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

by Harrison Davies

  A full three days and nights passed, and Marrok was weak with hunger and dehydration. Only once had the dragon landed, giving him enough time for its rider to feed him a small amount of dried meat and water from a bladder. The dragon neither drank nor fed.

  Marrok assumed that the rider must urinate while in the air as no other stops were made. Sadly for Marrok, despite his pleas, he had to relieve himself in his sack and felt dirty and ashamed.

  Before too long, a landmass in the distance began to grow larger by the minute. It had been difficult to distinguish at first, being the same colour as the clouds that flitted by and soaked his hair.

  Snow, he thought. It must be a land of snow and ice. No wonder he was cold.

  The dragon lurched downwards and took with it Marrok’s heart. Down the creature dived, quicker and faster.

  Marrok, typically brave, wanted to scream, thanks to the loss of his ability to determine his own course. No option but to comply was very disturbing to him.

  The last of the clouds were left behind as they descended. Below them was indeed a gigantic landmass of ice and snow. This new continent was three to four times the size of Rosthagaar and divided almost equally in two by a waterway. Mountainous peaks, topped with white, peppered the land where little or no vegetation grew.

  The dragon was heading for a volcanic plateau, rough and barren. Lava snaked its way through this section of terrain, boiling and bubbling fiercely. They had almost landed, and an unusual warmth amid an icy landscape hit him before that feeling was replaced with a stomach lurching drop. The dragon let go of him from the height of two men, and thankfully he impacted an outlying snow bank, only to roll down it and come to a sudden stop at the bottom, where sharp lava channels intersected igneous rocks. He was fortunate not to strike a particularly deadly looking protuberance of granite that would surely have ended his life with a terrible head wound.

  A mile or so away, above an enormous volcano that spewed lava and ran in rivulets down its face, lightning lit up a dark; snow-filled sky. The accompanying thunder shook Marrok’s very core.

  The heat was overwhelming, and only stubborn outcrops of snow and ice clung to long cooled rocks.

  Despite its bulk, the dragon landed gracefully, and its rider dismounted swiftly and deftly onto a well-used, flat-topped rock. From a second sack attached to the creature’s leg, the rider hauled out from it a thick chain and fastened it around the forepaw of the beast, securing it to a looped iron rod driven into the rock. Then, after withdrawing a large fleece big enough for two people and laying it on the ground near the dragon, Marrok watched in disbelief as the figure huddled beneath it with the intention of gaining some well-deserved sleep, protected from the elements.

  Marrok’s anger surged. ‘Hey, I’m still here!’

  The rider sat up and removed her leather headgear. Long black hair tumbled to her shoulders. ‘I don’t care. Now, shut up so I can rest.’ She laid down and once more covered herself in sheepskin.

  Marrok attempted to break himself free from his sack, though with his hands tied he found it impossible and gave up puffing and panting. He watched the dragon stretch and scratch at an ear, as would a dog. It then circled its resting place a few times before laying down and curling up to go to sleep with a huge sigh; its head tucked under a wing. Before long its breathing slowed and after a while, deep snores rattled from its throat.

  It was almost an hour later when six orcs arrived wearing armless tunics and rough leather pants. Iron plates were strategically placed about the torso as a form of armour, and other than that they were barefoot. Their long green-brown toes were perfect for scaling rocks and the undersides leathery enough to withstand the sharp edges of stones and boulders. Their muscular bodies seemed to be even larger than the orcs he had met while infiltrating their travelling tented city.

  Marrok weighed nothing more than a bag of air to these gigantic muscular beings. One of the troop picked him up and slung him over his shoulder with ease, not bothering to remove him from his sack.

  It was an incredibly uncomfortable ride of almost three hours through hot volcanic conditions intermingled with freezing snow drifts. The high winds that circled the base of the volcano stung his face.

  The orc carried him tirelessly, following his leader in a wide arc around the perimeter of the volcanic lava-spewing peak to the other side from where the dragon had landed.

