‘The decision is made. You will die and your religion with you,’ Lordich roared with fury.
Menin saw it coming. Lordich had been building energy behind his back. The tell-tale sign, his eyes shifting hue from grey to red. He was planning to deliver a killing strike. He brought his hands before him and positioned one in front of the other, increasing the energy flow. A ball or pure elemental force, a deep scarlet, pulsated turbulently.
It happened so fast that time seemed to slow to a crawl. The energy ball was flung hard and fast towards her. Before she could react, a figure blocked her view, and she distinctly heard a shield charm cast. Instantly, she knew it was Coinin’s voice.
The power that Lordich yielded, however, was so strong that it knocked them both off their feet where they struck the wall behind them.
Dazed and confused, Lordich had them in his sights. He strode over to them and smiled gleefully.
‘Now I will end you both.’
He raised his hands once more to administer the killing blow, and his eyes lit up with excitement as he laughed maniacally.
Then it happened, without warning. The balcony toppled forward, sending Lordich sprawling. It wavered there for a moment and gave off strange creaking and groaning noises.
Lordich, seeing the events unfold and in an unfazed state, clambered to his feet and kicked off a boot. A second later he had vanished to watch from the grass below.
The balcony rocked again, and Menin and Coinin were thrown around like rag dolls. With a crashing, splintering sound of metal, wood and gold, the balcony crumpled in on itself, taking with it another tower and the upper portion of the front of the temple. It crashed to the ground, exhaling a gigantic cloud of dust and ash, burying Coinin and Menin underneath.
Lordich cheered and cried in joy. ‘The Sanctuary has fallen. The unthinkable has come to fruition. Long may The Brotherhood of The Dragon reign,’ he gloated.
Cheers rang through the horde and drums again beat a thrum. Celebrations had begun.
‘Take what you can carry and burn the rest,’ Lordich ordered.
The orc army, intermingled with humans, surged forward and into the burning temple to grab what they could before the rest collapsed.
Lordich stood for a long time observing the debris, waiting for signs of life. Eventually, he gave up, satisfied that he had accomplished what he had set out to do. He was avenged only partly to his mind. His next task was to hunt every Brotherhood soldier down and kill each one as painfully as possible.
He signalled to his lieutenants that he was leaving and that they should follow immediately. They were needed back at the City of Rostha.
As he turned, he heard cries of alarm, and several dozen orcs and humans fled the temple just as the remnants collapsed into a burning pile of rubble.
Lordich chuckled, covered his head with the cowl of his robes and walked away.
Aniol crouched not too far away in a bush, out of sight of the slowly retreating army, and cried. Tears streamed down her face. She had seen the whole thing, and her heart wrenched in two, for the temple and for Coinin. To lose Archmage Menin was a whole added level of pain.
How long she waited, she had no clue. All she knew was that suddenly it was growing dark, and the sun was beginning to set behind the volcano walls.
She checked for signs of invaders and stood. Groaning at a cramp that had set into her upper thighs, she rubbed it away as best she could and hobbled from her hiding place.
Before her, nothing but a pile of ruins, crumpled gold plate, and smoke plumes remained of the temple. The grounds were a mess, and the statues were non-existent. The main steps up to the former temple were now covered in debris from the balcony and tower. In the distance, thankfully, the Great Library stood proud and undamaged.
She hurried as fast as she could to where the balcony had collapsed and scoured the area for signs of life. ‘Curator, Archmage,’ she called. ‘Please show me a sign that you are alive. Please.’
She wiped her eyes, unsure if the tears were from the thick smoke or her own emotions.
After several more minutes of searching, scrabbling over the surface of the debris and scraping with her hands, she gave up and sat down. She cried bitter tears. Coinin had been correct. He had somehow foreseen his death and continued with that knowledge anyway. He was so brave. She tried to picture him smiling, but couldn’t remember when the last time it was that she saw him smile.
Minutes passed, and she knew she had to leave and seek help from The Brotherhood elsewhere. She hoped to find General Jonjo and reluctantly stood.
