Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2)

by Daniel Adorno

  Before they unpacked their few bags, Avani reminded her that they would have an early start tomorrow. The Sky Forge was located near the coastline, which was a half-day’s walk from the city. The highland terrain was too rough on horses, so they’d have to leave Homer behind.

  After Violet changed from her riding clothes and into something less dusty from their journey, they enjoyed a modest meal downstairs with Brandewulf. The atmosphere was markedly subdued as the Evingrad elves around them lamented the loss of their home and spoke of the grim future.

  After a short conversation with her companions, Violet decided to turn in for the night. She sank into the comfortable bed of her room and stared at a candle on the nightstand beside her. The small flame danced erratically when her breath disturbed it.

  As the wax melted slowly, her thoughts turned again to Silas. She wondered how he was faring on his journey north. Was he thinking of her right now too? Would the king still be alive when he returned? She doubted it, and the thought brought another pang of guilt accompanied with tears.

  After uttering a small prayer for the Aldronian monarch and Silas, she blew out the candle and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 25

  PRISONER OF WAR

  The darkness inside the dungeon dispelled as the door leading inside swung open, allowing streaks of light to filter in. Ravenmane’s eyes narrowed as she focused on the figure entering. The door closed with a boom and the dank dungeon was dark once more. She could see the figure fiddling with something in his hand, and suddenly a spark lit a torch hanging on the wall. In the firelight, she saw a middle-aged man with an unkempt appearance. His gray-flecked hair was messy, and his face was rough with stubble. The man stepped closer to the bars of the cell, watching her with disgust visible on his haggard face.

  “I am Count Weifar of the Golden Plains. The lord of this palace placed me in command, and in light of recent events, I will be carrying out your sentence,” he said.

  Ravenmane raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  “You’ll be pleased to know that King Alfryd has died this early morning,” he said sarcastically. “Killing a monarch is perhaps the stupidest crime any commoner could ever commit. You will have no trial, assassin. This afternoon you will be hanged at the gallows in the town square for your crimes against this kingdom,” he said, clenching his jaw. Then his face softened slightly and he shook his head at her. “May Yéwa have mercy on your soul.”

  Weifar turned away from the cell and headed for the door.

  Without a second thought, Ravenmane stood up from the ground and shouted, “Wait!”

  The man turned around, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

  She’d been stuck in this cell for over a week with little light and plenty of time to think. The most pressing thought had been how to escape her predicament. She knew once the king was dead that she would meet a similar fate. Now that the moment was here, she felt her heartbeat quicken and her stomach tangle into knots. She’d been trained to never fear death, but to embrace it gladly. And yet, she did not desire to die like this. Everything within her wanted to fight and to avenge herself of Brandewulf’s betrayal.

  Beyond survival, there was yet another thought that kept her awake inside the cell. The portrait in Alfryd’s bedroom. The image of the woman that resembled her mother was burned into her mind. She was certain that it was indeed her mother, but she needed to dispel any doubt.

  Her eyes locked onto Weifar’s waiting expression, and she asked the question burning within her. “Who was the woman in the portrait?”

  Weifar’s brow furrowed, and he frowned. “What?”

  “The portrait inside the king’s bedchamber,” Ravenmane clarified. “Who is the woman?”

  “You stand to be executed for committing one of the highest crimes in Aldron and you ask me who the woman in the portrait is?” he said incredulously.

  Ravenmane, unperturbed, nodded several times.

  Weifar sighed impatiently. “It’s the Queen Reina, of course.”

  Ravenmane felt her heart stop for a moment. Queen. Reina. Her mother’s name was Reina! But she was never a queen. Her mother was a peasant who sold homespun cotton and knickknacks to gypsies. This had to be some mistake.

  “She died many years ago, when Silas was a boy. I’m surprised you don’t know the details of that, seeing where your allegiances lie,” Weifar said.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “The Draknoir attacked King Alfryd and his family while they were riding back to Aldron. Reina fled with Princess Becca while Silas stayed behind to help his father. But just ahead lay a dragon ready to ambush the entire party. Only Reina and Becca were killed by the beast’s fire,” he said.

