Ulric nodded, then spread his arm out for Siegfried to lead the way. He jogged for a few paces, then slowed down as the next enemy became visible. This guard was pacing along the end of the wall. The darkness kept Siegfried out of sight, but he’d have to wait until the Draknoir’s back was turned to approach him. After a few seconds, the Draknoir turned and Siegfried walked slowly after him. Then the guard stopped and pivoted on his heel abruptly. The creature’s yellow eyes widened as he spotted the elf crouching just three feet away. Siegfried cursed under his breath, then charged at the guard.
The Draknoir unsheathed his scimitar and let out a guttural roar.
There goes the element of surprise, Siegfried thought. He swung the heavy scimitar upward at the guard. The Draknoir parried the blow and pushed him back. They both tried to cut at each other with their blades, but the narrow walkway between the battlements confined their movements. Siegfried thrust at the Draknoir’s chest, hoping to end the melee quickly. He was denied the satisfaction. The guard blocked the thrust, then cut at him with a diagonal slice. Siegfried managed to parry the blow by a mere second. The scimitar was too heavy a weapon for his lithe frame and he struggled to move fast enough with it. Behind him, he heard Ulric’s footsteps thudding toward the fight.
“Duck, Siegfried!” Ulric yelled.
He didn’t question the command, guessing what the dwarf had in mind. Siegfried dropped to the ground and heard the low hiss of something flying overhead. Then came a loud thunk followed by the thud of something heavy hitting the ground. Looking up, he saw the Draknoir lying on the ground with the spear impaled in his chest.
“We’ve got company. Looks like the beastie’s friends heard our little scuffle,” Ulric said, pointing toward the courtyard.
Siegfried peered below and saw four Draknoir racing toward the stairs leading up to the north wall. “Let’s go,” he ordered.
After Ulric retrieved the spear, they headed for the stairs. Siegfried charged down the steps at the first Draknoir ascending. He caught the brute by surprise with his speed and easily slashed at the warrior’s torso. Ulric finished him off with a spear stab to the neck as they descended onto the courtyard. The remaining Draknoir halted their advance and formed a line, hesitant to face the same fate as their companion. Standing side by side, Siegfried and Ulric circled their enemies cautiously. In the cage held by Ulric, Lya watched the standoff with a pained expression. Then an idea came to Siegfried.
“Lya, when I unsheathe my dagger, glow as brightly as you can,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
The Draknoir group stepped closer to them, ready to pounce at any second. Siegfried unsheathed the dagger at his belt. Lya’s body shone brightly.
The sudden appearance of light in the dark courtyard distracted the Draknoir momentarily. Siegfried seized the opportunity and threw his dagger at the nearest warrior’s head. The strike killed the Draknoir immediately, causing confusion among his compatriots. Ulric lunged his spear at the next enemy while Siegfried struck at the other.
The skirmish was quick and furious. When the dust settled, Siegfried and Ulric remained standing with the Draknoir dead at their feet.
“More will be coming; let’s move!” Siegfried cried.
The rear courtyard was a small rectangular space littered with rubble and debris from the construction efforts the Draknoir were undertaking. Along the north wall, Siegfried found the small arched gate that led outside the fortress. Beside the door stood a small wooden structure with a sloped roof—a guard house. Two more Draknoir emerged from the building and charged at them. Siegfried dodged the first attacker’s wide swing at his head, then cut at the Draknoir’s knee. The guard buckled from the wound and gave Siegfried an opening to land a killing blow in an exposed spot between his crude chest armor. Ulric had a harder time dispatching the second Draknoir, who quickly parried the dwarf’s attacks.
During their imprisonment, Ulric had suffered many sessions of torture by the jailers. For whatever reason, the Draknoir despised the dwarf. Siegfried guessed it was Ulric’s constant mocking and taunting in spite of the torture. Though his wounds had mostly healed, Siegfried noticed that the dwarf was not nearly as nimble as he used to be. He hesitated a moment, then stepped in and slashed at the Draknoir’s throat. The surprise move gave Ulric a chance to catch his breath and drive the spear in the creature’s stomach.
