Keep of Dragons (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 3)

by Daniel Adorno

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I’m a priest and I lied to you—such a thing is abominable to Yéwa. But I’m also telling you because I received another letter recently from a small village in the Kroshen Wastes. Our order has clerics throughout Azuleah—itinerants who seek to do good in all parts of the world. One such cleric, Galeon, told me Simeon was rescued from bandits by a nomadic group. The curious thing about this group was their leader. A man who fit your father's description.”

  Lucius’s heart raced at the revelation. He had known from his encounter with his mother in Caelum that his father was alive. Of course, he didn't know his whereabouts and planned to seek him out when the war was over. He felt a sudden dizziness and realized he hadn’t exhaled since Elendon began speaking about his father.

  “I’m sorry that I kept all of this from you, Lucius. Please forgive me. I feel a deep sadness for your family and wished I had done more to keep you all safe,” the priest said. A solitary tear slid down the old man’s cheek. He wiped it away quickly, perhaps hoping Lucius hadn’t seen it.

  “Elendon, thank you for telling me all of this. Though I do wish you had spoken earlier,” Lucius admitted.

  Elendon nodded several times. “Yes—forgive me, I’m an old fool. I thought I was protecting an old friend... and a new one.”

  Lucius smiled. “I understand. Unfortunately, matters at present keep me from seeking out my father. Perhaps when things settle down, I will go to Kroshen.”

  “Indeed. Though you may need a guide. It is a horrid place to travel,” Elendon said, shaking his head. Claude appeared in the doorway of the study. Elendon turned to the monk and raised an eyebrow. “What is it, Claude?”

  “Begging your pardon, Brother Elendon. But a page from the royal palace is here with a summons for Lucius,” Claude said.

  Lucius frowned. He'd never received a summons when he was outside of the castle. Either Dudley needed his assistance in the training yard or something was amiss in the royal court. He suspected the latter would be the case.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Lucius said, bowing his head slightly at them.

  At the foyer of the temple, a ruddy boy with a felt cap stood admiring one of the tapestries hanging from the wall. The page quickly snapped to attention when he caught sight of Lucius. He grimaced, still not used to the deferential treatment the pages and squires of Gilead Palace were showing him these days.

  “At ease—I'm only an ensign. What is your message?”

  “My lord, King Silas wishes you to attend a meeting with the nobles and generals immediately. Some distressing news has reached the court,” the boy said.

  “What news?”

  “I do not know, my lord. My job was only to inform you. The king will share everything once everyone is assembled.”

  Lucius nodded. “I have some matters to tend to here first, but I’ll head back soon.”

  “Er, that will not do,” the page said. The boy looked visibly uncomfortable at his interjection, but he pressed on. “My orders are to bring you back now, Ensign Lucius. There is a carriage out front.”

  “I see,” Lucius said, trying to hide his annoyance at the page’s insistence. “Very well. Let’s go see the king.”

  Chapter 2

  The last vestige of winter gripped the lands surrounding the fortress of Arkadeus. The melting snow and sporadic tufts of grass springing from the cold ground signaled the thaw had finally arrived. Ravenmane stood at the tower window inside her small, cramped bedchamber, watching with mild interest as barn swallows flitted about in the gray skies above. She pondered what it must be like to fly, far from the troubles of the world. High above the gray clouds she might see the sun again and no longer dwell inside the darkness of this fortress.

  For months she had contemplated her true parentage and the haunting portrait of her mother in Gilead Palace. It was clear that the portrait was of Queen Reina. And logic led her to believe the girl on the queen's lap was the Princess Rebecca Dermont. The princess perished with her mother in a dragon attack at a young age. Though her knowledge of the attack was sparse, the age of the princess and the location of the assault matched details of her own memories. The enemy was different—Aldronian soldiers had killed her mother and not a dragon. But somehow, in her heart, she knew this was a falsehood. Memnon had altered her memories and enlisted her to do his evil bidding for all these years.

  Ravenmane had killed and spied on the enemies of Nasgothar just to please Memnon. The thought of it sickened her now—she was just a pawn for the Draknoir to manipulate at their leisure. Six months ago this was an acceptable arrangement for her. For a human to even be useful to the Draknoir was an honor and privilege she coveted. But one simple portrait had changed her mind on the matter. Now she needed to uncover the truth. She had to know how and why Memnon had deceived her.

