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

by Harrison Davies

  ‘May I present myself? The name is Mort.’ He held out a hand to shake, but Coinin stood fast.

  The figure rolled his eyes and spoke with an altogether more pleasant voice. Gone was the rasp. ‘It is simple; each of us has a dark side, and you’ve seen that side of me, my work persona, or Death. Mort is the face my wife sees every evening.’

  ‘Death has a wife? I mean, you are still Death even now?’ Coinin asked.

  ‘For millennia now, yes. Between you and me, my job is monotonous. I need a change of profession, and I think that is where you could come in handy.’ Mort put a hand on Coinin’s shoulder and then led him aside.

  Coinin instantly felt chilled to the bone at Mort’s touch and wished he would remove the hand. He did not like where this encounter was headed.

  ‘For untold years I’ve watched my brothers and sisters reap the benefits of being gods to the people. Adoration, love, and worship is bestowed upon them, and what do I get? I am screamed at by terrified people, who see me as nothing more than a harbinger of death. I am despised, hated, and reviled. I am far more than what you see. I used to paint and throw pots, and play a merry tune upon the lute, would you believe? My brothers, with the help of my sister and me, created man and all the other creatures of Er’ath thousands of years ago. Then the time came to apportion responsibilities, such as who controls war, love, and the arts. One night, my elder brother Rindor persuaded me into playing a game of chance, the loser of which would spend eternity collecting the dead. It was a role none of us wished.’

  ‘You obviously lost,’ Coinin observed dryly.

  ‘Not by any fair means, I assure you. He wanted to be king of the gods and therefore stacked the deck in his favour.’ Mort shook his head.

  ‘How do you know he cheated?’ Coinin asked. ‘He might just be an excellent player.’

  ‘If that were true, I would never have beaten him at every card game we ever played up until then,’ Mort snapped. ‘Besides, several hundred years ago my sister Taminoth let slip that Rindor had cheated.’ Mort scowled.

  ‘If you’re Rindor’s brother, then that makes you a god. So why have I never heard of you?’ Coinin asked.

  ‘I am there, as Mort, in the ancient texts, though sadly I was written out of the scrolls a thousand years ago by some eager young priest keen to keep the idea from the people that the gods were somehow responsible for death. I mean, who would want to worship a being whose brother marked their family members for death, and then collected their souls?’

  ‘You have a point there,’ Coinin agreed.

  ‘That is why, thinking about it, I am glad you are here. I need you to do a little something for me.’

  ‘Is this to do with my destiny?’

  ‘In a way, yes, it is. You already know you will become Curator of The Brotherhood of The Wulf, and with it hold the keys to the vaults of the Golden Temple. Within, securely locked away, you will find proof that what I say is true. I ask only one thing: that you restore my name to its rightful place.’ Mort looked into the distance, a faraway expression on his face.

  ‘Why can’t you do this yourself?’

  ‘I may be a god, but even with that comes limitations. I cannot manipulate objects in the same manner as you do.’

  ‘No, you only manipulate people into doing your bidding.’ Ædelmær scowled at them.

  Mort, swift of motion, caught Ædelmær by the throat and squeezed.

  ‘You were saying?’ Mort demanded.

  ‘Stop! What are you doing?’ Coinin pleaded.

  ‘This insolent soul dares to insult me,’ Mort spat.

  ‘How can it be an insult, when the facts speak for themselves?’ said Godwen. ‘Go on, Death; tell him. I urge you to tell my son the truth.’

  Mort looked even more furious, and let go of Ædelmær, who dropped silently and clutched at his throat. He turned to Coinin, who was sickened to see the skin on Mort’s face peel away to reveal muscle and sinew, intertwined with maggots that ate their way through the flesh.

  ‘You see, Coinin, he cannot keep up the pretence,’ said Godwen. ‘Even his face is something evil.’

  ‘Silence, woman!’ Mort hissed.

  Godwen continued resolutely. ‘He has a two-part plan. He needs you to restore his name into the Scroll of Life, so that he may rise from this hell and raise an army in his quest to overthrow his brother.’

