‘There is another who is keen, very keen to speak with you. You will come with us, and I’m afraid it is a one-way trip for you. Sad too, because you are such a pretty boy.’ Kelley smiled with a mouth full of stained teeth.
‘If I refuse to go with you, what then?’ Marrok asked.
‘Then I shall kill each of the men here today, then their families and their friends and anyone else I come across,’ she replied.
Marrok believed her and turned to Jonjo. ‘It’ll be fine, I shall go with them. There are far more important things than I in this world,’ he said, briefly locking his eyes on the sword’s location. ‘Besides, I couldn’t live with myself knowing so many people died for me. Tell my brother that I love him.’
Jonjo nodded to him. ‘I’m sorry, Marrok, that I didn’t keep you safe.’
‘Don’t be,’ said Marrok with a reassuring smile, and then walked away.
Captain Kelley escorted Marrok silently to her cage and stepped inside with him. It was cramped in the interior as more bodies joined them and Marrok sensed the female pirate enjoyed the closeness, and this made him shudder.
They were winched aboard the pirate vessel, a large hulking mass of wood and iron. Above them, a vast leather bladder held the ship afloat, tied down by thick ropes.
The cage opened and callused hands roughly extracted Marrok from the cage and threw him hard to the wooden deck. The heavy weight of a body held him down as unseen hands bound him with rope.
‘Careful with him now, boys,’ said Kelley. ‘We don’t get paid if he’s damaged.’
Marrok breathed a sigh of relief. Pain in any form was unwelcome, and thankfully the mysterious personage he was destined to meet had set some constraints on his delivery.
Two foul smelling individuals manhandled him below decks, where the interior of the ship stank far worse. He was shackled to a beam, and one of his captors remained while the other left, chuckling to himself.
COININ’S WOE
Coinin had rested and gathered his strength, and now felt quite able to walk, although with a limp. The healer had worked his magic and repaired what damage he could. The rest would heal naturally.
He had taken to spending time in the small courtyard where he had previously discovered Aniol and Eliana arguing. He spent his time reading about his role and duties, all the time trying not to worry about Marrok. He would pray umpteen times a day to Rindor to keep his brother safe.
Archmage Menin had joined him to tell him that the raiding party had returned and would be with them shortly. She had left word that the troops should come directly here.
Coinin was on tenterhooks waiting for his brother to walk through the door to the courtyard, all smiles, only then would he be angry with him for leaving him to worry.
He heard them coming, clanking up the corridor to the courtyard, and he sat up straight and anxious.
General Jonjo was leading the small group of men as they filed into the courtyard. They looked terrible, and judging by their appearance had suffered a fight of some sort. They looked haggard and had not had time to wash properly.
Archmage Menin looked around the men and into the corridor searching for the other half of the unit.
‘General, where are the rest of you? Where are Marrok, Torith and the others?’
Jonjo hung his head and dropped to one knee. ‘I’m sorry, milady, General Wulf has been captured.’
‘What?’ Coinin took a sharp intake of breath, and immediately feared the worst. ‘Laliala, you promised me he’d be safe.’
He stepped forward to confront Jonjo and Menin clasped a hand around his arm to calm him.
‘Please, Coinin, wait till we hear what happened.’ She turned back to the general. ‘What did happen, Jonjo? You were tasked with keeping Marrok safe.’ Menin spoke with a hint of anguish, coupled with anger in her voice.
‘We lost Torith at the hands of King Curlicca, and then sky pirates ambushed us in Madorine. They cut down half of my men, and took Marrok,’ said Jonjo apologetically.
Menin closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, saddened by the news. ‘The sword, please tell me you have the sword,’ she dared hope.
Coinin looked at Menin in disbelief. She didn’t seem at all worried about Marrok, her only concern seemed to be for the sword, and that angered him.
‘Indeed, it is secure.’ Jonjo reached into his pack and withdrew it. Coinin recognised it as one matching Trenobin’s.
