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

  Finally, after many more minutes of gut-wrenching movement, the boat slowed as the river became less violent, and a faint light began to bounce off the walls of the cavern. The walls of the chamber seemed to move and slither, and as the light grew the reason became apparent. The walls crawled with thousands of small beetle-like creatures that made Coinin shudder in disgust.

  ‘Don’t worry they won’t hurt you unless you fall into the river,’ Trenobin reassured.

  The boat rounded a bend and was bathed in sunlight as they exited the mountain into yet another forest.

  Colourful birds flew overhead and landed in trees or squawked loudly to each other.

  Coinin had passed out, while Marrok stated he would like to ride the river again. Draken looked at him as if he was crazy.

  ‘Told you it makes you go mad.’ Trenobin winked. ‘Help me get Coinin to the shore.’

  Marrok located the oars tucked under the seats and rowed the craft to the side of the river. It bumped against the shore and Draken grabbed for a tree root and held on, while Trenobin fastened a rope to the roots to secure the craft. Marrok picked Coinin up and threw him over his shoulder as he would a sack of grain, and then deposited him on the shore, while Draken and Trenobin dumped their cargo next to him.

  ‘Shall we make camp, rest the night and move out in the morning?’ Trenobin asked.

  Marrok nodded his agreement. Draken, however, had fallen asleep exhausted, with his arms crossed and his head on his chest.

  ‘I told you he was too old for this trip,’ sighed Trenobin.

  PARADISE FOUND

  The castle guards were struck down one by one as the horde slew all in its path. Two figures headed the crowd and made their way towards a high tower, the way barred by heavy doors.

  ‘Brother, if you will.’

  His companion frowned a moment in concentration and then reached with his hand as if for the door.

  He clenched his fist and pulled his arm back quickly. As he did so the huge oak doors ripped from their hinges, flew twenty feet into the air and crashed through the roof of a nearby stable. As the dust settled, they saw a guard, stationed at the gaping entrance to the tower, scream and run terrified into the night.

  The brothers wound their way up a never-ending spiral staircase and engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the few remaining guards of the castle. As the last was dispatched, the two shadowy figures reached a small wooden door and entered a dark tower room. A cowering old man with an extremely long, grey beard and sharp, piercing eyes greeted them.

  ‘You know why we are here, old man?’ Coinin asked.

  ‘Yes, but please, spare my life; I am merely a pawn in the game,’ the old man replied. He shook and prostrated himself before them.

  ‘Game?’ Marrok roared. ‘This is not a game!’

  ❖

  The morning proved to be a wet one. Trenobin and the others had ventured into a climate that was not pleasant, and the humidity was unbearable.

  It amazed Coinin how diverse Rosthagaar and the surrounding lands were. One moment you might find yourself in a desert or open plain, and the next a tropical forest, or indeed battling snowstorms in the high mountains.

  The unlikely foursome set out early that morning and wasted not a moment of light. The going was easy though extremely wet, and Draken complained of the cost to replace his boots. All around them birds chirped and sang melodious tunes or squawked at their presence. Strange unseen animals made even odder noises, and a foolhardy monkey attempted to steal Trenobin’s hat. The only thing it left with was a bruised ego and a swift kick up the backside. It sat on a high branch of an oak tree and screeched at them.

  ‘I’ve not seen trees quite like this anywhere in Arrom,’ said Coinin after some time. ‘Where are we exactly?’

  ‘We are on an island near the coast of Rosthagaar. We have travelled under the sea from the mainland,’ Trenobin replied.

  ‘Can other people find this place?’ Marrok asked.

  ‘Well, it is visible from the mainland, although the only way to get to it without magic is the route we took yesterday.’

  Trenobin had led them to a natural pathway that snaked its way up the mountain and was as wide as twenty men. To Coinin’s dismay, it spiralled for miles around the peak at a steep incline. Trenobin stopped at the entrance, and there he cocked his head and listened. His eyes squinted in concentration.

  ‘I think I’ll be going back,’ Coinin announced.

  ‘There is no turning back; you know that. This is the only way to our destination. We will need to follow this path till we reach the exit through the pass,’ Trenobin informed him.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Marrok smiled. ‘I’ll carry him if I must.’

