Wilmurin: Land of the Druids

by H. J. Cronin

  The Black Widow shuffled in her seat and straightened her back. ‘Of course we cannot trust him. But we will work with him. The Vandalore Clan are going to dominate this world and we must be on the winning side.’

  ‘I agree with you Mother, I just hope he doesn’t intend to kill us.’

  Her mother laughed at that last comment, ‘Katrina darling, aside from the High King’s army we have the strongest army on the mainland. We are a valuable ally to Count Darkool. Until our goal is met we must please him. After that we must hope he doesn’t plan to wipe us out.’

  Katrina nodded her agreement. She was happy that her clan would rise and become a great power, but she was nervous about the future. If he wanted to, Count Darkool could easily rid the world of the Black Widow Clan.

  The Black Widow noticed Katrina was in deep thought, ‘Katrina! Pay attention.’ Katrina broke her concentration and shot her mother a look. ‘Gather my army together, soon we march for the north. Brehan should have made it home long ago so our plans will be coming together. You and your sister Selena will accompany my invasion of the north.’

  ‘What of Felecia, Mother?’

  ‘When she returns from her errand she will look after Shartak for us.’

  Katrina nodded. They had not heard from her sister Felecia. Her mother was not worried because Felecia could handle herself; she was the eldest of the three sisters and the most powerful. She was set to be clan queen once their mother died and Katrina after her. Katrina hoped that the north would fall quickly and their plan would work out. She left the chamber and started mustering the forces. The soldiers wore black armour with a likeness of a black widow spider painted upon their breastplates and shields. The men were ready to fight, kill and die for their mother, the Black Widow. War was coming to Wilmurin.

  After the journey from Shartak to Vandaloria, Count Darkool made his way to the council chambers where the remaining council sat. The two counts who had accompanied him, Kharki and Drakar, took their seats. The only ones missing were the deceased Count Vilco and Count Varko, who was hunting Johan along with the Blood Guards. The council sat as Count Darkool told them about the meeting with the Black Widow and the plans for attack. As always they all sat silently listening to their master.

  The main door opened behind them and Shalon entered. The necromancer wore his dark hood as always and approached Count Darkool. ‘My lord, your army is ready for your inspection,’ he said with a bow.

  The dark count clapped his hands together with glee. ‘Good, my servant! Good, good, good … how many soldiers do I have?’

  ‘There is a good pool of corpses to summon from my lord. I have managed to summon two hundred and fifty thousand bone warriors, thirsty for war.’

  ‘As many as that? This land will be stained by the blood of druids,’ he replied with a sadistic smile. He turned to the other counts, ‘Count Silco and Count Vermon, please fetch the armour of the council members. Count Drakar, Count Kharki, ready the vampire soldiers for battle, they will taste the blood of mankind,’ Count Darkool said. He then turned to Shalon and smiled, ‘you, my faithful servant, reveal my grand army to me.’

  The necromancer led Count Darkool through the dark passageways of the castle lit only by small flames on the walls. He led Darkool to a door which took them to the rear of the castle. Shalon signalled towards one of the towers on the walls. They entered the tower and climbed the spiral staircase to the top. Once they reached the top Count Darkool gazed upon his land, Blood Island, its rocky ground and distant mountains. What he then saw brought happiness and excitement to his face. Shalon smiled proudly; he had pleased his master.

  They looked upon a vast horde of skeleton warriors looking back at them with their blank eye sockets. It seemed to stretch for miles. Some wore heavy plated armour and wielded great swords while others wore corroded armour with hand held weapons and shields; some even wore no armour and their dirt stained skeleton bodies were on show to the world. When they saw Count Darkool appear they simultaneously banged their weapons five times against their shields, armour and bodies. The noise echoed throughout the land. The skeletons could not speak or utter any sound, only the haunting clamour of their banging.

