Draken took only moments to act. This was his chance. He quickly stepped over to Menin and wrenched the Stone of Cerathil from around her neck. Her head bounced off the floor as the chain snapped.
A big smile spread across his face as he stood and checked about him for witnesses and then deposited the precious stone in his pack. He took a few steps back towards the study, and then returned to her, and aimed a vicious kick to the side of her head.
‘That is for ruining my life,’ he snarled.
❖
Coinin was quite used to the giant’s movements by this time, although he did stumble somewhat if he failed to concentrate properly. He still wielded his club clumsily at all and sundry and even endangered his own side. On the bright side, goblins in his vicinity ran for safety, terrified, realising that they were now at the sharp end of his weapon.
Two giants headed his way. They towered thirty-eight feet, which was considerably taller than he, and he realised he had not thought this out thoroughly. No mysterious voice told him how to fight two giants of superior strength and size.
The first of the giants thundered up to him and shoved him hard in the chest. ‘Wha’ you do?’
Coinin pushed the giant in return. ‘They not friends,’ Coinin boomed.
The larger giant cocked his head and tried to comprehend what Coinin had said. ‘Wha’ you mean?’
Coinin knew he had to carefully word his response. He needed all the help he could get if he and Menin were to defeat the goblin army.
Then the answer came like a godsend. A score of goblin warriors that barely reached above his ankle attacked his legs with swords and axes. They had already inflicted quite a significant amount of damage to his newly acquired legs without his knowledge. This mind exchange apparently did not involve full sensory input, and that was dangerous. Coinin pointed to the goblins.
‘Bad goblins,’ Coinin rumbled.
Coinin could almost see the cogs turn as the other giant tried hard to comprehend the message. Then a lamp seemed to light behind the dull grey eyes of his foe. He held out an arm for Coinin to grasp.
‘Kill goblin,’ the giant beamed.
Coinin could have leapt for joy. He clasped the arm of his newly found ally, grateful that the giant had not seen him attack the goblins first.
The second giant lumbered over and gave a toothy grin.
‘Kill goblin fun,’ he laughed as he picked up two of the creatures that sliced at Coinin’s legs.
He smashed their heads together and then moved his hands apart to find them covered in green sticky liquid. He looked perplexed. A moment later realisation hit, and he guffawed, threw the bodies aside, and targeted his next victims.
Coinin, with the aid of his two new companions, herded a score of goblins and trolls to the only natural, safe haven in the belly of the dormant volcano.
A deep cave was set into the high mountainous walls, and afforded temporary protection to those within, yet also hampered any attempt at escape.
Coinin told his two giant friends to stand guard outside the cave entrance and then wandered out of sight of the two as nonchalantly as he could, in search of Menin. As he left, the pair began to play a game he had not seen before. They balanced a stone on the end of their noses, the idea being to not let it drop while they punched each other hard in the jaw. As the Giants’ laughter and grunts of pain subsided, a figure on a white charger cantered up to him. Coinin knelt before the bloodied and battered Menin and still towered over her.
‘Coinin,’ she yelled. ‘You will have to rid the Sanctuary of those giants before we can move in on the goblins.’
Coinin raised his giant hands in submission; he had run out of ideas.
‘How?’ he drawled.
A heavy weight crashed into Coinin from behind. Arms and legs flailed as he fought off his invisible attacker. He felt a massive blow to his side as he was flung against a huge oak tree. One of the two giants had followed him, although he had little time to contemplate this as strong hands wrapped around his throat and squeezed.
Even though he could not feel the actual chokehold, he knew that the body would fail as it starved of oxygen. Without air, he and the giant would again swap minds, and Menin would be left in the company of two giants. Try as he might, he could not muster the strength to fight back, his muscles failing to respond to his will.
He almost lost consciousness, and things went black momentarily. Ghostly images swirled before him that made no sense, until he was again free of the confines of his body, in a similar manner to when he had searched for Marrok. He took a sharp upwards turn and instantly recognised his surroundings. The summit of the Cliff of Judgement loomed, and a few seconds later he was jolted to a stop opposite a cloaked figure who appeared through a mass of images of battle. The individual stood on top of a boulder, some thirty feet from the edge of the cliff, focused intently on the battlefield below. Coinin noted that the figure raised aloft a staff that held a globe of green light.
Had this man instigated this battle?
Coinin was suddenly whipped away and found he was again in control of the giant’s mind. He sat up stiffly and looked about him. Marrok beamed at him from the chest of his opponent, now dead at his hands.
Coinin struggled to speak, and it was a full minute before his throat was capable of it.
‘Wizard,’ Coinin croaked and pointed towards the Cliff of Judgement.
All eyes looked in the direction of the cliff; however, it was too high to see what he had pointed to.
Marrok looked puzzled. ‘Where?’
Coinin coughed. ‘There, wizard, giants,’ he growled.
Menin, looking haggard, turned to General Jericho who had joined her. ‘There should be no one up there. Seek out this mage and bring him to me.’
Jericho signalled that his squad should follow him. Each soldier saluted Menin as they filed past her, and raced to the Cliff of Judgement.
