Archive

Archive for the ‘General’ Category

4 Star Review for Destiny of The Wulf.

Esmerelda Weatherwax rated a book

really liked it

4 Stars.

6 months ago

Destiny of the Wulf (The Aduramis Chronicles – Book 1)

by Harrison Davies (Goodreads Author)

Read

Read in September 2017

spfbo book #26

I wouldn’t have known about this without the contest, and I knew it was YA going into it.

I enjoyed this one more than the last few YA books I picked up, there were more things going on with the plot and it had a lot more action to it than the last few.

There are two brothers who are orphaned after a band of Orcs raided their homes, they go to live with their uncle who helps them train with swords and obstacle courses. Eventually they are taken to a temple and told they are special and the last of a line destined for great things.

There’s real life gods in this book, and they interact with people, one of the gods has one of the main characters on a mission to save his brothers soul more or less, his brother has turned against the gods blaming them for his parents death.

there’s a legit afterlife in this novel as well, Death is a god and he decides what happens to you after you’re gone, and sometimes you’re stuck in the spirit realm which is like a limbo until he decides what to do with you and Coinin, one of the brothers is able to reach this place in dreams sometimes.

The god of Death, Mort ( haaaaaa), wants to take over and over throw the current god king. There are swords that the god king has given out to the realm, and tehy all need to be united every 1000 years or the other gods can challenge his throne.

Main characters need to find the swords in order to make sure the god of Death doesn’t win a civil war of the gods and take over and ruin the world.

Audience:

* people who like YA

* people who like coming of age stories

* people who like heavy religion and interactive gods

* people who like high stakes fantasy where the world in is danger

* people who like destiny/chosen one stories

Advertisements
Categories: General

Another 5 star review for The New World.

‘The New World’ is the concluding part of Harrison Davies’ thrilling ‘Aduramis Chronicles’ trilogy, and a superb finale it is.

This is a beast of a novel — at nearly 850 pages it’s perhaps the biggest single novel I’ve ever read and I’m admittedly a slow reader. Yet I loved immersing myself in the vivid fantasy world Davies has meticulously crafted. I read the first of these books around 2012 so it felt like I’d known these characters for quite some time. That the end was looming was a bittersweet feeling — which is exactly how a great book makes you feel.

Davies is a talented writer and superb at crafting extremely vivid descriptions of the settings and characters. This helped make it feel like a living, breathing world. I enjoyed the character interplay and the changing dynamics of their relationships. Draken in particular has always been an interesting character, at times loathsome, but here evidently on a path of redemption in an expertly handled character arc.

To me, the second half of the book was the strongest as it builds to what you know will be a heart-stoppingly epic climax — and, with some neat twists and a satisfying and emotional conclusion, it certainly doesn’t disappoint. Be warned though, in true Game of Thrones fashion, NO ONE is safe, and there will be tears before you reach the end. This is one of my favourite fantasy trilogies of all time and I would love to one day see this on the big screen where I think it would look stunning.

Available via Amazon.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/aw/d/1544610351/

https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/1544610351/

Rory Mackay

http://www.unbrokenself.com

Categories: General

DESTINY OF THE WULF: Chapter Ten.

February 4, 2018 Leave a comment

THE WAYWARD MATRON

Dareth Jericho was having a miserable time. His wife had been murdered by one of his guards, who had then been brutally dispatched in return, in an act of anger from his chief captor.

He had just learnt, after many years, that his former friend Lordich Secracar was alive and well.

Jericho had thought he had been executed. But not so. Lordich had conspired with Death himself to rid the world of the Brotherhood of the Wulf, and enforce his rule as leader of the Brotherhood of the Dragon.

His head swam as he sat cold and lonely in a damp, dark cell in an underground prison on a mysterious island.

To compound his loss, his newfound friend Silentus had been taken away and executed moments before. Dareth felt regret as the axe struck home, and his eyes closed in silent prayer and contemplation, even before the reverberation of steel on wood died away.

‘Forgive me, my friend,’ he said with a heavy heart.

In those few silent moments, he vowed to visit the dead man’s wife and pay his respects to her.

Lordich, true to his word, had permitted Jericho free rein over the small island, though accompanied at all times by two guards whom he very quickly named Stumpy and Beanpole.

Stumpy was thick as a tree trunk around the neck, with arms that could crush a man’s skull, of that Jericho had no doubt. Beanpole on the other hand was at least seven feet tall, with eyes that were large and protruding. The oddity about the pair was that Stumpy had a high-pitched voice, thin and reedy, and Beanpole had a deep resonant voice that grabbed and held the attention of all who heard it. Not that either said too much. Jericho had barely heard a word spoken by the unlikely duo in the past two days of his captivity. He sensed that they did not like each other much, and that he could use to his advantage.

If he were successful, he would be able to play one off the other and use this distraction to escape. He just needed a scenario and the opportunity.

So small was the island that he had explored most of it, bar the off-limits sections, but saw no visible means of escape. He had already been told it was futile to try to use magic to leave the island, and even the inhabitants used non-magical means to depart, which seemed to affirm the point.

Today, when they came for him, he had decided he would like to visit the top of the black tower and peer over the ramparts. Any hope he had of spotting Rosthagaar he knew would be fruitless; they had travelled too far in the clutch of a dragon for that. His intention was to get a better grasp of the lay of the land, and perhaps spot something he had missed, an escape route, or a place to hide while he devised a plan.

His heart was heavy, yet his spirit for escape was high, and this spurred him on. His thoughts, though, were interrupted by the sound of his jailers’ return; the distinctive shuffle of Stumpy and the jangle of keys that Beanpole incessantly twirled on a ring gave their presence away.

Cell door keys jangled in the lock, and with a click it unlocked. The door opened and Stumpy stood there with arms crossed, expectant.

Jericho stretched audibly, and then led the way out of the cell.

Stumpy and Beanpole looked at each other dumbfounded, and jogged after him.

‘Hold it! We lead the way,’ Beanpole grunted.

‘Fine, then lead me to the top of the black tower.’

‘Are you going to jump off?’ Stumpy laughed.

‘If only to stop having to look at your ugly face.’

Stumpy went to thump Jericho, but was restrained by Beanpole. He looked affronted at Beanpole’s actions, yet acquiesced.

Jericho chuckled quietly to himself, and set off with the duo. The protection of Lordich meant they could not harm him for fear of reprisals.

They passed through the cave-like dungeon quickly, and arrived at the black tower stairwell within minutes. Beanpole looked green at the thought of hundreds of steps to the summit, whereas Stumpy looked quite enthusiastic at the thought.

‘After me,’ said Stumpy, and with a spring in his gait he practically raced up the steps, followed by Jericho, and then slowly by Beanpole, whom, Jericho noted, was remarkably unfit.

Jericho thanked his stars that he was active. Despite his age, he could often still outpace new recruits to his ranks. With a slightly improved mood, he paced himself as the stone mountain ahead of him brought strain to his calf muscles.

Several minutes later Stumpy stood and stretched at the summit with a gaping smile, and down below the upper hatch Jericho could hear the echoed puffs and pants of Beanpole far behind.

‘Enjoyed that, did you?’ Jericho asked.

‘That was nothing; I do that every morning before breakfast,’ Stumpy boasted.

Jericho just nodded and looked around him. Nothing had changed since the last time he was here a few days ago, when he was dropped from a height by a dragon to land heavily on the hard stone floor of the tower. A crenellated wall ran the circumference of the tower, with slits for defence chiselled into the black stone. Jericho wondered why, since no ladder dared reach this height.

He walked over to the low barrier and grasped the coldness of the stone, and took in a deep breath of cold air that made him shiver slightly.

Below, the small island sat lost in a glittering ocean. From this height the layout of the land offered no clue as to an escape route, and as he suspected, Rosthagaar was nowhere to be seen, although whether he was looking in the right direction was anybody’s guess.

The distant horizon was hazy and marred only by a small black dot that seemed to run almost level with the tower, and appeared to be getting closer. This caught Jericho’s interest to the point that he ignored Beanpole’s gasps for breath behind him. What was the thing that headed his way? It could be a dragon, he thought, or was it a rescue? Then he dismissed the idea. Rescue was not an option; no one knew of his whereabouts.

‘Oh, I think I’m going to die,’ Beanpole wailed.

‘Quit your complaining,’ Stumpy squealed. ‘If the master saw you like this, he would kill you as soon as look at you.’

‘Better that than this damned pain in my legs.’

Jericho shook his head and returned to looking out to sea.

The shape had definitely grown larger, and it took on an oddly angular form. For a moment it reflected the sun, and there was a familiarity to it that he just could not put his finger on. What was it about this thing headed towards them that set his heart thumping?

His question was immediately answered; a second shape rounded the first and this was unmistakably an airship. An envelope of air held the wooden frame aloft with thickly wound ropes now visible in profile. As the ship pulled alongside its companion, new features presented themselves.

Black sails extended from the sides of the vessel. The main cabin was made from riveted iron sections and rusted in a semi-circular frame. The large glass fronted structure housed a wheelhouse, and smaller convex circles of glass ran down each side of the cabin of the pirate sky ship.

As the ship turned slightly to dock with its companion, the familiar skull-and-crossbones contrasted against the black of its envelope, and several cannon heads peeked out from holes cut in the side of the body of the ship, all serving to confirm his suspicions. Now he knew he had a chance to escape, not because the pirates themselves would aid his rescue, but that which floated alongside the pirate ship was his means of escape. He dared to allow himself, for the briefest of moments, a feeling of hope at the chance of freedom.

The long-lost portion of the golden temple formerly housing the temple’s infirmary now hovered near the tower. He recalled the day this particular section of temple had detached itself explosively from the main temple and floated away. There was considerable destruction, but thankfully no one was hurt.

Matron Truelove, herself unharmed, had called down from the quickly disappearing structure, and told anyone who would listen that she was sorry for the trouble, and added that she might be back one day. Jericho remembered distinctly Truelove’s face was a very bright red indeed.

With salvation in sight, Jericho did not delay. He stepped across the tower walkway to Stumpy who was knelt across Beanpole, and wafted air at his face.

‘I don’t know why you help him; he’s the one that said you couldn’t do a circuit of the tower stairwell within three minutes.’ Jericho smiled.

‘Oh yeah, you did, did you?’ Stumpy thumped Beanpole in the gut and then stood up. ‘Well, as it happens, I can do it in two minutes.’ And without further word, he ducked down the tower hatch and disappeared, eager to prove himself.

‘I never said that,’ said Beanpole angrily, and rubbed his bruised stomach.

‘Yes, I know, I just needed a way to separate you both.’ Jericho dived on top of Beanpole and pinned him to the stonework and then placed two very large hands around the shocked man’s neck.

Beanpole’s eyes grew wide; he knew what Jericho had planned for him. His attacker wanted to strangle him and he thrashed like a wild animal in the throes of a violent death.

Jericho withstood many blows and attempts to gouge his eyes, yet it did not take long to subdue Beanpole, and the man eventually succumbed to a lack of oxygen.

Jericho removed himself from the limp body, his deed done. Out of respect, he closed the dead man’s bloodshot eyes, and then reached into the victim’s clothes and sought out his wand.

Although he did not need it to perform magic, it would serve a purpose. With a swift flick of the wrist, Jericho aimed the wand at the wooden cover. It slammed shut and the bolt slid closed. He next heaved Beanpole’s body over the trapdoor in the hope that the extra weight would slow down any pursuit.

Without missing a beat, he raced to the rampart and checked the progress of the pirate airship. The vessel, to his relief, was barely a few hundred yards away, yet he still needed a way to attract their attention.

He slapped the wand in his palm absently, and then a thought formed; he raised the wand aloft and used a spell to elongate it into a long shaft, and from this sprouted a white pennant with the emblem of the Wulf emblazoned across it in gold and red. Jericho raised the new standard and waved it like a man possessed.

He hoped the good relationship the pirates held with Matron Truelove would ensure they would come to investigate, provided they spotted his flag and associated its device with the Matron.

Jericho willed the pirates to action, and as they drew close, he spied the captain with an eyeglass directed at him. The captain then gestured to his men, and slowly the ship began to move closer to the tower, painfully sedately from Jericho’s perspective.

A warning bell sounded faintly in the distance. His captors had realised he was missing, or they had spotted the ship, or both. Now he understood the slits cut into the tower ramparts. Sky pirates could reach this high, and the tower needed a defence against marauders.

Behind him, the wooden hatch resonated with a crash as if something heavy had smashed against it, most likely Stumpy he imagined.

He was desperate now. He knew the hatch would give eventually, and he did not want to be around when that happened.

The ship was a few yards away when a deckhand threw a thick rope to Jericho. He grabbed for it, and quickly tied it around his waist. He had to be swift as the craft was already moving rapidly by. He climbed on to the rampart and prepared to jump. He prayed they had lashed the other end of the rope securely.

Without warning, the rampart disintegrated around him in a loud bang and a cloud of dust. He fell and spun fast, and above him two heads appeared over the remains of the parapet and aimed wands at him. He flinched, but no spell struck him. Instead, a loud crack shocked his ears further, and then debris rained around him. The pirates had fired upon the newcomers with their cannon.

Jericho jerked to a rib-cracking stop as the rope suspended his fall. He swung in the breeze from a head wind and looked up. He cursed his luck; it was a long climb to the ship. Behind him, the tower had become smaller as they gained distance from it.

He felt a jerk, and realised unseen hands had begun to pull him upwards. It was a few minutes before he was roughly seized and hoisted aboard the pirate ship, to land unceremoniously at the feet of a dozen men, half of whom appeared barefooted.

He raised his head and was greeted by a rabble of mean-featured crew. Their clothes were tattered, yet colourful, and their teeth were held in vicious snarls, and just as colourful.

A hairy hand reached out to him and offered assistance. He took it not too keenly, unaware of the fate these men had in store for him. He was pulled to his feet roughly, and deposited among the throng of men. To his left, a long-bearded fellow thrust his way through the crowd. He wore a black hat that distinguished him from the other crew and his beard was finely braided with red silk. His teeth bore a charcoal-black colouring, and Jericho knew instantly that this man wore false teeth made from ebony wood. He was most impressed with his black leather knee-length boots that were polished to a high gloss. Obviously the cabin boy had pride in his work, or was whipped until he buffed the boots to the owner’s demands.

