Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2)

by Daniel Adorno

  Lucius nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry, lad. My father loved the hunt, and he wouldn’t have died any other way. I continued on until there was just one wyrm left in Azuleah—Whitehide. Her scales were white as snow and she was one of the biggest wyrms I ever hunted. Problem was, she didn’t fly too much inland. I chased her through the Kroshen Wastes to the eastern coast. Our final battle came in the ocean on a pathetic excuse for a boat. Four days I hunted her in the open sea. Nearly drowned once…maybe twice.”

  The dwarf paused and said nothing more. Lucius shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then cleared his throat. “So what happened? Did you kill it?” he asked a bit more impatiently than he intended.

  Ulric smiled. “Of course I killed it. I stuck a spear in Whitehide’s throat longer than I can stand on my haunches, lad. Ever since that day, I fell in love with the sea. I traded my old boat and purchased a caravel I christened ‘The Dusty Mountaineer.’ She’s been moored here in Aldron for almost a year.”

  “That’s a long time to be moored in one place. Don’t sailors usually travel more than that?”

  “Aye, but there were no adventures to be had. Until the dragon came of course,” Ulric said with a grin. “I imagine that’s why you bought me a drink then? You’re wanting to know about the dragon and how a wee fella like me killed it?”

  Lucius shrugged. “It is a remarkable feat for a dwarf,” he said.

  “Bah, it’s not remarkable at all. Remember, lad, I hunted wyrms for most of my life. They’re nothing more than flying snakes, you know. Dragons are a similar species, albeit smarter.”

  “Fair enough, but the question remains—how’d you do it by yourself?”

  Ulric smiled, revealing a yellowish grin with gaps where teeth no longer resided. “I slammed my hammer into its skull. The beast was flying toward the coast, itching to get clear of the town. I saw it about a mile off. It was making a final run through the peasant district, so I ran as fast I could to Seacliff Temple. Brother Elendon let me ascend the tower of the temple, and from there I launched myself off. Caught that stupid dragon by surprise, I did. The force of the hammer blow crushed its cranium, and the cursed thing crashed into the stony ground below,” he said proudly.

  “So you jumped off the tower and struck it down? How high up were you?”

  Ulric shrugged. “About five stories or so, I think.”

  “Five stories?” Lucius repeated in disbelief. “How in the world did you survive the fall?”

  “The dragon broke my fall, lad,” the dwarf said with a chuckle. “I’ve jumped off taller heights than Seacliff Temple, believe me.”

  The mention of Seacliff Temple formed a question in Lucius’ mind. He remembered Alistair’s words that he should seek out the place when he was alone and had extra time. But despite being alone, he didn’t have much time to visit the temple. The banquet at the palace was only an hour away, and he planned to attend. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to go to the temple.

  He looked up at Ulric and said, “Where is this Seacliff Temple?”

  “It’s past the Ruby Square; you’ll walk a half-mile down Barrow Lane and the tower spire will become visible. It’s right on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. You can’t miss it, lad,” he said, scratching his beard. Ulric raised a brow, then asked, “You have business with the clerics, do you?”

  Lucius shook his head. “No, I’ve just never seen it before and I’m curious.”

  They talked for another half-hour before Lucius decided to reveal more than he intended to the peculiar dwarf. He told Ulric about his previous misadventures in Djoulmir and arriving in Aldron through the use of an Elder Gate. The dwarf cursed in disbelief at that fact.

  “I can’t believe you escaped with your heads!” he said admiringly.

  Lucius relayed that Balfour wanted all the dwarves back in the mountain, including Ulric, but the dwarf waved away the order dismissively. The dwarven seafarer had spent enough years underground and now cared only for the thrill of the sea and the excitement of hunting dragons. Apparently, the thrill of killing one in the city had reawakened the old days of wyrm hunting with his father. But the dwarf wasn’t sure if he should hunt the devils in Nasgothar or find some other way to track them.