Marrok wiped his bloodied blade on his tunic and strode to Coinin. ‘Come on, brother, we have a giant to kill.’ A large smile spread across his face, and his eyes were positively radiant.
❖
Draken had taken refuge in the tallest of the temple’s towers. From this high vantage point, he had witnessed the battle with satisfaction. His nephews were still alive, and he had two of his trophies, but to leave the Sanctuary now would raise suspicion. He needed to remain blameless if he was to use the boys further. He was sure Menin would not discover the fake Rose of Cerathil until it was too late. Now he had to hide the real necklace, and hope that she would never discover the truth. The amulet had to be undetectable to sight, touch, and magic.
He withdrew his own sword from its scabbard. He peeled off leather strips that bound the grip on this specially made sword and wound the amulet’s silver chain around the grip to form a new one. This complete, he inserted the ruby-red stone into a cavity within the pommel that he himself had crafted. He positioned a steel disc over the cavity to hide the ruby, and with a snap, it clicked into place. Finally, he rewound the leather over the weapon’s grip, hiding the necklace.
Proud of his work, he cast a powerful charm that would prevent the discovery of the amulet by magical means. He replaced the sword in its sheath and wandered over to the tiny slit window to survey the scene.
❖
General Jericho led his squad to the base of the Cliff of Judgement. His brow beaded with sweat from the jog, yet he looked resplendent in his gold-accented breastplate that dazzled as it caught the light. He wore a crimson velvet cloak about his shoulders with The Brotherhood insignia emblazoned across its back. He raised a golden-hilted sword for silence. His men formed a semicircle in front of him, and each knelt on one knee following his example.
‘I do not need to tell you that experienced wizards are notoriously difficult to capture, let alone kill,’ the general said, his fingers playing with his beard.
‘Sir,’ began a young private. ‘Why are we listening to the word of a giant? We have not even s
een this mage; what if it’s a dark wizard up there?’
‘Then we are potentially in even greater trouble,’ Jericho replied. ‘Regarding the giant, well, he is no ordinary giant, he is an ally that Curator Menin trusts.’
The young private bowed his head.
Jericho continued. ‘I believe our best chance of countering this threat is to create a diversion. While this mage is distracted, we will attack from the rear.’
‘What’s your plan?’ Lieutenant Su’un Quindil, a short, plump man asked.
‘Simple.’ Jericho faced his lieutenant. ‘Your squad will make a frontal feint, and I will corner him from behind while he’s distracted.’
‘That’s not possible, Sir. You do realise what you propose is against protocol?’
‘Of course, I do. I did not make General by sitting on my rump and getting fat while good men died in battle,’ he said as he patted his ample stomach. ‘That’s due to the fine wine and feasting. In all seriousness, though, I have fought in almost every campaign The Brotherhood has undertaken in the last thirty years, and today is no different.’
‘You mostly stayed behind the front lines, Sir.’ Lieutenant Quindil reminded.
‘Perhaps when I became General, Lieutenant?’ Jericho reminded.
‘True. Though Curator Menin will have my head if something were to happen to you.’
‘Then I shall have to make sure that doesn’t happen.’
‘I must insist that you remain behind. If you were injured or killed, we would lose our leadership.’
Jericho refused to listen to reason. ‘True, but I possess skills you do not, and my decision is final.’
‘I want it known that I objected,’ said Quindil.
‘Objection noted, Su’un. Now, I believe a single man will have a better chance to outmanoeuvre our uninvited guest.’
This strategy, he knew, had worked to great effect in the past. However, he had never tackled what was potentially a dark wizard single-handedly. He was nearing the age of compulsory retirement and desired one last glorious moment in battle. He had spent too many years, to his liking, watching others take risks while he sat by and played the tactician. He was bored, and he was taking a significant risk and knew it. He just hoped Menin would understand. He took a long look at his assembled men and smiled.
‘I do not think I need to tell you what a pleasure it has been serving The Brotherhood alongside you,’ Jericho began. ‘Should things go our way, I will treat you all to a fine feast of wine and women, the like of which has never been seen.’
Laughter was interspersed with a few cheers.
‘Just don’t tell Menin about the women.’ Jericho winked to laughter. ‘Prepare yourselves, and let us defeat this coward.’
The general rose cracked his neck and signalled to his lieutenant to follow him. They moved aside from the group, and Jericho embraced the lieutenant’s shoulder before giving his final instructions.
‘I want you to keep your head down. If a man should fall then leave him, we will clean up later,’ he said without emotion. ‘Now if you are ready, go and prepare your men. I will need five minutes to get into position.’
Lieutenant Quindil looked ready to object, thought better of it, and gave a short salute. ‘Sir, please be careful.’
‘I always am.’ Jericho smiled.
Quindil turned and headed back to his troop, and left Jericho to take one long last look at the devastated Sanctuary and the partial destruction of the golden temple. He offered a quick prayer to the gods for protection.
After removing his boots and holding them, he closed his eyes and concentrated on his destination, allowing the image to form in his mind to the point that it was almost real enough to touch. He remembered his training as a young man and the instructor telling him that trying to picture a destination was as hard as trying to visualise the back of his neck.
