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

by Harrison Davies

  ‘The pirate games; a feast for anyone’s eyes.’

  ‘Can you tell me more about these games?’

  The old man looked at him with a puzzled expression. ‘Ya know nothin’ of ‘em?’

  ‘I’ve heard of them, yet have never witnessed them myself,’ Thruup replied hastily.

  ‘Too busy scourin’ for booty, eh?’

  ‘Something like that.’ Thruup laughed.

  ‘Glad to see ya got yer priorities straight.’ The old man chuckled. ‘The names Oken, by the way.’

  Thruup held out a hand in friendship and shook the gnarled hand of his new acquaintance. ‘Thruup.’

  ‘What kinda name’s that?’

  ‘My family hails from the northernmost tip of Middle Rodine, a town called Bream.’

  ‘Ah. That’ll explain it then. I spent a few summers there as a lad. A wench caught me eye, and who’d leave when there’s beauties about?’ Oken chuckled, and then his eyes appeared to defocus as he thought back to younger days, a sadness writing itself upon his face.

  ‘So, the games?’ Thruup pressed.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Oken absently, ‘oh, yeah. It seems the King has caught ‘imself an ‘andful of invaders and he plans to enter ‘em in the games. He’s reopened ‘em just for the occasion.’

  Thruup sat up and listened intently. ‘Who are these traitors? Who dares to invade us?’

  ‘I’m only workin’ on here-say, ya understand. It seems a whole ship of Brotherhood soldiers has been captured along with their Commander and Captain. There is tell that one of ‘em is the King’s second, a traitor called Hur’al.’

  ‘Brotherhood of The Wulf, here, really? Why would they come here?’

  ‘It makes no sense, I know. P’raps we’ll never know. Thuun plans to kill ‘em all.’

  Thruup did not like the sound of that. Now was the time to obtain as much information as possible and report back to his superior. ‘What form do these games take?’

  ‘P’raps if I show ya? Drink up and follow me,’ Oken said with the sly smile of someone holding back a secret.

  Thruup downed his ale in one and placed the tankard on the oak table. He wiped the froth from his mouth on the sleeve of his cloak and stood. He took a moment to steady himself. The room swam, and he felt unusually drunk.

  ‘Ya still with us?’ Oken chuckled.

  ‘Strong stuff that ale. It’s gone straight to my head.’

  ‘Hah, Madam Perin’s finest batch. Ya could breathe fire with it, or at the very least it’ll curl yer toes.’

  ‘Of that, I have no doubt.’ Thruup chuckled.

  Oken and Thruup exited the smoky bar and breathed in a lungful of mildly better air. Thruup couldn’t tell which was worse, the smoke from the bar or the rotting foodstuffs piled up along the walkway.

  ‘There’s another reason to stay away from this place,’ said Thruup and pointed to the piles of food debris.

  ‘Ya get used to it after a while. Are ya plannin’ on stayin’ long?’

  ‘No, just a short trip this time around.’

  ‘Pity, I ‘ave a daughter who’d be quite interested in meeting a strappin’ fella like you.’

  Thruup rolled his eyes. ‘I already have enough women troubles.’

  Oken laughed and strode ahead, surprisingly fast for a man of his advancing years.

  ‘Where are we headed?’ Thruup asked, his long legs having no trouble keeping up with his companion.

  ‘To the quarry. The games are to be ‘eld there.’

  Thruup followed the older man, lost in a dilemma whether or not to question him further. He decided to wait until he had seen for himself the place the games would be held before he asked his burning question.

  On the final bend, Oken turned sharply right, and they ventured into a passageway that led to a quarry, quite hidden from the main thoroughfare. He did not know it now—only the day before, his missing comrades had passed this way in search of Marrok.

  The quarry was a hive of activity with men, women, elves, and half a dozen other races building a raised platform. Like a swarm of locusts they toiled. The wooden structure rose eight feet from the ground, and around the manmade arena, raised seating platforms were being hastily erected.

  ‘The boys are workin’ quickly. I’ve never seen the platform built so speedily before,’ Oken said, a tone of admiration in his voice.