‘Captain Maurice Blackthorn, your servant.’ The bearded man bowed awkwardly, unaccustomed to the action, and received a snort of laughter from a handful of his men. His head whipped round and he stared at them with fiery eyes. ‘You dare laugh at your captain? This man is acquainted with Matron Truelove, and deserves our respect. The next of you to laugh will be thrown overboard.’

A chap to Jericho’s left gulped loudly and others looked down, unable to meet the captain’s eye.

Jericho noted how well spoken he was for a pirate and suspected Blackthorn was not always of this breed.

He stepped forward and offered a bow in return. ‘Dareth Jericho, Order of the Wulf.’ He extended an arm to the captain in friendship, and hoped it would be reciprocated. He had deliberately omitted his military title, as he and the various pirate factions had come to blows many a time. He hoped that they would assume he was a priest from the temple. He wore only a soiled cloak, his armour was still in the mountain pass at Sanctuary, and he silently prayed that his disguise held up to scrutiny.

Blackthorn took his hand and shook it heartily. ‘The matron will be pleased to see you.’

‘I also long to see her,’ Jericho smiled.

A sweaty, pot-bellied deckhand stepped between them, ears chock-full of gold earrings. ‘Captain, there is a dragon coming.’ He pointed aft with a hand laden with bejewelled rings.

Heads swung left and right. A mighty roar rang out that sent a shiver of fear through the crew. Panic set in, and crewmen ran here and there and gave quick glances over the bulwarks, on the lookout for the enemy. Each man hastened to fetch a weapon.

‘Helmsman, take her up as far as you dare. Man the cannons and protect the envelope at all costs. This is one captain who will not go down without a fight,’ Blackthorn yelled. ‘You there, move lively and fetch me that infernal peashooter.’

‘Peashooter?’ Jericho asked.

‘Yes, a newfangled machine from the New World; it sends a hot lead ball at a man faster than he can blink. It pierces the skin and he dies. Not as fun as a cutlass, and I’m not sure how effective it is on a dragon, but we shall test it out.’ Blackthorn chuckled.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ Jericho called above the din of men as they prepared to repel the threat.

The captain appeared momentarily stunned. He had considered this his fight, and had not expected a priest to take an active part.

‘Certainly, how fair are you with a cannon?’ Blackthorn asked.

‘I don’t know cannons but I’m good with magic.’

‘Each to their own, I suppose. I guess if you can distract the beast with your magic, we might have a chance to at least slow it down enough for us to get higher and out of his reach. Head aft and use what you can against the creature.’

Jericho nodded, headed to the rear of the ship and skirted the wheelhouse on the port side. Promptly at the order of the captain, the ship began to incline sharply and headed into the clouds, a defensive measure designed to elude an enemy. It stalled Jericho’s progress, and he was left clinging to a bulwark for grim death.

The ship suddenly lurched with a noise like thunder, and sent Jericho flying into the iron wall of the cabin. The dragon had attacked, its huge frame colliding with the side of the ship.

Jericho reached across and took a firm hold of the wooden bulwark to cast a glance over the side.

Sure enough, an enormous black beast prepared another attack run.

On its back, a hooded figure piloted from a sleek leather saddle just behind its wings. He held a rein in his hand threaded around two giant rings cast through the dragon’s nose. A deafening roar erupted from the beast and rumbled through its great chest. Jericho peered at a curious glow that emanated from the sides of an iron chest plate; it had a red hue to it, yet there was no visible reason why the light should be there. Jericho, however, knew the secret. Behind the chest plate, the dragon’s heart lay unprotected, behind a thinly armoured layer of skin.

It was nearly impossible to hit a dragon that was in control of its own mind in this spot with any measure of success. Many who had tried had either missed, or hit, but not downed the dragon, and were then consumed by its fiery breath.

A bucket of thick white liquid crashed down around him from above, and ran in slow rivulets down the deck. He looked up and he saw a pale-faced boy who gripped tightly to thick ropes that surrounded the bladder like envelope. In his left hand he held a wooden bristle brush that dripped with the same thick paste.

Jericho understood; the boy was there to seal any holes in the envelope with thin layers of leather patches that were strung around his neck. He had become unsettled when the dragon began its attack, and his paste bucket had slipped from his grasp.

Just how vulnerable were they right now, many hundreds of feet in the air? They climbed all the time, with nothing but a bag of air to hold them there. Jericho forced the thought from his mind, and instead turned to find the captain.

Finally he spotted him, aiming his peashooter at the beast off the port side. Jericho precariously slipped and slid down the deck towards the captain. The end of a black spiked tail the size of an elephant’s trunk swung past him and collided with a deckhand with a sickening thud. The unlucky soul was sent flying through the air and over the side of the ship with a terrified scream.

‘Captain?’ Jericho yelled. ‘Blackthorn?’

The skipper turned to the sound. ‘What is it?’ he yelled.

‘Aim for the dragon’s chest plate, sever it with your cannon, and we will have a chance to defeat this foe,’ Jericho hollered. The noise of the dragon and the rush of wind deafened him. ‘Behind is the dragon’s heart, we can defeat this abomination if we can get a clear shot at it.’

‘I might just have the thing.’ Blackthorn smiled. He raced off to the stern of the ship and skidded from handhold to handhold just as Jericho had.

A minute later he returned carrying a long bundle of sackcloth, and after he had struggled back up the incline, he dropped the package with a clang and finished with a few deep breaths.

He dropped to one knee and quickly undid thin strips of leather that bound the material, and extracted a six-foot-long harpoon. He looked at Jericho with a broad smile on his face.

‘For catching big fish,’ he said. ‘And they don’t come much bigger than that.’ Blackthorn pointed at the incoming creature, and then offered the harpoon to Jericho.

Jericho took the weapon and tested its weight. It was so light it felt like a ceremonial spear from the temple, yet he knew if it hit home, this would do the trick and kill with no trouble.

‘One shot, make it count.’ The captain clapped Jericho on the back, and jumped down a dark hatch cut into the middle of the deck.

Barely a minute later, several thunderous shudders rocked the ship, and to his horror he saw that the ship spat flames and smoke. He watched as the dragon swerved and dodged incoming cannonballs with ease. It was the rider, in control of the dragon, who needed to be relieved of his saddle permanently for the plan to work.

He summoned all his mental strength and soaked up the energies from the earth and sea below, and the air around him. He visualised in his mind the rider’s saddle, and as he focused on the task, his hands began to glow blue. He concentrated on the buckles, and visualised how they were fastened, and imagined he was undoing them. Several attempts and one sweaty brow later, he had, by sheer determination, unfastened one of the buckles that held the saddle to the dragon. This was enough to unseat the rider, who fell from his ride. He did not fall far, as the reins he held arrested his drop.

The rider was shaken by the fall, but soon recovered, and attempted to remount his charge. Jericho aimed a knockout spell at the rider and missed, so uncontrolled were the ship’s movements. He grabbed hold of a rope to steady himself, and took aim again with an extended arm. His whole being focused on the rider, now almost back in his saddle. He drew the necessary elemental forces from around him, and seconds later the rider was no longer a threat; he fell to the sea far below, a silent scream of shock on his face.

Without warning a pair of hands grabbed him from behind and threw him to the deck; he looked up and saw a toothy grin. ‘Be more careful, son,’ said an aged pirate, who then stomped off with a wooden leg visible below his knee.

The elderly pirate had saved Jericho from impalement by a spike from the dragon’s tail as it swished across the deck. He had been so deep in concentration, he had neglected to keep focus on the enemy’s whereabouts. But wait, this was a new dragon and a new rider.

‘Damn, just what we need,’ he cursed.

‘You can say that again,’ said Blackthorn, and offered him assistance up from the deck.

‘Have we managed to get the chest plate off yet?’ Jericho asked.

‘No, but my lads tell me we are mere minutes away from a direct hit. These things are devilishly tricky to hit. But I have some of the best marksmen at my disposal.’

‘Captain? The dragon is leaving,’ a voice yelled from a crow’s nest strapped to the side of the envelope.

Blackthorn and Jericho looked to where the crewman had pointed, and sure enough the riderless dragon had quickly disappeared into the distance, and appeared to head north.

‘Well, I’ll be. Why would it be doing that, do you think?’ Blackthorn pondered.

Amongst the thunderous discharges of the multiple cannons aboard ship, Jericho had an idea.

‘Free will. The beast regained its free will when its rider fell. The spell that bonded the pair has been broken.’ Jericho remembered the last conversation he had had with his cellmate, Silentus Madook.

‘What’s that now?’ Blackthorn asked.

‘A wizard of sufficient skill can take away the beast’s mind and control its actions. When the rider fell, the creature was able to control its own mind once more. I guess it’s going home.’

‘To the tower?’

‘I highly doubt it. Would you willingly return to captivity? I mean, they aren’t homing pigeons, after all. There were rumours of a dragon stronghold in the far north, though that was before we thought they were extinct.’

‘So I guess all we have to do is take down the rider to rid ourselves of these beasts.’ Blackthorn turned to a short, thin man near him. ‘Tell the cannon teams to aim for the rider.’

‘Aye captain.’ The wiry man saluted, and ran off at full speed.

‘I guess you won’t need that harpoon after all.’ Blackthorn raised a brow, and reached for the weapon.

The captain jerked, his head snapped back, and a look of puzzlement spread across his face. He looked down at his chest in a drunken fashion, and his eyes widened in shock. A three-foot black spike from the tail of the dragon exited his chest, glistening red with his blood. Before Jericho had chance to react, the dragon’s tail whipped the captain into the air and out of sight. Jericho was horrified at the violence of the captain’s death. He had seen death on a grand scale, but never one that involved a dragon, and it was a terrifying sight.

Panic ensued. The death of the captain shocked the crew into inaction, and now the dragon was free to pick them off one by one. Without a captain to guide the men, all was lost, and Jericho knew they would never listen to him. He was an outsider, and from their perspective he had brought bad fortune upon their heads. As superstitious as they were, it was a wonder they had not thrown him overboard already.

To his alarm, the dragon headed back, and fast. He began to run. He needed to get undercover, and quickly. He made for the main cabin, and hoped for a plan to escape this.

The dragon swooped overhead; Jericho dived, and slid into the side of the iron framework. He stood and rubbed his shoulder, now sore from the impact, and made his way to a set of wooden steps that led up to the wheelhouse. He took them two at a time and reached the main cabin door quickly. He burst inside to find the deck deserted, each member of the crew preferring to save his own soul, however he might. Yet how did one save oneself thousands of feet in the air? He looked around and spotted a wooden lever on the rear wall. Its handle was painted red and looked important. He stepped up to it, and noticed a small sign pasted above it. He wiped away a layer of dust and read: ‘In case of emergency, pull!’ He shrugged and pulled the lever.

For a moment not a lot happened. Then somewhere deep below, a rumble, followed by mechanical sounds, began to rattle the ship. He ran outside and looked over the edge of a wooden rail. Something peculiar had emerged from the sides of the ship, and he needed a better viewpoint. He looked about him and spotted a ladder set into the metal framework that followed the curved roof of the wheelhouse. He hopped onto the first of the rungs and climbed quickly.

Seconds later, he was balanced awkwardly on the roof of the cabin, and swayed with the ship. He stepped carefully to the edge of the wheelhouse and peered over. He saw that several small boats hung loosely at the starboard side of the ship, suspended by thick ropes from cast-iron hangers.

Several of the pirate crew jumped into the first of the newly acquired appendages and cast off.

The moment the boat left the ship, it dropped like a stone, and a leather patchwork envelope began to unfurl from a central pipe set into the mid section. The envelope filled with hot air from a quick-lighting furnace, and the boat slowed. The pirates were now in charge of individual smaller versions of the mother ship.

Jericho turned quickly; this was his means of escape. He headed back to the ladder and had nearly reached it when, out of the corner of his eye, a huge black shape loomed. His head whipped around, and he instinctively dove for cover. The immense black dragon, arms outstretched, made a grab for him, but missed and collided with the side of the envelope. The envelope immediately began to collapse in on itself to trap the dragon. Claws, legs and tail became entangled in the thick ropes that surrounded the air sac, with no chance of escape. The dragon began to scream, a horrific sound that threatened to burst his eardrums.

Jericho wasted no time and jumped from the roof of the cabin to the deck below, only to twist his ankle in the process. With a yelp he hobbled to the bulwark at the starboard side of the ship, to find that the escape boats had gone, and none remained.

He gripped his hair and joined the dragon, as it attempted to free itself, in a scream of frustration. He looked up into the sun-filled sky, with Er’ath’s sister planets faintly outlined.

‘Mighty Rindor, if I ever served you well, please find me a way out of this,’ he pleaded to his god.

‘Dareth Jericho, as I live and breathe,’ said a soft female voice behind him.

Jericho dropped his hands and turned to face the voice. A smile erupted across his face, for there before him stood his sister, Matron Eliana Truelove, and she smiled broadly. She wore a white bonnet and pinafore, tied around the waist, and under this she wore a blue tunic. They rushed into each other’s arms and hugged.

‘My god, Eliana, you’ve put on some weight,’ Jericho winked.

‘You need talk; you’re looking a bit grey around the gills, there, cheeky boy.’

‘It is so good to see you after all these years,’ he said, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

‘Brother, as lovely as this is, I think you have failed to notice that this ship is sinking fast.’ She swung an arm in a wide arc to indicate the threat.

‘Of course I noticed. The sudden drop kind of gave the game away. Wait! How did you get on board?’

‘I ported here, of course,’ Truelove replied.

Jericho laughed. ‘Indeed, how stupid of me? I couldn’t port from the island, but we are far from it now.’

‘Take my hand, brother.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To the infirmary, of course. Do you think I stopped by from the third cloud on the left?’

Jericho rolled his eyes; he had truly missed his sister, even though she still ribbed him as she had done when they were children. He quickly took off his boots and held on to them tightly.

Without further delay, he and his sister vanished with a crack. The dragon, in one last-ditch attempt to escape, let loose a fiery blaze from its nostrils. The inferno caught a hold of the envelope at lightning speed and the pirate airship with its new captive fell to its doom, engulfed in a huge ball of flames.

Truelove and Jericho landed softly inside the section of the golden temple that was her infirmary. While she donned her footwear, he looked around at the familiar surroundings and noticed that not much had changed, besides the patients. Several casualties appeared to be asleep and were in various states of healing at the hands of his sister.