  The skin on Mort’s face was all but gone, leaving a pale skull that glistened in the light. ‘I said silence, wench!’ He struck Godwen with such force that she was lifted off her feet and fell several feet away.

  ‘No!’ Coinin screamed and ran to his mother, who lay and cradled her jaw.

  ‘He lied to you; he is trapped here eternally as punishment from his brother, for attempting to overthrow the High King millennia ago. By decree of the gods, he is to remain here forever.’ Godwen winced in pain. ‘All Curators are forbidden to speak of him or restore him to the Scroll of Life. To do so could be the undoing of the world. You must hold fast to that decree and defy Death.’

  ‘Who says he wouldn’t do a better job at ruling than the other three?’

  ‘He is pure evil. His bloodthirsty armies would march over the lands of Er’ath and consume all life that is good, and then they would mount an attack on the gods and imprison them in the same manner as he, most likely,’ said Ædelmær.

  ‘What have the gods ever done for me?’ Coinin became angry. ‘They took you from me, and all I’ve seen is death and destruction this past day or so, with more to come no doubt.’

  ‘You are wrong Coinin, the gods never took us from you.’ Godwen pointed to Death. ‘He did. Everyone dies, but he enjoys the taking of life. Our deaths have been part of his grand scheme since your birth.’

  ‘He killed you so that he could one day ask me to do his bidding?’ Coinin looked at Death with revulsion.

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘If I refuse to become Curator, Death doesn’t get his day,’ said Coinin.

  ‘You cannot anger the gods in that manner; you must follow your destiny. Your life depends on it,’ said Godwen quietly.

  ‘Why is it so important that I do this?’ Coinin demanded through gritted teeth.

  ‘If you do not do this, another may come to take your place who is weak-willed and will restore Mort’s name in the scroll. You are a good man. Will you see mankind destroyed, and watch innocent people die?’

  Before Coinin could reply, Death wrenched him by the shoulder.

  ‘Enough of this! In my domain, your parents still feel pain, boy. Do as I ask, or I will make them suffer for eternity.’

  ‘Do not listen to him. Your mother and I are not what matters; think of Marrok, what pain he would endure should this monster win,’ Ædelmær pleaded.

  ‘You matter to me,’ said Coinin, pained by his father’s words.

  ‘Coinin Wulf! Stop being a child. There is more at stake here than us. Go now,’ Godwen ordered.

  ‘Yes, go now. But know this, Coinin Wulf, I will make you suffer if you defy me,’ said Death menacingly.

  Coinin raised his head and faced the devilish creature that circled him slowly. ‘You already have, the moment you took away my family. No deal!’

  Death rose to his full height and roared at the young man who defied him. He lunged at Coinin and grasped him in his skeletal hands. Death grew steadily taller by the moment. He brought the terrified young man close to his faceless skull.

  ‘Then so be it. I will relish in your pain. Now begone!’ Death spat at him.

  Death raised Coinin high above his head and slammed him hard to the ground. Instead of colliding with a solid object, however, he passed through the floor as if it were a cloud.

  He emerged from Death’s realm and saw the circle of Er’ath below him. He hurtled towards the planet at tremendous speed. The continents visible below the cloud cover shone green like emeralds. A landmass to the North was visible and glittered white with snow. There was no sound until he had passed through the upper
atmosphere, and the rush of wind greeted him deafeningly. He was already panicked, though now he reached a new height of fear as the ground rushed up to meet him.

  He saw Rosthagaar below him with its vast city and a flash of the village of Arrom that appeared desolate.

  But all too quickly the golden temple came into view, atop its volcano. He instinctively covered his eyes when the temple’s tower was just feet from him. He expected a quick, grisly death, yet only a minor jolt met his senses.

  He was confused momentarily, and then he opened his eyes. Everything blurred, and he blinked away tears and a crust that had formed around the eyelids. He grimaced at a headache like no other he had experienced. It drummed away at the base of his skull, and slowly spread to his forehead.

  ‘Coinin,’ said a distant voice. ‘You’re awake.’

