‘What’s the matter, don’t you like me?’ He laughed. ‘I’m really nice when you get to know me and believe me; I want to get to know you a whole lot better.’ Aniol responded with a knee to his groin. He howled and gripped her more tightly.
‘That was a bad idea missy,’ he snarled and struck Aniol across the face. Her lip burst with an agonising spray of blood.
She glared at him and was able to withdraw her sword partway from its scabbard. The attacker grasped her by the wrist and twisted viciously and cruelly until she had no option, amid the pain, but to drop the sword with a clatter to the cold cobbled street. Satisfied, he pinned her to the wall, taking no care as her face scraped against cold, sharp stone.
Coinin had seen this unfold and was undecided what to do. The last thing they needed was to attract attention, and to use any magic so publicly would be a dangerous proposition. Jericho had vanished alongside Reena around a bend in the alleyway, and he was left alone and quite scared. He could see Aniol struggling now, and in a fair fight, she would have beaten this man, if not for the fact that he had her pinned well.
‘That’s enough!’ he yelled to Aniol’s aggressor.
Four pairs of eyes locked onto his and then fits of laughter echoed along the alleyway.
‘I said enough, leave her alone,’ Coinin demanded and found it trying to control his breathing.
‘Listen, boy,’ said a woman to his left. ‘Stay out of this unless you want to get hurt.’
‘I will not stay out of it, that is my … my wife you have there. Release her at once,’ he stuttered. He could feel his throat dry up and he was on the verge of panic.
The woman stepped forward and held in her hand a long, thin blade. She yanked Coinin’s hood down and grabbed a handful of hair and then forced his head back. She brought the knife to his throat, and he heard Aniol scream.
‘I said to stay out of it. Now say goodbye to your wife, boy,’ the woman said with a murderous gleam in her eye.
A fear built inside Coinin to the point that he felt as if his insides would combust, he was about to die, and he had no way out. He had let Aniol down; he was weak and unfit to be Curator. He closed his eyes tight and awaited his death.
Except death did not come; instead, cries and shouts rang out alongside an odd swishing and thumping sound. He felt the woman’s grasp release his hair and he opened his eyes. Draken stood several feet away, staff in hand, and ready to strike.
Coinin looked down and saw that his assailant had suffered a crack to the jaw, and now lay unconscious on the floor, a trickle of blood running from her mouth. He noted that similar injuries had occurred to Aniol’s attacker, who attempted to crawl away. The others appeared to have run off at Draken’s appearance.
Coinin’s eyes welled up, and he ran to his uncle and wrapped his arms around him in gratitude and relief. ‘Thank you uncle, thank you.’
Aniol appeared to be no worse for the wear despite her ill treatment. He did notice, however, that her hands were shaking and he let go of Draken to see to her needs. He held her hand and looked at her with concern.
‘Aniol, are you well?’ he asked softly.
She did not seem to see him for a moment, her eyes locked into the distance, so he gripped her hand tighter, and she focussed on him. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say,’ she trembled.
‘I asked if you were well,’ he replied.
She shook her head and lowered her eyes. ‘I let you down. You almost died because of me. I should have—’
‘You did nothing wrong Aniol. I am at fault, and not fit to be Curator,’ Coinin interrupted.
‘Don’t say that. You’re a good man. You came to my aid when I needed it most.’
‘Being good does not make me a suitable Curator,’ he said.
‘No, training and time do. What happened here?’ demanded Jericho.
They hadn’t heard the General approach and were startled.
‘It seems they were attacked while under your care General,’ said Draken in his deep tones.
Jericho now saw the woman laid on the floor unconscious and shot a questioning look at Draken. ‘You did this?’
‘Yes, if that woman, Laliala, hadn’t sent me back to find out what was taking you so long, I may never have stumbled across these two being accosted. Fortunately for them, I can wield a staff just as proficiently as a sword,’ Draken replied.
Jericho next turned to Aniol and looked angry. ‘Why did you not protect the Curator?’
