Wilmurin: Land of the Druids

by H. J. Cronin

  ‘Good, good. Your mother shows her worth and allegiance to me and my clan. The time is coming for the invasion of Wilmurin. Go and tell your mother of my return, and tell her I will send a messenger with the plans in due course,’ he said, and raised his hands to point to the main entrance. ‘Go now, Katrina, one of my guards will escort you.’

  She left the council hall and was relieved to see the back of it. Count Darkool turned on his council and gazed at each of them, scrutinising their expressions and feeling their thoughts. One of them stepped forward. He was the youngest – looking like a younger version of Vilco.

  ‘My lord, I am Count Drakar, at your service and bidding. I am Vilco’s son, and I praise you for taking his life and restoring yourself as our one true leader. I, unlike my father, am loyal.’ Count Drakar said, bowing his head.

  ‘Good, I accept your words, young count,’ Darkool said approvingly.

  One by one the other counts stood forward, and all pledged their allegiance to Count Darkool: Count Vermon, Count Silco, Count Kharki, Count Varko. The only one who did not step forward was the necromancer.

  ‘You have all pledged your allegiance to me, Count Darkool, Lord of the Vandalore Clan. I accept your pledges. Drakar, you were the first to come forward, so I give you the power of second-in-command. You will be my general.’ Count Drakar nodded with approval and smiled at his fellow clan members. Count Darkool turned his gaze onto the necromancer, Shalon.

  ‘And you necromancer, your magic has proved most powerful in bringing me back from bones to flesh. I will not dispose of you. I need a being of great magical power at my side.’

  ‘Thank you my lord, my powers are yours, Count Darkool,’ Shalon said.

  ‘Good. Now it is the time to call upon my Blood Guard. They have not seen this world for five hundred years.’

  Count Darkool took a blade from the necromancer and sliced his hand, deliberately bleeding himself. With his other hand he picked out eight drops and threw them on the floor around him, forming a circle of eight tiny spots of blood. The blood droplets fizzled and smoked. They began to grow larger, their volume increasing to small puddles. Suddenly all eight puddles rose from the ground into floating red orbs, and out of each orb a humanoid clad in red armour stepped onto the floor. The eight beings stood still with no sign of breathing or life. Each had dark red skin with long white hair and sockets where their eyes belonged. They also were vampires.

  The counts and even Shalon stood back in amazement. The eight Blood Guards gazed at their master in total silence. ‘Welcome back, my children of blood,’ Darkool said with a menacing voice as he held his arms out. ‘I have brought the eight of you back to this world for one purpose. You are to find Johan son of Haramithir, the last of the Night Hunters, and kill him and all who follow him. I have a feeling the Black Widow's men will fail. You are the most powerful soldiers in the world, now go raise your steeds and do my bidding.’ The eight mysterious Blood Guards all silently and simultaneously nodded, and turned to do their master’s bidding. He turned to Count Varko, ‘You will join them in their hunt.’

  ‘Yes, Count Darkool,’ Varko obeyed.

  ‘An impressive showing, Count Darkool. I have never personally witnessed blood magic before,’ Shalon said with an astonished expression.

  Count Varko immediately stepped forward and pointed his long bony finger at Shalon, ‘Of course it is an impressive showing, you swine. The great Count Darkool is the most powerful being in the world. If we hear any more clever comments from you, that will not be the only blood magic we shall see on this day.’

  ‘Calm down, Count Varko, the necromancer is only admiring my power. He will be vital in the coming days. If you make such threats again then you will be off this council,’ Count Darkool said immediately. ‘Shalon, I hear that you have already raised the dead for my predecessor, Count Vilco.’

  ‘Yes my lord, I raised some walking dead and some skeletons for him, but only a handful.’

  ‘Well that was his fault. I require the same service from you, and I require an army of skeletons. They do not require feeding, they do not get tired and they never retreat. I will need hundreds of thousands. Can you do this for me? Your reward is immortality.’

  Shalon knew this was more of an order than a request; any denial would result in him receiving the same fate as Vilco. ‘Of course my lord. I have the ability to summon as many warriors as you require.’

