The door creaked and banged open as they approached and they stepped into a long corridor. A threadbare, yet highly patterned carpet that did not quite reach the sides of the walkway, adorned the floor. They passed by finely turned sandstone columns with images of castle life in relief. The interior of the space looked dishevelled and unkempt, a surprise to both Coinin and Jericho who had expected opulence, and here the decorations were tattered and there appeared to be a distinct lack of furniture.
At the end of the corridor, their escort stopped short of a set of oak panelled doors and turned to them. ‘You will wait in this antechamber until you are called,’ he said. He opened the door and ushered them inside.
Two chairs hunkered under a solid table furnished the room, and wood panel walls that ran the circumference were bare. Several lighter patches of wood indicated that there had hung paintings in this room at one time. Torchlight illuminated the low ceiling. There were no windows and a second door stood closed to their right.
‘Stay here and don’t move,’ the Captain ordered and swung the door to behind them.
Coinin and Jericho did the only thing possible, they each took a chair and sat at the table facing each other.
‘Jericho, I’ve never met a King before,’ Coinin announced. ‘I don’t know how I should conduct myself.’
‘I’m surprised the knowledge you acquired during the Ritual of The Wulf has not given you the answer.’
‘Words, phrases, and the thoughts of former Curators come and go. There is so much information inside my head that much of it is still a blur,’ Coinin replied.
‘That is a pity. I suppose it takes time to understand fully that much experience,’ Jericho mused. ‘In answer to your question, you must kneel or bow before the King, and do not look him in the eye until he speaks to you, and then you must address him as Liege, Highness, or my King.’
The door to the right swung open, and two imposing guards in full armour entered and stood either side of the opening. A second later, a smaller figure entered. He was no taller than the brass doorknob, and he wore long flowing purple robes. He had a harried look about him as he squinted up at Coinin and Jericho.
‘I am Zeet Than’gurl, adjutant to the King. I understand you insist on an audience with his Highness?’ questioned the small man with a high pitched tone.
Coinin stood and held an arm out for the aide to grasp in friendship; he did not receive an arm in return, however, just a sour look. ‘Coinin Wulf, Curator, Brotherhood of The Wulf, and this is General Dareth Jericho,’ Coinin began. ‘We indeed wish to see the King in accordance with the old law.’
The adjutant snorted at this and delved into a handful of papers he held. ‘I’m afraid King Hantestum is much too busy today; he has several important people to see. Perhaps if you come back tomorrow?’
Jericho saw red. ‘I assure you, Sir, that our business is of the utmost importance. I would like to see the King’s reaction if we were to remove our troops from patrolling his lands. In fact, please go and ask him how he intends to maintain law and order without The Brotherhood’s assistance.’
Coinin looked at Jericho sideways and frowned. He was taking a risk going down this path.
The adjutant turned green. He knew, of course, The Brotherhood’s role as protectors of the realm, and if that support were removed, then he would need to answer to the King. If Hantestum spared his neck, it would be most likely that he would be burdened with the extra work of finding ways to provide a military presence in the kingdom, no easy feat. It would take a considerable amount of time to organise and could send the lands into turmoil. ‘If you gentlemen would follow me, I shall attempt to squeeze you in between Lord Berniss and Lord Grinflow,’ he said, consulting his papers.
Jericho tilted his head to Coinin, a self-satisfied look on his face. ‘Works whenever they think they will have work to do, or they consider their neck to be on the block,’ he whispered from the corner of his mouth.
‘It was risky, and yet I have to admit I like your style,’ Coinin breathed.
They followed the adjutant into a large open space, a high vaulted ceiling held aloft by thick tree trunk sized columns of dark stone. This room was at least partially decorated and furnished with long feasting tables and benches to match. Stone or marble statues of Kings and Queens lined the space, and a handful of life-size paintings hung from the oak panelled walls. The scenes of hunting parties or war were vivid and colourful, yet lacked the lustre that Coinin had come to expect in paintings found in the temple. Threadbare carpeting formed a natural walkway to a raised platform, upon which sat a great throne made from intricately carved sections of eaglewood. It had been a gift from the temple to King Hantestum’s great-grandfather and outshone every other feature in the room.
