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

by Harrison Davies

  Jericho knew his moment had come and he braced himself. With defiance, he held his sword ready and bellowed at the animal. ‘Come on then. If I’m going to die today, then you’re coming with me. For Rindor!’

  Jericho’s jaw was set, and his thoughts turned to Eraywen, his beloved wife waiting for him in the heavens. Despite his predicament, he smiled, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

  As if on cue, the dragon roared piercingly, and with one swift motion, it dove at Jericho and engulfed his upper torso. Both man and beast cried in agony as each killed the other, teeth, dragon fire and sword completing the job.

  The horror of the scene unfolded before Coinin and Aniol like a nightmare. They had turned just in time to see Jericho’s demise at the hands of the dragon. Aniol screamed and shook before turning away. Coinin gripped her in a tight embrace against his breast in shock and disbelief. He had always figured Jericho immortal and undefeatable in battle, and here was his greatest general dead. More than that, a father figure he looked up to was gone in a most horrific way.

  Aniol sobbed and was inconsolable, and so he gently walked her away from the scene and to the relative safety of their amassed troops.

  ❖

  An hour later, Coinin and Aniol stood alone once more, this time before the gates of the castle. Aniol had vehemently insisted that despite the death of her uncle that she would see events to their conclusion at Coinin’s side.

  The wooden gates had taken a beating, several sections were split, and the battering ram lay discarded near the entrance. There was a breach in the castle wall but was not low enough to use to gain entry. The only way in was by asking politely.

  Coinin cleared his throat and looked up at the battlements. He saw men there peering down at him suspiciously. They had seen how he had dealt with the dragon and feared for their own safety.

  Archers held tight their bows and aimed at him as he walked forward a step.

  ‘By command of The Order of The Wulf, I Coinin Wulf, Curator, do hereby request parley with Lordich Secracar.’

  Wolf whistles and jeers followed Coinin’s entreaty, and he turned red from embarrassment.

  ‘Ah, look at the child who thinks he’s a man. Go now, and run cryin’ to yer papa,’ one of the archers laughed.

  ‘Don’t mind them. Persevere,’ Aniol whispered, her eyes bloodshot.

  ‘Oh, look, now he needs his woman to help him,’ another mocked.

  Coinin stood tall and scoured the battlement. ‘I demand an audience with Lordich Secracar, this instant.’

  ‘Look at him, demandin’. Go away, or we’ll stick yer with an arrow.’

  Coinin raised his hand in appeasement and heard a familiar noise. Aniol dived into action and raised her shield in front of her charge. An arrow twanged off the steel to land some yards away.

  Aniol dropped the shield and crossed in front of Coinin. ‘You dare!’ she raged.

  Without warning, a second arrow flew threw the air, and she deflected it successfully. Only, a third from her right side bypassed her defences and pierced her chest. She cried out and looked down, shocked and in excruciating pain at the arrow protruding from her bosom, just above the neckline of her armour. She fell to her knees, her sword and shield clattering to the ground.

  Coinin turned in shock, and his breathing quickened. He began to panic, unable to focus as he grabbed her before she collapsed, and gently he laid her head upon his lap as he sank to the ground with her.

  He stroked her hair from her face and peered at the pained face of his love. ‘Aniol, please speak to me. Don’t leave me.’

  Aniol opened her eyes, and blood trickled from the corners of her mouth. She looked terrified.

  Coinin took the edge of his red cloak and dabbed away the blood from her face and held her tighter. ‘I’m sorry, Aniol. I’m so sorry –’

  Aniol’s breathing shallowed, and she coughed up a gob of blood and searched out Coinin’s eyes. ‘Don’t weep for me. I’ll always be here.’ She stretched and placed a hand on his heart before the hand fell beside her. Her eyes closed and she remained still.

  Coinin shook her. ‘Aniol. Aniol!’ he cried, tears falling fast, blinding his vision. He stayed that way for several minutes, weeping and punching the ground, and then the sobbing ceased. His heart broken, he laid her down on the cold, wet ground and stiffly got to his feet.

  Laughter sounded from the battlements as he stood there stooped with grief until something snapped inside him.

