Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2) Page 7

  “So what brings you back to Djoulmir?” King Balfour asked, studying the druid with his eyes.

  “Well to be frank, your Majesty, an errand of utmost importance,” Alistair said without hesitation. “You see—”

  “I have an important errand too, Big Al,” Balfour interjected, raising a thumb to his lips. “It concerns these cursed dragons.”

  “Oh?” Alistair asked.

  “They’ve been attacking my trading posts in Kroshen! I’ve lost dozens of my kin to their barbaric hunts. I cannot stand for it, Al. I simply cannot!” Balfour yelled, causing his voice to echo in the room.

  “I understand completely, Balfour. Does this mean the dwarves will be going to war with Ghadarya?” Alistair asked.

  “War? Are you mad?” the king asked incredulously. He burst into laughter abruptly, causing Lucius to feel rather awkward. “You always were a joker, Al. No, we won’t be warring with those wretches. I’ve issued an edict, haven’t you heard? All dwarves must travel back to Djoulmir at once! These are harsh times, and we dwarves must find security in our dwellings beneath the earth. No, dragon fire can’t penetrate these mines.”

  “I see,” Alistair said, pursing his lips. “So you mean to ride out the coming storm?”

  “Exactly. It makes no sense for us to fight when we have nothing to gain. All my kin are mostly accounted for, but there are a few stragglers. Namely Ulric Skyhand, that odd cousin o’ mine,” he said.

  “Ah yes, I heard he felled a dragon.”

  Balfour scowled at the comment. “Aye, he did. He’s a fool! Riding the seas on that rickety boat of his. He should be here with us, not swashbuckling like some Sangre pirate.”

  “Ulric was always unpredictable. But he is a mighty warrior, and there are very few dwarves who could defeat a dragon, Balfour. His usefulness in this war could be paramount—”

  “Don’t talk to me about any war, Al! We’re not at war. The elves and the Aldronians can go to war with the dragons. We are perfectly fine to sit it out,” Balfour said, waving a hand dismissively. “Now what is it you wanted? It’s nearly lunch time and I’m famished, Al.”

  Alistair shot the dwarf king an exasperated look, but Balfour did not catch it. “I need a favor, Balfour.”

  “A favor? In exchange for what?” Balfour asked curiously.

  “This favor is repayment for a previous deed I performed for you. Or don’t you remember the trolls that kept eating your vendors in Buck’s Folly five years ago?” Alistair shot back, raising an eyebrow.

  King Balfour sighed. “Yes, yes, I remember the trolls. Go on, what is it then?”

  “I require the use of an Elder Gate, Balfour.”

  “You…what?” Balfour said. His eyes grew three times their size. “No one is allowed to use the Elder Gates, Alistair! Not even my own kin.”

  “No one need know outside of this room. It’s for a quick journey to Aldron. Nobody will find out it’s been used. I swear it,” Alistair said.

  Balfour stood from his seat. His eyes were ferocious and he gritted his teeth. “Aldron? You wish to go to Aldron through my Elder Gate? You have lost your mind, old man!”

  “Balfour, I am asking you as a friend, not as your subject. A friend who you trust. Please,” Alistair said, extending his hands in a beseeching manner.

  Balfour’s face softened a little and he sighed deeply. He opened his mouth to reply, but then his eyes landed on Lucius. He seemed wholly unconcerned that he was in the room until now. The king furrowed his brows, then looked down at the rooster walking about on the flagstones beneath him.

  “What’s this? Who have you brought here with you?” Balfour asked, turning to Alistair.

  “Oh, right. This is Lucius of Sylvania and his pet rooster…Siegfried,” Alistair replied with a curt smile.

  “Good day, your Majesty,” Lucius said, walking toward the dais. Balfour’s face soured as he looked at him closely, then he shifted his gaze back to the druid.

  “You and your company cannot use the Elder Gate. I forbid it,” Balfour commanded. Alistair tried to get another word in, but Balfour raised his hand to stop him. “Friends or not, you are no dwarf, Alistair. We may have fought together, but you ask too much of my kindness. And you bring an interloper with you, dressed in elvish garb!”