Above them, archers stood guard behind the balusters of a balcony that ran the circumference of the room. Skylights lit the room from high up in the ceiling and cast shafts of cold winter light around them.
Three dozen people were in attendance, half of these milling around tables in front of the platform, and the rest queuing for their turn to be seen by the King. As they approached the platform, they saw that the King was heavily guarded, one man stationed at each column and two by his side, each holding long spears. The King himself was old and overweight, his sheer volume of clothing that included a sheepskin adding to his bulk. He appeared to be dozing.
After a few more feet Coinin stopped dead. He had not seen her until now—there was Laliala bound and gagged at one of the tables below the platform. He glanced at Jericho then rushed forward to aid the Archmage, only to find his progress halted when a thickset castle guard blocked his path.
‘I urge you to let me pass. How dare you treat the Archmage in this manner,’ Coinin cried, his blood boiling.
The guard appeared amused by Coinin’s outburst and looked to the adjutant who nodded that the boy should be permitted to pass. He stepped aside, and Coinin darted past and dropped to his knees in front of Menin. She looked at him through blackened eyes, and he saw her nose had only recently stopped bleeding. Jericho joined him seconds later and attempted to undo the Archmage’s bonds while Coinin carefully undid her gag.
Menin took a deep breath as the gag was removed and looked ready to cry. ‘Thank you,’ she began. ‘But you shouldn’t have come.’
Coinin furrowed his brow. ‘There was not a chance we would leave you here, Laliala. You are far too important to this world to leave behind.’
‘He doesn’t think so,’ Menin said, flicking her eyes to Hantestum.
‘Why have you not ported from here?’ Jericho demanded.
‘I cannot; there is a magic that prevents such abilities,’ Menin shrugged.
Coinin stood and faced the platform. He set his jaw and walked forward through a group of people until he had pushed himself ahead of the queue of those waiting to be seen. ‘I request an audience with the King,’ he bellowed, in an attempt to make sure the dozing ruler could hear him.
His actions had the desired effect. The King stirred and grumbled at who had disturbed him from his slumber. ‘Who is this that dares to disturb my rest,’ Hantestum thundered.
Coinin knelt on one knee and bowed his head. ‘My Liege, please forgive my rudeness,’ he replied.
The King looked at him with curiosity and cocked his head disbelievingly. ‘This boy dares approach my presence in this manner,’ he laughed, and his courtiers laughed with him. ‘What is so important boy?’
‘I demand to know why you hold Archmage Laliala Menin so,’ said Coinin, standing to face him.
Hantestum’s double chin wobbled as he opened and shut his mouth in disbelief that a mere boy would talk to him in such a manner. He heaved his great bulk from his throne and descended a set of steps leading down from his dais and stood nose to nose with Coinin. He was a foot taller than the boy and clean shaven, an unusual style for men of those parts. Embedded in a tattered mess of curly grey hair, a gold band could be seen, which Coinin knew would b
e the royal crown. The dark green eyes of the King peered at him from gaunt features, and this set him on edge.
The King lowered his tone, threatening and menacing both. ‘You demand nothing in my kingdom, boy. You ask politely, or I shall have your head.’
Coinin swallowed hard. Alone with only Jericho for company, there would be no way they could escape without loss of life. He knew he had spoken out of turn and was keen to show this to the King. ‘Your Majesty, please forgive me. I am of humble stock and not accustomed to conducting myself in court, and in the presence of a King,’ he said as sheepishly as he could muster.
The King eyed him for several moments and then turned and headed back to his throne. He sat down with a creak of wood and took a goblet of wine that sat on a low table at his left. He downed it in one guzzle, then wiped his mouth and steadied his gaze. ‘Tell me why you are operating in my city.’
Menin stood and joined Coinin, clutching her ribs in pain. ‘We were not operating; we were merely looking for my brother,’ she replied.
