‘Come on, Coinin, you are nearly there.’
‘I can’t, I just can’t,’ said Coinin, the pain evident in his voice.
‘You can and you will. You are far stronger than you know.’
Fortified by his brother’s words, Coinin found a renewed strength to climb the wooden platform. In agony, he crawled to the pit edge, and after a final nod to his brother, he threw himself in. His feet collided with the edge of the deck and tore away a portion of the platform as he fell. He plummeted in silence with only the rushing wind for company as he waited for the imminent splash into the fiery lake.
He looked back up to the surface. The light from the opening grew dimmer, and he had just enough time to catch the silhouette of Marrok peer down at him. It was at this moment that he truly felt scared.
Back on the platform, Marrok breathed easier, only to find Curator Menin had hobbled over to him from the other side of the clearing.
‘What happened?’ she cried.
‘He was in the giant’s head too long. It made him sick, that’s why he behaved so oddly,’ Marrok replied.
‘Oh my, Marrok, I am sorry. If I knew, I would have ordered him out of there immediately.’
‘We have to get back to the temple. He should be there waiting for us.’
‘Yes, of course, take my horse, and I will meet you there.’ She pointed into the trees to where her mount stood.
‘Thanks.’ Marrok nodded to the woman and hurried off.
Menin clambered aboard the platform and looked into the hole with some satisfaction, and then turned to the trees with hands on hips and cursed her luck. ‘Goblins,’ she sighed.
Marrok had raced to the edge of the clearing, where just inside the trees Menin’s horse stood patiently. He untied it and leapt into the saddle. His feet found the stirrups automatically. He navigated the horse through the trees until finally, he came out onto the battlefield. He urged the horse into a gallop, and it seemed to enjoy the freedom as they sped towards the temple, its mane billowing in the breeze. He did his best to avoid piles of dead goblins, which grew steadily larger with every moment that passed, now that the workers hauled the dead flesh into small hillocks.
As he neared the temple, he noted that a rebuild of the outer wall had already begun. Men and women frantically cleared away debris and hastily erected scaffolding for the restoration.
The do not waste time, he thought.
On the final approach to the temple, he had to slow the horse for fear of being impaled by nervous archers. Eventually, he was waved through the remains of the gate. He raced up the footpath and around passersby, to their consternation.
He had no idea where Coinin would be, and as he pulled up outside the temple, he looked for someone who would know. Typically, he had ridden past everyone on the footpath, and there appeared to be no one around. Perhaps there were people inside the temple who might know where his brother was? He kicked himself for not having the common sense to ask Menin before he set off.
He dismounted from the horse, ventured inside the battered facade of the building, and was greeted with the hustle and bustle of men and women who busily made repairs or cleared up. They didn’t waste time, he thought and halted in front of a dust-covered woman who wore sackcloth about her waist. ‘Excuse me, might you know where my brother is being held?’ he asked hopefully.
‘If he is a prisoner, I reckon the guardhouse,’ the woman surmised.
‘Oh, he’s not a prisoner.’
‘Well, in that case, I don’t rightly know. You could try asking Master Ignatius, he knows most things that happen here,’ the woman said, with a swipe of her hand to move hair out of her eyes.
‘Where will I find him?’ The desperation in his voice seeped through.
‘Well, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he’s usually in the vineyard tending to his crop, but as today is Sunday, he’s probably drinking it.’ The woman allowed herself a giggle at her own joke. She saw that Marrok was far from amused, and continued deflated. ‘I should try the winery, it’s through the vineyard, you can’t miss it.’
‘Thank you,’ Marrok said quite politely, although inside he cursed the woman.
‘You are quite welcome,’ said the woman, and returned to her work.
He ran back outside into the sunshine and scanned the area for a vineyard. It only took a few seconds to spot. There it was, mostly untouched by the hostilities. The vines still standing were full of plump and juicy red grapes.
Just visible above the crop, Marrok could see the crown of a tiled roof. He took off at speed and did his best to skirt workers as they toiled.
