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

by Harrison Davies

  Marisa looked guilty then, and after a few seconds considering her response, she replied, ‘I am barren. After many years, he became tired of my excuses and turned to drink and whores, his hope that one would bear him an heir. I objected and fought with him daily. As a result, one night a dark figure snuck into my chambers and whilst I struggled against this intruder who choked me it was as if they took a piece of me and I found myself locked inside my own mind. I could not escape.’

  Draken looked sad. ‘If I had not strayed from righteousness, I may have been able to stop him sooner.’

  ‘How long has it been?’ Marisa asked. ‘Just how much of my life has been lost?’

  Draken calculated his age. ‘I am old by sixty-two rotations.’

  Marisa looked horrified and forlorn. ‘Twenty-six rotations I have lost.’

  Draken took Marisa’s hand. ‘I, too, lost so much time … in another way.’

  ‘What happened to you?’ Marisa enquired.

  ‘It’s best I tell the tale some other time,’ Draken countered. ‘We are here not only to rescue you but to take you to Rosthagaar.’

  Marisa’s jaw set hard. ‘I wondered the day I would be needed. You know my role, I assume.’

  ‘I will not speak it for fear we are overheard, though the answer is yes,’ Draken replied.

  ‘I may have been absent for so long, but I have been prepared since childhood to expect this day. I’m glad it was you who came to set me free. But where is Ædelmær?’ Marisa asked.

  Draken suddenly looked away.

  ‘Draken, where is Ædelmær?’ Marisa insisted.

  Marrok tapped Marisa gently on the arm. ‘I’m sorry, but my father is dead.’

  It took a moment for the momentous news to sink in, and Marisa let out a sob. Marrok looked away. ‘How … how did he die?’

  Draken continued to look away, his guilt eating away at him.

  Marrok regained eye contact with Marisa. ‘He died bravely, protecting our village and my brother, Coinin, and me from certain death.’

  ‘I’m sorry, that must have been hard for you,’ Marisa empathised. ‘So, you have a brother also?’

  He nodded, and Marisa smiled. ‘I shall look forward to meeting him.’ She looked to Draken. ‘What’s the plan?’

  Draken took a moment to compose himself before turning to face her with a fake smile. ‘We ride to meet The Brotherhood, and we need to do so now.’

  ‘Things are so urgent?’

  ‘Indeed, the castle may send men to seek you … us out and there is the other matter we shan’t discuss.’

  ‘I will need clothing,’ Marisa replied, indicating her nightwear.

  ‘I shall speak to our host,’ Draken advised. ‘Come Marrok, we shall give your aunt some privacy.’

  THE EARLY BIRD

  The cover of darkness and a moonless night aided The Order of The Wulf’s initial advance. On two fronts, the attack had begun. Twenty-Four orcs and seventeen-thousand Order of The Wulf soldiers from all corners of Rosthagaar arrived by sea, and thirteen-thousand elves by land. Twelve giants had consented to join the fight in exchange for gold. All in all, a little over thirty thousand souls.

  The elven king, Aerendyl Haldìr, had opted to remain behind as a rear guard with some further ten thousand souls, leaving Coinin and his generals, both human and elven, to ensure that the battle plan was followed to the letter.

  The fact that Order of The Wulf soldiers had withdrawn from their permanent posts meant Lordich Secracar knew they would be coming in force. However, the exact date eluded him. Even his many spies had drawn a blank. It was as if The Brotherhood of The Wulf had vanished off the face of Er’ath and that worried him. Little did he know that The Brotherhood had indeed vanished to be replaced by The Order.

  Sixteen sleek elven warships, recently painted black as pitch to disguise their natural beauty and to help them disappear into the night, were piloted by elves and were carrying the Order’s troops. They approached the Port of Rostha and slowed to a stop just out of sight of the port entrance.

  Right on cue, a cacophony of splashes signalled to those on board that the orcs had taken to a dozen rowboats as planned, two orcs to each boat due to their sheer size.