  He turned and looked up at the battlements with fresh eyes. ‘Cowards!’ he roared with untold anger.

  ‘Here, I don’t like the look of this. Look at his eyes,’ an archer cried, pointing.

  It was true, Coinin’s eyes were shining gold, and the ground began to tremble around him, sending small dust and rock particles vibrating across the expanse several feet from him.

  The air did not hum on this occasion. It screeched like a dying cat, though a hundred times as loud. The men of the battlements dropped their bows and covered their ears, such was the pain.

  Coinin bowed his head and made tight fists, which he pulled into himself. He began to soak in the energies around him, from the very air to the ground. Pressure began to build within him so great that he felt as if he was about to explode and he knew that this was the moment of no return.

  With a jerk of the head and a battle cry like a roar of anguish, he thrust out his hands and chest and sent a wave of translucent yellow energy forth with such ferocity that the men atop the battlements had only seconds to realise what was happening.

  All the pain and sacrifice and suffering Coinin had endured was combined in that magic, and it hit the castle wall with such speed and power that the whole gatehouse and battlements were blasted into nothing more than sand.

  The archers upon the battlements suffered the same fate, and their dying cries echoing around the castle seemed to linger far too long.

  Major Quindil stood watching from a distance in utter disbelief. He had always assumed that it was really Archmage Menin who had destroyed the castle wall and bridge prior to this moment, always secretly fearing that Coinin would not be up to the task of confronting Lordich, and yet, here the curator had proven that his magic was beyond compare. He was sure, despite the numerous deaths Lordich had caused, that he had never destroyed a castle entryway.

  ‘General Jonjo, I think we have found our way to storm that castle.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Jonjo replied.

  Coinin watched as streams of men, women and orc ran fleeing from the breached castle wall, unwilling to suffer the fate of their brethren.

  Fear was rampant, and they dropped their weapons as they ran left and right to escape. Coinin simply let them. His heart was heavy enough without more deaths on his conscience. There was perhaps one more that needed to occur to reset the balance of power in the region.

  He watched and waited for the castle grounds to clear seeking any sign of his enemy. He brushed off his hands and took one last look at Aniol, and walked calmly and confidently forward and through the remains of the castle wall, his cloak billowing behind him.

  Inside, little remained of the fallen airship, and all that did remain was unrecognisable. A few dead souls littered the courtyard and several horses milled around, traumatised by recent events.

  Coinin himself was traumatised and walked up the keep steps as if in a daze, that was until he reached the great doors. He found himself about to knock and snapped back to reality.

  This was the moment. This could very well be his last. He had survived several brushes with death, and one can only cheat Death for so long.

  He gripped the handles and swung the massive doors inwards, wincing at the creak of hinges, and then realising Lordich, if he was still here, knew he was coming and would no doubt be waiting for him.

  Venturing along the corridor, he checked left and right, making sure no one was hiding in an adjacent room or hallway. The place looked seedier than it had during his last encounter, if that w
as possible.

  All was clear and far too quiet for his liking, and yet he continued unwaveringly on his path until he reached the doors to the Great Hall. He took a deep breath and opened the doors smoothly and quietly. It was darker inside than he remembered and what little light came from the high up windows was dull and weak.

  His eyes took several moments to adjust and only then did he proceed inside. The doors closed behind him with a bang that made him jump.

  He stepped around a dozen tables that had been thrown aside by the conquerors and ventured deeper still. The carpet had been torn up and cast to the side of the room. He looked high and behind to ensure that no one was waiting with a bow and arrow in the balcony above and stopped several feet from the throne.

  No one. The place was empty.

  Coinin cried in exasperation. ‘Lordich, you traitor.’

  ‘Oh, come now. I’m not all that bad, once you get to know me,’ a deep voice gravelled behind him.

  Coinin swung around and saw stars as a gloved hand struck him about the face. He fell to a knee.

  ‘Little boy. Why do you persist on this course of action? Surely you know that you cannot win.’ Lordich peered down at him.

  Coinin looked into the grey eyes of his foe and studied them carefully, seeking a weakness.