  Count Darkool sucked in a deep breath and marvelled at the sight before him; these warriors were set to invade Wilmurin and wipe out his enemy. They required no food, no sleep and they had no emotion to flee. They would follow his every command until they were vanquished. A truly formidable force was this bone army.

  He turned to his necromancer, ‘You have indeed done well Shalon. You will stand by my side in the coming war. There will be no mercy for the druids or their human kin.’

  ‘They are not worthy of your mercy, my lord. I will do anything you ask of me.’

  ‘I know you will, Shalon. You are a loyal servant and will be greatly rewarded.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Shalon, bowing; he then looked up with excitement in his face. ‘There is just one more thing you need to see Count Darkool.’

  Count Darkool looked at him with confusion but then relaxed. ‘Lead the way then.’

  Shalon and Count Darkool, along with a small retinue of guards, left the castle and walked all the way down to the only beach and there they stood and waited. Darkool looked at Shalon impatiently.

  ‘My lord,’ Shalon began. ‘You have a grand army at your disposal, but have you thought of how you were going to cross the sea with such a horde?’ he asked, rubbing his hands.

  ‘By boat of course. It will take time, but it will happen. What is this nonsense you waste my valuable time with anyway?’

  Shalon laughed, ‘Count Darkool, please stand back.’

  He did. Shalon raised his arms into the air and began a loud chant that echoed throughout the land. Darkool looked at him questioningly but waited to see what the necromancer had planned. Shalon carried on for some time and then suddenly the water began to part. A huge valley of water formed and in the centre a great bridge began to rise from the depths. It was made of great whale bones and other dead matter. It stretched all the way into the distance towards Wilmurin.

  Shalon looked to Darkool who stood looking bewildered at the spectacle. He glanced at Shalon but seemed speechless. Shalon then raised his eyebrows and said, ‘Well my lord, this is your bridge to Wilmurin.’

  Count Varko sat upon his dread horse gazing upon the beautiful landscape of Wilmurin; of course to an undead creature like him beauty had a different meaning, so to him it was ugly. He had split the Blood Guard into two groups – five of them travelled to the east while three stayed with Varko to scout the north. They were to kill Johan and any who followed him, which would put Varko in great favour with Count Darkool.

  They had searched five villages but had no luck, no one had heard of Johan. He sat on his steed staring at the town of Bruskany, wondering if this was another pointless human place to continue his mission or if they may indeed have heard of the man he sought.

  Count Varko kicked his horse in the side and the small party galloped down to the gates of Bruskany. The guards at the gate saw a small dust cloud approaching them. Varko could see that the guards readied their weapons at the approaching horsemen. They arrived at the gate and the guards looked nervously at the red armoured beings staring at them, their faces obscured by horned red helmets. Only Varko’s grey skin and long white hair showed.

  Varko left his horse and walked up to the guards, holding the reins of his horse. ‘I am Count Varko of the Vandalore Clan. I have come at the request of your lord. Let me and my men through,’ he said with a soft charming voice.

  ‘That’s funny, our lord has not told us of any guests. Apologies, count,’ one of the guards replied, scrutinising the strange men who were with the count of the Vandalore Clan. They could not see the faceless red heads below the helmets.

  ‘I must insist you allow us into your town so that we can treat with your good lord,’ Varko said, using his piercing red eyes to put a charm over the guard.

  ‘
O … o … ok … erm … count … come right in,’ he said, and signalled the other guards to open the gates.

  Count Varko smiled. ‘Care to lead the way?’ he said to the guard.

  The guard led them through the small, crude looking town to the lord’s keep. People looked at them with curiosity and fear; there was an uneasy feeling about the air of Bruskany. The count and his silent retinue walked straight through without giving the townspeople a single glance. They arrived in the hall of the lord’s keep and waited for Lord Carlin to greet them.

  After some time he approached them in his rich and extremely aristocratic clothes. ‘What brings you …’ he began, and looked over Varko’s shoulder at his strange companions and continued, ‘ … and your friends to Bruskany, count?’