The infirmary contained twenty beds in total, and had offered a place of medical care to the guard of the temple, before the incident with an incorrectly mixed growth tonic. He remembered that when the room had left the temple unexpectedly, two walls were missing, and it seemed Eliana had rebuilt the missing walls and roof section above the dormitory. At the opposite end of the room were Eliana’s comfortable living quarters, and a small surgery.

‘Come, this way, you look like you could do with a good square meal,’ said Eliana, and tugged at his arm.

He hobbled after her down the natural corridor between the beds, and took the odd glance left and right. Two of the beds, he noted, had curtains drawn, and either the occupants wanted privacy, or their injuries were exceedingly gruesome.

‘I hadn’t given it too much thought, but now you mention it, I am rather hungry,’ he replied, and his stomach rumbled in agreement.

‘It is fortunate then that I have a full pot of broth bubbling away nicely in my quarters.’

‘To be truthful, I haven’t had much of an appetite since they murdered Eraywen,’ he said, and looked suddenly pale.

Eliana stopped short. ‘Oh, Dareth, I had no idea, I am sorry. What happened?’ A hand reached across her mouth, her eyes wide in shock, and tears welled.

‘Those people back there in the tower, they were dark wizards. They used Eraywen to lure me to their lair, in an effort to have me spy for them.’ Jericho paused to allow himself to be led into Eliana’s office, and she guided him to a comfy leather chair opposite a toasty fire. There he sat and stared into the flames for a few minutes, and mourned his loss. Eliana did not prompt him, but waited patiently for him to continue.

‘We had escaped, Eraywen and I, along with a slave called Silentus, a good man. Only we were caught, and they killed her. Cold-bloodedly killed her, snuffed out her life like a candle.’ Jericho’s face contorted with pain and rage, and he struck the arm of his chair with his fist. ‘That is when I was taken to their master, Lordich Secracar.’

Eliana took a sharp breath at the name. ‘But surely you are mistaken. The man is dead.’

‘I wish I were mistaken, sister. No, he is very much alive thanks to a little deal he did with Death. Tell me though, how is it you were passing the black tower?’

‘I was blown off course by an unusually high wind that caught my sail. I had to winch it in for fear it would rip from the mast.’

‘You have a mast?’

‘Oh yes. That, and much more.’

‘Tell me, how do the pirates find you up here? All alone, I might add,’ Jericho questioned curiously, eager to change the subject.

‘That, dear brother, is a closely guarded secret, and one I will not divulge. These pirates are seriously misunderstood.’

‘Misunderstood? They are liable to cut your throat as look at you. Why do you help these men?’

‘I promised the gods and made a vow to help all those in need of medical care, regardless of creed, colour, religion or background. I have made this my life’s work.’

‘You don’t miss the Brotherhood, your home, me?’ Jericho asked, in the hope he would trigger in his sister a desire to return home.

‘Oh, terribly, but my help is needed here. You have many fine healers at the temple. The pirates, however, have none, well, none that wouldn’t think twice about amputating a damaged limb of a shipmate, when a simple healing potion would have cured the man. These people need expert care, and I’m the one to provide it.’

‘That you are, sister, that you are.’ Jericho nodded, barely able to control the disappointment in his voice. ‘Since I cannot persuade you to give up this endeavour of yours, it is imperative we make all haste to the temple. The Archmage needs to hear what I have to say.’

‘Very well, I shall make preparations and then I shall return to my work. You, in the meantime, please eat something.’ Truelove handed him a bowl of broth that swirled with steam.

He took it and looked at it, no longer hungry. Now that he had time to think, he was clouded by grief; his wife’s death was akin to a knife through the heart.

Eliana Truelove left him sat in his chair to stare at his bowl. She furrowed her brow in concern for him, and a tear ran down her cheek that she wiped away with her sleeve. She had fond memories of Eraywen. Even as a child they had played together, and now to lose her so young wrenched her heart.

She left Jericho where he sat, raced to the farthest corner of the dormitory, and pushed aside a secret door set within a dusty old bookcase. It swung aside to reveal a dark and narrow staircase that led upwards. She slipped inside, and wound her way to the top as quickly as she dared. At the top, she opened a small wooden door. Sunlight made her squint, and she was forced to shield her eyes from the glare.

She entered a brightly lit room. The space itself was aft of the infirmary and was minus a rear wall. Only a thick rope cordoned off the drop.

The paintwork had lost much of its finesse, the weather had not agreed with it. Any furniture had long been removed and replaced with an oddly shaped contraption in the centre of the room that included a large ship’s compass sitting in a wooden frame, and a tiller that hung from the edge of the room.

Eliana glanced at a map of the known continents of Er’ath that had been pinned to the wall opposite her. From this crude document, and a check of the sun, she determined the necessary course. Once done, she manoeuvred the wooden tiller to make the desired course correction. All the while she kept half an eye on the compass for accuracy. Satisfied, she lashed the control to its current heading and grasped a second handle that protruded from a wooden wheel. She turned this with vigour, and listened to the sounds of the mast rising from its horizontal position to vertical. She felt the building heave as the wind caught the sail and altered their course. Completed, she locked the handle in place, and then wiped her sweaty brow as she retreated from the room.

She entered her study a few minutes later to find Jericho asleep in his chair, and his food untouched. She quietly retrieved a woollen blanket, carefully draped it across her brother, and then joined him in the chair opposite. She would let him sleep, that was the best medicine.

Sceptic Film Premiere.

February 3, 2018 Leave a comment

Off to a red carpet, black tie, film premiere.

Categories: General

DESTINY OF THE WULF: Chapter Nine.

January 28, 2018 Leave a comment

ENLIGHTENMENT

Curator Menin sat heavily in a comfortable leather armchair and gave a deep sigh. Her recently rebuilt office was shiny and new, however, she looked grave. Coinin had explained to her in graphic detail the events that surrounded Death, and his plans.

‘This is very serious. I must speak with the Archmage immediately,’ Curator Menin decided, and then almost as an afterthought, ‘you must come too.’

‘Where are we going?’ Coinin asked.

Menin appeared hesitant to tell him, but he could see that almost immediately her mind was made up.

‘Once a year the Archmage must venture forth on a great pilgrimage. There he must seek council with the gods and pray for wisdom and guidance for thirty days,’ Menin replied.

‘Where is this place?’

‘That I cannot tell you; it is a secret passed down from Archmage to Archmage.’

‘You are not an Archmage,’ Coinin accused.

‘Indeed. It is true I am not sworn into office yet, but the intent is there.’ Menin winked. ‘Come now, hold my hand.’

‘Why do I need to go?’ Coinin asked wearily. He was tired of being pushed from pillar to post.

‘I know that the Archmage will wish to speak with you, and more so considering the importance of your message,’ Menin replied.

Coinin held Menin’s hand lightly and observed a sound that hung in the air and resembled a hum, quiet at first, but then gradually grew louder. A bright white light appeared ahead of him, and formed a ball of intense brilliance. A rush of air and the room appeared to fold in on itself to form a tunnel of swirling luminescence. Together, Menin and Coinin were sucked into the vortex headfirst. Coinin felt dizzy as he whirled around the tunnel of light, his body contorted and elongated to impossible proportions. The sensation did not last long, however, before Menin and he landed on soft grass with a bump.

It took a moment for his senses to attune to the new surroundings. He retched and evacuated his stomach contents, to a chuckle from Menin. She clapped him on the back whilst he bent double, his hands on his knees.

‘That always happens the first time. You will get used to it.’

Coinin looked at her like she was crazy, but then something new overwhelmed him. He realised now how quiet it was, tranquil he thought. He felt an inner peace wash over him like a tide and all his worries and cares seemed to fade to nothingness. A sweet smell of honey seemed to permeate the air, and in the distance, songbirds uttered a multitude of morning calls.

He had not noticed until now that a figure a few feet away, clad in brilliant white, sat cross-legged and watched the morning sun rise.

Menin and he had appeared on top of a cliff that overlooked a glassy sea. The sun in the west cast long shadows wherever it met an obstacle.

Coinin was surprised to see that the figure in white had an odd addition to his shadow, what appeared to be a set of majestic open wings. Yet, when he looked at the physical presence, no such appendage existed.

Coinin sensed this man was special, a spiritual being of significant importance.

The Archmage turned and faced Coinin with his head cocked. He wore a hood that cast a dark shadow and hid his face from view.

‘Please join me,’ said Archmage Orodor softly with a pat of the lush green grass at his side.

Curator Menin beat Coinin to it, and made herself comfortable beside Orodor. She turned and nodded at Coinin, and then indicated he should do as asked.

He sat next to Orodor, who turned to face him and dropped his hood. There sat not an old man but a boy of roughly twelve. The beard had gone, as had the wrinkled prune of a face. Instead, the prepubescent boy stared back at him.

The boy mage swept long blonde hair out of his eyes with a smooth young hand, and smiled at Coinin with pearly white teeth.

‘Archmage Orodor?’ Coinin asked, and looked from Menin to the boy, confused.

‘You look somewhat perplexed; here moments ago I was an old man at the end of my life, now I am what you see before you,’ Orodor chuckled.

‘I admit I’m surprised, and I confess, puzzled.’

‘If you were not, I would warrant that you were as wise as the gods themselves,’ Orodor said. ‘I have reached the end of my physical life–’

‘You are dead?’ Coinin interrupted, and received a stern look from Menin.

‘Death has such a finality to it. I prefer to think of my passing as a new adventure, as if one were stepping through an unfamiliar door. This is my reward for service, to spend eternity gazing upon the beautiful vista before you, never wanting or needing for anything as long as I choose to. Should I wish it, I would be welcome to reside with the gods. However, I thought I would give it at least a couple of millennia before deciding my next journey. My role now is to watch over the peoples on the troublesome rock called Er’ath. I am to act as go-between for the gods and the new Archmage, Menin.’ Orodor turned and smiled warmly at her.

Menin had a tear in her eye, and it was obvious she had no idea Orodor had passed to his new existence so suddenly and without the usual preparations. ‘Brother Orodor, you will be missed so. It will be difficult to tell the others.’

‘Let my passing not hurt so, sister, you will see me regularly on your visits. I have now replaced Archmage Turlock in this role. She has taken leave to reside with the gods. This has been the way for millennia,’ Orodor continued, grasping Menin’s arm fondly, ‘and no doubt will remain so for millennia to come.’

‘It is hard to say goodbye.’ Menin sniffed.

‘Do not fret; I am in a better place.’ Orodor smiled.

‘So there is a better life after death than the one I witnessed with my parents,’ Coinin mused.

‘Not only better, but considerably more rewarding.’

‘Why am I here, Archmage?’

Orodor pondered his response a moment. ‘I must enlighten you of a task set before you.’

‘Listen, I don’t want any more tasks, I just want to go home.’

‘As did I when I received the Office of Archmage, but the gods were kind and showed me the path my life would take in a vision. In fact it led right up to this point.’

‘You knew when you would be talking to me, now, on this hill?’ Coinin asked disbelievingly.

‘I didn’t know the day or the hour, but I sensed it was drawing closer. That kind of happens when you get to my age. I have to say, you do bear a remarkable resemblance to the boy in my vision.’

‘This task? Is it destiny again?’

‘Ah yes, the greatest of all annoyances. The eternal battle between choice and what is foretold. It is not my favourite of subjects. I hear you too despise it?’

‘It’s all I’ve heard since meeting up with you people, and yes, it is quite annoying,’ said Coinin, perhaps a little too snappily.

‘Honest to the core, I like this boy. That is why I am not going to talk to you about your destiny, but that of Er’ath. You see, the world does revolve, day to night, and the sun rises and sets without fail, but who controls these things? Not the races of this land, but the gods. Hence why you are here. They have seen fit to invite you into their presence so that you may know how you can best serve them.’

‘The gods are here?’ Coinin looked worried.

‘Not quite. I, as their representative, speak for them now.’ Orodor smiled. ‘The wish of the gods is that you take the Office of Curator at the Brotherhood of the Wulf temple, and lead our forces in war against all who try to defile her.’

‘Laliala already asked me to be Curator. I’m not sure about that,’ Coinin confessed.

A look of disappointment passed over Orodor’s eyes, not for Coinin, but for Laliala. ‘You told him?’

‘It was the only way I could shut him up.’

Orodor laughed out loud and stood up, and then began to pace in front of Coinin.

‘What am I going to do with you? The simple truth is, you and your brother are, by my calculations, the last in the line of a once great and noble family. Coupled with that greatness is responsibility. You see, each of the four houses of Rostha, has, or had, a duty to protect Rosthagaar and the lands that surrounded her from all manner of troubles. Unfortunately, High King Hantestum of Rosthagaar has defied the gods and they are understandably angry.’

Orodor went on to recount a tale of the God Rindor who had restored peace to the land thousands of years ago, and the creation of a new rulership, which, alongside the Brotherhood of the Wulf, maintained order and belief in the true gods. That was until fifty years ago. It was then that Jibril Hantestum rose to power, and killed his brother who had the rightful claim to the throne of Rosthagaar. He then cut down the four Kings who held joint rule in each of the lands that surrounded his Kingdom.

Because of this action, Hantestum had unwittingly broken a decree by the gods that each of the four houses should guard one of Rindor’s four sacred swords and present them before him every thousand years.

‘In five years’ time Rindor will descend to reunite the four Swords of Cerathil with the Unity Sword and he will be unable to perform this task. His anger, I fear, will know no bounds,’ Orodor finished.

‘What does that mean?’

‘He may punish those who failed to heed his words. Who is to say?’

‘I don’t mean to interrupt, but Coinin here has some important news, Archmage,’ said Menin.

‘Let’s hear it then.’

Coinin spent the next several minutes describing in detail his meeting with Death and his desire for his name to be placed in the Scroll of Life.

‘I suspected as much,’ Orodor nodded. ‘If he succeeds, then he is one step closer to becoming king of the gods, and I now believe from what you have told me that he is likely responsible for directing Hantestum to seize power, thereby potentially preventing the reuniting of the swords. Alongside this action, he will need his name to be restored to ascend to the heavens to seize control.’

‘That makes the most sense,’ said Coinin.

