nobles? Aren’t you somewhat of a…rogue among them?” Ravenmane asked.
Durgan chuckled as he stuffed his pipe with more pipeweed. “Ol’ Brandewulf isn’t well-liked at court, love. They call him the Wolf of Allesmeade for a reason.”
A shadow passed over Brandewulf’s face as he scowled at Durgan. The guildmaster cowered for a second, but eased when the duke flashed a smile.
“Yes, the Wolf. That is what they call me. Because I am cunning and unsympathetic toward those who oppose me. When I want something I hunt it down with reckless abandon. So yes, a wolf would be an apt description.
“But do not underestimate my ability to instill trust among the other nobles. The rich only care about their land and their wealth. Keep them well-fed and they couldn’t care less about who sits on the throne.”
Silence fell over them for a moment, and Ravenmane looked into Brandewulf’s cold eyes. She saw hatred there, and ambition. For years, she’d desired to topple the rule of Aldron to make way for the ascension of the Draknoir. But as she pondered a world where a man like Brandewulf could be at the helm of Joppa, she wasn’t sure if she liked that future or not.
Rekk came to her mind then. He had always wanted her to pursue a world where tyrannical rulers like the Dermonts had no power over the commonfolk. Her old mentor believed that the Draknoir were the only race who could provide an alternative to the power-hungry tactics of humans. Under Memnon she received the same message and insight into the inferiority of the human race overall. She and her kind were weak and incapable of ruling without being corrupted. The fate of her mother was proof of the corrupting effect that power had on humanity.
“Well, Ravenmane? Will we be working together to bring down Aldron once and for all? Or will you allow Dermont to continue his tyranny over Ragnara and the Draknoir?” Brandewulf asked.
She pursed her lips, exchanging looks between him and Durgan, both eagerly anticipating a response. Then she stood up and put out her hand. Brandewulf smiled broadly and rose from his seat. He cupped her hand into his own, shaking it firmly.
“There is just one thing, Duke,” she said. He raised an eyebrow curiously at her. “If we’re going to be working together, you’ll need to teach your knight outside to be more tolerant of a strong woman.” She walked past him to the door, then turned and added, “Otherwise you might find him dead by morning.”
CHAPTER 8
ELDER GATE
The stairwell behind the throne room of King Balfour wound in a tight spiral down into the depths of Raven’s Peak. Lucius, trying to keep up with Siegfried, nearly fell multiple times on the slick rocky steps as he descended. The echoing sound of dwarf feet pounding the stone steps echoed overhead. Below him, Siegfried jumped in his rooster form three steps down at a time, using his small wings to glide gracefully down the stairs.
Lucius gritted his teeth. Even as a chicken he still manages to be light on his feet.
Angry cries could be heard less than a story above him as the dwarves climbed down the steps in a furious race to catch them. Lucius’ leg muscles burned and his chest ached from the rapid breathing the effort forced upon him.
Still, he pressed on.
When the spiraling staircase finally ended, he nearly collapsed on the ground as he caught his breath for a moment. Torches illuminated the landing where he stood, thirty stories down from where Balfour’s throne room. A single doorway led them out of the stairwell and into a long tunnel that looked identical to the ones they’d walked through before. He prayed they wouldn’t be lost in a maze of tunnels like the mice in his labyrinth.
Lucius rushed through the dim passage, taking cursory glances at the runes etched all over the walls. Siegfried squawked incessantly as they ran. Behind him, the small silhouettes of armored dwarves were entering the tunnel.
“There he is! Catch him, lads, catch him!” one of the larger dwarves ordered.
Despite their diminutive size, the dwarves were an intimidating bunch, wielding huge double-axes and halberds as they gave chase. Lucius hoped their smaller strides would keep them a good distance apart from him.
A crow from Siegfried brought his attention back to where they were headed: the fork in the road Alistair had mentioned earlier. They took the tunnel to the right as the druid had instructed.
This new route was dimmer than the previous, with only a single torch providing light in the deep cave within the mountain. The air smelled musty and stale, as if no life had stirred in it for ages. Lucius slowed his speed involuntarily due to the lack of light. The tunnel floor was rockier than the previous passage, and he nearly tripped over a jutting rock formation on the ground. He eased his way through the tunnel, but quickened his pace again when he heard the shouts of the dwarves gaining on them.
“Careful, Siegfried. There’s lots of places to trip around here,” he said, watching the rooster hop around different spots along the ground to avoid the obstacles.
