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

by Harrison Davies

  ‘Then you ain’t goin’ to die at these hands’ he snarled. ‘I want to see ya suffer.’

  Coinin winced at Jericho’s words. He knew that the older man had taken the death of his wife hard—his statement showed to what extent. He was willing to give his life to be with her in the heavens, and that made him dangerous. Could he rely on him knowing at any moment he may take a reckless action in his desire to be reunited with his wife? Not that it mattered at the moment. He was not in a position to confront Jericho.

  His legs and back ached, and a coarse rope bound him chafed his wrists horribly. He was tired, hungry and freezing. The ever rising fears that he would meet his death at any moment gnawed at his insides. He longed desperately to see Marrok.

  He wondered if the crowd would notice if he attempted to leave his own body and inhabit someone else, such as the King. Only then did he remember that the magic was an exchange of minds, and the other person’s mind would inhabit his body and immediately give the game away, most likely by screaming to all who could hear that he had been switched.

  Instead, he contented himself with scanning the area for a possible escape route. The compound was plain, yet functional, with an overhanging crenellated walkway. Several guards armed with bows patrolled with watchful eyes. Ahead of him, the great wooden doorway had been sealed with a thick beam that would take four men to lift at a stretch. A well sat in front of a well-proportioned statue of the King, although the artist had been kinder around the waistline than what reality depicted. A patch of grass finished all that was to be seen in front. He turned his head left, then right, and saw nothing of interest other than what appeared to be rooms set into the walls of the compound. Craning his neck further he could just about see a set of steps leading up to the main house. The building was three stories high with a tower at each corner and small windows carved into the stonework. It looked impenetrable from this position, and Coinin sagged at the thought of no way out.

  Thunderfist stopped in front of Coinin and lifted the boy’s chin to look him in the eyes. ‘‘avin’ fun? No? Well, let’s see what we can do about that. You tell me what you’re doin’ ‘ere and I’ll make yer last moments quick.’

  ‘You are wasting your time mighty King.’ There was a tone of mock reverence to the voice just out of the line of sight.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, battle hardened is The Brotherhood, and very rarely will one talk. But they don’t have to. It’s obvious why they’re here. The young one seeks his brother Marrok.’ The owner of the voice stepped forward into the captive’s eye line.

  ‘Lordich!’ Jericho snarled.

  Coinin snapped his head to see the tall, thin warlock smugly smiling down at him. The heavily scarred face of the ageing man repulsed him, and he lowered his eyes.

  ‘So, you are the other brother?’ Lordich observed. ‘A pitiful sight indeed, compared to Marrok.’

  Coinin did not reply. A primaeval anger bubbled up inside him, an emotion he had never been fond of. It drove him forward with a desire to not only punish but rip, tear and devour.

  Lordich looked at him curiously and barely disguised his concern. The boy’s eyes were glowing a pale yellow.

  Coinin stared at the warlock unblinkingly, and inside a force was building, stronger and stronger, empowering him to break his bond with such force that the stake holding him sheared in two and the rope ripped like twine. The warlock was now his sole focus and the object of hatred. He immediately gripped Lordich by the throat, the elder man turning white from shock. Coinin squeezed and squeezed, and Lordich’s eyes bulged out of sheer panic. They fell to the ground, with Coinin on top. Lordich struggled for breath and tried to fight back, only oxygen deprivation was preventing his muscles from working properly. He gasped and choked, his legs flailing and kicking out, anything to get the boy off him. Everything turned black and finally the grip released.

  Coinin suddenly fell to his left.

  In his haste to save Lordich, King Thuun had intervened and struck Coinin about the temple. The boy now lay unconscious.

  Lordich lay there stunned. His life had flashed before him, and he did not like what he saw. Too many bad memories had surfaced, events he had pushed to the back of his mind, yet one particular memory spurred a desire in him. He had the sudden urge to go home to the carnival and his father.

  ‘Lordich, are you well?’ Thunderfist asked.

  The voice jolted him back to the present, and he sat up painfully. He looked even more terrifying with bloodshot eyes. His hand reached for his throat and carefully massaged the bruise that was steadily reddening.

