King Aerendyl Haldir possessed piercing green eyes and a long flowing mane of the blackest hair. His fine eyebrows were raised expectantly, and his clean, chiselled face was smooth and youthful. There was no way for the visitors to tell his age since elves age quite differently to humans. He could be thirty years old or three-hundred and thirty.
Aerendyl wore a silken gown that shimmered like gold and was tied with a sash at the waist. He wore a silver talisman around his neck on a long chain. The head was crowned with a quadruple ringlet that intertwined, and his feet were bare. Coinin knew only to well that this elf felt closer to the dirt and the elements in this manner.
Surrounding the throne several guards stood stock still with long sharp spears and steel cuirass embossed with the outline of an oak tree over a red tunic, their heads topped with gold trimmed helmets that covered their noses and were fastened under the chin. They wore sandals and dark leggings covered in steel greaves. The whole ensemble was topped off with steel bracers.
Coinin saw that the guards’ beady eyes followed him closely.
To the left of the king, a severe looking elf stood holding a bound volume to which an inkwell had been attached at the top in a frame that slid between pages like a bookmark, and a quill to which he frequently dipped to replenish the ink. He scribbled every utterance of the king or other aides dotted around the room and only stopped briefly as a silence fell.
Ario bashed his cane off the stone floor eliciting a silence. Coinin feared that the elderly elf would somehow break the delicate looking rod, but it held firm.
‘Your Highness,’ Ario thundered with surprising volume, ‘May I introduce the long foretold traveller, born of the Wulf, Coinin, Curator of The Brotherhood of The Wulf.’
A gasp ran around the upper tiers, and all eyes were instantly upon the young man, small in stature and seemingly without power. Could this really be one-half of the duo foretold to bring an end to the one whose rule would see the destruction of Er’ath?
King Aerendyl Haldir rose deliberately and gracefully from his throne and approached Coinin. His gowns flowed fluidly and glinted from the light incoming from a high domed window in the ceiling above. His bare feet made not a sound as he appeared to float across the floor.
Coinin, Draken, Meone and Aniol all instinctively dropped to a knee and bowed heads before the king.
Aerendyl smiled to himself. It was pleasing to him to see outsiders bow before him in reverence. Generally, visiting dignitaries would not entertain such actions without prompting, believing the elven population to be beneath their own kind.
‘Rise, gentlemen and ladies. I greet you well and with the open arms of friendship and brotherhood.’
The guards stiffened as the king approached Coinin and the others. He held out a long thin arm, over which draped the silken gown, almost see through. Long, talon-like fingers of the right hand were held open and ready to receive.
Coinin stood and bowed again gracefully. ‘Your Majesty, High King of the Elves, Deliverer of your people. I, Coinin Wulf, defender of the faith, Curator of the … the Golden … Temple humbly accept your friendship and brotherhood as we once did not so long ago. I offer friendship and fellowship in return.’ He gripped the king by the arm and they shook solemnly.
‘The Brotherhood’s assistance with the giants and their defeat was most pleasing, and we have begun to rebuild as you see. I hope that my kingdom can be of service to you.’ Aerendyl bowed with a slow nod.
‘Most gracious, King. I do not wish to break with tradition, but there is a matter of extreme importance I wish to discuss with you … out of earshot,’ Coinin replied in hushed tones.
Aerendyl looked aggrieved for a moment and then relaxed. ‘I have no objection.’ He turned to the court. ‘Lord High Warden, Ario? Please conduct court proceedings in my absence. I have matters to attend to.’
‘As you wish, my King.’ Ario nodded.
Aerendyl gestured that Coinin and the others should follow him. They followed the graceful elf behind the throne and were joined by two guards who took up the rear.
On the far wall, a door, dark and high in appearance, was opened by a servant who bowed low at the hip before the king.
Beyond the door, a simple hallway, lit by brazier, ventured in more or less of a straight path for quite some distance, perhaps two-hundred yards, thought Aniol. They were, after all, three levels beneath the surface.