‘I desire that alongside your duties at the temple, that you focus your efforts on obtaining the Swords of Cerathil,’ said Orodor. ‘But for that to happen, you need to accept the Office of Curator, and more importantly, your destiny.’

Marrok, in Coinin’s absence, had spent time in isolation, unsure of his brother’s next steps. He knew Coinin was with Menin when he had partaken of the festivities in the dining hall, so was not immediately worried that he could not find him.

He mulled over his own future, which he was certain was to ensure Coinin fulfilled his destiny. Desperate for answers, and with Coinin gone, he volunteered to help with the temple cleanup. Secretly though, the overriding reason for offering his services was to get close to a young woman he had set his heart upon. He had first seen her sitting two rows behind in the Great Hall during Menin’s call to arms speech, prior to the battle three weeks ago, and again last night, as she danced with him.

He had greeted the young woman cautiously at first, not keen to rush his approach, quite unlike his usual brash style. He was not inclined to scare the loveliness away before he had had a chance to court her.

He had learnt that her name was Talina, and that she was part elf. Her mother, a human, had won the heart of an influential elf after he had been injured in battle, and she had tended to him, much to the chagrin of his fellow elfs. The family were cast out of Astanoth before her birth, and she grew up close to the borders of her former home, never able to set foot into elfish land while her father lived. Of course as time wore on, and with the death of her father five years ago, the memory of his betrayal had faded.

Talina was finally allowed back home, and this as it happened was not due to her father’s demise; the elfen population had waned due to battles and pestilence that had plagued the land, which devastated the populace.

The elfen leaders felt that they needed to encourage outcasts and half-elfs to make home there and again rebuild the society. It was a blessing and a curse. With so many undesirables present, the city guards often found it difficult to maintain order.

She had often visited Astanoth with the Brotherhood, as an assistant to Master Brostix, a temple envoy, while on his regularly scheduled visits to the lands of Er’ath, often on critical peacekeeping or trade missions.

Marrok had, over the past few hours, listened to her talk, and soaked in every detail of her personage. Her beauty was breathtaking, and her slightly pointed ears aroused him, to the point that every time he looked at her he blushed. Talina paid no heed, nor did she make mention of this. Instead she offered him a winning smile that only served to melt his heart further.

He had not said very much to her at all, just grunted in all the right places, and he had observed that she would often take little glances at him. He was sure on more than one occasion that she too had flushed brightly.

There was one electric moment when both he and Talina had reached for a pail of water at the exact same moment, only for their hands to meet on the rope handle. An instant tingle shot up his spine and for the first time in many years he was genuinely happy in that moment.

‘Talina…’ Marrok faltered. ‘I don’t want to seem presumptuous, but I would very much like it if you would walk with me tonight. I hear there will be a spectacular moon.’

Talina smiled sweetly. ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she said. ‘I would love to.’

Marrok flushed and looked away. Inside he whooped happily.

‘I must admit, I am no further forward in determining how to obtain the Swords of Cerathil,’ Orodor remarked.

‘It’s a pity Trenobin is dead, he owned a Sword of Cerathil, I have seen it,’ Coinin responded sadly. ‘In fact, thinking about it, we will find it on his wall at his home right now.’

‘Of course, I had forgotten, his family was one of the original four chosen by Rindor to rule alongside Rostha. I guess when Hantestum cut them down, the family kept the sword. That is good news indeed.’

‘I will send a troop of men to recover this sword immediately upon my return,’ Menin offered.

‘Yes, yes, please do,’ said Orodor absently. ‘That’s two down, and two to go.’

‘Two?’ Coinin asked.

‘Yes, Trenobin had one. The other is held within a lower chamber of the temple. There is a fifth sword secured in the Tower of Elyia at Castle Rostha. This is Rindor’s Unity sword which is used to unite the four, along with the Rose of Cerathil that Menin now wears around her neck.’

‘How hard can it be to obtain the swords?’ Coinin asked. ‘I take it the swords are regional?’

‘Regional?’ Menin asked.

‘Yes, Trenobin’s belonged to the dwarves, and I guess the temple sword belongs to humankind,’ Coinin replied thoughtfully.

‘Very perceptive, yes indeed, and I think you know which regions that leaves?’ said Orodor solemnly.

‘I would say elven, giant and Madorine. Do you think the swords still exist?’ Coinin asked.

‘The giants were never in possession of a sword and undoubtedly they still exist. Rindor, I am sure, would have had something to say, should his swords have been destroyed,’ Orodor declared. ‘Besides, I do not believe they could be destroyed by mortal hand.’

‘What importance do the swords hold for Rindor?’ Coinin enquired.

‘That is a good question, and one I am unsure if I should answer. The response itself may betray a trust, not something I’m accustomed to. Then again, the response may aid us in our search.’

‘I hate to make decisions like that, never knowing if the choice you make is the right one,’ Coinin nodded.

‘Life is full of them, but on reflection, I have decided it would be best if you know the full facts. Without them, our search may not be as easy as we first thought.’ Orodor took a deep breath. ‘Taminoth, the Goddess Taminoth, confided in me the reasoning behind Rindor’s insistence that the Swords of Cerathil be joined once every thousand years.’ Orodor paused. ‘If the swords are not united, he cannot rule over the other gods. You see, they themselves set down a commandment that if the ruling god endeared himself to his peoples, the swords would most likely be united by his creation, and he was free to reign for a further one thousand years. If the peoples hated their god, the likelihood that they would follow his commands was less than certain, and that cast doubt over his ability to rule. If the swords are not united, then his brothers and sister are free to challenge him to rule.’

‘You said brothers. There are only three gods,’ Coinin corrected.

‘Have you forgotten so soon? Mort is also a brother of Rindor, and has claim to the throne, but he cannot do so while his name remains hidden from the Scroll of Life,’ Orodor replied.

‘Do you think that Rindor would destroy the peoples of Er’ath if we failed to unite the swords?’ Coinin asked.

‘He certainly would have a right to do so if we failed in our duty, but I do not wish to wait for five years to find out.’

‘So I guess we need to go hunting for these swords and stop the worst happening.’ Menin spoke thoughtfully, already forming a plan.

Orodor looked at her grimly. ‘Sadly, not all of us will join in the search.’

Menin cocked her head and frowned. ‘How so?’

‘The boy here is to take office as Curator; you are to be sworn into office as Archmage. As a consequence of that unique position, we never do battle, nor do we have leave to gallivant around the world in search of lost treasure,’ Orodor replied bluntly.

‘You mean I cannot aid Coinin in his search for the swords?’ said Menin, crestfallen.

‘Now hold on, who said I had to find them?’ Coinin frowned.

‘You can and must lead the way. You will not be defenceless in your task. We will teach you skills beyond imagining, and befitting the Office of Curator. Sanctioned with the protection of the Brotherhood of the Wulf, you will find safe haven in all the lands we hold sway.’ Orodor gestured grandly. ‘Additionally, you will have to hand the finest of warriors and battlemages.’

‘Orodor, I do not think the boy is ready for such an undertaking. Perhaps if we delay my oath of office, I can lead my men to victory,’ said Menin with a hint of desperation.

‘No, Laliala.’ Orodor turned to Coinin. ‘My boy, for that is what you are, I ask so much. Will you take the Office of Curator and guide my people, excuse me, Menin’s people with your strength, courage and spirituality to defeat the dark forces that work to enslave us, and ultimately save all who inhabit Er’ath from sure and certain destruction?’

‘It’s true you ask so much.’ Coinin lowered his head. ‘Answer me this one question truthfully, and I will no longer resist you.’

‘By all means my dear boy,’ Orodor agreed.

‘I am but a boy of seventeen. Why have you chosen me and not a scholar who has worked tirelessly at the temple for fifty years?’

Orodor stood and paced and carefully considered his reply. His hand absentmindedly caressed his chin where once grew three yards of grey beard.

Coinin played with dirty fingernails while he waited patiently for the former Archmage’s considered response.

It was a full five minutes before Orodor stopped short and faced Coinin.

‘Your father went to great pains to protect you and begin your training. To all within the order, your father left to marry your mother. In part this is true, but in reality he left at my instruction.’ Orodor again plucked at his nonexistent beard. ‘You see, your mother was already with child, a long-awaited event foretold by the gods. This one would command armies to victory over an evil that threatened the land. Of course I talk about Marrok.’

‘Marrok?’

‘Indeed, Marrok is to command your troops. He will become a fine general and lead your troops to many victories. All he lacks is foresight and direction. That is where you become valuable. The gifts you possess and those you will learn in the coming years will serve you well. You will be able to offer Marrok guidance and purpose. Without you, he will be lost. You are the binding force that will unite the Brotherhood on your quest to rid this world of darkness and evil. I know your misgivings surrounding destiny are great, but know this: your rise to greatness was foretold countless generations ago, and is manifest in all our teachings. You are the chosen one who will lead Soliath Wulf’s people to a new enlightenment.’

Orodor scratched his head before continuing. ‘Besides all that, do it for your parents who suffered to protect you. Let not their sacrifice go unrewarded.’

It was Coinin’s turn to be silent. He carefully weighed his options and allowed all that was said to him to sink in.

‘If I refuse?’ he said with a raised brow.

‘Then there’s a good chance Er’ath will be decimated by Mort if he becomes High King of the gods, and an equal chance Rindor will exact some form of punishment,’ Orodor answered.

‘I assume you’ve tried obtaining the swords before now.’

‘Yes, without success.’

‘Is it set in stone then that I will agree to follow my destiny?’

Orodor chuckled. ‘Yes, but what is important is whether you do so freely or begrudgingly. What is unclear is if you will succeed, and is a matter of faith that the prophecy that surrounds you and Marrok has been correctly interpreted.’

Coinin nodded. ‘So then we have to prevent a war in the heavens from destroying this planet. Well, I guess we can’t let that happen, can we? What must I do?’

Orodor smiled hugely before answering. ‘Training, and plenty of it. However, first you must undergo a sacred rite of passage and be inducted into the Brotherhood of the Wulf.’

‘This should be interesting,’ Menin smiled.

‘Why?’ Coinin asked, curious.

‘You will see.’

DESTINY OF THE WULF: Chapter Eight.

January 21, 2018 Leave a comment

MORT’S PLAN

Unbeknown to Coinin, Marrok had barely moved from his bedside for almost three weeks, much to the disapproval of Matron Rod’lin. He had slept beside Coinin and talked to him almost without pause in the hope that something would revive him, and yet his brother remained asleep.

The last thing that Coinin remembered was falling into the fiery pit, before being snapped awake in unfamiliar surroundings. The whole place was magical, if you could call it a place. There was no land or skies, just whiteness, apart from the oasis-like patch of the greenest of grasses upon which he sat. There was light everywhere as if a distant sun beat down upon him, and a solitary palm tree offered him shade. He looked about him and spotted a river nearby, where a big brown bear was thankfully engrossed in catching salmon and had not spotted him. His instinct was to run, but the air held a musical note that calmed him and made him sway slightly.

Coinin moved off in the opposite direction to the bear. As each foot came down, a fresh patch of grass would erupt from the white, and then disappear as his foot left it. He felt certain that he had been to this place before. Was this the same place where an unearthly voice had shown him the key to defeat the enemy at the gates of the temple? The answer, he was sure, would present itself before long.

As if someone had listened to his thoughts, a ghostly figure in white began to form ahead of him. He stopped walking, unwilling to go any further, until the figure turned to face him and beckoned. He felt compelled to do as bidden. It was a woman with long golden hair.

‘Hello, Coinin. I am glad you could visit me,’ the woman said. A sweet smile lit her face.

Coinin felt strangely at ease with the woman, and smiled back.

‘I presume when you say visit that means I’m not dead?’

‘That’s my boy, as intelligent as ever. Our time is short, and I intend to use it to the full.’

‘I have a strange feeling that I know you,’ said Coinin.

The woman chuckled. ‘You should, I am your mother, or at least I was in the physical realm.’

Coinin was stunned; it could not possibly be true. ‘My mother has been dead for many years.’

‘That’s correct, I have,’ the woman said sadly. ‘I understand you will have some reservations, but be assured, I am your mother, yet I reside in a new plane of existence.’

Coinin raised a sceptical eyebrow, unsure how to respond. ‘A new plane of what?’

‘I am dead to you in the physical realm, but my soul endures here forever. We are in a place between places, a spirit realm, if you please.’

‘I thought when you die, you ascended to Ædeen, the garden of the gods.’

‘A lavish tale meant to appease the masses,’ Godwen replied simply. ‘In essence it is Death himself that determines your destination, based on your past deeds. Ascendance to Ædeen is not guaranteed.’

‘If you are my mother, then you will know that she was a hardworking, honest, god-fearing woman,’ Coinin began.

‘Indeed I am.’ Godwen smiled.

‘Then answer me this. If you are that woman, why haven’t you ascended to Ædeen? Why are you here in this place?’

‘Death has his reasons; there are thousands of people just like me waiting for their judgement from Death as to their journey’s end,’ she replied, and threw her arms wide in frustration. ‘Do you know how lonely it is here? If your father is here, I haven’t seen him these many years, and that hurts the most.’

Tears formed in her eyes and ran down her face. In that moment Coinin knew that this indeed was the spirit of his long dead mother. He tried to grasp her into a hug, and fell on his face as he passed through her body.

‘I am sorry, Coinin, I truly am, but we can never embrace in this place,’ said Godwen.

Coinin did not say a word as he lay there in the white nothingness and sobbed, as a patch of grass grew beneath him. Godwen was beside herself and tried to comfort him, but without touch, she did the only thing she knew. She sat next to him and sang a lullaby that she had often recited to him as a child.

Coinin’s muffled voice called to his mother to stop; the memory was too much to bear. After all these years, he was finally able to say a proper goodbye to her, but he did not want to, he wanted to keep this moment forever and let time stand still, so that he might spend it with her, and then perhaps find his father.

‘No, Coinin, you cannot stay,’ said Godwen, who had stopped her lullaby mid-sentence.

‘How did you know?’

‘There is much that I do not know. Your desire to stay cries out to me. But you cannot stay here; this is not a place for the living. Besides, you have a brother who even now sits at your side in the hope that you may return to him.’

‘He will learn to live without me; I will find a way to stay,’ said Coinin, and raised his head to look Godwen in the eye defiantly.