  ‘Greetings Lord Carlin. I am sorry I come unannounced but I assure you I come peacefully.’

  ‘Go on,’ Lord Carlin said warily. ‘What can I do for a vampire?’ Not many people in Wilmurin liked the vampires, they were evil creatures and an evil clan which made Lord Carlin feel extremely uneasy.

  ‘I come here to seek a foreigner by the name of Johan,’ Count Varko stated.

  ‘I have not seen anybody by the name of Johan, count. Now if you don’t mind I must get back to my business,’ Lord Carlin said, turning around to walk away.

  ‘Just before you leave me,’ Varko said, calling after him. ‘Know that it will be extremely bad for you if I find out that Johan was indeed in Bruskany. Very bad,’ Varko warned.

  Lord Carlin stopped and turned back around to face Varko nervously, ‘Now that I think about it I did have some guests here not long ago. Ardag son of the Eagle, Bry of the bears and Garpaw of the wolves. There was also a stranger with them. His hair was short and he must have been less than six feet tall, quiet and mysterious, didn’t say much. I have never seen him before.’

  ‘Good, well done Lord Carlin for your cooperation. Now, what did this party want, and where did they go?’ Varko asked, full of hunger and excitement.

  ‘They came for a scroll I had bought from a rogue, very important little scroll apparently,’ Carlin replied with a blank expression. Varko was curious about what the lord had just said but allowed him to continue. ‘They left three days ago on foot. I had men watch them, and they made their way to the Whispering Forest, towards that old haunted castle, Sworcadia. That is all I know.’

  Count Varko nodded. He wondered about the significance of this particular scroll; the fact that they made their way to Sworcadia indicated that it was indeed Johan who had come to Bruskany. But why had they needed this scroll? He shook off the thought and considered how to catch them. He knew he could reach them in two days if he left now; they were on foot but he had horses.

  He looked to Lord Carlin and bowed, ‘Thank you, Lord Carlin, for your assistance. I will not intrude on you anymore. I shall leave immediately.’ Lord Carlin nodded his approval; he wouldn’t want a count staying anywhere near his town for any amount of time. Count Varko made his way to the door and just before leaving he stopped and turned back to the Lord of Bruskany, ‘You will be greatly rewarded for your service to my clan Lord Carlin,’ he said, smiling at the lord. The lord didn’t hear Varko mutter the next thing as he left, ‘Once we take over, your reward will be a quick death.’ Count Varko and the Blood Guard made their way back to their horses to chase down Johan and his companions.

  What he didn’t notice when he left Bruskany was the shadow following them.

  A loud thudding noise echoed throughout the air like thunder. Count Darkool, in his red spiked armour, mounted upon an armoured steed marched. Next to him was his necromancer, Shalon, and they were flanked by the remaining counts in similar armour upon their dark steeds. Behind them marched an enormous army of undead soldiers. They marched along the extremely long bone bridge not making a sound, nor were any war songs or instruments heard. Silently they marched; the only noise was the thudding of their metal boots on the bone bridge.

  The bridge stretched for fifty miles. It took them an entire three days to get the army across the bridge to Wilmurin. Count Darkool stood upon a hill with Shalon and the other counts. Behind them was his vast host and the sea, along with Blood Island in the distance. In front of them lay the green fields of Wilmurin and in the far distance he could see the faint outline of a tower, which was the top level of the capital, Flordonium. That was his first target, he pointed his sword towards Flordonium and let out a great roar with hungry red eyes. The counts and their necromancer along with two hundred and fifty thousand skeleton warriors began the long march to Flordonium, the long march to war.

  8

  Sworcadia

  On the fourth day of their journey to Sworcadia they approached the dense woodland known as the Whispering Forest. Ardag, Bry, Garpaw and Johan stood at the edge of the forest staring deep into it. They all felt nervous and anxious about taking another step. It would take two and a half days to walk through the forest and then another three days after that to Sworcadia. Without a word, Johan stepped forward and walked into the forest. Garpaw smiled and followed; Bry and Ardag looked at each other and then followed their companions.