  “Princess Becca?” Ravenmane said, her mouth agape.

  “Yes. Rebecca Dermont. The little girl in the portrait,” Weifar replied.

  She felt the blood drain from her face. It was her. The little girl and the woman were Ravenmane and her mother. The dungeon around her began to spin, and she clutched the cell bars to steady herself.

  Weifar noticed the reaction. “Are you finally feeling some guilt for what you’ve done?” he asked sardonically. “Well, I hope you live with it for what remains of your life. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  With that he exited the dungeon, leaving her alone with the myriad of questions running through her mind.

  How could she be a princess? She racked her brain for memories of her childhood, but all she could remember was that solitary day when her mother died viciously at the hands of Aldronian soldiers. When she attempted to glean some faint memory from before that incident she struggled. It was as though she had not existed prior to her mother’s death. She could remember her mother’s warmth and her deep love for her, but the visual of her mother holding her or kissing her was absent. A gap existed in her memory that she could not explain. But that wasn’t the most troubling revelation.

  If she was the princess of Aldron, then she had murdered her father. The realization hit her like an avalanche of stones falling on her body. Her knees buckled, and she slid down the cell bars to the ground.

  Could any of it be true? None of it made sense. How could she have no recollection of her life here?

  Then the deep sorrow she felt burned away in a flash of hot rage that swept inside her. Memnon. Did he know the truth? Did Rekk? She had entrusted herself to the Draknoir for rescuing her from the wilderness, but now she wondered if it was all a farce. She’d witnessed Memnon torture his subordinates by using spells of mesmerization. He’d place illusions and suggestions into their minds to gain information or cause them mental torment.

  He could have done the same to her. She was only a girl when she met the sorcerer. A mesmerization spell could have made her loyal or wiped away memories of a previous life.

  The possibility of such a thing made her blood boil. But she had nothing concrete except a portrait of a woman that looked like her mother. It wasn’t enough to lay such charges against her tutor and master. And yet somehow, she knew deep down that it was all true. Her life had been a lie. All the pain she felt and inflicted on others was borne of a lie.

  There was only one way to be certain.

  She had to escape and question Memnon. The mere thought seemed ridiculous at first, but she needed confirmation. Perhaps she could wrest the truth out of him somehow…then kill him. She was no doubt a gnat in comparison to the Draknoir sorcerer, but a quick dagger thrust to the neck would be enough to kill him before he zapped her with his arcane magic.

  Over the course of the day, she schemed and plotted her escape and fantasized about killing Memnon.

  It was nearly time for lunch, and she knew the guard outside would come in with a plate full of slop for her to eat. The past few days she had watched the guard closely. Studying his movements, where he placed the tray, how many steps he took inside the dungeon, and other seemingly useless observations. But she wanted to make sure he was comfortable in his work because when his guard w
as down, she could easily take advantage of the situation. She noted how the man would slip the tray between the bars and drop it just inside the cell. For a few seconds, his hand was within reach. With her skillset, she could easily grab his arm, pull him close then knock him out. The hard part would be grabbing hold of his keys in the exchange. She took note of the fact that the keyring hung on his belt.

  Just as she thought about it, the dungeon door creaked open.

  The guard lumbered inside with a wooden tray in hand. He wore the typical Aldronian garb, a blue and white surcoat with chainmail armor beneath. His hauberk was pulled back to reveal a tousled mop of blond hair. Ravenmane sat about a foot from the cell bars as he approached. Enough distance to keep him off his guard, but also allow her to lunge at him in one quick motion.

  “Heard yer set for a hanging in two hours,” he said brusquely.

  Ravenmane looked up at him, devoid of emotion.

  “Good riddance, you Draknoir scum,” he spat.