  ‘Good. We make our way outside as the moon lights up the world. There is a large open space just by this castle which it will serve as our summoning grounds. Let’s go! Count Drakar, bring my sword and armour,’ Count Darkool said, with eagerness and excitement. Count Darkool, Shalon and the five other counts left the dark hall and made their way outside.

  The small gathering stood just outside the fort with a small retinue of guards. The open space was a vast blanket of dark volcanic rock which stopped just as it hit the mountains nearly thirty miles away. The sky above Blood Island was always dark with a hint of red, which was how the counts liked it. The necromancer instructed the counts to form a small semi-circle so they all could witness his power. Darkool stood in his dark red thick armour, which covered his entire body apart from his head. The armour on his shoulders had spikes protruding from it as well as down the spine.

  ‘Count Darkool, my lord, I require a drop of your blood which will bind this new army to your command and those you give command to,’ Shalon said with his dark croaky voice.

  ‘Of course Shalon, do what you must,’ Count Darkool replied.

  The dark count raised his hand with his palm facing up. Then Shalon approached him, and with his dagger cut Darkool’s finger, squeezing some blood from the wound. He took the blood in a vial and tipped it onto the rocky surface; it disappeared into the ground. The necromancer raised his arms and began to chant in an unknown language. Suddenly a red smoke began to rise from the ground in eight separate locations shooting up six feet into the air. It became so thick that the counts could not see through it. One by one, out of each plume of smoke, an armoured skeleton warrior stepped out. They looked very much alike but were wearing different armour, some really thick heavy armour and some only covering the breast. One even still had its beard from a previous life; they were armed with various weapons from swords to spears to axes. They stood there silently staring at the counts, some moving their jaws as if stretching them after their long slumber.

  Darkool clapped his hands together and said with excitement, ‘Ha! Pure beauty, my faithful servant. Can they be defeated?’

  The necromancer nodded his head and explained, ‘Yes, they can be defeated like all beings of this world,’ Darkool looked irritated at this statement so Shalon quickly added, ‘Apart from you of course, my lord. If they lose both arms they will use their legs and mouths, if they lose their arms and legs they will still be able to use their jaws. Decapitation is their downfall, my lord.’

  Darkool stood forward and raised his two-handed evil ridged sword and pointed to one of the skeletons who wielded a sword. The other counts and Shalon looked on with interest. ‘You, warrior, come here and attack me with all your ability.’

  Instantly the skeleton leapt at him with a raised sword, bringing it down on Darkool with unseen power which he easily parried. The skeleton then swung the sword at Darkool’s side with lightning speed, which would have been the end of a normal man, but not Count Darkool; his skill was nearly unmatched. The skeleton then came on with a savage ferocity and even managed to block some of Darkool’s attacks. Count Darkool then, with one clean cut, sliced off the sword arm of the skeleton, but the skeleton was unaffected by this and still came on at Darkool with its claws. Darkool quickly chopped the other arm off and then spun around on his feet; he cut the skeleton’s head clean from its body, causing the whole body to explode into black dust fading into the air.

  ‘Quite an impressive display from a pile of bones, my lord,’ Count Varko said with an astonished expression. The necromancer just looked on wit
h a smile.

  ‘Imagine an entire army of these warriors at our disposal,’ Count Kharki said, just as amazed as his fellow council members.

  ‘Indeed they are quite the impressive warriors, my lords,’ Shalon said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Remember, Count Darkool, there is an endless supply of skeletons we can summon to our cause. I can give you what you want. We can cover this world in death and blood.’

  Death and blood, Darkool thought to himself, and smiled.

  ‘Well done Shalon, you truly are powerful. Create yourself a staff with the ability to summon the dead and even kill the living. You will be at my side, always.’ Darkool turned to face the other counts and raised his arms as if to embrace them. With a loud voice that echoed over the land he addressed them: ‘Now, my counts, is the time we must prepare! We will summon an army that none in this world could match, Wilmurin will fall under my boot and the dead will rise. We invade the land. First we take Flordonium! Then after that the rest of the world. The Black Widow has a vast army and will invade the north. WILMURIN WILL FILL WITH THE BLOOD OF THE DRUIDS!’