‘Your death would crush your brother, and I would never allow it. Do you think I wish my own son dead? No, I do not, that would hurt me beyond words,’ said Godwen. ‘Once our business is concluded, you will return to your body and follow your destiny.’

Godwen had hit a nerve. Coinin jumped up. ‘Destiny! What do I know of destiny?’ He flung his arms in the air. ‘Everybody talks about a great destiny, but they speak in riddles and half answers. Well, I do not want this destiny, if there is such a thing.’

‘It’s not like you have much choice, son. Destiny is the predetermination of the course that your life will take,’ said Godwen. ‘You cannot change what must be.’

‘So you were always destined to die so young?’ said Coinin angrily.

‘Yes, I was,’ Godwen replied, and then looked away, sad.

‘Then I will defy destiny. I will look destiny in the eye and call it a thief who steals free thought and loved ones. I challenge destiny to hold true to mine, and neither will I follow the path it has chosen. I choose my own course in life.’

‘Son, you cannot go against it. You may believe you follow your own path, but it has already been laid out for you.’ Godwen sighed. ‘You must follow the wishes of the gods to the letter and not stray from that path.’

‘I simply cannot believe that. I am in charge of my life, and my own decisions, not the gods,’ Coinin growled.

‘Again you fail to see the truth. You are of course in control of your life and decisions. However, one element of your life is irrevocably set in stone, and all your choices in life, whether you try to go left or right, will ultimately lead you to reach your destiny.’ Godwen frowned. Her son appeared pained by this news, and she did not know how she could help him.

‘If it is the will of the gods that I fulfil my destiny, then I demand that they explain to me what it is, because I tire of not knowing. If they cannot do this, then it is best that I throw myself into a volcano. Let’s see how my destiny holds up to that.’

Godwen was shocked into silence.

‘Why is it my boy always had a hard time doing as he was told, or foretold in this case?’ the deep gravelly voice of Ædelmær questioned behind them.

Godwen and Coinin whirled around to see Ædelmær smiling broadly at them.

‘It is good to see you both.’ Ædelmær’s eyes danced with joy.

‘Papa?’ Coinin’s eyebrows raised in expectation.

‘It is I,’ Ædelmær winked, ‘and not before time by the sound of things.’ He turned to Godwen and held her close. ‘It’s good to hold you again.’

Godwen looked her husband in the eyes and tears flowed. ‘I missed you so much.’

‘I missed you too.’

Coinin felt a pang of distress that he could touch neither parent.

Ædelmær looked up at Coinin quizzically from the shoulder of his wife, and tried to make sense of his son’s reluctance to acquiesce to his fate.

He released Godwen and faced his son. ‘Did I or did I not teach you to always obey your mother, boy?’

Coinin looked at the visage of his father, his face surly. ‘How can I obey the dead?’

‘It is just as well we are not dead then,’ Ædelmær responded. ‘At least not until Death makes his decision.’

Coinin looked confused, and rightly so. ‘What do you mean you aren’t dead? Mother said–’

‘Godwen says a lot of things, but she missed out a crucial matter that you should know,’ said Ædelmær, and deliberately did not look at Godwen and her steely stare.

‘Ædelmær, we do not need to burden the boy any further, please,’ Godwen pleaded.

‘He has a right to know.’

‘A right to know what exactly?’ Coinin looked from one to the other in search of an answer.

‘We may never leave this place; we will remain in limbo until certain events transpire,’ Ædelmær responded.

‘That is correct,’ a cold, raspy voice called from the whiteness.

The voice made Coinin shiver, and the temperature plummeted as the white around them turned a shade of light blue.

The air felt oppressive, and the very breath had been sucked out of him. His chest was tight, and he felt the urge to run. No one would have blamed him, for out of a mist that had formed a lone figure floated towards them. The newcomer wore the blackest of robes, with an oversized hood that hid the face. His clothes were old, little more than rags that flapped about him, and gave the figure an eerie presence. Coinin was more concerned with the eight-foot scythe the tall figure carried and the off-white skeletal hand that grasped its shaft.

The creature, as this was obviously not a man, towered above Coinin and studied him with a slightly cocked head. The shadowed face was not discernible under the cloak, yet Coinin felt eyes searching his features, for what, he did not know. All of a sudden the creature spoke, making him jump.

‘You are not on my list, not for some time, and yet you are here. Explain how you have entered my domain,’ the raspy voice demanded.

‘I cannot answer.’ Coinin gulped.

‘You dare defy Death?’

‘I cannot answer you because I do not know.’

‘This is unacceptable. I will not have souls of the living enter my home uninvited,’ Death raged.

‘This is your home?’

‘Why would it not be?’ the creature snapped. ‘My appointment may require me to appear thus, but that does not mean that my home must also be uninviting.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.’

The figure turned three times, and in wisps of black smoke transformed into the familiar shape of a man. ‘That is better,’ he said. ‘It hurts my back staying in that form.’

Coinin was taken aback. The horrid creature before him now appeared to be an average man of around forty years old, with long black hair, greying at the temples, yet still the eyes shone red and appeared to resemble those of a goat. The cloak had gone, in favour of a doublet.

‘May I present myself? The name is Mort.’ He held out a hand to shake, but Coinin stood fast.

The figure rolled his eyes, and spoke with an altogether more pleasant voice. Gone was the rasp. ‘It is simple; each of us has a dark side, and you’ve seen that side of me, my work persona, or Death. Mort is the face my wife sees every evening.’

‘Death has a wife? I mean, you are still Death even now?’ Coinin asked.

‘For millennia now, yes. Between you and me, my job is monotonous. I need a change of profession, and I think that is where you could come in handy.’ Mort put a hand on Coinin’s shoulder and then led him aside.

Coinin instantly felt chilled to the bone at Mort’s touch, and wished he would remove the hand. He did not like where this encounter was headed.

‘For untold years I’ve watched my brothers and sisters reap the benefits of being gods to the people. Adoration, love, and worship is bestowed upon them, and what do I get? I am screamed at by terrified people, who see me as nothing more than a harbinger of death. I am despised, hated, and reviled. I am far more than what you see. I used to paint and throw pots, and play a merry tune upon the lute, would you believe? My brothers, with the help of my sister and me, created man and all the other creatures of Er’ath thousands of years ago. Then time came to apportion responsibilities, such as who controls war, love, and the arts. One night, my elder brother Rindor persuaded me into playing a game of chance, the loser of which would spend eternity collecting the dead. It was a role none of us wished.’

‘You obviously lost,’ Coinin observed dryly.

‘Not by any fair means, I assure you. He wanted to be king of the gods and therefore stacked the deck in his favour.’ Mort shook his head.

‘How do you know he cheated?’ Coinin asked. ‘He might just be an excellent player.’

‘If that were true, I would never have beaten him at every card game we ever played up until then,’ Mort snapped. ‘Besides, several hundred years ago my sister Taminoth let slip that Rindor had cheated.’ Mort scowled.

‘If you’re Rindor’s brother, then that makes you a god. So why have I never heard of you?’ Coinin asked.

‘I am there, as Mort, in the ancient texts, though sadly I was written out of the scrolls a thousand years ago by some eager young priest keen to keep the idea from the people that the gods were somehow responsible for death. I mean, who would want to worship a being whose brother marked their family members for death, and then collected their souls?’

‘You have a point there,’ Coinin agreed.

‘That is why, thinking about it, I am glad you are here. I need you to do a little something for me.’

‘Is this to do with my destiny?’

‘In a way, yes, it is. You already know you will become Curator of the Brotherhood of the Wulf, and with it hold the keys to the vaults of the golden temple. Within, securely locked away, you will find proof that what I say is true. I ask only one thing: that you restore my name to its rightful place.’ Mort looked into the distance, a faraway expression on his face.

‘Why can’t you do this yourself?’

‘I may be a god, but even with that comes limitations. I cannot manipulate objects in the same manner as you do.’

‘No, you only manipulate people into doing your bidding.’ Ædelmær scowled behind them.

Mort, swift of motion, caught Ædelmær by the throat and squeezed.

‘You were saying?’ Mort demanded.

‘Stop! What are you doing?’ Coinin pleaded.

‘This insolent soul dares to insult me,’ Mort spat.

‘How can it be an insult, when the facts speak for themselves?’ said Godwen. ‘Go on, Death; tell him. I urge you to tell my son the truth.’

Mort looked even more furious, and let go of Ædelmær, who dropped silently and clutched at his throat. He turned to Coinin, who was sickened to see the skin on Mort’s face peel away to reveal muscle and sinew, intertwined with maggots that ate their way through the flesh.

‘You see, Coinin, he cannot keep up the pretence,’ said Godwen. ‘Even his face is something evil.’

‘Silence, woman!’ Mort hissed.

Godwen continued resolutely. ‘He has a two-part plan. He needs you to restore his name into the Scroll of Life, so that he may rise from this hell and raise an army in his quest to overthrow his brother.’

The skin on Mort’s face was all but gone, leaving a pale skull that glistened in the light. ‘I said silence, wench!’ He struck Godwen with such force that she was lifted off her feet and fell several feet away.

‘No!’ Coinin screamed, and ran to his mother, who lay and cradled her jaw.

‘He lied to you; he is trapped here as punishment from his brother, for attempting to overthrow the High King millennia ago. By decree of the gods he is to remain here forever.’ Godwen winced in pain. ‘All Curators are forbidden to speak of him, or restore him to the Scroll of Life. To do so could be the undoing of the world. You must hold fast to that decree and defy Death.’

‘Who says he wouldn’t do a better job at ruling than the other three?’

‘He is pure evil. His bloodthirsty armies would march over the lands of Er’ath and consume all life that is good, and then they would mount an attack on the gods and imprison them in the same manner as he, most likely,’ said Ædelmær.

‘What have the gods ever done for me?’ Coinin became angry. ‘They took you from me, and all I’ve seen is death and destruction this past day or so, with more to come no doubt.’

‘You are wrong Coinin, the gods never took us from you.’ Godwen pointed to Death. ‘He did. Everyone dies, but he enjoys the taking of life. Our deaths have been part of his grand scheme since your birth.’

‘He killed you so that he could one day ask me to do his bidding?’ Coinin looked at Death with revulsion.

‘Yes, he did.’

‘If I refuse to become Curator, Death doesn’t get his day,’ said Coinin.

‘You cannot anger the gods in that manner; you must follow your destiny. Your life depends on it,’ said Godwen quietly.

‘Why is it so important that I do this?’ Coinin demanded through gritted teeth.

‘If you do not do this, another may come to take your place who is weak-willed and will restore Mort’s name in the scroll. You are a good man. Will you see mankind destroyed, and watch innocent people die?’

Before Coinin could reply, Death wrenched him by the shoulder.

‘Enough of this! In my domain, your parents still feel pain, boy. Do as I ask, or I will make them suffer for an eternity.’

‘Do not listen to him. Your mother and I are not what matters; think of Marrok, what pain he would endure should this monster win,’ Ædelmær pleaded.

‘You matter to me,’ said Coinin, pained by his father’s words.

‘Coinin Wulf! Stop being a child. There is more at stake here than us. Go now,’ Godwen ordered.

‘Yes, go now. But know this, Coinin Wulf, I will make you suffer if you defy me,’ said Death menacingly.

Coinin raised his head and faced the devilish creature that circled him slowly. ‘You already have, the moment you took away my family. No deal!’

Death rose to his full height and roared at the young man who defied him. He lunged at Coinin and grasped him in his skeletal hands. Death grew steadily taller by the moment. He brought the terrified young man close to his faceless skull.

‘Then so be it. Now begone!’ Death spat at him.

Death raised Coinin high above his head and slammed him hard to the ground. Instead of colliding with a solid object, however, he passed through the floor as if it were a cloud.

He emerged from Death’s realm, and saw the circle of Er’ath below him. He hurtled towards the planet at immense speed. The continents visible below the cloud cover shone green like emeralds. A landmass to the North was visible, and glittered white with snow. There was no sound until he had passed through the upper atmosphere, and the rush of wind greeted him deafeningly. He was already panicked, but he now reached a new height of fear as the ground rushed up to meet him.

He saw Rosthagaar below him with its vast city, and a flash of the village of Arrom that appeared desolate.

But all too quickly the golden temple came into view, atop its volcano. He instinctively covered his eyes when the temple’s tower was just feet from him. He expected a quick, grisly death, yet only a minor jolt met his senses.

He was confused momentarily, and then he opened his eyes. Everything blurred and he blinked away tears and a crust that had formed around the eyelids. He grimaced at a headache like no other he had experienced. It drummed away at the base of his skull, and slowly spread to his forehead.

‘Coinin,’ said a distant voice. ‘You’re awake.’

Coinin’s senses slowly returned, and he now recognised the voice of his brother, although everything appeared out of focus, and that included a shape on his right, which he took to be Marrok.

‘Of course I’m awake. I haven’t been gone that long.

‘What do you mean? You were unconscious for three weeks.’

‘You’re mistaken; I’ve been gone an hour at most.’

‘If only that were true, I wouldn’t have spent three weeks sitting tending to you while you had a nice little nap,’ Marrok snapped.

Coinin contemplated this and laid his head back down on his pillow. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

Time must work differently in Deaths realm. Mere moments there must pass as days here on Erath, Coinin thought.

‘I saw Mother and Father,’ Coinin announced.

‘You mean you dreamt about them?’

‘No, I mean I met them. I wasn’t sleeping, I went someplace else.’

‘What do you mean someplace else?’

Coinin recounted his story of the past hour, or three weeks, depending on whom you asked, and went on to describe the realm of Death, the meeting with their parents, and the warnings he had received.

All the while Marrok sat and listened impassively. Not once did he interrupt Coinin’s flow, until he had finished, at which point he turned aside from his brother and gave way to grief.

Coinin gave Marrok the freedom to mourn; he knew how deeply the deaths of their parents had upset him, and how he needed time to come to terms with that fact that Coinin, not he, had seen them. He was sure if Marrok had met them, that this would have gone a long way to fortifying him.

Marrok dried his eyes and turned back to Coinin, full of questions about their parents and his encounter with Death.

‘We’re in trouble, and we’ve yet one more enemy. Death.’ Marrok sighed and turned away.

‘We’re not in any more trouble than usual,’ Coinin quipped.