  Lordich unsheathed his sword and placed the blade just under Coinin’s chin. ‘Don’t even think about it, boy,’ he warned, sensing some impending strike from the young man.

  ‘Could a boy destroy your castle walls?’ Coinin spat.

  Lordich waved his hand dismissively, though Coinin saw it: fear. There was palpable fear on the scarred face of the abomination before him.

  ‘Dismiss it all you like, Lordich. You know your time is up. Come quietly or die.’

  ‘So, we’re down to threats.’ Lordich gripped Coinin by the neck and lifted him up. Such surprising strength the man possessed. The elder man peered deep into Coinin’s youthful eyes. ‘I have lived two lives, and plan to live many more.’

  Coinin, between struggling to breathe and holding on to the arm lifting him off the ground, laughed loudly. ‘In three days’ time, we shall all die.’

  Lordich looked puzzled for a moment, and then something clicked. ‘Ah, yes, your charming fable. What was it now? Five magic swords, a ritual in the tower. I’ve heard that fairy tale before, and it bores me.’

  Lordich tightened his grip, and Coinin choked. ‘You dare to risk all that you have accomplished by denying the truth?’

  Lordich fell into a temper and threw Coinin, where he landed with a crack against a pillar holding up a high balcony. He lay there in pain, blinded by it.

  ‘The truth is that The Brotherhood of The Wulf is a self-serving cult run by mad men for mad men, who seek to rule, yet fail to protect those it claims to serve. The Brotherhood of the Dragon, however, will serve the people. We will be the ultimate power in the region and crush the Order of The Wulf to dust.’ Lordich seemed maniacal, obsessed by his beliefs, as he paced back and forth.

  Coinin looked on and saw a man in pain, driven by it, even. ‘Why did you abandon The Order?’

  Lordich appeared not to hear him and for a few seconds mumbled curses and oaths. Finally, he snapped his head back to Coinin. ‘Where was your precious brotherhood when my wife and my child were killed? Why didn’t they come to our aid?’ His voice sounded dangerous, and his eyes flashed anger.

  ‘I was not a party to those events. I am sorry –’

  ‘Sorry! You’re sorry? Orodor was sorry, spouted some nonsense about sending word that they were coming to aid our struggle against the giant attack.’ Lordich seemed to be reliving those events in his mind, and he paced back and forth, becoming more and more agitated with each passing second. ‘My wife, my dear sweet wife. Killed, murdered.’

  Coinin managed to stand and began to slowly approach the warlock, his dark cloak helping to melt him into the darkness of the room.

  ‘Lordich, I –’

  The aged man cried again in frustration and anger. He raised a hand in Coinin’s direction. The curator was thrown against the pillar once more, by the force of an unspoken spell. As quick as lightning, the warlock was nose to nose with him.

  ‘Apologies mean nothing to me. I vowed to destroy The Order, one man at a time, and look, archmage dead, by all accounts, the temple is destroyed, thousands more dead, and here before me is the prize, Curator Wulf.’ Lordich was smiling. His plans were coming to fruition. ‘You managed to destroy my defences, which is a minor setback. My brethren will rise once more and cripple the remainder of your troops, and then there will be no one to stop me. You see, your battlemage are gone, and only you remain with the power to stop me. I’m left with little choice but to slit your throat and watch as you bleed to death. What a blow that will be to your precious brotherhood.’

  Lordich stepped back and deftly removed a thin blade from the sleeve of his cloak. He brandished it before Coinin who appeared unafraid. This incensed Lordich. ‘Are you not afraid, boy?’

  Coinin stood tall and proud. ‘I do not fear abominations. I pity them, and there is only one here today who will die.’ With split second timing, Coinin cast a repelling spell, baegon, which sent Lordich flying. He landed hard and slid along the floor for several yards.

  Coinin approached him. ‘You killed my betrothed, that I can’t forgive. Nor will I forget. You shall burn for that, Lordich.’ His voice grew dark and passionate. ‘I will do what Orodor failed to do, and Death will have no hand in a miraculous escape for you.’

  Lordich clambered to his feet, suddenly threatened and wary of the young man challenging him. He had once feared no man, yet this boy was different. He, too, was driven by grief.

