Draken cocked his head. ‘Go on.’
‘You said you had something to set straight with Coinin.’
‘I did.’ Draken eyed her curiously and wiped away a tear.
‘I take it it is of vital importance?’
‘Indeed, the utmost.’
‘Then explain this to Meone, tell her you intend to set things right, starting with Coinin and your repentance. Tell her … tell her of your fondness for her and that you plan to return a changed man.’
Draken looked horrified at the thought of broaching the subject with Meone. Not so much that he had stolen the Rose of Cerathil, and killed Trenobin to take his ancestral sword, but to tell her that he was smitten was too much to ask.
Aniol grew impatient and stood. ‘If you don’t say something you may as well sit there by yourself and contemplate till the day you die what could have been instead of celebrating what could be. Shall we?’ With a gesture of her arm towards the city, she invited the old man to join her.
Draken sighed and stiffly rose, launching a scowl towards the girl. He knew she was right but refused to admit it. ‘If this goes wrong, girl …’ he trailed off.
Aniol flashed him a smile. ‘Trust me.’
The pair trudged over the rocky shoreline towards the city, that seemed to have sprung to life. Fireworks, barely visible against the morning sky, cracked and exploded, accentuating the glee of the city folk below, who had taken it upon themselves to hold a celebration. The pseudo-king was gone, and the town crier had informed them that the true heir to the throne was due to return any day. Meone had been busy it seemed, telling all who would listen.
The streets, where before they were bare, now heaved with activity, and Draken and Aniol had to push through an already half drunken mob, the kind that celebrated too much and regretted nothing.
With no visible city guard, Aniol hoped things didn’t get too out of hand. She knew this was an uncertain time for this city and was confident that any hidden underground faction might well be vying for power right at this moment.
‘I see her,’ she yelled above the din, and pointed towards Draken’s prize, standing with a disapproving look at the side of a group of revellers.
Draken went deathly pale, even more than usual, and shuffled forward, his head bent low.
Aniol shook her head in frustration and gripped his thin arm. ‘Come on, the sooner we do this the sooner we can find transport to Underworld.’
Begrudgingly, Draken permitted himself to be led by the arm, his heart beating ever faster, nerves building.
After much elbowing aside partygoers, Aniol stopped before Meone and puffed, tired from the struggle. She clutched Draken close, whose head was still bent.
Meone spied Aniol and seemed to jump for joy. She reached for the young woman, pulled her to her ample bosom, and squeezed tightly. ‘By Rindor’s mercy, we thought you dead.’
Aniol uttered a muffled reply, and Meone quickly released her grasp.
Aniol appeared thankful and smiled. ‘You can’t keep a good girl down.’
‘You must come with me and tell me all about it.’
‘I do wish to speak with you. Well, Draken wishes it. We have little time to discuss other matters.’
Meone cocked her head, surprised to see Draken behind Aniol, and then nodded. ‘Please, follow me.’
❖
The temple interior was warmer than outside, and that at least was a blessing. The same insistent choir voice sang its uplifting tune, masking the noise from outside in the square, and a handful of worshippers had gathered to pay tribute to Rindor for delivering them from the hands of the tyrant king.
Meone led them through the temple and into her private chamber, now very much familiar to Draken.
Aniol headed instantly for the fireplace that crackled and warmed, and stood with her back to it.
Meone crossed to a small, wooden table and upturned tree goblets. Uncorking a bottle of something green and sweet smelling, she deposited three generous shots into each container and recorked the bottle. Slipping a finger over the rims of a couple of the goblets, she offered her guests a drink each.
Aniol gladly took hers with a grin and Draken, who had remained by Aniol’s side, refused to look Meone in the eye, like a child who had done wrong.
‘What brings you both to my table, as it were?’ Meone took a sip of her drink, savouring the sweetness and eyeing Draken curiously.
Aniol spoke first. ‘Aside from our need of transport to Underworld, it is Draken who has something to say.’
Draken shot Aniol a look that sent shivers down her spine and then felt searching eyes seeking his own.
