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

by Harrison Davies

  Marrok and Draken were assisted to their feet and pushed towards the table, where Bothwick sat expectantly, his hand outstretched.

  Marrok withdrew a scroll, sealed with wax, and handed it to Draken.

  Draken felt cold steel against his neck. ‘No tricks,’ a voice said behind him. He nodded and held the scroll aloft. He closed his eyes and babbled a string of nonsense words together. After several seconds, he dropped his hands and then handed the scroll to Bothwick. ‘The enchantment is lifted, but I request one more thing.’

  Bothwick ignored him and broke the wax seal and unfurled the document. He scanned it briefly before smiling broadly. ‘You have made me a very wealthy man indeed, even more so than before.’

  ‘I’m pleased for you. Now may we please go?’ Marrok asked.

  Bothwick barely heard him, imagining the riches waiting for him. ‘Yes, begone from my sight.’

  ‘But my sister, I request you let my sister go,’ Draken pleaded.

  ‘Your sister is nothing more than a barren whore. A witch, possessed, who should be burned at the stake for denying me an heir,’ Bothwick began. ‘You cannot have her.’

  Marrok lunged forward only to find that Draken barred his way.

  ‘There are too many of them.’

  Marrok pushed Draken hard. ‘Just because you are a coward.’

  Draken put a finger to his lips and spoke quietly. ‘No, we will come back for her.’

  Bothwick stood. ‘Leave and never return, unless you wish to die. It costs too much to bury the dead, and so, to the pigs as food you would go.’

  ‘We will leave, as you desire, Lord Bothwick.’ Draken dipped his head in reverence, though his face said otherwise.

  Both he and Marrok backed out of the hall quickly without once turning their backs. Once clear of the room, they turned and jogged along the corridor and exited the keep. Going down the steep stairs was less painful, and soon they were in the courtyard once more.

  Nightfall was looming, and merchants were packing to leave for the day. Without hesitation, the pair exited the gateway and approached the stablehand. ‘Our horses,’ Draken asked of him. The young man nodded and ran to his compound to collect the rides. Several minutes later, the hand returned with two freshly brushed, watered and fed horses and held out his hand for payment.

  Marrok heard a word spoken by the boy, which he took to mean several coins. He was proved correct when Draken dug into a small pouch dangling from his belt and palmed them into the boy’s hand.

  The boy counted out each coin, six in total, and smiled, before handing off the reins.

  ‘We’ll camp in the forest again, I think.’ Marrok indicated to Draken the line of trees in the distance.

  ‘And here I was hoping for a night in the castle.’ Draken rolled his eyes.

  The travellers mounted their rides and turned them back towards the forest. Nightfall was closing fast, and so they urged the horses to move quickly. The animals obeyed the commands given to them and kicked up mud as they galloped away into the night.

  RESCUE

  They had waited until the early hours of the morning when most people would be sleeping, and any guard stationed at the castle would be drowsy and less than attentive.

  Draken and Marrok, dressed in dark, hooded cloaks, darted forward, heading for the shadows of the castle walls cast by the moonlight. Once safely in darkness, they breathed easy. After several moments of catching their breaths, they circled the wall seeking a weak point they had spotted earlier that day.

  They had not simply vanished into the forest, tails between their legs as Bothwick supposed. They had instead taken a circuitous route in the shallows of the forest, hidden from view, and made camp on the opposite side of the castle. Disguising themselves as common folk with simple cotton coverings they had brought along, they took an external tour of the castle and spotted its weakness within a matter of minutes.

  At some point, a hole had appeared in the high wall and had hastily been plugged with a daub and wattle affair. The square cut stonework lay piled in a heap underneath the hole, which was about head height. Marrok had checked for any watchers and poked at the contents of the hole with his sword, and sure enough, a large section of the fix collapsed, leaving a potato-sized hole. After peeking inside, he could see the courtyard quite clearly behind a market stall. They had found their way in since the courtyard doors were sealed.