‘What about Marrok?’ Coinin interrupted. ‘We must help my brother.’ He had begun to panic. Aside from Draken, Marrok was the only family he had.
‘Coinin, we have no information to go on at the moment,’ said Menin pityingly. ‘We must question Jonjo and his men for more information before we can act. We will find him. Now please, let me see to this privately. I will seek you out soon, and furnish you with what I have learnt. But for now, please try to relax, we will get to the bottom of this.’
‘Why should I not be there as you question him?’
‘You are full of anger and bitterness and that will serve no-one right now,’ Menin replied sharply. ‘Now do as I ask.’
He helplessly watched Menin take General Jonjo by the arm and lead him away for questioning. He inwardly cursed the woman, and then immediately felt regret. He knew deep down she was not at fault; she had only done what was best for all, and the hope, even if it was a small hope, that Marrok was still alive, still remained.
He looked around, feeling lost. A wave of emotions washed over him of fear, loss, and worry. He limped away leaving the courtyard and headed out of the temple to a secluded portion of the gardens where he dropped to his knees and prayed to Rindor. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks.
He could not bear the thought of losing his brother; he needed that strong influence in his life, someone to turn to in times of need, and someone who would be there for him, who never demanded a thing in return.
After several minutes of silent, contemplative prayer and begging Rindor to keep his brother safe, he wiped his stinging eyes and lifted his head to the midday sky.
‘I’ll find you, Marrok, whatever it takes,’ he vowed, firm in the belief that his brother could somehow hear him.
He sat alone for the longest time after that, lost in thought, wondering what course his new life would now take.
THE END
BEGINNINGS
Summer had come and gone since the successful liberation of the first of the lost Swords of Cerathil from the Madorine King Curlicca. Now a harsh winter had set in, and this made life even more miserable. A dormant volcano that housed the golden temple to Rindor did nothing to hold back the snow, the heat of the magma confined to a lake far below the rock basin.
Coinin Wulf was thin and short, with blond hair that had darkened as he had aged, and hazel eyes that shone brightly with youth. Several months prior, he had partaken in an initiation ceremony that sealed his destiny as guardian of the sacred temple and had exercised his duties as Curator at The Brotherhood of The Wulf temple without his usual vigour for life. He had merely offered token service; his mind focused solely on his brother and his whereabouts. Even daily instruction in the magical arts by Archmage Menin held no appeal and felt more like chores to him.
Lack of news concerning the abduction of his brother Marrok by pirates had driven him to despair over the past several months. He had suffered a recurring dream for weeks that showed Marrok trapped in a dark confined cell, and this knotted his insides like an ever-present torment. Marrok’s clothes were dirty, and each time Coinin saw him, he appeared to be in prayer. If he indeed saw Marrok alive, then it was a blessing and gave him hope that he may yet find him, that is if Archmage Menin would consent to the search he so desperately longed to perform.
Where was his brother, and why were the gifts given to him by the gods unable to locate him? He had tried a dozen times without success to use the bond Lord Rindor had bestowed upon them, the unique connection between him and Marrok that enabled him to locate his sibli
ng wherever he may be in the land.
He had searched him out before in this manner, once as a child, and twice several months ago during and following an attack by giants and goblins on The Brotherhood’s temple.
His ability to focus his mind and search out Marrok seemed to be blocked by grief. Either that or his brother was so far away that he just could not be traced.
He had learnt, following a conversation with General Jonjo, that Marrok’s kidnappers had demanded that he accompany them to a location unknown, to speak with a mysterious entity. Jonjo found himself unable to supply an identity for that someone, and the only leads he had were the Captain’s name, Wilhelmina Kelley, and the pirate ship Blackheart, upon which Marrok had been taken.
Coinin did not now blame Jonjo for permitting his brother to be taken against his will, as he had initially. Jonjo had explained that his men were in danger and Marrok had been told that if he went quietly, then no one else needed to be hurt.
Coinin felt pride that Marrok had chosen the lives of others over himself. This was an unusual trait for his brother to display, though Coinin knew his sibling had already begun to change his character thanks to his renewed faith in the gods.