He ducked through a small gap in the vines, winding his way through the maze of the plantation, the smell of grape blossom strong and inviting. Finally, the small building was in front of him, made of finely carved sandstone.
Outside, several barrels sat in various states of disrepair, and a small man in a leather waistcoat and an oversized straw hat tended to one of them.
‘Even war doesn’t stop winemaking, I see,’ said Marrok, bemused.
The small man looked up, and a bushy moustache twitched. ‘The Curator considers me too old to help with the cleanup. I’m only ninety-five, and you’d think I was one hundred and five or something, the way these youngsters go on. I don’t know, the youth of today—’
‘Are you Master Ignatius?’ Marrok interrupted.
‘The youth of today,’ he continued. ‘No patience to listen to an old man prattle on. No, I’m Cooper, Master Ignatius is inside.’
‘Thank you very much.’ Marrok stepped up to a wooden door in the side of the building and opened it. It gave a satisfying squeak as he pushed it, and a blast of cold air hit him.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. In front of him was a rough wooden railing. He walked up to it and instantly saw why. Below him, umpteen subterranean floors dropped away into darkness, each bordered by a similar rail that followed a spiral pattern around the endless drop. Each floor seemed to be full to the brim with enormous barrels, stacked side by side, presumably filled with wine.
Marrok jumped back as a very odd looking man with a very bushy beard, bulging eyes, and a balding pate popped his head over the railing and said, ‘Hello,’ rather loudly. Despite his advanced age, he swung his legs over the rail as lithely as any younger man and landed next to Marrok, whose heart still pounded.
‘Ignatius Rindwold, at your service,’ said the elderly man, and grabbed Marrok’s hand and then pumped it up and down vigorously.
‘Marrok—’
‘Wulf, yes, yes, I know of you. Welcome, dear boy, to the winery.’
Marrok’s interest had been seized by the sheer size of the winery, and he could not resist the obvious question. ‘How much wine do you actually need?’
Ignatius laughed loudly. ‘Actually very little, we mainly trade our wine. Though I fear you didn’t come here to ask about wine, more’s the pity.’
Marrok nodded. ‘I was told you might know where my brother is.’
‘Coinin? Yes, he is in the infirmary; they took him there right after he returned to us.’
‘So he’s well?’
‘I don’t have an answer for you; there are some things I am not privy to.’ Ignatius sounded apologetic.
Marrok’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Where’s the infirmary?’ he asked. ‘In fact, what is an infirmary?’
‘Ah now, that is something I can tell you. The infirmary, which is where sick people go to get well, is beneath the Great Hall. They moved it there a number of years ago after the old one was lost.’
‘Lost?’ Marrok asked, confused.
‘Oh yes, caused quite a stir, let me say. Matron Truelove was the culprit; she had mixed chemicals for a new potion she thought would grow limbs back after they’ve left the body in a nasty accident, you understand. Anyway, she fell asleep, and the next minute there was a huge bang, and the whole infirmary floated three thousand spans above ground. We’re still waiting for it to come d
own, but I don’t suppose it will. Matron Truelove’s potions are pretty strong.’ Ignatius sighed. ‘She was a lovely girl, too.’
‘You mean to tell me that there’s a building floating up in the sky somewhere?’ Marrok asked incredulously.
‘Yes, the whole kit and caboodle. The entire east side of the temple had to be rebuilt after that, of course.’ Ignatius seemed to enjoy his tale. ‘And they do say that sky pirates from the New World take their injured to the sky infirmary. More convenient for them, you see? They don’t have to land. I had thought Truelove would hitch a lift with the pirates and come home, though I suppose she is shamed.’
Marrok nodded. Sky pirates, a floating building, and eccentric winemakers. He had begun to think the world was mad.
‘I’ll just be going then,’ said Marrok as he backed away, his fingers searching for the door handle.
‘Nonsense, dear boy.’ Ignatius sported a wide smile that made his eyes bulge, even more, making him appear even more unhinged. He put an arm around Marrok and steered him to the doorway. ‘I shall show you the way.’