  In silence the teams rowed, strong and true, heading for the darkened port, the night sight of each orc valuable in seeking out both their destination and the enemy without external light.

  Len’i led the squad with the promise that each orc that joined him would see battle unlike any that they had known before. Also, the promise of gold was an enticement few rarely ignored.

  Len’i’s naturally camouflaged skin enabled him to blend with the boat, and it would serve him well at his destination, the walls of the City of Rostha. He was thrilled to be taking the fight to Lordich’s door, he and thirty thousand warriors bent on destroying the evil warlock and his cult once and for all. It would be a proud day to declare the leader of The Brotherhood of The Dragon no more, and his atonement would be complete.

  His teeth were clenched tight with anticipation, and he could sense excitement as they rowed closer and closer. Before long they would depart the boats and silently swim to shore.

  Len’i and the others had secured their cruel, jagged crescent swords and armour in sacks to be carried ashore. They would eventually don steel cuirass, and full leather protection for the arms and legs, during the initial push. The former was embossed with the emblem of The Order of The Wulf and had to be specially made with three times the usual material. Jericho had insisted that it be worn during the primary campaign to identify friend from foe and offer better protection.

  Coinin had commissioned a new emblem, and in addition to the wolf’s paw and sun disc, a simple triangle intersected them both to represent male, female and gods and the three tenants of the Order: Righteousness, guardianship and his unquestionable loyalty.

  Of course, it took much convincing on Len’i’s part to encourage the others to wear the armour, and a promise of more gold, before the orcs, saw them remove their beloved iron faced leather tunics. Thankfully, the wearers were suitably strong enough to swim with the weight of steel armour in sacks, that would have drowned a human.

  Upon seeing the orcs for the first time in uniform the day before, Jericho shivered and thanked Rindor he wasn’t going up against them in battle. They looked fearsome. No, he was due to fight a much-determined enemy. He just needed to be more so.

  In the boats, Len’i calculated the distance to the darkened shoreline, not far from the entrance to the city, and could make out individual targets along the city wall. ‘This is far enough. Swim now,’ he ordered.

  Like shadowy assassins, the orcs one by one slid into the icy waters. They barely flinched against the cold, their tough hides protecting them.

  Len’i set the pace, and slowly but surely they made progress towards the city port. The water was like a glassy pool with barely a ripple of a wave on the shore, and this made the going much easier.

  Each swimmer utilised their keen night sight to search the battlements for the enemy and, after lookouts were spotted and visually marked, they then communicated this information to the next orc.

  Len’i smiled at the simple language of his brethren and knew if it were not for the taste of battle he would not be accepted by them, for he spoke too well. Discrimination was high amongst his people.

  He kept his face high above the water, as he had no way to stop water travelling into his mouth, the sad consequence of a lipless face, they having succumbed to flesh rot after being sewn together as a punishment in years gone by. Still, he had adapted and spoke just as well as any other orc.

  They had made excellent time, and before long their bare feet touched the rock, slippery and slimy. Thankfully, the orc foot is adapted to such climes, and there were no slips or falls that would attract attention. When the shore to the right of the dock grew shallow, the orcs crawled the last few yards until they were on dry ground. Out of sight of any lookouts, they hastened to the corn
er of the tall, grey wall, a dozen yards away, and hid in its shadow.

  Lamps upon the battlements flickered in a slight breeze found higher up, and each lit a portion of the dock’s walkway. Several shipping vessels were bobbing away in the port waters, and none seemed occupied. Empty stalls lined the dock and several were damaged. The whole area smelled of decay and no wonder; a few stalls held decaying animal flesh and rotten fruit.

  While in shadow, the orcs took the time to dry their bodies with clumps of dry grasses found nearby. Once finished, they fished their swords from the sack, limiting any noise to a minimum, and left the armour to collect later.

  Len’i reminded his troops, in a whisper, that their task was one of infiltration to open the main gates. He signalled with two fingers along the length of the wall towards the main entrance. ‘Move out.’

