Digging his heels into his mount, he cracked his reins and urged the animal back towards the palace.
❖
Jarek stood with his back to the door, warming himself by a roaring fire. The room was lavishly furnished, though many of the furnishings had seen better days. Drapes, moth-eaten, hung faded over the windows, darkening the room.
The king wore a dark blue tunic accented by silver piping and buttons to match. He looked to all intents and purposes like his brother, Riley. The only difference being, he sported a long mane of dark hair.
‘I wondered when this day would come. I assume you have come to kill me.’
Coinin stepped forward, avoiding a chest overflowing with gold coins. ‘I have no intentions of killing you.’
Jarek spun to face the intruder and laughed. ‘A boy?’
Len’i joined Coinin’s side. ‘Silence your tongue. This is Curator Wulf, Brotherhood of The Wulf.’
Jarek looked puzzled for several seconds, and then he spotted Meone covered in blood. ‘But, you are of the temple?’
Coinin clicked his fingers for attention. ‘All you need to be concerned about is what is to be done with you.’ Len’i, bind him.’
Len’i quickly moved forward and spun the king. This elicited an attempt by Jarek to backhand the giant orc. Len’i laughed and wrenched the arm of his would-be attacker behind his back. With swiftness, he tied the wrists with strong rope and turned the king to face Coinin.
‘If you plan not to kill me, what do you intend to do to me?’
Coinin smirked. ‘You will be transported from here to Underworld. You have an audience with your brother, Riley.’
Jericho, outside in the courtyard, looked up half expecting another wave of attackers. Someone had distinctly given out an agonised cry from somewhere within the palace.
DEPARTING RODINE
Marrok bent before his brother and relayed his news and, after a moment, Coinin’s face contorted with such rage and fury that even Marrok backed away from him. The latter had met his brother leading the triumphant warriors along the main promenade of the city towards the lake.
The king was bound, gagged, and held at spear point as they jogged along the street.
Coinin had just learned the terrible fate that had befallen Aniol, and an unknown anger burst forth. He rounded on the king, and with eyes that flashed with a golden hue, he struck the king, again and again, ignoring the pain biting into his knuckles.
‘I will kill you!’ he cried with a mixture of grief and rage.
Blood splattered the king’s face as his nose exploded, covering Coinin’s hand, and yet he didn’t stop. The king fell and cowered, trying to curl into a ball as Coinin vent his anger upon him.
Marrok stepped in and restrained his brother, who raged and cursed with abandon. He kicked and screamed obscenities, to which no-one nearby battered an eyelid. They all felt the same as the curator, intense hatred for this usurper for taking one of their own.
‘Murderer,’ he spat, and then turned to his brother. ‘Let me go, Marrok.’
‘No, Coinin! We need him alive.’ Marrok puffed at the exertion of holding his sibling back. He was surprised at the strength exhibited, but understood that grief drove many a man to possess untold strengths.
Coinin looked at Marrok intently. Anger had fallen away to be replaced by intense pain. Tears flowed freely and, without shame, he buried his head in his brother’s chest and sobbed. His body shook uncontrollably and all Marrok could do was comfort him.
A grief-stricken Jericho stepped forward and took charge. ‘Squad, take this … this man to the boats.’
The remaining men and women worked quickly and provided escort for the disgraced and ousted king.
Jericho fought back tears and placed a hand on Coinin’s shoulder. ‘Curator, I know now is not the time, but it is unseemly to be seen like this by the men, and I fear there may be reinforcements on the way. We must vacate the city at once. There will be time for grief soon,’ he said, not too unkindly, desperately trying to heed his own words.
Coinin broke free of Marrok’s grip and rounded on the general. ‘What do you know of grief?’ he yelled, spitting fury at being told how to conduct himself.
Pain creased Jericho’s face, and he balled his fists.
Marrok, not liking where events were heading, stepped in between them both and faced Coinin. Raising himself a full head height above his brother, Marrok gripped Coinin in two strong hands and spoke softly. ‘Snap out of it, brother. Have you forgotten, Aniol is Jericho’s niece. There will be time to mourn our losses. This isn’t over yet.’