  Accepting a pudgy hand from the King who hauled him to his feet, Lordich coughed and winced at the pain. ‘I’m fine.’

  The King nodded and bent down. After straightening, he held a limp Coinin in his grasp. He noted the recently acquired branding to the boy's neck and snarled, then withdrawing a knife from his belt; he placed it across Coinin’s throat. ‘He’ll pay for his insolence.’

  ‘No!’ Lordich barked, and then in a softer tone continued. ‘If you kill him now, I shall lose my chance to very publicly strike at the heart of The Brotherhood.’

  The King raised his brow and looked bitterly disappointed, then released Coinin who crumpled to the floor. Jericho audibly sighed in relief and smiled. He knew Lordich had made a tactical error.

  A DANGEROUS GAME

  Coinin awoke with a headache and instinctively drew his hand to his temple. A large welt had broken out there, and dried blood encased the wound. The last thing he remembered was feeling satisfaction as he throttled the life from Lordich. It was evident to him that someone had intervened, but the question was, had he failed or succeeded?

  He sat up gingerly, though when the room swam, he held his head in both hands and breathed deeply. Beneath him was a prickly straw laden cot that creaked as he moved. He heard voices talking in the darkness.

  ‘—tired of winding up in these cells,’ Jericho said.

  ‘There’s no saying how long we’ll be here. You’d best get used to it,’ said a familiar voice.

  A rat ran over Coinin’s hand, and he cried out.

  ‘Coinin, is that you? Are you awake?’

  A figure stepped into a shaft of light coming in through a small window high on the wall. It was Jericho. ‘Praise be to Rindor. You are alive. I feared your head wound to be too severe.’

  ‘It’s not so bad. What happened?’

  ‘That brute of a King knocked you out cold. I really thought you’d bested Lordich, and you would have if not for Thunderfist stepping in.’

  ‘I know now why they call him that. Where are we?’

  ‘Underground. The King’s private dungeon for special prisoners’ replied Hur’al.

  Coinin jumped up, almost as if he had sat on a hot coal. ‘So then Marrok could be here too.’

  ‘Don’t get your hopes up. Lordich may be here, but that doesn’t mean your brother is.’

  Coinin looked glum. ‘I know, it’s just I have a strong feeling that he’s within these walls.’

  ‘I fear it’s too late for us to do anything about your brother. We’re destined for the pirate games, and not many survive to tell the tale.’

  ‘What are these games?’

  Hur’al looked solemn. A shadow hid the right side of his face; the other half was barely lit from the small window. ‘We will each battle to the death against an opponent, usually another prisoner. Should we defeat our attacker, we will advance to the next stage until two challengers remain. The victor may well be pardoned at the discretion of the King, though more often not. The loser, like so many before him, will die from his wounds.’

  ‘Does that mean I will have to fight you? I cannot do that,’ Coinin objected strongly.

  ‘If you don’t, you will be thrown to the lions.’

  ‘What’s a lion?’

  Hur’al was taken aback. How could this boy not know what a lion was? He considered his response for a moment. ‘A lion’s a large meat-ea
ting animal, often called the king of beasts. They’re designed to tear prey to shreds with ferocity and speed. Although meeting this animal will ensure your death, it’ll not be pretty nor will it be painless. It’d be far better to fight in the arena.’

  Coinin listened to the steady plop of water, dripping from a crack high up in the ceiling. He felt cold, not from the current conditions, but from fear and dread. His fledgeling magic had helped him escape several close encounters, and he wasn’t sure if this time around he could use what he knew to affect an escape. He remained silent and sullen for some time, and after he had wracked his brain to find a way out of the current situation, he decided the best option would be to try searching out Marrok and somehow get a message to him.

  He closed his eyes and centred his mind, allowing his limbs to relax and his mind to focus solely on his brother. Nothing! He tried again, to no avail. No familiar thread of light, no rush as he left his body. What was wrong? He opened his eyes and knelt on the floor. He held his hand over a fistful of straw on the cold stone slabs and muttered a spell that would produce heat enough to start a fire. Again there was nothing. He began to panic and tried producing ice. That didn’t work either. He sat back defeated.