  Coinin’s senses slowly returned, and he now recognised the voice of his brother, although everything appeared out of focus, and that included a shape on his right, which he took to be Marrok.

  ‘Of course, I’m awake. I haven’t been gone that long.

  ‘What do you mean? You were unconscious for three weeks.’

  ‘You’re mistaken; I’ve been gone an hour at most.’

  ‘If only that were true, I wouldn’t have spent three weeks sitting tending to you while you had a nice little nap,’ Marrok snapped.

  Coinin contemplated this and laid his head back down on his pillow. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Time must work differently in Death’s realm. Mere moments there must pass as days here on Er’ath, Coinin thought.

  ‘I saw Mother and Father,’ Coinin announced.

  ‘You mean you dreamt about them?’

  ‘No, I mean I met them. I wasn’t sleeping, I went someplace else.’

  ‘What do you mean someplace else?’

  Coinin recounted his story of the past hour, or three weeks, depending on whom you asked, and went on to describe the realm of Death, the meeting with their parents, and the warnings he had received.

  All the while Marrok sat and listened impassively. Not once did he interrupt Coinin’s flow, until he had finished, at which point he turned aside from his brother and gave way to grief.

  Coinin gave Marrok the freedom to mourn; he knew how deeply the deaths of their parents had upset him, and how he needed time to come to terms with that fact that Coinin, not he, had seen them. He was sure if Marrok had met them, that this would have gone a long way to fortifying him.

  Marrok dried his eyes and turned back to Coinin, full of questions about their parents and his encounter with Death.

  ‘We’re in trouble, and we’ve yet one more enemy. Death.’ Marrok sighed and turned away.

  ‘We’re not in any more trouble than usual,’ Coinin quipped.

  Marrok rounded on his brother angrily. ‘Oh, so you think this is funny, do you? You’ve angered a god, and now we are in grave danger.’

  ‘You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you? Whether or not I did what Death asked of me, we were always going to be in danger.’

  ‘How so?’ Marrok glared.

  ‘I told you, if I put his name in the Scroll of Life, he will have the power to destroy the peoples of Er’ath entirely. Either way, we are marked men. At least this way the danger is limited to you and me.’

  ‘I’m glad to see that you have made that decision for me,’ said Marrok testily.

  ‘You think I made the decision lightly?’

  ‘I just don’t know. What right do you have to make decisions about my life?’

  ‘I have no right, I know, but would the deaths of countless people be something your conscience would allow?’

  Marrok turned away and lowered his head; his knuckles gripped the bed in frustration.

  Coinin reached out to his brother and grasped his shoulder. ‘Forgive me, brother. If the truth be told, I very nearly sided with him.’

  ‘What stopped you?’ Marrok asked quietly. His head tilted towards Coinin almost imperceptibly.

  ‘Death took our parents. What kind of man would I be to allow Death to rip apart other families? I couldn’t live with that knowledge.’

  ‘People die all the time, families lose loved ones daily.’

  ‘Not on the magnitude Death was exploring.’

  Marrok said nothing and the minutes passed in silence until he whirled around and clapped his hands together.

  ‘Well, I guess there’s nothing for it. We’ll just have to be ready should he show his ugly face around these parts.’ Marrok grinned broadly.

  Coinin was baffled. ‘Just a few minutes ago you were angry. What’s changed?’

  ‘You know I can’t miss an opportunity for a good fight. And the chance to send Death a clear message, that he better not mess with the Wulf brothers, is too good to miss.’

  Coinin sat up and was glad to see his brother smile happily at the thought of sending Death a message. ‘I don’t want to break the mood, but it probably won’t be Death that pays us a visit, more likely an assassin or two he’s hired to kill us.’

  ‘It’s all the same to me, brother. Let him send whomever he likes. I’ll happily show them the error of their ways.’

  The curtain that surrounded the bed swished open, and Curator Menin stood there with a smile on her face.

  ‘It’s about time you joined the land of the living. This calls for a celebration, and an excuse to open a bottle or two of Master Ignatius’s best wine.’ Menin chuckled.

  ‘There’s really no need,’ Coinin objected.