Before she had taken a single step, she heard a groan. Yes, definitely a groan, she nodded to herself. She stood stock still and listened carefully. To her left, a second groan caught her ear. She grew hopeful and excited then. ‘Coinin, Menin. I’m here, it’s Aniol. Don’t be afraid. I’ll get you out.’
She stepped carefully over the debris, listening all the while. ‘Call out, make a noise, anything. Tell me where you are,’ she yelled.
Several feet away she heard her name, muffled by the rubble. But there it was, her name, too early to tell who it was. She picked her way carefully over the remains of the balcony and stopped right where she thought the voice had come from. She kneeled and gently began to lift broken sections of marble and stone. With great effort, she eventually cleared a hole big enough to see a hand. She held it comfortingly, and to her relief, the hand gripped back. Tears of joy ran down her face. The hand was young. It was Coinin’s; she would know it anywhere.
After several more minutes of digging she finally exposed Coinin’s torso and head. Gently, she wiped dust and dirt from his face, using her canteen to wash the worst from his eyes.
‘Coinin, I thought I’d lost you,’ Aniol said, finally finding her voice. ‘Where is the archmage?’
‘I think I can feel her leg with my other arm.’ He coughed. ‘She feels cold. Hurry, help me up.’
With much heaving and digging, Aniol, with the might of several men, managed to help Coinin from the hole, and as she lay him down to rest, sure enough, she spotted Menin’s leg, bleeding and bruised, further in the depression.
Coinin held his ribs and favoured his left arm.
‘You’re hurt?’ Aniol asked worriedly.
‘I think my arm is broken.’ He scrambled painfully to his knees, his face ashen with dust still. ‘Quickly, Aniol. We need to get her out of there.’
Aniol worked tirelessly, sweat pouring from her brow at the exertions. Coinin, though hurt himself, did what he could, extracting blocks of marble with his good hand.
Finally, after much work, Menin lay in the hole unmoving. The whole side of her face was bloody and bruising. Both her legs appeared to be in a bad way, and there was blood seeping from the armpit of her undertunic. Her breastplate was caved in and likely pressing upon her chest.
‘Aniol, remove her breastplate, quickly now,’ Coinin ordered.
Aniol took a knife from her belt and cut the leather thongs holding the two halves of the steel plates together and no sooner had she done that did Menin took a deep breath, albeit a rattling one.
Coinin slid down into the hole next to his mentor and examined her for wounds. ‘She’s in a bad way, Aniol.’
Laliala coughed and spluttered and opened her eyes. Blood seeped from her lips and ran down her chin in little rivulets of escaping life. Her eyes were red and tearful.
Coinin knew instantly that they were too late to save her and his face creased with sadness.
She saw Coinin and stared up at him. With much effort, she stroked his face. ‘Take my Ring of Office, you may need it. Know that I am so sorry, my boy. I should have told you the truth before today. Seek out the elves. You hear me? Find the elves.’ She looked puzzled for a moment, confused. Her eyes glazed and her breathing grew laboured.
Coinin gripped her hand and moaned in pain as he saw the remnants of his dear friend and mentor leave her eyes. She was dead. ‘No, please,’ he cried.
N
o sooner had he said this, a brilliant flash of white light emanated from the bodily connection he had with Menin and it seemed to burn his retinas. Seconds later he felt as if he was falling. He screamed in shock and flailed desperately. He closed his eyes tight awaiting the inevitable jolt as he hit the ground. What had happened? Did the temple fall into the volcanic void below it?
After several moments, he opened his eyes and there before him was not white nothingness. Instead, he stood not far from a marble bench amidst a grove of lemon trees. It sat empty while beyond it a black robed Soliath Wulf paced up and down in deep thought. If anything, he looked agitated and finally stopped walking upon hearing footsteps.
Coinin turned to see Vinchenza Aduramis making his way quickly to the archmage, breathless and red faced.
‘Ah, Vinchenza, I’m glad you came,’ Soliath greeted with a wan smile.