  ‘My magic isn’t working.’

  ‘And nor will it,’ said a deep voice from the darkness.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Coinin asked warily.

  ‘It is of no import, just a long forgotten prisoner.’ The voice replied, heavy of accented lilt and lisp.

  ‘What do you know of magic in this place?’ demanded Jericho.

  ‘That was a mighty show you put on in the compound, my boy,’ the voice said, completely ignoring the General.

  ‘You saw that?’

  ‘How could I miss it? It was spectacular. That man deserves what’s coming to him. Though you must understand that your ability to perform magic is being overshadowed, drowned out if you will, by another’s magic. You are like a damp squib, Sir.’

  ‘So I cannot use magic at all?’

  ‘Not unless you find the mage who is blocking yours and incapacitate him.’

  Coinin frowned. Without magic, he could not locate the mage. ‘Please show yourself, friend.’

  ‘I’d rather not if it’s all the same. I’m disfigured.’

  Coinin paused. ‘It would be an honour to look upon you as a friend, regardless of your disfigurement. If it’s shame you feel, then have no reason to feel this way around us. My friends and I are above such things. What counts is a person’s heart, not his appearance.’

  There was silence for a few moments followed by a shuffling and clanking of chains. Out of the darkness, a figure approached, a mass larger that Jericho and Hur’al combined. Coinin’s eyes widened as a large Orc looked down upon him. He trembled slightly, unsure if the creature was feigning friendship and was prepared to harm him. The last time he had encountered an Orc, the confrontation had almost ended badly. This creature before him was rippling muscle, and where lips should have been, a gaping hole in one side of his face exposed a row of razor sharp teeth.

  Coinin gathered himself, and as calmly as he could, offered a smile and a hand in friendship.

  The Orc took the tiny hand in comparison to his own and generously shook it. ‘My name is Len’i,’ he said.

  The Orc shook hands in turn with Jericho and Hur’al, before once again turning his attention to Coinin.

  ‘A pleasure to meet you, Len’i. How did you come to be here?’

  ‘That’s a long tale, and one not worthy to hear I’m afraid.’

  ‘Please, humour me; we are not going anywhere.’

  Len’i chuckled. ‘Very well. Now, where to begin?’

  Coinin sat and prepared to listen while rubbing his hands together to warm them.

  ‘I knew I was different from a very young age. I would distance myself from the other young Orcs who hunted and stalked prey, often in a show of strength and competition with one another. I was chosen to work as an attendant in the court of King Zalim, and as such, I was free to enjoy all that the court of the King had to offer, including books. I would stare for hours at the beautiful lines and pictures within the private library of the King, not knowing what the words meant. Prince Curlicca caught me in the library one day, yet instead of chastising me, he taught me to read. I mean, I wasn’t actually supposed to be there after all, though he saw a spark in me, and perhaps he felt pity for me. Many months passed and we became firm friends. I knew then that he was different, like me, not bloodthirsty or driven by the hunter instinct. I vowed to stand by my friend in all things, including defending him should it come to that. One day, many years later, it did come to that. Curlicca was accused of the deliberate murder of his mother, Queen Waileen, and I knew that my friend had not committed the crime, so I spoke up in the court of the King. I spoke out of turn and accused the King directly of the offence. I had witnessed or more rightly overheard the King plotting to kill his wife. I was denounced, shackled and thrown in prison where my mouth was sewn up. Because I needed to eat, I had no choice but to rip the stitches binding my lips together. It was exceedingly painful, and flesh rot caught hold. I was lucky to survive.’

  ‘That sounds horrific,’ Coinin gasped. ‘What happened next?’

  ‘I was taken to work in the slave mines of The Black Mountains. After many months, I was able to escape, and I joined up with Thunderfist.’

  ‘If that’s true, then why are you here?’