Marrok rounded on his brother angrily. ‘Oh, so you think this is funny, do you? You’ve angered a god, and now we are in grave danger.’

‘You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you? Whether or not I did what Death asked of me, we were always going to be in danger.’

‘How so?’ Marrok glared.

‘I told you, if I put his name in the Scroll of Life, he will have the power to destroy the peoples of Er’ath entirely. Either way we are marked men. At least this way the danger is limited to you and me.’

‘I’m glad to see that you have made that decision for me,’ said Marrok testily.

‘You think I made the decision lightly?’

‘I just don’t know. What right do you have to make decisions about my life?’

‘I have no right, I know, but would the deaths of countless people be something your conscience would allow?’

Marrok turned away and lowered his head; his knuckles gripped the bed in frustration.

Coinin reached out to his brother and grasped his shoulder. ‘Forgive me, brother. If the truth be told, I very nearly sided with him.’

‘What stopped you?’ Marrok asked quietly. His head tilted towards Coinin almost imperceptibly.

‘Death took our parents. What kind of man would I be to allow Death to rip apart other families. I couldn’t live with that knowledge.’

‘People die all the time, families lose loved ones daily.’

‘Not on the magnitude Death was exploring.’

Marrok said nothing and the minutes passed in silence, until he whirled around and clapped his hands together.

‘Well, I guess there’s nothing for it. We’ll just have to be ready should he show his ugly face around these parts.’ Marrok grinned broadly.

Coinin was baffled. ‘Just a few minutes ago you were angry. What’s changed?’

‘You know I can’t miss an opportunity for a good fight. And the chance to send Death a clear message, that he better not mess with the Wulf brothers, is too good to miss.’

Coinin sat up and was glad to see his brother smile happily at the thought of sending Death a message. ‘I don’t want to break the mood, but it probably won’t be Death that pays us a visit, but more likely an assassin or two he’s hired to kill us.’

‘It’s all the same to me, brother. Let him send whomever he likes. I’ll happily show them the error of their ways.’

The curtain that surrounded the bed swished open and Curator Menin stood there with a smile on her face.

‘It’s about time you joined the land of the living. This calls for a celebration, and an excuse to open a bottle or two of Master Ignatius’s best wine.’ Menin chuckled.

‘There’s really no need,’ Coinin objected.

‘Coinin, you’ve had us all worried, and I think we all need a cause to celebrate now that you’re back with us.’

Matron Rod’lin sidled up to Menin and leant in close. ‘Excuse me, but there’ll be no festivities until I’ve thoroughly checked my patient.’

Curator Menin bowed before the matron and then turned and winked to Coinin. ‘I bow to your authority, of course, matron, but please have Coinin up and about quick smart. There are those eager to thank our heroes.’ She smiled and nodded to Marrok, who visibly swelled with pride.

Coinin spent the better part of the day subjected to prods and pokes by Doctor Zarth and his students, until he felt the urge to scream.

Marrok had excused himself to bathe and shave, and set about his task to remove three weeks of dirt and grime. He was surprised to find a new leather tunic laid across his bed upon finishing. He had to admit it, his had taken a good beating. He dried himself, and then dressed in his new garb, and immediately felt its quality. A true artisan had made this garment. The leather was thin, yet strong; perhaps lamb, since it flowed like water as he walked.

Several hours later the night had drawn in, and with it worshippers keen to join the celebrations arranged by Curator Menin. There were very many in attendance in the dining hall that buzzed with an air of excitement.

The hall had been decked top to bottom with lavish decorations that hung from the ceiling and beams. The adornments glittered red and gold, and cast pinpricks of light upon the guests below.

Aside from an enormous banquet that boasted every delight imaginable, Master Ignatius had set up shop in the middle of the room and busily poured bottle after bottle of sumptuous red wine for the revellers, and seemed to be very happy doing so.

By the time Coinin and Marrok had arrived at the festivities, the attendees were already quite merry.

Coinin stopped at the entrance to the hall to enjoy the dancing from afar; he did not dance, and was far too weak to partake.

So many witches and wizards spun and whirled to the rhythmic music played by a small band of musicians on the podium that the sight of them was hypnotic. Every now and then a witch or wizard paused for breath, took a sip of wine, and was immediately refreshed.

‘The wine is Ignatius’s special brew, guaranteed to give you a kick. Would you like some?’ Menin smiled, and offered each a cup of burgundy liquid that seemed to dance with light within the small cup.

‘Thank you,’ said Marrok, and took the cup and sipped its contents. A moment later, a smile spread across his face. ‘Good stuff.’

Caught by the beat of the music, Marrok sauntered off into the crowd and left Coinin and Menin alone.

‘You know you don’t have to go to all this trouble,’ said Coinin, with what he hoped was not an ungrateful tone.

‘It’s a double celebration, the defeat of the enemy, and the return of a conquering hero.’ Menin smiled. ‘Please, enjoy yourself.’

‘I don’t know if I can.’

Curator Menin looked at him with a raised eyebrow. ‘What is it?’

‘I think we need to talk.’

Menin nodded, took Coinin by the arm, and led him away.

Marrok, unaware of Coinin and Menin’s departure, was content to dance with a beautiful young woman by the name of Talina. He did not know if it was the wine or his own desire, but he knew somehow that someday he would marry this girl who gyrated so evocatively around him.

DESTINY OF THE WULF: Chapter Seven.

January 14, 2018 Leave a comment

THE BLACK TOWER

The black and emerald creature beat its thunderous wings, sending shocks of air at its captives below.

Jericho sensed the arrival of the dragon was not a coincidence. He had no chance of escape. Even if he managed to release the dragon’s grip, the fall would kill him.

Although undignified, the ride was not uncomfortable; the huge claws provided a surprisingly soft enclosure. This creature, he knew, had guarded Eraywen, and undoubtedly belonged to the dark order of witches and wizards of whose existence he had just learnt.

They travelled southwest, according to the position of the sinking sun, until Rosthagaar lay far behind. He craned his neck and was just able to see the island Sanctuary disappear, and this filled him with a sense of dread. No good would come of this new adventure, he was sure.

The dragon journeyed through the night; the beat of its wings was hypnotic. Jericho dozed during the flight, unable to fully sleep due to the cold. He woke instantly as the animal changed elevation. He was forced to squint as the morning sun’s first rays peeked over the distant horizon. The endless ocean swept below him. In the distance, a small speck of land grew larger with every wing beat.

He was alert immediately, his heart rate elevated, ready to fight or take flight at a moment’s notice. Eraywen should have revived by now and it intrigued him that she had not.

‘Eraywen,’ he called. ‘Eraywen!’

She stirred, and moaned slightly. Her eyes blinked a few times, before she opened them fully. It took a few moments for her to focus and she looked down, and then up at the dragon. Her scream was deafeningly loud. The dragon craned its neck to look at her, snorted a hot waft of air, and then continued its journey.

‘We’re going to die!’ Eraywen screamed.

‘No, we are not!’ Jericho yelled. ‘Now calm down!’

Eraywen sobbed quietly to herself. ‘What happened?’

‘Do you not remember? You got us into this mess.’

‘I don’t know what you are talking about. The last thing I remember is–’ Eraywen paused and screwed up her eyes in concentration. ‘I remember seeing you off to battle, and then I woke up here. He’s going to eat us, isn’t he?’

‘No, Eraywen, he’s not going to eat us,’ said Jericho through gritted teeth.

‘I’m scared,’ Eraywen wailed.

‘I know,’ said Jericho more softly. ‘I am too.’

Jericho thought for a few moments. Something about her was wrong, but he could not put his finger on it immediately. It was only after a hundred or so of the rhythmic wing beats that it hit him.

‘Eraywen, where’s your talisman?’ he asked.

‘What talisman?’

‘The silver butterfly talisman you wore around your neck last night.’

‘I don’t possess such a thing,’ Eraywen said, giving Jericho an odd look.

Jericho puzzled over this new information. Was the talisman cursed, and had it controlled her actions? He had heard of such items before, and they took powerful magic to create. He hoped upon hope that this would be the reason for his wife’s treachery.

‘Eraywen, this is important. Do you remember ever holding the silver butterfly necklace? Perhaps someone handed it to you?

She thought long and hard, and it was minutes before she replied. ‘I think I do remember something. After we said goodbye this morning, I collided with a man who wore a hood over his face. He dropped a few items and I helped him pick these up. I’m not certain, but I do think I saw a flash of silver just before I woke up here.’

Jericho felt a huge sense of relief at this news. ‘That was no accident. I think you were cursed by that talisman, and that man did this to you on purpose.’

‘Cursed?’

‘I feel you were bewitched by this talisman to do that man’s bidding. The moment you touched it your thoughts and actions became that of someone else. Did you get a good look at this man?’

Eraywen had no time to reply as the dragon took a deep dive. She screamed as a small island rushed up to meet them, as did the top of a very tall tower.

The dragon reared and slowed. Its wings beat slower and reversed as it hovered over the ramparts. The creature then released its grip on the captives. Jericho and Eraywen dropped several feet to the hard stone floor, and immediately three hooded figures approached and held outstretched arms. They did not, however, offer assistance to the couple. They each brandished wands.

Jericho rose slowly and stiffly. He and Eraywen had been lucky not to have been injured in the fall. He turned and helped his wife to her feet, and then stepped defensively in front of her.

A cruel-faced man who wore a blue tunic and black robes stepped forward. His dark hair flicked about his face as a result of the winds circling the top of the tower. A scar that appeared to be a recent addition to his features ran the length of his face to his neck.

‘Welcome. I am Le’roth. Please do not attempt to use magic to escape,’ he said. ‘You will find that your journey will end very quickly in a watery grave. You are beyond the limit at which the Destinaté spell can transport you, and there are no boats on this island, before that thought enters your mind.’

‘Of that I have no doubt,’ Jericho replied. ‘Why have we been brought here?’

The captor prodded Jericho in the chest with his finger. ‘We will ask the questions. Follow me.’

Although the man was pleasant in speech, Jericho perceived a ruthless streak in him, and made a mental note to stay well clear. He quickly eyed the other guards, and held Eraywen’s hand. He escorted her down a trapdoor set into the floor without argument.

A cold stone spiral staircase led steeply downwards into the bowels of the tower.

The party passed numerous drab wooden doors, from which a cacophony of noises disturbed the mind. Indistinct screams emanated from a room halfway down the tower and set Eraywen on edge. She looked at her husband, terrified, and grasped him tightly. The general placed an arm around his wife, hoping to comfort her.

What little light drawn in through the slit windows diminished as they trod lower into the depths of the structure, the coldness in the air increasing. Now only torches lit the way at regular intervals with crazy shadows that bounced off the walls.

Everywhere Jericho noticed that symbols of a dragon were embedded into the stonework of doorframes and into the ironwork of fiery torches.

Every now and then, the escorts roughly poked their captives in the back with a wand to serve as a reminder that they were still under guard, and it took all of Jericho’s restraint not to react.

A short time later, the steps stopped and a passageway opened out before them. The arched roof oozed dampness and echoed their footsteps as they walked its length.

Jericho, ever observant, kept a mental note of their path, should the opportunity for escape arise. He pondered that they must be quite a distance under the seabed.

It was darker here still and the sounds of chains rattled and echoed. Screams of the unseen unnerved Eraywen and the general, their thoughts turning to what would become of them. The group approached a fork in the tunnel, and here several men sat on wooden crates in a pool of light. They appeared to be engrossed in a game that was a cross between chess and backgammon.

The gamers stiffened as the small group approached, and when Le’roth stepped into the light, the seated guards visibly relaxed.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ said a gruff voice. ‘I thought it was the master.’

Le’roth raised an eyebrow at the speaker. ‘Believe me, Nestis, if it was the master, you would be dead where you sit.’

Nestis rose sharply, as if to challenge Le’roth, and a fellow guard grabbed his arm and arrested his ascent.

‘You think I lie?’ Le’roth spat. ‘Our master does not suffer fools easily, and you are foolish if you think he does not know you do not guard your prisoners, and instead sit and play children’s games.’

‘From what I hear, Le’roth,’ Nestis sneered, ‘you too are fortunate to be alive, after your last failure. One of many, no doubt.’

Le’roth laughed. ‘I see you are as hilarious as ever, Nestis. However, as you can see, I do not have time for your games. Unlike you, I am on an errand for our master. Now, where would you like the prisoners kept?’

‘Well, let’s see who we have here.’ Nestis rose again and swaggered out of the light and into the gloom. He first grabbed Eraywen and then pulled her to him and reached around to grip her backside. She squealed and he laughed.

Jericho lost his composure and lunged for Nestis, but was arrested as a wand was raised to his face in the blink of an eye, barely an inch from his nose.

‘Who do we have here so eager to pick a fight with me?’ Nestis chortled. He caught hold of Jericho by the hair and dragged him into the light where his smile faltered. ‘You? You die, now!’

Nestis raised his wand once more and prepared to strike, but it was immediately blasted out of his hand and disappeared into the darkness. He rubbed his hand in pain.

‘Who dares–’

‘I dare.’ Le’roth stepped forward. ‘You will not harm my prisoner. That is my job, should it come to it.’

Nestis spat on the ground. ‘I will not kill your prisoner.’ He swung quickly to face Jericho and struck him in the face. ‘But there’s no saying I can’t rough him up a bit. That, general, was for the squadron of men you slaughtered at Windelrow.’

Jericho fell to his knees and rubbed his sore jaw. ‘The battle of Windelrow, yes, I remember it well. It’s funny how you escaped a certain death. Perhaps you were the one that ran tail between his legs, and left your men without a captain.’

‘Lies!’ Nestis thundered, and aimed a kick at Jericho’s face.

Le’roth slammed Nestis hard into the rock wall of the tunnel, a forearm resting heavily on his breastbone. ‘Calm yourself,’ Le’roth growled. ‘Now, where do I put the prisoners? Be warned, I will not ask again.’

Nestis avoided his gaze. ‘Third cell on the right.’ He pointed to his left down a dark intersection of the tunnel.

‘There now, that was not so difficult, was it?’ Le’roth patted Nestis on the cheek, and then gripped it tightly. ‘Next time, do not keep me waiting.’

Le’roth let him go and turned to his prisoners; he hauled Jericho to his feet and pushed him forward into the gloom, followed closely by Eraywen.