  It would not be an easy task. He'd be suspicious once she asked the question, which meant she’d have to kill the Draknoir leader to survive. She had no qualms about that since Memnon had proven to be less than the loving mentor she imagined. Months ago, he had enlisted her to assassinate a sovereign ruler—a mission she was uncomfortable with—and placed Brandewulf in charge of the entire operation.

  The result? Abject failure.

  The headstrong ruler of Allesmeade faced defeat on a grand scale. Brandewulf's coup came to nothing and he would spend the rest of his days exiled on a barren island in the southern sea. Although Memnon's plot to kill King Alfryd had succeeded, Aldron still stood strong and defiant.

  She ironically found comfort in that.

  The Draknoir intended for her to be the dutiful assassin who was easily expendable. But not anymore. She would pry the answers from Memnon and avenge her mother. Her plan was simple. Memnon had agreed to meet with her in the courtyard this afternoon—a perfect opportunity to kill him. She asked the elf, Siegfried, to find a suitable spot along the rampart where he could release an arrow into the sorcerer’s heart. The conversation would likely be brief. Once Memnon reveals the information about her memories, she planned to give Siegfried a subtle signal to shoot. She knew an elf could not miss a shot in the open. And on the rare occasion he might, Ravenmane could kill the Draknoir sorcerer herself.

  A knock came upon Ravenmane’s door and she quietly crossed the room, placing an ear on the door.

  "Who is it?"

  "It's Siegfried," the elf said. Ravenmane unlocked the door and allowed him inside.

  Siegfried strolled past her and sat on a wooden chair, looking rather exhausted. It took a laborious amount of persuasion on Ravenmane’s part to convince the Draknoir to spare Siegfried's life so he could become her slave. She had verbally abused him in front of the guards and even slapped the back of his head on occasion. The ruse worked for the last few weeks. The elf was probably tired of the act. But his role was integral to the success of her plan and she reminded him of the fact at every opportunity.

  "Did anyone see you?" She asked.

  "No. I was very careful to stick to the shadows along the ramparts as you instructed."

  She nodded. "Will the rampart be too far of a distance for you?"

  "Distance is never much of an issue. I’m more concerned about the wind from that height, it might cause my aim to be off by a few centimeters."

  "A few centimeters. Will that really make a difference?" She scoffed.

  "Definitely. Wind resistance is a real issue for archers. Granted, I am an elf so it should be no problem. But when I’m aiming for someone like Memnon, whose reflexes are impeccable thanks to that cursed gauntlet—a few centimeters could be problematic," Siegfried replied, crossing his arms.

  "I see," she said.

  She ran a hand through her hair and paced the room for a moment. Her meeting with Memnon was only a few hours away. If she backed out now, he would either become suspicious or never make time to meet again. The sorcerer busied himself with various plans to topple Aldron's grip in the South. Normally, she could gain an au
dience without much effort. But ever since the failed coup in the winter, Memnon had become a total recluse. Whenever he came out of his chambers, he only wished to meet with his generals or descend the lowest parts of the fortress to speak with the Black Dragon.

  Ravenmane hated that beast.

  All the scaly flying monsters residing here unnerved her. She wondered if the fear and dread were traces of a repressed memory involving her mother’s death. A memory Memnon had erased, but that still lingered in the back of her mind like a banshee hiding in a gray forest. She pushed the thought aside and focused on the discussion at hand.

  "Well, if you miss I could always stab him in the heart. I will be close enough for it," she said finally with a smirk.

  Siegfried frowned. "I've seen what the gauntlet can do to the wearer. It grants unnatural power and strength. I'm not sure that your dagger will do the trick."

  "We don’t have a choice. The meeting is set and we will have to cast the die, whether it falls in our favor or not, only Yéwa knows."

