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

by Harrison Davies

  Coinin realised he had broken some protocol and backed away. ‘I apologise, Sonny, if I have offended your house. My father always said, if you look after your staff, they will break their backs to assist you.’

  Sonny grunted. ‘Quite understandable, we shall say no more,’ he said gruffly. ‘Now, Dorn?’

  ‘Forgive me, Master; Dorn has taken ill this past day. A terrible affliction,’ Grent apologised with a hint of despair.

  ‘Why was I not told of this before now? Am I not master of my own household?’

  ‘Yes, indeed you are, Sir. We didn’t want to trouble you, Sir.’

  ‘Well, I am troubled. Dorn has been in my service for over thirty years. Have you called for the healer?’

  ‘Oh, yes, she is on her way here now.’

  ‘Very well, wait by the door for her arrival. I shall attend to Dorn.’

  ‘As you wish, Master.’ Grent gave a slight nod of the head and hauled herself upright from the chair and hobbled into the hallway and out of sight.

  ‘Forgive me, my friends. This is an unexpected turn of events. It would seem that breakfast shall have to wait. I would instead be pleased to invite you for supper this evening.’

  ‘That would be very generous indeed. We would, however, not wish to be any trouble.’

  ‘Nonsense, it is no trouble at all. You are my honoured guests.’ Sonny smiled. He was keen not to lose a potential customer.

  Aniol approached the old man. ‘Is there something we can do to help? I have some small training in the healing arts.’

  Sonny looked taken aback by the gesture. ‘That would be most welcome. As I indicated, Dorn has been with the House of Lav’er for many years. It is almost as if he has become one of the family. Please, let us see what you can do while we wait for the healer.’

  The trio retreated from Sonny’s study and headed left along a branch of the hallway. It grew darker as they ventured further along the corridor, until finally a door opened at the far end and a servant stepped through the opening, whereupon light flooded the hall. The servant stopped momentarily to bow to the master of the house and then hurried away into another room.

  ‘This way.’ Sonny nodded and stepped into the brightly lit room.

  Coinin and Aniol followed and almost immediately before them an iron stairwell led down into the basement of the house.

  ‘What’s down there?’ Coinin asked.

  ‘It’s where Franny the cook prepares our meals. The laundry is also housed there, and Dorn, despite his advancing age, still resides there also. My many pleas for him to move into one of the servant’s quarters in the attic go unheeded. It’s damp and cold down there, not good for his chest, but the stubborn old mule won’t budge.’

  Coinin was unable to fathom why this man held such affection for one servant over another.

  Sonny led them slowly and carefully around and down the circular iron stairwell and into the less affluent section of the house. Below ground, things were markedly cooler, perfect for storing goods of all kinds in large pantries, of which several branched off an underground corridor. Roughly halfway along the carved stone tunnel, a kitchen was open to the visitors, and the aromas of cooking that wafted their way were delicious and set Coinin’s stomach rumbling.

  The kitchen was nearly as large as the one he’d seen at the Golden Temple and appeared to be carved from the surrounding rock to form a domed chamber. Its roof, however, was tiled with solid blocks of light brown clay. Opposite the main door a rectangular window, set deep into the wall, permitted a dull, grey light into the room. In the centre of the space a black leaded stove, large enough to cook several suckling pigs, dominated the room, with a chimney that disappeared into the roof. Copper pots and pans, along with every conceivable shape and size of knife or ladle hung from every available wall space. Scales, mincers and other miscellaneous cooking utensils lined three multi-doored cabinets spread around the walls of the room. A huge fireplace, with a lintel that jutted out, took up nearly one side of the chamber, it’s heat smothering as it cooked a large joint of meat, being turned automatically by some unseen machinery. A dozen milk urns nestled in one corner and overall it was a clean kitchen, aside from the floor, which looked slippery with food juices or animal fats and blood. Cook had laid a wooden table with half a dozen bowls and tureens of freshly prepared vegetables, and a large cooking pot bubbled on the stove and gave off the most delicious aromas.

  ‘Cook!’ Sonny hollered.

