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

by Harrison Davies

❖

  Coinin chewed a strip of dried meat, grimacing at the taste. It was bitter and overly salted, and the texture, stringy and unnatural. Temple food had spoiled him, and he knew it.

  He sat alone atop a sandy bluff that overlooked the lake and watched the sun slowly rise, welcoming the warmth it would bring. He knew, though, that any warming sun would not take away his guilt at sending his uncle away. He had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Surprising, even to him, it hurt more than he could express, perhaps because Draken had taken on a parental status for more than half of his life, and he felt that he owed the old man his respect. If only Draken had pulled his weight, then things would be quite different now, he mused. Yet, he still felt he had reacted too quickly; one of his perceived failings.

  Whilst he was deep in thought, Dalia had led her troops and Len’i to a secluded natural rock cove not too far away, hidden from prying eyes. There they would rest and await further orders.

  Coinin flicked his head to the left and saw Jericho and Menin huddled together at the shoreline. Laliala’s head rested on the general’s powerful shoulder. Coinin sensed that Jericho was offering his old friend comfort and solace in her grief.

  Turning his head to the right, Coinin spotted Marrok and Aniol practising unarmed combat. He shook his head and smiled. Those two just never stopped.

  At a discreet distance, Zaruun quietly remained, steadfastly watchful over his charge. Coinin admired the man’s dedication to his duties and realised then that he had not really come to know him or his counterpart, Nethlith, and resolved to do so at the earliest opportunity. He wondered where Nethlith was at that moment and what he was doing. His mind drifted to life at the temple, his warm bed, and the delicious food. His stomach rumbled in protest at the dried meat, and he stopped chewing.

  The sun had risen enough to see clearly and cast a multi-coloured array of light across the sky. Reds, purples and oranges were mixing into a kaleidoscope of colour that streaked across the heavens.

  Before him, long shadows snaked across the ground and unmistakably created the shape of a skull on the rocky shore. Coinin jumped up with a start. Death was taunting him, reminding him that he was never far away and ever watchful. As if he needed reminding. He felt the skull shaped scar on the back of his neck.

  The thought that he would die on the day of the equinox haunted him yet again. Death had promised it, and he did not doubt his word. His heart thundered in his chest, and he felt the urge to speak to Menin. He stood and slid down the bluff onto the rocky shore, where he bypassed the shadowy skull, and with a crunch of stone amid his determination, he strode towards Menin.

  Zaruun saluted his approach and nodded as he passed. Coinin, however, stopped suddenly and turned back to Zaruun. ‘Don’t salute me. We’re here in disguise, remember.’

  Zaruun looked horrified. ‘Forgive me, a foolish mistake.’

  ‘Not to worry, old habits die hard. Just be more careful in future,’ Coinin replied over his shoulder as he turned and continued towards Jericho and Menin.

  The pair heard him approach and stood in greeting.

  Menin turned to her companion and patted his arm. ‘Thank you, Dareth. You are forever my comfort and strength.’

  ‘Think nothing of it.’ Jericho nodded and excused himself to join Zaruun.

  Menin stared after her friend, lost in thought.

  ‘Archmage, may I have a moment of your time?’ Coinin said. He waited a moment. ‘Archmage?’

  Menin noticed him then. ‘I’m sorry. Yes, of course. What is it?’

  Coinin grimaced and shuddered at Death’s words circling his mind.

  ‘You know not to hold anything back. What’s troubling you?’ Menin peered at him with her piercing green eyes.

  ‘Death,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Well, we all have to die sometime.’

  ‘No, I’m talking about Mort.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He has left me a message. Come the Equinox; I will die.’

  Menin frowned in puzzlement. ‘The Equinox, that’s six months from now.’

  Coinin caught his breath, and he clasped a hand over his mouth as if to stop himself from vomiting.

  Menin cursed herself for speaking without thinking. ‘I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.’

  ‘I don’t want to die,’ Coinin murmured.

  ‘I don’t want you to die either. What exactly did Death tell you?’

