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

by Harrison Davies

  ‘Well, gentlemen, be off at your leisure and report back as soon as possible. I’m heading below decks. I have an awful headache.’ Coinin rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

  ‘Aye, Curator,’ Jericho nodded. ‘Come, Marrok, let’s find a boat.’

  Coinin watched them walk away and rubbed his forehead. He felt quite unwell and tentatively made his way below decks, taking a set of slippery wooden steps into the dark hold. Once there he found the nearest hammock, hoisted himself into it, and lay down with a sigh.

  He was falling, hurtling down a dark hole, with barely enough light for him to see that the walls were of bare rock. There was no sign of the bottom, and with just the rush of air passing over him to keep him company, he felt alone, not terrified as one might expect.

  How long he fell, he had no idea, and yet, when his journey ended there was no sudden jolt of death, but a gradual slowing down until he was able to land on his feet lithely.

  At first, it was so dark; he felt that he was blind until a faint light glowed softly in the distance.

  Gradually, he picked his way into the darkness, arms outstretched, hoping upon hope not to bump into anything or fall into yet another dark hole.

  Every minute or so the light grew brighter and appeared closer, but oh so tantalisingly brief. Still, he plodded on, sure that this nightmare would end soon.

  As if someone had listened to him, a bright light suddenly blinded him. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his head ached from the intensity. After a minute or so he could see blurred shapes around him as his eyes grew accustomed to the illumination. The light was pervading, though, no obvious source greeted him.

  The space, a natural cavern of hard grey stone, was circular with several tunnel exits. In the centre, a plain beech writing desk occupied the space, empty save for a single sheet of parchment and a well-used quill.

  Curiosity got the better of him, and he ventured over to the desk where he sat down upon a cushioned high-backed chair.

  He stared at the parchment in disbelief. There was his name, Coinin Wulf, plain as day, written in a fancy scroll work as a heading.

  Further down was an unfinished paragraph, the first being a summation of his life and his attributes and faults. Hair and eye colour. Height, weight, likes and dislikes.

  It was as if someone had been spying on him his whole life, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. He checked the rest of the parchment for a name of the author, but none was to be found.

  Instead, he read the second paragraph.

  “Coinin, green of eye, short and lithe, thrust the dagger deep into the core of the man and with that one strike, his own soul shattered. A man of peace reduced to such a vile deed, albeit in the act of the preservation of all Er’ath.

  Broken, redressed and tired, he sat on solid blue marble and held his face in bloodied hands. Around him, such turmoil went unnoticed. He was lost to his own world.”

  Coinin’s mind worked overtime, unsure what to make of those words, and how they fit with his life. One such act returned to mind, and it was with great despair that he remembered the death of the Rodine palace guard at his own hand.

  A noise in one of the tunnels ahead of him disturbed his racing mind, and he moved quickly to hide, the only suitable place being a rock column. Secreting himself behind it and in suitable darkness, he held his breath and peered back into the cavern.

  Two figures entered the cavern from the darkness of a central tunnel. The smallest of the pair blinked at the brightness of the illumination and screwed up his face.

  ‘Vinchenza, how is it you are able to work in such conditions?’ a majestic bass voice asked, echoing around the space.

  ‘I find the solitude and light levels quite pleasing, Archmage Wulf.’

  Vinchenza. I know that name, but from where? Coinin wondered. He peered again around the column and saw that Vinchenza had taken a seat at his desk and a small, thin man dressed in white robes very similar to those owned by Archmage Menin, stood alongside him. He was clean-shaven, and his eyes sparkled a piercing blue. He recognised him instantly from his portrait in his office.

  So, this was Soliath Wulf, the first archmage and originator of The Brotherhood and, not only that, his ancestor, or great grandfather far too many times removed to be counted.

  Vinchenza, on the other hand, was tall and plump. His round face was red, and perched upon his full nose was a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez. Wrapped around his ample frame was a burgundy velvet doublet, with a thick, black leather belt holding up cotton breeches.