  ‘There now, that’s spirit for you. Shall we?’ said Trenobin, and strode into the pass.

  An hour and a half into the journey, Draken lost his temper with the boys, as he had done many times before. ‘Will you two shut up once and for all? I do not care who the better swordsman is. Marrok is better, and that is final.’

  Coinin had baited Marrok for some twenty minutes before this outburst and had not heeded repeated warnings to be quiet. Marrok had, though, resisted any attempt to silence his brother for a good while, but now he had pounced on him and pinned him to the ground, and then demanded that he tell the world that he was better at wielding a sword. Coinin, of course, refused to succumb to pressure. Secretly, though, both boys had a hidden agenda.

  ‘Will you two get up? We still have a way to go. I am tired and hungry, and I swear I will beat you both black and blue until you beg me to stop,’ said Draken, with eyes that flashed menacingly.

  Marrok smirked at Coinin and winked, and then clambered off his younger brother. He then held out his hand to help Coinin to his feet. He accepted the assistance and stood, and then took a moment to brush dirt from his leathers.

  ‘I still say that I’m better at parrying,’ said Coinin.

  Draken balled his fists and ground his teeth. He stormed off ahead of the group and muttered oaths and curses under his breath as he went.

  ‘Nice,’ Marrok admired and patted Coinin on the back.

  ‘Thank you,’ Coinin graciously accepted.

  ‘Hold on. You two planned this?’ Trenobin asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. We wanted to be rid of him for a bit. He is a bore, don’t you think?’ Marrok chuckled.

  ‘He talks endlessly about the cost of boots or the women at the tavern,’ Coinin said.

  Trenobin burst into fits of laughter.

  ‘If he thinks we’re beating on each other then he won’t strike us.’

  ‘Clever, and crafty.’ Trenobin winked. ‘You’ll need that in this life.’

  A yell cut the silence, followed by high-pitched laughter and wails of delight. Out of the dust thrown up by the wind that filtered through the pass, Draken ran full-tilt as sweat poured down his brow into his eyes. He moved swiftly, helped by the sloped path. As he ran, he breathlessly tried to convey a message, and it was only when he rejoined the small group that he was able to finally get his message through.

  ‘Goblins, there are hundreds of goblins back there. Take up defensive positions. Move!’ Draken ordered, with his hands on his knees as he gulped for air.

  They stood back to back and then moved forward gingerly, eyes peeled for the unseen enemy.

  ‘Goblins? Why didn’t you tell us?’ Marrok asked. ‘There may be another way around.’

  ‘There is no other way. I had hoped we’d be able to cross their territory without hindrance.’

  ‘Well, you thought wrong. I hope it doesn’t become a habit,’ Draken growled.

  Trenobin briefly considered punching the man, though thought better of it, as it would alienate the boys. He needed to get through this, and all hands would be required to do it.

  Draken issued orders. ‘Watch your left, check above, ready your bow,’ he shouted.

  They moved quickly, although the dust blown down the pass made it hard to
see ahead. Coinin issued a cry of pain and raised a hand to his head to find a trickle of blood had run down his face.

  ‘I’m hit, not bad, but I think they’re throwing rocks,’ Coinin said.

  ‘That’s not good, there’s no cover,’ Draken began. ‘Change of plan. Run!’ he bellowed and sprinted forward.

  The others took the hint and raced at top speed after him. Rock after rock crashed down around them, amid laughter and cries of triumph, as one or another struck home. The sizes of the projectiles were not enough to kill, thanks to the small hands of the goblins. Still, they stung hard and left welts where they hit.

  Draken stopped short, for ahead of him a line of goblins carried sharpened sticks and clubs. They taunted him with jeers and rude gestures. A goblin, taller than the others, wore a leather strap across his chest that held the finger bones of his enemies. He wore a ragged covering cut off at the knees, and carried a staff with a blue orb that emitted rays of crystalline light. Within swirled a light blue mist.

  The goblin shaman yelled a spell in his language and directed his staff at Draken. A blast of green light flew through the air as fast as lightning and struck Draken in the chest. He was flung backwards ten feet and landed hard, his face a mixture of shock and pain.

