"Princess Avani he tells me that you have betrayed the Draknoir and willingly brought vital information to us. For the record, I don't trust the words of an assassin and spy — much less the same one who mere months ago murdered my father. So let us cut the charade. Why are you here?" He nearly yelled out the question at her. It took every ounce of discipline to keep himself from lashing out at this woman.
Ravenmane took a deep breath before she spoke. "I am here because I surrendered myself to you. You are right. You have no reason in the world to trust me or what I have to say. But if you do not trust me, then rely on the word of your friends. Princess Avani and Siegfried Silverhart will both corroborate the truth of the matter," she said.
"Siegfried? Why would he corroborate anything you've said? He's not even here," Silas stated impatiently.
Avani stepped forward and spoke. "Your Majesty, it was Ravenmane who helped rescue Siegfried from captivity in Arkadeus. I can vouch for his safety and the truth of Ravenmane’s words. But I will let her continue so that you may judge it for yourself," she said, taking a step back and nodding at Ravenmane.
Ravenmane explained to Silas, and those assembled everything that occurred in Arkadeus. From her attempted assassination of Memnon with Siegfried's help to their harrowing escape from pursuing Draknoir in the forests of Ithileo. She noted the grievous wound on her leg as proof of her story coupled with Avani's testimony regarding finding her and Siegfried in Ithileo.
But the most troubling news of Ravenmane’s story was that Kraegyn, and the dragons were breeding. It was a possibility Broughlin had brought to Silas' attention many months ago. But the wise Drachengarde scholar had not expected the hatchlings would be mature this early in the year. The dragons were previously known to mate and deliver offspring in the autumn. Further troubling was the reality that Aldron would be pitted against two dozen dragons. Though the defenses of Gilead Palace and the city were now constructed, Silas knew without a strong force of men at his disposal, the city would be razed.
He was on his feet pacing again, processing everything Ravenmane had brought forth. When the woman was finished speaking, he continued to pace and rub his chin thoughtfully. All eyes were on him as he did this and he knew expectations were high for a solution. But his mind kept coming back to the one problem before him. Could he believe the woman guilty of poisoning his father?
"I've heard everything you've had to say, Ravenmane. The one lingering thought that comes back in all of it is this: how can I trust anything you say? You posed as the cook for a disgraced nobleman under our noses and killed the most respected man in this land. Your trade is death and deception. And the Draknoir have supplied you with both in droves. How do I know that you won't do the same to me as you did to my father? You would extend an olive branch with one hand. But as I take it you thrust your dagger with the other! I will not be so easily deceived," he said emphatically. Then he turned to Lord Blaise and barked out an order, "Blaise, have a gallows constructed immediately in the town square and hang this woman from it."
Lord Blaise, always disciplined and compliant, was taken aback at the king’s order. "Yes — yes, of course, your Majesty," he stammered.
"No," Avani interrupted.
Silas wheeled around to face the princess, malice filing in his eyes. "I beg your pardon, Avani? You would defy my order in my throne room?"
But Avani didn't meet his angry gaze, she turned to the convicted woman and said, "tell him. It's the only way you'll get through to him."
Ravenmane swallowed hard and gave a curt nod. "King Silas, I am your sister — Rebecca Dormont. You thought me dead long ago, but this was a cruel trick by Memnon. He deceived both you and I all these years. That's why I betrayed him and that's why stand here now."
Silas felt the blood drain from his face. He looked at the woman before him with new eyes. Her hair, her face, the dark hazel eyes. They were just like his mother's. In the blind fury of his hatred of this woman, he had ignored the similarities of her physical appearance. For a moment, he considered whether this could just be another ploy against him. But he dismissed it immediately. Avani would not have defied him openly if she weren't convinced of Ravenmane’s true parentage. And then the worst thought of all cropped up in his mind.
"Becca... you killed our father," Silas said bitterly. He turned to Blaise once more. "Take her away from me."
Chapter 13
The room filled with smoke as Memnon dripped blood into Nergoth's brazier. He allowed the acrid stench to waft into his nostrils and exhaled deeply. Behind him his generals stood watching and chasing quietly, "Nergoth." The rhythmic chant grew higher in pitch as the flames of the altar to the dark demon flared in intensity. Amid the flames, Memnon could see the red eyes of the powerful entity who he had devoted himself to.