  The counts cheered with excitement, chanting Count Darkool’s name. Count Darkool turned back, looking at the remaining skeletons with approval. His war would come.

  4

  Road to Weydon

  Johan, Ardag, Bry and Bethegar, with their small party, marched along the road towards the Eagle’s Tower. To their right, about four miles away, they were overshadowed by the mountains and on their left were great, beautiful green grass plains. The sun beat down on them making them feel hot and sweat in their armour. It had been a week and a half since they had left Bemon. They had passed through the Dark Wood; the path in the wood had been covered in leaf litter which covered the majority of the ground, and the only light came faintly through the top of the trees. It had been dark and cold in that forest and Johan was glad to see the back of it. They had also passed through the village that Johan had visited briefly when he had first arrived in this world.

  The party had stopped before the Dark Wood for rest and food and then stopped again once through. They were not going to risk being off their guard in the woods, for creatures were said to wander there who did not take kindly to visitors; the wood acted as a natural barrier for Bemon, of which the bears took advantage. They were to pass through the Wolves’ Valley and then head to Weydon, home of the Clan of the Wolf, to speak to King Wufclore and ask for permission to walk through his lands.

  As they walked on Ardag took out his thin long brown pipe and a bag filled with a greenish brown substance. He placed the substance into the pipe and lit it with a strange flammable stick that caught fire after a click of his fingers. Dense white smoke began to fly into the air like a cloud and Johan could smell the strange aroma from this strange substance.

  ‘What is that? ’Asked Johan.

  ‘It's called narnum’ Ardag replied after blowing out another cloud of the sweet smelling smoke.

  ‘What does it do?’

  ‘It is a herb found only in the Fowling Jungle, it is illegal in the druid cities of Wilmurin, but outside the walls we are free to do as we please,’ said Ardag taking another puff.

  ‘Illegal?’ Johan queried.

  ‘Yes, it is a herb which relaxes the mind. To the weak minded and weak willed it can cause hallucinations and is very dangerous, that is why it is illegal, but to me it has no such effect. It relaxes me and prepares me to do battle,’ Ardag took another puff and carried on, ‘the smallest amount can last me a week because it can be relit over and over again, this bag here will last for approximately two years. Try some.’

  Johan sucked in some of the narnum. The sweet taste filled his mouth and a small burning sensation was felt in his throat, he breathed it out and felt his head go light, the world began to shift and then all of a sudden the feeling was gone and he felt relaxed. Suddenly he began coughing and the others laughed. ‘Maybe it isn't for me after all,’ he said passing the pipe back to his friend, slightly embarrassed that everybody saw him.

  ‘Narnum isn't for everybody Johan,’ Ardag said with a wink.

  ‘I still feel like I am dreaming being here amongst everyone,’ Johan said quickly changing the subject.

  He then suddenly felt a hard knock on the back of his head which caused him to lurch forward. He turned to see Bry behind him who gave him a stern look and asked, ‘did you feel that?’

  ‘Of course I felt that,’ he replied rubbing his head, her strength was hidden by her beautiful, slender frame.

  ‘Well you're not dreaming then, are you?’ She replied holding a smirk and the others laughed. Johan sighed and they carried on walking.

  While they marched, in the distance by the mountains, Johan saw what looked like an opening to a cave, and outside it there were four of the largest humanoids he had ever seen – they must have been twenty feet tall. There was one which was smaller than the others. He could just about to make out thick beards that covered much of their faces.

  ‘Ardag, what are they over there? At the foot of the mountains,’ Johan asked.

  ‘They, Johan, are the giants.’

  ‘Giants? There are giants in this land?’ Johan asked with a hint of fear in his voice.