  ‘What can I do for you today, Soliath? If it’s about those inkwells that went missing, I assure you –’

  Soliath held up his hand. ‘I am not here to discuss trivialities. This story that you have written, it disturbs me greatly.’

  ‘And so it should. It is a vision. I am a seer of things, and I write what I see.’

  ‘That’s my problem. How do we know these things to be true?’

  ‘You know how many times I have foreseen events and for them to transpire.’

  ‘Yes, yes, we all know that, but how can we be certain you are not being influenced? Perhaps someone with their own agenda.’ Soliath began to pace agitatedly.

  ‘I think, Soliath, you have been far too fond of Master Reem’s wine of late. What I have seen only serves to help, not destroy. You worry too much.’

  Soliath nodded in defeat and sighed. ‘As always, my dear friend, Vinchenza Aduramis, you are correct. Not regarding the wine, of course. I was always the cautious one. However, I do want to look again at the last chapter, where you say Mort is defeated. Tell me again the name of the victors.’

  ‘Victor,’ Aduramis corrected.

  Coinin felt himself wrenched backwards as if invisible hands had gripped his waist and were now dragging him away from the scene. He willed it to stop, pleaded, begged, and even tried to claw at the walls of the tunnel until blackness took over once more.

  He struggled to breathe. Something heavy was covering him and holding him down, and yet it was still black. He screamed, yelled, and kicked until a voice issued an order.

  ‘Coinin, stop, you’re dreaming,’ Aniol called.

  Recognising the voice, he stopped and permitted Aniol to remove a thick entangled woollen blanket from around him.

  ‘I hope you aren’t sickening too. I’ve had enough to deal with from Axl,’ Aniol said, and felt his forehead. ‘Speaking of which, I have a bone to pick with you.’

  Coinin swatted her hand away. ‘Axl is unwell?’

  ‘Yes, he’s been that way ever since he arrived in Underworld. He’s in the room next door if you wish to see him.’

  Looking about him, Coinin was confused. ‘Where are we? Last I knew I was climbing into a hammock.’

  ‘Oh, well you’ve been out of sorts. Marrok said you were most likely communicating with Death or your parents.’

  ‘Not quite this time.’ He thought back to the dream and decided to mull it over later. ‘But tell me, where are we?’

  ‘We are in Rodine City, the palace to be exact.’ Aniol strode over to red velvet drapes and drew them back, letting in bright sunshine.

  ‘I guess I missed a lot.’ Coinin sat up and peered beyond the window into the city below. There in the distance, across the lake, the galleon lay waiting.

  ‘That you did. The general returned and brought with him the Lord Chamberlain, who immediately prostrated himself before Prince Riley and declared his undying loyalty. After the prisoners had been set free into the city, we transported you to the palace. We’ve been here ever since waiting for you to wake up.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Three days.’

  Coinin shook his head and checked about him for anyone listening. ‘And Draken, did you conceal him as I asked?’

  ‘I did, but why did you ask me to hide him?’

  Coinin carefully considered his response. ‘He has valuable information … wait, did Riley give the archmage the information we seek?’


  Aniol smiled. ‘He sure did. He told all he knew as promised. Should never have doubted him really.’

  Coinin tried to sit on the edge of the ornate four-poster bed and felt dizzy enough to lay back down. ‘I’ll rise in a few minutes.’

  ‘You most certainly will not,’ Aniol scolded. ‘You will stay there until the court healer has declared you fit. Chicken soup?’

  ‘I seem to spend my days in beds, unwell.’ Coinin sighed, but knew it was pointless arguing with her, even if he felt well enough to leave the bed.

  ‘Perhaps you should stop going off on journeys of the mind then.’

  ‘I like that, journeys of the mind. Apparently, it comes with the title of curator.’

  ‘Never mind all that, food is what you need. You stay there; I’ll be right back.’

  Aniol swished from the room, closing the riveted wooden door with a bang, her footsteps retreating down the corridor.

  All Coinin could do was lie there, his legs not quite working yet.