  As silently as possible, the orcs filed ahead, keeping to the shadows, and frequently stopped to listen and to monitor the lookouts. So far, so good, they had not yet been spotted, and the whole plan rested on that remaining a fact.

  The massive gateway loomed, and surprisingly still damaged, perhaps beyond repair.

  Fools. Should have secured it by now. What is Lordich thinking? He must know that we are coming. Perhaps we will stumble into a trap, Len’i thought. He stopped and signalled that the others should also. With a quick gesture, he split the team into three, eight orc per team, and indicated that group one would take the upper left battlement and group two, the right. He and the other seven would take care of any ground forces as silently and quickly as possible.

  ‘Take them,’ he ordered in hushed tones.

  He and his squad watched and waited until the others had scaled the damaged wall each side of the gateway, and then he crept close to the gaping right-hand hole. Len’i peered inside and carefully assessed the defence. Twelve men in two groups sat idle, nodding off, yawning, scratching and stoking a fire. They were no more than hired mercenaries and little threat, he assessed.

  Len’i returned to the shadows and took a moment to draw in the rubble dust two circles, each representing the targets, and divided his squad into two. He indicated that one-half should take the left and the other the right.

  Each orc nodded that they understood. Len’i noted that half of his squad were salivating at the thought of battle, their curved lower canines protruding over the top lip.

  He let out the sound of an owl, familiar enough not to raise suspicion, and he witnessed eight orcs disappear over the left-hand battlement. His large ears heard a scuffling sound, imperceptible to the human ear, and listened for more. He waited, and after several minutes he saw the leader of squad one signal all was clear from atop the battlement. The groups had scoured the entirety of the wall, seeking the enemy and dispatching them silently.

  Crouching and darting left, he positioned himself to see the right-hand debris pile. No sooner had he done so, the signal was given from above as all clear. Turning his gaze back to his own troop, he beckoned for them to join him, and they split. Within seconds, three gigantic orcs, dark as shadow with rippling muscles were at his side. Seconds later, he raised his arm and dropped it and without barely a blink of an eyelid, the two orc teams were diving over debris and racing to cover out of sight of the sleepy guards.

  A low wall, once bordering a garden and roughly waist height, gave some protection as the squads reached it. Just fifty yards away the men dozed, bored of their lot, and were equally just fifty yards to their demise. Len’i gave the signal to run and no sooner had he, he and the others raced at full tilt in silence, only the slapping of large feet striking the flagstones giving them away at the last moment. They were not visible in the darkness since the guards were blinded by the campfires. Their companions had dowsed the lamps atop the battlements, so now only firelight lit the area.

  Sadly, for the men around it, it only gave them a moment’s view of their killers before they were silenced in a clean and methodical manner, namely, a sword thrust through the trachea and out through the spinal column. It was almost an instant death and one where none could call out or grasp a weapon.

  One not so sleepy individual evaded Len’i who had jumped over the fire. The man bolted for a few dozen steps, yet, before he could escape into the night and call out, his neck was broken by a hand three times the size of his own.

  Len’i, unlike his comrades, felt remorse and cringed at the lustful joy around him. He was satisfied at the troop’s actions, though he could smell the thirst for blood emanating from them. He had learned a long time ago to control his lust and pitied his companions. It would be difficult for them to wind down and wait for the next wave of attack. Checking that they had not been seen, he turned to the gathered squad. ‘Hide bodies.’

  Without a second word, the troop collected the bodies and made short work of dumping them in the harbour, taking satisfaction as the corpses sank into the darkness of the port.

  ‘Good. You, guard wall,’ Len’i said to those around him, and turned to greet the returning orcs. ‘You, scout ahead, check for danger.’

  The newcomers obliged and disappeared into the gloom while the nearest orc, a gigantic male, considerably larger than Len’i, grunted and smiled, though as with all orcs it appeared to be a snarl. He waved at the others to follow him and soon they were in a defensive position, guarding the wall against attack from within, thus providing protection when The Order arrived in force. They hurriedly set up a blockade using huge stones from the debris pile. It not only protected them from the enemy but prevented easy access to the wall.