  ‘The King grew paranoid and suspected that I was plotting to overthrow him, which I wasn’t, of course. So he had me arrested and thrown in here. I have lost count of the years I have spent in solitude. Now and then a prisoner or two is tossed in here to join me for a day or two. That is all the company I see before they are taken and executed.’

  Coinin shook his head in disgust. ‘Then, when we escape, you shall join us.’

  Len’i laughed hollowly. ‘If you wish to believe that, then I won’t dissuade you. I fear you will find escape challenging.’

  ‘Of that, I have no doubt,’ Jericho replied. ‘May I say, you are well spoken for a Madorine.’

  ‘Living and working in the court of the King raises your speech above mere grunts and growls. It’s an exaggeration, I know, though not by much. I’m aware that my race is not known for its linguistic qualities. Some are and some aren’t.’

  Coinin mused and said nothing more. It would be best if The Brotherhood’s recent encounter with King Curlicca remained a secret. Should this Orc hear of The Brotherhood’s infiltration of Curlicca’s tent city and recovery of a Sword of Cerathil directly from the King, things could turn nasty. Especially since the Generals involved had used menace and threats to retrieve it. At the first opportunity, he would remind Jericho not to mention the affair.

  The day passed uneventfully with nothing more than a streak of light from the high window moving from left to right across the room. It warmed slightly by midday and then the temperature dropped again. Without heat, all had begun to shiver, and they clustered together to conserve all they could.

  In the middle of the afternoon, the cell door opened and a smug Thunderfist stood at the entrance, hands on hips. ‘So, ya think yer pretty smart coming ‘ere do ya?’ He continued without waiting for a reply. ‘Well, it weren’t smart, and yer shipmates’ll pay the price for yer bein’ so stupid. And if yer reckonin’ on escapin’, think again.’

  ‘What have you done to them?’ Coinin demanded.

  ‘Nothin’, yet.’ The pirate chuckled.

  ‘Harm them and I’ll ... I’ll—’

  ‘You’ll do what little boy?’

  Coinin said nothing, in the full realisation that there wasn’t anything he could do. All those people aboard the ship would pay for his stubbornness and selfish desire to find Marrok.

  ‘That’s right, nothin’. There’s nothin’ you can do. I’ll have so much fun seein’ ‘em play in my little games. Rest well; you’ll need yer strength.’ Thunderfist retreated to laughter and slammed the cell
door behind him.

  ‘What a petuch!’ Len’i swore.

  ‘You can say that again,’ Hur’al said.

  ‘What’s a petuch?’ Coinin asked.

  ‘Not for your young ears, that’s what.’ Len’i replied.

  ‘Do not worry Coinin, we are not done for quite yet,’ Jericho piped up in an attempt to reassure him.

  ❖

  Night had drawn in, and Quindil lay awake, unable to sleep. He and the others had been ushered below decks and re-tied to metal hoops set into the woodwork. Their captors had retired to a small room off the main hold and proceeded to drink and tell bad jokes until one by one they fell asleep.

  Aniol had waited just for that moment, and carefully unfastened the lid to her barrel and stiffly climbed out. She took a moment to stretch her limbs and work some life back into them. She knelt beside the barrel holding Axl and shook her head, hearing the sound of gentle snores coming from within. She decided to leave him where he was; he would only get in the way. She stealthily crept around crates and barrels until she reached a set of steps leading up to the main hold. As quietly as the creaky old wood would allow, she inched up them until her head poked up just above the top step. A series of lamps had been lit that cast a soft glow over the sleeping prisoners.

  From her vantage point, she could see Quindil struggling to free his good arm from his bonds. To her left, in a lit room off the main hold, the guards slept soundly, drunk from too much grog. She crept forward on her stomach, inching her way closer to Quindil. As she passed into his eye-line, he stiffened and started. She held a finger to her mouth, urging him to be silent. He nodded and remained still until she reached him. Aniol gave him a little smile and withdrew a knife from her boot. After a minute she had successfully sliced through the rope cutting into Quindil’s wrist.

  Quindil gave Aniol a friendly punch to the shoulder in gratitude and attempted to rub life back into his sore limb.