"We are slaves to your cause, Nergoth," Memnon said. "Our legions stand ready to destroy all those who would stand in your path."
The eyes stared at him as the fire crackled and the chanting continued. After a moment he heard a low grumble from the altar that sounded like shak-teph. He listened to the words and made out the phrase, "spill more blood."
Memnon nodded eagerly. He took out the dagger hanging from his belt and sliced another gash on his heavily scarred arm. The pain no longer bothered him, he'd become numb to it now that the Gauntlet of Iniquity coursed through his veins. Droplets fell onto the fire, igniting it once more into a flash. The eyes grew redder and larger.
"Good," Nergoth said. "Together with Kraegyn, you will please us."
Memnon frowned. "Us?”
"We are one. Sêrhalon and I," Nergoth said.
Memnon recognized the name. An ancient tale known to the Draknoir from long ago mentioned a powerful demon overlord known as Sêrhalon, the Wretched One. He was the accuser, and ancient evil who roamed the world long ago. But the stories had contradictions and no one really attributed any truth to them. Nergoth had always been the singular idol of all Draknoir. In all his rituals over the years, Memnon never heard the demon utter the name Sêrhalon. He wondered if this might be some trick. But why would the source behind his own dark power lie to him?
"So you are the Wretched One?" Memnon pressed.
The eyes shifted to look as though they were smiling despite the lack of any mouth affixed to them. "Yes. I take many forms. My reign extends across worlds. Nergoth is but another entity which serves me."
"Why are you telling me this? I have served Nergoth faithfully. Have you not seen my commitment?"
"Indeed I have, Lord Memnon. You have done well. Both you and Kraegyn are very close to your greatest aspirations. I can get you there. The Gauntlet of Iniquity is but a taste of the power I can bestow," Sêrhalon said.
Memnon bristled at the mention of Kraegyn's name. Over the last few weeks since the Black Dragon's return to Azuleah, the alliance he had with the beast had cooled considerably. Ever since he took hold of the Gauntlet of Iniquity, Memnon wondered why he needed the dragons to accomplish his plans for the Draknoir. It didn't help that Kraegyn was arrogant and patronizing toward him. After all, the dragon had failed in the past and dealt a considerable blow to Nasgothar in that failure. Scipio had placed too much trust in his dragon allies. Memnon did not wish to make the same mistake. He knew the dragons were essential to their success. But once Aldron falls, he would take matters into his own hands.
"I know of the power you speak of," Memnon replied, forming a fist with his gauntlet hand. "The gauntlet has shown me more than I thought imaginable. With your aid, I do not require the dragons. A sorcerer empowered by you would be an unstoppable force on the battlefield."
Sêrhalon let out a low rumbling chuckle. "You are ambitious, Memnon. But for now, it is best that you work together with Kraegyn. Do not stretch your wings too far into the sky. Lest you be struck down," the demon said. The red eyes faded into the flames. Before long the fire died down into red embers and black smoke.
The generals’ chants ceased as Memnon turned to face them. He si
ghed, troubled by the vision and angry that he still had to rely on Kraegyn.
One of his generals stepped forward. He had a scar running across his mouth. It was pink and puckered on his dark green scales. Memnon looked at him curiously, awaiting for the Draknoir to salute in deference to the Lord. Ajax bowed his head slightly then ran the talons of his right hand across his chest.
"My Lord Memnon, your power exceeds all hopes and aspirations that are kind could ever aspire to," Ajax said.
Memnon rolled his eyes. "Save me your flattery, Ajax. Speak freely and don't waste my time."
"Yes, my liege. I only wish to ask why we would allow the dragons to be our equals. They order your troops around in the garrison and occasionally, make a meal out of them. They have not lifted a finger to help in the reconstruction of this great fortress nor have they shown respect to our cause. Why must we bow to them?"
Memnon resisted the urge to blast Ajax’s head from his shoulders. He needed Ajax and the rest of the generals in the defense of Arkadeus should Dermont be foolish enough to attack. But the general voiced the same concerns he had about the dragons. The Draknoir were proud and ambitious. Though they were loyal to him, he couldn't allow them to see this arrangement with Kraegyn as a weakness on his part.