  ‘I will kill you where you stand,’ Lorich yelled, and a ball of fire appeared in his palm. A second later he cast it at Coinin, who ducked and watched as it struck a tapestry on the wall behind him. The ancient object immediately caught fire and Coinin knew there was limited time before the whole hall would be ablaze.

  ‘You are weak, old man. Your power is failing, and you’re scared. You cling to an ideology that just cannot work.’ Coinin stared hard at Lordich, his eyes blazing gold.

  ‘We shall see who is scared.’ Lordich raised both hands and made a gripping motion. Seconds later, he pulled them back sharply. As he did so, a whole section of the balcony above Coinin was torn from its bedding and toppled.

  Coinin flung himself clear just as heavy man-sized stones fell around him, sending plumes of choking dust into the air and crashing through the wooden floorboards.

  Coinin rose stiffly to his feet and cast a glance at the throne. He flicked his eyes, and in the next moment the heavy throne was careening through the air and struck Lordich, who toppled over. Coinin seized his moment, raced over to the warlock, gripped him by the hair and lifted him to his knees.

  With a crack, Coinin’s nose exploded with blood, and he released the older man. Lordich had rammed his head backwards and into Coinin’s face.

  Coinin held his nose, unable to see properly for tears that had welled up, half blinding him. He groaned in pain. ‘You broke my nose,’ he cried, and then thought how silly it was to say, considering the warlock was trying to kill him.

  He saw through the haze of tears a shadow move close and he instinctively struck out. His fist caught something hard, and he heard a grunt. Wiping his tears, he managed to see Lordich nursing a welt across his jaw.

  ‘Lordich, this cannot go on. Surrender now and face a fair trial.’

  The old man scowled and snarled. ‘Never! Not until I see justice for my family.’

  Coinin cried in frustration. ‘There can never be justice for an act that didn’t occur. You weren’t betrayed by The Order. You were blinded to the facts by grief.’

  Lordich levered himself up using the upturned throne, now damaged beyond repair, and turned to face his enemy. He stared beyond Coinin, between the flames now taking hold of the Great Hall, licking at every wooden surface and catc
hing the roof.

  Seconds later, Coinin heard a whooshing sound, and he instinctively dove right just as three ornamental spears, once attached to the far wall, sailed past and buried themselves into the floor.

  Lordich screamed. ‘Will you just die!’

  Coinin froze. One second Lordich was there, the next he was gone. Something told him to turn around, and he did, just as the dark figure of Lordich stepped up to him and gripped him around the neck. Coinin felt a cold sensation under his ribcage and knew that Lordich had struck him with a knife.

  The warlock let go, a smug grin on his face. His eyes flashed with glee as the boy fell to his knees holding his stomach.

  Coinin’s breathing quickened, and he felt dizzy. It can’t end like this, he thought.

  Lordich roughly pulled at Coinin’s hair and tilted his head back. A glint of cold steel meant certain death.

  ‘Retribution,’ Lordich cried, and then a puzzled expression appeared across his face. A confusion, somewhat like Coinin’s a few moments ago. He looked down, and Coinin followed the look and was surprised to see the end of a spear exiting the man’s cloak right above where his heart was.

  Lordich cried out in pain and anger. Blood dropped to the floor, and he stumbled in an attempt to escape.

  He heard a noise by his side and saw a pair of booted feet step up beside him, and then knees as they kneeled beside him. Coinin was feeling oddly light-headed, as if in a dream. Marrok and Quindil were there staring at him with concerned expressions.

  ‘This is not over,’ he winced. ‘Help me up, Marrok.’

  Marrok did as asked and supported his brother who stood and wobbled a little.

  Together they walked to where Lordich lay, slowly bleeding to death, and each lifted him off the ground by the arm. He looked groggily at them both, a sneer set upon his face. ‘You will never win,’ he croaked.

  ‘And you will die this day,’ Marrok replied, and yanked the spear from the elder’s chest with a sickening crunch and tearing of flesh. Lordich screamed in agony while Marrok threw the weapon upon the ground with a clatter.