The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection

by Harrison Davies

  Jericho sensed the arrival of the dragon was not a coincidence. He had no chance of escape. Even if he managed to release the dragon’s grip, the fall would kill him.

  Although undignified, the ride was not uncomfortable; the huge claws provided a surprisingly soft enclosure. This creature, he knew, had guarded Eraywen, and undoubtedly belonged to a dark order of witches and wizards.

  They travelled South-West, according to the position of the sinking sun, until Rosthagaar lay far behind. He craned his neck and was just able to see the island Sanctuary disappear, and this filled him with a sense of dread. No good would come of this new adventure, he was sure.

  The dragon journeyed through the night; the beat of its wings was hypnotic. Jericho dozed during the flight, unable to fully sleep due to the cold. He woke instantly as the animal changed elevation. He was forced to squint as the morning sun’s first rays peeked over the distant horizon. The endless ocean swept below him. In the distance, a small speck of land grew larger with every wing beat.

  He was alert immediately, his heart rate elevated, ready to fight or take flight at a moment’s notice. Eraywen should have revived by now, and it intrigued him that she had not.

  ‘Eraywen,’ he called. ‘Eraywen!’

  She stirred, and moaned slightly. Her eyes blinked a few times before she opened them fully. It took a few moments for her to focus and she looked down, and then up at the dragon. Her scream was deafeningly loud. The dragon craned its neck to look at her, snorted a hot waft of air, and then continued its journey.

  ‘We’re going to die!’ Eraywen screamed.

  ‘No, we are not!’ Jericho yelled. ‘Now calm down!’

  Eraywen sobbed quietly to herself. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Do you not remember? You got us into this mess.’

  ‘I don’t know what you are talking about. The last thing I remember is—’ Eraywen paused and screwed up her eyes in concentration. ‘I remember seeing you off to battle, and then I woke up here. He’s going to eat us, isn’t he?’

  ‘No, Eraywen, he’s not going to eat us,’ said Jericho through gritted teeth.

  ‘I’m scared,’ Eraywen wailed.

  ‘I know,’ said Jericho more softly. ‘I am too.’

  Jericho thought for a few moments. Something about her was wrong; he just couldn’t put his finger on it immediately. It was only after a hundred or so of the rhythmic wing beats that it hit him.

  ‘Eraywen, where’s your talisman?’ he asked.

  ‘What talisman?’

  ‘The silver butterfly talisman you wore around your neck last night.’

  ‘I don’t possess such a thing,’ Eraywen said, giving Jericho an odd look.

  Jericho puzzled over this new information. Was the talisman cursed, and had it controlled her actions? He had heard of such items before, and they took powerful magic to create. He hoped upon hope that this would be the reason for his wife’s treachery.

  ‘Eraywen, this is important. Do you remember ever holding the silver butterfly necklace? Perhaps someone handed it to you?

  She thought long and hard, and it was minutes before she replied. ‘I think I do remember something. After we had said goodbye this morning, I collided with a man who wore a hood over his face. He dropped a few items, and I helped him pick these up. I’m not certain, but I do think I saw a flash of silver just before I woke up here.’

  Jericho felt a tremendous sense of relief at this news. ‘That was no accident. I think you were cursed by that talisman, and that man did this to you on purpose.’

  ‘Cursed?’

  ‘I feel you were bewitched by this talisman to do that man’s bidding. The moment you touched it your thoughts and actions became that of someone else. Did you get a good look at this man?’

  Eraywen had no time to reply as the dragon took a deep dive. She screamed as a small island rushed up to meet them, as did the top of a very tall tower.

  The dragon reared and slowed. Its wings beat slower and reversed as it hovered over the ramparts. The creature then released its grip on the captives. Jericho and Eraywen dropped several feet to the hard stone floor, and immediately three hooded figures approached and held outstretched arms. They did not, however, offer assistance to the couple. They each brandished wands.

  Jericho rose slowly and stiffly. He and Eraywen had been lucky not to have been injured in the fall. He turned and helped his wife to her feet, and then stepped defensively in front of her.

