Lordich smiled. ‘It is caused by residual magic. The magic I use is too powerful for this mortal shell, and I need to expend the elemental forces that I do not use back to the earth.’
Marrok only heard two words: too powerful and did not like the sound of it. He thought it likely that this dark wizard was merely boasting, or attempting to curb any thoughts of harm he harboured.
Lordich led Marrok across the clearing to the immensely tall tower that held a single door at its base atop a set of granite steps. To the left, and quite different to the layout of the tower on the island, was a series of what appeared to be oversized stables. The buildings were cross beamed and had a unique, bell-shaped roof. Several stable doors were open, and from his vantage point, he could see that the occupants were dragons of varying shapes and sizes.
At that moment he formed a plan of escape and hoped he could pull it off. It was a plan that would take longer than a night to execute, so he reasoned to himself that he should show patience and bide his time.
The duo bypassed the stables and headed into a long, low building with a straw roof. Inside, it was an almost exact replica of the meeting hall on the black tower island. The same layout had been adopted, minus the oval table that dominated the previous one.
In its place, a fire pit blazed with thickly cut logs that crackled and warmed the stone room. Around the perimeter were thirteen highly polished granite chairs that looked cold and uncomfortable. Lordich led Marrok to the fire pit and invited him to sit on a sheepskin laid out for him by an aide who had appeared from a darkened corner of the room.
Marrok sat and wondered what Lordich had in store for him. Lordich sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor opposite and stared into the fire as if mesmerised by it.
Marrok waited patiently. There was obviously something on the old man’s mind. Several minutes later, Lordich cleared his throat and looked Marrok deep in the eyes.
‘You have had a hard time of it of late,’ he said, ‘and for this, I am truly sorry.’
Marrok was taken aback by the apparent remorse shown by this confirmed tyrant, murderer and oath breaker.
‘Though my need to see justice done for this world outweighs all else. My life is dedicated to seeing The Brotherhood of The Wulf brought to its knees.’
‘Why do you hate The Order so much?’
A look of pain flashed across Lordich’s face, and he clenched his jaw. It was several moments before he responded. ‘They permit the murder of innocents and do nothing to prevent it.’
‘I’m confused,’ Marrok said. ‘I thought The Brotherhood was good. Surely they would not permit such a thing?’
Lordich laughed hollowly. ‘I was once like you, an idealist, eager to please. Perhaps if I tell you my story, you may change your mind.’
❖
A much younger, dark haired, clean shaven Lordich stood atop a barren hill eyeing the scene before him with a look of great concern on his face. He wore a shining steel battledress and a red cloak that billowed in the breeze. In his hands, he held a square of torn and tattered parchment that held The Order of The Wulf Crest. It read:
Brother Secracar,
Stand your ground ... advance on the enemy.
The Brotherhood sympathises with your plight ... we cannot assist you ... you must hold the city at all costs ... at your own risk.
Affectionately,
Orodor
Archmage, Order of The Wulf.
The remainder of the parchment was missing and had suffered terribly on its journey, with many missing sections of text where the ink had run.
He dropped his hand to his side, and a stiff wind that raced over the hill whipped the parchment from his hand, and it fluttered away, never to be seen again.
He dropped to his knees, his head in his hands. They were not coming. His beloved Brotherhood had forsaken him in his time of need. After all, he had sacrificed for his brothers; they had sentenced his family to a certain death.
Outside of the high city walls, a horde of giants had begun slamming tree trunks against the stone and mortar of the city’s defences, attempting to breach it. Their aim was to plunder for gold.
If able to get inside, the city watch would be no match for them. The defenders were at best older men past their prime.
Lordich had done his best to organise the two-dozen watch officers into a defence party the moment the word had come to him that giants were heading their way. The watch had been instructed to man the wall and delay the attack with whatever means at their disposal. Lordich had told them that their efforts would buy time for The Brotherhood’s armies to come to their aid, and had sent a parchment by eagle pleading for help.
To his horror, he had learned that The Brotherhood were not coming, according to the latest communication. The self-same eagle had brought the response, torn and wet. Although damaged, the reply was clear. We are not coming, fend for yourself.
A crashing of stone followed by the resounding thump of tree trunk on hard earth disturbed his thoughts. The Giants had breached the city walls.
He looked up in time to see a large section of wall collapse and take with it several of the city watch. All was lost, and he wasted no time in bolting for his home. He could do no more to help the city; his only goal was to find his wife and child and lead them to safety. He had left them cowering in fear in the cellar of his modest home.
He raced faster down the steep incline of the hill, only to find that he could not control his rate of speed. His strides became more rapid, and he was unable to stop. All too soon his boots slipped out from under him, and he toppled over, headfirst.
Rolling painfully down the hill head over heels disorientated him and he cried out as his collar bone snapped audibly. After several more excruciatingly agonising rolls, he eventually came to a stop, flat on his back. His good arm automatically reached for the damaged one protectively.
Despite his injury, he bore the pain and struggled to right himself, finally succeeding after several attempts. He removed his belt with great difficulty and used it as a makeshift sling before setting off once more, this time slower than before, yet with all the haste he could muster.