‘A fine lot of help you were.’ Nestis winced in pain as he returned and sat with his fellow guards at their makeshift games table.

‘We’re not picking any fights with him,’ a young guard piped up.

‘Cowards,’ Nestis hissed.

‘The way we hear it, you’re the coward,’ a gravelly voice chimed in.

Everyone burst into fits of laughter to Nestis’s chagrin. He cuffed the young guard around the head, and that made everyone laugh that much harder.

The morning that followed brought with it no relief from the cold or bitter dampness that Jericho and Eraywen had endured overnight in their cell. It was nothing more than a rock cave with a solid wooden door in one wall. A single torch had burnt low during the night, and a pile of rags on which to sleep stank of the hundreds of previous occupants.

The last tenant had busily engraved a monologue along one wall in a strange language neither Jericho nor Eraywen understood. Jericho looked dishevelled and had spent time checking the walls and door for a means of escape, to no avail. The rest of the night he had watched his wife sleep while he formulated plan after plan for escape, each of which he discarded. Every scenario failed because it meant he had to take his wife with him and she would slow him down. He could never bring himself to leave her behind, only to rescue her later. He needed a plan that would allow his wife safe passage alongside him. For now though, the ideal solution eluded him.

Chains and bolts rattled on the far side of the cell door. A peephole opened and then shut abruptly with a clang. The heavy wooden door creaked open on rusted iron hinges, and revealed Nestis standing alone with a wand in hand.

‘Good morning, I trust you slept well?’ Nestis sniggered. ‘No? Oh well, never mind. I am sure once my master is finished with you, you’ll welcome a long deep sleep.’

Jericho ignored Nestis’s taunts. Instead, he turned to Eraywen and shook her awake, and supported her as she stiffly got to her feet.

‘Nothing to say?’ Nestis asked. ‘You will have. Now, move it,’ he ordered.

Jericho linked arms with Eraywen and led her out of the cell at Nestis’s command, into an equally dank tunnel system.

‘Where are you taking us?’ Jericho demanded, aware of the wand pointed at him, and curious as to why Nestis was alone.

‘To see my master, of course.’

‘Who is he?’ Jericho asked, and half expected a blow to the head.

‘You know, you ask far too many questions. He is Lord and Master of all of this,’ said Nestis with a grand gesture.

‘He must be so proud to own such an endearing home,’ Jericho snorted.

Nestis looked affronted. ‘This is merely the dungeon, you fool. Now, shut up and move.’

As Nestis escorted them through the complex of tunnels, Jericho kept a close eye on security, and upon first inspection it appeared to be light. This was an advantage; however, he of all people knew that appearances were often deceptive.

They had, Jericho noted, followed a tunnel with a steady incline, and after a quick glance over his shoulder his suspicions were proved correct. Eraywen had become quite puffed; she was not as fit as her husband, and gratefully accepted help partway up the tunnel.

Their journey ended in a dead end and both Eraywen and Jericho turned to Nestis, confused.

‘Here we are,’ Nestis announced.

Jericho raised an eyebrow at him, and then looked at Eraywen and shrugged.

‘You doubt me?’

‘Well, the tunnel has ended,’ said Eraywen quietly from behind her husband.

‘Pretty lady, get ready for a surprise,’ said Nestis with glee. He shoved Jericho aside, and pushed Eraywen roughly towards the rock wall of the tunnel. However, before she hit, she vanished in a bright white flash.

‘A simple portal,’ said Nestis smugly and turned back to Jericho.

Jericho grabbed Nestis’s wand arm and twisted it behind his back. The man gave a howl of pain that was immediately silenced as Jericho brought his forearm around the man’s neck and squeezed tightly.

‘How do I get off this island?’ he hissed.

With a barely noticeable motion, Nestis shook his head.

‘Pity, I would have spared your life.’

Nestis struggled and then stiffened as Jericho wrenched his captive’s arm further up his back.

There was a crack as his shoulder socket dislocated and he gave a yell. Jericho aimed the captive’s wand at his head and uttered the death curse. Nestis collapsed. Jericho allowed the man to fall to the ground and then bent and retrieved the wand from the dead man’s hand.

‘Now who is the fool?’ Jericho grunted, and stepped into the portal stream, just inches from the wall.

He felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs, and a giant weight threatened to crush his skull for the few moments that he was in the portal. This was poor magic, apprentice level at best. Transportation in this manner should have felt as if his whole body was tingling with warmth.

It was a relief to reappear at the other side of the portal, and he collapsed on the floor.

Eraywen rushed to his side and helped her husband stand. ‘Where’s that awful man?’

‘Dead,’ Jericho replied without remorse. ‘Which is what will happen to us if we are caught here without a guard.’

‘What do we do?’ Eraywen cried.

‘Get out of here without being seen. That’s the easy part, though I don’t suppose we will be able to use magic to port home.’ Jericho checked about him for danger.

‘They must get off the island somehow, these people.’

‘True, and I guess we’ll find out how soon enough.’ Jericho smiled reassuringly. ‘Let’s move before they discover Nestis’s body. Stay behind me, and keep quiet. If I say run, you run, okay?’

‘Yes, okay.’ Eraywen nodded.

Jericho crept forward with Eraywen so close behind that he could feel her hot breath on his neck.

The other side of the portal had brought them to a world far removed from the dark, damp dungeon. They were still in a tunnel, but this one was exposed to the outside world, and this section ended with a jagged hole in its roof. At some stage, a cave-in had occurred, and a breeze from the sea wafted towards them, salty and fresh. A shaft of sunlight cast a beam through the hole in the tunnel wall, and illuminated what appeared to be a pile of rags thrown against the rock wall.

Jericho and Eraywen moved forward carefully, and after a few steps, Jericho froze. He turned to his wife and raised a finger to his lips.

He crept forward again, and brandished his newly acquired wand. He did not need it to perform magic, he could use unspoken magic should he desire, but it served as a deterrent.

Jericho stepped up to the pile of rags and knelt quietly. He prodded at them with the wand.

‘Just another five minutes,’ a sleepy voice complained from the pile.

‘If I were you I would get up, and be pretty quick about it too,’ said Jericho loudly, as if he had ordered one of his troops.

The rags moved as swift as lightning. So did Jericho. His hand shot out to grab the sleeper by the throat and Jericho shoved him against the rock wall.

‘Oh my, you’re a prisoner,’ croaked the man, his eyes wide in terror.

‘Then you know what I am capable of. One false move,’ Jericho squeezed the man’s throat harder, ‘and it will be your last.’

Jericho wrinkled his nose in disgust as a waft of urine invaded his senses. He looked down at the poorly dressed man. He was shorter than average, wiry and bald, wearing a ripped and charred cloak that appeared to be made of sackcloth. His skin was as rough as leather and looked scorched in places, especially the arms.

Jericho’s sense of smell had worked well. A pool of urine had begun to puddle at the man’s sandals. He released his grip slightly and spoke more softly. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m a dragon wrangler. I don’t do nothing other than look after dragons, honest.’

Jericho released his grip on the man, but did not lower the wand. ‘What is your name, dragon wrangler?’

‘Silentus Madook.’ His eyes darted here and there and looked for escape.

Did this little man really handle dragons? If so, Jericho knew better than to underestimate him.

‘They don’t need much handling really. I feed them six times a day, and muck them out every morning,’ Silentus offered with a weak smile. He wiped his brow, which had begun to bead with sweat.

‘The wizards, why do they need dragons, what do they use them for?’

‘Well, they travel from here to the mainland mostly, and back again, like.’

‘How come you are working for these people?’ Jericho demanded, and searched for a lie in the man’s eyes.

‘Believe me, it isn’t by choice. I run up a bit of a gambling debt, like,’ Silentus began. ‘As it turns out, I couldn’t pay. So anyway, this chap, he comes to me, he does, and says he can write off my debt, but I have to work for him, on account as how I’m good with horses, you see.’

‘Go on,’ Jericho said.

‘Well, that’s it, I thought I was looking after horses, instead it turns out it’s dragons. You know, I’ve been here ten years. You would have thought I’d have paid off my debt by now.’

Jericho grunted, and then signalled Eraywen to join them.

‘I’d do anything to go home, I would. God knows what the wife will say,’ Silentus mused.

‘Indeed. Perhaps I can help you get home.’ An idea had formed in Jericho’s mind. ‘You get us on a transport out of here, and I will ensure you and your family are kept safe until all this blows over.’

‘I’m not sure about that. These people are ruthless murdering scum.’ Silentus shook his head worriedly.

‘These people are amateur at best. I, on the other hand, am a general of a grand army.’

‘How come you got caught then?’

‘That, my friend, is thanks to one of your bloody great big dragons.’

‘Ah!’ said Silentus sheepishly.

‘Ah is right. Now, will you help us?’

Silentus thought hard. ‘If only to see the back of you, then yes.’

‘Fine, then I shall honour our agreement once we are off this island,’ said Jericho, and offered Silentus a hand in friendship.

Silentus took the hand and shook it, sealing the deal.

‘There is one question I have. Are these dragons used in combat? I plan to escape and don’t particularly fancy coming up against one of them; they are fearsome creatures. I would like to know how to defeat one if I cannot ride one out of here, and you seem to be best placed to advise me on that.’

Silentus grimaced. ‘It’s possible they use them for defence, I can’t say I’ve seen that. But I tell you, it isn’t an easy thing to kill a dragon, near impossible if the stories are to be believed. They can’t be trained, but they are susceptible to certain types of magic that can take away their free will for a while, helpful if you want to use them as transport. Take away its mind and ability to protect itself and then strike at the heart, and it will die, hopefully, if you do it right.’

Jericho looked hopeful. ‘We will talk later on this. Now lead on, friend, we don’t have all day.’

They stepped into the bright sunlight and immediately squinted, blinded by the sun’s rays that cut through a light mist that enveloped the island. It was a few moments before their eyes adjusted, and their new surroundings came into focus. An enormous solitary tower made from a cold, dark stone, rose hundreds of feet into the air. Low cloud skirted its bulk high up, and at the base of the tower, a building made from the same material gathered moss. It had a pitched roof made from straw, and from this angle, no doors or windows could be seen.

‘The building is really two,’ said Silentus. ‘To the left is the barracks and the right holds a meeting hall.’

‘Who meets there?’ Eraywen asked.

‘I don’t rightly know, they keep us away when there’s a meeting going on, but I do hear the guards talking, and they say a council of oath breakers meet here twice a week. Today is one of those days, and I was sent away as usual. I took the opportunity to catch up on some sleep.’

Jericho thought long and hard. Warlocks – for that was what Silentus had meant, liars and dark wizards by any other name – meeting here, but why? This might be his one chance to find out. ‘I want to take a closer look at those attending the meeting. Where is the best place?’

‘It would be suicide to try to get close to the building during a meeting,’ Silentus objected. ‘But, if you are mad enough to try it, I do have a suggestion. The barracks are usually empty during the gathering as the guards are busy protecting the wizards.’

‘How does that help us?’

‘The wall between the two buildings is quite thin in the roof space. If you can get into the barracks unseen, you should be able to crawl through the roof space into the meeting hall.’

‘You seem very knowledgeable about this?’ Jericho eyed Silentus suspiciously.

‘Well, I should.’ Silentus shrugged. ‘I went poking about in the meeting room some time ago. I heard someone coming and panicked. I hid in the only place I could; the roof.’

‘How did you get out?’

‘Well, I couldn’t leave the way I came in, so I removed a few loose stones from the wall and slipped through. Thankfully no one was around.’

‘Well, okay, we need a plan,’ Jericho began. ‘Eraywen, I think you should stay out of sight, while Silentus checks to see if the barracks are clear. If they are, he signals me, and I will slip in undetected.’

Eraywen stepped up to Jericho, nose-to-nose, and scowled at him. ‘Why are you doing this? We need to escape. We should have been in their master’s presence minutes ago. By now they will be missing us.’

‘I know you are frightened, my sweet. But these troll droppings nearly destroyed our spiritual home, and I mean to find out who they are so that we can put a stop to their crimes. I will be gone mere moments.’

‘Why you?’ Eraywen whined. ‘Why not someone else?’

‘This may be the only chance we get to do this. There is no one else here who can.’

‘We should be making all haste to get off this island. It’s dangerous enough,’ Eraywen pleaded.

‘Enough!’ said Jericho gruffly. ‘The decision is made.’

‘I am not one of your soldiers to command,’ Eraywen half whispered, her eyes lowered.

‘No, you are my wife, but you are no tactician and fail to see the bigger picture. I do this to protect you. Now, please, let me do what I do best.’

‘Have you quite finished?’ Silentus asked. ‘Only the meeting is due to begin, if I’ve read the sun correctly.’

‘Oh, you’ve read it correctly, for a traitor.’

Silentus wheeled around at the sound of the new voice, and immediately a fist struck him in the stomach. He doubled up in pain, and then a second punch connected with his jaw. He fell onto his back, and was knocked out cold as his head hit the ground hard.

Jericho raised his wand in defence, but knew before he looked that he would be outmanoeuvred.

‘Now that I have your attention, I suggest you drop your wand, general. Despite what you did to Nestis, thank you, by the way, the master still wishes to see you.’ Le’roth smirked. He flicked his wand up and down as an indication that Jericho should drop his.

Jericho fleetingly contemplated a duel with Le’roth, but he knew the man would not be alone, and his instincts proved to be correct when several wizards appeared out of thin air, accompanied by loud cracks.

He was outnumbered, and unsure if he was fast enough to take out all of them before they struck back. There was the additional fear that he would hit his wife if he used a destruction spell. What about Eraywen? She was now in the greatest danger. He had to act, but how?

‘Caught twice in as many days, general. We are losing our touch.’ Le’roth chuckled to himself and circled Jericho. ‘Now, if you do not mind, follow me to the master. He is waiting.’

‘If I refuse?’

Le’roth looked at him, amused. This man dared to test him. ‘Then you pay the price.’ He raised his wand and a jet of red light erupted from its tip.

It struck Eraywen squarely in the chest. Her face was one of shock as the life left her eyes. Jericho launched himself forward as she fell to her knees and caught her in mid-air. He knew instantly that she was dead as she lay in his arms.

‘Perhaps now you will do as you are asked,’ said Le’roth, his tone and expression unmoved.