‘Why all the cloak and dagger, Soliath? I mean, is it really necessary?’ Aduramis replied, and sat upon the bench whereupon he took a kerchief and wiped his face.
‘Of course it is necessary. I want you to understand the implications if you do not do what I ask.’
‘I’m not going to go over this with you again. I know how the end of days happens, if you care to remember.’
Soliath growled in frustration. ‘It is because you precisely know what is going to happen that I beg you, please, to reconsider what I have proposed.’
Aduramis shook his head making his jowls wobble. ‘I will not dilute my work. I would never be trusted to be impartial again if the word were to get out. I write what I see, nothing more.’
‘Then if that is your final word, I have no option but to confiscate your work and make the alterations myself. You are henceforth removed as Chief Scribe, and you will be assigned a lesser role,’ Soliath said with some sadness.
Aduramis flustered and grew redder about the face and neck. He stood angrily. ‘You cannot do this to me. I will not stand by and permit you to –’
Soliath rounded on the seer and in a deep, commanding voice stopped him short. ‘You will do exactly as I tell you, or you will be removed permanently from the temple, and I will personally see to it that you are barred from the Academy of Seers.’
Aduramis looked horrified and was lost for words. He sat on the bench again and hung his head.
Coinin was yanked once more from this vision and a second replaced the first. He received a shock. He had seen this vision before.
He was again in the body of another and realised he was in a darkened room, lit only by candlelight. He sat at a highly carved wooden desk, a piece of furniture he recognised as his own that would sit waiting for him in his office at the temple. A hand scribbled furiously with a scratchy quill and black ink across a page of a voluminous tome.
The hand was aged, marked with liver spots, though what he found most curious was what the unseen author was writing in the volume.
An unknown male was in the process of altering the text of a passage that sounded familiar.
“From within our midst at the closing of the battle, the blood of the Wulf did slay the fallen with the Sword of Ages, and the demon was vanquished. Rindor, the most-wise and mighty Lord of the skies, did spare Er’ath and granted the gift of life as a reward…”
Using a sponge and a clear liquid, perhaps lemon juice, the scribe lifted away a portion of the old text and replaced these sections with new wording. To Coinin’s horror the text now read:
“From within our midst at the closing of the battle, the descendants did smite the evil with the Sword of Ages, and the demon was vanquished. Rindor, the most wise and powerful Lord of the skies, did spare Er’ath and granted the gift of life to them as a reward…”
The phrase, "... the blood of The Wulf did slay the fallen …” had been replaced with, “… the descendants did smite the evil …”
What did it all mean?
As quickly as it came, the vision switched again, and this time he found himself upon a very familiar cliff top overlooking an endless blue sea.
Two familiar figures sat cross-legged together upon lush green grass.
Archmage Orodor and Menin, post-initiate to the Arhmageship, sat there as thick as thieves.
Coinin crept closer and saw that Orodor patted Menin’s hand in sympathy or comfort. He was not sure which.
‘How am I to tell them, that what I have convinced them is the truth is, in fact, a lie?’ Menin looked sadly at her mentor.
‘The simple answer is that you do not. We must protect the destined at all costs,’ the older visage of Orodor replied.
‘I cannot believe that we must not tell those boys that they were never destined to reunite the Swords of Cerathil and slay Mort.’
‘This is the burden you took when you became archmage. The secrets passed to you must continue a little while longer.’
‘You are aware that Soliath Wulf planned this from the start, that he changed the seer’s scrolls to depict two brothers as uniting the swords and smiting the evil?
‘Of course I know,’ Orodor replied haughtily, ‘I know all that you know.’
‘He is ultimately responsible for Ædelmær and Godwen’s deaths. If he had not hidden the real facts, Mort would perhaps never have used his influence to find a way to kill the boys.’
‘You cannot know for certain that Mort had anything to do with their deaths,’ Orodor argued.
‘I believe it here,’ Menin touched her chest. ‘He related the prophecy to the births of the brothers and found a way to kill them, only, thankfully, they escaped into the night.’
