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

by Harrison Davies

  Coinin nodded, impressed with such a simple method of keeping them afloat. ‘I’ll let you get on. I would not want to be on the captain’s bad side.’

  ‘Let alone run aground.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that too.’ Coinin chuckled, shook his head and left Quindil alone.

  For a one-armed man, Quindil was still adept at climbing, and in just a few seconds he had hopped onto the prow of the ship and begun sounding.

  As Coinin walked away, he heard Quindil calling the current depth of the river to the captain.

  Len’i had kept himself to himself, focussing on work of one sort or another. He was ideally suited to carting rope, barrels or other cargo around the hold. Though now that was done to his satisfaction, he grew impatient to set foot on land, and so he ventured above deck to stretch his legs. He closed his eyes momentarily at the change of light and looked about him. Several hands swabbed the main deck, coiled ropes and made repairs with buckets of pitch.

  He saw, out of the corner of his eye, movement in the treeline. Curiosity piqued, he turned fully to face the foliage and peered at the spot. After several moments he began to doubt that he had seen something and was just about to turn when he saw a glint of light off metal and the distinctive shape of a helmet.

  Alert to potential danger, he turned away as naturally as he could and walked over to Jericho, who he had spotted a minute ago in a conversation with Coinin.

  ‘General, Curator. I believe we are being watched,’ Len’i announced unemotionally.

  Coinin made to look around, however, Len’i gripped his arm lightly. ‘Do not look and make it obvious we are aware.’

  Coinin nodded sheepishly. ‘What do you suggest, General?’

  ‘Actually, if I may?’ Len’i began, and Coinin indicated he should continue. ‘We should covertly prepare for an attack.’

  ‘You believe we will be boarded?’ Jericho asked.

  ‘I’m not certain, but since we are so close to dwarven territory, should we not be prepared? Who knows whether they will welcome us?’

  ‘The Brotherhood has always held good relations with the dwarves,’ Coinin announced.

  ‘That may be true, but to them, right now, you may appear not as an envoy of the Order, but as pirates. Look around. Do you see uniforms and standards?’

  True enough, the orc was correct. The crew looked bedraggled, wearing what amounted to rags to save their uniforms from spoiling. And the galleon itself had seen better days and held no identification other than the shape.

  ‘Then we should muster, don our uniforms and greet the dwarves in proper fashion,’ Jericho reasoned.

  ‘Step to it, General. I just hope we are not too late,’ Coinin ordered. ‘Find Marrok and take Len’i with you.’

  ‘What are you going to do, Sir?’

  ‘I’m going to inform the archmage that we have a potential problem with the natives.’ Coinin strode away and headed directly to the captain’s cabin, where Menin was often found, communing with the spirit realm or meditating.

  He knocked on the half-glazed door and entered. Zaruun was there by the door, as usual, and saluted as he entered. The room, a basic rectangle, with little in the way of decorations other than a wooden cabinet, a centre table and a small single bed, was thick with incense, Menin’s only requirement for the room, and used to rid the cabin of the foul stench of the previous occupant.

  The clouds of incense burned Coinin’s eyes and he rubbed them, which only made things worse. ‘Archmage, may I speak with you outside?’

  Menin, her eyes red from so much incense, rose from her seated position and turned to greet Coinin.

  ‘Certainly, what is it?’

  Zaruun took his usual position two steps behind her as they exited the cabin and into the morning light.

  ‘What can I do for you, Curator?’

  ‘Len’i believes we are being watched by a potential enemy beyond the trees.’

  Instinctively, Menin did as Coinin had almost done and scanned the treeline. She found it void of life. ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘One can never be certain. I have the word of Len’i, and though I have not seen any movement myself I am confident his eyesight is far superior to that of mine. The question hangs whether this is an enemy or friend. Pirate or dwarf.’

  ‘Time will tell, I predict. What’s the plan of action?’

  ‘I have ordered our troops to don their uniforms, and once that’s complete, we will raise what standards we have and hope the unknown watcher is a friend. We will at least be ready, though with so few men now, who knows how any action will play out?’ Coinin looked pointedly at Zaruun. ‘I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to protect the archmage. However, in this instance, I’d prefer to assign you a second.’

