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

by Harrison Davies

  Aniol took his arm and did what Quindil could not and rubbed his wrist gently until he tapped her on the shoulder with his stump, indicating she could stop.

  ‘What now?’ Aniol whispered into his ear.

  ‘Free as many as we can and overpower the enemy deck by deck. We must take back this ship and rescue our friends.’

  ‘You think they are in trouble?’

  ‘Without a doubt.’

  As quietly as they could, they each chose a crewman and placed a hand over the mouth of each to prevent noise, signalling with a finger to remain quiet. They untied each of the blurry-eyed crew and advised them to stay still for the moment.

  Once complete, Quindil gathered his men to him and issued the order to subdue the guards in the small room off the main hold. As one, his men swiftly and silently advanced on the room and with efficient speed retrieved their weapons. With swords at the throats of the sleeping men, they stuffed rags into the mouths of their captors and hog tied each.

  The whole action was smooth and quiet with very little noise, and it impressed Quindil greatly. He placed a man to watch over the prisoners and issued his next orders. Dividing his troops into two, he sent half below decks and the other half above to scout and take prisoner any pirate that remained.

  Several minutes later, a man from each team returned to him to report all was clear and that the teams were taking up defensive positions on deck.

  ‘Splendid. Please rejoin your teams and defend this ship at all costs,’ Quindil ordered.

  The two men saluted and swiftly left the hold.

  ‘Aniol. Will you please check on Lacretia? I am concerned for her wound.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’ She raced away, hunting for her. The woman had been kept apart from the others, and she found her in a small room at the bottom of the ship, swinging on a hammock.

  ‘How are you Lacretia?’ Aniol asked as she approached the wounded woman.

  There was no response, and on closer inspection, she saw that the woman was feverish. Sweat pitted her brow, and her eyes were rolling upwards showing the whites. Her wound was oozing a yellow puss-like fluid and smelled horrid. Aniol knew that without immediate care Lacretia would die. She hurried to find Quindil to report her findings. She wanted to stay and help there and then, but their situation was grave, and the safety of all took priority.

  On deck, Quindil was busily organising his troops and the ship’s crew to create a defensive barrier to prevent access from the gangway. It was an easily defensible position. However, he knew the pirates were a tenacious enemy and would fight to the last man. He wanted everything in order and his men ready before first light. He was sure that they would be discovered by then. What he was unsure of was what had happened to Jericho, Coinin, and Hur’al. Dare he risk sending a scout? After several minutes of weighing the value of risking a man’s life, he decided it was worth a risk to send someone to locate them.

  ‘Thruup?’ He gestured to a tall soldier nearby who was dressed as a pirate with a hood that hid most of his face, bar the tip of his nose.

  Thruup immediately dropped what he was doing and joined Quindil. He refrained from saluting as he ordered. ‘Aye Sir?’

  ‘I need you to scout for information on our missing crew. I want you to know that I do not take this decision lightly. Your life is potentially at risk. However, you are by far the best choice to impersonate a pirate and blend in.’

  ‘Our lives are forfeit in the service of Rindor. I will gladly offer my life for the Curator,’ replied Thruup plainly, almost by rote. ‘Where do you suggest I start?’

  ‘Thank you Thruup, you are a good man.’

  Draken rudely joined the pair and jumped in to Quindil’s consternation. ‘There must be a tavern hereabouts. I would suggest you start there,’ he said.

  Quindil glared at the older man in annoyance and then turned to Thruup. ‘Indeed, the Curator’s uncle is correct.’

  ‘Please find my nephew. I fear for his safety, and he means the world to me,’ Draken said.

  ‘I shall return with news.’ Thruup turned briskly and squeezed by the defensive barrier.

  ‘Good luck,’ Quindil called after him.

  Thruup merely waved him off; luck played no part for him. His life was in the hands of the gods.

  Quindil turned to Draken. ‘Although I appreciate your input, please do not interrupt a briefing to one of my men again.’

  Draken said nothing and walked away leaving Quindil shaking his head, bemused by the man.