  When Lucius finished his drink, he bid the dwarf farewell, and Ulric went back to his small group of admirers to drink another tankard.

  Walking out of the tavern, Lucius pulled his cloak tighter around him as the setting sun had taken most of the warmth away from the late autumn day. He looked to his left, where Gilead Palace stood, majestic and powerful, then he turned to his right where a wooden street sign marked an intersection. Barrow Street intersected with the same road the Mortar and Pestle was on. He stepped out from under the shadow of the tavern and made his way to the ocean cliffs.

  CHAPTER 14

  SEACLIFF TEMPLE

  The sun had almost dipped below the horizon when Lucius arrived at Seacliff Temple and found himself studying its impressive craftsmanship. Situated on a winding lane tucked away from the main city road, the temple was constructed of white marble with a tapering spire that towered above the rest of the buildings nearby. Numerous windows made from stained glass adorned the outer facade. Friezes depicting religious scenes, presumably from the Genesian Chronicles, covered the columns that housed the temple entrance. Walking between the columns, Lucius found a large arched door which stood at least ten feet tall. A round metal knocker hung from the door and he rapped the door several times. At first, no one answered. Lucius reached for the knocker again, but the door creaked to life and swung open. Inside, a man dressed in a simple brown frock emerged. The cleric’s sunken cheeks and wrinkled forehead betrayed his middling age. But his brown eyes exuded warmth, and they studied Lucius carefully.

  “Yes, may I help you?” the man said.

  “Good evening, sir. I was hoping to visit the temple if it’s not too late,” Lucius said anxiously.

  “Visiting hours are concluded for the day, but you may return in the morning after the First Prayers if you’d like,” the man said. He tucked himself inside and pulled the door back, but Lucius placed a hand on it.

  “Please, I may not be able to come back this way again. Would you mind making an exception just this once?” he asked.

  The man frowned then studied Lucius again, almost as though he were trying to read his mind. “Who are you?” the man asked.

  “My name is Lucius…Lucius of Evingrad.”

  “Evingrad? By Caelum, that is far from these lands. But you aren’t an elf. What brings you to Seacliff Temple?” he asked.

  “A friend of mine told me I should visit. I have…many unanswered questions,” Lucius said uncertainly. He wasn’t sure how much he should trust a strange cleric, but the man’s calm demeanor put him at ease.

  “I see. Well, I’m not one to put off a seeker from entering Yewa’s house. Come in then, Lucius,” the man said with the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

  Lucius thanked the man, then entered the structure. After closing the door, the man led Lucius into a foyer that eventually turned into a large hallway where more stained glass windows lined the walls. The dwindling light outside cast a kaleidoscope of colors through the glass which made him feel as though he were walking in a dream. Once they passed the hallway, the interior opened up into a large rotunda that housed an auditorium. It reminded Lucius of the Cyngorell’s meeting chamber in Evingrad, but larger in scale.

  They descended a stairwell on the far side of auditorium. At the bottom, where the stage would presumably be, there was a large tree. The tree was leafless and bore numerous scars on its thick trunk. It appeared to be dead, but as they approached Lucius noticed a few green buds within its gnarled branches.

  Before they reached the bottom landing, the cleric stepped to the left into a row of benches and sat down, motioning for Lucius to do the same. When he did, the man looked at him curiously, then tapped his lips with a finger though
tfully.

  “So, what questions do you have for me, Lucius?” he asked.

  Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Well…first of all, who are you?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, how very rude of me. I am Brother Elendon, head priest of Seacliff Temple,” he said, bowing his head slightly.

  Lucius studied him for a moment, then gestured around him. “What is this place?”

  “This is the house of Yewa and the sacred birthplace of Yesu. It is a holy place of worship. Residents of Aldron and pilgrims from as far away as Northerwyld have come here to lift up their prayers to Yewa. I assume you are familiar with him?” Elendon asked.

  Lucius nodded. “I am. I’ve read most of the Genesian Chronicles. The history of men is fascinating, but I have lingering questions about Yesu and, to be frank, about myself,” he said grimly.