Coinin could see that his friend was still in a state of shock and no benefit would come from this interrogation. ‘Leave her be; it’s not her fault, it’s mine,’ he said.
Jericho looked ready to object when Draken interrupted their exchange. ‘I see no point in continuing this here. We must get to the woman. She is our priority. We can lick our wounds and play the blame game later,’ he said wisely.
Jericho looked put out by Draken’s words, though nodded in agreement. ‘You are correct, lead us to Laliala,’ he said, though his tone was more order than a request.
Coinin retrieved Aniol’s sword and handed it to her. She unfastened her cloak and sheathed the sword before refastening the garment.
As they journeyed on, Coinin held Aniol close. They had both received a scare that neither had been prepared for, and this was a defining moment in their lives.
Draken led them true and they saw the seedier side to city life in all its glory. Dirt ridden children and flea bitten animals ran by them with screams and shouts, just to add to the general noise, and played amongst piles of filth that made the travellers gag. Narrow streets prevented easy movement, and little light filtered in from above. Washing hung strung from ropes above them, and if the clothes had been cleaned, the travellers could not tell.
Occasionally someone would call out from a high window their intentions, and dump the contents of a chamber pot into the street below. It seemed that the residents had become adept at avoiding such occurrences. Although, not all, since not everyone called out a warning.
Everywhere, hawkers attempted to sell their wares, usually tobacco or sweet smelling perfumes and delayed their passage on more than one occasion.
Jericho was furious by the time they had reached their destination. ‘How can the King allow the people to live like this? It is immoral,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘This is why I detest coming to this place.’
A dozen yards away they came out onto the main street, and a tall three-storey building stood a handful of houses away. Old, timeworn, and like all the buildings in this district, made from wood. The only brick to the building was a crumbling chimney that appeared to be coming away from the side of the hostelry. A faded sign entitled the Looted Hen pictured a hand holding a purse and what seemed like an image of a chicken.
‘That’s an unusual name,’ Coinin mused.
‘It no doubt means something to the owner,’ said Draken with a chuckle.
They watched the building from a dark alleyway and saw no movement in or out. Jericho had become very fidgety, and once again he tapped his foot impatiently.
‘It is apparent that we need to see what is happening inside the hostelry. I suggest Draken takes a look and reports back here,’ Jericho announced. ‘He looks less like a shiny new pin than the rest of us, and will arouse the least suspicion,’ he said, indicating Draken’s worn cloak.
Draken raised a dark eyebrow at him and curled his lip. ‘Very well, I will do as you ask. However, it would give the impression that I do not belong if I were to leave without first supping on the tavern's finest ale,’ he said and held out his hand for a coin or two.
Jericho grunted at this and eyed Draken with derision. He reached into his cloak and extracted a coin purse, and from this, he dropped two brass coins into Draken’s bony hand. ‘Make them count,’ he said.
‘Oh, trust me, I will.’ Draken smiled and, with a swish of his cloak, walked like a man with purpose towards the hostelry.
He had frequented dozens of similar ho
vels in his life, and he knew the best way to blend in would be to look at no-one, say nothing other than order a drink, and above all show no fear. The patrons seemed to sense fear and would use it to their advantage to extort money from a poor victim through games of chance or other villainy.
The windows were small, and each pane was lined with lead, and he would be surprised if any light at all penetrated inside. The door had been set back from the street and consisted of nothing more than several planks of wood loosely fastened together. He pushed the door, and it creaked open and let out a waft of stale ale and tobacco smoke. He coughed slightly and stepped into the dark, musty interior and found himself in a tavern that ran the length of the ground floor. Clouds of smoke hung in the air, the rank smell of patrons filled his nostrils, and the noise of depravity and high spirits persisted. He could already feel many pairs of eyes sizing him up, and this left him a little uneasy.
He headed straight for a long wooden bar set to one side of the room. Candles lined the bar and glinted off pewter goblets and tankards stacked in rows on shelves behind. Bench tables dotted the room, stained and grimy, and held half finished games of one sort or another.