  Once again stood before the breach and while Draken took a careful watch, Marrok dug carefully at the patched-up hole until almost all the mud and tree branches were at his feet. He stopped and ripped off his left boot and proceeded to empty it onto the ground. ‘Got some in my boot,’ he whispered.

  Draken shook his head and waited for Marrok to don his boot. ‘Help me up.’

  Marrok leant with his back against the wall and cupped his hands. Draken placed his right leg in the cup and with both hands on the brickwork surrounding the hole he pulled himself up with the aid of Marrok’s lift. After several seconds of huffing and puffing his way into a better position, he held out his hand for his nephew. They worked as one, and within a few seconds Marrok had joined him in the now cramped hole.

  ‘Hop down,’ Marrok said. ‘I’ll follow you.’

  Draken positioned himself backwards over the gap with his legs ahead of him and slid stomach first down the wall until he was able to drop to the ground safely. He wiped his hands and scanned the courtyard for signs of life, before waving up to Marrok. ‘Come on down, it’s clear.’

  Marrok, younger than his uncle, could drop deftly to the ground and no sooner had he done so than his sword was out at the ready.

  Ensuring they were covered head to toe in their cloaks, the pair walked as silently as the straw covering the courtyard stonework would permit. They circled the courtyard cautiously, ensuring that the steps leading up to the keep were not in view, and would permit them to take any guard by surprise.

  Marrok kept a keen eye open for danger, his head swivelling left and right and above, and yet he saw no-one.

  They reached the wall of the keep and inched along it until they were parallel to the steps. Marrok dared a quick peek up them to discover that the guard they had seen earlier that day was stood upright, sleeping, while propped up against the wall, both hands holding a spear to his chest. A second peek confirmed this and Marrok urged Draken to follow him in silence, with a finger to his lips.

  Draken nodded, and together he and Marrok crept up the steps, stopping halfway when the guard snorted. They looked at one another with anxious stares. This was a risky affair. Who knew how many men they were up against? They had so little time in which to enact their plan. There was not an option to return with an army.

  They were alone, and whichever way they tried to deny it to themselves, there was a good chance they would be dead by morning. There was no time, however, to dwell on this fact. They had one chance to rescue Marisa, and this was it.

  Marrok tiptoed up to the guard and took a solid hold of the man’s spear. ‘Hey,’ he called.

  The guard stirred but remained asleep.

  ‘Hey, you,’ Marrok said a little louder.

  It took a second before the guard awoke and looked bewildered at the cloaked intruder standing before him. He took a deep breath ready to shout, as Marrok drew back the spear and smashed it mercilessly into the man’s face. The guard’s nose exploded in a shower of blood. Quick as lightning, Marrok released the spear and pressed a strong hand over the individual’s mouth, and in the next second he brought the hilt of his sword down on the top of the head of the agonised guard. The protector slumped to the ground, unconscious for the second time that day.

  Marrok placed the spear against the corner of the wall and then crouched. He searched the guard thoroughly and found his prize - a handful of keys on a large ring. He withdrew them and examined them in the light coming from a torch above the door.

  It had to be the long iron key, it seemed to be the only one that would fit the hole. He placed t
he key in the lock and turned it with a satisfying click. ‘First time.’

  Draken looked incredulous. ‘Well done, now shall we get moving before we’re spotted?’

  The door opened silently enough, and soon they were on the opposite side. Marrok dragged the unconscious guard through the door and propped him up behind it against the wall. He passed the keys to Draken who took the lead. They quickly mounted the steps and tried the door and discovered it unlocked. ‘Fools.’ Draken smiled and opened the door with a creaking of hinges.

  Anyone inside who was awake would have heard, and if they weren’t expecting visitors then trouble could be but a moment way. Marrok remained vigilant and listened carefully as they proceeded as quietly as possible down the corridor and turned right.

  After a moment of gazing at the sight before them, both smiled and clasped hands, for a second forgetting they were at odds.