  ❖

  A day later and Coinin sat opposite Draken in the city’s only alehouse, in a quiet corner. Aniol lurked nearby out of earshot. Between them, an ale each sat undrunk. Coinin’s because he disliked the taste and Draken’s because he was surely about to learn his fate any moment now.

  ‘The time has arrived, Draken. You have proven yourself valuable in regards to furnishing me with what information you possess around Lordich. However, the Order saw me banish you, and I stand by that decision still.’

  Draken’s face dropped, his sadness becoming more pronounced.

  ‘I understand that you have a love interest in these parts, and yes, before you ask, Aniol told me.’ Coinin paused briefly. ‘Although I cannot condone your actions, they were in a different time and place, and so much has transpired since then that … that I forgive you based upon your deeds of late. Your repentance and honesty have clearly shown me that Rindor accepts you as one of his own once more, and that I cannot argue against. Go now, Uncle, and be with your love. Be finally happy.’ Coinin stood and inclined his head slightly, before signalling to Aniol that they were leaving.

  A single tear raced down Draken’s cheek, which he refused to wipe away. ‘Goodbye, Coinin. You sweet hearted boy.’

  ‘So long, Uncle.’

  Coinin and Aniol swept from the alehouse and into the night.

  From the shadows, a familiar figure stood from their seated position and dropped into the chair opposite Draken.

  A soft, furred hand gently wiped away his tear. ‘You have shown more courage today than most men in a lifetime. Tell me more about the real Draken,’ said Meone.

  THE LONG WAY (Part1)

  DAY 22 – COININ WULF (CURATOR)

  We’ve been on this wretched bucket for twenty-two days, heading ultimately for Rosthagaar and I’m violently ill.

  Marrok has shown no sympathy whatsoever and skips around totally unaffected. If I hear him whistle one more shanty, I’ll throttle him.

  I’m yet again in my sick bed. Even the slightest movement messes with my equilibrium, and I faint. I must learn to stop doing that. There will be brief opportunities to stop along the way, but I’m told that’s many days away.

  Menin is happy with the information we received from King Riley regarding Lordich’s last known whereabouts. We will need to stop off in Manil, City of the Dwarves, to seek an audience with their thane, or is it king? What was his name again?

  We will need his assistance if we are to mount an attack on the citadel that Riley states Lordich calls home.

  Oh, and it’s wonderful that Riley gave us this ship and several of her crew to help man her.

  DAY 31 – GWENDOLYN DALIA (CAPTAIN)

  The curator joked that I’d make a good admiral and he’s more right than he knows. I love the sea and everything about it. I feel free and alive out here amid the waves.

  I will speak to Coinin when all this is over and put it to him that we need a navy if we are to effectively guard our borders against pirates.

  I’m keen to try my hand at one of those flying ships, too. It’s a great pity King Riley refused us a loan of one, and I don’t think the curator wants to again steal one from the pirates.

  I must say, the makeshift crew are getting along handsomely. They learn fast, and I think many of them will volunteer for this life on a permanent basis.

  Another day or two and we should reach Manil. The going hasn’t been as swift as across the lake. The weather has seen to that.

  DAY 15 – ANIOL (PERSONAL GUARD)

  I fear for Axl’s health. He is deathly pale, sweating and ailing with some unknown illness. He vomits daily a black bile, and his breathing has worsened today. I’m not sure he can go on much longer, and I’m afraid to let him suffer, too.

  Archmage Menin has been wonderful, trying all sorts of spells and incantations to try and at least give my love some peace.

  General Jericho has been a rock, like a father he has listened, comforted and supported me.

  Though, like any father he has not concealed the truth. He has spoken openly, confirming what I already know … Axl is dying, and my heart is breaking. I shall be lost without him … I miss his smile and complete buffoonery that makes me laugh.

  DAY 6 – LALIALA MENIN (ARCHMAGE)

  Zaruun is like a fly buzzing around me today. He’s overly concerned for my safety. I’m aboard a well-defended galleon with a crew consisting of Brotherhood soldiers. What does he think is going to happen?