  Alistair shrugged. “He’s not an elf, Balfour. Now please stop being so obstinate and—”

  “Do not tell me what to do in my kingdom!” Balfour snapped. He plopped down on his stone throne and clapped his hands. “Guards, escort these trespassers from Djoulmir. They are not welcome.”

  The three guards who were glaring at them throughout the conversation now advanced. Lucius swallowed hard, looking to Alistair for guidance. This was their only opportunity to get to Aldron without traveling hundreds of miles for over a month. The winter season was coming, and who knew what might change by the time they reached the royal city. Kraegyn might have risen by then, or a full-scale invasion of Joppa by the Draknoir could be underway. He also thought of Naomi, Violet, and Silas. They needed assistance fighting off the dragons and Draknoir. Everything depended on the completion of their task to forge the Requiem Sword. If Lucius and Siegfried did not arrive with the mithas powder in time, they might never reclaim the blade. The thought of utter failure now was not acceptable.

  Lucius unsheathed his sword as the guards stepped closer. The action caused the dwarves to draw up their own axes, and Alistair shot him a disapproving glare. He regretted the move immediately, but it was too late. The dwarf guards yelled at him to drop his weapon while Balfour shook his head with disdain.

  “You bring an insolent boy into my realm? I’m ashamed for you, Big Al,” Balfour said to Alistair.

  Alistair sighed, then drew himself up. “I didn’t want it to come to this, Balfour. But you leave us no choice.”

  In one fluid motion, the druid lifted his staff and slammed the blunt end of it on the stone floor. A blinding flash engulfed the throne room, but strangely, Lucius was unaffected.

  Siegfried let out a crow and Alistair turned to Lucius. “Run, Lucius! Find the Elder Gate and get to Aldron. I’ll distract them,” he cried.

  Lucius ran toward the tunnel behind the throne, but pivoted sharply when he realized Siegfried was still a rooster. “What about Siegfried? He’s still under your spell!”

  Alistair waved a hand at him. “It’ll wear off soon. Just keep him safe. Now get going, boy!”

  Those final words were met with a barbaric yell in the chamber from Balfour, who could see clearly again. He hollered at his guards to capture them, and they quickly made haste to do so. Alistair cast another blinding spell in the room. Lucius turned on his heel and fled out of the chamber. He was pleased to see that Siegfried had already raced out ahead of him.

  “Wait for me, chicken!” Lucius called.

  CHAPTER 7

  ROGUES AND NOBLES

  The docks of Tarshish were bustling with activity even as the sun was setting. Sailors and captains were lounging around the seaside, drinking and spreading rumors about the latest gossip in the city. The trading caravel known as The Emerald Maiden eased toward one of the docks, and the men aboard threw ropes to workers along the dock for the moorings to be set. Rebecca Ravenmane watched the entire process with mild interest. She had a passing knowledge of seafaring, having been on numerous trips to Aldron and Tarshish along the Sea of Lagrimas.

  Experience taught her to travel on ships where the crew asked few questions and had dealings with the Spindle, the black market guild operating in the city. Her closest informant, Durgan, was a guildmaster for the Spindle. He had given her the names of every ship and captain who smuggled goods across the harbor to Ragnara. The Emerald Maiden had just departed from Aldron with a cargo hold stocked in contraband—mostly supplies needed for rebuilding the recently ravaged city. She barely managed to reach Aldron’s docks and board the vessel on account of her role in the assassination of Baron Stendahl weeks earlier.

