Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2)

by Daniel Adorno

  The horses had been tethered to trees southwest of Wesley’s position. He was likely concerned that the Draknoir would either kill the steeds or let them loose. Both possibilities would strand them in the forest and make escape almost impossible.

  Silas checked Morton’s breathing to make sure the man was still alive, then stood up and faced him and Ulric.

  “We have little to go on right now, except that the Draknoir have invaded Neroterra. Siegfried is on their pursuit for reasons I can’t fathom. And Wesley is on the western side of the woods, gathering the horses,” he said, releasing a heavy sigh. “I think the best course of action right now is to retrieve the horses with Wesley. We can double back and pick up Morton; carrying him from here will only slow us down.”

  “And what about Siegfried?” Lucius asked, anxiety mounting in him.

  Silas shrugged. “I don’t know, Lucius. He knew as a scout that he was supposed to flee and not engage the enemy.”

  “Yes, but we thought the enemies were orcs!” Lucius shot back. “If you wish to get the horses, fine, but I’m going after my brother.”

  “Lucius, listen to me! We must stick together now in light of recent events. The Draknoir outnumber us considerably, and so do the orcs. Once they find out the gauntlet is missing, they’ll be on us in no time at all,” Silas said, then placed a hand on Lucius shoulder to quell the rising tension. “Siegfried is an elf, and I gather this isn’t his first fight. He will come to us, I know it.”

  Lucius wanted to object to that, but he relented and nodded in agreement. Silas nodded in return, then cut branches from a nearby tree and placed them over Morton’s unconscious body. It probably didn’t appear as the best camouflage, but in the darkness it would suffice.

  They continued west through the forest, their senses alert for any sign of the enemy.

  Wesley’s position was located a few miles from Morton’s, and it would require them to cross the secluded road the orcs used to access the city gates. The concern running through Lucius’ mind was whether or not they would encounter resistance along that route. The Draknoir had split their attack into different waves since the two warriors they had fought were separate from the group Morton had encountered. An attack focused on the gates might have served as a distraction for the infiltrators, meaning more Draknoir could still be on the road.

  A weight formed in the pit of Lucius’ stomach as they approached the road.

  They moved cautiously at Silas’ insistence, looking around to see any movement, waiting a few minutes to listen for anyone approaching or nearby. But they heard and saw nothing. Silas continued on their western route through the woods with Lucius and Ulric in tow. Navigating in the darkness hadn’t become easier, but Lucius became accustomed to the zigzag pattern of trees, bushes, and underbrush around him. He watched the shadowy outlines ahead of him as telltale signs of anything that could be a barrier to his progress. When an object looked larger than something he could duck beneath or step over, he sidestepped along another track and continued. It became a rhythmic dance for them throughout their advance.

  Lucius guessed that they covered two miles through the forest when a faint glow of light appeared in the distance to the right. His eyes adjusted to the bright orange glow and he realized it was a huge fire.

  “They’re razing the city!” Ulric said.

  Silas nodded. “I’d expect nothing less from Memnon. Come on, let’s keep moving; we’re nearly there,” he said.

  The unintended benefit of the fiery blaze in Neroterra was that the light now radiated throughout the forest, illuminating the way for the three companions. Lucius was thankful he no longer needed to worry about slamming into a tree trunk.

  Various shouts and war cries could be heard from the city now. Whether the cries were from the orcs or the Draknoir, Lucius wasn’t certain. They all sounded like bestial shouts of rage, each one as unintelligible as the last.

  Amid the cries, he heard a faint drumming of hooves not far from their location. Silas and Ulric heard it too, both stopping on the track to listen.

  “It’s coming this way,” Lucius whispered.

  “Quick! Find cover and attack at my word,” Silas ordered. “If it isn’t Wesley and Dudley then we must be prepared.”

  Lucius nodded and found cover behind the thick trunk of an elder oak tree. Ulric hid within a collection of bushes which was more than sufficient for his small stature. Silas chose a tree ahead of Lucius to hide behind. The prince peeked from behind the trunk every few seconds as the hoofbeats grew louder. He made a quieting gesture with his hand. Lucius gripped his sword and watched Silas intently. The thought of orcs stealing their steeds hadn’t occurred to him until now. Orcs were overgrown creatures who seemed too heavy for horses to bear. But then again, if they had lost the fight in Neroterra it was not unlikely that they would secure any means to flee quickly.