‘Draken?’ Meone asked, bending her head to his.
Uncomfortable, Draken coughed, and from what Aniol could see, he blushed red and took a seat beside the fire, never once fully looking up.
Meone looked at Aniol questioningly, to which the young woman merely shrugged.
Minutes ticked by with not a word from him until finally, Aniol snapped. ‘Draken, tell her! We don’t have time for this.’
The man held up his hand in submission and stood briefly, and with much creaking of limbs lowered to one knee. He took a deep gulp, and the panic in his eyes said it all. He was terrified. ‘Meone, I’ve always been a man of few words, but Aniol has shown me that sometimes one must bite the strop and lay bare.’ He looked to Aniol, who nodded encouragingly. ‘The fact is, from the first moment I saw you I knew you were the one, and I very much desire more of your company.’ He stopped, worried he’d said too much, and rose to leave.
Meone, however, smiled, not pityingly as he had feared, but a genuine smile. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘I would typically reject such an offer since I have chosen a life to Rindor’s service, but something is intriguing about you, Draken. Therefore, if you show me you truly repent your old ways then come and see me. I cannot promise things will be as you intend for them to be, though, as what happens will be at Rindor’s will.’
Draken’s heart leapt. She had not said no immediately, her kindness shining through once more. ‘I had hoped that you would come with us to Underworld. There you will see the extent of my repentance and my desire to put things right with my nephews.’
Meone frowned, and her whiskers bristled. ‘This is such a difficult time. I need to remain here. There will be many who fear the days ahead. Besides, I must return to an old friend and bring her into the sunshine once more, since it was unsafe for the archmage to do so.’
Draken looked quizzical and forlorn at once, which made for an interesting expression, and nodded sadly. ‘I understand.’
‘Then that’s settled,’ chimed Aniol. ‘Meone, could you find us transport to Underworld?’
Meone appeared momentarily distracted, perhaps lost in thought at Draken’s confession. ‘Yes … Yes, of course. Follow me.’
Depositing her goblet upon the small table, the Felisis swept from the room with Draken and Aniol in tow.
Fifteen minutes later the trio stood upon a rickety dock opposite a small sailing yacht, with a white painted hull and a blue sail, barely big enough to accommodate two individuals.
‘This is my pride and joy, the Felisis’ Claw. When I need to get away for a spell, I love nothing better than sailing the lake. She’s yours for as long as you need her. All I ask is that you return her in one piece.’
‘Meone, she’s beautiful. I will take great care of her,’ Aniol said, and then turned to Draken. ‘I trust you know how to pilot such a craft?’
Draken grunted and nodded before clambering aboard the craft. He steadied himself against the mast and assessed the rigging.
Aniol turned to Meone and smiled. ‘Thank you, sister, for not breaking his heart.’
‘I could not. Draken intrigues me greatly. He has led such a colourful life and, even with his past, if he is able to return to the fold then he is worthy of my attention, and perhaps even affection.’
‘Come on, girl, the light is fading, and th
ere’s a good breeze,’ Draken called from amongst the rigging and sail of the vessel.
Aniol looked up and blinked at the sun. It was barely midday. ‘Fine, I’m coming.’ She shook hands with Meone and made to leave when a thought struck her. ‘We’re such fools. We have no rations for the journey.’
Meone smiled. ‘It’s all taken care of. There is a whole store of provisions and water below deck. With a good head wind, it should take no more than three days to cross the lake.’
‘Three –’ Aniol began, and cut herself short. Three days with Draken is going to be such fun; she thought, and sighed. ‘Thank you again, Meone. May our next meeting be a celebration of our victory.’
‘Thank you, good sister. May your journey be safe. Please take care of the old fool.’
Meone bent to greet Aniol, and they touched foreheads affectionately.
She and Aniol parted, and the latter climbed aboard the small sailing vessel and felt the boat tilt with the weight shift. There were no waves to speak of, but should any arise she knew she’d be violently ill.