Ignatius escorted Marrok into the bright sunlight and waved to Cooper as they passed, who nodded back, and then promptly howled in pain as a hammer struck his thumb.
‘Don’t mind him, he is always doing that. His eyesight isn’t what it used to be.’
‘Perhaps he needs a change of job,’ Marrok suggested.
‘That’d kill him, that would. He is happy enough.’
As they walked, Marrok got the sense that Ignatius itched to ask him something, and after a few minutes, the man’s fidgets irritated him.
‘Why don’t you ask what you want to ask me?’ said Marrok finally.
The sheer delight on Ignatius’s face was visible; it was evident that he was excited. ‘Is it true you are the last descendants of Soliath Wulf, you and your brother?’
There it was, the same question everyone at the temple desired an answer to. The simple fact was that he did not have a clue. He knew he had been brought to the temple for a reason, and maybe this was the reason, to answer the question that burned on everyone’s lips. He remembered Curator Menin mention a Soliath Wulf. To think that he was related to the old fossil seemed ludicrous. Sure, they shared the same name, but that was hardly proof.
‘I don’t know,’ Marrok said quite directly.
Ignatius’s face dropped at this. ‘Oh.’
‘I’m not saying I’m not, I mean I could be. Coinin may know,’ said Marrok quickly.
Ignatius seemed to perk up at this news. ‘Perhaps it is fate, then, that we go to see Coinin.’
Marrok wished the earth would swallow him up. To have people fawn after him made him embarrassed, and a little annoyed. Perhaps this man would disappear after he had spoken with his brother.
‘Nearly there, Marrok,’ said Ignatius cheerfully. ‘We just need to go down here.’
The old man had stopped outside a cellar entrance cut into the grass on the left-hand side of the temple. Mossy steps led down to an equally moss-covered door; a small covered lantern hung above the entrance to light the way.
‘After you,’ Ignatius said.
Marrok shrugged and descended the steps to the cellar, opened the door and walked inside. The space below the temple was not as pristine as that above ground. The floor and walls were damp, and it was cold here. A corridor headed off into the distance, and the only light came from a series of torches, spaced at regular intervals. They hung from the wall and pooled circles of warm light that guided the way through the coldness of the cellar.
‘It’s not as nice here under the temple, is it?’ Marrok said.
‘The rest of the cellar is dry, but for some reason, the corridor remains damp. We haven’t yet determined why. The infirmary is this way; come.’
Ignatius led Marrok to the very end of the corridor, and they passed scores of rooms that led off, left and right. The torches warmed his face in the cold hallway as he walked by each one.
Ignatius stopped abruptly before a solid door at the end of the hall and swung it open. Marrok squinted as a brighter light from the room beyond spilt into the corridor, and banished the shadows.
They stepped inside and allowed a moment for their eyes to adjust to the new light level.
The room, besides being brightly lit, was warm and very long. Whitewashed walls held vivid depictions of healers who offered medical aid, and this included some not-so-pleasant surgical procedures. Some of the illustrations peeled in places. Marrok assumed the damp air was not good for them.
The sides of the room were lined with beds that appeared comfortable, each covered with crisp, clean linen. Around each bed, four posts held curtains that could be drawn for privacy, and every bed looked to have an occupant, around whom nurses flocked and tended to various wounds.
Down a central aisle, a long low table ran, under which hundreds of drawers spanned the length either side.
A stern-faced woman dressed in a white smock with a pinafore and a fiercely angular head covering marched up to Marrok and Ignatius. ‘Welcome to the infirmary. As you can see, we are very busy. Are you hurt?’
Marrok checked himself for wounds, and apart from the odd scrape or light cut, he was otherwise free from injury. ‘No, not really,’ he replied.
The stern woman looked as fierce as her hat. ‘Then why do you waste my time? Some sick people need my help. Now please leave.’
‘Matron, this is Marrok Wulf. He is here to see his brother, Coinin,’ said Ignatius.
The woman was suddenly all smiles. ‘I’m sorry for my rudeness, we are quite busy. My name is Didendra Rod’lin; I am matron of the infirmary. Please let me show you to your brother.’