  ‘Coinin, you’ve had us all worried, and I think we all need a cause to celebrate now that you’re back with us.’

  Matron Rod’lin sidled up to Menin and leant in close. ‘Excuse me, but there’ll be no festivities until I’ve thoroughly checked my patient.’

  Curator Menin bowed before the matron and then turned and winked to Coinin. ‘I bow to your authority, of course, matron. Nevertheless, please have Coinin up and about quick smart. There are those eager to thank our heroes.’ She smiled and nodded to Marrok, who visibly swelled with pride.

  Coinin spent the better part of the day subjected to prods and pokes by Doctor Zarth and his students until he felt the urge to scream.

  Marrok had excused himself to bathe and shave, and set about his task to remove three weeks of dirt and grime. He was surprised to find a new leather tunic laid across his bed upon finishing. He had to admit it, his had taken a good beating. He dried himself, and then dressed in his new garb, and immediately felt its quality. A true artisan had made this garment. The leather was thin, yet strong; perhaps lamb, since it flowed like water as he walked.

  Several hours later the night had drawn in and with it worshippers keen to join the celebrations arranged by Curator Menin. There were very many in attendance in the dining hall that buzzed with an air of excitement.

  The hall had been decked top to bottom with lavish decorations that hung from the ceiling and beams. The adornments glittered red and gold and cast pinpricks of light upon the guests below.

  Aside from an enormous banquet that boasted every delight imaginable, Master Ignatius had set up shop in the middle of the room and busily poured bottle after bottle of rich red wine for the revellers, and seemed to be jubilant to be doing so.

  By the time Coinin and Marrok had arrived at the festivities, the attendees were already quite merry.

  Coinin stopped at the entrance to the hall to enjoy the dancing from afar; he did not dance and was far too weak to partake.

  So many witches and wizards spun and whirled to the rhythmic music played by a small band of musicians on the podium that the sight of them was hypnotic. Every now and then a witch or wizard paused for breath, took a sip of wine, and was immediately refreshed.

  ‘The wine is Ignatius’s unique brew, guaranteed to give you a kick. Would you like some?’ Menin smiled and offered each a cup of burgundy liquid that seemed to dance with light within the small cup.

  ‘Thank you,�
� said Marrok, and took the cup and sipped its contents. A moment later, a smile spread across his face. ‘Good stuff.’

  Caught by the beat of the music, Marrok sauntered off into the crowd and left Coinin and Menin alone.

  ‘You know you don’t have to go to all this trouble,’ said Coinin, with what he hoped was not an ungrateful tone.

  ‘It’s a double celebration, the defeat of the enemy, and the return of a conquering hero.’ Menin smiled. ‘Please, enjoy yourself.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can.’

  Curator Menin looked at him with a raised eyebrow. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I think we need to talk.’

  Menin nodded, took Coinin by the arm, and led him away.

  Marrok, unaware of Coinin and Menin’s departure, was content to dance with a beautiful young woman by the name of Talina. He did not know if it was the wine or his own desire, but he knew somehow that someday he would marry this girl who gyrated so evocatively around him.

  ENLIGHTENMENT

  Curator Menin sat heavily in a comfortable leather armchair and gave a deep sigh. Her recently rebuilt office was shiny and new. However, she looked grave. Coinin had explained to her in graphic detail the events that surrounded Death, and his plans.

  ‘This is severe. I must speak with the Archmage immediately,’ Curator Menin decided, and then almost as an afterthought, ‘you must come too.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ Coinin asked.

  Menin appeared hesitant to tell him. However, he could see that almost immediately her mind was made up.

  ‘Once a year the Archmage must venture forth on a great pilgrimage. There he must seek council with the gods and pray for wisdom and guidance for thirty days,’ Menin replied.

  ‘Where is this place?’

  ‘That I cannot tell you; it is a secret passed down from Archmage to Archmage.’

  ‘You are not an Archmage,’ Coinin accused.

  ‘Indeed. It is true I am not sworn into office yet, but the intent is there.’ Menin winked. ‘Come now, hold my hand.’