  The plot to kill Stendahl did
n’t have the desired effect Lord Memnon had hoped for. Although the Baron’s death caused disarray in the ranks of the Aldronian army, news had reached her of Silas Dermont’s successful campaign in Ithileo against the Draknoir. Still, the dragon attack in Aldron had certainly postponed any large offensive against Nasgothar or Ghadarya. She had kept a low profile for the last several weeks, traveling with the crew of the Maiden until a summons came to her from her master. While moored in Allesmeade a week prior, a Draknoir spy had boarded the ship to give her a note from the Draknoir lord himself. Memnon required her skills in another plot against Aldron. The details of the note were vague for obvious reasons. The Four Houses of Aldron had been investigating the unscrupulous activities of the Spindle for some time, but now they did so with renewed fervor. The attack on Aldron and assassination of Stendahl were likely the cause. Any communications between members of the Spindle, who may or may not be sympathizers to Nasgothar, were strictly vague and secretive to avoid detection.

  The only solid information she received from her master was to travel to Tarshish and meet with Durgan. There was no doubt in her mind that the shady Spindle member would have further instructions as to what her task should be. She hated the idea of traveling to Aldron again for another mission. It was still too early to walk the streets of that city when everyone was on high alert. Despite her misgivings, she was eager to please her master.

  The crew finished securing the ship to the moorings and the captain dismissed them while he bribed one of the dock masters. Ravenmane watched as the filthy crew of the Emerald Maiden disembarked, all of them eager to visit the local watering holes and relax after a long voyage. She wondered when the illicit cargo on board would be unloaded. Most smugglers waited until the cover of night to perform such a task, but in Tarshish, a city with a reputation for corruption, there was little for smugglers to fear. The goods were safe on board for any length of time on these docks when the bribe was the right amount.

  The sun hovered over the horizon line as Ravenmane made her way down the filthy streets lining the docks. Music and merriment could be heard from a nearby inn and tavern. A fight would likely break out before the night arrived, she thought. The desire for a warm meal and strong drink nearly overcame her wisdom. She hated noisy bars with unruly patrons. Not only did it make for an uncomfortable ambience, but she had to put up with the depraved nature of salacious men. For whatever reason, corruption and thievery brought out the worst traits in every man, and she highly despised the inferiority of their gender. She could not deny that her own nature was morally bankrupt, but even thieves and spies should have some scruples.

  Rounding a corner in the road, Durgan’s shabby flat came into view and she hurried her pace toward it. As she came closer, the silhouette of two horses appeared. It was not uncommon for Durgan to have visitors at this time. Being a guildmaster of one of the most ruthless organizations in town had that effect. But there was something different about these horses that she noticed right away. They were bays with superb grooming and saddles too expensive for this part of the city. Most of the horses in Tarshish were underfed and unkempt. People here were either too poor or too careless to waste their money on their animals. They’d rather spend their coin on drinks or prostitutes.

  The two horses noticed her now, letting out gusts of breath that formed into clouds in the chilly autumn evening. She stepped closer to the bays and nuzzled each of their noses. The horses appreciated her warm touch, and grunted softly.

  She suddenly registered movement on the porch of the flat behind her. Turning to meet the possible threat, she locked eyes with a heavyset man in fine clothes that revealed his upper rank in society. The man had blond hair tied back in a loose ponytail and a thin beard that was too neatly trimmed to look attractive. His pale blue eyes watched her in utter contempt as he ambled toward her.

  “You there! What business have you touching these horses? They’ve been finely groomed and don’t need your filthy urchin hands on them,” he said loudly.

  Ravenmane shrugged. “I was merely giving them much-needed affection. They seem tired of the rigidity they are subjected to, my lord,” she said evenly.

  The man’s brows pushed downward in a vexed manner. “I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands away from my lord’s horses and ran along, miss.”

  “I’m afraid I will not ‘run along,’ sir. I am here on urgent business. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going inside,” she said, controlling her desire to throttle the man.

  “Just a minute! My lord is presently meeting with the gentleman inside. You will wait here until his business is concluded,” he ordered, blocking her path to the door.

  She did not like being told what to do, especially by this noble upstart. Taking a breath to calm herself, Ravenmane smiled briefly before speaking. “Sir, I assure you whatever business your master has with the gentleman inside is not nearly as important as mine. Now please step aside and let me through. Or you may live to regret it.” She spoke the last sentence in a lowered voice, but her venomous tone did not pass the man’s notice. He glowered at her as a hand hovered over the hilt of his sword.