Crowded streets of panicking and screaming city dwellers delayed him, and he cursed each and every one of them for getting in his way. He cried out in pain each time one of them bumped or barged into him and jolted his collarbone.
The streets were crowded affairs: tall, overhanging wooden houses with washing lines that hung between them. Below, wet cobbled stones threatened to trip him or cause him to slip.
He now knew he should have evacuated his family immediately, but his unwavering belief that The Brotherhood would come to his aid overrode that instinct.
Just one more corner and he would see his single storey home, nestled between a three-tier hostelry and blacksmiths. It was not the most comfortable of dwellings; however, it was home while he oversaw the protection of the city.
He rounded the corner, and his face dropped. With a cry, he raced forward, forgetting his pain. His home, along with several others, had been reduced to unrecognisable piles of timber and rubble. He dived onto the pile that was once his home, and with his one good arm, he frantically tried to shift the debris. Somewhere below he could hear terrified screams.
‘Chelia, Poree!’ he yelled in desperation. His wife and three-year-old daughter were below the mass of stone and timber. He cried out again and listened.
‘Lordich, there’s water coming in from the well. Help us!’ his hysterical wife screamed.
‘I’m coming!’ Lordich cried his desperation now at fever pitch. The worst of fears had been realised. His wife and child were trapped in the cellar and water from the well was seeping into the space. He had to act quickly, or they would die. He hopped from the pile of debris and back into the street where he grabbed at anyone who hurried by. ‘Help me please ... my wife and child—’ he pleaded.
No one stopped to help, and he was punched and kicked as people desperately tried
to free themselves from his grasp in a blind panic. He cried out to Rindor to save his family and ran back to the small mountain of lumber and stone. He again shifted stone after stone, trying to dig a way through to his family. He ignored the giants around him who had begun to demolish other homes and concentrated his efforts on a rescue.
He awoke days later in the golden temple infirmary. Matron Truelove was fussing over his many wounds. Through his pain, he cried out his wife’s name. ‘Chelia.’
The Matron turned away, and yet he saw in her eyes unmistakable tears. He grabbed for her, though she swung away and hurried down the infirmary. Sunlight streamed through open windows and sounds of the outside mingled with her footsteps.
The room, flanked either side by curtained beds, was clean and functional. It was airy and bright, the only decoration being the bright purple drapes around each bed.
Matron followed a long, low set of drawers that spanned the length of the room and entered her study.
A moment later, two solemn looking individuals exited the study and walked slowly towards him. The first was a younger Archmage Orodor, his beard considerably shorter than in his later years and with less grey. He wore a stark white cloak over a white six-button tunic and was talking quietly to Curator Menin, herself younger and fitter. She looked resplendent in a steel cuirass inlaid with golden trim. Her red cape fluttered behind her, and she frequently nodded to Orodor as he spoke.
Both stood at the end of Lordich’s bed and bowed to him in respect. Menin’s eyes appeared red, and she had the look of a person who had recently shed tears.
‘Brother Secracar, Lordich. It is my solemn duty to inform you that your wife and child have been taken from us,’ Orodor said quietly.
Lordich was puzzled. ‘Taken?’
‘They have passed to the afterlife. Their place is assured with the gods,’ Menin replied.
Lordich’s head dropped back on his pillow, and he screamed.
Menin approached him out of deep concern and sat on a wooden stool next to him. Lordich reached out and held her arm tightly. ‘Please, tell me you are mistaken, I beg you,’ he cried tearfully.
Menin lowered her head and shook it. ‘I am so very sorry Lordich. The bodies were recovered this morning.’
Lordich turned away, tears streaming down his face, and he cried uncontrollably. He lay that way for some time repeating the same word ‘no’ over and over.
Orodor again spoke softly. ‘I am sorry brother; we arrived at the city too late.’
Lordich sat up quickly, ignoring the pain. The physical pain he felt could not compare to the pain he felt at the loss of his wife and child. ‘You did not come!’ he screamed. ‘You let them die!’
Orodor graciously ignored the man’s outburst and put it down to grief. ‘My communication clearly stated that we were on our way. Sadly, we arrived after the Giants had destroyed the city.’
Lordich looked at Orodor stony-faced. ‘You lie! The parchment said you weren’t coming.’ He recited the words that had indelibly etched themselves onto his brain.
Orodor’s expression turned to one of horror. ‘No, brother. The parchment read thusly.’
Stand your ground for as long as is necessary. Do not advance on the enemy.
The Brotherhood sympathises with your plight and will do all that it can to aid you. However, we cannot assist you immediately; it will take some time to gather the necessary forces needed to defeat our foe.
Do what you can to evacuate the city by all means at your disposal. You must hold the city at all costs unless the walls are breached at which point you should make your escape. If you stay, you do so at your own risk.
Lordich raged and tried to get out of bed. He had to be forcefully restrained and sedated. Sleepily he turned to Orodor and uttered a sentence that would set his path from that moment on. ‘You could have done more; now I will make you pay.’