  Zaruun looked relieved rather than scorned. ‘As you wish, Sir. It is standard procedure to have two personal guards on watch always. Just recent events have changed this directive.’

  ‘Fine, I shall send Len’i to you in due course.’

  Zaruun scowled and Coinin raised his hand. ‘Before you judge, he is a highly accomplished fighter and has sworn an oath to The Brotherhood and to me. He will, of course, be under your direct command.’

  Zaruun nodded, seemingly satisfied. ‘Thank you for the clarification, Sir.’

  ‘As for you, Archmage, I’m afraid you must be secured in the most defensible position on the ship,’ Coinin announced.

  Menin cursed. ‘This rule has to change. I refuse to keep my head down when others around me willingly take an arrow for me.’

  ‘With respect, ma’am, that is their function,’ Zaruun added.

  ‘In this instance, I must overrule you, Curator. I cannot be seen to be cowering in a hold in the hour of meeting an ally to seek aid,’ Menin said, stony-faced.

  ‘If that is to be the decision then I should step down as curator. I cannot protect you if you present a target.’

  Menin stooped to his level and spoke quietly into his ear. ‘I am more than capable of looking after myself. I was doing so when you were but a twinkle in your father’s eye and will continue to do so. Your role means more than ensuring my safety. It requires you to guard the temple, protect the Scroll of Life and to keep the Great Library safe.’

  ‘I’m doing such a good job of that, too,’ Coinin replied sarcastically.

  Menin shook her head. ‘You are doing a fantastic job of things. You left competent people behind to keep things in order at the temple. I assure you, she is well protected. I need you here, focussed on our task. My own safety is my responsibility, and besides, I know the dwarven king and his wife very well. They will not attack us when they see who has arrived at their court.’

  ‘Fine, but you keep that head of yours down.’ Coinin acquiesced and hurried away to don his own uniform.

  ❖

  A giant copper horn, two cows in length, attached to a wooden A-frame and tapered to the mouthpiece, sounded the alarm from the heights of Quen Tower in the City of Manil. Home to the dwarves.

  ‘My liege, the galleon is of Rodine origin and closes quickly,’ the king’s regent announced.

  King Henfal rose from his white ash throne, no longer bored with courtly duties. ‘A raid? Do they seek our gold deposits? I hear tell King Jarek has made it his business to invade neighbouring kingdoms and strip them of gold.’

  ‘Then if that is his intention, might I suggest we muster our armies and defend this city at all costs?’

  ‘See to it, Lord Regent. I want to know the nature and purpose of this ship,’ Henfal’s deep tones rumbled. ‘Clear the room.’

  Henfal waited while his aides and subjects bid a hasty retreat from his domain. Satisfied he was alone, he paced the throne room, arms held behind his back. A million and one thoughts bombarded him. Who are they? Why have they come? Is it a prelude to war? Rodine has never traded with Manil before. What can it mean?

  The inside of the arched throne room was undergoing renovation, and even in its half-completed state, there was pride
in the work. High domed ceilings, held up by marble columns that replaced older wooden ones and several storey high windows, plain and functional, illuminated the room.

  Decisions made, the king straightened his leather doublet and returned to his throne where he reached for his sword and helmet resting upon a day table. The sword, he fastened over his ample waist and deposited the gold trimmed helmet firmly upon his curly red hair. He stroked his long, flowing beard and marched towards the exit, determined as ever to be in the thick of things.

  Exiting the portal, he walked into a grand courtyard inlaid with the finest marble, shining white. A beautiful blue cloudless sky greeted him.

  Dead centre of the high walled yard, the effigy of Henfal, majestic and proud, dominated the space. His likeness held an axe aloft and rested his foot upon a pile of gold coins.

  The grounds were beautifully dressed and lined with hedgerows that were in stark contrast to a darker past. Namely the reign of Henfal’s father, Hufnal. The former king had ruled with a cruel heart and had enslaved the majority of his subjects to work in the gold mines.