At the far end of the walkway a double door opened onto a much brighter room. Coinin and the others squinted slightly as they entered. It was not lit by gloomy fire, but a series of large oblong crystals fastened to a half dozen chandelier-like constructions that emitted a blue-white light that bounced off the whitewashed walls.
In the centre of the room a fireplace warmed the room with a crackle of burning wood, its chimney stretching high to disappear beyond the ceiling.
From this angle, Coinin could just make out the edge of a very regal bed in a room on the right-hand side beyond the fireplace. To the left, a full bookcase held thick bound tomes, well used by the look of them, the stitching frayed and the pressed leaf covers worn.
Aniol noted that the guards remained outside of the door, which closed quietly behind them. She quickly scanned the room. There were no possible means of escape that she could see, though she was sure the king would have means of evacuating even this lair.
Several other items of furniture dotted the room, placed on thick woollen rugs. She rubbed her hand over a particularly smooth piece. It was well used, evidenced by the worn-down pole grip. It was a kneeling frame for prayer or for communing with nature. It was a simple device - a raised section to kneel so that the toes remained in contact with the ground, relieving pressure on the knees or legs, and an upright to which an angled panel was used to lay forearms on, which helped to grasp the hands together. One side held a pole with which the user could aid standing.
Beyond this, a dining table and several chairs sat empty, while around the central fireplace, soft, lavish cotton seating waited to be filled. The walls were bare of ornament save for painted reliefs of the vine.
‘Welcome to my chambers, simple, yet functional. I spend most days in solitude in meditation or communing with the elements.’ Aerendyl gestured to his right. ‘Please take a seat.’
The gathered did as instructed and savoured the chance to rest weary legs.
Aerendyl remained standing and instead crossed to a side cabinet and removed four delicate glasses. He set each one down carefully upon a low table in the seating area. He returned to the cabinet and after a moment he poured a burgundy liquid into each glass. ‘Please, drink.’
‘You are not joining us?’ Aniol tried hard to hide her suspicious undertone.
‘It is with regret that I fast during this day to mark the Festival of Lights.’
‘You have a conscientious protector, Coinin. Drink, or don’t, it means nought to me.’
Coinin, not wishing to offend the king, smiled. ‘No-one who so publicly offered the friendship of brotherhood would be inclined to harm me. Please forgive Aniol, she takes her role very seriously.’
Aerendyl nodded. ‘Your efforts should be commended, Aniol. But, please, tell me who else graces us?’
Coinin reddened. ‘How remiss of me. Let me introduce my uncle, Draken and his … his –’
‘Betrothed?’ Draken flashed a look at Meone who nodded shyly.
Coinin shot him a look of surprise mixed with joy. ‘Betrothed, yes. May I present, Meone.’
Aerendyl approached Meone and looked the feline form up and down curiously. ‘Forgive me, my lady, but I have never seen your like.’
‘We are as rare as hens’ teeth, Your Majesty,’ Meone quipped.
The king looked momentarily puzzled, and then a slight smile broke through his unreadable expression. ‘Humour. A trait my people have yet to grasp. I would welcome an audience with you to discuss your culture and history. The peoples of Er’ath fascinate me.’
Coinin stood and placed his glass upon
the low table before his seat. ‘Your Highness, seers may have foretold my coming, but have they foreseen the reason why I visit?’
Aerendyl turned to face the young man. ‘As it happens, no. I know you are the first of two destined to defeat death. Though, I have no idea why you have arrived.’ He paused. ‘If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say you are in need of something.’
Coinin sighed and sagged back into his seat. He held his face in his hands and shook his head. ‘The truth is, Your Majesty, I have no idea why I am here, but I do know Archmage M … Menin urged me to seek you out.’
King Aerendyl nodded. ‘How fares the lady archmage?’
Coinin looked up at the king, his eyes bloodshot and his expression tortured. ‘She is dead.’
Even the typically austere visage of the king paled. He appeared lost in his thoughts for several moments. ‘A remarkable woman indeed. Her loss will be significant. Though I sense there is more to your tale that I have yet to hear.’