  Thruup looked about him. ‘Where does the wood come from?’

  ‘Old ships mainly. The platform’s stored in the caves yonder.’ Oken nodded his head to the rear of the quarry.

  Despite his concern for his friends, Thruup felt awed by the sight before him, and even through his cloak, he found he was chilled to the bone. It was not the morning air that froze him; it was the sight of several large, caged lions roaring in protest at their captivity underneath the raised platform. What did these pirates plan to do with these snarling, spitting cats? Whatever it was, he knew it would not be good for the Curator and the others.

  He sucked in a deep breath and steeled himself to ask his most prying of questions. He knew his asking could invite suspicion, and he was prepared to restrain Oken, and if necessary dispatch him quickly and cleanly, to preserve his own life and that of his Curator and General.

  ‘Oken?’ he began, ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  Oken was lost in thought and answered absently. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Where do they keep the prisoners?’

  Oken snapped out of his pondering. ‘Why would you be wantin’ to know that?’ He eyed the stranger suspiciously.

  Thruup thought quickly and blurted out the first thing that came to him. ‘So I know to keep clear. Don’t want to find myself trussed up in some small dungeon at the King’s pleasure and mercy.’

  Oken’s frown eased, and then he smiled. ‘Ah laddie, you make me laugh, so you do. It’s easy; stay clear of the King’s central island. You’ll ‘ave saw it. The dungeon’s below and ‘eavily guarded. You do right to stay away; the guards are nasty pieces o’ work. If you ain’t been invited to the court o’ the King and you so much as breathe funny in their presence, they’re liable to lock yer up.’

  ‘I shall take your advice and steer well clear. Now, though, I think food and drink are the order of the day. I bid you farewell.’

  ‘Leavin’ so soon?’ Oken said, sounding disappointed. ‘I thought we was goin’ to see the games together.’

  ‘Then I will return, and meet you here before the games begin. What time?’

  ‘When the sun’s at its ‘ighest, ‘round midday.’

  ‘I shall see you then,’ Thruup lied.

  The old man smiled at his new companion and walked away, happy in the belief that he had found a new drinking partner, and perhaps someone who would supply him with that drink.

  Thrupp waited for Oken to disappear out of sight and jogged away quickly. He needed to inform Quindil what he had learned, and they needed to act quickly. They did not have much time to rescue their comrades before the games began.

  ❖

  ‘Stand up, and let me look at you,’ Lordich ordered.

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  A tall figure rose with a creak and clatter of metal from a wooden stool placed in the centre of the King’s armoury. He wore a steel full-face helmet with slits for eyeholes and holes for breathing. His torso also bore steel armour with hinged joints for easier movement. His legs, however, were a mixture of steel plates and leather to allow the wearer to move swiftly.

  Lordich smiled at the sight of his newest knight, a fearsome soul for certain. One broken of mind, yet tailored to do his bidding, and sure to protect his interests unto death. ‘Excellent. Collect your weapon and follow me.’

  The knight retrieved his two-handed sword from a wooden rack nearby and felt its weight. Satisfied, he rested it on his shoulder and followed Lordich from the armoury. The knight’s heavy boots scraping on the stone floor was the only sound as he traipsed along a dusty corridor behind his master, who made no noise
and appeared to glide. He felt cold and frigid. The chilly air of the day scythed along the dark corridor and sliced its way between his armour plates, as would a stiletto knife wielded by a skilled fighter during hand to hand combat.

  Nevertheless, he trudged after his master, and his thoughts faded to but one: kill or be killed. He was about to be tested in the field of battle against any number of enemies, and should he fail then he would pay the ultimate price. His echoing footsteps ceased to be replaced by a crunching of a morning frost upon the grass in a high-walled compound, open to the elements and adjacent to the King’s armoury.

  It felt good to breathe fresh air. He had been cooped up for so long, hidden away from prying eyes, never talking to anyone other than Lordich and hearing only the yells and curses coming from a room a few doors down from his. The poor chap in that room was having a bad time of it, yet his duty was to Lordich, and he kept his nose out of business that did not concern him.