  He heard a horse whinny suddenly and then, in the trees about a yard from them, four horses and a pony crashed through the bushes and thundered toward them. Silas stepped out from behind the tree, sword drawn over his head and ready to strike. The lead rider tugged back the reins of his galloping horse, and the animal raised its forelegs into the air at the sudden halting motion. The rest of the steeds, tied to the lead rope, also reined in behind the rider. Lucius noticed that the accompanying horses were without riders on their saddles. He looked up at the rider and saw the familiar face of Dudley, whose forehead was stained with blood.

  “Lord Silas, thank Yéwa you’re alive!”

  CHAPTER 22

  THE ELF SCOUT

  Siegfried heard the loud horn blast and immediately recognized it as Morton’s. He was walking along a deer trail in the forest, keeping a close watch on an orc sentry just a few feet away from him. Now that the horn had sounded, the sentry whirled around toward the noise and let out a fierce growl. His thick muscular frame bounded through the woodland like a bear on the hunt for its prey. Siegfried followed the orc, but decided to give him a wide berth. He knew more sentries were nearby and rather than give away his position too soon, he reasoned it would be wise to see if the orc would rendezvous with his comrades on the way. As a highly skilled archer, Siegfried was confident that even if the odds were against him, his speed could win the day. By putting enough distance between himself and his enemies, he could release multiple arrows that would find their mark easily.

  The sentry tore through the forest, reminding Seigfried of the way a boulder might tumble down a hillside. In contrast, the elf swiftly dodged the numerous natural obstructions on his path as he pursued the enraged orc.

  Another horn blast echoed in the night, and this time the sentry responded with a loud shout in the orcish language. Siegfried wasn’t sure if the shout was a call to other sentries nearby or just an angry outburst. Either way, he continued the chase, always a few feet behind his quarry.

  Up ahead, he saw a clearing through the trees and a mass of figures moving through it. The sentry had seen it too. The soft hiss of a blade being loosed from its scabbard reached Siegfried’s ears. Another familiar sound was that of metal clanging on metal. Someone was fighting in the clearing ahead. He guessed that Morton was at the center of it. Siegfried quickly nocked an arrow to his bow and, after slowing his pace, drew the bowstring and aimed at the moving orc. He loosed the arrow just when his target was unobstructed by the trees. The arrow hissed through the air and plunged into the sentry’s back. A surprised gasp escaped the orc’s mouth as he fell headlong into the ground. Siegfried ran toward his target and saw no movement, confirming the shot had struck the orc’s heart.

  Running toward the commotion ahead, Siegfried nocked another arrow and scanned the area closely. He heard the grunts of someone deflecting multiple blows and the dirt on the ground being kicked up by the fight. Then the chilling cry of a Draknoir filled the air, taking him by surprise.

  What the devil are they doing here? he thought instinctively.

  Pushing the question aside, he ran full speed i
nto the clearing and loosed his arrow on the first scaly warrior he saw. The shot slammed into the chest of a Draknoir who was neither ready for the attack nor able to counter the subsequent dagger slice that slit his throat.

  Nocking another arrow, Siegfried scanned the battle around him. Three Draknoir were in the clearing, not including the one he’d just killed. Morton was successfully holding off a three-pronged attack at the edge of the tree line. He slashed his claymore across the side of one of the attackers and quickly dispatched him. But the move opened him up for a side cut to his left. He sidestepped the move by a hair, but still received a gash that split his outer tunic.

  Without a second thought, Siegfried shot his arrow at the head of the Draknoir closest to Morton and gave him a respite from the unfair odds. The young warrior nodded appreciatively and finished off the last Draknoir with a well-timed thrust to the chest.

  “Are you all right?” Siegfried asked, nocking another arrow instantly.

  “Yes, just a few minor cuts. I blew the horn as soon as I saw them approaching from the tree line over there. I thought they were a group of orc sentries until I saw those eerie glowing eyes of theirs,” Morton explained, his chest heaving from lack of breath.