“I had him beaten, you know,” Ulric said, still catching his breath.
Siegfried grimaced. “I’m sure you did. Come on. The door is right there,” he said, pointing to the closed gate.
They sprinted toward their best hope to freedom. Siegfried felt his adrenaline surging with each step. Survival had been at the forefront of his mind for the last month, and with each passing day he clung to the hope that they would be free again. But he hadn’t thought about what awaited him on the other side. Lucius and his father were gone. The Breninmaur sat in a heap of ashes. No family or home awaited his return from this hellish fortress. The thought caused him to slow his pace for a moment just before he’d reached the door. It was a mistake he’d soon regret.
From his left, Siegfried perceived a familiar blur of motion. Something large charged at him and Ulric, knocking them backward onto the cold flagstones. He rose quickly, expecting to see the creature’s wide grin mocking him.
A few feet ahead of them, Narek stood at his full height and bared his dagger-sharp teeth in an expression full of malice and glee.
“I had hoped you were the ones the guards said escaped the dungeon,” Narek said, chuckling to himself. “Now I get to finish you, little elf.”
“Not if we cut off yer head first, ye ugly bugger,” Ulric said, spitting on the ground.
Siegfried said nothing. He stared coldly at the murderer who killed his brother. Inwardly, he wrestled with how best to defeat the Draknoir champion. Together he and Ulric might be able to kill Narek, but the dwarf was tiring and struggling to hold that spear in his hand.
Siegfried glanced behind Narek, toward the main keep. The gate leading inside was open, and any minute now the Draknoir host would stop their escape. There was no sense in both of them dying in vain.
“Ulric, get to the door and take Lya out of here,” Siegfried ordered.
Ulric looked at him incredulously. “Are you mad? I’m not going anywhere.”
“Ulric…please do as I say. It aids none of us if we all die here tonight. Go to Aldron. Live and fight another day,” Siegfried said.
“What about you?”
“Go!” Siegfried yelled. He charged at Narek, hoping to take the Draknoir by surprise.
Narek unsheathed his massive scimitar and both swords met in a loud clang that resounded in the courtyard. From the corner of his eye, Siegfried saw the dwarf running from the fight to the gate. The elf pushed hard against the Draknoir’s sword, but it did little to break the locked position they were in.
“He’ll never survive once I’m through with you,” Narek threatened.
His hot breath was putrid and reminded Siegfried of carrion. He stepped back, releasing himself from the lock, then circled around Narek. He thrust his scimitar at the monster’s side, expecting the parry. When it came he pulled the thrust and with the dagger in his left hand cut a gash across the Draknoir’s forearm. Narek growled in pain, then came at him with lightning-fast strikes. Though Siegfried blocked and parried the strikes, the power behind them pushed the limits of his weakened body. He knew if he tired too quickly, the battle would be over. Although he expected to die in this fight, he needed to give Ulric enough time to escape Arkadeus.
Another round of strikes came from Narek, but this time Siegfried made the Draknoir work harder to land the hits. He jumped backward and danced from side to side as he parried, forcing Narek to extend further to reach his target. When the Draknoir overextended his reach, Siegfried slashed at his arms with the dagger. The disadvantage of Narek’s large scimitar was that it required him to use both arms to
wield it. An overextended swing opened him up for well-timed ripostes. Unfortunately, Narek’s unnatural speed for his size lessened Siegfried’s ability to deliver a strong counterattack. But the elf took pleasure in cutting gashes on the Draknoir’s arms.
“Fight me and stop flitting about like a gnat!” Narek screamed as he swung hard again.
“Surely a hulking brute like you can squash a tiny gnat?” Siegfried said, smirking.
Narek’s face contorted into pure rage. He changed his tactic and lunged at Siegfried with his shoulder. The speed of the move caught Siegfried by surprise, striking him in the chest. He fell to the ground, wind knocked out of his body.
Narek thrust his weapon downward. Siegfried managed a roll to the side, missing the point of the blade as it created sparks on the flagstones. He thrust out his leg and kicked Narek’s massive knee with all his strength. The angle and strength of the blow fractured the bone with a satisfying crack. Narek howled in agony, then slashed wildly at Siegfried with his scimitar.