  Henfal had vowed during his coronation, upon his father’s death, never to oppress his people and repair the city to be the shining jewel of the North it once was. Since then, trade and exports had grown, and a stable economy flourished. The dwarves never had issues with the Pirates of the South; such was the fierceness of dwarvenkind in any battle.

  Rodine, since the reign of Jarek, considered his kind a lower life form, unworthy of trade or interaction.

  Beyond the castle grounds, the city, although clean and orderly in regards to newer sections, also held a mixture of houses from differing eras. It gave the whole place a higgledy-piggledy feel as if someone had dropped from the sky, without a care, all manner of strangely shaped, wood and brick houses, storehouses and other dwellings. A typical dwarf spent his lifetime circumventing houses and never being able to walk in a straight line, save for the newly built sections of the city. King Henfal had begun to prioritise the destruction of the old city and building anew, since day one of his reign. He was a perfectionist and enjoyed the beauty of things as opposed to the common dwarf who preferred dank and dark mines. However, many of the city folk were coming around to his way of thinking.

  He unhooked a pair of leather gloves from his waist belt, pulled them onto his thick, jewel-encrusted hands and whistled to a stable hand waiting nearby. ‘You, boy. Bring my steed, quickly now.’

  The young hand, no more than fifty or so years old, equal to that of a fifteen-year-old human boy, bowed deeply and sprinted away, his leather apron flapping about his heels and a cloth cap threatening to eject itself from his head.

  Henfal barely noticed that two of his personal guard had joined him and waited silently behind, until the Lord Regent arrived, huffing and puffing at the exertion.

  ‘My King. The crew of the ship have clothed themselves in armour and appear to be preparing for battle.’

  ‘Then, Regent, we shall do the same. Sound the order to muster and gather the troops. We shall meet them head on. Join me at the gatehouse when you have completed your task.’ Henfal, with the assistance of the stable hand, clambered aboard his prized black charger, bred especially for his size, and took the reins. ‘Do not tarry, I want this over with before midday meal.’

  With a crack of the reins and a stab to the horse’s sides with his heels, he raced along the main promenade of the castle towards the old city. At the castle gatehouse, six riders, two of whom held the king’s banner aloft, joined him.

  ‘Make way for your Lord King,’ the outriders yelled, and sure enough, moments later, the great oak doors opened with a clang of chains to permit egress.

  The ground underhoof became softer and dirtier with mud, due to the rainy season. Just that morning a sizeable downpour had occurred, sending some residents scurrying for their homes and interrupting the morning market. The noise of the horses was more a dull thump now than the clip-clop of shoes on cobble.

  There was a slight decline until they reached the first of the city’s dwellings: A rustic, wooden, dilapidated inn, long since vacated in preference to setting up in the new part of the city at the king’s expense. The air was chokingly filled from the many hearths belching smoke into the city and stung the eyes.

  Twisting and turning every few dozen feet, and weaving around slow moving pedestrians who hadn’t heard the calls to make way, took precious time and Henfal cursed and complained the whole way to the city gates.

  ‘The sooner this damned old city is demolished the better,’ he growled.

  Eventually, the imposing city gates were in sight, and the king relaxed. Several storeys high, with a crenellated stone top, the barrier bellowed a statement to stay out if uninvited.

  Onlookers watched curiously as Henfal passed them by. Rumour was already mongering that war was brewing, this feeling accentuated by the dozens of armour-clad soldiers gathering in the city square opposite the main gates.

  Steel armour, helmets, shields, swords and the ever favoured axe became the prevailing outfit to wear during this time. The orders were clear: line up before the wall and be prepared to fight for your city.

  ‘Open the gates,’ Henfal ordered upon reaching the stone walled gatehouse. The heavy wood and iron braced doors swung slowly open with a creaking of heavy hinges.

  Henfal hopped from his horse and handed the reins to a nearby soldier. ‘Where is the captain of the guard?’ he called to no one in particular.