  From the back of the kitchen and from inside a dark cupboard big enough to stand upright in, a portly sized posterior, wearing a striped apron, waggled its way backwards and into the room. ‘Jus’ a minute, will ya? Can’t ya see that I’m busy? ‘onestly, a cook’s work’s ne’er done. All these interruptions, I shall not get the master’s breakfast ready in time.’

  ‘Franny, it’s Sonny.’

  The cook let out a cry of shock and nearly dropped a crate of glass jars she was carrying. She swung on the spot and bowed her head. ‘Master, I’m sorry. I ‘ad no idea –’

  ‘That’s quite alright, Franny. We’re heading to see Dorn.’

  ‘Oh, bless me, that poor man. He’s fair unwell, he is, Sir. An’ who might these be?’ Franny pointed to Coinin and Aniol.

  ‘These are guests. They have agreed to take a look at Dorn. Hopefully, they will be able to help him,’ Sonny said.

  Franny looked solemn. ‘What a shame. ‘ere’s me thinkin’ they was my new ‘elpers. You know I’m workin’ my fingers to the bone day an’ night.’

  Sonny looked up at the ageing cook and gave a sweet smile. ‘I’ve told you that new help will be here within the week.’

  ‘Yes, well, see that they arrive in short order,’ Franny huffed, and plodded away to see to her bubbling pot.

  Sonny shook his head. ‘If she didn’t make the world’s most delicious food, I’d have retired her before now. She is a character, that’s for certain, and that side of her has become more apparent since her two kitchen staff vanished mysteriously in the night.’

  ‘Vanished?’ Aniol asked.

  ‘Yes, a shocking business, but I’m not sure if I should say. Too many ears at the door.’

  Coinin flicked his head to look behind.

  Sonny laughed and clapped him on the back. ‘Not literally, my boy. We shall discuss this later since I’ve piqued your interest. Let us tend to Dorn first.’

  He made to leave, remembered something, and then turned back into the room. ‘Goodbye, Franny,’ he called.

  The old cook clucked her tongue and muttered something barely audible under her breath. Coinin thought he caught an expletive or two in there.

  Aniol and Coinin followed the master of the house from the room, although aside from the incident with Grent above-stairs, it appeared less and less that he was master of his domain and had become more of a friend to his staff, the older ones at least.

  They bypassed half a dozen doors along the corridor until they reached their destination. A plain wooden frame housed an equally plain pine door devoid of any markings, save a tarnished wooden handle. Sonny knocked and entered. He recoiled and held his nose before venturing forth once more.

  Coinin and Aniol did likewise. The smell was horrendous, almost as if something had died or was festering in the room. Aniol immediately rushed to a small window, more of a skylight actually, and levered it open so that at least some fresh air would circulate.

  Sonny approached a bed surrounded by thick drapes and drew them. The smell grew worse, and they instantly knew that it was coming from a frail looking elderly gentleman propped up on several pillows. He looked so feeble that Sonny feared he would break if touched, but touch him he must. He sat on the edge of the cotton sheeted bed and lightly gripped Dorn’s skeletal hand.

  ‘Oh, Dorn, why did you not listen to me? Now look at you.’ Sonny sagged visibly. ‘Aniol, please, if you can find any way to help my friend, then please do so.’

  Coinin stood by in case he was needed to assist and thought h
ow strange this man was to call his servant a friend.

  Aniol, having been taught well in the art of healing in the field of battle, located a jug of water and doused her hands thoroughly and then dried them on an apparently clean linen cloth. She next crossed to the bed and first felt the senior man’s pulse to find it to be thready. She placed her ear to Dorn’s mouth and noted that his breathing was laboured. Finally, she put a hand on his forehead and felt immediately that the old man was burning with fever.

  ‘He has a fever, Sonny,’ she declared. ‘Has he suffered an injury or wound that you know of?’

  ‘I have no idea. This is the first I have heard of this.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. Perhaps Franny then?’

  Sonny rose quickly. ‘Good idea, I shall fetch her immediately.’

  ‘No need, Sonny, Coinin will go. He’s faster, and I only really need to know of any cause. In the meantime, you and I should check him for signs of injury.’