  ‘That I must comply and place his name in the Scroll of Life before the Equinox.’

  ‘That is puzzling. There is both the Northern and Southern Equinoxes. The next, being the Southern, occurs in six months from now. But the Northern –’ She cut off, and her face paled.

  ‘What? What is it?’ Coinin asked.

  ‘How utterly stupid of me. If it were not for Draken, I would never have seen it. How foolish.’

  ‘What?’ cried Coinin.

  ‘Your uncle is indeed correct; we did have the date for the Cerathil Rite wrong. If my calculations are correct, the rite falls on the same day as this particular Northern Equinox. The events are never static, they forever change.’ Menin paced. ‘What blind fools we have been to the truth.’

  ‘So, then, if Draken hadn’t advised us that we had the dates wrong, we’d have blindly continued searching for the missing sword, and it would have all been for nothing. The Equinox could have passed, and we’d all be dead.’

  ‘And the Cerathil Rite?’

  ‘It is the day that The Brotherhood reunite the Swords of Cerathil to bind Lord Rindor’s rule as King of the gods.’

  ‘Do you think, then, that Death means for me to die in six month’s time?’

  Menin thought for a moment. ‘I don’t believe so,’ she began, ‘for you see, The Brotherhood do not observe the Southern Equinox, that observance is usually practised by other religious bodies on Er’ath. Are you sure Death said nothing more?’

  Coinin searched his mind for a clue, something he may have missed, and though he wracked his brain, he came up short. ‘No, nothing.’

  Menin wrapped a protective arm around the young boy’s shoulder. ‘In that case, the only person who would truly know is Orodor, and I’m afraid I am unable to commune with him being so far from the Golden Temple. I don’t know what else to say to reassure you.’

  Coinin hugged her tightly, faintly remembering how it felt to hold his mother thus, and a single tear formed before he found comfort in the knowledge that he would at least see his parents again in the afterlife.

  He released his grip on Menin and looked at her squarely. ‘It’s okay. I chose this life, this quest. It is my destiny, and I am willing to shoulder the responsibility.’

  Menin suddenly looked saddened and avoided his gaze before turning away.

  Coinin tapped her arm. ‘Why do you look away? What is wrong?’

  ‘It is nothing, I … I am merely upset by the whole thing.’

  Coinin narrowed his eyes. He was sure that Menin had never lied to him, but something about her demeanour and response told him that she was being untruthful. He did not know why, nor could he put a finger on it, but he sensed it, and even though he felt that she had lied, it would have been inappropriate for him to accuse her of deceit and question her further. But still, it left a sour taste in his mouth and raised a new set of questions he needed to bring to Marrok.

  To change the subject, Menin clapped her hands together. ‘At least we’ve got Marrok back.’

  Coinin did not feel cheered at this in the knowledge that Menin was withholding something, and all he could muster was a weak smile.

  ‘What is the next step, Curator?’

  Coinin thought for a moment. ‘We need to gather information to determine Prince Thymes’ credibility and to check that his story holds up to scrutiny. I see no better way than to secrete ourselves in the city and mix with its people.’

  ‘How do you intend to achieve this?’

  ‘Is there a temple within Rodine’s borders?’

&nbs
p; ‘There are several, but if you mean a Brotherhood temple, then yes, there is a place of worship to the Goddess Taminoth. We haven’t had much contact with The Brotherhood this far out in quite some time, other than the yearly tithes, which continue to be forwarded without fail.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Orodor requested we leave them be. What I do know is that Rodine does not often favour outsiders crossing its borders and setting up camp, so twenty years ago we left the faithful Rodine followers to seek a congregation from the local population and build a temple. The last visit from an ambassador was five years ago, and she reported all was well.’

  Coinin nodded, understanding. ‘Then I require you and Zaruun to visit this temple and speak with the Chief Scribe there and ascertain the truth of the prince’s story.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘Dalia will remain behind in a flanking position, while Marrok and Jericho frequent a drinking establishment. We’ve already learned that they are the best places to gain information, for the right price.’

  ‘What do you plan to do?’

  ‘Aniol and I will find some local young and mix with them for a while.’

  ‘This sounds like a solid plan. Do you have any other orders?’

  Coinin was taken aback that the Archmage so readily accepted his command, and it was then that he realised for the first time that he was in charge. He was finally fulfilling the role he was destined to follow.

  Their next steps were reliant on his direction and any success, or failure, for that was a real possibility, rested squarely on his shoulders.

  He felt empowered and confident in that moment, enough to take on the responsibility of his office. He had previously gone along with the notion that he was destined to do it but now felt it deep down, that he was indeed the curator. He was unsure if it was the presence of Menin or his brother that filled him with the confidence needed to make his own judgements, but he was enjoying it, all the same.

  Without warning his eyelids drooped heavily, and his head lolled to one side. He sat down quickly as a dizziness engulfed him, and then his eyelids fluttered uncontrollably as ghostly images flashed before his eyes.

  A moment later he was amid a raging battle, as if watching through the eyes of someone else. The battle was ferocious and bloody, the noise of clashing steel and drums was deafening, with the cries of the dying cutting through the melee. He felt nauseous at the sight of so much blood and had to look away. As he did so, the image undulated like a rolling fog and a new scene materialised before him.

  He was again in the body of another and realised he was in a darkened room, lit only by candlelight. He sat at a highly carved wooden desk. A piece of furniture he recognised as his own, which sat waiting for him in his office at the temple. A hand scribbled furiously with a scratchy quill and black ink across a page of a sizable tome.

  The hand was aged, marked with liver spots, though what he found most curious was what the unseen author was writing in the volume.

  Judging by the hand, an unknown male was in the process of altering the text of a passage that sounded familiar.

  “From within our midst at the closing of the battle, the blood of the Wulf did slay the fallen with the Sword of Ages, and the demon was vanquished. Rindor, the most-wise and mighty Lord of the skies, did spare Er’ath and granted the gift of life as a reward…”

  Using a sponge and a clear liquid, perhaps lemon juice, the scribe lifted away a portion of the old text and replaced these sections with new wording. To Coinin’s dismay, a mist descended, and he was unable to read what had been changed. He assumed that the writer had made a mistake and was merely correcting their error, so thought nothing more of it.

  The mist cleared momentarily and before he could read the revised text his vision changed, and this time he received the greatest shock of all.

  A circular room of marble he recognised from the temple held several people, nearly all of whom wore full battledress. They sat around a circular stone table, the centre of which held a crackling fire that warmed the otherwise cold room.

  A much younger Ædelmær paced the floor, a look of great concern emblazoned across his face. ‘You expect me to put aside everything I know and hold dear?’

  A young, blonde woman stood and laid a calming hand on Ædelmær’s arm, and Coinin found himself catching his breath. Godwen, his mother, beautiful and full of youth looked at her husband and said in a hushed voice, ‘My dear, please permit the curator to speak.’

  Ædelmær growled before returning to his chair and sat down heavily, his face a picture of fury.

  Curator Orodor looked resplendent in a white cloak he had draped around himself, the sun disc under a wolf’s paw emblem resting on his left shoulder. He stood and rounded his chair, the cloak falling open to reveal a steel breastplate, dented and well worn. It had long ago lost its shine, a testament to the many skirmishes in which Orodor had fought, protecting the lands of Rosthagaar.

  ‘The time has come when hard choices must be made. Ædelmær, you know of the recently resurrected prophecy that two will be born of temple blood,’ Orodor reminded.

  ‘You are saying that my child will be the first of two to take up the sword to slay the one known as Death,’ Ædelmær replied.

  ‘Our unborn child,’ Godwen added.

  Coinin fell back onto the hard, stony shoreline, dizzy and breathless. A new vision had formed before him in a blinding flash of white light.

  This time, he hovered, disembodied, over two figures and witnessed Curator Orodor, looking aged, in hurried talks with a female Coinin did not recognise.