  Aniol rushed up to Quindil and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to face her.

  ‘Did you find her?’

  ‘I did,’ she sighed. ‘Lacretia is in a bad way. She is very ill; the wound is festering.’

  ‘Fetch the troop healer. Hopefully, he can heal her, we can do no more than that.’

  Aniol nodded and left his side.

  ❖

  The first morning rays stole through the high window of the room. A hatch at the bottom of the cell door was briefly slid open, and a plate of scraps pushed through. A voice cackled on the other side. ‘Enjoy it, boys; you’ll need yer strength for today.’

  Coinin looked puzzled, and Len’i answered the unasked.

  ‘The games; you’ll need your strength to endure them.’

  ‘As I feared.’

  ‘Don’t worry; I’ve decided to fight at your side. I tire of this place. I’d rather die on my terms than being cooped up here for the remainder of my days.’

  Despite his fear of the unknown, Coinin was strengthened by these words. ‘If that’s your wish, I’ll not dissuade you; but please tell me that you don’t do this on my account.’

  ‘Firstly, I do this for me. As I’ve said, I want to die on my terms, preferably while looking at the sky. Secondly, I choose to fight alongside you in the games because you appear to be honourable. You greeted me with respect despite my appearance. You deserve better than the fate that awaits you.’

  ‘Then I thank you, my friend, for your kind words.’

  ‘Think nothing of it.’

  Coinin reached over and collected the food offering that was nothing more than the remains of meat on bones almost stripped clean by a hungry mouth. He turned his nose up at it and dropped the plate before Jericho. ‘Feel free. I’m not touching it.’

  ‘There’s nought much to devour anyway,’ Jericho added, ‘though the unwritten rule of incarceration is that you should eat what you can when you can. You never know when your next meal will be.’

  Coinin felt sick through fear, and he knew that if he ingested food right now there would be a danger that it would resurface very quickly. ‘I am not hungry.’

  Jericho raised his brow, took a couple of the bones from the plate and passed it to Hur’al who also retrieved some. He gave the plate to Len’i who very quickly devoured the remainder, bones and all. After plenty of finger licking and a rather loud belch, he stood and stretched his limbs.

  ‘It’s been a while since I saw combat, though I’m sure my muscles haven’t forgotten the moves,’ Len’i chuckled.

  Coinin shook his head at the Orc’s mirth. How could he laugh knowing he was about to die?

  The prisoners heard people coming before they saw them, several pairs of heavy booted feet clomping down the echoing corridor to their cell. Clanking chains could be heard intermingled with the unusual sound of bare feet slapping the floor. Moments later, the cell door was wrenched open, and several men and women stood in the opening. Behind them, something large and brown was just visible, though there was not enough showing to identify what it was.

  Two pirates rushed into the cell, and after securing Hur’al’s hands, they unfastened his leg from his chain. ‘Cause us problems, and you’ll be sorry,’ a well-proportioned woman announced.

  It was Jericho’s turn next, and he also went quietly, with only a firm nod to Coinin as if to strengthen the boys resolve. Once Jericho was clear, two more men hurried into the cell and headed for Coinin. Len’i was having none
of it, and he stepped in front of Coinin as if to defend him.

  ‘Don’t cause us trouble, traitor, or I’ll cut ya down like a dog,’ a young pirate, half the size of Len’i growled.

  Len’i reared up to his full height, imposing and menacing still, despite his years of malnutrition and solitude. ‘The only way you are taking this boy is with me in tow.’

  The pirate guard shot a glance at his comrade, who shrugged. ‘Take him; let the King see to his fate.’

  ‘If that’s yer choice Len’i, then come quietly, and I won’t ‘arm the boy.’

  Len’i nodded and held out his hands in anticipation of a set of shackles. ‘Take me first.’

  His hands were bound, and he was escorted from the cell to where the others stood.

  A female pirate ventured into the cell and recoiled at the stench of sweat, faeces, and stale urine. She crossed to Coinin and looked at him curiously, a sad expression on her face. ‘Pity, yer such an ‘andsome boy.’