  The sun dipped just above the ramparts of Arkadeus as Ravenmane paced the length of the courtyard, expecting to see Memnon appear at any moment. Arkadeus' main courtyard was a large rectangle situated between the keep and the southern entry gate. In one corner of the yard lay a pile of rubble where workers had labored most of the day to rebuild the outer wall of the keep. Carts filled with supplies and buckets of mortar also sat near the pile. The Draknoir were working hard to repair the broken segments of wall in preparation for any attacks from their enemies. Ravenmane knew little of Arkadeus' history save for the legendary battle between Cervantes and Kraegyn long ago. The details of that long-fought war were scant, save for old tales told by elves or written in lost tomes. She never considered herself much of a historian, so such battles mattered little to her. But the Draknoir considered that event a defining moment for their race. All the hopes of conquest and subjugation of men hung on a single sword stroke that brought about the Black Dragon’s demise. Memnon had obsessed over preventing a similar defeat this time around. Becoming a master in necromancy and acquiring the Gauntlet of Iniquity made him as formidable as Scipio, his predecessor. But his obsession with the grand scheme had caused him to neglect small details. He hadn’t counted on her discovering his secret manipulations. And she hoped that would be his eventual undoing.

  Ravenmane glanced for the hundredth time at the ramparts. A handful of guards patrolled the battlements above. Siegfried was hidden in a shallow enclave cut into the eastern wall. The guards did not bother to walk by that section of the wall, so Ravenmane exploited the oversight. Although the shooting distance was quite far, Siegfried assured her that he had a clear line of sight. Elsewhere in the courtyard, a few Draknoir warriors were sparring and practicing combat maneuvers. The area was large enough for them to train while also leaving a generous amount of space for others to walk about. Above her, the sun finally disappeared behind the walls leaving orange and pink streaks of light to illuminate the gray clouds.

  "Ravenmane," a familiar voice called out to her.

  She turned around and saw her former mentor approaching with arms outstretched. It was an uncharacteristic gesture for the Draknoir — warm and somewhat fatherly, which unnerved her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. The dull purple gauntlet covered his right hand and reflected the fading light overhead.

  Memnon smiled at her. "We seldom have a moment to chat these days. Tell me, Ravenmane, what did you wish to speak about? You're not feeling left out of my grand plans are you? It's been a while since I've sent you off to bring me the head of some traitor or political sycophant."

  "I only wished to discuss a single matter with you, my lord. I won't trouble you for long."

  Memnon tapped a finger to his lips then glanced at the warriors training with a faraway look in his yellow eyes. "I see. I'm sorry we can't have a lengthy a discussion, my dear. But as you are aware, the advance of our kingdom is at hand."

  "I've heard rumors of another planned attack on Aldron. Is this true?"

  Memnon nodded. "Indeed. The Aldronians must be taught a lesson for our recent setback. I confess I put too much stock in the Duke of Allesmeade. The man's reputation clearly preceded him, but he couldn’t get the job done. I hated having to depend on a human — and those despicable elves! But our plans are still in motion. I have the Gauntlet of Iniquity and the dragons will soon be ready for a full assault of that wretched city. We have already destroyed Sylvania. Aldron will be next then Tarshish and Allesmeade. And then Azuleah will be ours."

  Ravenmane swallowed hard at the mention of Sylvania's destruction. "I had no idea about Sylvania. I did not think they posed a threat."

  Memnon laughed. "Everyone is a threat to us, Ravenmane. You of all people should know. The humans, the elves, and the dwarves—they are all our enemies. It is why Nergoth desires the Draknoir and the dragons to rule them with force. They resist his will even though it is inescapable. And to that end, Kraegyn decided to increase his brood in Ghadarya."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Kraegyn desires an army of dragons for this war—enough to dominate the skies and crush all opposition. But their numbers have dwindled in the years since his banishment. He and the other males will breed in the Maguna Mountains. The handful of dragon wives residing there will be adequate to raise a brood of dozens of whelps. Before summer is past, they will be mature enough to aid our plans. The peoples of Azuleah will not resist any longer. They will either be killed or enslaved before long, Ravenmane."