‘Your brother? I was unaware that you had a brother.’
‘Did you bother to ask, Jibril?’
‘How dare you speak to me with such disrespect?’
Menin stood tall and winced in pain. She faced the King steadfastly. ‘How dare you treat me in this manner? By what right do you dishonour The Brotherhood of The Wulf?’
Hantestum once again rose, this time in anger. ‘My spies tell me that you are here to usurp my throne and take this city for yourselves,’ he spat.
‘It is lies,’ Menin fired back, her calm and collected manner now gone. Her old fiery self-reared its head.
‘I’m not so sure that it is. I have a source who will swear that your intention is to dethrone me,’ the King yelled.
‘Show me this source, so that I may denounce him,’ Menin continued.
‘I will show you nothing. You will remain here under guard and answer for the crime of sedition at the earliest opportunity,’ said Hantestum, nodding to his guards.
Jericho rushed to Menin’s aid and stood with her. ‘You wish to bring war upon your own kingdom?’
‘You dare threaten the King?’ a guard nearby growled.
‘The Brotherhood has controlled the security of your borders for millennia, and now you wish to destroy that relationship as decreed by Lord Rindor. Why?’ Jericho asked.
‘As I said, I have a source who has told me in great detail of your plots and schemes against me. I will destroy your precious brotherhood and temples, and everyone will worship me,’ Hantestum began. ‘Take them away.’
Archers fixed arrows and aimed from the balcony above as the guards below surrounded the hapless trio, spears pointed at their chests.
‘Jibril, let’s be reasonable, we can discuss this like adults. I beg of you not to pursue this course,’ Menin cried.
‘I will hear no more of your lies. Remove them,’ Hantestum yelled and waved them away dismissively.
‘Come quietly now, or it’ll be worse for you,’ the Captain of the guard mumbled.
Coinin looked to Jericho for help, but the General just shook his head.
‘Now is the not the time for magic. We would be cut down, and as much as I hate to say it, we need to find your uncle,’ Jericho whispered from the corner of his mouth.
‘Where are you taking us?’ Coinin asked.
‘To a very dark, stinking dungeon where you will spend your days until the King decides to chop off your head,’ the Captain replied. ‘Now move it, or feel the edge of my sword.’
The trio complied without quarrel or fuss and was subsequently led at spear point from the King’s court. They travelled down a long bare corridor until they reached the far end. A door opened for them and an uninviting stairwell led down. One by one they trod carefully down the dimly lit steps until they reached the bottom. Their escort urged them forward with sharp points from hand weapons, and they walked along a dark brick corridor that held cells either side.
The jailer, a wiry dark haired man, jumped up at their arrival, a bunch of iron keys on a ring swinging in his hand.
‘I’ve got three more prisoners for you,’ said the Captain.
The jailer looked the three up and down and leered at Coinin, leaving him with an uneasy feeling.
‘Might as well put them with the other three,’ said the jailer, and flicked a thumb behind him.
Coinin dared hope that he would be reunited with his uncle and that they could formulate a plan of escape together. His hopes were answered the moment the trio were manhandled into a musty dark cell. Coinin collided with Draken and collapsed on the pungent, straw flooring.
Coinin picked himself up and looked through the gloom at his uncle’s face. ‘Uncle?
It is I, Coinin,’ Draken replied with a despairing tone.
‘I see they’ve captured you too.’ Zaruun added.
‘Not for much longer. We’ll find a way out of this,’ Jericho said from somewhere behind them.
Jericho decided he would rest a moment and slumped down heavily against the wall. A startled cry beneath him made him jump up quickly.
‘You nearly sat on me you fool!’ a voice cried out in the darkness.
Jericho turned to face the voice and peered at a dark shape before him. ‘I do beg your pardon; it was not my—’
‘Yes, well, you should watch where you are going, can a man not get any rest?’
‘Hur’al, is that you?’ Menin questioned, and moved forward to take a better look. Recognising him immediately, she hugged him tightly.