Orodor backed off, the hurt evident in his eyes. He stormed away and disappeared from the room quicker than he had arrived.
Lordich dreamed the most terrible of dreams that night. He knew the fault lay with himself, and yet this was clouded by his sudden hatred for Orodor whom he believed had delayed in coming to his aid. With his wife and child dead, his life had little meaning, and this set him on a course he felt he could not correct.
❖
‘So you see, Orodor and The Brotherhood are murderers, and that is why I must punish them,’ Lordich finished.
Strangely, Marrok felt pity for this man. It was evident he was blinded by his hatred for The Brotherhood in his belief that they had delayed coming to his aid; that his own guilt had been overshadowed by a desperate desire to destroy that which he once swore allegiance to.
The responsibility rested firmly on Lordich’s shoulders, though still the man needed someone to blame, and the nearest target had been Orodor.
Marrok was at a loss as to what to say to the man. He certainly did not agree that The Brotherhood was at fault, though to gain his trust, he would have to. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and then opened them. ‘You are correct. He could have done more.’
Lordich jumped to his feet, surprisingly quickly for his age, and howled happily. ‘So, you see?’ He said to no one in particular. ‘Finally someone who agrees with me! Someone who can see the truth before their eyes!’ His eyes grew wild, and he appeared momentarily blissful.
Marrok felt deep guilt at his words, and sorrow for the poor wretch of a man before him who was so embroiled in his grief that it drove his actions to his detriment.
‘Marrok, I have a feeling we will be firm friends, and in time you will truly see The Brotherhood for what they are. For now, go with your guard and rest. Tomorrow we will have so much more to discuss.’
A guard approached and escorted Marrok to the exit. He turned just in time to see Lordich conjure a ghostly apparition of a woman to whom he smiled and waved.
❖
‘Beyond that, we talked at length about strategies for defeating The Order, and he even sought my opinion on that. I was paraded before more of The Brotherhood of The Dragon and was eventually permitted to wander free in the valley and care for the dragons. There was no exit, to speak of, so there was no chance for me to escape. Though I did learn that he cannot control the mind of someone who has suffered personal grief.’ Marrok stretched on the Captain’s bunk. ‘Lordich didn’t know that my intent was to fly out of there. That’s why I insisted on caring for the dragons.’
‘How did you come to be at the Pirate Stronghold?’ Coinin asked, secretly thinking Marrok would have failed.
Marrok thought back. ‘By now I had him utterly convinced that I was under his spell and that I too despised The Order. Lordich said that he wanted to visit an old friend and that he would enjoy my company.’
‘Thuun?’
‘Yes, Thuun the Pirate King. We must have been there for three days feasting with the King. Lordich was angry that one of Thuun’s ships had attacked his tower on the island, and Thuun, of course, denied all knowledge but agreed to compensate Lordich, which seemed to appease him. After that, it’s all pretty much a blur until I heard you, Coinin, scream Jericho’s name, and I seemed to snap out of a daze. What a shock I received seeing you there about to be decapitated by Lordich’s knight.’
‘Perhaps Lordich has been drugging you and slowly turning your mind to his way of thinking?’ Draken said. ‘He has a fondness for doing that.’
‘Yes, perhaps. I rescued you from the knight, and that’s about all I can remember,’ Marrok finished.
Coinin had stood too long in one place and shifted his weight, realising he needed to exercise his ankle. He limped around the deck a few times until Draken sighed in frustration.
‘Will you sit down boy? That is most distracting. I do have something important to say if you’d care to listen.’
Coinin raised his eyebrows to Marrok and then joined him on the bunk in preparation for Draken’s speech.
‘Good. Now that we’r
e all settled, I want to talk to you about Lordich and the Swords of Cerathil.’
‘What about them?’ Marrok said gruffly.
‘Have you forgotten your original quest to search out the Cerathil swords?’
‘We have not forgotten,’ Coinin replied.
‘Then why do you insist on running around the globe hunting Lordich instead of searching for them?’
‘Let’s see now. We have just over three years left to find ... how many swords?’ Marrok questioned.
‘We have one, the temple has one, and Rostha City has one. That leaves just two to find. There’s plenty of time. Besides, if we stop Lordich now, we can concentrate on the swords all that much more,’ Coinin reasoned.
‘There’s just one small flaw with your plan, dear nephew.’
‘How so?’
‘You have just over two years, not three.’
Coinin laughed. ‘How do you come to that conclusion?’
‘Those fools at the temple don’t consider celestial studies and the movement of the stars as worthy of their consideration. As such, they, like all others, believe that this is the year Minas T, 996, yet in fact, it is Su’un A, 997, bringing the millennium one year closer.’
‘Are you sure of this?’
‘Absolutely. I studied this lore myself. Somewhere along the way, a scribe or other fool switched the date on the official calendars. I tried to tell them thirty years ago, and that idiot scribe Polinus ridiculed me. Orodor refused to listen to reason and dismissed my findings out of hand.’
‘This is far-reaching if your theory is to be believed. Can you show us your findings?’
‘Certainly, though it will have to wait until nightfall when the stars are visible.’
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 73