  A middle-aged male who wore a crooked smile bowed his head in reverence and pointed to a crowd of gathered armoured menfolk, preparing a barricade at the entrance to the city’s small harbour.

  The king walked swiftly to the wooden barrier where his presence elicited prostrations once again. ‘Can we dispense with the bowing for the moment? Captain Dilwar, what preparations have you made for our uninvited guests?’

  Dilwar saluted and pointed to either side of the harbour entrance, a high set of cliffs overlooking the inlet. ‘Atop those ridges, we have catapult and cannon, very accurate and ready to go. Should the ship make any moves to fire on our city, they will endure a battery of flaming rocks. The ship would not stand a chance.’

  ‘And if by some miracle the crew managed to scramble to the city entrance from their burning ship?’

  ‘Archers will cut them down.’ Dilwar raised a hairy right arm that bulged with muscle.

  Within seconds, a line of archers that stretched the circumference of the bay stood and raised bows to show readiness.

  ‘Impressive. I am more than confident, if today brings us a battle, it will end very swiftly in our favour. Carry on, Captain.’ Henfal nodded happily. He had never seen such a speedy response time from the city guard. Taking one last look around, he retreated to the city gates and his horse. There he waited for the arrival of their guests.

  ❖

  The galleon slowed its forward motion significantly until it was almost at a dead stop in the centre of the harbour. A natural cove enclosed within high-sided cliffs, it afforded protection from the elements. The anchor was weighed and, imitating a giant metal snake, it rattled its way to the bottom of the clear waters. A slight jerking motion of the vessel signalled a full stop, arrested by the anchor.

  ‘Thank you for getting us here in one piece, Captain,’ Coinin thanked Dalia. ‘Though I hope the natives are friendly, they appear ready for a fight.’

  ‘It’s all just cautionary, I’m sure,’ Menin proposed.

  ‘How to proceed?’ Marrok enquired.

  Coinin weighed his options carefully and made a firm decision. ‘Marrok and I will take a boat out to the dock and request an audience with the king.’

  ‘I am not sure that would be wise, Curator,’ Menin objected.

  Coinin held up his hand to silence his critics. ‘It makes the most sense. I need Jericho’s experience to get us out of any trouble, and I have already discussed why you can’t go, Archmage.’

  ‘What about Len’i?’


  Coinin shook his head, ‘It would be unwise. The sight of him would surely cause a stir and an unease amongst the king’s men.’

  ‘True enough.’

  ‘Then it is settled. I can see the army that awaits us is growing restless. Shall we, Marrok?’

  Marrok nodded, and both he and Coinin exited the bridge via slippery wooden steps and headed to port. They bypassed Brotherhood soldiers in full uniform and met Quindil, who had anticipated their need and prepared a boat for them.

  ‘Reliable as ever, Quindil. What would I do without you?’

  Quindil beamed. ‘Just doing my job, Sir. If you’d like to step aboard the boat, I will have it lowered for you.’

  Marrok was first aboard and secured a seat dead centre of the craft. He checked that oars were present while Coinin scrambled aboard with slightly less grace.

  Satisfied, Quindil raised his arm. ‘Lower away, men. Gently, now.’

  After a few jolts and one side of the boat threatening to tip, the deck hands levelled it out, and soon the relieved occupants had splashed down.

  Marrok released the pulley ropes and seated an oar each in its respective lock. ‘I assume I’m rowing?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ Coinin replied, a little relieved he wasn’t to be the rower.

  ‘Thought as much.’ With a shake of his head, Marrok gripped the oars tight and eased the boat away from the hull of the galleon. He was inwardly happy to be giving his muscles a workout. Stuck aboard the ship meant he was limited to certain exercises and this particular movement, rowing back and forth, was working muscles he hadn’t used in some time. Though initially stiff, he soon got into the swing of the stroke, and they powered towards the dock.

  Coinin kept his eye on the great catapults guarding the entrance to the harbour and the line of men on the ridge above. He was infinitely glad to be a friend and not a foe right now. He hoped that the king saw it that way, too.