‘Laliala?’ replied Hur’al. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was about to ask you the same question,’ Menin replied.
‘Well, I borrowed a Captain’s ship and didn’t return it,’ he chuckled.
‘You old pirate you,’ Menin laughed. ‘Gentlemen, let me introduce to you Hur’al Menin. It seems good fortune has shown us favour.’
‘How do you figure that?’ Coinin asked.
‘Despite the cell and rough treatment, we have found our quarry, and can now get out of here,’ she replied. ‘It’s unlikely we would have located my brother if we hadn’t found our way down here.’
Hur’al looked at her. ‘So I’m your quarry now? Why would you be seeking me?’
‘All in good time Hur’al. First, let me introduce you to Curator Coinin Wulf, and General Dareth Jericho.’
‘Wulf you say? From the temple?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Well, Coinin Sir, you have a great heritage, and a big pair of boots to fill.’
‘I do?’ Coinin asked puzzled.
‘Yes, my sister’s,’ Hur’al chuckled.
Coinin laughed. ‘Believe me, I know.’
‘I don’t wish to interrupt this little party of yours, but I do hope you haven’t forgotten we are in the dungeons of Castle Rostha and need to escape,’ Jericho grumbled beside them.
Menin nodded. ‘You are correct of course. I am in a weakened state to use magic, so I think, Coinin, this is your time to shine and show us some of those famous skills we have come to know.’
‘What do you mean?’ Coinin asked.
‘It would be better if we could escape quickly and quietly. I suggest you take over the mind of the jailer, open the door, and we will slip out undetected,’ Menin replied, her quick thinking and tactical reasoning resurfacing from her time as Curator of the temple.
Coinin stepped back and sat on the stinking floor. ‘General; I suggest that you stand behind me and restrain my body when I switch with the jailer,’ he said.
‘Very well.’ Jericho rounded Coinin and stood alert.
Coinin closed his eyes and shuddered at the thought of controlling the mind of the jailer. He had seen the look the man had given him and wasn’t looking forward to entering his mind. Nevertheless, he began by shutting out all sounds and stimuli and concentrated on his target. He imagined himself as the thin, big nosed, greasy haired man he had met minutes ago. A waterfall-like sensation w
ashed over him as he left his body and floated above the occupants of the cell. He discerned Menin, Zaruun, Jericho, his uncle, and Hur’al by a colourful aura given off from each. Menin, Zaruun, and Jericho’s aura were blue, and Hur’al’s, green. His uncle’s was a shocking deep blood red. Coinin did not know it—red was an indicator of badness or evil, the opposite of blue, which is goodness.
He floated from the room, passing through the door with ease, and turned down the dungeon corridor. Ahead of him, he saw the jailer peering through a sliding hatch in a cell door. Coinin sped up his motion and raced towards the man who had his back to him. The next moment he had become the jailer.
He went momentarily light-headed and had to steady himself against the wall. Along the corridor, he heard a commotion and shouting. The jailer, he knew, had received a sudden shock. Jangling a ring of keys, he set off down the corridor towards his former cell, a little unsteady on his feet. It always took time for the mind swap to take effect to the point that he could control the host body entirely. The last time he had performed this piece of magic, he had taken over the mind of a giant in order to defeat an invading army of goblins. This wasn’t quite the same, but still exhilarating to be in the mind of someone else and see through their eyes.
He stopped outside of the cell and tried several keys in the door lock until he found the correct one. It turned with a click, and he pushed the door wide. Menin had been waiting and stepped from the room with a broad smile.
‘Well done Coinin. We’ll lock you inside, and you can switch back,’ she said.
Draken joined them in the corridor next, followed by Jericho and Zaruun holding firmly onto Coinin’s body, a hand over the boy’s mouth to prevent him from yelling. Hur’al came next, all smiles and happy at his freedom. He was of medium height and build, with a single piercing blue eye, and a horrific scar across the left side of his face that ran where his other should have been. His head was bald, and he had lost two fingers from his left hand. His clothes were plain, warm and functional, ideal for voyages at sea.
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 47