Jericho, with a solitary tear that ran down his nose, gently kissed Eraywen on her forehead, and then with his fingers he closed her eyes to the world for the last time.

He picked up his wife’s lifeless body in his strong arms and slowly made his way to the barracks several yards away. He was aware, if only distantly, that Le’roth shouted commands and orders to him, but he paid no heed.

Le’roth’s companions stepped aside and permitted him to pass, unwilling to interfere in the man’s grief.

He reached the doorway, and kicked the wooden door open with a crunch, and then located the nearest cot. There he gently laid Eraywen onto it, and knelt beside her, faintly aware of a presence behind him.

‘I don’t care what happens to me,’ said Jericho flatly. ‘But see to it that she is buried with dignity.’

‘It will be done as you ask,’ said a female voice. ‘However, I must bind you now.’

He was vaguely aware that his hands had been tied with leather strips, and then he was assisted to his feet.

Jericho, dazed with grief, allowed himself to be manoeuvred to the meeting hall that neighboured the barracks.

The decoration of the hall was lost on Jericho; his eyes focused on his feet. He had lost countless men in battle, but no amount of training or battle experience had prepared him for this. He blamed himself. If only he had not delayed.

The spacious meeting room held a single large wooden table, an ellipse of highly polished oak. There was a cut-out that led to a central circle, that permitted a speaker to stand within and address those sitting at the table. The circumference held thirteen highly decorated chairs, each with the carved representation of a dragon. The walls were draped in fine red and gold standards emblazoned with the symbol of the dragon, thirteen in all. Each was different, one for each of the attendees. The central standard was by far the largest and sported the shape of a giant black dragon ready to pounce. This matched the central chair, larger than the rest.

In this chair sat a hooded figure. A long beard of grey snaked its way to the floor. A gnarled hand that wore several bejewelled rings grasped the top of a wooden staff, which was inlaid with a band of gold that wound its way down the shaft and ended in a golden dragon claw.

Jericho was forced to kneel several feet from the figure in the chair.

Only then did the figure look up. ‘Dareth Jericho. How you have aged,’ he said, and dropped his hood. Long grey hair tumbled to his shoulders and a heavily scarred face looked intently at him. Piercing green eyes held his gaze. Jericho had the sudden compulsion to look away, but maintained his stare.

The grey-haired man raised a bony finger and beckoned. ‘Come closer so I may see you better,’ he rasped.

Jericho struggled to his feet, and moved forward a few steps before he was again forced to kneel by his captor.

‘You have me at a disadvantage, Sir,’ Jericho began. ‘Who are you?’

‘Ever the gentleman, Dareth. All in good time. I was hoping to meet your lovely wife again. Where is she?’

The young woman who guarded Jericho stepped forward and cleared her throat. She looked nervously at her master. ‘I am sorry. She is dead.’

The master rose sharply. ‘Dead!’ he roared. ‘What do you mean dead? How did she die?’

Jericho’s captor dropped her eyes as the wizard rushed forward and stood toe-to-toe with her.

‘I said, how did she die?’

Le’roth stepped into the intimate gathering. ‘I killed her, my Lord.’

The dark wizard swung to face him and reared to his full height. His eyes blazed red with fury.

‘Fool! Now the general will never defect, and no magic can turn him to our cause,’ he screamed.

Le’roth backed away and trembled with fear. The master raised a wrinkled grey hand, and cast a death curse at Le’roth. The latter gasped as a red energy ball hit him full force in the chest. He flew across the room and skidded to a stop against the meeting room wall. His focus fixed and his eyes dilated. His body gave a final sigh as the breath left him for the final time.

Jericho inwardly rejoiced at the death of the man who had taken the life of his beloved. So he had been correct, these people had wanted him to turn spy against his people.

‘That is the price of failure,’ said the cloaked figure to no one in particular. ‘Something I should have done to him long ago.’

Nobody said a word, too afraid of their master’s anger and of his next move. It was not long before he made it.

‘I suppose you think I am going to kill you too, Dareth, now that my plan has failed. Well, do not worry, you are safe, for now.’ The wizard hoisted Jericho to his feet and put an arm around his shoulders. He led him outside into the cool sea breeze. ‘Dareth, I am truly sorry for the loss of your wife. It is regrettable.’

‘Regrettable?’ Jericho snarled.

‘Indeed, I had never intended for my friend to be hurt in this way.’ A momentary flicker of remorse passed the man’s eyes.

‘We are not friends,’ Jericho sneered.

‘I take it, then, that my appearance prevents you from recognising me?’

‘Am I supposed to know you?’

‘Dareth, you and I were friends for many years, till the day you killed me.’

The general shot him a questioning look, and then the truth became clear. He was looking into the heavily scarred face of his closest and most beloved friend, Lordich Secracar.

Lordich had conspired with Draken to overthrow the Brotherhood of the Wulf and establish his own rule in the seat of power. After a fierce battle between the Brotherhood and Lordich’s armies, Major Jericho, his rank at the time, had single-handedly captured Lordich alive. Draken had escaped, but was found some time later, hiding in a concealed chamber built into a well in the grounds of his home. He claimed that Lordich had controlled his thoughts and actions with a mind-altering herb concoction.

Investigations into Draken’s claim could not conclusively disprove his testimony, but he was banished from the temple by Curator Menin. His great marble statue in the temple grounds was defaced, alongside Lordich’s own. They remained to this day as a reminder to those who might choose the wrong path.

His peers, however, found Lordich guilty and sentenced him to death for sedition. He appealed the decision, but Archmage Orodor upheld the verdict and Major Jericho was given the order to execute his friend at dawn the next day. He had pleaded with Orodor that he be spared the grim task, but Orodor would not hear of it, and so the order stood.

The hour arrived for the execution to take place, and Lordich was led out of the temple dungeon in chains and under heavy guard by his former friends.

Brethren lined the paved walkway from the temple to witness the betrayer being led away. Some booed and jeered him as he went, yet he steadfastly ignored them, proud to the last.

An execution in this manner had not occurred for one thousand five hundred years, so far back there was only one reference to the deed in the temple archive. To kill a dark wizard was not an easy task; many had lost their lives trying. It was determined the only true way to kill such a foe was to cast him into a fiery volcano, and thereby obliterate all traces of the condemned. The timing was critical, as a dark wizard possessed powerful magic, as the tale of the wizard Rindoch reminded them.

The dark warlock Rindoch had escaped his fiery death by summoning a dragon to his side moments before he hit the volcanic magma. He was snatched out of thin air and whisked away to safety under the very noses of his guard.

The people of the village suffered at his hands for many years after that. Therefore, no chances had been taken with Lordich. He would be bound hand and foot and locked inside a heavy iron cage, too great for a dragon to lift easily. The cage would be tethered with rope to prevent it being taken. As a final measure, an anti-porting spell was cast over the cage, preventing any chance of escape.

Lordich calmly allowed himself to be bound and assisted into the cage that would ferry him to his death. Had he planned an escape? Jericho had instructed his men to be extra vigilant.

Horses heaved the cart laden with the cage and carried it to a clearing in the woods to the north of the Sanctuary. Here the order had constructed a platform above a pit that led to a magma lake below. Sanctuary, under Rindor’s protection, was once the site of an active volcano; now the lake bubbled away harmlessly.

The cage was unceremoniously dragged onto the platform by a dozen tethered horses, which strained under the weight. It was raised by pulleys over the pit, where it dangled precariously.

Major Jericho, dressed in a black cape and hood, clambered up the steps to the platform. He did not look directly at the prisoner; instead he directed his attention to the crowd that had gathered to witness the event. Ghouls, he thought as he raised a hand for silence. He took a moment to steel himself.

‘Brothers and Sisters, we meet today in the worst of circumstances. However, what we do today will serve as a message to those who oppose truth and justice.’ He walked the length of the platform, a frown creasing his brow. ‘Do not be saddened that we lose a friend; instead rejoice that we rid the world of one more corrupt and evil individual.’

Jericho allowed a moment for his words to sink in, and winced as a cheer resounded from the growing crowd.

‘Lordich, the traitor and conjurer of dark magic, has, before his peers, been condemned as an oath breaker and is sentenced to death. I ask you now, Lordich, do you have any final words before sentence is carried out?’

Lordich looked up and out to the crowd. ‘You think you are guided by truth and justice. I say you are ruled by prejudice and fear. Beware; others will come to challenge your authority. Before you murder me, I have a final word for Dareth. Major, if you please.’

Jericho visibly sagged; he had hoped that this would have been over quickly, and without the need to interact with Lordich. He turned and moved closer to the cage that swung slightly in a light breeze.

‘I do not blame you, and I hope to see you again someday soon, my friend,’ Lordich whispered.

‘In another life, perhaps?’ Jericho asked.

‘Something like that.’ Lordich winked. ‘Now, quickly, perform the deed. I tire.’

Jericho nodded and picked up an axe that was propped against the platform. With a roar he swung the axe. The rope cleaved and the cage dropped silently into the chasm, save for the rasp of the guard ropes as they followed it into the fiery pit. There were sharp intakes of breath, and a few sobs were heard from the crowd.

The major stepped over to the edge of the pit and checked that the cage had fallen. Convinced, he cast aside the axe and heaved closed a heavy trapdoor that covered the pit when not in use.

He fought back his emotions and again turned to the crowd. ‘Brothers and Sisters, the sentence has been carried out in accordance with our laws.’

He hurried down the steps and walked out of sight into the woods that surrounded the clearing. He walked for a few minutes, stumbling now and then in the early morning light that barely penetrated the canopy.

He reached an enormous oak tree that towered into the sky and slumped against it. There he sobbed unashamedly. The tears clouded his vision.

Above him, carved into the bark of the tree, were the names Lordich, Jericho, Draken and Perindar. They had joined the Brotherhood as young men and had over the years formed a lasting bond. Draken had been banished, Perindar had been killed in battle some months ago, and now Jericho’s closest friend had been executed by his own hand.

Several minutes later, he dried his tear-stained face and took out his knife, which he used to gouge the names of the traitors out of the bark, each slice like a dagger to the heart.

Back on the island, General Jericho looked into the face of a man he thought long dead and felt weak at the knees. In the space of thirty minutes, he had lost his wife and regained an old friend.

‘How can this be?’ Jericho spluttered. ‘I watched you fall myself.’

‘You wizards of light still cannot embrace the idea of the dark. Dark magic is not something to be feared, it should be embraced. I accept both dark and light and this makes me powerful beyond imagining.’

Jericho sniggered. ‘All that power and you allowed yourself to be caught.’

‘I was merely a novice then. I have had many years to master the two disciplines.’

‘So what? You want me to spy for you? That, my friend, will never happen.’

‘Oh, I know that.’ Lordich smiled regretfully. ‘I might have had a chance to turn you but for the fool Le’roth. Grief has a nasty habit of getting in the way of magic. It renders any attempt to influence your mind utterly futile.’

‘What a pity.’

‘So if I am not going to kill you, that leaves me with but one option, to hold you on the island indefinitely, or until I destroy your precious Brotherhood, at which point I may release you.’

‘So that’s your plan? Destroy the Brotherhood and exert your influence over the balance between religion and magic that we have fought so hard to maintain for thousands of years.’

‘Exactly. Rostha may believe it holds the power, but you and I know who truly rules the masses,’ said Lordich. ‘It is about time for a change to the way of things, for the peoples to embrace a new religion, one that has both light and dark.’

Jericho sighed and shook his head. ‘Poor deluded fool.’

‘It is not I who is deluded; can you not see a change has been in the winds for some time? You mock me, and yet I spare you.’

‘What is left for me in this world that I should be spared?’

‘I have not killed you because I wish you to see the birth of my new world. I stand by what I said the day you cast me into the pit. I do not blame you.’

‘Well, that’s good of you.’

‘Do not be like that, Dareth. I do not expect us to be friends, but I at least hoped we could be civil. I even hoped that you would join me in my conquest.’

‘What makes you think I would ever join you? I wasn’t fit to include in your plans so many years ago, was I?’

‘Would you have joined me?’

‘No. Not then, and not now.’

‘Then out of respect for our former friendship, enjoy your new home,’ said Lordich with regret.

Jericho remained silent as he surveyed his new prison. He had to escape and warn his brethren.

Lordich clicked his fingers at his closest aide, who scuttled to his side and received a whispered instruction. The aide gave a low bow, and approached Jericho, who was immediately on guard, but relaxed as he felt his bonds released. He rubbed his wrists and winced at the pins and needles that followed.

‘Dareth?’ Lordich began. ‘There is nowhere to run. Do not try to escape. I would hate to clap you in irons and confine you to a cell.’

‘I’m sure,’ Jericho muttered.

‘Your freedom comes at a price. You will be escorted at all times by two guards. You will eat, sleep, and toilet in their company.’

‘Am I supposed to be grateful?’

Lordich laughed. ‘Not at all. Well, maybe a little.’

‘There is one thing.’

‘Yes?’ Lordich asked with a raised brow.

‘How did you escape the pit?’

‘I guess I owe you an explanation.’ Lordich looked at the crescent-shaped visage of Er’ath’s sister planet Rol’as, highlighted in the morning sky. ‘I made a pact with Death.’

‘What do you mean death? You mean the Death?’

‘Yes. Despite his reputation, he is actually quite pleasant. We made a deal to ensure my continued existence.’

‘What did you trade?’

Lordich cocked his head and studied Jericho. ‘Four hundred thousand, two hundred and thirty-eight lives for my own.’

Jericho looked horrified. ‘No!’

‘The process began many years ago, and that number has grown, but no matter, they will all perish. Burning in a lake of molten rock is not a pleasant experience, yet, true to his word, Death rescued me, and I promised him the deaths of every member of the Brotherhood of the Wulf, bar one. You.’

‘No, you mustn’t, you can’t. They are innocent,’ Jericho cried.

‘I can, and I shall.’ Lordich nodded to the general’s guard. ‘Take him away.’

Rough hands gripped Jericho. He struggled and raged as they marched him away.

Jericho wrenched himself from his captor’s grasp. ‘Mark my words, Lordich, you will pay for this with your life.’

A club struck him on the back of his neck, and he sank to his knees semi-conscious. Supported by his guard, and subdued by the blow, he was dragged through the long grasses.

Lordich closed his eyes, and then shook his head. ‘I already did.’

%d bloggers like this: