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

by Harrison Davies

  ‘It’s okay,’ Coinin called out, ‘you can return.’

  Menin and the others strode back to the waiting brothers. ‘Is everything well? We are terribly worried.’

  ‘Everything is fine. Coinin, here, was just discussing strategy with me, should we become separated. I’m his only brother, and he worries too much,’ Marrok replied.

  Menin raised a brow, unconvinced. ‘Very well, if you’re certain everything is fine, what is our next task?’ She shot Coinin a searching stare, trying to read him.

  ‘As I discussed earlier, Jericho and Marrok will frequent a local tavern, if there is such a thing here, and gain what information they can without raising suspicion,’ Coinin replied, without once looking at Menin.

  Marrok clapped and rubbed his hands together in glee at the thought of spending time in a drinking establishment. Coinin, however, frowned at him disapprovingly, while Marrok shrugged and shot back a cheeky grin.

  ‘Laliala, please take Zaruun and visit the local temple for the same reason. Dalia will stay here with the troops and Len’i, while Aniol and I will seek out the young of the city and mingle. I think it would be wise to regroup here before sunset,’ Coinin finished.

  ‘If something should go wrong?’ Jericho enquired.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, of late, whenever we visit a new city, one or all of us invariably ends up in a cell, and we inevitably end up fighting our way out.’

  ‘The general has a point,’ Aniol said.

  ‘What do you suggest we do in that event?’ Coinin asked.

  Menin spoke first. ‘Ideally, I wouldn’t let any of you go, but as it is, I’m not responsible for this mission. I think in this event, we should employ a shade.’

  Jericho’s eyes lit up, and a smile spread across his face. ‘I like your thinking.’

  ‘What’s a shade?’

  ‘A shade, Marrok,’ Menin began, ‘is a complicated piece of magic. I will, with some difficulty, enchant your constant companion, and should something occur, your shadow will quietly slip away to alert the others of your plight.’

  Coinin looked down at his shadow incredulously. ‘You’re pulling our legs.’

  Jericho laughed out loud. ‘So much yet to learn. The archmage does not kid you, Curator. It is a little piece of magic I thought up during an unusually secretive mission where I had to blend in with the locals and disappear. I have managed to perform the spell once, but Laliala is the only one capable of consistently obtaining the necessary result that lasts a whole day.’

  Coinin shook his head. It seemed funny, no, hilarious to him to think that his shadow could detach itself and run through the street like some puppet without strings. ‘Just when I think things can’t get any stranger, you find something new.’

  ‘I do try,’ Jericho laughed.

  Menin coughed politely. ‘When you two are quite finished, I shall begin. Gather in a circle around me.’

  The gathered did as instructed and held hands around the archmage, who closed her eyes and concentrated deeply. No one said a word, understanding that she would need to remain undisturbed for this to work. She raised her arms in the air with her palms uppermost and finally lifted her head skywards to call on the elemental forces. A low rushing sound penetrated the air moments later, and a funnel formed around her, sufficiently large enough to threaten to bowl the assembled over. They gripped tighter to one another, and stayed upright, albeit bent double against the wind. It was impossible to see Menin behind the rushing air, but she could just be heard repeating the same three words over and over, barely loud enough to be heard above the gusts. Shador, movaro, alorta, she chanted. Coinin translated these to mean Shadow, become mobile and alert.

  A tingling feeling engulfed all those holding hands and radiated out to their extremities. It tickled, and Coinin was in danger of creasing with laughter. He wriggled as if a ferret had invaded his pant leg and received a scowl from Aniol, which only made him want to laugh all the more.

  A sucking sound ended their ordeal, and the wind vanished along with the funnel of air, to reveal Menin standing dazed and somewhat windswept. Her hair practically stood on end.

  That’ll take some brushing, Aniol thought.

  Menin realised she looked a sight and attempted to flatten her hair, before giving it up as a bad job. ‘How was that? I hear it tickles somewhat.’

  ‘You haven’t cast the enchantment upon yourself?’ Coinin asked.

  Menin shook her head. ‘It is impossible to cast it on oneself. But no fear, Zaruun will be with me, and his shade will suffice.’

  ‘Well, no time like the present to get this thing done, and then we can all go home.’ Coinin looked to the steadily rising sun. ‘I assume the occupants of this city will have awoken by now, and be going about their business. I want to see you all back here at sunset, safe and sound.’

  Marrok overcame his fear of public intimacy and embraced his brother in a solid hug. Both parted a moment later, unsure whether they would see one another again. For Coinin, despite the reassurances of The Brotherhood that they were destined to smite Death together, he still held the fear that something would go wrong. He was content to at least have said goodbye properly, unlike the last occasion, when he was laid up in a hospital bed unaware that Marrok had been sent on a secret mission to recover one of the Swords of Cerathil and ended up being captured, which ultimately led them to this moment. He briefly wondered if he should stick with Marrok, change his mind and go with his brother, but then the plan was solid, and he knew it. He couldn’t afford to let attachment get in the way of the scheme.

  ‘Be careful, all of you,’ he said.

  ‘No, I think I’ll cause some trouble for a change,’ quipped Marrok.

  Jericho winked at him. ‘We’ve had enough from you for a lifetime.’

  ‘You can never have enough of me.’

  ‘Well, you certainly have a head bigger than most,’ Coinin returned.

  Marrok again embraced his younger sibling. ‘I love you too, little brother.’

  Coinin watched Marrok and Jericho leave their company and cut a way across the stony shore towards the bright lights of Rodine. He gave Menin a curt nod and walked away without a further word. Aniol joined him dutifully, anxious to be alert and keep him safe.

  Menin puzzled after him. He had blanked her, and she was curious to know why. The private conversation Coinin and Marrok had held worried her. It was evident that Coinin was hiding something, and she resolved to question him further on the next occasion that they were alone.

  She turned to Zaruun. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes, milady.’

  ‘Enough of that, Zaruun. Call me Laliala.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Holding her cloak above her ankles, she set off for the city with her guard in tow.

  CONFESSIONS

  Draken was distraught as he sat upon a cold, hard bench under the shadow of a statue depicting Rindor, which towered over him in the centre of the trapezoid that made up The Brotherhood temple.

  The grandeur of the temple was not lost on him. From the beauty of the dark marble walls and floor to the morning sunlight that streamed into the place of worship from windows high in the structure, and bathed everything in a beautiful warm light.

  Thick pillars of a lighter marble, embellished with carvings like those on the exterior of the building, held up a series of tiered walkways that ran the circumference of the space. He could just make out the heads of worshippers, bowed in supplication.

  A column of blue light, with a stream of red intertwined within, rose steadily from a central prayer well. The column carried worshipper’s prayers to Rindor in the heavens, through an opening high at the tip of the temple.

  Every fourth column, a temple guard stood stock still in shining armour and domed helmet. Each wore a red cloak that fluttered in a breeze that wound its way around the columns from the open doorway. In the left hand of each, a gold-tipped spear served as a reminder that the guard would protect
the temple to his death.

  Every ten minutes, as one, the guards switched the spear from the left to the right hand, accompanied by a stomping of heavy boots in unison.

  Ahead of Draken, an altar sat upon a plinth where several candles cast a glow over a thick, leather-bound tome laid open upon a lectern.

  Giant candelabras sat on solid marble columns, which were dotted around the space, near desks and benches, to provide light for the studious.

  Temples to Rindor had a two-fold purpose: to provide a secure library for the history and culture of that continent, and a place to pray or contemplate the meaning of life. Large or small, they all had the same function. Aside from the Golden Temple off the coast of Rosthagaar, this temple was an impressive size, almost rivalling the former.

  Draken knew this book well; it chronicled Rindor’s creation of life and was often referred to in prayer meetings. Ahead of him, the Chief Scribe of the Temple greeted visitors and shook their hands heartily with a prominent smile on her face.

  She wore a high-collared emerald green tunic that ran to just above the ankle where it flared out. The fine green wool held a series of parallel brass buttons that ran the full length of the garment. Atop her head, a thin gold band held back long brown fur that snaked down her rear and signified her status within the temple brethren. The barefooted, yellow-eyed female was a mage, Draken knew that much. She felt the need to connect to the ground through her feet, as a necessity to remain in contact with the planet’s elemental forces, and thereby gain a closer connection to Rindor.

  Somewhere above him, among the pigeons resting there, a musical tune began. A chorus of deep voices intertwined with youthful choristers. The song was of blessing and praise from Rindor to his people. He recognised it by its tune, not by the words sung; they were foreign to him. The hypnotic composition drifted down from the heights, magnified by the structure and gave all below an intense feeling of belonging and of being loved.

  As the singing intensified, it bore into Draken’s head like a knife and tore at the hard shell of hatred for Rindor that surrounded his heart. He reminisced about his past life, before his friendship with Lordich and even the blessing of his nephews. When he could stand it no longer he fell to his knees and sobbed uncontrollably. Something about that song, the temple, even the smiling brethren, nibbled away at his hardened heart and emotions. Long thought buried, grief, remorse and guilt poured out with each tear that rolled down his cheek.

  He had stayed away from the prayer room deliberately for this very reason. His once unshakeable faith began to resurface and bubble to the surface, threatening to overcome him and turn him from his dark path.

  Not fully understanding what was happening to him, he stood and began to stumble towards the exit, tears blurring his vision. He was uncomfortable and vulnerable, and he did not enjoy the feeling.

  From her vantage point, the chief scribe looked on in concern and excused herself from her present company. She walked swiftly towards the exit to cut off Draken’s retreat. The only sound was her bare feet as they lightly slapped on the cold marble floor.

  ‘Tor rue farast brethr?’ The Felis Sapien stepped before Draken and barred his way.

  Draken stopped short; he did not understand the strange creature’s language. His eyes darted left and right looking for escape before gazing at the feline humanoid. He tried to read her expression and thought he saw an approximation of concern written across her soft feline features. He then felt embarrassed that he had broken down in tears and tried to bypass her.

  However, he was stopped in his tracks by a soft hand-like paw as it rested on his shoulder. He felt a sudden connection to her almost immediately, as if he had known her all his life. Rapidly his tears dried up, and he permitted the scribe to lead him to a seating area in a far corner of the temple. She gestured to a water bowl sat atop a wooden plinth, and mimed that he should dash his face with the water.

  Draken shook his head, but the feline insisted with an adamant stare and a vigorous nod.

  The ageing man relented and did as asked, he scooped up the cold water in his hands and splashed it on his face. He stepped back, slightly light headed for a moment, and found that a cloth had been thrust before him to serve to dry his face.

  ‘Thank you, brother, for complying; you will now most assuredly understand me. Please, take a seat.’ She gestured to a wooden pew nearby.

  Draken looked puzzled, and the scribe smiled. ‘This water is found only in these parts and permits the partaker to understand the many languages of Rodine’s citizens. Without it, I’m afraid communication is almost impossible. Many here speak the human tongue, but others do not, or their native language is far too complicated to understand without the waters.’

  Draken nodded politely that he understood and sat on an ornately carved seat with his back to the wall, feeling the smooth wood of the armrests between his fingers.

  The scribe sat opposite him and waited patiently. The human would speak when he wanted to.

  Draken looked the creature up and down, fascinated. In all his life he had only ever seen a single Felisis before now. He had heard that their kind had been hunted to near extinction for their fur, which even he found to be an abhorrent act. He knew that many nobles in far-flung lands secretly coveted stoles and furs crafted from the delicate skins of her kind.

  The Felisis tapped her clawed foot lightly while she waited and appeared to try to read Draken’s thoughts.

  ‘Thank you for your kindness. I have nowhere else to go. My name is Draken,’ he said finally.

  ‘It is good to meet you, Draken. May I introduce myself? I am named Meone.’

