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

by Harrison Davies

  Marrok and Jericho leapt from the path of the conveyance and marvelled at its ingenuity.

  ‘Axl would be overjoyed with this contraption,’ Marrok yelled over the noise.

  As the vehicle passed, both witnessed through brightly lit windows people sitting comfortably.

  ‘Now, that is the only way to travel, Marrok,’ Jericho said approvingly.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. This place is beyond belief.’

  ‘There’s more yet to see, I fear. Come on, let’s not dally.’

  All, however, was not as rosy as had first appeared. Thick, acrid coal smoke that choked the travellers drifted in on a new wind from a series of islands offshore, which held large structures and tall chimneys. Homeowners nearby slammed shut doors and windows to keep out the malodorous and toxic smoke. Almost instantly, a layer of coal dust covered everything in sight. Marrok and Jericho covered their airways with the ends of their cloaks and looked for shelter. Fortunately, an alleyway to the right offered some protection against the cloud of choking dust, and they ducked to safety with relief. From their new vantage point they were able to see more of the city without fear of suffocation.

  High above the tallest of buildings, several airships floated, held aloft by patchwork leather bladders. They circled the city like a kettle of curious vultures ready to pick at a dead carcas.

  Thankfully, as quickly as it had come, the clouds of smoke moved away, and the air became breathable once more, but now the city looked more drab and unclean than it had first appeared.

  Jericho eyed Marrok strangely.

  ‘What?’ Marrok demanded.

  ‘I think you need to clean yourself up. You look as if you’ve been down the Black Shiel mines with the dwarves.’

  ‘That makes two of us then.’ Marrok smirked.

  Both shook their heads and smiled and headed in search of a tavern or another watering hole. As it happened, they had been standing against the wall of such a place, while taking shelter from the smoke. They had taken no more than three steps from the alleyway when Jericho stopped.

  ‘How fortunate.’ Jericho pointed upwards to the unmistakable and almost universal sign of the tankard frothing at the lip with golden nectar.

  ‘After you then.’ Marrok laughed heartily.

  Jericho took one look at the filthy interior through a grimy window and shuddered. He just knew it would be a flea infested, filth ridden, noisy place and an environment he would not enjoy.

  The alehouse reeked of old beer and sweat, coupled with stale smoke and grease from a hog roasting in the centre of the room. Raucous laughter and merriment livened the dimly lit interior. Ladies, busty, brazen and deft in the art of relieving men of their hard-won coin, circled the room and fawned over anyone who would entertain their advances.

  The wooden walls, stained with years of grime and soot, held trinkets and ornaments, long covered in a thick layer of dust. To the left of the hog pit, a long, low bar ran the length of the room at which several patrons lounged or stood groggily sipping the next jug of ale plonked before them.

  Jericho and Marrok stood at the doorway and received a curt response from a patron nearby. Jericho shook his head. ‘I don’t understand you.’

  A tall, thickset man, balding and gruff-looking approached the pair. He was taller than either of them by a foot. ‘Dis ner doar.’

  Marrok shrugged. ‘I don’t understand you,’ he replied slowly.

  The giant of a man growled and gripped Marrok by the hair. He swung him around as if he were no more than a rag doll and thrust his head into a bowl of water situated on a plinth by the door. Marrok coughed and spluttered and tried to fight off the strong man but a moment later, to his relief, the giant let go and held Jericho at bay with a long arm.

  ‘What’re you doing?’ Jericho demanded.

  ‘Nes mor nasiste,’ the giant replied.

  Jericho raised his fists ready for a fight, but Marrok stepped in between them. ‘It’s okay Jericho; I’m fine.’

  ‘Well, I was not trying to drown you, if that is what you think,’ said the giant, plain as day.

  ‘I’m thankful for that at least. What exactly was it you were doing?’ Marrok asked, and wiped water from his eyes.

  ‘The water makes you understand our language.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Jericho coughed. ‘Would one of you mind telling me what’s going on?’

  ‘This fellow here says that the water in this bowl helps us to understand him.’

  ‘You must splash it over your face, I think.’ Marrok looked to the giant who nodded.