Coinin stared at Marrok with a cold gaze and then he dropped his eyes and his shoulders.
Marrok let go, and Coinin sighed deeply before raising his head once more. ‘General. Please forgive me. Your wife, and Aniol. I was insensitive.’
Jericho eyed Coinin with a loathing and marched away without so much as a word.
Coinin closed his eyes and shook his head.
Marrok coughed. ‘He will come around. Give him time.’
Him and me, both, Coinin thought, barely able to hold in his sadness. His heart had broken, as surely as if someone had cleaved it in two. He looked out over the tranquil lake hoping to see Aniol swimming to shore but saw only a small boat bobbing in the water a distance away, with a sole occupant, most likely a fisherman.
With a heavy heart, he strode after Jericho and the others. As the convoy reached the main thoroughfare, a small crowd began to gather at the sidelines and then, as if by magic, a whole throng of people crowded around, clapping and cheering upon word spreading that the king was being led away in chains.
Had these strange people come to deliver them from the tyrant?
A young boy squeezed between two of the convoy and aimed a swift kick at the king, missed, and fell to uproarious laughter. Undeterred, the youngster hauled himself up and gripped a small rock, which he threw as hard as his thin arms would allow.
With a cry of pain, the king winced as the rock struck him upon the cheek, where it drew blood.
The crowd cheered louder and proclaimed the young boy to be a conqueror of kings.
As they neared the shoreline of the lake, the crowds thinned and there waiting for them was Sonny, Menin and Zaruun.
‘Archmage, it is my sad duty to report Aniol lost in battle.’
Menin took a deep breath and pain flashed across her face. Poor Jericho. She looked for him.
Marrok turned to Sonny. ‘What news?’
‘The rest of the guard has taken flight. It seems to me that there needs to be some order brought to this city, and as your intention is to restore the rightful king to his throne, then somebody should act on his behalf until his safe return,’ Sonny replied.
‘And that someone would be you, I suppose,’ Marrok said.
‘Heavens, no. The Lord Chamberlain is the only court appointed official with enough influence to keep things in order.’
‘Where is this Lord Chamberlain?’
‘He was locked away, but I’ve already made preparations to secure his release with as much immediacy as can be mustered.’
‘What does this have to do with us?’ Marrok asked.
‘I want you to pass word to the rightful king that his kingdom is in good hands.’
‘I suppose there’s something in this for you?’
‘But of course, a seat on his majesties counsel is something I desire.’
Marrok shook his head and smiled. ‘I’ll never understand the desire to be close to those in power.’
‘Self-preservation.’ Sonny walked away and left Marrok to chew that one over, confident he’d understand eventually.
Marrok turned and joined Menin and Zaruun, who had both ventured after the disappearing raiding party. They soon caught up with Jericho, who appeared composed but apprehensive.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘We aren’t out of the woods yet. Who knows what awaits us out on the lake? For all we know, a ship is waiting load
ed with soldiers ready to pounce. We’d be sitting ducks,’ Jericho responded, all the while eyeing his surroundings for signs of trouble.
‘Relax, we’ve survived worse things.’
‘When we reach Underworld, then I’ll relax. Our luck will run out eventually.’
Marrok sensed that was the last to be said on the matter and hurried to the front of the column. ‘Come on now, double time. Let’s flee before trouble finds a path to our door.’
Captain Dalia stood patiently at the lake shoreline. A large frigate at half sail and held fast by anchor waited, ready to cross the lake. She and her command had liberated the vessel earlier that day and had sailed it not too far from shore.
‘Captain, you have outdone yourself.’
‘I aim to please, General Wulf.’ Dalia beamed.
‘Much trouble?’
‘None. Two men were guarding the vessel, who are now comfortably sleeping in the brig. My guess is they weren’t expecting someone to seize one of their ships, hence the light guard.’