With a final wave to Meone, who stood alone on the dock, the boat eased its way out over the lake.
UNDERWORLD REVISITED
The new, early morning sun cast its light down onto the weary travellers heading slowly towards the City of Underworld. The cold wind from the night before had eased, to be replaced by warmer gusts.
Today was the fourth morning of travel, one across the lake and three across a featureless desert. It was slower going uphill. Now, after having eaten the last of their rations, Coinin and the others were glad to be mere minutes from their destination. A familiar cave system carved into a tall mountain loomed invitingly amidst a morning haze.
The column of soldiers, Brotherhood hierarchy and prisoner, snaked over dunes, slipping and sliding in the fluidic sand. Boots filled with ever pervading grains, and every orifice seemed to be chock full of the tiny particles that choked or blinded in the prevailing winds.
Each man, woman and orc covered their faces with scarves to stave off the onslaught and tried to shield their eyes with hands. Unfortunately for Jarek, his hands were tied and denied such luxuries.
They had walked in silence, for almost six hours since the early morning, when the relief of shade from both sun and wind was afforded them, cast by the high mountain.
Numerous caves dotted the cliff-side, cut deep into the rock. Coinin remembered thinking on his last visit that some villagers must have dwelled here at one time or another before desert swallowed this whole area. Now deserted, the only things that occupied these dark unnatural holes were wild animals and all manner of deadly crawling insects and creatures.
He was certainly going to avoid any hole they had no business venturing into.
The company stopped outside of a small, unassuming cave mouth.
Coinin removed his head covering and brushed sand from his lips ‘We’ve arrived, Jarek. Are you thrilled to finally be nearly face to face with your brother, Riley, after so many years?’
Jarek remained sullen and felt himself being pushed roughly into a darkened cave, barely tall enough for him to stand upright.
A torch was lit, sending his shadow further into a rock wall tunnel. A hand shoved him forward, and he complied, treading carefully for fear of tripping and landing face first in the dirt.
His and the others’ footsteps clattered and echoed eerily, with the occasional scrape of boot leather against a stone.
Turn after turn; The Brotherhood ventured deeper into the heart of the mountain until finally, a great iron doorway blocked their path. Plain and ordinary, it belied its secret.
This was no ordinary doorway; it was the entrance to an underground prison where Coinin and the others had met Prince Riley Thymes, the true heir to the throne of Rodine.
It was imbued with an ancient magic designed to keep the occupants beyond imprisoned for life.
Once the prisoner had been cursed with an unbreakable spell and had entered through the doorway, the door would remain sealed as an exit to that person.
The occupants were then unable to dig a way out, or pass via any other outlet other than the original entrance, and only then if the curse was broken. To attempt escape would cause the escapee to combust into a ball of fire and ash.
In this instance, Jarek had cursed his brother and those prisoners beyond the door to remain imprisoned until their dying day, hence the reason the door remained unguarded.
Non-cursed individuals were entirely free to enter and exit at any time; much like The Brotherhood themselves had done not so long ago. Since that fact was discovered, a lively city had sprung up, and the Underworlders had begun to trade weapons and ore with overlanders.
Jarek, upon seeing the door, froze and refused to move. He knew that the moment he passed beyond it, the curse binding his brother to Underworld would be broken and would be rebound upon him, trapping him within, forever.
Len’i stepped forward, gripped Jarek in a strong bear-like hug, and lifted him off the ground, ready to carry him through the door. His composure broken, Jarek began to wriggle and writhe, attempting to escape the orc’s grip.
‘Settle down, or it’ll be worse for you,’ Len’i snarled.
‘Please, I beg you; do not take me beyond the door. Yonder holds a living nightmare,’ Jarek pleaded.
‘You should have thought of that before you sentenced your brother to the same fate.’ Coinin’s steely eyes burned into Jarek’s. ‘Open the door.’
Jarek, his whole composure lost, yelled, kicked, and screamed, genuinely terrified of what lay behind the door.