  Marrok’s instinct overtook him, and he knelt to aim his crossbow.

  The shaman saw the bolt coming and dodged the shot. However, the bolt hit home and smashed the orb. It released a blinding flash of light and a shockwave that hit each goblin in its vicinity with such ferocity that their poses were instantly frozen as they turned to stone.

  Trenobin was stunned, gaping at the most wonderful crossbow shot he had ever seen.

  Coinin whooped for joy. ‘Great shot, Marrok!’ he said and punched the air.

  With a self-satisfied smile, Marrok ran to his uncle and helped him up. ‘Are you well?’ he asked.

  ‘It’ll take more than that to kill me,’ Draken replied. ‘Besides, he hit my breastplate, it took most of the force.’

  ‘We must keep moving, there are still goblins above us, and they look pretty angry that we killed their shaman,’ Trenobin said.

  ‘They still need to find a way down,’ Coinin offered hopefully.

  ‘They already have.’ Marrok pointed. ‘Let’s move, and fast.’

  They ran as they dodged missile after missile. The green, bony goblins gave chase, their yellow eyes ablaze with fury. After several minutes Coinin was all but spent when Trenobin bellowed ‘Stop!’

  ‘Are you crazy? With those things behind us?’ Marrok cried and stopped to gesture at their pursuers.

  Trenobin walked up to Marrok. ‘Look down,’ he said quietly.

  Marrok obeyed and instantly recoiled; he stood, or floated, on thin air, yet it felt to him like solid ground.

  Behind him, the pass had suddenly ended, and below, a high cliff dropped away to the ground.

  Trenobin smiled. ‘Dive, as you would into water.’ He mimed the action. ‘Trust me, this is the only way down, and the goblins will not follow us; the air doesn’t agree with them. They seem to have a quick flight, and an unusually violent landing,’ he chuckled.

  ‘Is it safe?’ Marrok asked.

  ‘For us, it is, yes.’

  ‘That’s all I needed to hear.’ Marrok shrugged his shoulders and dove as if he was diving into the lake back home.

  The sensation was unlike anything he had experienced before. His senses told him he was falling; yet he was doing so slowly, as if on a cushion of air. He kicked his legs as he would underwater and found to his surprise that he dropped faster.

  ‘This is fantastic,’ Coinin yelled as he zoomed past him, his hair wafting in the breeze.

  ‘Slow down, you idiot,’ Marrok called after him.

  It was a disappointingly short ride, although the sight that beheld them as they fell was magnificent. In the distance, a golden building sat in a high-walled courtyard, surrounded by manicured lawns and majestic fountains. People dressed in white robes, with what appeared to be long spears, stood motionless at the entrance to the courtyard. There appeared to be a vineyard and two or three vaulted canvas tents within the grounds.

  One by one the group twisted upright in mid-air and landed softly on a pebbled road that led to a grove of apple trees.

  Each stared in amazement at the sheer beauty of this new location. The colour was so intense that it threatened to hurt the eyes; greens, blues, and the yellow of the flowers shone like the midday sun.

  ‘Are you well?’ Trenobin asked. ‘Is anyone hurt?’

  ‘I could do with a dressing,’ said Coinin as he dabbed painfully at his head with his fingers.

  ‘We will fix that right up when we get inside. For now, though, you must do exactly as I say. We are entering a sacred temple. You are here by invitation, and only those invited may enter.’

  ‘Who invited us?’ Coinin asked.

  ‘That would be Curator Menin who oversees the temple library.’

  ‘Do we know the Curator?’ Marrok asked.

  ‘No, however, there is not a man or woman here who has not heard of you. There is a great deal of excitement about your arrival.’

  They set off up the pathway through the grove of trees and bushes, and soon halted at the entrance to the courtyard. Robed guards crossed spears and blocked the entranceway.

  Trenobin stepped forward and spoke to the guards. ‘Make way; we are here by invitation from Curator Menin. This is Coinin and Marrok and their uncle.’