Coinin nodded sadly. ‘Where to begin?’
❖
Aerendyl had ordered luncheon while his visitors related their tale, although Coinin could not bring himself to eat a morsel.
Now, darkness had settled over the land above ground, and the gathered were tired, but the tale was yet incomplete.
Coinin wondered when to bring up his aunt. His face contorted and Aerendyl picked this up.
‘I fear there is yet more to your story, though I also note that you are in two minds whether or not to divulge.’
‘Very astute,’ Coinin complimented. ‘If I were to reveal to you this last part to my tale, it could very well jeopardise –’
The king looked Coinin directly in the eyes with an unwavering stare. His green irises were almost hypnotic. ‘I had sworn an oath to The Brotherhood long before you were born, to protect its interests in the event one should seek my help. Likewise, The Brotherhood made a pact with the Elves to do likewise. I am duty bound to see that oath honoured, not only as a king but as an elf, free because The Brotherhood of The Wulf secured my people’s freedom. It is with this in mind that I say to you, that whatever the challenge, my people and I will rise to meet your needs and come to your aid.’ Aerendyl stood and took a firm grip of Coinin’s shoulder. ‘Elf-kind know only too well the prophecy of which you speak, and I for one care not to see Er’ath destroyed because we failed to act in time. We may not share the same beliefs or gods, but we trust the seer Vinchenza Aduramis implicitly. His word has never failed to transpire. Rest assured, an elf’s word is his bond, doubly so from a king. So, whatever your secret is, it is safe with me.’
And so Coinin divulged all that he knew to the surprise of the king, who mourned the loss of the Golden Temple and became a little overwhelmed that The Brotherhood had withheld vital information concerning the battle with Death. He frowned at the mention of the Swords of Cerathil and their use in the Cerathil rite. If an elf could appear guilty, then that was the look on his face.
It had taken several minutes and much pacing before the king recovered.
Coinin and the others waited anxiously. Would the king remain faithful to his word and come to their aid?
‘As for the Sword of Cerathil, meant to be entrusted to our possession, it was stolen many years ago, and we know not by whom. Your aunt, Marisa, no longer resides with us. She was married at a young age and now resides in a small castle within the borders of Westeroe. This was planned to hide her true name. So many spies, you understand, and I did not know until now the reason.’
‘I would not fear, my King. The Sword of Cerathil is safe and was handed to us by an ally. It will be returned to you on the far side of the ritual. As for the other matter, will you aid us?’
THE LONG WAY (Part 2)
DAY 54 – DARETH JERICHO (GENERAL)
We’ve lost another soul to that demon, Death. If he comes for me, he’ll have a damned difficult fight on his hands.
Marrok is doing his best to comfort the crew and keep morale going. Though that is a task in itself. The Brotherhood is not accustomed to such long sea voyages, and so I expect tempers to fray and the odd scuffle to break out.
I’m only managing to keep sane myself by writing everything down, which I’ve encouraged everyone to do. I find it helps to centre the mind.
The constant churning of the ship is enough to drive anyone mad. How do sailors stand this constant motion? The salt air dries the lips, and everything is constantly damp.
I, for one, cannot wait to return to my lodgings, as simple as they are.
I hear Quindil yapping. I should see what he wants.
DAY 96 - MARROK WULF (GENERAL)
Jericho insists on everyone writing in this damned thing. What did he call it? Oh, yes, a logbook. Goodness knows what purpose it serves, but I will humour him. Apparently, he is checking to ensure we all comply, and since I’m still under his charge, I best do as he says.
Jericho has shown me many things on our journey so far. Tactics and the art of war. How to drill the men, strategise and defeat an enemy against insurmountable odds. Seek out a weakness and exploit it. But that is just the beginning. I’m told it’ll be another year before I’m fully equipped to lead a battle. Just as well we’re stuck on this ship, plenty of time to learn.