  Jericho frowned, not at all happy, but did as was advised. He strode to the bowl and dunked his head in the clear cold water and emerged a moment later, dripping. ‘Now what?’

  ‘That is it; now you can understand me, yes?’

  It took a few seconds for the words to reorder and become understandable in his mind, and then he nodded. ‘Yes, I do. Thank you.’

  ‘Good, now shut the damned door,’ the hulking mass demanded.

  Marrok and Jericho looked sheepish. That must be what had been asked of them as they entered the alehouse. Marrok reached behind him and slammed the door shut.

  ‘About bloody time, young’un,’ a croaky voice called from the gloom.

  Marrok turned around and was startled. Quietly, a woman of around forty had sidled up to him and stood mere inches away. Far too close for comfort. She stroked his arm and talked with a smooth voice. ‘Well, well, don’t ‘ave many of the likes of you ‘round ‘ere too often, my sweet. Jus’ travellin’ through, are ya?’

  Marrok nodded, unsure how to react.

  ‘Well, darlin’ if you plays your cards right, I may well be your next voyage of discovery. If ya knows wha’ I mean?’ She opened her mouth in a wide grin, showing blackened and yellowing teeth.

  ‘Perhaps another time,’ Jericho interjected. ‘We have come a long way and need a drink.’

  ‘Shame.’ The woman eyed Marrok up and down hungrily. ‘But you ‘ave come to the right place. Tan’ll see ya right.’ She leant in close and gripped Marrok’s left buttock and gave a squeeze, before dancing away and disappearing among the crowd.

  Marrok was dumbfounded, and Jericho laughed heartily. ‘You have so much yet to learn about life, young Marrok.’

  Marrok smirked. ‘Particularly the wiles of womankind.’

  ‘You’ve been talking to your uncle.’

  ‘I listen more than I talk, you learn a lot that way. But I have yet to experience the full blessings of a good woman,’ Marrok said unashamedly.

  ‘All in good time, my friend. Drink?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask. Oh, wait, do the Rodine take our currency?’

  ‘I don’t see why not, gold is gold everywhere, is it not, regardless of the face upon the coin?’ Jericho reached into a hidden pocket beneath his doublet and brought out two shiny gold coins which he rubbed together between his thumbs. ‘This should pay for tonight’s drinks.’

  ‘And much more besides, I would think.’

  ‘You’re probably right about that.’

  The duo squeezed between two drunks reeking of stale beer and piss, and Jericho tapped the bar with the gold coins, instantly receiving a reaction from a tubby bartender. He was all smiles and welcomes upon seeing the gold.

  ‘Gentlemen, ‘ow nice to ‘ave you frequent my ‘ere ‘stablishment. What can I get ya?’

  Jericho gave the order of two ales while Marrok eyed the fifty-something barkeep, noting how the remainder of his hair was brushed from one side of his head to the other in an attempt to hide the bald pate ineffectually. Grey hair erupted from the most unlikely of places, the ears, nose and the odd wart sandwiched between the dirt of his face. The man’s nose was bulbous and crooked, resembling the fat end of a deformed parsnip.

  The portly man named Tan slammed their drinks before them and smile
d at his new best customers. ‘Anythin’ else, gents?’

  ‘Food and a quiet place to sit, barkeep. Oh, and there’s another gold piece in it for you if you can find me someone who knows these parts well.’ Jericho held up a third coin within Tan’s sight.

  Tan snatched it greedily and hid it away among his garments. ‘Corrine?’ he yelled across the bar. ‘Quiet spot for these gents an’ bring Thronweil to me.’

  Corinne turned out to be Marrok’s least favourite person of the hour, the wanton woman who had greeted him almost the moment they had entered the alehouse. She smiled her foul grin and sauntered over to them and almost immediately latched herself to Marrok. She led the duo across cracked tiles and through clouds of tobacco smoke to a secluded table in a far corner of the room and invited them to sit. The table sat in an alcove, a half-moon shape with a matching curved bench. Marrok and Jericho squeezed into the small space and placed their drinks on the ale-stained surface.