The Draknoir hobbled toward Siegfried on his broken knee, putting every ounce of power into the swipes aimed at the elf’s body. Siegfried barely parried two of the nine strikes that came his way. Despite Narek’s injury, he pressed his offense, allowing no room for Siegfried to break the line of attack. Siegfried stepped lightly on the balls of his feet as each move came.
Left. Right. Left. Right.
It continued for a few minutes until he sensed Narek tiring. He cut another gash on the monster’s arm, then thrust with the scimitar. Narek brushed it off, but did little to counter.
Now it was Siegfried’s turn to press the attack. He moved in with side cuts and strong thrusts. Each strike was random and kept Narek guessing. When he lulled the Draknoir into a pattern, he set up a feint aimed at his torso. The moment Narek attempted to parry, Siegfried flicked his wrist upward. The swing would cleave Narek’s head in two. But Siegfried’s barrage had caused his muscles to tire. The move came slower than he anticipated. Narek dodged it then seized the opening. He quickly cut at Siegfried’s ribs. The scimitar cut through the elf’s tunic and flesh. An eruption of searing pain ran up his torso and back. He fell headlong onto the floor, dropping his weapons on the way down.
Raising himself on his hands and knees, he felt a hard kick to his other side that knocked him onto his back. A pleased Narek watched him like a hungry wolf waiting for the kill.
“You thought you could defeat me, scum? I’ll repay these wounds by impaling your head on a spike!” Narek yelled, foaming at the mouth.
So this is it—this is how my life ends, Siegfried thought.
He had never envisioned he’d face death alone, without family or friends by his side. Arkadeus was a dark, evil place to perish, and though no one could control their demise, he longed to have died somewhere in the woods or greenery of Azuleah.
An odd thought came to him then. He wasn’t sure if the loss of blood had made his mind unsteady, but he thought of praying. The tradition of elves held that one should pray to D’arya in times of praise or ceremony. But seldom did elves pray in times of dire need. Perhaps because elves were rarely in dire need; immortality gave them a false sense of security.
Lucius had often prayed to Yéwa for assistance in times of trial, and now it seemed appropriate for Siegfried to do the same. Except he would do something that seemed anathema to his elvish upbringing. He would pray to Yéwa, not D’arya. For some inexplicable reason, in this moment it seemed the right thing to do. It was what his brother would have done.
“Yéwa, if you hear the petitions of elves. Please…by whatever means. Rescue me from this,” Siegfried said, slurring his speech.
Narek raising his sword to the elf’s neck, laughed incredulously. “Prayers to your gods will not help you here. Nergoth reigns supreme in this realm,” he scoffed.
Siegfried ignored the Draknoir and waited patiently for his demise. He locked eyes with Narek, defiantly staring at the cold yellow eyes. If he must die, he would do so with dignity—not cowering or pleading for his life. Death would take him on his own terms.
The Draknoir raised the blade and began a downward swing at his neck, but the monster suddenly jerked back. His eyes widened to twice their size and his arm stretched backward unnaturally. The scimitar fell from his grip, clattering onto the floor.
Narek fell sideways into a heap. The hilt of a large dagger stuck out prominently from the Draknoir’s back. Siegfried searched the courtyard for the attacker who’d saved his life and saw a slim figure clad in black approaching him. A hood covered the figure’s face, but as it neared Siegfried, he realized this was no Draknoir.
Pulling back the hood, the figure exposed long tresses of raven black hair and a beautiful face with a pale complexion. He recognized this woman, but his weakened body couldn’t allow his mind to recall where he’d seen her.
A loud horn blast sounded from the keep, and Siegfried heard the clambering footsteps of Memnon’s army approaching from inside. He knew he had to flee this place, but his legs and arms grew numb.
The woman drew closer, scrutinizing him as though she had never laid eyes on an elf before.
“Please help me,” Siegfried said weakly.
“I already have,” the woman replied before the Draknoir emerged from the keep and surrounded them.