"Ajax, did you not hear Sêrhalon speak from the altar? We are allied with the dragons to destroy all of humanity and conquer this continent. Once that is accomplished, the alliance needn't continue."
Ajax gave a wry smile and nodded his understanding. "I see, my lord. Forgive me for my doubts. Clearly, you are wise," Ajax said, spreading his hands in a submissive gesture. He stepped back in line with the other generals.
Memnon glowered at them for a moment. "Genghis, have your troops been trained for the attack on Aldron?"
His second in command nodded enthusiastically. "They are ready at a moment’s notice to mobilize, Lord Memnon."
"Good. We will send them out just as soon as the dragons arrive—"
A loud crash outside the chamber shook the walls and startled them. He heard the distinctive roar of a dragon outside. He ordered the generals to the courtyard where the sound came from. Filing out of the chamber, they ascended the stairs out of the keep and into the main courtyard. A mass of Draknoir were training in the open space earlier, but now several of those troops were trampled underfoot by eight dragons including Kraegyn.
The Black Dragon seemed to be in a frenzy, lashing out at random Draknoir and bellowing in an indecipherable language. All the generals around Memnon froze as they watched the scene unfolding before them. With several swipes of his claws, Kraegyn cut down twenty Draknoir. Memnon seethed with anger. His gauntlet emanated a purple light as he imagined striking the dragon leader down with his magic. But he remembered Sêrhalon's advice to keep working with this unpredictable beast. He raised the gauntlet up and shot a blinding purple flash into the darkness.
"Stop this madness, Kraegyn!" Memnon growled.
The dragon turned to face the sorcerer, his eyes vicious. But then that annoying grin formed on his face. "Ah, Memnon. Just the Draknoir I was looking for. None of your underlings could tell me where you were hiding," Kraegyn said.
Memnon’s eyes slitted as he glared at the creature before him. "I was consulting with Nergoth about our plans. You need only show a little patience and I would have come to you," he said.
"Patience? My patience grows very thin, sorcerer! Or did you not see the threat in the sky two days past?"
"What threat?" Memnon asked.
"The white light of Celestine! Or don't you know about it? Someone is wielding the Nero’s staff. The same weapon that brought down your ancestor and ruined our chance to reign unchallenged," Kraegyn explained.
Memnon knew the story. Scipio, drunk with the Gauntlet of Iniquity's power, had overlooked the threat of the Order of Celestine — those accursed druids who wielded a strong magic of their own. The Order had attacked Scipio during the siege of Arkadeus and killed him while Kraegyn fought against Cervantes. Had Scipio known about the Order and prepared adequately, the outcome might have been different. But like the Requiem Sword, the staff of Nero, the powerful druid leader who turned against the order years later, was an artifact lost to history. Even if it was found, the Order of Celestine was no more. Nero massacred most of their number and created a wasteland in the once lush jungle of Kroshen. Those that survived, Memnon hunted down years ago—ushering the demise of the age of druids.
"The Order of Celestine is long gone, Kraegyn. Who could wield the white staff without a druid’s help?" Memnon asked.
Kraegyn emitted a low growl. "It matters not who can do it. The fact is I saw the white light in the sky. The very same light that brought our demise last time. I tried to track it, but it remains hidden from me. You must send troops to the ruins of Sylvania. That is where it originated," Kraegyn ordered.
"I will do no such thing, Kraegyn," Memnon said defiantly. Before the dragon could object, he added, "we have the Gauntlet of Iniquity. And I'm well-versed in the failures of my ancestors. None of them had as much commitment to Nergoth as I did. Their forces did not number in the thousands as they do now."
Kraegyn laughed and the surrounding dragons joined in his laughter. Their amusement enraged Memnon. He blasted the stone floor in front of him. Bits of rock scattered in all directions, startling the dragons for a moment.
"Careful, Memnon. Let us not get too angry."
"Then don't provoke me, Kraegyn," Memnon warned.