  With almost each step, the orcs complained bitterly of the smell emanating from Marrok’s stained sack, and at one point, one of the more aggressive orcs threatened to throw him into a lava pit and be done with the stench. Fortunately for Marrok, the leader of the group quashed that idea almost instantly.

  ‘Furg, cease or kill you, I will,’ the orc leader growled, seizing him by the throat.

  Furg dropped Marrok onto the hard rock and squared up to his leader.

  After a brief tussle and the leader cracking Furg about the head with a rock, the fight ended as quickly as it had started.

  Furg was dazed and bled profusely from his skull. He had suffered the loss of his pride and a canine tooth but was otherwise uninjured.

  He towed the line and did as he was told from then on, more interested in stemming the blood from his head than carrying Marrok. Another orc was given the privilege of transporting the human, and so the journey continued.

  Several miles later, a tunnel as high as three orcs came into view through a haze of falling snow. This new feature was cut into the cliff face of a secondary mountain adjoining the volcano.

  A further ten minutes of trudging later and they had arrived at the tunnel entrance. Great swathes of hardy Morning Glory vines grew around the entry in the nutrient rich ash that gathered there. The pink flowering plant looked odd against the stark oppressiveness of the surroundings, and the whole thing was strangely inviting.

  Close up; the tunnel entrance looked well lit by a series of flaming torches hanging in holders attached to the rock walls.

  Marrok was dropped at the tunnel entrance, and quick hands untied the ropes binding the sack at his neck. He was tipped from it and onto the shale-like rock. An orc undid his bonds and then picked him up and transported him to a pool of bubbling, steaming water. ‘Wash,’ the orc said and dropped him into the pool with a splash.

  A moment of panic that he would be boiled alive was replaced with a delightfully warming sensation that eased his aching and cramped limbs. He had been cooped up inside his sack like a child in the womb for far too long.

  Slowly life returned to his limbs, and with it came pins and needles followed by an intense cramp that saw him leap from the pool. He hopped about on one foot in an attempt to ease it.

  Finally, after much leaping about, he felt capable of walking properly. He looked about him and realised for the first time that he was alone. The orcs had vanished leaving him feeling small and alone. Fleetingly, he considered bolting to escape and then realised there was nowhere to run. There was only one option, and that was to follow the tunnel, which he assumed was the reason he had been brought to this place. Taking a deep breath, he walked, while still soaking wet, into the gaping tunnel mouth.

  He shivered uncontrollably, and a tingling sensation overwhelmed his senses, and he marvelled as a twinkling red light passed over his body and radiated out to fill the tunnel entrance. He did not realise it then—he had ventured through an invisible barrier conjured from magic that prevented all but those who had been invited to the tunnel from passing through.

  He may have marvelled at the barrier and found himself in sheer awe as he refocused on his destination. The tunnel had vanished, and he felt a little lightheaded as he found himself in a natural high-sided valley warmed by a yellow sun. The scene before him was far removed from the one he had just left behind. He checked behind him and was shocked to discover that there was no tunnel and indeed no sign of a volcano or snow drifts anywhere.

  This new place was idyllic, and the warming sun revived him and beat down on a carpet of luscious green gra
ss and an ancient forest. Animals and birds, more than he had ever seen in one place, frolicked, gambled and flew in all directions.

  A very familiar black granite structure rose from the centre of the forest, towering high into a cloudless blue sky. With a sense of foreboding, he ventured forth into the forest and animals scattered before him. The remaining hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he ventured deeper into the forest towards the tower. The further he travelled the more ominous the journey became.

  Not long into his walk, screams and howls from unseen animals reverberated around the trees. At least he hoped it was animals making those noises. Who knew what lurked this deep?

  A thick mist drifted across his path and covered everything in a blanket of white. Almost immediately, strange silhouettes of invisible creatures, some bipedal, others oddly shaped, crossed before him and intertwined in the mist before vanishing almost as soon as they had arrived.