  A cruel-faced man who wore a blue tunic and black robes stepped forward. His dark hair flicked about his face as a result of the winds circling the top of the tower. A scar that appeared to be a recent addition to his features ran the length of his face to his neck.

  ‘Welcome. I am Le’roth. Please do not attempt to use magic to escape,’ he said. ‘You will find that your journey will end very quickly in a watery grave. You are beyond the limit at which the Destinaté spell can transport you, and there are no boats on this island before that thought enters your mind.’

  ‘Of that, I have no doubt,’ Jericho replied. ‘Why have we been brought here?’

  The captor prodded Jericho in the chest with his finger. ‘We will ask the questions. Follow me.’

  Although the man was pleasant in speech, Jericho perceived a ruthless streak in him and made a mental note to stay well clear. He quickly eyed the other guards and held Eraywen’s hand. He escorted her down a trapdoor set into the floor without argument.

  A cold stone spiral staircase led steeply downwards into the bowels of the tower.

  The party passed many drab wooden doors, from which a cacophony of noises disturbed the mind. Indistinct screams emanated from a room halfway down the tower and set Eraywen on edge. She looked at her husband, terrified, and grasped him tightly. The general placed an arm around his wife, hoping to comfort her.

  What little light drawn in through the slit windows diminished as they trod lower into the depths of the structure, the coldness in the air increasing. Now only torches lit the way at regular intervals with crazy shadows that bounced off the walls.

  Everywhere Jericho noticed that symbols of a dragon were embedded into the stonework of door frames and into the ironwork of fiery torches.

  Every now and then, the escorts roughly poked their captives in the back with a wand to serve as a reminder that they were still under guard, and it took all of Jericho’s restraint not to react.

  A short time later, the steps stopped, and a passageway opened out before them. The arched roof oozed dampness and echoed their footsteps as they walked its length.

  Jericho, ever observant, kept a mental note of their path, should the opportunity for escape arise. He pondered that they must be quite a distance under the seabed.

  It was darker here still, and the sounds of chains rattled and echoed. Screams of the unseen unnerved Eraywen and the general, their thoughts turning to what would become of them. The group approached a fork in the tunnel, and here several men sat on wooden crates in a pool of light. They appeared to be engrossed in a game that was a cross between chess and backgammon.

  The gamers stiffened as the small group approached, and when Le’roth stepped into the light, the seated guards visibly relaxed.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ said a gruff voice. ‘I thought it was the master.’

  Le’roth raised an eyebrow at the speaker. ‘Believe me, Nestis, if it were the master, you would be dead where you sit.’

  Nestis rose sharply as if to challenge Le’roth, and a fellow guard grabbed his arm and arrested his ascent.

  ‘You think I lie?’ Le’roth spat. ‘Our master does not suffer fools easily, and you are foolish if you think he does not know you do not guard your prisoners, and instead sit and play children’s games.’

  ‘From what I hear, Le’roth,’ Nestis sneered, ‘you too are fortunate to be alive, after your last failure. One of many, no doubt.’

  Le’roth laughed. ‘I see you are as hilarious as ever, Nestis. However, as you can see, I do
not have time for your games. Unlike you, I am on an errand for our master. Now, where would you like the prisoners kept?’

  ‘Well, let’s see who we have here.’ Nestis rose again and swaggered out of the light and into the gloom. He first grabbed Eraywen and then pulled her to him and reached around to grip her backside. She squealed, and he laughed.

  Jericho lost his composure and lunged for Nestis, except he was hindered as a wand was raised to his face in the blink of an eye, barely an inch from his nose.

  ‘Who do we have here so eager to pick a fight with me?’ Nestis chortled. He caught hold of Jericho by the hair and dragged him into the light where his smile faltered. ‘You? You die, now!’

  Nestis raised his wand once more and prepared to strike, to find it immediately blasted out of his hand to disappear into the darkness. He howled and rubbed his hand in pain.

  ‘Who dares—’

  ‘I dare.’ Le’roth stepped forward. ‘You will not harm my prisoner. That is my job, should it come to it.’

  Nestis spat on the ground. ‘I will not kill your prisoner.’ He swung quickly to face Jericho and struck him in the face. ‘But there’s no saying I can’t rough him up a bit. That, general, was for the squadron of men you slaughtered at Windelrow.’