Kraegyn regarded him for a moment then smiled once more. "If you are not concerned with the white light, then neither shall I be. It is as you say, we are stronger these days than once before and our enemies are weaker. Their old alliances and friendships are abandoned."
The dragon’s words eased him, but he longed for a day when he no longer had to listen to this insolent beast. Tension still hung in the air between the dragons and the Draknoir, and he wished to smooth it over despite his utter distaste for Kraegyn.
"We are nearly ready for the humans’ destruction, Lord Kraegyn. I see you have brought your dragons with you. Genghis will be ready to move out in two days. Will you accompany them?" Memnon asked.
Kraegyn shook his head. "No. I will not. The leaders of the dragon tribes will be sufficient for the task and the hatchlings will soon make their flight to Aldron from Ghadarya. You will have plenty of support. The rest of my kin will arrive here soon to provide defense for the coming battle," the dragon said.
Memnon scoffed. "I doubt it will be much of a battle, Kraegyn. Our defenses are complete and the garrison will number in the hundreds even after our forces leave. Whatever meager forces Dermont or his allies scramble against us will be quickly stamped out."
"Ever the confident one, aren't you?" Kraegyn asked sardonically. "You forget about the Ellyllei. He is still out there. Still a threat to us."
"One man from a foolish elvish prophecy cannot stand against our united front. Let him come and face annihilation."
Kraegyn nodded several times, but said nothing more. The dragon looked around the courtyard and shook his head at the mess he'd made. The bodies of numerous Draknoir littered the ground where he had either smashed them or slashed at them fatally. Dark blood stained the flagstones and Kraegyn's clawed hands. The sight of the wonton destruction angered Memnon though he might have done the same thing if his mood was volatile enough. But for this usurper to have the gall to massacre his own legions was reprehensible. He would pay for his arrogance, Memnon thought.
"I apologize for my previous... lack of control. I hope these followers were not vital to your plans," Kraegyn said. There was a hint of a smile on the dragon’s face, revealing a lack of remorse for his actions.
Memnon stood erect and spoke in a hushed tone. The words were in shak-teph and they came quickly. In a matter of seconds the gauntlet released shafts of light that touched every corpse on the ground. The once lifeless bodies stood from the ground and faced Memnon with a renewed purpose.
; Though each of the Draknoir were now mere puppets for Memnon to command and incapable of individual thought, their undead bodies felt no pain nor expressed fear of any kind. Sometimes he preferred undead Draknoir over the living—they were easier to command, offering no resistance to him. But the necromancer’s spell took a mental toll on him. Eventually, the undead warriors would be disconnected from his control when the strain became too great. The Gauntlet of Iniquity increased the efficacy of the spell, but necromancy was a ravenous form of dark magic. It would devour his own life force if the spell remained intact indefinitely. Still, it would prove useful on the battlefield and he looked forward to using it to deal maximum damage to his enemies.
“That is a fancy trick, sorcerer,” Kraegyn said, watching the undead Draknoir form ranks in the courtyard at Memnon’s command. “Tell me, could you bring back a fallen dragon in the midst of battle?”
“I already have,” Memnon said, a tone of regret barely perceptible in the statement.
Kraegyn caught his meaning and nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose you have. You and I will accomplish great things in the next few days, Lord Memnon. Much of Azuleah will be forever changed on our account.”
Memnon smirked at the dragon as he turned to the undead warriors before him. “I certainly hope so.”
Chapter 14
The antechamber inside the Uwadi temple had grown darker as dusk gave way to a cloudless, starry sky in the desert. Lucius lit a sconce hanging from the wall of his room and sat down on his cot, listening to the dirge playing outside. Scores of mournful voices sang sad melodies in tribute to the men who had fallen in the battle on the previous day. He had watched the Uwadi widows and their children, garbed in black, wail for the fathers and husbands who would not return to their homes. The dead warriors would rest in the graves Lucius and the others dug just outside the camp.
Digging so many graves in the scorching heat was physically excruciating. But it was a small price to pay to relieve the agony suffered by the families of the fallen. Lucius tried to join in their grieving ritual, but found it emotionally taxing, especially since two of his own group had lost their lives. The melancholy surrounding the funerals only added to the anxiety he felt over everything.
Keep of Dragons (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 3) Page 17