  The guards uncrossed spears silently and gestured that they might enter. Coinin and Marrok took sideways glances at one another and shrugged. Trenobin led the way into the courtyard and slowly walked towards the golden temple. The full majesty of the building enveloped his companions.

  The temple consisted of thin panels of gold that overlaid the finest of woods. At its heart was a glass dome. From this, a column of pulsating blue light emitted, and around it spiralled a red stream of misty light.

  At each corner of the building a high tower reached skyward, and from this hung vertical banners that depicted a paw print of a wolf, surrounded by a sun disc. The pathways were of solid marble that glistened in the sun. A low marble wall ran alongside the path that enclosed finely cut lawns, and fountains gushed clear water. In a clearing to the left, a roped-off arena had been erected amongst canvas tents. There was a commotion in the arena and men, and women stood and cheered or offered encouragement.

  Marrok strode over to the enclosure and was greeted with his favourite of sights: two individuals locked in combat. This was a training arena, much like the one Draken had set up at his home. Little did the boys know that Draken had been preparing them for such events since the day of their arrival at his home. Double-edged swords swung and created sparks as they collided with a clang, or made a dull thud as they struck wooden shields. Marrok could see, to his disappointment, that the participants used training weapons; but then, no self-respecting warrior would use a fine sword as they trained. Trenobin, impatient as ever, had to drag Marrok away from the spectacle, much to his annoyance.

  ‘All right, I’m coming,’ said Marrok grumpily.

  They continued along the path and were greeted by a dozen marble statues in various noble poses. These led up to the temple on each side of the pathway.

  ‘Who are they?’ Marrok asked.

  ‘The Order’s finest warriors,’ Trenobin replied. ‘Look to your left, and you may recognise that statue.’

  The boys stopped briefly to examine the sculpture. Draken merely looked bored and played with his fingernails.

  ‘Father?’ Marrok gasped.

  ‘Really?’ Coinin asked, and looked closer.

  ‘No doubt, it’s him all right.’ Marrok grinned. ‘There’s his name there on that plaque.’

  ‘Your brother is correct; indeed that is your father. He once served this order and is revered by many.’

  ‘What happened, why did he leave?’ Coinin enquired.

  ‘She happened,’ Drake
n growled. ‘Your mother. He fell in love, abandoned us all and left The Order.’ There was an edge to Draken’s voice, and he turned away.

  Trenobin sensed that the boys wished to know more. ‘Today is a day of surprises, and there is yet more to come. Follow me.’

  However, Coinin had stopped. Before him stood two marble statues whose faces had been crudely removed, and their brass plaques were missing. ‘Whose were these?’ he asked.

  ‘I cannot answer that question, we are forbidden to speak of it to outsiders,’ Trenobin replied, eager to change the subject.

  ‘Oh, surely you can tell the boys, Trenobin,’ Draken smirked. ‘After all, you and the owner of the statue there on the left are still very good friends.’

  ‘Draken, enough of this. I warn you not to broach this subject again. Now we really must move along,’ he said with a glare.

  ‘Very well, as you wish.’ Draken bowed.

  The group again moved off, and as they ventured up the main steps to the temple entrance, a handsome white-robed woman waited at the top with a broad grin on her face. She was in her mid-fifties with green eyes like that of a cat. She held a leather-bound book and an eagle-feather quill in her arms. A stern looking man in gold trimmed steel armour stood by her side.

  Trenobin stepped forward. ‘Curator, I present Coinin and Marrok Wulf.’

  ‘Thank you Trenobin. Welcome my friends, welcome. I am so pleased you have arrived safely,’ the robed figure began in soft, pleasant tones. ‘Those goblins have given us a hard time of late. However, we will rid the pass of them soon, I am sure. My name is Menin; I am Curator here at the Temple of Rindor; the big fellow to my right is my First General, Jericho.’

  The brothers clasped arms with Menin and felt a warmth and peace as they did so. They nodded politely to the general who smiled and nodded in return.

  ‘Well done, Brother Trenobin, you have again proved your skill and brought the boys here safely.’

  ‘It was touch and go for a while,’ Trenobin admitted with a sly grin.

  ‘Yes, quite,’ said Menin. ‘Who might this be?’ she asked with a nod to Draken.