  Jericho fell to his knees and rubbed his sore jaw. ‘The battle of Windelrow, yes, I remember it well. It’s funny how you escaped certain death. Perhaps you were the one that ran tail between his legs, and left your men without a captain.’

  ‘Lies!’ Nestis thundered and aimed a kick at Jericho’s face.

  Le’roth slammed Nestis hard into the rock wall of the tunnel, a forearm resting heavily on his breastbone. ‘Calm yourself,’ Le’roth growled. ‘Now, where do I put the prisoners? Be warned, I will not ask again.’

  Nestis avoided his gaze. ‘Third cell on the right.’ He pointed to his left down a dark intersection of the tunnel.

  ‘There now, that was not so difficult, was it?’ Le’roth patted Nestis on the cheek and then gripped it tightly. ‘Next time, do not keep me waiting.’

  Le’roth let him go and turned to his prisoners; he hauled Jericho to his feet and pushed him forward into the gloom, followed closely by Eraywen.

  ‘A fine lot of help you were.’ Nestis winced in pain as he returned and sat with his fellow guards at their temporary games table.

  ‘We’re not picking any fights with him,’ a young guard piped up.

  ‘Cowards,’ Nestis hissed.

  ‘The way we hear it, you’re the coward,’ a gravelly voice chimed in.

  Everyone burst into fits of laughter to Nestis’s chagrin. He cuffed the young guard around the head, and that made everyone laugh that much harder.

  ❖

  The morning that followed brought with it no relief from the cold or bitter dampness that Jericho and Eraywen had endured overnight in their cell. It was nothing more than a rock cave with a solid wooden door on one wall. A single torch had burnt low during the night and a pile of rags on which to sleep stank of the hundreds of previous occupants.

  The last tenant had busily engraved a monologue along one wall in a strange language neither Jericho nor Eraywen understood. Jericho looked dishevelled and had spent time checking the walls and door for a means of escape, to no avail. The rest of the night he had watched his wife sleep while he formulated plan after plan for escape, each of which he discarded. Every scenario failed because it meant he had to take his wife with him and she would slow him down. He could never bring himself to leave her behind, only to rescue her later. He needed a plan that would allow his wife safe passage alongside him. For now, though, the ideal solution eluded him.

  Chains and bolts rattled on the far side of the cell door. A peephole opened and then shut abruptly with a clang. The heavy wooden door creaked open on rusted iron hinges and revealed Nestis standing alone with a wand in hand.

  ‘Good morning, I trust you slept well?’ Nestis sniggered. ‘No? Oh well, never mind. I am sure once my master is finished with you, you’ll welcome a long deep sleep.’

  Jericho ignored Nestis’s taunts. Instead, he turned to Eraywen and shook her awake, and supported her as she stiffly got to her feet.

  ‘Nothing to say?’ Nestis asked. ‘You will have. Now, move it,’ he ordered.

  Jericho linked arms with Eraywen and led her out of the cell at Nestis’s command, into an equally dank tunnel system.

  ‘Where are you taking us?’ Jericho demanded, aware of the wand pointed at him, and curious as to why Nestis was alone.

  ‘To see my master, of course.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Jericho asked, and half expected a blow to the head.

  ‘You know, you ask far too many questions. He is Lord and Master of all of this,’ said Nestis with a grand gesture.

  ‘He must be so proud to own such an endearing home,’ Jericho snorted.

  Nestis looked affronted. ‘This is merely the dungeon, you fool. Now, shut up and move.’

  As Nestis escorted them through the complex of tunnels, Jericho kept a close eye on security, and upon first inspection, it appeared to be light. This was an advantage; however, he of all people knew that appearances were often deceptive.

  They had, Jericho noted, followed a tunnel with a steady incline, and after a quick glance over his shoulder, his suspicions were proved correct. Eraywen had become quite puffed; she was not as fit as her husband, and gratefully accepted help partway up the tunnel.

  Their journey ended in a dead end, and both Eraywen and Jericho turned to Nestis, confused.

  ‘Here we are,’ Nestis announced.