  Corrine disappeared and returned a minute later with a short, wiry man in tow, by the name of Thronweil. He had shifty eyes and a nervousness about him.

  Marrok stood and invited the newcomer to join them and sat once more.

  ‘I am Dareth; this is my companion, Marrok. We have travelled a long distance and need to know more about this great city.’

  Thronweil eyed him suspiciously until Marrok spoke further.

  ‘We are historians, charting the history of these and other lands for a great book.’

  Jericho gave him an almost imperceptible look that said well done, for sticking to the cover story.

  ‘Yes, and we heard tell that you were the man to ask about the city and its rich history,’ Jericho added.

  Thronweil became suspicious. ‘I don’ know about that; I’m jus’ an ordinary trader –’

  Smuggler, no doubt, Jericho thought. ‘Still, you come highly recommended, and perhaps we can compensate you in some way.’

  Thronweil’s eyes lit up. ‘What be this compensation?’

  ‘That’s entirely up to you, but for a few hours chatting to new friends, I’d say two gold pieces should about cover it, that and as much ale as you can drink.’

  Thronweil looked about him worriedly. ‘Shush, not so loud. You’ll likely be robbed of yer gold if you say it too loud.’

  ‘We can take care of ourselves,’ Marrok reassured.

  ‘You, maybe. But for me, I’m a sittin’ duck for thieves,’ Thronweil muttered, eyeing the patrons around him.

  ‘Perhaps if we went elsewhere,’ Jericho suggested.

  ‘Listen, I don’t particularly care what cock an’ bull story ya want to string me along with. I’ll tell ya what ya want to know, but if we move now, they’ll get suspicious.’ Thronweil thumbed behind him into the bar.

  ‘Very well, I see we can’t fool you, a man of some intelligence. Send the woman away,’ Jericho said.

  Thronweil turned to Corrine. ‘Leave us, wench.’

  Corrine looked annoyed and stuck her tongue out, before donning a fake smile and skipping back into the bar.

  Marrok nodded after the woman. ‘Can she be trusted?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s my woman,’ Thronweil replied with a twinkle in his eye.

  Marrok held his tongue, confused for a moment that this man would permit his mate to engage in such overt flirtation, but then, one look back at the shifty character before him revealed the truth. He lived by the allure of the coin and would do anything to secure it, even to the point of using his woman to tease it from drunken men’s hands.

  ‘So what’s it ya want to know?’

  Jericho tapped the table and sipped at his drink, eyeing Thronweil carefully, weighing up his trustworthiness. He wiped the froth from his lips and placed his tankard down with a dull thud. ‘I hear there was some trouble many years ago, between the prince of this land and his brother.’

  Thronweil pursed his lips. ‘That’s right. What about it?’

  ‘I just want to know what happened.’

  ‘Well, now, that information’s goin’ to cost ya a lot more. I can’t just go about revealin’ our king’s secrets, now can I?’

  ‘He knows nothing, let’s go,’ Marrok urged.

  ‘I ‘ope you ain’t plannin’ on leavin’ without payin’ up,’ Thronweil snarled.

  ‘Pay up for what? You haven’t told us a thing,’ Jericho said. ‘We’re leaving.’

  Jericho and Marrok stood to leave and instantly knew that they were in a jam. Thronweil clicked his fingers, and several burly patrons nearby scraped their chairs as they got to their feet, tall and menacing. They surrounded the alcove, leaving no chance of escape.

  ‘Well, boys, seems I ‘ave the upper ‘and. Give me yer gold,’ Thronweil said, with a self-satisfied grin.

  Marrok looked at Jericho, sighed, and shook his head. He gripped the handle of his tankard and took a swig, then swung the container hard and fast across Thronweil’s face. As if seeing time slow down, Marrok watched as Thronweil’s jaw exploded into a mist of blood and broken teeth. The man howled and cradled his face.

  Jericho wasted no time. He launched himself at the body of towering muscle guarding the alcove and succeeded in bowling two of the men over. This left a gap for Marrok, who hopped on top of the table and aimed a kick at a third man, who dodged the well-placed boot but slipped on the now ale-slick floor and crashed to his knees with a cry of pain. Marrok, with a roar, hurled himself in the same manner as Jericho onto the back of a patron who was readying himself to strike the general.