  Ravenmane felt her stomach tighten at the thought of a massive dragon army. When she first became passionate about serving Memnon years ago, the sorcerer only desired to see Aldron bow to the Draknoir's will. But over time, the sorcerer's ambition had grown beyond avenging his ancestors. Now that she knew his ultimate aims, she felt foolish for her participation in his plans. He had filled her head with the promise of vengeance for the murder of her mother—a crime he had likely sanctioned. Now she felt a sickening guilt when she imagined him and Kraegyn ruling over the world. Compassion and mercy would be forgotten under such a dark regime. She'd rarely experienced such values in her life, but she understood their necessity. Though she couldn't fully explain it, upon learning of her true identity every moral value had switched in her mind. All that remained was a confirmation of her parentage from Memnon’s own mouth.

  "As I said, I do not wish to keep you long, my lord. I know you are... preoccupied these days."

  "I can always trust you to sympathize with my vision, Ravenmane. You are loyal in that way. A rare trait among those closest to me."

  Ravenmane flinched when she heard the word loyalty. She pressed on, taking a quick glance where she imagined Siegfried stood with an arrow nocked to his bow. "Lord Memnon, I am curious — when you first found me all those years ago, did you intend to train me as your personal spy and assassin?"

  "I don't understand the question. Of course, I meant to train you, why else would I have spared your life?"

  "It doesn't seem to make sense. You have such contempt for humanity—why keep me alive? The thought entered my mind when I slipped into Alfryd’s bedroom to kill him and then saw a portrait."

  Memnon frowned, clearly confounded by her words. "A portrait?"

  "Yes. A portrait of a woman. Presumably, the deceased Queen Reina. Her appearance struck me. She looked exactly like my mother. You remember my mother, don't you? She was killed by traitorous and wretched Aldronians. Or was she?"

  The question hung in the air for a moment. She gripped the dagger strapped to her belt, making sure the motion was subtle while keeping Memnon’s gaze fixed on her own.

  The Draknoir clenched his gauntlet hand into a fist and let his eyes bore into her. "You're very perceptive, Ravenmane. Are you accusing me of something?"

  "There were no Aldronian soldiers. A dragon killed my mother after your warriors ambushed the royal caravan. Everyone believed her daughter—Rebecca Dermont—was also killed in th
at attack. I was the same age as the princess. You didn't find me on the banks of the river. You had the Draknoir kidnap me and use me for your ill gain, didn't you? It was all an illusion — a powerful lie."

  Memnon smiled wickedly. "Yes, it was. What better way to avenge my ancestors then to kidnap the heir to Cervantes’ throne and turn her to my will? You must admit, it was a brilliant move."

  Ravenmane's suspicions were correct.. But hearing them confirmed by the creature who she had once idolized, made her blood boil. She knew there was little time. Without hesitation, she flexed the fingers on her right hand in an open gesture—the signal Siegfried needed. In an instant, an arrow hissed through the courtyard toward Memnon's position. She expected the arrow to land in Memnon’s chest and impale his black heart. But the Draknoir robber her of the image. Like a snake coiling for an attack, Memnon reared back and snatched the arrow from the air. He snapped the shaft in two, staring with pure malice in the direction where it came from. This was the opening Ravenmane needed. She unsheathed her dagger and plunged it into the chest of her mentor. The blade sunk in and cut through flesh. But Memnon seemed unaffected. He let out a boisterous laugh. She backed away from him, watching in horror as he simply removed the dagger and let it fall on the flagstones.

  "Oh my dear, what a shame to lose your talents. You cannot injure me like the weaklings I sent you to kill. The gauntlet has given me so much power. You'll see for yourself in a moment," he said.

  Another arrow flew from the rampart. This time it struck one of the Draknoir warriors who was watching the scene unfold between Ravenmane and Memnon. The creature fell face first into the ground, giving Ravenmane a chance to flee while everyone remained distracted. She rushed toward a doorway leading inside the keep where a stairwell led into a culvert that would take her outside Arkadeus. Before she reached the stairwell, a searing heat struck her left leg. She fell inside the doorway and realized flames were burning her leg. Several quick pats with her cloak put out the fire, but pain shot up her body from the injury. Glancing behind her, she saw six Draknoir warriors running toward her. Memnon followed them, his gauntlet glowing red hot. She hobbled down the stairs, hopping two steps at a time to reach the bottom.