  The two stood within the Great Library, its multi-tiered balconies bursting to the brim with volume after volume of historical documents, scrolls and books. The galleries ran the circumference of an enormous circular chamber, divided by sturdy, stone columns that rose higher and higher. Thirteen columns supported the first-floor gallery, and each held a lit torch. The smooth rock floor had in its centre an intricate inlay that bore The Brotherhood’s symbol, a paw print of a wolf over a sun disc, and a motto that read: ‘Faith and law guide you’.

  In the centre of the space, a wooden lectern stood and held a single book, its pages already open.

  ‘You cannot ask me to do this, Archmage. It goes against everything I have come to know,’ Curator Orodor objected.

  ‘I understand your objections completely. However, if you do not alter the record, the prophesied could be in grave danger.

  As the only authorised individual who could alter the prophecy, the curator sighed.

  ‘If we do not, Mort may one day harm the prophesied to prevent his own downfall. All official records mentioning him must be erased. He poses a greater threat than any we are likely to encounter.’

  Orodor bowed his head and then looked green at the thought of his next task. He approached the lectern holding an open ledger and picked up a quill, which he dipped into an inkwell set into the frame. ‘What is it you wish me to write, Archmage?’

  ❖

  Coinin’s mind blackened and then slowly the lakeshore came back into focus. He found himself laying on hard pebbles. Archmage Menin and the others stood over him with concerned expressions. He eventually sat up, all traces of his dizziness seemingly gone.

  ‘Coinin, are you well? What ails you?’ Marrok asked, and felt his sibling’s forehead, seeking a temperature.

  Coinin batted his brother’s hand away and stood. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, and staggered backwards. ‘A little dizzy is all.’

  ‘Perhaps you should sit a moment, take some water,’ Aniol offered. She brandished a leather bladder of liquid under his nose.

  He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t need you fussing either. I just need to speak to Marrok, alone.’

  ‘Oh, well, we’ll leave you to it then,’ said Menin, appearing somewhat offended. She and the others retreated.

  Coinin did not feel guilty at sending his companions away. He had pressing information for Marrok.
/>   He waited to ensure Aniol and the rest were out of earshot. They immediately began to talk in whispers, and he did not blame them.

  ‘What’s this about, Coinin?’ Marrok demanded.

  Coinin took a deep breath and considered his words carefully. ‘I don’t believe the Order is as honest and trustworthy as they make out.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Marrok flashed a look at the others and turned back to his brother.

  Coinin recounted his visions in detail. He described them as memories imprinted within the vast quantity of information he had absorbed during his initiation and then released slowly over time.

  ‘I don’t see what concerns you,’ Marrok said when Coinin had finished.

  ‘Don’t you see? The Brotherhood has altered the prophecy surrounding us in some way.’

  ‘But you said that the archmage ordered Orodor to do it to protect the prophesied.’

  ‘Well, that’s true –’

  ‘Then, surely they have our best interests at heart. They’ve never given us a reason to doubt them before.’

  Coinin grunted noncommittally and thought back to his last conversation with Menin. She was hiding something; he could feel it.

  ‘Besides, prophecy or not, this is all matterless if we fail to unite the swords. I suggest you focus on that task, and what will be will be.’

  ‘But there’s something not quite right about all this,’ Coinin objected.

  ‘Coinin, we cannot afford to be side-tracked by buts and what ifs. We have enemies to defeat and a king to abduct. We’ll have time to question the archmage later.’

  ‘I suppose –’

  ‘There’s no suppose about it. Do your job, or I’ll kick you up the rump.’

  Coinin couldn’t help but smile, and embraced Marrok. He always knew what to say, and he had a surprising amount to say lately, quite different to the old Marrok. Regaining his faith had changed him.

  ‘Get off!’ Marrok scowled and pushed Coinin away. ‘They’re watching.’

  Coinin turned and saw that the others were indeed watching curiously. They hurriedly looked away when spotted trying to eavesdrop.