‘You speak utter nonsense, girl. Whatever has transpired cannot be undone. It is to the future we must look. From this moment on the boys must never know that the true heir to the destiny is their aunt, Marisa Wulf. Should Mort learn of this, he will do all in his power to kill her before she can fulfil her task. Her existence has been hidden well all these years, and as a young child, she underwent preparation for her final duty. Do you wish to destroy all that we have accomplished and see the end of all life on Er’ath?’
‘No, of course I do not wish that.’ Menin looked down, saddened.
‘Then let us speak no more of this. It is for the good of all,’ Orodor demanded.
’What of the grandfather?’ Menin added as an afterthought.
‘Once Mort is silenced, you may reveal the truth, and Coinin and Marrok can enjoy a new life with their aunt and grandfather.’
The image blurred and Coinin felt himself pulled backwards into the void of nothingness, and then all went black.
He awoke with a start, and despite the pain in his arm and ribs, he stood and climbed out of the hole, leaving Menin’s body behind. He began to hyperventilate uncontrollably and staggered away for a few yards. Aniol tried to calm him, but he heard nothing other than the lies ringing in his ears.
Eventually, he vomited upon the ground after which he dropped to his knees. ‘It’s all a lie. Everything is a lie.’
Aniol kneeled beside him. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Secrets and lies,’ Coinin replied softly. ‘The Brotherhood lied to me, to Marrok, no, to everyone.’
‘What is it? Tell me.’
‘Did you know?’ Coinin looked at Aniol with accusing eyes.
Aniol looked at him confused and shook her head. ‘Know what?’
Coinin blurted it all out, everything he had just witnessed in his visions. He recounted the whole tale in immaculate detail.
‘So, did you know?’ he asked upon finishing.
Aniol looked pained, shocked and horrified. ‘No, of course not. I can’t believe The Brotherhood would do this to you.’
‘Well, they have,’ Coinin shouted. ‘They have lied and manipulated me from the start. They doctored the prophecy to suit their needs, all to hide an aunt and grandfather I never knew I had.’
‘I think there’s more to it than that,’ Aniol suggested.
‘Oh, really? And what might that be?’
‘To ensure
the survival of Er’ath.’
‘That’s just the thing. If they had just been honest from the start, there’s no way I would have freely given that information to –’ Coinin stopped suddenly. Mort had already used him to gain information and had even controlled his mind. He knew all his secrets and every event of his life up until that day. As much as he hated being manipulated, he could not deny that by keeping the existence of his aunt secret, Er’ath stood a better chance of survival.
‘Yes?’ Aniol probed.
Coinin sat slowly and winced at the pain. ‘Menin didn’t want this. She wanted to tell me from the moment she learned of the deception.’
‘So, who is really to blame? The Brotherhood? Menin?’
Coinin shook his head. ‘No, just one. Soliath Wulf, my ancestor.’
Aniol nodded. ‘Please don’t shout at me, but I think he had the whole of Er’ath on his mind. Can you blame him? His role was the protector of the faith and the well-being of those faithful.’
‘It still hurts, Aniol. I’ve given everything without question, and to learn –’
Aniol held him tight, and he accepted the comfort readily. ‘Archmage Menin gave her life willingly to ensure the continued survival of our way of life. Focus on that and … and the fact that you have an aunt and grandfather.’
‘I don’t know who they are, or where to find them,’ Coinin said.
‘I do. The only person that can know is Draken.’
Coinin released his grip on Aniol and looked at her sadly. ‘I sent him away.’
‘He will easily be found. There is only one place that he is likely to be,’ Aniol replied.
Coinin frowned.
‘He will most likely be not too far from Meone.’
Coinin sat up straight. ‘The Felisis.’
‘He loves her, Coinin. Why wouldn’t he be near her?’
Coinin struggled to his feet. ‘I for one want to live. Whatever Soliath did, he did to save this world, and I can’t see myself permitting all that we have done to fail.’
‘What are you going to do?’
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 119