I think I’ve grown quite accustomed to the pitch of the ship, the captain calls it gaining my sea legs. All I know is, working aboard a ship gives you a new perspective on life, how small and insignificant we are compared to the weather and the vastness of the ocean.
I’m growing stronger with each passing day thanks to the hard work, shifting, carrying and pulling required to keep this thing afloat.
My hand is in a cramp now. I don’t think I’ve ever written so much.
The food is foul, but if we keep rationing we should have enough to last the journey.
DAY 143 – SU’UN QUINDIL (MAJOR)
I can’t believe how difficult it is to balance on this ship with just one arm. I’ve approached the ship’s boatswain, and he is fashioning me an appendage to replace the lost limb. I expect it to be crude but if it permits me to steady myself or even grip that would go a long way to making my life that little bit easier.
If I am to succeed, then –
❖
A bell rang with urgency signalling danger. Quindil immediately dropped his quill and staggered from the captain’s quarters and onto the main deck.
He slid on the wet wood and thrust out his good arm to steady himself. Spying General Wulf nearby, he sprinted to Marrok’s side.
‘Sir, what is happening?’
‘We have a storm front coming in. A big one at that. The captain, Dalia, is worried. The beating we took in the last encounter damaged the ship. The ship’s boatswain is unsure if we can stand another.’
‘What do we –’
‘Land ho!’ bellowed the watch in the crow’s nest. All eyes looked to him and then to where he pointed.
Indeed, to starboard, the unmistakable outline of a landmass filtered through a gathering mist.
Captain Dalia joined Marrok and Quindil. ‘I say we head for that island. Perhaps we will find a natural cove and wait out the storm.’
Marrok noted the absence of Jericho and, therefore, as the most senior, he nodded his agreement. ‘Do it, Captain. Get us out of this storm.’
Captain Dalia turned heel and raced up the steps to the ship’s wheel.
No sooner had she done that, than the ship lurched hard starboard towards the island.
‘Let’s pray that the journey is rock free.’ Quindil squinted ahead at the looming shape.
The ship rocked and dipped with the motion of the now raging storm. Wind that felt as rough as a blacksmith’s rasp tore at every bare piece of flesh, threatening to strip it to the bone.
The rain was torrential and came down in angular sheets, instantly soaking everything in sight. The deck was swamped, the bilges barely able to keep up with the flow of water.
A large crack of lightning struck t
he mast, sending spark and flame into the air, further accentuating the necessity to get to cover.
As the land closed in, the order to haul in the mainsail, or what was left of it, was given. As the ship’s crew struggled with drawing in a ripped and tattered sail, there came a great creaking and cracking noise from the main mast.
‘Look out!’ Dalia yelled with cupped hands to her mouth and pointed aloft. ‘The mast is sheering.’
A scrambled panic ensued, and crew dived left and right as a great crashing of timber, rope and sail engulfed the main deck.
Dalia thumped the railing surrounding the forecastle and cursed. ‘It’s as if our every turn is blocked. We’ve repaired this ship half a dozen times already. Now this will only delay us further. Significantly.’
Jericho eyed the captain with a sideways glance. ‘You didn’t think it would be so easy, did you? What with Mort and all.’
‘You think Death has a hand in this?’
‘Most certainly. He is delaying us; of that, I have no doubt. Get us to that island, and we must make haste to repair this ship once again. I am confident the archmage and curator will have need of us urgently.’
‘Right you are, General.’ Dalia saluted and hollered orders left and right. The first task was to drop anchor and then replace the damaged section of the mast. Beyond repair, it was cast over the side of the ship. Now, freed from the mast, the captain, against the raging torrent, posted two men at the fore of the ship to scout for any rocks they were likely to encounter and took the helm for herself. This battle with the weather, or Death, most likely both, would need careful handling and instinct.
She nearly jumped out of her skin the moment another lightning strike hit the deck behind her. Fire trails snaked their way across the deck, reminiscent of a tree without bloom, and threatened to eat into the deck and set the whole ship alight.
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 123