  “I see. You’ve read the scrolls, then? That is a privilege not known to many followers. They contain most of the answers you seek, brother Lucius,” Elendon said in an enigmatic tone.

  “Yes, I suppose so. But much of my life is still a mystery to me. The scrolls can’t reveal anything about that,” Lucius replied.

  “I suppose not, but Yewa has a way of revealing mysteries to those who seek answers,” Elendon mused. He looked at the ground while he drummed his fingers on the stone bench. “Tell me, what questions linger about your life, Lucius?”

  Lucius shrugged. “Mostly those related to my family. I never knew them.”

  He hesitated, unsure how much he should reveal to a complete stranger. Elendon raised his eyebrows expectantly, and Lucius gave in.

  “That is, I’m an orphan. I was left at the Marble Gates of Evingrad as a child. The only clue to my family was a stone with an etched crest on it.”

  “Hmm. And do you still have this stone?” Elendon asked.

  “Yes, it’s right here,” Lucius replied, taking off his pack and retrieving the stone. He hesitated a moment, questioning again whether he should reveal his true identity. But he reasoned it would become common knowledge soon enough now that most of the nobility knew. The secret would trickle down to their servants, and eventually everyone in Aldron would know an heir of Nostra existed.

  He handed the stone to Elendon, who inspected it closely.

  “By the heavens!” the priest said, looking up at him. “This is the family crest of Nostra. You’re a descendant of Cervantes?”

  Lucius nodded.

  “This is…incredible,” Elendon stammered, blinking several times in disbelief. He gave the stone back, then took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I never thought any Nostra could have survived the Draknoir purges. That was a dark time for Aldron.”

  Lucius’ ears pricked up. “What do you know about these purges?”

  “According to the history texts, the Draknoir hunted down the heirs of Nostra to wipe out the bloodline. Every relative of the former king was sought out and killed. Memnon used some kind of tracking spell to find them all. They also employed spies throughout Azuleah, and as the stories go, all of Cervantes’ line was destroyed,” Elendon said, frowning.

  “Including my parents,” Lucius said absently. He previously guessed that his mother and father were killed like everyone else, but he foolishly hoped that somehow they had survived. The more he learned about them, the more he regretted asking the questions. Being blissfully unaware of their fate was preferable to the reality that he would never speak to them or know the truth of why they left him behind.

  Had they loved him?

  He would never know.

  Lumiath, the elf seer in Sylvania, told him learning about his family would distract him from the true purpose of the Ellyllei. Perhaps he was right. This search for answers about his past was a dead end.

  “Yes, I imagine your parents were casualties as well,” Elendon said with a heavy sigh. He stood up suddenly and looked toward the tree in the center of the auditorium. “Since we know very little about your past, perhaps we should focus on your present, Lucius. I know the tragedy of losing family is hard to bear, but that needn’t define you. Come with me; I want to show you something.”

  Lucius rose from his seat and followed the priest down the stairway to the tree. When they reached the main ground, he looked up at the towering tree above them. Even though the winter season was upon them and many trees had already lost their leaves, this one seemed to be on the verge of spring. Hundreds of buds decorated its thick limbs, waiting to open and bloom. He was quite wrong about the large tree being dead.

  “Do you know anything about this tree, Lucius?” Elendon asked.

  “No, I can’t say that I do,” he said.

  “In the scrolls you read, it says that Yesu was speared to death by his enemies. Chained to a tree and helpless, he surrendered himself to a death underserved,” Elendon explained, staring above at the tree. “This was the tree, Lucius. The Oak of Yesu, we call it.”

  Lucius furrowed his brows, then stepped back to examine the tree once more. This time he noticed the large gouges in the tree’s trunk and faded red stains around the base. Elendon watched him carefully, waiting for him to speak.

  “That’s where the spears hit, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing to the holes.