  ‘So they keep telling me.’

  ‘Ya frightened?’ she asked.

  Coinin nodded and then looked at the floor ashamed.

  ‘There’s no shame in it. This’ll all be over quick, and ‘opefully not too painfully.’

  Coinin’s heart jumped clear into his throat, and he felt sick. He heaved and felt the nasty taste of bile in his throat. He coughed and spluttered and tried to swallow the bitter liquid.

  The pirate shackled his wrists tightly and then undid the chain binding him to the cell wall. She felt him shaking and uncharacteristically gripped his shoulder and whispered to him that all would be well.

  Although not reassured by the words, he did feel comfort in her touch.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘To meet the King and greet the city.’

  ‘You’ll offer fine entertainment today,’ a scarred pirate called from the doorway.

  Coinin was escorted from the cell and recoiled. ‘Why have you got that thing here? You do know how dangerous they are?’ he said, pointing to a creature of giant proportions, bent double and filling the corridor.

  ‘Don’t fret; the ogre’s under our control. It’s yer escort and deterrent, should you think a runnin’. This beast’ll rip ya limb from limb on our order,’ Coinin heard someone reply.

  The great muscular brown creature was the embodiment of ugly: ragged teeth, snarled and tiny, black eyes that squinted at him all too hungrily. The hulking mass, he realised, appeared also to be a prisoner. A thick leather collar as wide as Coinin himself and embedded with long steel spikes was secured around its neck. Two pirates held long iron poles that fastened to the collar, and these they used to guide him. Coinin wondered why the ogre did not just turn around and kill the men holding it captive, until he saw in the shadows of a doorway a cloaked figure in deep concentration. As Coinin passed the shadowy individual, he noted a lock of blonde hair had fallen from a hood hiding the person's face, and yet of most importance, a dainty hand held a large leather-bound book. The spine, he saw, held familiar markings, similar to ones found on the outside of many a volume in the temple’s great library. Magic tomes containing spells and most surprisingly curses. Archmage Menin explained that The Brotherhood refrained from using curses—they were recorded so that counter-curses could be devised and trained to the temple mages.

  This cloaked individual had to be a woman, a witch perhaps; there was no other reason to explain why the figure held a book of magical means. Maybe she was using magic to influence the ogre’s mind and prevent it from tearing the pirates to shreds? He had a sudden thought. She was also the one responsible for blocking his own magic, he was sure of it. Still, there was nothing he could do about it while shackled and powerless.

  As a final insult, he and the others had coverings made from sacking roughly tied over their heads and then they were guided into the daylight by unseen hands.

  ❖

  Thruup, head down and not wanting to attract attention, made his way slowly along the iron walkway surrounding the city, looking for his General and Curator. He passed several traders setting up stalls. How odd, he thought, that these pirates would gather in this manner and offer trade and services. Then he realised that the traders were mostly old men, past their prime. Perhaps the only thing left for them to do to survive was to trade? It was unusual, to say the least, though his years of service in The Brotherhood had shown him that unusual was all around if you knew where to look.

  The sun had breached the high sides of the city an hour ago, and he was nowhere near to finding his lost comrades. He worried how long it would be before the escape of those on board The Falcon would be discovered. For all he knew, right now a group of pirates could be heading to the ship to relieve the guard already there.

  He passed several piles of refuse, holding his breath as he did so for fear of vomiting, and loitered at a discreet distance from a group of elderly traders. They seemed to be discussing something intently, and he wanted to overhear them.

  ‘—in for a treat, so I heard,’ said a stooped man of around sixty years.

  ‘What kinda treat?’ A second trader asked.

  ‘A whole ship full of men to entertain us in the games.’

  ‘What ship?’

  ‘Some traitorous scum. I hear tell that Hur’al Menin heads ‘em.’

  ‘If that’s true, I wouldn’t want ta be in ‘is boots.’

  ‘That’s not the ‘alf of it. Thuun has caught ‘imself some high powered Brotherhood leader, so I ‘ear.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘I dunno. Just some unlucky fellas pretendin’ to be pirates.’