  Jericho raised an eyebrow at him, and then looked at Eraywen and shrugged.

  ‘You doubt me?’

  ‘Well, the tunnel has ended,’ said Eraywen quietly from behind her husband.

  ‘Pretty lady, get ready for a surprise,’ said Nestis with glee. He shoved Jericho aside and pushed Eraywen roughly towards the rock wall of the tunnel. However, before she hit, she vanished in a bright white flash.

  ‘A simple portal,’ said Nestis smugly and turned back to Jericho.

  Jericho grabbed Nestis’s wand arm and twisted it behind his back. The man gave a howl of pain that was immediately silenced as Jericho brought his forearm around the man’s neck and squeezed tightly.

  ‘How do I get off this island?’ he hissed.

  With a barely noticeable motion, Nestis shook his head.

  ‘Pity, I would have spared your life.’

  Nestis struggled and then stiffened as Jericho wrenched his captive’s arm further up his back.

  There was a crack as his shoulder socket dislocated and he gave a yell. Jericho aimed the captive’s wand at his head and uttered the death curse. ‘Muerto.’

  Nestis collapsed. Jericho allowed the man to fall to the ground and then bent and retrieved the wand from the dead man’s hand.

  ‘Now who is the fool?’ Jericho grunted, and stepped into the portal stream, just inches from the wall.

  He felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs, and a giant weight threatened to crush his skull for the few moments that he was in the portal. This was poor magic, apprentice level at best. Transportation in this manner should have felt as if his whole body was tingling with warmth.

  It was a relief to reappear at the other side of the portal, and he collapsed on the floor.

  Eraywen rushed to his side and helped her husband stand. ‘Where’s that awful man?’

  ‘Dead,’ Jericho replied without remorse. ‘Which is what will happen to us if we are caught here without a guard.’

  ‘What do we do?’ Eraywen cried.

  ‘Get out of here without being seen. That’s the easy part, though I don’t suppose we will be able to use magic to port home.’ Jericho checked about him for danger.

  ‘They must get off the island somehow, these people.’

  ‘True, and I guess we’ll find out how soon enough.’ Jericho smiled reassuringly. ‘Let’s move before they discover Nestis’s bo
dy. Stay behind me, and keep quiet. If I say run, you run, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’ Eraywen nodded.

  Jericho crept forward with Eraywen so close behind that he could feel her hot breath on his neck.

  The other side of the portal had brought them to a world far removed from the dark, damp dungeon. They were still in a tunnel, though this one was exposed to the outside world, and this section ended with a jagged hole in its roof. At some stage, a cave-in had occurred, and a breeze from the sea wafted towards them, salty and fresh. A shaft of sunlight cast a beam through the hole in the tunnel wall and illuminated what appeared to be a pile of rags thrown against the rock wall.

  Jericho and Eraywen moved forward carefully, and after a few steps, Jericho froze. He turned to his wife and raised a finger to his lips.

  He crept forward again and brandished his newly acquired wand. He did not need it to perform magic; he could use unspoken magic should he desire, still it served as a deterrent.

  Jericho stepped up to the pile of rags and knelt quietly. He prodded at them with the wand.

  ‘Just another five minutes,’ a sleepy voice complained from the pile.

  ‘If I were you I would get up, and be pretty quick about it too,’ said Jericho loudly, as if he had ordered one of his troops.

  The rags moved as swift as lightning. So did Jericho. His hand shot out to grab the sleeper by the throat, and Jericho shoved him against the rock wall.

  ‘Oh my, you’re a prisoner,’ croaked the man, his eyes wide in terror.

  ‘Then you know what I am capable of. One false move,’ Jericho squeezed the man’s throat harder, ‘and it will be your last.’

  Jericho wrinkled his nose in disgust as a waft of urine invaded his senses. He looked down at the poorly dressed man. He was shorter than average, wiry and bald, wearing a ripped and charred cloak that appeared to be made of sackcloth. His skin was as rough as leather and looked scorched in places, especially the arms.

  Jericho’s sense of smell had worked well. A pool of urine had begun to puddle at the man’s sandals. He released his grip slightly and spoke more softly. ‘Who are you?’