CHAPTER 33
RIDERS OF ALDRON
Lucius put on the last mail shirt available in the armory of Gilead Palace and sheathed a claymore to his leather belt. Around him, thirty Drachengarde warriors prepared themselves for battle. Each man put on their armor stoically, with little conversation among them. It was a grim time: Aldron was going to war. The royal city had always been at war of course, with the Draknoir, but this was an altogether different situation. Two former allies had turned against the Aldronian kingdom and were prepared to lay siege.
A day ago, Lucius overheard a stablehand speaking with a pair of scouts, and the news that the Numan insurgents were carrying siegeworks from the north did not bode well. Similarly, Silas and his advisers were convinced that the galleons from Allesmeade bore catapults and trebuchets in their lower decks. Speculation ran rampant that Brandewulf and the Rubiwind twins were ready to overtake the kingdom and supplant the monarchy with some prearranged form of government.
Silas knew little of Brandewulf’s plans for Aldron, but the king was certain that the ambitious noble planned to take over as sovereign. The other houses of Aldron would likely object against such rule, but allying with the Numan rebels could prove advantageous to Brandewulf in a civil war.
Lucius had underestimated the resourcefulness of Avani’s brothers. Apparently, they managed to gain three thousand Numans to their cause, and more joined each day. While Silas’ forces numbered in the tens of thousands, three thousand Numan elves were dangerous in their own right. Numa was the land of warriors, not the more reserved, scholarly elves of Evingrad that Lucius was accustomed to. The Numans trained for combat at an early age and drilled endlessly into adulthood. They were formidable foes. Combined with Brandewulf’s army of twenty thousand men, Aldron would be hard-pressed indeed.
“Five more minutes then everyone will assemble in the staging area,” Dudley ordered. The exuberant, coiffed warrior had recently been promoted as captain of the Drachengarde, a position once held by his late friend, Wesley.
The loss of his friend had drained Dudley of his irrepressible optimism. Lucius noticed his constant joking had diminished significantly since that dark day in Neroterra.
Lucius fitted his arms with iron bracers and leather gloves, then grabbed his helmet. The helm bore an eagle with outstretched wings on the crown and had several nicks and scratches from its time on the battlefield. He placed it on his head then followed the other warriors out of the large armory. On a long row of racks near the door, lances and halberds sat upright. Every warrior grabbed one of the weapons as they exited, including Lucius. He’d never wielded a lance before and the weight took him off-balance for a moment. After re
sting the long shaft on his shoulder and holding it firmly in his hand, he walked out into the cold morning air outside.
Dudley led the Drachengarde in a single-file march to the palace courtyard, which served as the staging area for the northern defense of the kingdom. Thousands of soldiers stood at attention in the massive courtyard, lined by their rank and position. Men-at-arms and pikemen stood at the front lines, cavalry troops behind them. Knights and officers took up the rear along with auxiliary lines that included the Drachengarde. But the unit famously known as the dragon slayers of Aldron had a special task in this fight. The previous night, Silas met with Dudley, Lucius, and the rest of the group to explain their role in the fight.
“I need you to take out the siege weaponry and supply lines at the rear of the rebel force,” Silas said to a room filled with the warriors he once led.
“Your Majesty, forgive me, but that will be an impossible task. The elves’ front line will be nearly impenetrable,” Dudley said.
“Yes, it will. That’s why you’re going to come at them from their right flank,” Silas countered. “Once the two sides clash, Weifar’s cavalry corps will take off and attack their left flank. Scouts have reported they are weak in that spot. The attack will force them to fortify that side, which should provide an opening for you and another auxiliary unit to hit the right flank. Once you’ve engaged, you’ll break off and attack the siege weapons and their supply line.”
The strategy seemed sound to Lucius, and even Dudley’s skepticism subsided after considering the idea. Though the biggest concern was the possibility that Avani and Violet would be present in the battle. If Aldron was fighting a sovereign power, the two captives would be held in a separate camp far from the battle. But a rogue state like the Numan insurgency would have no personnel to spare as jailers, so Avani and Violet would either be held with the supply lines or killed before the fighting. Lucius desperately hoped the latter would not be the case.
Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2) Page 32