  Elendon nodded. “Yes. And the blood from the wounds inflicting upon him,” he said, gesturing to the stains. “It is a divine occurrence that these stains and gouges remain here even centuries after the event took place. We see it as a reminder to all of mankind.”

  “A reminder of what? Innocent death?” Lucius said incredulously.

  “No, sacrificial love. You’ve read the scrolls, Lucius. Yesu died for a cause greater than any man. He closed the separation between Yewa and men. What many saw as a political conspiracy against him was actually a plan to restore the souls of every person in Azuleah.”

  Lucius hadn’t thought of it that way. He had thought the entire ordeal with Yesu was a sordid affair, and the injustice of it had angered him. But now as he looked at the tree and pondered Elendon’s words, he actually saw the logic in it. When Helmer had told him he was the Ellyllei, he thought only of the elvish prophecy and fulfilling it as best he could. After his ordeal with Sêrhalon, everything had changed. He questioned whether Yewa was merely a petty god like Nergoth, but time and time again he had been spared his life through divine occurrences, as Elendon put it.

  “Lucius, as I look at you now, I believe you have experienced great pain and anguish. Not only from the loss of your family, but I sense it runs much deeper than that. I know not what it is you came here to find, but I hope you do find peace here. That is what Yesu secured for us, after all: peace. Peace with Yewa, peace with men, and peace within ourselves,” Elendon said, smiling briefly.

  Lucius nodded slowly. “Thank you, Brother Elendon. That is the most encouraging thing I’ve heard in quite some time.”

  “You are most welcome—”

  Elendon paused abruptly at the sound of footsteps clattering outside the entryway of the auditorium. They both looked at the top of the stairs to see another man dressed in a similar robe to Elendon’s appear. The new cleric was older than Elendon, and his face was pale and anxious.

  “Brother Elendon, the Royal Guard is here requesting your presence at the castle immediately,” the cleric said, nearly breathless.

  “Whatever for? Has something happened?” Elendon said, worry creeping into his calm voice.

  “I’m afraid so. The king has been poisoned!”

  CHAPTER 15

  RAVENMANE’S GAMBIT

  The great hall of Gilead Palace had erupted into chaos after King Alfryd began coughing and convulsing uncontrollably moments after sipping his wine. Silas was the first to be at his father’s side when he fell onto the ground. After that everything was a haze. Nobles and servants alike were in a panic, confused if the whole affair was a cruel joke or something more sinister. Silas ordered a group of Royal Guardsmen to carry the king to his quarters while Lord Blaise left to find the king’s physicians. Weifar took it upon
himself to disperse the visiting nobles from the Four Houses and keep everyone calm. He was much better equipped at that task than Silas, who could barely relay a coherent command after seeing his father in such a vulnerable state.

  Before he left the great hall with the guards, Violet ran to Silas and asked if there was anything she could do. The question was an innocent one, but Silas could almost feel her longing to be at his side, to help him through what could very likely be a crushing loss. Had she asked at any other time, he would have told her to come with him because he knew she would provide great comfort. But he knew as the Prince of Aldron and heir to the throne, he needed to exude control. Duty to his kingdom overruled any selfish desire. So he simply said, “No, Violet. Just pray for my father and stay calm. Everything will be all right,” without conviction in his words.

  He rushed out of the great hall behind the group of guards carrying his father, who had stopped convulsing. They stopped quickly to check on the king. Silas could still see his chest rising, but the breaths were slow and labored.

  “Get him to his quarters. Let’s go!” Silas ordered.

  The guards picked him up once more and doubled their march toward an adjoining stairwell in the hallway outside of the great hall. The climb seemed to take forever. Alfryd’s bedchamber was on the fifth level of the palace, in the same hallway as Silas’ room. The sound of their clattering footsteps on the stone steps grew increasingly louder as they ascended, and the echoes had a disconcerting effect on Silas. It sounded like a hundred hammers chipping away at bedrock with frenzied intensity. He felt as though the quickening footsteps were ushering his father’s death like a fruitless race against time.