‘Who’s piloting it?’
‘That would be yours truly. My family come from a long line of merchants. This vessel is no different to other merchant vessels I apprenticed on. If you would excuse me, General, it’s time we were moving.’
Marrok stepped aside while Dalia barked orders to her men. Within a handful of minutes, the party was once again crammed inside small crafts, moving swiftly towards the enormous ship.
Marrok wiped spray from his face, brushed back his hair against the wind and nudged Dalia, who had taken a seat on the bench beside him.
‘What made you choose such a huge -’ Marrok looked lost for the right word and merely gesticulated.
‘Frigate? Large holds and lots of armour. And in case we are pursued, she’s nippy in the water.’ She smiled, a glint of delight in her eye.
Half a dozen hands reached for the ousted king, dragged him unceremoniously aboard the ship and dumped him on the wet deck.
He looked about him fearfully, searching left and right for an escape, though he knew it was useless. He would never be able to swim, he couldn’t, let alone the fact that he would have been caught anyway.
He bemoaned his decision to send almost all of his compliment of guard to war, and now no-one would come for him. He was at the mercy of his captors, whoever they were.
Archmage Menin strode across the wet and slippery deck with ease and a squeak of boot leather. She had shed her wool cloak and although was still dressed down, looked very much the part of someone in charge. She exuded authority with only a hint of grief lining her face.
She stopped before the prisoner and clucked her tongue. ‘You must be the usurper, Jarek. I’m so glad you could join us.’
Jarek glared at her but remained quiet. Now was not the time for outbursts, it was better to listen and plan.
‘Lost your tongue, Jarek?’
Jarek coughed and winced at the pain from his ribs. ‘I will speak when and if I have something to say. This minute, I have nothing to say.’
Menin frowned. ‘You are not even remotely interested why you have been taken captive?’
‘A fool would not be. But I know from experience that you are eager to tell.’
The man’s appearance did not fool Menin. He may look like a vagabond, but inside she knew a scheming killer lurked, who without a shadow of a doubt would do anything to survive.
She turned her head and barked, ‘Why isn’t this man in chains?’
Private Peake hurried forward and bowed. ‘My apologies, ma’am, he was released to permit heaving him aboard. I shall see to it immediately.’
Peake raced away for a set of shackles and Menin turned back to Jarek just in time to see his hopes dashed. The look of a man doomed crossed his face, and he visibly drooped.
Peake returned promptly and secured Jarek to a brass ring seated into the thick oak planks of the forecastle.
‘Now, with you comfortable, we should talk. But first, we need to depart. Forgive me a moment, would you?’ Menin strode away and barked orders left and right. Time was against them. For all she knew, word had spread of their insurgency and already troops were amassing aboard a vessel, set to intercept them.
Not too long later, the craft was at full sail, carried along by a stiff wind in the direction of Underworld, a good, strong wake tearing the water behind in two.
It had taken three days to initially cross the lake, under sail and oar in a small craft, and this vessel would see them reach the other side by nightfall, if all went well.
AN UNLIKELY COMPANIONSHIP
Two lone figures stood on the shore of Lake Rodine, their backs to the city, and watched as the frigate grew smaller and smaller, now a tiny black speck against a morning sun.
‘I never thought I’d be thanking you of all people for saving my life.’ Aniol shivered against the cold of her wet clothes.
‘I was in the right place at the right time, nothing more.’ Draken held his leather satchel close to his chest, feeling the sword inside dig his ribs. ‘What matters most is that I speak to Coinin. I have something to g … confess to him. It is time to right a wrong.’
Aniol looked on, puzzled. ‘What has happened to you? You seem different somehow, rather unlike the man I knew just a few days ago.’
Draken considered the young woman thoughtfully and concluded that no harm would come from telling her the truth. ‘That, my dear, is down to –’ he stopped momentarily, uncomfortable with expressing his feelings. He looked down, and the pale skin of his cheeks turned pink. ‘I’m in … smitten. In love, if you will. I have performed so many wrongs, sought unequalled power and adoration because those things were absent in my life. I pursued them to fulfil a deep chasm, and then someone came along to change all of that.’