  They exited the compound, and he squinted slightly at the morning sun, noting that the early frost was beginning to warm and produce clouds of swirling mist here and there. His eyes stung from the brightness and tears streamed down his face to his annoyance, for he had been forbidden to remove his helmet. He blinked away what moisture he could and his warm cheeks soon dried the remainder. Thankfully his vision improved from that of a blur to taking in the grand sight of a vast natural rock harbour, where vessels of the sea and air were moored in great quantity. A walkway spiralled around the circumference of the high rock walls, and he could see many dwellings cut into the rock following the walkway. Above him floated a dozen or more vessels, moored to the suspended metalwork.

  ‘What is this place, Master?’

  ‘This is a home for pirate folk,’ Lordich replied. ‘A great many allies reside here, and more than a few enemies besides. Now enough questions.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  Even though he had been ordered to silence, a thousand and one questions flitted through his mind. His arrival in this place had been a fog, almost like he was under a spell. He had no memory of having stepped outside before this date since arriving, and now his curiosity threatened to boil over. He felt free for the first time in months, and a little light-headed. Perhaps it was the fresh air or the exhilaration of being outside. He certainly felt inebriated, and his legs threatened to collapse as he walked; the sheer overwhelming desire to run and just keep running stirred in him.

  Lordich had stopped before him and stared intently at the eyeholes of the metal helmet. The young knight grew fearful that his master was somehow reading his thoughts and he attempted to blank his mind and swiftly moved on past the old mage.

  Lordich arrested the knight’s departure with a firm shoulder grip, his long nails clacking on the cold steel of the other’s armour.

  ‘I sense what you desire. Just remember what punishment awaits for disobedience to your master,’ Lordich hissed.

  The young knight turned his head and inclined it into a slight nod.

  Lordich released his grip and watched his acolyte walk away stiffly, satisfied that he had so admonished the boy with a simple phrase that any foolish thoughts of running were now a distant memory to the young one. He watched for a moment and silently padded after the retreating armour-clad warrior.

  ❖

  The deafening sound of cheers and laughter bounced and reverberated from the dry stone walls of the quarry. Hundreds of onlookers, the entirety of the stronghold’s citizens, had gathered to witness the games, and the Pirate King had not disappointed. Already, in a preamble to the games, several severed heads and limbs lay scattered around the arena, a testament to the brutality of the occasion.

  A circular platform constructed from old shipping planks had been built in the centre of the arena, and around this, raised seating had also been hastily erected to cater for the audience. Around the circumference of the platform, thick sharpened stakes were angled inwards, and between each, tightly woven fish netting had been tied to prevent escape to the floor below. Beneath the platform, several cages held wild animals, roaring and spitting in anger or frustration at their handlers. The lions looked particularly fierce to Thruup. He had returned with two others, Quindil and Aniol, who insisted on going, and they had secreted themselves in the growing crowd of onlookers all eager for the spectacle to begin. Their task was simple: get a lay of the land, assess the situation and form a rescue party if at all possible.

  Thruup had changed his attire and sported a hooded cloak to ensure that Oken, his new acquaintance from the tavern, did not recognise him and unnecessarily delay him.

  ‘By the looks of it, the prisoners will be led to the arena from that raised walkway over there,’ Quindil hissed quietly.

  The others looked to where he had pointed and saw the raised walkway balancing on thick tree trunks. They nodded in agreement.

  ‘I guess the empty cages near the walkway are there to hold the prisoners,’ Aniol offered.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.’

  As if on cue, a roar cut above the general chatter from the crowd. Above them, the Pirate King Mathius Thuun sauntered onto the raised platform all smiles and pomp. Heavy rain filled clouds threatened to ruin the proceedings with a downpour. Thuun continued regardless, eager to please his subjects with a display of power over The Brotherhood. He walked to the centre of the platform and hopped onto a wooden crate so he would be seen easier over the series of sharp spikes that ran the circumference of it. He raised his arms high for silence, and after a few moments, he received his reward.

  ‘Welcome to the Pirate Games. I ‘ave such a treat for ya!’ He paused and waited while a huge cheer subsided. ‘It’s obvious the rumour mill’s been workin’ overtime, but anyway, I’ll tell my tale. Yesterday, Brotherhood of The Wulf soldiers dared to infiltrate our camp in the guise of our kin.’