  The reason for their delight was plain as day. The Great Hall was full of unconscious men and women and, surrounding them, several barrels of ale. The barrels, however, contained no ordinary ale. Draken and Marrok had visited a brewery in the next town and had secured several barrels to be delivered to the castle, courtesy of Lord Kilne from the City of L’anf. Though Lord Kilne had no knowledge of the transaction, it had been touted to the brewery master that this was an advance gift as a prelude to a meeting the lord wished to hold with his counterpart, Lord Bothwick.

  With the barrow chosen and marked, Marrok had kept the brewery master busy with small talk, while Draken had laced each barrel with a concoction of herbs he had prepared ahead of time.

  Draken knew that Bothwick would not resist a chance to entertain his court. Even he knew to keep them on side, and what better way than to satisfy their bellies and varied appetites for ale.

  Just as they had planned, the barrels had been delivered along with the message that Lord Kilne would arrive in two days’ time for a private audience. The result: Some very heavily drugged individuals.

  Nevertheless, the pair crept across the hall as silently as the creaking floorboards would permit. Each step and resulting creak caused the heart to rise into the throat.

  Bypassing each passed out person, they headed straight for the head table, where Lord Bothwick slept alongside his guards.

  Marrok crept around behind him and felt around his neck for the chain holding Marisa’s door key. A snore erupted from the man, and Marrok jumped. He looked to Draken and rolled his eyes. Marrok reached again for the chain and this time found it. Carefully lifting the lord’s head, he stripped the man of his key. Gently laying Bothwick’s head back on the table, he raised the key and waved it at Draken with a smile.

  Draken shook his head and motioned for Marrok to follow him. Less than a minute later they reached the small door to the war room and opened it with a slight scraping noise that disturbed several men, though not enough to wake them from their drug induced slumber.

  They disappeared inside and hurried to the far door, opened it, and began to creep along the corridor.

  Marrok stopped suddenly and put a finger to his mouth. He carefully pushed open the door to his right and peered inside. A handful of bunks laid empty, though two were occupied on the far wall by two unknown guards. Marrok closed the door and frowned. ‘Two guards are sleeping inside. What if they’re not drugged, what do we do?’

  Draken cursed under his breath and removed his cowl. He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Marisa is likely to scream. If she does that in the corridor then we will have trouble on our hands.’

  Marrok wracked his brain for a solution and came up blank. He shook his head and held up his hands in submission. ‘I can’t think of a way –’

  Draken placed a hand on Marrok’s shoulder. ‘Please, do not judge me for what I am about to do. I see no other choice.’ He bowed his head and stepped quietly into the guard quarters, closing the door behind him.

  Marrok felt immense guilt as he sensed what Draken was about to do. He was suddenly conflicted. On the one hand, the guards needed to be dealt with, and on the other, cold-blooded murder was against every principle of not only The Order but his own being. He had to stop his uncle and placed his hand on the handle when the door was jerked from his grasp.

  Draken stepped through the door carrying a blood-stained knife. He looked drawn and fell against the wall opposite. ‘Before you say a thing, I did not kill them. The blood is my own.’ He held up his left hand to prove the point.

  Marrok was bewildered. ‘What did you do?’

  Draken looked uncomfortable. ‘I intended to kill them both while they slept, though, they were no more than boys. I could not do it.’

  Marrok was relieved. ‘What, then?’

  ‘We don’t have time for this. We’re here for Marisa.’ Draken shrugged him off and proceeded towards Marisa’s cell.

  Marrok refused to let it lie. He gripped the old man by the arm and swung him about. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘A small piece of magic requiring my blood. It is dealt with, now drop it,’ Draken snarled, and pulled his arm away. ‘The door, Marrok, open the door.’

  Marrok eyed him with a dark, penetrating stare as he walked around him. ‘This is not over.’

  ‘A far as I am concerned it is. Our priority is Marisa,’ Draken snapped. ‘Now open the damned door.’

  Marrok fiddled with the key for several seconds, upon which he thrust it at the older man. ‘You open it.’

  Draken took the key and barged past Marrok and stood before the door. He paused. ‘She will need to be carried, of course. I will not be able to do it.’

  Marrok nodded. ‘I will do it.’