  “We need to get out of here. Draknoir raiding parties travel in groups of ten. Perhaps we can get to the horses before we face anymore,” Siegfried reasoned.

  Morton nodded. “I hope Silas and the others found that gauntlet, or this whole ordeal will be for naught.”

  Siegfried didn’t reply. His thoughts were on Lucius now, wondering if his brother had heard the horn. In the depths of that mine, it was unlikely any sound from topside could be heard. He dispelled the worry for the moment and focused on following their orders to meet back at Wesley’s location, where the horses were kept.

  The sound of crunching leaves nearby suddenly raised an alarm in his mind.

  “There’s more of them!” Morton shouted, gesturing to the glowing eyes just outside the clearing.

  Seven Draknoir poured out of the forest and charged at an alarming speed toward them. Before the beasts reached them, Siegfried managed to release three arrows. One of the arrows penetrated the unprotected underarm of one of the warriors, instantly killing him. The second arrow found its mark in the head of another Draknoir. But the last was too wide of a shot, and it only struck the shoulder of the warrior who was now upon them. Siegfried ducked a swipe aimed at his head from the injured Draknoir. Rolling onto the ground then quickly standing again, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. But before he could draw the bowstring, a warrior to his left tackled him to the ground.

  His bow fell into the underbrush and he grappled with the crazed Draknoir who tried to bite his face. Siegfried pushed his forearm into the creature’s neck and with his left hand grasped the wrist holding a long scimitar. The Draknoir tried to squirm free of his grasp, but Siegfried clamped down tighter. He knew if the Draknoir wrested his hand free, he would plunge the scimitar into Siegfried’s chest. For a few seconds, they were at an impasse, neither gaining much of an advantage over the other. Then the Draknoir, still being held back by Siegfried’s forearm, used his free hand to claw at the elf’s side. Wincing at the fiery pain that spread up his side, Siegfried decided to take a calculated risk. He kneed the Draknoir in the stomach, then released the creature’s wrist. With his left hand unencumbered, he grabbed hold of the dagger on his belt. The Draknoir, still recovering from the hit to his stomach, did not see Siegfried’s next attack. He stuck the dagger into the Draknoir’s heart and watched the creature’s yellow eyes widen in shock. The warrior slumped onto Siegfried as life left his body.

  Siegfried pushed off the massive creature and quickly searched for his bow. The next Draknoir was quickly on him. He deflected a cut with his dagger, but barely kept the blade in his hand. The weapon was not suitable for parrying the blows of the long scimitar. It didn’t provide enough leverage against the heavy curved blades of the Draknoir. He dodged another strike from the new attacker and as he did so, he spotted his bow amid a tangle of bushes. Running toward it, he saw another Draknoir charge at him. The warrior swung his scimitar in a downward arc, but Siegfried halted mid-step before the sword could split him in half.

  Taking advantage of the Draknoir’s miscalculation, he stabbed the creature in multiple vulnerable areas. Underarms, neck, and ribcage. The blows came in rapid succession. A guttural rasp escaped the creature’s mouth as it toppled to the ground, leaving the way clear for Siegfried. He picked up his bow and, remembering the Draknoir behind him, quickly shot off an arrow. The shot missed its mark, flying by the Draknoir’s head. But he had not intended on hitting his target. It was merely a warning shot that took the Draknoir by surprise. Before the beast could recover, Siegfried had nocked another arrow, drawn, and fired. This time, the Draknoir felt the metal arrowhead puncture his chest, followed by two more for good measure.

  Siegfried whirled around to his left and saw Morton fighting for his life against the two remaining Draknoir. The young man was a natural swordsman. His footwork was nearly flawless: he dodged multiple swings and parried quicker than most veterans of the sword. But even Siegfried could tell that he was tiring from the effort. Fighting a single Draknoir required more than enough exertion for any capable warrior. Two at the same time was a suicidal endeavor.

  Aiming his bow once more, Siegfried hoped to even Morton’s odds. But before he could release an arrow, Morton was struck down by a thrust from behind. Siegfried hadn’t seen the third Draknoir warrior approach the young man. This one was a nasty piece of work. He was larger than the rest, and his scaly face was full of puckered scars.