  Sonny relented and nodded. ‘A very good idea. Off you go, lad.’

  Coinin raised his brow briefly but immediately understood that if they helped Dorn, they were more likely to gain intimate information from Sonny concerning the king. He nodded and raced from the room.

  Aniol turned back to Dorn and removed the cotton coverings. He wore a nightshirt, which had to come off. She sensed, though, that this would be too much for the ailing man, so she withdrew a knife from her boot and, to Sonny’s amazement, cut through the thin material. She parted the newly cut cloth and inspected Dorn’s chest for signs of injury. Nothing. There was now no option. She and Sonny would have to remove the remainder of the sick man’s clothing. Her cheeks blossomed red at the thought of this and she briefly considered getting Coinin to do that bit with Sonny so as to preserve what dignity Dorn still possessed.

  Thankfully, though, just at that moment, Coinin dashed back into the room and took a couple of deep breaths, only to regret doing so. ‘The Cook said he … he sliced his foot on a rusty blade … several days ago.’

  Without further delay, Aniol threw back the covers entirely to reveal Dorn’s feet. It was all she could do to prevent herself from purging the contents of her stomach. Poor Dorn had an exceedingly infected foot. Blackening with disease, this would surely kill him unless they did something immediately.

  Aniol reached inside her cloak and extracted a small leather bag that clinked with the sound of glass on glass. She untied the leather drawstring and delved inside. ‘Ah, yes, here it is.’ She withdrew a small glass phial, dark brown in colour, but translucent enough to show the liquid contained within. ‘This is Lasarpicium, a rare potion that will help fight Dorn’s infection. But his foot must be removed if we are to prevent spread.’

  ‘Amputation?’ Sonny gasped.

  ‘I have seen this before. I am only a novice healer, but I assure you, the foot must be taken.’

  Sonny sat slowly on the bed; his head dropped into his hands. ‘Where is that healer? She should have been here by now. Oh, what to do?’

  Coinin stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on Sonny’s shoulder. ‘Sir … Sonny, we are strangers to you, this is true, but we have nothing to gain from causing Dorn harm. We only wish to help. Aniol is modest; she is a fine healer in her own right. Please trust her, so that she may save Dorn’s life.’

  Sonny groaned and looked up at the softly spoken boy and saw no lie in his eyes. He nodded his assent and turned away.

  THE ARCHMAGE CALLS

  Menin grew tired of always having to lift her cloak clear of puddles of dirty water that peppered the city square. Zaruun had offered to hold the hem for her, but she had refused, citing that it would look odd to any passers-by. But then she saw what Draken had seen hours ago, and it took her breath away, and she forgot the puddles.

  Dead centre of the square, the colossal statue to Taminoth dominated those who worshipped at her feet. But even this was nothing compared to the temple that overshadowed everything else in its vicinity.

  She had never had the privilege of seeing the temple constructed, nor was she present at the blessing and dedication to Rindor. She had only seen drawings and an artist’s rendition. It was the former archmage, Orodor who had travelled to Rodine many years ago to give the dedication. The city he described back then was something completely different now, and that intrigued her.

  ‘I feel a spot of rain again.’ Zaruun sighed.

  ‘Then stop lingering and move,’ Menin said, a little tetchily.

  The duo bypassed the gigantic statue, craning their necks to admire it, and walked into the shadow of the temple. Too many minutes later they were at the threshold after having spent ten of those admiring this structure also. Such detailed carving was not seen outside of the Golden Temple, and it thrilled them to know that there was a thriving order beyond the realms of Rosthagaar, since dwindling numbers of worshippers around the globe stalled hope of sustaining the outlying temples.

  Menin shook herself and took a deep breath. They were going in silently and without fanfare. As far as she was concerned, they were to act as ordinary worshippers until they had met with the chief scribe.

  They crossed the threshold and knelt upon the ground, which had thankfully been layered with cork matting, and prostrated themselves in reverence. After a moment Menin clambered to her feet, followed closely by Zaruun, who brushed the dust from his cloak.