  I’d speak to him, but I know how much he prides himself in his role, and I suppose that’s why I put up with him.

  Today, for the first time, I felt a hole in my heart grow wider. I know we didn’t see each other for years, but it was comforting to know Hur’al was there if I ever needed him.

  He died doing what he did best and someday I will return to ensure that he was buried properly. Speaking of burials, I have felt pained that Jericho and Marrok lost people whilst infiltrating the Rodine palace. What hurts most was being unable to recover and bury our lost at the time. Sadly, it seems the full remains of the dead may never be found thanks to those flying monsters Jarek’s men had released. Undoubtedly, food enough for them as a reward. I shudder at the thought.

  Captain Dalia is doing a fantastic job of piloting the ship, and perhaps Coinin is correct, we have the need for a navy to effectively defend our continent. We should not rely solely on the elves.

  I’m concerned the information given to us will prove fruitless, and we will have wasted months searching for Lordich. I am hopeful that King Henfal of the Dwarves will be able to verify the information we have and possibly render us assistance. It will be pleasant to see his wife again after all these years.

  DAY 9 – DARETH JERICHO (GENERAL)

  I still miss Eraywen greatly, though each day gets easier and easier to handle. I wish I’d never spent so much time away from home and not enough with her.

  I know one thing for certain, Lordich will pay.

  DAY 1 – THRUUP WAN (PRIVATE)

  I can’t believe I’ve been given galley duties. The complaints have already started. I’d rather swab the decks for the rest of the trip. If they’re correct that this journey could stretch over one year, I long to be home.

  DAY 19 – MARROK WULF (GENERAL)

  I’m not sure I’m going to survive the rest of this trip with nothing to eat but bread, water and the odd piece of fruit…

  THE DWARVEN DELL

  Luscious green land dominated by hard granite mountains topped with powdery snow loomed through the early morning haze.

  Captain Dalia’s orders flew back and forth across the main deck and reverberated through the valley. ‘Heave to and drop the main sail, we don’t want to be going too fast and crush our keel on a stray rock.’

  The ship turned and slowed into the wind and came to a full stop. Deck hands took care in furling the mainsail and lowering the remaining canvas. Soon, all hands were stroking the water with oars, and the vessel c
ruised along a winding river. They headed south through the Elven Dell. High banks of trees that grew from the sides and tops of high cliffs masked any kind of view beyond the river, and occasionally the head of a wild animal appeared from the bush to disappear again just as quickly.

  Every so often, a flying fish would jump from the water directly in front of them. Coinin, who had finally found his sea legs, loved nothing better than to sit as far forward as possible and contemplate matters, and that was where he was to be found, often, his legs dangling over the prow of the ship.

  The rigging creaked, and the boards squeaked, a sound he had grown accustomed to and found it soothing.

  ‘Excuse me, Curator,’ said a familiar voice from behind.

  Coinin spun around and smiled at Quindil, who held a long length of thin rope in his hand. He was dressed in a short-sleeved cotton shirt and had burned with the sun.

  ‘Yes, what is it, Major?’

  ‘I am sorry to interrupt, but I have been tasked to sound the water, and I need to occupy your favourite spot.’

  ‘Sound the water? That sounds interesting. Forgive the pun.’ Coinin smiled.

  Major Quindil snorted and shook his head. ‘That was terrible.’

  ‘I have plenty more where that came from, but perhaps for another time.’ Coinin heaved himself from his seated position and hopped down the deck. ‘All yours, Quindil. Incidentally, what does it mean to sound the water?’

  Quindil swung the end of his rope to demonstrate. ‘See this weight hanging from the end of my rope? I feed the line into the water, and the weight carries it to the bottom of the river. Every yard or so, the rope has a marker indicating the depth. If the river becomes too shallow to accommodate the hull of the ship, I will need to explore for deeper sections, or we weigh anchor and take a row boat to our destination.’