  Len’i was happy that he had completed this part of his task and knew he was one step closer to redemption. He collected a burning log from within the nearest fire and headed beyond the wall and out onto the dock, feeling the stonework turn to wood underfoot. He rushed for some distance beyond the wall until he was stood on an uphill section of wet grass and he could just see the prow of an elven ship poking around the harbour. The crickets had silenced as he had approached and an unseen nocturnal animal scurried for cover in the underbrush. The Order had chosen the perfect night, clear and calm, with no moon.

  He waved the branch from side to side above his head, signalling the all clear, and after a moment the news had reached the waiting ships and a response was forthcoming. A lamp aboard the lead vessel was covered and then uncovered at short intervals.

  After a few more minutes of waiting, he saw that the first ship had gotten underway and was being rowed into the harbour by all hands aboard. The sound of splashing oars mixed with the sounds of the night.

  Eventually, more ships followed and soon the harbour was full of the sleek elven craft carefully picking their way to anchor.

  Soon, everyone aboard the vessels moved swiftly. The crews tied the ships together by tossing thick other and then gangplanks were laid from one ship to the other. Within minutes of this, swarms of soldiers began to pick their way carefully along the wooden boards from ship to ship and eventually onto dry land. Each section then formed into straight lines of troops amounting to one-hundred souls, and marched into the city.

  Len’i stood watching the precision required to gather so many soldiers together and saw General Jericho orchestrating matters with Curator Wulf directing him. He considered the next phase of the plan. Before long, the lower city quarter would be teeming with countless soldiers, ready to fight to the bitter end. At dawn, the elves would gain entry to other sections of the wall with help from the giants and bring with them catapults.

  ❖

  Dawn had come, and the field of battle before the castle was filled with the sounds of thousands of warriors engaged in mortal combat against the forces of Lordich Secracar. The crash of swords on armour, the smoke of burning flesh from spells hastily cast, and the smell of death permeated the air. Elf and man alike fell bleeding from their wounds, adding to the sea of bodies writhing in agony, dying and mutilated.

  The screams of terror from horses, man and beast upon being struck down set Marrok’s t
eeth on edge more so than the roar of bloodthirsty soldiers.

  An army of men, women, elves, orcs and giants besieged the fortress in the distance. The human, orc and elven troops wore red and white tunics over their steel armour. The giants dressed in their own varied armour, mostly thick leather hides, with the inclusion of a strip of red cloth tied around the upper arm to identify the attacking forces against the defenders.

  Counterweighted catapults constructed from the local forest in secret ahead of time, and transported to the city, were busily attacking the thick grey walls of the castle with ammunition hewn from the surrounding hills and the remains of the inadequately built city wall, which was slowly being demolished by a giant wielding an enormous hammer.

  The castle’s defences were weakening, if slowly, as were its crudely secured gates, which were taking a pummelling from a battering ram manned by a dozen orcs. A protective cover of shields prevented the defenders from doing them serious harm with arrows and stone. The idea to use giants to accomplish the job was quickly muted since they presented a bigger target in which to hit. Order soldiers formed a cordon around the ram, and Lordich had sent thousands of warriors to greet the intruders with the sword. It had not taken long for the invaders to make a path to the gates.

  There was fighting on several fronts, hand to hand below the castle wall, high above and in the clearing before the castle wall. The Order had broken several lines and was attacking all sides. The enemy was surrounded and yet they fought to the death.

  Streams of invaders clambered over the battlements from siege towers found abandoned at the city entrance, and utilised by the giants in short order. The troops fought their way along gangplanks positioned from the siege towers and over the battlements. A swift death met many of the raiding parties at the hands of archers positioned in the castle’s towers, and yet they persisted. They individually knew the stakes for failure and the cause was of the utmost importance, so much so, that not one hand feared death.