Finally! Marrok thought.
There was quite a number of injured here. Several rows down she stopped outside a curtained bed, the colourful cloth draped heavily, slightly bowing the frame upon which it rested. The curtain was so long it trailed on the floor, and the material fluttered as if in a breeze.
‘Here we are. Now I must warn you that there has been a complication.’
‘Complication?’ Marrok asked with a frown. ‘Let me see.’ He pushed forward in an attempt to get to Coinin, however, was thwarted by the matron, who gripped his shoulders.
‘Your brother has not returned from his, if I’m the only one to say it, foolish mind swap, completely intact.’ The Matron sighed. ‘He is not responsive, and although he is not dead, he is not awake either.’
‘Will he die?’ Marrok asked, and his heart thumped hard. Coinin was his only family; he did not count Draken as kin.
‘I don’t believe so; it’s almost as if he’s taking a very deep sleep. My only hope is that we can revive him.’
‘Can I see him now?’
‘Of course.’ The matron smiled at him and indicated that he should enter the curtained space.
Half a dozen individuals of dwarven appearance surrounded the bed, puzzling over Coinin’s condition with excited chatter. They were dressed in blue smocks much too big for them and were in the process of examining Coinin under the direction of the smallest of the group. He held a thick parchment and ordered the others to check this and that. He had upon his head a droopy cloth cap, similar in appearance to a nightcap, and his blue robe appeared to be stained with blood. His long hooked nose held a pair of gold-rimmed pinz nez, the lenses of which magnified his eyes to unimaginable proportions. He sucked on a long, thin tobacco pipe that he waved frantically as he gave instructions. His voice was thin and reedy, with an impatient air about it.
‘No, no, it goes in his ear, you fool,’ the dwarf yelled in a high-pitched voice. He grabbed a long trumpet-shaped object from one of his companions and held it aloft. ‘This is not a toy, it is a delicate instrument. Let me demonstrate.’
The dwarf walked to the head of the bed, and pushed his colleagues aside, and then clambered aboard a set of steps. He then promptly stuck the trumpet, thin end first, into Coinin’s ear.
‘Boy, can you hear me? Wa
ke up!’ the dwarf shouted into the thick end of the trumpet.
Marrok had seen enough; he marched up to the dwarf and picked him up with one hand.
‘What are you doing? Put me down this instant!’ the dwarf cried, outraged.
‘What am I doing? I should ask you the same. What are you doing to my brother?’ Marrok demanded of the dwarf, who dangled in front of his face.
‘Marrok, no!’ Matron Rod’lin gasped, her face aghast. ‘This is Doctor Zarth, our resident healer. He is trying to help your brother.’
‘You had better put me down, young man or I will be forced to use violence,’ Doctor Zarth yelled, his face red from the effort to release himself from Marrok’s grip. To emphasise his point, he rapped Marrok on the forehead with the thick end of the trumpet, to no effect.
Marrok snorted, and set the dwarf down without a word. He was more concerned with Coinin, who lay silent and peaceful.
‘Please leave us,’ Marrok said quietly.
‘But I have so many more tests to perform. My students may never have the same opportunity to learn from such a case again,’ Doctor Zarth objected.
‘I think, good Doctor, that your tests will have to wait,’ said Ignatius with a kindly smile as he gently pushed Zarth out of the cubicle, much to the dwarf’s annoyance.
Matron Rod’lin shooed the doctor’s students from Marrok’s presence and closed the curtain behind her.
Marrok looked at his brother, ignoring the complaints from Zarth and the efforts of the others to silence him that penetrated the curtained cubicle. He took Coinin’s hand and held it tight, in the hope he could squeeze life back into it. The hand was warm at least, so he knew his brother was not dead.
‘Where are you, brother?’ Marrok pleaded the knowledge that he had failed to protect him consuming him with guilt. ‘What can I do to make this right?’
THE BLACK TOWER
The black and emerald creature beat its thunderous wings, sending shocks of air at its captives below.
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 13