‘He’s not very kingly, is he?’ Dalia commented. ‘Not even princely, for that matter.’
The door creaked open, and a blast of warm, sulphurous air wafted over the band of travellers. Without hesitation, Len’i lurched forward and thrust Jarek beyond the opening.
The instant Jarek found himself in Underworld, he was lifted a foot in the air as if by invisible hands and the ground rumbled and shook like a quake, sending dust from the ceiling cascading over the travellers. A shimmering, translucent, red light encompassed the doorway briefly, before fading away. Jarek’s limbs extended uncontrollably and an intense red glow formed around him before he collapsed in a heap upon the ground.
Len’i bravely stepped forward, crossed the threshold and then turned to face the others. ‘It seems safe enough.’
Jarek bolted upright, as if stung by a bee, and lurched back towards the exit only to be physically thrown backwards several feet. An invisible energy barrier had barred the way out, showing itself as a red, shimmering light the moment Jarek had touched it.
Len’i marched to where Jarek lay moaning in pain. ‘Foolish man, now I must carry you.’ With one swift movement, the giant orc lifted Jarek aloft and slung him over his shoulder with barely a protest.
The others began piling through the doorway, leaving Len’i little choice but to move forward. With his keen eyesight, he picked out the route and forged ahead.
‘Not long now, and you will be toe-to-toe with your sibling. How does that feel, little man?’ Coinin mocked from behind.
‘Coinin! This attitude does not become you,’ Menin chastised.
Coinin looked at her with disdain and shrugged before moving to the head of the group behind Len’i.
Menin turned to Jericho. ‘I’m worried about him. Something has apparently changed.’
‘He’s just lost his personal guard, Aniol. They were close. I’ll speak with him at the next available opportunity,’ Jericho offered.
‘Maybe that would be wise.’
‘Consider it done.’
❖
A welcoming committee awaited them at the foot of the stairwell that was cut into rock column supports holding up the cavern roof. On the treacherous way down, there being no handrails, they passed by numerous dwellings hewn into the column, smelling all kinds of foodstuffs cooking and dipping under clothes hung out to dry.
A compliment o
f Prince Riley Thymes’ guards saluted Coinin and the others and then opened a path for them.
‘I am Captain Triel of the Royal Guard,’ a burly, long-haired, dark-skinned Roderian woman introduced herself. She held out a hand, her red tunic sleeve fluttering as she did so.
Coinin took the hand and shook heartily. ‘I think you’ll be pleased to know, we succeeded. Len’i, if you will.’
The huge, green orc stepped forward and deposited Jarek carefully onto his feet.
Upon seeing the disgraced king, the guards spat and slapped him with the blunt ends of swords. An especially muscular individual kicked out so hard that Jarek’s ankle dislocated with a sickening pop, and he fell to the ground with an agonised scream. He clutched at his leg and cried in pain.
Len’i sighed. ‘Now, I must carry him, again.’
‘No need, I shall do it.’ Jarek’s attacker bustled forwards and, with little care, yanked the pained man to his one good leg, and with a firm grip on his upper arm, he half led, half pushed the prisoner ahead of the column.
A crowd from the myriad of city dwellings had begun to gather, brought there by Jarek’s cries, and upon seeing him they hissed or booed and, like the guards, spat upon him.
Word spread fast and more and more former prisoners arrived, and a seething fury began to build. They surged forwards in small groups trying to slap or kick their jailor.
Jericho, worried for their charge’s safety, called Dalia forward. ‘Captain Dalia, have the men form a ring around the prisoner, and make it fast, they’ll lynch him otherwise.’
Dalia nodded and raced to the back of the column and barked her orders. ‘I need a column around the prisoner. Protect him till he reaches the palace. A barrier of shields will suffice. You are under orders not to harm a civilian. Set to it, double quick.’
Without hesitation, a dozen Brotherhood soldiers marched forward, shields at the ready, and pushed civilians aside, all the while shouting, ‘Get back!’ until they had surrounded Jarek and his escort.
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 98