  He placed the tray between the bars, about to let it drop when Ravenmane lunged quickly and grasped his wrist. The half-second of surprise on his face was all she needed to tug his arm hard toward the bars. His face slammed into the metal with a hard thud. She snaked her hand through the gap in the bars and grasped his hair. Snapping his head backward, she slammed his forehead again against the metal bar.

  The guard’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and she quickly thrust her hand out to grab the keyring from his belt. She had precious seconds before the guard shook off the attack and called his friends outside. Dashing toward the cell door, she slipped her hand through the bars and unlocked the door. The guard was shaken, but on his feet again. He drew his sword as she exited the cell. She was unarmed, and looked considerably helpless in this situation. But she knew the guard was on the bottom of the pecking order and despite his training, he likely wasn’t as skilled as her in close-quarter combat.

  He swung his sword at her neck, and she waited a second longer than usual to duck beneath the blow. The intended effect was not apparent to the guard, but ducking so late allowed her to give him a false sense of confidence. Not expecting her swift dodge, the guard didn’t pull back the swing, and his sword hit hard against the cell bars with a satisfying clang. The impact of the blow nearly forced the man to drop the blade, which gave Ravenmane the opening she wanted. She rammed her fist into the man’s face, then followed it with a knee thrust into his stomach. Before he could counterattack, she grabbed his wrist and snapped it to the side. The man howled in pain as his sword dropped to the floor. She scooped it up and slammed the pommel on his temple, knocking him unconscious.

  Time was racing against her. She grabbed a dagger hanging from the man’s belt and stepped closely to the dungeon door. Placing her ear against the wooden door, she listened for the sound of guards running or walking nearby. When she heard nothing, she slowly opened the door and listened again. In the distance she heard two men talking, but their chatter had nothing to do with her. At least, she couldn’t discern that it did. Allowing herself to peer out to get a closer look, she saw a long stretch of hallway leading to a flight of stairs. The dungeon was at the end of this long hallway, and she guessed the voices were coming from the landing at the top of the stairs. This meant she’d have to face two or more guards to get out of the basement. She gazed around the hallway for any other means of escape, but the stairwell was the only way out.

  Gripping the dagger in her right hand and the sword in her left, she snuck out of the dungeon and made her way toward the stairs. The hallway was dark, lit only by a small torch near the foot of the stairway.

  The voices grew louder as she approached.

  “What’s taking Horace so long?” one of the voices said. “He’s only supposed to drop the meal and go.”

  “You know how upset he was about the king,” the other voice said. “Maybe he wanted to punish the prisoner. You know, beat her for information and the like.”

  Ravenmane heard the other man shuffle on his feet, then he said, “Nah, that’s not like Horace. Maybe we should go down and check on him?”

  “Aw, come on, Dirk. It’s time for lunch. He’ll meet us at the barracks later. Let’s go; I’m starving.”

  There was a moment of hesitation from Dirk, then he finally replied. “All right, but we’re back on duty soon as we finish eating!”

  Ravenmane heard them continue to argue back and forth until their voices and footsteps died away. She waited a few minutes before walking up the stairs in case they decided to turn back.

  At the top of the stairs she found herself at the juncture of two hallways. The one on her left was lit by several torches every ten paces or so. The hallway to her right was dark, but she recognized where it led. This was the hallway leading up to the storerooms just below the kitchen. She remembered how much she hated fumbling in the dark for flour sacks and other mundane items for Aldis down here. Just around the corner she knew there was another set of stairs that would lead to the kitchen, and then she could escape the palace through the servants’ entrance. The only problem was the service staff she’d have to walk past to get there. The lunch hour was well underway which meant the kitchen would be bustling with activity. Everyone in the palace knew who Rae was and what she had done.

  She might be able to run through the kitchen and to the backdoor before anyone could stop her, but what then? Outside, she’d still be within the palace grounds and would need to pass through the sentries at the gate. She needed to think of a better way out of here, and fast.