  ‘Who in their right mind would do that?’

  Thruup lowered his head and slipped away unnoticed. Who indeed? He thought.

  After several hundred yards he heard raised voices coming from a doorway to his left, and the distinct clunk of jugs of ale and music.

  They start early round here; either that or they’ve been here all night, Thruup mused.

  He stepped back to get a better view of what he assumed was a tavern, and sure enough, a faded sign above the door indicated he had indeed found the same. The Mermaid’s Daughter the sign read in cracked gold lettering, and underneath there was an image of a buxom blonde with a fish tail resting upon a rocky outcrop in the sea. She held in her arms a female merchild with curling hair.

  There were no windows to the tavern, only a series of holes above the door that allowed for the smoke to escape the room beyond, a steady cloud of which was filtering its way skyward as he watched. He took a deep breath, not looking forward to entering the smoky atmosphere, and opened the door with a creak. A few cloaked heads turned to see who had entered and turned back to their drink almost immediately, seemingly uninterested. The roof of the cave was low, and if he had been an inch or two taller, he would have had to duck to venture further for fear of scraping his head on the sharp rock. Around the edges of the roughly cut room, alcoves had been hewn into the rock, and in each of these, pirates sat at tables and chairs crammed into each space. More tables occupied the centre of the room, and aside from the tobacco smell, the stench of ale and sweat permeated the air. The wall behind the bar was adorned with an abundance of nautical items, old nets, oars, and crab traps, and at the side of the bar, a row of ale casks sat in groups of three. He marched up to a bar, running along one side of the room, and tossed a gold coin onto the counter. An elderly woman offered a toothy grin at her new customer and sauntered over to him.

  ‘What’ll it be then my lovely?’

  ‘Thruup deepened his generally softly spoken voice and gravelled a reply. ‘Ale.’

  The old woman whirled with surprising speed, and after collecting a receptacle, she dunked the large wooden tankard, bound together by iron straps, into an open cask. The tankard dripped with foam as she clattered it onto the counter and she whipped the gold coin into her wrinkled hand.

  ‘Ain’t seen you in these parts before.’

  Thruup considered her
for a moment. ‘Twice.’

  The woman looked at him puzzled. ‘Twice what?’

  ‘I’ve been here twice only. I’m here to pay my tithe to the King.’

  The old woman studied him momentarily and then turned away, seemingly satisfied.

  Thruup grasped his drink, his eyes widening at the size and heft of the tankard. He was a drinker, but this was something else. He turned and faced the interior of the tavern and scouted the patrons, seeking a candidate. He saw an old salt nursing a tankard in a darkened alcove away from the rest of the crowd. The man wore his hair long and tied back into a ponytail, a bare patch forming on his pate. He wore a thick leather tunic over a grey cotton undershirt cut off at the elbows and displayed a variety of tattoos. The table hid the rest of his clothing. Thruup wandered over nonchalantly and sat down on a chair opposite the ageing sailor. He sighed heavily and placed his tankard down on the oak table.

  ‘Greetings stranger,’ the old man croaked. He held his tankard aloft in friendship.

  Thruup did likewise and took a swig, eyeing the old man as he did so.

  ‘Show yer face friend. I like to know who I’m drinkin’ with.’

  Thruup dropped his hood and looked the old man in the eyes. They were a dull grey, and Thruup sensed they had seen many extraordinary things. He knew by instinct that he would not be able to get much by the old gentleman. He decided to keep things simple between them. To complicate any conversation could have unexpected results, and he wanted to glean as much information from this man as possible.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve seen ya round these parts before, and I figured I knew everyone.’

  ‘I stay away and only return to pay my tithe.’

  ‘Why would yer want to stay away?’

  Thruup thought quickly and then forced a smile. ‘Woman trouble, or to be more exact women trouble.’

  The old fellow laughed heartily and slapped his knee in delight. ‘Say no more friend, drink up, for we shall have entertainments today.’

  ‘What entertainments?’