  Menin was the first to wash her hands and face in a bowl of water placed to the side of the entrance. She dried herself, feeling refreshed, and offered Zaruun the towel and waited while he performed the same ritual, commonplace at the Golden Temple.

  ‘Let’s sit behind that statue over there and watch for the chief scribe. She should be easy to spot,’ Menin said.

  Together, Zaruun and she hastened to a darkened corner of the temple and sat behind a marble statue depicting the God, Maresh, an axe aloft in one hand and a sword in the other. All who studied with The Brotherhood knew Maresh was the god of war, who had given his divine power to The Brotherhood on countless occasions and helped them win countless battles against those who would deny his existence, or defame his or his sibling’s names. His statue was in direct contrast to Taminoth’s, who held a plant to signify life, and his brother Rindor’s, whose own represented love by his curiously shaped shield. Wrought like a triangle, the three sides represented righteousness, guardianship and his unquestionable loyalty. All combined to make Rindor the embodiment of love.

  The sweet sound of the choir singing brought Menin back to the Golden Temple, and she closed her eyes and indulged in the delights of being inside her creator’s home from home.

  The music had an almost hypnotic affect, and she felt peace, rather than the dread, anxiety and worry she had felt before arriving. She hoped, dreamily, that Zaruun was feeling the same, although she suspected he had an eye open for danger. Bless him, she thought, and opened an eye to peek. Sure enough, he was not standing, but looking alert as usual.

  ‘Will you relax, Zaruun? We are in a temple. Nothing is going to happen to us here.’

  ‘I’d very much like to, but you are my chief concern. I will relax later when we are back home,’ Zaruun replied uncompromisingly.

  If we get home, Menin thought. She looked away and nearly jumped in surprise, certain that she recognised a face through the crowd. It had been many years since she’d seen it, but there she was, Meone, the chief scribe.

  ‘I see our quarry, Zaruun. Follow me and let’s get this over with quickly.’

  Menin stood and zigzagged through a crowd of people towards Meone, and waited patiently while the scribe said goodbye to a hooded figure.

  ‘We shall meet tomorrow evening again and discuss your next steps.’ Meone waved as the figure crossed the threshold and disappeared from view. She turned to head back to her quarters to find two new hooded figures barring her way. ‘It seems that everyone either wishes not to be noticed or recognised, or is it cold these days? May I help you, brothers?’

  Menin chuckle
d under her cowl and stepped forward. ‘I need to speak to you privately, if I may.’

  ‘Perhaps if you would drop your cowl, I would be more inclined to invite you to my private chambers,’ Meone said.

  Menin sighed and lowered her hood. Meone shook her head, not quite believing her eyes, and then her mouth opened wide in full realisation of who stood before her. She instantly dropped to a knee and reached for Menin’s hand.

  Menin, however, retreated a step and covered her head once more. ‘Not here,’ she hissed. ‘Please, get up, you are attracting unwanted attention.’

  Immediately, Meone stood and gestured that the pair should follow her.

  The trio quickly skirted the main auditorium and followed a line of pillars to the left of the temple. Half a minute later they reached the inner recesses of the building and made their way through the arboretum. They stepped inside Meone’s private chambers and felt an immediate warmth from the fire that crackled in its fireplace.

  Meone locked the door and turned to her new visitors. She again dropped to a knee. ‘I was saddened to hear of the death of Orodor. But, Archmage, what brings you so far?’

  Menin lowered her hood and removed her cloak, which she casually threw over the backrest of the nearest chair. ‘First, I need a drink.’ She sat in the comfortable armchair Draken had sat in just minutes before.

  ‘Certainly … of course … without delay,’ Meone stuttered. She hurried to a wooden cabinet in the corner of the room and extracted a fine-looking bottle of wine and three glasses. She poured a stream of red claret into each glass and handed one to each of her guests.

  Zaruun, at first, refused but soon acquiesced upon Menin’s glare.

  Meone pulled up a wooden three-legged stool and sat opposite Menin with her back to the fireplace. Her feline features were expectant, and her bottom lip quivered with excitement.

  ‘Thank you for the drink, Meone. How long has it been since we last met?’ Menin sipped her drink, savouring the dryness of the liquid.