  Siegfried guessed that the overgrown Draknoir was the leader of the group. He aimed once more and released his arrow before the Draknoir party could finish Morton. Taking a deep breath, the world around him slowed as he released the arrow. It flew through the air at the giant Draknoir. The trajectory would find its mark between the creature’s eyes, but something unexpected happened. Seeing the missile’s approach, the Draknoir overlord moved his arm with the quickest of motions. The creature’s arm was a blur of movement, and it slapped the arrow out of the air like it was a fly.

  Stunned at what he’d just witnessed, Siegfried heard the Draknoir shout a command at his remaining soldiers. They quickly abandoned the clearing and disappeared into the shadows of the trees. Running toward Morton’s body, Siegfried turned him over and saw a stain of blood growing on the warrior’s tunic.

  “Morton, can you hear me?” he said, opening the man’s garment to see the wound.

  “They…got me, Siegfried,” Morton mumbled.

  “No. You’ll be fine,” he said, reassuring him. The stab wound was over an inch long and located between Morton’s ribs. From what he could see, it didn’t look to be fatal. But Morton could not be expected to fight any further. “I’m going to bandage the wound, Morton. This might hurt a bit.”

  Siegfried pulled out a rolled-up stretch of cloth from inside a pouch on his belt. He carefully wrapped it around Morton’s waist and stopped the flow of blood from the wound. Once he replaced the young man’s tunic, he placed a hand on his forehead. No fever yet. But if Morton wasn’t given proper medicine soon, infection could certainly take hold on the man’s wound.

  The sudden sound of someone approaching ahead caused Siegfreid to rise up and aim his bow. For whatever reason, the Draknoir had returned, but he was ready to strike them all down this time.

  “Morton! Are you there?” the familiar voice of Dudley called out.

  Siegfried lowered the bow and sighed in relief. “Dudley, he’s here on the ground.”

  “On the ground? Is he dead?” another voice asked. This time it was Wesley.

  The two men broke through the tree line into the clearing and looked at Siegfried.

  He answered the question evident on their faces. “Morton is hurt, but he’ll survive as long we treat the wound,” he said, then paused for a moment. “The Draknoir are here. The
y attacked us.”

  “The Draknoir? Why are they here? As if this mission wasn’t difficult enough,” Dudley said in an exasperated voice.

  Wesley stooped down to check on the now unconscious Morton. “How many were there?”

  “A full battalion, including an overlord. We killed eight, but I’m sure there are more,” Siegfried said grimly.

  “How do you know?” Dudley asked.

  “One battalion isn’t enough for a raid on Neroterra. They’re here for the gauntlet, and the orcs won’t give it up without a brutal fight,” Siegfried replied.

  Dudley swore and kicked a rock at his feet. He spun around quickly, his eyes widened as if he suddenly remembered something significant. “Silas and the others are in trouble. We must get the horses and leave now before the Draknoir swarm this forest.”

  “I know,” Siegfried said calmly. “You both need to get them. I need to find the others and we can all meet back here.”

  “Wait, you mean for us to leave Morton here? He’s wounded and alone!” Wesley argued.

  Siegfried bit his bottom lip. He didn’t want to leave Morton alone, but if he stayed behind there was no one who’d be able to let Lucius, Silas, or Ulric know what had happened. For all they knew, the three of them were still inside the mine. And that place would soon be overrun by Draknoir searching for the gauntlet. If either Dudley or Wesley stayed behind with Morton, then that left only one person to wrangle up the horses, which would be difficult to manage with Draknoir and orcs roaming the area.

  When Siegfried relayed these concerns to the two men, they both nodded and agreed reluctantly to the plan. “Morton will be the safest among us. The Draknoir have already come through this area. I doubt whatever raiding groups are left will travel through here again,” Siegfried reasoned.

  The two men said their farewells and bid Siegfried good luck before rushing off into the forest toward their destination. Checking on Morton a final time, Siegfried told the sleeping man he’d return. Then he took off into the night, using his gift of keen sight to study the tracks made by the Draknoir overlord and his cronies.