‘Bartender, one ale,’ said Draken gruffly, and tossed a brass shil on the bar.
A busty woman in a low cut bodice eyed Draken with contempt. ‘We don’t like strangers here, you had better leave,’ she said between puffs of her long, thin clay pipe.
‘I will leave when my thirst is satisfied, woman,’ Draken growled. ‘One ale.’
The bartender spat on the ground and pulled a face. ‘Fine, but if they kill you,’ she flicked her eyes to the patrons of the bar, ‘don’t blame me.’ She reached for a tankard and poured a dark liquid into it from an earthenware jug, and then slammed it on the counter with a bang. She took the brass shil from the bar and hid it amongst her clothing.
Draken picked up the tankard and took a sip of the warm liquid and stopped himself from spitting it out. It tasted foul and unfit for consumption. He surveyed the room as casually as he dared, and looked for signs of Menin. He instantly knew that she wasn’t there and turned to the barmaid. ‘I’m looking for two friends of mine, a woman in brown, and a large mean-looking gentleman. Have you seen them?’
The barmaid moved in close and leant across the bar. ‘Can’t say as I’ve seen anyone like that today,’ she stated in a bored tone.
‘Perhaps a coin would refresh your mind?’ said Draken and offered a second brass shil.
‘You might want to try out back,’ she smirked, and her eyes pointed the way.
Draken nodded, finished his drink, and headed calmly to the rear of the bar. He found it hard to see since it was so dark, and almost missed the exit. A crack of light was the only indicator that a wooden door lay ahead of him, which he assumed would lead him outside. He stepped forward and then felt a heavy object crash into him from behind. He smashed through the door and landed hard on the floor of a cobbled courtyard. A dark shadow passed over him, and he was wrenched to his feet. Hands twirled him in the air as if he were nothing more than a twig. A foul breathed, unshaven face looked deep into his with unwavering black eyes. He felt a cold chill run down his back and knew that he was in big trouble.
‘Why didn’t you listen to what the lady said, huh? She said you ‘ad better leave, and you ignored ‘er. Why is that I wonder? Is you a spy for the city guard, come lookin’ for that woman and ‘er friend?’ his assailant spat.
Draken grew terrified, and the other man sensed it. ‘I am not a spy, and yes I was looking for the woman and her friend,’ replied Draken honestly. There would be no point in lying; he had already said as much to the barmaid.
The powerful attacker stepped back, and now Draken could see that he was tattooed head to foot with intricate designs, some of them vulgar. He wore a black doublet, laced across the chest, and green hose, much too thin for winter wear. His face was quite handsome for someone so brutish, and his thick arms were not shy to hard work. His red, fiery hair billowed around his shoulders in a stiff wind that blew through the tunnel-like alleyway and into the courtyard behind the hostelry.
‘So, if you’re not a spy, then you must be a bounty hunter.’ The bear-like man laughed heartily at the unlikeliness of it.
‘I am neither, I am a mere traveller passing through, and I would very much like to leave now,’ said Draken. His voice shook, and he attempted to look defiantly into the eyes of the man before him, but he failed miserably.
A second, equally large, similarly dressed, man joined them, and red hair turned his head to the newcomer. ‘Garin, go and get the waggon ready, I’m taking this one meself.’
‘Right you are,’ Garin replied
‘You’re taking me? Where exactly are you taking me?’ Asked Draken, suddenly worried. Perhaps these men were slavers, and he would be sold to the highest bidder, to work in some ore mine, in a strange land, and to death no doubt.
‘To see a very important man. Now shut your mouth, before I close it for ya,’ red hair spat, and slapped Draken about the face, enough to show that he meant business.
Draken rubbed his jaw and glared at him. He contemplated drawing his knife and skewering the man, although that idea was rendered useless almost immediately. Red hair whirled him around and fastened his hands together with a thick leather belt he had undone from around his ample waist.
‘That should keep you from running,’ said red hair with an air of satisfaction. ‘Now move, this way, quickly and quietly, or it’ll be the worse for ya.’