  Draken opened the door and peered inside. From the light falling in the room from the moonlight and a torch behind them, he could see that Marisa was upon her bed, a thin cotton sheet draped over her. ‘Quickly, she is sleeping.’

  Marrok moved quickly and, in the poor light, scooped Marisa and sheet into his arms and exited the room, careful not to strike his aunt against the door frame. Once in the corridor, he followed Draken along it and through the war room until they ventured into the quiet hall.

  Draken stopped suddenly, his face white. He pointed. ‘Look.’

  To his horror, Marrok saw that Draken was pointing to an unmarked barrel. It sat at the end of the high table, opposite them, amongst flagons and a platter of meat.

  Lord Bothwick was awake and looking at them with a confused look on his face.

  Marrok did not hesitate. He moved as quickly as he could around the various unconscious bodies, and then Marisa screamed at full volume.

  Lord Bothwick and several of his men who had not drunk from the laced barrels stood groggily upright. Intoxicated still, it took a few seconds for them to realise that intruders were escaping with Lady Bothwick.

  They scrabbled after the quickly disappearing intruders. One blundering individual fell and tripped the others, buying Marrok and Draken precious seconds.

  With a clutter free path, Marrok ran full tilt along the corridor, squeezed through the door and trotted down the keep steps, aware that Draken was taking up the rear, but only just. The older man’s wheezing was getting worse and Marrok feared that he would collapse. ‘Will you make it, Uncle?’

  ‘I … might be old … and breathless … but my legs work,’ Draken replied indignantly, as he hopped from the last step onto the straw-covered courtyard.

  Marisa screamed again and flailed, catching Marrok squarely in the jaw. He winced and held her tighter. ‘Come on, I can hear them.’

  Draken caught up. ‘The hole is this way.’

  ‘No, we don’t have time for that.’ Marrok changed direction. ‘This way.’

  Marrok, followed by Draken, ran towards the castle gate.

  They entered a darkened archway and stopped before the double oak doors.

  ‘Get this damned thing open, Draken,’ Marrok urged, a hint of panic rising in his voice. He turned to see that the pursuers had reached the bottom of the steps and were casti
ng looks left and right for them. So far they had not spotted the intruders hiding in the darkness of the gateway.

  ‘I know you’re in here. I will find you and kill you,’ Bothwick slurred.

  A clunk behind made Marrok turn. The next thing he saw was a crack of moonlight appear vertically as Draken heaved at the giant door. With his free hand, Marrok pulled the door also and it widened enough to permit them to exit. Though just as they did, a cry went up.

  ‘They’re at the gate. Get the horses,’ Bothwick ordered.

  Marrok and Draken ran for their lives. They had tied their horses nearby in case a quick exit was required. They crossed the open land fast enough and skirted the tannery to the far side of the building. Just as they had left them, their horses patiently waited.

  Draken’s own was spooked a little as the breathless men arrived.

  ‘Easy, girl.’ Draken patted the animal’s neck and fortunately, the creature calmed upon seeing its rider in the moonlight.

  ‘Help me with Marisa,’ Marrok gasped.

  Draken left the horse, and together he and Marrok secured Marisa upon the second horse, her body arched over the rear of the animal. At this, Marrok clambered aboard as Marisa let out yet another shriek.

  Draken headed to his ride. ‘She’s going to give us away if she continues like this,’ he said as he seated himself.

  Marrok pulled at the reins, and the horse turned full circle towards the forest. ‘Just ride, Draken. We need to put distance between us.’

  Seconds later, he and Draken were picking their way carefully through the fields. They, however, were not alone. Torchlight lit small patches of ground behind them, and every now and then they caught a voice. The castle guard was searching for them.

  Marrok leant a little closer to Draken. ‘We cannot head to the hill, if we breach the summit our silhouettes will be exposed.’

  Draken nodded. ‘In that case, we should circle the guard and take another route. We should follow that ridgeline over there.’ Draken pointed to where field met a small cliff. It appeared as if they could be camouflaged against the rock as they rode straight to the trees.