  A sudden cold breath on his neck, accompanied by the protracted whisper of his name in the fog, spooked him. His usually unshakable bravery left him, and he ran. All his own demons seemed to be haunting him; stalking him.

  To his left, he saw as if watching from afar, the horrific moment of his mother’s death. The scene played out in all its gory detail with an accompanying, blood-curdling scream. Marrok was stunned, not just at seeing his mother’s last moments, but at seeing the younger versions of he and his brother. He turned away to see his father slay an orc on horseback and receive a blow to the abdomen. The image dissolved to his father lying on the ground and reaching up to the sky before falling back to die. Next, images of Draken beating him brought back memories he preferred to repress to be replaced by a giant grabbing at his leg and pulling him into a fiery volcanic pit. He instinctively ducked as a headless knight slashed at him with a sword, and he began to run. The mist grew denser as he ran and he found it hard to breathe.

  As if a tree had struck him, he stopped dead in his tracks with a sharp pain searing through his brain. A white flash blinded him, and he found himself in a very familiar environment, although the setting was different. Everything everywhere was black and white and a grand hall stretched away before him, pillared on either side. Shafts of light penetrated slit windows high in the stone walls at the edge of the room. Ghostly figures mingled around the pillars and a full-length table ran down the centre of the room. At the far end of the hall a raised platform held two chairs, carved in the shape of dragons and standing side by side. He walked the length of the hall, his feet echoing on the stone floor until he reached the platform.

  Several figures solidified and came into view before him. A woman bound in chains stood before the platform and was surrounded by armed men. She wailed and protested her innocence.

  His focus switched to the platform, and he received the biggest shock of all. Out of thin air, a visage of his older self solidified on the rightmost chair. He appeared to have a bored expression.

  ‘Will you shut her up!’ The older Marrok yelled and banged the arm of his chair. His voice echoed strangely, and he stood angrily.

  Her guard slapped the woman about the face, and she fell to her knees. Hands grabbed at her clothing and roughly brought her to her feet.

  Marrok, wearing a band of gold around his greying hair, stepped down from the platform and approached the woman. He gripped her chin hard in his hand and squeezed. ‘You have been found guilty of sedition. The crime of conspiring against High King Secracar is death.’ He smirked, and his eyes held her gaze with an unfeeling stare.

  The woman burst into fresh wails and tears. ‘But I’m innocent!’

  ‘Too late. You have been tried. Now the sentence must be carried out.’ Marrok turned away and almost immediately swung back to face the woman, whose eyes looked puzzled. She convulsed and gurgled blood from her mouth. Her guards let her fall to the ground once more. She lay there twitching until she died.

  A younger Marrok looked on in horror as his older self laughed heartily and returned to his seat. He tried to make his way forward to confront himself and found his way barred by a sea of new ghost-like figures. From nowhere, a tall, thin figure materialised before him, pale and scarred. It was Lordich, although instead of ignoring him, this figured raced up to him and with noses almost touching, the apparition spoke to him.

  ‘Behold your future, young knight. You will hold both death and life in your hands, my apprentice.’

  Marrok tore at his hair and shook his head. ‘No! I won't accept this. No, never!’ He yelled and backed away.

  Lordich circled him like white smoke and whispered in his ear. ‘Death and life.’

  Marrok turned and ran, screaming as he went.

  He fell and found himself back in the forest in the blink of an eye. He was sweating and breathless, and the mist still surrounded him. Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled forward, genuinely scared that what he had witnessed was indeed his future. He could not imagine any scenario that would see him kill a woman in such a manner, or indeed join Lordich’s ranks.

  Another voice whispered in the mist and he looked about him worriedly. ‘There’s nowhere to hide. You will bend to my will.’

  ‘Never!’ screamed Marrok, and backed away once more, searching for the owner of the voice.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a shape bearing down on him. It grew larger and larger until the figure of Death was stood before him. A long bony finger at the end of an extended arm pointed directly at him. Somehow the finger broke free of the mist and became manifest. A long, thin black nail pressed hard against his chest over his heart. The pain began to overwhelm him, and he screwed up his face in agony. More whispers of his name in quick succession saw him cowering in fear.