  Hoping that an idea would come to her, she walked through the dark hallway toward the stairs. She was glad now that she’d spent the time canvassing this part of the palace and committing the confusing layout to memory.

  When she reached the stairs there was a storeroom to her left. She groped in the darkness and found the doorknob, pushing the door open. Inside she felt around for the linens that scullery maids wore. She found a smock that matched her size, and quickly undressed to put it on. Then she tied her long hair into a bun and placed a kerchief over it to disguise herself a little more. She put on an apron over the smock and tucked the dagger in the wide pocket. Leaving the sword in the storeroom, she went up the stairs toward the kitchen.

  Her breathing quickened as she approached the main door to the kitchen and watched maids and footmen enter and exit constantly. The servants were too busy to notice her approaching, but if she stood idle too long, they would certainly stop and recognize her. The best chance of escape was to go inside the kitchen like the regular staff and exit through the backdoor. The more awkward her movements or attempts at being inconspicuous, the more likely she’d be spotted and reported.

  Taking a deep breath, she rushed into the kitchen with her face lowered slightly to avoid eye contact. Inside she heard Aldis barking out orders to a group of footmen grabbing trays lined with food and drinks. Ravenmane turned away from the group and passed a trio of maids carrying pots of soup and other dishes to the tables outside. She ducked her head when one of the maids looked at her. Luckily, the maid was in a hurry and didn’t look twice.

  Ravenmane increased her pace through the kitchen and turned a corner. The backdoor was nestled behind a short hallway, and through its small window she could see freedom within reach. She jogged toward it and swung the door open.

  Before she could walk out, Liesl came inside and looked right at her. The maid’s eyes widened when she recognized the cook she knew as Rae.

  Ravenmane pulled out her dagger and pointed it at the girl’s stomach. “Say a word and I’ll gut you right here,” she whispered harshly.

  Fear and panic contorted Liesl’s face, but she did not cry out.

  Ravenmane thought quickly. Every second she wasted in the doorway with Liesl would cost her escape from this place. Frustrated, she gestured with the knife toward the courtyard just a few yards from the door.

  “Let’s go. We’re going for a walk,” she said.

  The young woma
n frowned, puzzled at the command.

  “Go!” Ravenmane hissed. She clutched the woman’s arm and wheeled her around toward the courtyard.

  They walked hurriedly through the gardens and rounded the southern wing of the palace on a neatly trimmed lane constructed for the palace staff. Tucking the dagger back into her apron, Ravenmane looked around to see if any guards were on duty. She was in luck. Most of the guards were on their lunch break, which meant not as many eyes would be watching two kitchen maids strolling through the castle gardens. They came up to the courtyard now, and Ravenmane could feel Liesl shaking and stifling cries.

  “Stop that!” she snapped. “Act natural when we reach the gates and you won’t be hurt. If you say anything to give me away, I’ll slit your throat before you know what has happened. Understand?”

  Liesl nodded several times.

  “Good,” Ravenmane said.

  They walked past a pair of guards conversing at the end of the walkway on the east side of the courtyard. The two men tipped their helmets at the two women, then continued their discussion without giving them a second thought. Ravenmane quickened her pace toward the gate where half a dozen guards were standing near the portcullis and the ramparts on either side of the wall. As they grew closer, she noticed a group of workers constructing a wooden structure to her right. It was the gallows meant for her hanging. The men were fastening ropes to a large beam over the stage of the gallows. Her neck tensed as she imagined it snapping from the impact of her body on the tightened noose. Shaking the grim thought aside, she turned again to the gate, where one of the guards eyed them curiously.

  “Going off so early in the day, Liesl?” the guard asked.

  Ravenmane had let go of Liesl and looped her arm with the maid’s as if they were two close friends taking a turn around the courtyard. Imperceptibly, she squeezed Liesl’s arm just as the guard asked the question to remind the maid of her earlier warning.

  “Yes, Cillian. We are just going to purchase a few things for the kitchen at the market,” Liesl said, forcing a smile.