  “Be gone, wench. Or it will be you who regrets meddling with me,” he said.

  She moved quickly toward the man. Her speed caught him by surprise. He fumbled to unsheathe his sword, and she was on him in a second. Her fist landed on his jaw, sending him reeling. Before he could recover, she thrust her knee into his groin. The man gave a pathetic whimper of pain before crumbling onto the steps of the porch. He looked up at her with shocked indignation. She smiled, predicting his insufferable pride would not allow him to be bested by a woman. Stepping back and waving him on, she waited as he clumsily rose. He stood hunched and out of breath, clearly unready for another round. But he was a proud man, unable to accept defeat by someone he deemed lesser.

  “I’ll give you a moment to gather your strength, my lord. I know it would be an embarrassment to your master to know his footman was incapable of fighting a mere wench,” she said with satisfaction.

  He gritted his teeth and spat. “I am not a footman! I’m a knight of Allesmeade.”

  “My apologies, sir. I was unaware knights were assigned to watch horses these days,” she replied with a smile.

  The man was livid now. He drew his sword from his scabbard and thrust it at her. Ravenmane sidestepped the move and kicked him in the knee. In one swift motion, she unsheathed her dagger and brought the blade to the man’s neck. He swallowed hard as she yanked his head back by tugging at his ponytail. A mixture of fear and anger projected from the man’s eyes, and she relished it.

  Before she could gloat over the knight, the door of Durgan’s swung open and someone stepped out.

  “Ravenmane? Is that you making all that racket out here?” Durgan asked, looking at her with narrowed eyes.

  “Sorry for the disturbance, Durgan. I was just taking out some trash,” she replied, shoving the nobleman down to the floor, where his face hit the dirt.

  Durgan chuckled. “You sure have a way with strangers, girl. Come inside. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Ravenmane entered the dimly lit interior of the flat and strolled past the main hallway into the sitting room. There was a cushioned chair along the far wall that she sat in. She relished the comfort of the seat as she propped her boots on a nearby ottoman. The chair had become a favorite now that she had visited this place more times than she’d like in the past year. Preparations for war in Nasgothar meant continual travel to Tarshish for information. Rekk, her old mentor, had always told her that spies dealt in the business of secrets. But she was more than a spy. She was also an assassin, and luckily for the man outside, he hadn’t learned that about her yet.

  Durgan took a seat across from her on a filthy couch and picked up a reed pipe resting on a table in front of him. He took a few puffs and blew smoke in the air contentedly. He stared at Ravenmane absently, but said nothing.

  “Well? I didn’t come here for the scintillating c
onversation, Durgan,” she said finally.

  “That’s what I love about you, Ravenmane. Always right to the point,” he said with a lopsided smile. “So you’ve received the note, I take it, from…well, your master?”

  “Yes, hence why I’m here,” she replied with a note of impatience in her voice.

  “Well, you’ll be happy to know that your little run-in with Stendahl didn’t have the desired outcome that the Draknoir wanted. He’s been easily replaced by that Blaise fella from Joppa. I can’t keep up with all those lords and ladies down there. So there’ll be no political fallout from Stendahl’s death in the long term,” he said, taking another puff from his pipe.

  “Yes, I’m quite appraised of the situation, Durgan. Do you divert yourself by wasting my time?” Ravenmane snapped.

  He chuckled to himself. Durgan was a foul man, unkempt and dirty. His eyes belied an unsavory nature, and his pallid skin would make anyone’s skin crawl. He was the epitome of vice and licentiousness in her mind. But she didn’t loathe working with him. She’d seen some honorable traits in the Spindle guildmaster in her previous dealings that made him almost respectable. But he was also a horrible tease when they held these meetings. For some reason, he derived some sick pleasure from dangling assignments in front of her like a child would hold out a mouse to a cat, but keep snatching it away.

  “I’m sorry to be secretive, but this is a big task for you, girl. Lord Memnon wants you to do something I haven’t seen attempted in years,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “For Nergoth’s sake, Durgan, what is the assignment?”