The day before, a celebration to honour Coinin’s eighteenth birthday had been held in the Great Hall. However, he had left early, unable to bring himself to enjoy the moment without Marrok present. He now sat on the edge of his bed, moping, when a knock at the door disturbed his peace.
‘Who is it?’ he asked.
A muffled reply prompted him to rise stiffly from the bed, storm to the door, and then wrench it open.
‘Yes!’
An elderly man on the other side of the door looked taken back, and Coinin returned a sheepish look at his rudeness.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have greeted you in that manner,’ Coinin apologised.
The gentleman was Prentis, the temple architect, and he smiled in a ‘think nothing of it’ manner. He was an elder with a very lined face and fingers calloused from years of chiselling marble into intricate structures.
‘Good day Curator Wulf. If I may, I have something to show you,’ said Prentis with a mysterious air. He bounced on the balls of his feet and appeared to be excited.
‘I don’t have time right now, Prentis.’ Coinin shrugged.
‘Archmage Menin has given me leave to show you something tremendous. Your studies will wait,’ Prentis smiled.
Coinin sighed and reached for his cloak. He donned it, closed the door to his chambers, and then locked it. ‘Lead on then friend,’ he gestured and nodded to his personal guard Aniol, who had waited patiently outside of his room since cockcrow that morning. She was the same height, if not slightly taller than Coinin now, and had filled out into a more feminine shape. Her former commander had been correct, and she had indeed grown into her armour and tunic. She wore her auburn hair longer, now that she guarded the Curator and was no longer tied to the parade ground for normal active service.
Prentis slowly led Coinin and Aniol out of the temple and into the bright sunshine of a fresh winter day. They squinted at the low sun and shielded their eyes. The sight before them radiated beauty and magnificence, and a pure white blanket of snow covered everything. Treetops that peeked over the top of a high wall that encircled the temple appeared weighed down and looked about ready to shed their heavy loads. Coinin had suffered the misfortune to venture under such a tree a week ago and had found himself covered head to foot in a thick layer of snow as the tree finally gave way to its weight.
Down the steps and along the main walkway from the temple he spotted a group of workers, wrapped up warm. Blue with cold, they stamped their feet or blew icy hands, yet greeted Coinin enthusiastically as he approached.
‘Here we are then,’ said Prentis, stopping opposite a covered statue that stood next to his father’s own.
At a nod from Prentis, several workers deftly removed the statue’s protective covering to reveal a bright marble effigy that gleamed in the winter sun. Prentis looked proudly at his creation and then turned to Coinin.
‘My greatest achievement.’ Prentis swung his arm to indicate the statue.
Coinin rounded Prentis and looked up at the visage of his brother Marrok. He shot a questioning look at the old architect.
‘It is in his honour,’ Prentis smiled happily.
Coinin stared blankly for a minute, and then turned without a word and headed back to the temple as fast as his limp would allow. Aniol shrugged to the old man and raced after her charge. Prentis looked crestfallen; he had expected Coinin to react quite differently to his creation.
Not a sound reached his ears in the Temple, each of its occupants busy with daily chores, or prayers. He marched straight to the Great Hall, bypassed several witches in the process of rearranging the furniture, and nodded to Zaruun, the Archmage’s personal guard, as ever on duty outside of her chambers. Zaruun opened the door to Archmage Menin’s suite and waited for Coinin to pass. He then closed the door to bar the way once more, while Aniol stood with the guard and waited.
Coinin took a deep breath and knocked at an inner door that led to Menin’s office. He could hear muffled voices coming from the other side, so he knocked again, and the voices silenced. He heard footsteps, and then a moment later the door opened, and Laliala Menin stood there with a frown on her face. She wore her finest robes, the ones she used for special occasions, and her hair that had begun to grey severely was hanging loosely around her shoulders. He wondered if the greying happened to all Archmages, or if it was simply that she was already quite old. Her green eyes flicked about his face searching for signs as to why he stood there.