She was right, of course, yet he uttered a single word: ‘Destinaté,’ and disappeared with a small whoosh of air.
Moments later, he reappeared in a small recess in the walls of the mountain pass still holding his boots. He surprised even himself on the accuracy of his spell. However, this form of magic always took its toll on him. His head spun from the physical exertion that his body had endured before it reformed at its destination. He had little time to focus entirely. His men were minutes away from staging their attack, and somewhere ahead of him was his quarry.
Lieutenant Quindil had his men assemble at each side of the Cliff of Judgement. He had split the troop into two units. Each man was battle-ready, and a few offered silent prayers to the gods; others fingered prayer beads while they murmured to themselves.
Lieutenant Quindil clicked his fingers, which drew the two teams to his attention. He raised three fingers at them in a silent countdown.
As he reached one, Quindil cast aloud: ‘Ascenderá,’ and with a slight jolt, he and his men ascended the cliff magically on a cushion of air. He was elated. This was the first time he had used magic in battle, and not everyone was permitted to or had the ability to use it at the temple. He had joined The Order after his grandfather had seen the spark of a mage in him, and he had impressed the Archmage with his skill, so much so that he had taken special training over the years to improve his abilities.
Quindil was ahead of the group and cast a shield charm, ten feet in from the cliff edge, at the very moment he appeared above the lip. This would afford his men some level of protection as they landed softly.
The wizard had been ready for an attack. His proximity charm triggered. A shower of sparks shot into the air near the edge of the cliff. A flock of birds screeched, and then took flight.
The wizard looked left and right. Quindil’s charm had rendered his troops undetectable. It took moments for Quindil and his men to take up positions behind boulders and outcrops of rock at the sides of the pass. The wizard had not spotted the enemy yet, but would be ready for them; the sparks were evidence enough of that.
The wizard cast a ‘Disintegrá!’ spell. It broke the silence, and a wave of destruction powered its way towards the cliff edge.
The shockwave deafened them with a thunderous clap, and a flash of brilliant light blinded all those in its vicinity. It disintegrated all in its path, boulders and rocks reduced to dust that blew in the wind. Fortunately, the wave had lost most of its power by the time it reached Quindil who had retreated behind a large boulder.
He closed his eyes tight as three of his troop bled to death in the dirt not too far from him. All that remained of a fourth was a severed hand that twitched uncontrollably.
From his vantage point, General Jericho cursed the evil before him. This ended now, either with this devil’s death or his own.
He would create three elaborate distractions, yet for this to succeed, he would need to be within ten feet of his foe. This wizard was smart, however. He had already set up defences and Jericho had no idea what else the enemy had in store.
Jericho, however, had an ace up his sleeve; he could transform into a leopard, a gift bestowed by the gods. He took a deep breath and murmured to the creator, and then transformed into the silken-bodied black creature. Not a drawn-out, bone-wrenching, flesh-tearing experience like that of a werewolf, but as smooth as if he were made of silk.
He was never in full control of his alter ego. A certain amount of animal instinct took over, and that made him a hunter and killer, formidable in battle. Many a time his troops had been shocked to discover a leopard fighting alongside them on the battlefield, the official explanation from the Archmage was that it was a guardian spirit sent to protect the troops when they needed it most.
He silently padded into the cold night and spied his prey in the distance.
A slim hand held aloft a long, thin wand that directed shafts of red light at Quindil’s men. The wizard’s spells smacked into rock and ground with a force that sent vast plumes of dust into the air, inches from those who sheltered behind cover.
The dark wizard’s spellcasting
was effective and kept the attackers at bay. However, Jericho in his new form was able to close the gap to within ten feet. He was ready to enact the rest of his plan when his forepaw trod on a dry twig, and it snapped with a crack. The dark wizard whirled to face him, alert to the threat behind.
The general stopped dead, his foreleg raised several inches off the ground. The barefooted wizard dropped his staff and briefly disappeared, to reappear just inches from him. It was an efficient use of the Destinaté spell.
Animal instinct took over, and Jericho crouched low as he readied himself to pounce with a snarl.
‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you, Jericho,’ said a cold, high voice from under the hood of the wizard’s cloak.
Jericho felt speared to the core. How did this person know he had transformed into a leopard? Only senior order members knew of his gift. Should he bluff it? Maybe he could still deceive the threat into believing he was a dumb animal.
‘It is no use pretending, Jericho; I would know that form anywhere. Show your true self, or do I have to make you?’ The wizard brandished his wand.
There was no question then that this had to be a senior member of The Order.
The wizard dropped his cowl, and Jericho’s breath quickened; this had to be a lie, a figment of his imagination. Before him stood his wife Eraywen, although she looked cold and vacant.
‘Are you surprised to see me? I wonder whom you were expecting,’ she asked with a sneer.
Jericho transformed back into his human form. He did not bother to rise from all fours, and his head hung low. ‘Why you?’ he asked quietly. His naked body shivered in the cold night air.
‘Because, my darling, I tire of watching you and your noble friends prance around the land in your vain attempt to put the world to rights. You force everyone to conform to your beliefs. It amuses me to cause disorder and watch you and your pathetic men try to stop me.’
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 10