  A roar of anger erupted around the arena, and even Quindil, Thruup, and Aniol joined in to appear as one with the crowd.

  Raising his hands again to silence the crowd, King Thuun again addressed the gathered. ‘Their attempt at subterfuge failed. Why’d they come ‘ere, you ask? To kill yer King of course.’

  Another roar, louder and angrier than the one before it spread around the man-made crater. A stomping of feet on the hastily erected seating platform threatened to buckle it.

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Thuun chuckled enjoying his theatrics. ‘Thanks to our spies, these Brotherhood scum are now in chains and await a most delicious punishment in the games.’

  A whooping and clapping deafened all those around, such was the excitement of what was to happen mere minutes from now.

  Thuun signalled that the prisoners should be led onto the platform. One by one, each of the King’s detainees was paraded around the makeshift ring to the delight of the spectators. Last to arrive were Jericho and Coinin. Chained and shackled, they had nowhere to run.

  Thuun ordered that his main catch should remain on public display while he gave a new speech.

  ‘Friends, travellers, bloodthirsty killers.’ He waited while the crowd cheered and laughed. ‘The moment of yer desirin’ has arrived.’

  ‘Not before time!’ a voice heckled from the crowd.

  The King held up a hand. ‘Indeed, it’s been too long since the last games, but today I ‘ave a treat for ya.’

  Thuun swung around grandly and gripped a hooded figure and thrust the helpless man forward to face the crowd. With a swift movement, he tore off his captors sack hood.

  Hur’al blinked at the bright light, and a hush fell over the onlookers.

  ‘Behold, the traitor, Hur’al.’

  With one fell swoop, Thuun had whipped his audience to the point of frenzy. They jeered and shouted ‘traitor’, or ‘kill him’. They were ready for their bloodlust to be sated.

  Hur’al stood resolutely and silently waited while Thuun paced gleefully in front of him.

  ‘So what’s to be done with the traitor? Kill him outright or subject him to the gam
es?’

  At the latter, the crowd roared and stamped their feet to show approval. After a moment, Thuun held his hand high and waited for silence once more.

  ‘Still, there’s more. My once and faithful ‘First’ has opted to join the games.’

  A gasp from one side of the arena, and staggered coughs signalled shock. No one who knew of Len’i’s incarceration had ever considered that Thuun would permit anything other than a life of imprisonment. Some felt that he was now lenient by allowing Len’i to die in the games. He had once proclaimed that Len’i was destined to die alone in his cell for his treachery.

  Sensing unrest, Thuun carried on hurriedly. ‘Bring forth more o’ the prisoners,’ he barked.

  One by one, captives from varying quarters of the globe were paraded for the enjoyment of the crowd. A particular giant of a man received enthusiastic applause and cheering. He was easily equal in stature to Len’i and rippling with muscle under his torn shirt.

  Coinin found himself pushed forward and he unsteadily obeyed. Through the sack clothing, which smelled of sheep droppings, he saw pinpricks of light and the odd shadow, not enough to comfort. Unseen hands grasped him, and his sack was whipped from his head. Sunlight blazed like fire onto his retinas, and he blinked back sudden tears and the urge to sneeze. He squinted around him and realised any chance of escape was impossible. He could never climb the stout poles that formed the arena. Around him, other prisoners lined the circular platform, and all looked defeated and sullen, quietly awaiting their fate.

  ‘I give you Coinin Wulf,’ Thuun bellowed.

  Silence followed, and it was evident that no one knew who he was. Then a lone voice piped up. ‘He’s but a boy.’

  Thunn sighed. ‘This is no mere boy. He’s Curator for The Order of The Wulf and first in line to succeed the current Archmage. He’s our enemy!’

  Outrage and anger issued forth from the audience, each of them eager to see Coinin’s blood run red. The idea that he was a boy lost to the moment.

  Thuun relished every minute of his limelight. The support of his people mattered to him since each of them kept him in power. The happier his subjects were, the less likely they were to replace him.