As they advanced further through the tunnel, the shaft began to narrow on all sides. Soon Lucius was hunched over to avoid stalactites above him. Siegfried, on the other hand, had little trouble continuing through the shrinking passage. Then Lucius remembered Alistair’s previous words about this tunnel: it was a hundred-yard-stretch before they’d reach the Elder Gate. He winced at the thought as he crawled on all fours to fit through the narrowing tunnel. Behind him, he heard taunts from the dwarves. Apparently they could see better in the dark, and found it amusing that his height worked against him.
Another twenty yards further, Lucius slithered along the path on his belly while Siegfried ambled in a careful strut ahead. His anxiety grew when he could hear the dwarves’ steps growing closer. He tried to peek behind him to see them, but the tight space did not allow for it. Pressing forward, Lucius could faintly make out a pinprick of light ahead.
“Siegfried, we’re almost there!” he yelled in spite of himself.
The little rooster clucked in affirmation and increased his pace. Lucius clawed at the rocks in front of him and pulled himself onward. The space around his body seemed to have widened a bit, allowing him to make more progress. Despite the increasing volume of the dwarves’ voices at his back, he tuned them out and recited one of the prayers he had memorized from the Genesian Chronicles. During his convalescence at Alistair’s cottage, Lucius spent much of his time rereading passages from the Primorus and studying the new lore of the Ultimum. In the new volume, he learned an encouraging song that Yesu sang to those most loyal to him. The words were accompanied by a peaceful melody that Siegfried played on his telyn.
Light is scarce and fear is strong,
But darkness cannot win for long.
You will not be left behind;
A place of refuge you’ll soon find.
Peace, my brother, peace will come.
Soon you’ll rest if soon you’ll come
To Yewa’s arms which wait for you.
Light will break with morning’s dew.
Come, my brother, do come fast;
Come, oh come, to rest at last.
Lucius hummed the tune and watched the light ahead grow as he dragged his body closer. Siegfried scurried ahead and eventually reached the end of the tunnel. Lucius pushed his knees along the stony crevice over and over. The sound of his trousers scratching the rough ground became a dull melody.
Scritch. Scratch. Scritch.
On it went, minute after agonizing minute, until the opening finally came into view. Now he could make out a large structure on the other side of the tunnel. Another push with his knees brought him within five feet of his destination. He heaved himself once more, but nothing happened. A panic spread throughout his body when he realized the tunnel had narrowed once again. This time his torso had gotten stuck beneath the rocks. He flailed his legs helplessly as he tried to gain some leverage to push himself through.
&nbs
p; “Siegfried! I’m…I’m stuck!” he cried. But Siegfried did not answer with either a cluck or crow.
Lucius called again. His brother did not reply.
Lucius heard the dwarves’ labored breathing very closely now. Judging by the scratching of hands and feet behind him, they were only a few feet away from his position. The entire adventure had been for naught. They would be captured now, and possibly imprisoned in some dark dungeon in the depths of Djoulmir.
He pounded his fist onto the cold stone, feeling the weight of his failure suffocate him like the rocks that held him.
“Lucius, are you there?” a familiar voice called ahead.
He looked up and peered at the opening, where the face of his brother stared back at him. “Siegfried! You’re an elf again,” he said.
“So it seems. Give me your hand,” Siegfried commanded, stretching his arm into the opening.
Lucius reached for his brother’s hand, but the distance was too far. He pushed against the rocks, stretching his arm as far as he could, but it was useless. “I can’t, Siegfried…I just can’t,” he said resignedly.
Siegfried grabbed his bow and held it out to Lucius. “Grab it! I can pull you out this way.”
He wrapped his fingers around the smooth wood of the bow and gripped it firmly as possible. Siegfried tugged from his end. It was a vain effort. The perspiration from the chase had made Lucius’ hands slippery and incapable of holding the bow for a great length of time.
Just as Siegfried encouraged him to try again, Lucius felt a strong grip clasp his ankle.
“We’ve got ye now, mischief-maker!” one of the dwarves yelled.
The dwarf tugged at his leg, and Lucius felt himself moving backward.
Panic set in. He redoubled his effort and gripped the longbow again. But more dwarves were joining in the tugging, and Lucius wasn’t sure he could hold out much longer.
A flash of light from behind Siegfried suddenly stopped the tug of war. As his vision cleared, Lucius distinctly saw the figure of Alistair.
Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2) Page 8