  The finger alongside a skeletal hand plunged deep into his chest with such coldness that his heart stopped momentarily. He passed out hearing the whispered words: ‘Prepare to die!’

  He awoke some time later to a wet tongue lapping at his ear. A doe had taken a shine to his earlobe and bolted the moment he sat up with a start.

  He was in a clearing in the forest and looked around for signs of the ghostly apparition. The mist had gone, and so had any sign of what had just occurred. His chest hurt and that made him wonder if it had all been real and not just a dream. He could just as easily fallen and injured his chest on the ground. Either way, he did not want a repeat of that particular nightmare. He tried to shake the haunting images from his mind, only the final words of the deathly creature nagged at him. ‘Prepare to die!’

  He shuddered at the memory and attempted to decipher its meaning. Did the figure intend for him to die there and then in the dream? Or if it was not a dream, perhaps this creature was warning him of some impending doom.

  Soft footfalls on the grass disturbed his thoughts, and he turned sharply to the newcomer, terrified of more of the same.

  ‘Marrok, my dear friend. You made it through the forest of futures in one piece. That place can turn the most judicious of men insane.’ Lordich smiled, an odd expression for him as it accentuated his exposed facial sinews and made him appear even more horrific. ‘But then looking into you own future or past is never a good idea. It can make a man do strange things.’

  Marrok sagged and shook his head. ‘I will never be that man. Ever!’

  ‘We will see, young Marrok.’ Lordich said knowingly. ‘Let’s not talk about that right now. Greeting a friend upon approach is polite. Is it not?’

  ‘If you were a friend, then yes,’ Marrok replied boldly. He stood and faced the tall man and was instantly aware of the lack of protection surrounding him.

  ‘Come now, let us be civil. It does not cost to use manners. I know your thoughts and sense that you mean to cause me harm.’

  Marrok opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.

  ‘Do not try to deny it, Marrok. I once thought like you.’ Lordich tapped a long, thin finger to his temple to emphasise the point. ‘Let me save you the trouble of thinking of attacking me. You are u
narmed, and I am on the other hand, very much armed.’

  Lordich thrust out his arm at eye level and splayed his finger with his palm at ninety degrees to his body. A soft glow grew brighter and brighter until a ball of fire appeared in his palm. After pulling back his arm, he thrust it forwards again. The fireball hurtled towards a lone tree in the centre of the clearing and ignited it with such force that its entirety was engulfed in flames. A blast of hot air took Marrok’s breath away. This was a powerful mage.

  A smug and self-satisfied Lordich raised his eyebrows expectantly at Marrok.

  ‘I will not try to harm you,’ Marrok said, dejected.

  ‘Good; then I am pleased that we are one step closer to becoming friends.’

  That will never happen, Marrok thought.

  Lordich continued as if he was unaware of Marrok’s last thought which gave him hope that the man had been bluffing. ‘Follow me, he said, setting off at a brisk pace. ‘I want to welcome you to your new home.’

  Marrok jogged after him, acutely aware that the warlock had his back exposed to him. He could pounce and snap the man’s neck in an instant, yet could he risk it? It would need perfect timing and precision, but then, what protection did the old man have other than his magic? He imagined that there would be watchful eyes monitoring his every move. Perhaps even Lordich himself had eyes in the back of his head. No, he would bide his time and strike when the perfect moment presented itself.

  With this thought, his priorities shifted to survival by any means necessary. If that meant befriending Lordich in order to escape, then so be it. Who knows, maybe he would learn how to fly one of the dragons he had spotted circling the tower.

  A little voice inside him told him that he would be more likely to grow a second head than escape his new prison, for that was what it was, despite what Lordich called it.

  He followed the wizard who wore a long black cloak that dragged along the ground after him. The grass froze and shattered as the hem of the cloak passed over it.

  Marrok steered clear and approached the warlock from the side. ‘Why does the grass die behind you?’