‘Oh, it’s you, Curator. Come in. I shall be but a moment, and then we can talk.’ She ushered Coinin inside the ordered chaos of her office. Every square centimetre of the wall was adorned with portraits of former Archmages, and a hodgepodge of furniture was scattered here and there, reflecting her taste.
His favourite piece was the desk, made from exquisite eaglewood, and decorated with the delicate carvings of strange lettering, the same he had seen in some of the books he had read over the previous months. He had been told that it was part of a very ancient language, one which he would soon begin studies in to enable him to harness the power of the words in his magic.
His tuition in the magical arts had for the most part gone quite well, and he had progressed to the satisfaction of Archmage Menin. They had engaged daily in his instruction, and the first month he had spent focused on the extraction of energy from the elemental forces contained within and surrounding Er’ath. He had found it difficult at first. However, Menin reassured him that he would be able to use his new abilities to do magic beyond his wildest imaginings.
Sat in front of Menin’s handsome desk, an overfed man of around fifty looked at him intently. He had come dressed in purple and green finery, and a grey floppy hat with a badge of office sewn into it shielded his eyes. He sweated profusely, despite the cold, and dabbed at his brow with a square of linen. He stood as Coinin entered and turned to face the newcomer.
Menin pulled Coinin back to the moment. ‘Curator? I do not believe you have met Chancellor Rhyop from Rostha.’
Coinin stretched out his hand and received a somewhat moist handshake in return. ‘A pleasure to meet you Curator,’ said the portly Chancellor, although the face did not denote pleasure.
‘Likewise,’ said Coinin with disinterest.
‘We were just finalising the details for this year’s wine trade, and I think we have reached an agreement. Please allow me to show you out, Chancellor.’ Menin took him by the arm and escorted the man from the room.
Coinin sat at one of the comfortable chairs opposite Menin’s desk and played with his fingernails impatiently. Several minutes later, to his frustration, Menin returned and closed the door quietly.
‘What a repulsive man Rhyop is. I know I should not speak ill of him—he is detestable. Quite how he is still in office I am not sure,’ said Menin. She
crossed the room and sat opposite Coinin. ‘Although you didn’t come here to talk about him. How can I help you, Curator?’
Coinin bit his lip. He was angry, profoundly angry, and it certainly showed on his face. Since he was addressing the Archmage inside the temple in an official capacity, he switched to a more formal way of speaking expected of him as Curator. ‘Can you tell me why is there a statue of my brother outside?’ he asked.
‘It is in his honour. All of our great warriors are honoured thus,’ Menin replied.
‘What has Marrok done that is so great, except to get himself kidnapped?’ Coinin spat.
Menin looked at him worriedly. ‘What is the matter Coinin?’
‘It is like you have given up on him like the statue is a kind of memorial,’ Coinin wailed.
‘That is not so. I thought you would be pleased that we hold him in such high esteem.’
‘Well, I am not pleased. It has been seven months, not a word of him has reached our ears, and for too long now you have prevented me from looking for him. Do you intend for me to find him or not?’ Coinin challenged.
‘Of course, I want to find Marrok.’ Menin looked hurt. ‘However, the Swords of Cerathil have to take precedence.’
‘The swords? All you think about is the swords. Marrok is important too,’ Coinin said.
‘Of course, he is important. What is the point then of finding Marrok and not the swords, if we are all to die in less than four years time?’
‘You told me,’ Coinin yelled, ‘that we could not find the swords without him.’
Menin stood now, outraged at his outburst. ‘Do not presume you can talk to me like a petulant child.’
Coinin found himself shocked into silence at the sound of her voice. It was the same one she would use to command her subordinates when she had been Curator of the temple. He bit his lip, and then lowered his head at the scolding.
Menin paced the room, agitated at his actions. ‘You dare come into my presence and insult me so. I ought to strip you of your title and cast you out. I told Archmage Orodor that you were too young for this position,’ she fumed.
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 36