Aniol stared at the old man, considering his reply. ‘The things you did, the way you behaved, it was all because you lacked love? What about your brother, sister, nephews? Do they mean nothing to you?’
Draken fleetingly looked angered at Aniol’s accusatory tone and then relaxed. ‘Actually, it was precisely because they had what I had not, that drove me to jealousy. Everyone around me had someone to call their own. I was mocked and rejected by the fairer sex too many times to mention. Even he, Lordich, had a wife.’
‘And you used this as an excuse to treat everyone with disrespect. Turn traitor and become ousted from The Brotherhood.’
Draken looked away and stared out across the lake for a long time. If only she knew the half of it.
Aniol waited patiently and kicked at a pile of weather-worn stones beneath her feet.
With a deep breath, Draken finally snapped back to reality. With a slow, defeated movement, he sat upon a large driftwood log and invited Aniol to sit next to him.
‘I know that I am an immoral man, easily influenced and, to all intents and purposes, a sinner against Rindor, likely to be tormented in Death’s realm for eternity –’
‘People change,’ Aniol interrupted.
‘That they can, but I fear it is too late for me. I have performed so many disgusting and dishonourable actions, which if I told you but a quarter, you’d cry evil and leave my side.’
Aniol sensed a deep sorrow. It seemed to ooze from the man. ‘You saved my life. Whatever you say to me cannot undermine that. It was a selfless act. So, please, tell me, and we shall see.’
‘I am responsible for the deaths of my brother and sister-in-law, Coinin and Marrok’s parents,’ Draken whispered.
Aniol took a sharp intake of breath at the revelation but quickly recovered. Rather than delve deeper, she focused not on the past, but Draken’s now. The teachings of The Order taught not to judge by past deeds, but to concentrate on the future.
‘Regardless, how you think you are responsible –’
‘I am responsible.’
‘Regardless, you took the boys in and cared for them as your own.’
‘Girl, you know nothing. My actions then were always cloaked with an ulterio
r motive.’
‘Do you regret your actions?’
Draken thought for a moment. Several emotions passed across his face, his eyes darting left and right as he searched for an answer. ‘Ever since I saw her, I knew she was the one.’
This wasn’t the answer she was expecting, but Aniol remained silent and merely nodded.
‘She, like you, listened to my tale and neither judged nor condemned. She is most beautiful, and her heart is pure and full of goodness.’
‘Who is this you speak of?’
‘Her name is Meone, she is Felisis, Chief Scribe of the Temple, in fact.’
‘I know her.’
‘You do?’
‘Of course. You don’t know, do you?’
‘Know what?’
‘Well, everything. The incursion, meeting Meone, and how I came to be in the clutches of that bloody great big flying monster.’
‘I guess it went smoothly, and why we have missed our ride back to Underworld. The Brotherhood wouldn’t have left without finishing their mission.’
‘Yes,’ I suppose,’ Aniol mused, ‘but you didn’t answer me.’
‘What?’ Draken looked distracted. ‘Oh, yes. I regret my past deeds for certain. I spoke to Rindor this very morning for the first time in many years and begged forgiveness. It felt good but, all the same, is it enough to win Meone’s heart?’
‘If that is your only goal and not true repentance, I don’t see a future with Meone.’
‘That’s just it, you see, I am repentant. I’m a broken man, all because of her.’
‘Then, I’m sure Rindor will rejoice, and Meone will reciprocate your feelings.’
‘Perhaps.’ Draken looked forlorn, a single tear threatening to escape.
Aniol rolled her eyes. The old man was acting like a lovesick puppy, and they had more pressing matters to attend to.
They sat in silence for several minutes, and then a thought struck Aniol.
‘Maybe, if you were to show Meone your repentance, rather than the use of words, she might be more open to a … liaison.’
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 97