Draken believed the man wholeheartedly and did as he was told. Roughly forced ahead of red hair, he tripped on the cobbles in the courtyard as they led him into the alleyway. He was dragged to his feet, and together they quickly walked to the corner and then turned back towards the front of the building where a wooden carriage awaited. Manhandled into the back of the carriage, heavy doors closed after him with a bang.
Further down on the other side of the street Coinin turned to Jericho. ‘Look it’s Draken; they’re taking him in that carriage. They have him hostage, come on,’ he said, making to move off.
Jericho restrained him with a gentle grip on the arm. ‘No, stay put. It’s reasonable to assume they’ve taken Laliala and Zaruun too, and if so, we need to know where exactly they are taking them,’ he hissed, and for the first time, Coinin saw genuine concern in the General’s eyes. It was clear to Coinin that Laliala’s safety meant more to Jericho than mere duty.
‘What do we do?’ Aniol asked.
‘We should send for the troops,’ Coinin replied.
Jericho thought quickly. Any moment the carriage would begin moving, and they could not afford to lose it. ‘There’s no time for that. Aniol, you are the quickest. I want you to hitch a ride on the back of that thing and jump clear just before it reaches its destination. We will follow as best we can. Don’t let me down,’ he ordered.
Aniol looked to Coinin for consent, and when he immediately gave it with a gesture towards the carriage, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. The transport had begun to move and was already gaining speed, and anyone foolish enough to get in the way would be mown down, so people leapt from its path, leaving the way clear. Her legs were tiring quickly at this pace, and yet with one last effort she jumped and grasped hold of iron bars that made up a window in the back of the carriage, which permitted her to find a footing. She looked inside the carriage and saw Draken who looked miserable, and then he saw her and looked hopeful. He went to say something, but she silenced him with a finger, and he nodded that he understood that he must remain quiet.
Jericho and Coinin burst into the hostelry and called out for Laliala. They received no response, and that settled it; it was apparent that she too had been taken by these men. They exited the building quickly and jogged in the direction that the carriage had headed.
Uphill, to Coinin’s dismay.
THE OTHER MENIN
Aniol held on for dear life as the carriage travelled at a fair speed, and had on
several occasions been in danger of crashing into buildings and stalls manned by stall holders on the street.
Hearing shouts of alarm and anger as they thundered passed city folk, she wondered why no one had alerted the guard. She did not have the time to wonder for very long as the carriage slowed to a crawl. Peeking around the side of the transport, she saw that a prominent castle gateway and portcullis were about to swallow them.
She returned to the window and hissed at Draken. ‘We’ll come for you.’
He nodded, and she jumped from the rear of the carriage and quickly disappeared into a crowd of people. The unknown kidnappers had taken Draken right to Castle Rostha. Why they would do that remained to be seen, though her priority now was to find Jericho and Coinin.
Fortunately they found Aniol relatively easily thirty minutes later. Since the carriage, due to its size, could only travel along the main street that spiralled the city all they had to do was follow it. They saw Aniol before she saw them, and had to cross the busy street to reach her.
As a genuinely multi-cultural city, brawls between different factions would often break out, and one such event between a Madorine Orc and a half-giant blocked their path. Crowds of onlookers jockeyed for position to obtain the best view of the fight, and even a handful of the spectators had begun to place bets on the outcome. Roars and shouts were plentiful, and Jericho received a stray elbow to the jaw as they pushed through the throng.
‘There she is,’ Coinin pointed.
Both hurried quickly to her side which elicited a startled response. She stopped walking and turned back up the hill.
‘I thought you two were those thugs from the alley back for more,’ said Aniol.
Jericho ignored her comment. ‘Tell me what you know. Where did the carriage take you?’
Aniol nodded up the hill. ‘Where else? The castle.’
Jericho stepped forward and gritted his teeth together, making his jaw muscles bulge at the cheeks. ‘This is not good news. Whoever has requested the presence of Draken must also be holding the Archmage and Zaruun, yet the question remains, for what purpose?’
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 45