  ‘Yes there are. During the First War of Wilmurin, they chose to align themselves with the druids, thus avoiding being driven to extinction. They are very rare these days, which must mean that is a family over there. They will not harm you if you do not bother them. They used to be ferocious beasts but nowadays they are a lot tamer.’

  ‘Okay, I just hope they stay tame. What happened during the First War of Wilmurin then?’

  ‘There was a race known as elves who once dominated this land, they were numerous and powerful. My kin, the druids, managed to overthrow them in a great war. Many creatures perished in that war, leaving us the victors and now the dominant race on Wilmurin. There are still many creatures you must be cautious of Johan, trolls, ogres, giants and many more. This is not a friendly world, and not all of the clans are friendly.’

  ‘Are there any structures left behind by the elves?’ Asked Johan.

  ‘A few scattered here and there. They were all destroyed by the druids, we don't like to be reminded of that bloody history.’

  ‘Well, it’s a good thing I have friends such as you on my side,’ Johan said, exhaling.

  ‘Yes, you do have good friends who will protect you, none more powerful than the Clan of the Bear,’ Ardag reassured him with a wink.

  ‘Thanks,’ Johan said, smiling. ‘Do you know why I am needed by your father?’

  ‘No I do not, but we will find out in due course,’ replied Ardag.

  They heard a shout and the column halted. Bethegar approached the two men casually. He looked to Johan, ‘How goes it on our travels, young man?’ he said in his deep, strong voice.

  ‘Not too bad, my legs are hurting a little bit. I suppose I will get used to it.’

  Bethegar laughed and slapped Johan on the back; although he meant it to be friendly he did not know his strength, and it left a stinging feeling on Johan’s back. He just smiled back at Bethegar. He liked this man, he had protected him and welcomed him with open arms; beside Ardag, Bethegar was the closest thing Johan had to family in this world, not forgetting his beautiful sister, who still regarded him with a little hostility.

  ‘The hour is late gentlemen. We will settle down now for the night,’ Bethegar said looking out at the world.

  That night the party set up various fires, the centre one surrounded by Johan, Ardag, Bethegar and Bry. They cooked roast mutton and potato stew for dinner, much like the previous nights. Ardag and Bethegar soon retired to their sleeping positions leaving Bry with Johan. Johan gazed at her beauty and felt his stomach tingle. He didn’t know what to say to her so just gazed, rather vacantly.

  ‘Got a problem, Night Hunter?’ Bry asked, with a touch of hostility in her voice, and emphasising the latter part of the question.

  ‘N … n … no, Bry, just lost
concentration for a brief moment,’ he lied.

  ‘Well, stop staring at me then, I’m going to sleep,’ she replied, standing up.

  Johan quickly called after her, ‘Bry, wait, can I have some words please?’ She shrugged and sat back down. ‘Why do you hate me so much, and treat me with such contempt?’

  ‘I do not hate you Johan, I just do not believe you to be our saviour. You have to prove yourself to me. Once you do that I will treat you how you’re meant to be treated.’

  ‘I will prove myself. I still have so much to discover and learn. I can assure you that I will do anything that is required of me.’

  ‘This is a very unforgiving world Johan, I will not place all of my hope in you just yet,’ she said with a smile, and Johan even noticed that her eyes glistened. She quickly shook off the smile and went off to sleep.

  Johan was left alone by the warm fire. The surrounding area was pitch black, the only light coming from the soldiers’ fires, but everyone apart from the sentries was asleep now. He gazed up at the sky and was awed by the amazing starry night. The stars lit up the sky and for a brief moment Johan forgot everything, lost in their beauty. He heard a great commotion in the far distance which he took to be the giants arguing, which broke his concentration from the beautiful night sky. He got up and made his way to his blanket and drifted off into a deep sleep.

  Johan woke with a start when Bethegar shook him. It was first light and time they kept on with their journey. For the next day they carried on walking without stopping or eating; Johan marvelled at the beautiful green wilderness that they were wandering through. They spotted a few game animals but nothing sinister or dangerous, much to Johan’s satisfaction. They stopped for another night’s rest; the Wolves’ Valley was still half a day’s march away.