  Punches, kicks and blows of all kinds ensued, and Marrok found himself tossed across the room and onto a table that broke under him with a splintering crack. Onlookers hurried out of the way, not wanting to be at the end of a fist, and in the kerfuffle, Marrok heard a bell ringing. He righted himself and stood ready for a fight, the adrenaline coursing through him, spurring him on.

  Jericho swiped the legs from under one of his attackers and punched the throat of another and quickly hopped over a downed chair to join Marrok.

  ‘I bet you didn’t think we’d be doing this today.’ Jericho smiled broadly.

  Marrok grinned. ‘No, but then, when aren’t we in the middle of a scrap?’

  ‘Left!’

  Marrok thrust out his fist and caught the midriff of an advancing brute, who doubled up in pain, but only briefly. He returned his own beefy right hook that collided with Marrok’s temple. The latter saw stars and staggered sideways until Jericho arrested his movement.

  ‘Whoa there, lad, try not to let them hit you.’

  Marrok winced and grinned in quick succession. ‘Easier said than done,’ he said, and launched a fresh attack.

  He was mid-blow when a shrill whistle pierced the din and a scatter of people signalled something was wrong. ‘By order of the King’s Sheriff, I hereby demand an end to this ruckus.’

  The scramble for the rear exit nearly bowled Jericho and Marrok over, who politely stepped aside and let the throng depart. Only, they realised too late that they should have in fact retreated also. Within seconds they were the only two patrons left in the bar, and bloodied and battered, they immediately attracted the attention of the city guard.

  ‘Not another jail, please,’ Jericho muttered under this breath.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this,’ Marrok said. He stepped forward to greet the guard bearing down on them. With hands held high in gratitude, he smiled at the guard. ‘Thank the gods you arrived when you did, I was certain we would have been beaten to a pulp, robbed and thrown in the gutter.’

  The leather armoured guard looked on incredulously and glanced from Marrok to Jericho suspiciously. ‘You are not from these parts?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Jericho said. ’We hail from a small village in Rosthagaar. We come seeking work.’

  ‘Is there no work in this place of yours so far away?’

  ‘If it were so, we would have little need to travel such a distance.’

  ‘Then, I fear you will be sorely disappointed. Work in
these parts is reserved for citizens only, unless you want to work in the deepest of mines.’

  Marrok shook his head.

  ‘Not many do,’ the goateed guard continued. ‘So, it would appear that you have had a wasted journey. I would suggest you turn around and head home before you find yourself in the Sherriff’s Court for affray.’

  ‘We will of course abide, though, please tell me, is there no other way to find work?’

  The well-appointed guard pondered this for a moment before responding. ‘If you truly wish to seek work, then, the king holds court daily. You may petition to seek his council and appeal to him for the right to work in the city.’

  Marrok flashed Jericho a knowing look. A potential opportunity to get close to the king had presented itself.

  ‘What must we do?’

  The guard relaxed, convinced that the two men before him were speaking the truth. He held out long, bony fingers and rubbed the tips together before Marrok.

  Marrok looked on confused until Jericho stepped forward and reached into the folds of his shirt and extracted a small gold coin. He deposited it in the hand of the guard who duly inspected the shining metal carefully.

  Satisfied, the guard grunted approval and hid the coin away in his clothing. He bent his head to meet Marrok, who almost retched at the smell of stale ale and garlic. ‘You must seek the king’s chief advisor, Lord Warital, and petition him to grant you an audience with the king. It will take some considerable persuasion to do so.’

  ‘We have means to persuade,’ Marrok said.

  ‘What does that mean?’ The guard rose to his full height. ‘I will see no harm come to Lord Warital.’

  ‘My colleague merely meant as we have persuaded you, so shall we convince the Lord,’ Jericho interjected and tickled his fingertips as had the guard moments ago.

  ‘What reason do you have to work if you have gold about you?’

  Jericho sighed deeply and shook his head. ‘We possess only a few gold coins, the last of our travelling gold. I dearly hope what remains is enough to bargain an audience with the king.’