  ‘That’s a beautiful name,’ Draken found himself saying truthfully.

  ‘Thank you. It means Little Meow. It used to be of embarrassment to me. But then I realised as I grew older that it was a compliment. My parents saw a gentle soul the day I was born, and so I was named Meone.’

  Draken remained silent and picked at his fingernails.

  ‘Perhaps I should return later when you’ve had time to reflect. I shall bring vitals for you.’ Meone stood to leave and was arrested by Draken’s light grip on her arm. ‘Please don’t go.’

  Meone nodded. ‘Very well, let us talk more.’

  ‘I am not used to expressing my feelings to others, but for some unknown reason I have a desire to. I feel … lost … with no way out.’

  Meone faced him directly and smiled. ‘Then, brother, I am all ears. I feel our encounter calls for a more secluded spot. Please, follow me.’

  Draken cringed at being called brother, but followed the retreating Felisis as if in an enchantment, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. She led him swiftly through a series of pillars and columns that held up the temple’s upper floors, and into a darkened corridor behind the altar.

  At the end of the dark, wood-lined corridor, a solid oak door barred their way. If you did not know it to be there, it would have easily been missed. Meone did not bat an eyelid and waved at the door with a flourish of her furry paw. The thick wooden portal opened silently. Beyond, a surprising sight met Draken’s eyes.

  As he stepped inside the new space the humidity hit him. The new room was nothing short of a tropical paradise. Lush, green and amber vegetation occupied nearly every square centimetre, alongside enormous flowers of all hues, and birds of all shapes and sizes and colours. Some flew, many hopped between the fronds of plant life seeking food, and several chirped, squawked or trilled territorial claims. From a central pool of water, several toads sat eyeing him unblinkingly upon lily pads. A foot-long dragonfly buzzed noisily by his ear, making him jump. He had never been fond of flying beasts. His eyes followed the fluttering insect as it took a haphazard course, higher into the green canopy. Above the trees, a glass dome let in the steadily growing morning light.

  He was in awe at the ingenuity and craftsmanship of it all. ‘This is impressive,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, brother. It is where I come, to be alone. Much of th
e plant life I have imported to replicate the lost lands of Feli.’ Meone purred slightly.

  ‘That is your home, correct?’

  ‘It was our home –’

  ‘You miss it? Your home, I mean.’

  ‘Without question.’

  ‘What happened to it? You said it “was our home”.’

  ‘Not what, but whom,’ Meone corrected. She walked to a large glazed window to their left and looked out across the city square. It now buzzed with life as traders began to set up stalls ahead of shoppers.

  Draken remained quiet. Meone, he sensed, was upset and he had, after all, asked the question, so he would wait for her response. This gave him time to consider how much to tell this female. He, of course, worried over this. Would she cast him out as a traitor, banish him even? Or would she listen and not judge? The truth was that he was bursting to reveal all, get it off his chest once and for all. Only since he had been escorted from Coinin’s camp did he feel shame for the first time in many years.

  ‘The Kar province wasn’t always as it was. It once belonged to the Felisis, my people. We lived there peacefully for millennia, at one with nature. Then the travellers came and ransacked our villages, killed my kind for fur and meat.’ Meone shuddered and her yellow eyes glistened with tears. ‘They stripped the land of its forests in the name of profit.’

  Draken offered his best sympathetic expression and sat on the windowsill beside her to listen.

  ‘Of course, I was very young and, thankfully, spared the understanding of the horrors that occurred. But, even still, the dreams haunt me as I age, now that I can interpret the imagery.’

  ‘Very sad indeed. How did you escape the slaughter of your people?’ Draken found himself drawn into her story and surprised even himself that he was taking a genuine interest in someone else.

  It had been so long since he was an active member of The Brotherhood, that he had forgotten certain facts concerning temple life. In this instance, being in the mere presence of Rindor in an emotional state, opened him up to receive some of the many blessings, including a feeling of belonging, compassion and love. Love? he found himself wondering. Yes, I feel loved.