  For a forest that was so dense it didn’t seem as dark as it should be. The Dark Wood only had the odd speckle of light leaking through the trees while this forest was well lit and extremely clear. The ground had a strange blue glow to it and beneath the glow was the usual forest floor. The companions felt at ease and comfortable here which they had not believed they would. Although feeling calm they each were well aware of their surroundings. Ardag and Johan held their weapons and raised them at the slightest noise.

  After walking along the path for a half a day they arrived at a tiny glade. Ardag looked around. ‘This will do for supper time. We can keep our flanks well guarded here,’ he said placing his equipment on the ground. ‘Garpaw, start getting the food ready and Johan, firewood shouldn’t be too much of a task to find.’

  Johan sighed sarcastically and raised his eyebrows. He wandered only a short distance from the new camp and started looking around for suitable wood. It wasn’t long before he heard a whispering sound nearby which startled him.

  ‘Johan,’ said the whisper.

  He spun around as the noise came from behind him.

  ‘Johan,’ it said again. Johan could now distinguish a woman’s voice.

  He spun around again, this time wielding his sword, ‘Who’s there?’ he said, clearly frightened.

  ‘Johan, follow the fairies,’ the voice whispered again.

  Johan felt himself in a vague trance, he wanted to run for help but he knew he must do what the voice asks of him. Out of nowhere dozens of little fairies started flying around his face; their skin was green and they wore clothes made from leaves. They were tiny but Johan could just about make out their faces. They didn’t speak but just flew around him.

  ‘Johan, come now child,’ the voice came yet again.

  Johan looked around at the camp and none of the others had noticed anything. He shrugged and followed the strange little fairies as they flew away. He walked for some time and gradually the camp faded behind him. He was still walking when suddenly one of the fairies turned around and waved at him; with that he unexpectedly fell down a hole and then down a mud shoot and into a small room where he fell unconscious.

  He awoke in a room which was well lit and he felt warm inside. The walls had strange markings on them, a language that was not of the druid common tongue. There were two doors in the room. He felt somebody’s presence behind him and turned to see a lady standing there. She had pale green skin and long golden hair entwined with strands of ivy leaves. Her outfit was made of leaves and other earthly things. Her face was beautiful and her eyes gave off a calming sensation to Johan.

  ‘W … w … who are you?’ Johan asked; he was extremely frightened and didn’t know what to do.

  The lady held out her arms and spoke with a soft voice that seemed to echo, ‘I am Lady Lalo of the Whispering Forest. Welcome back
to Wilmurin, Johan son of Haramithir of the Night Hunters.’ She smiled at him as she looked him up and down.

  ‘Thank you Lady Lalo, how do you know my name? What are you?’ Johan asked still shaken.

  ‘I am the last of my kind. I am of the elf kind, as are you.’

  ‘You’re an elf? I thought they all died,’ Johan remarked.

  ‘The First War of Wilmurin led to the near extinction of my race. The druids and humans had been our servants and were mistreated. They rose up and eventually defeated us; the war was because of my people,’ Lady Lalo replied with a sigh.

  ‘Why is this forest so feared then? Why are people so afraid?’

  ‘Because my fairies whisper to visitors, playing with them. Stories of deaths and other things are false. I do not kill. I have lived far too long,’ she replied with sadness in her tone.

  ‘You said something about being like me?’ Johan asked, suddenly remembering the remark.

  ‘You are half-elf of course. Did your people not explain that to you?’

  Johan wore a blank expression without reply.

  ‘When Count Darkool was given his vampire form the druid god created the Night Hunters. Only elves can kill the dark count so he mixed the blood of humans with elves, creating your clan. He knew that if Count Darkool was to become powerful and seek war that your people will be able to stop him. He did not anticipate them being wiped out.’

  Johan did not have any pointed ears or pale green skin. He felt and looked human, but the blood in his body was elven as well as human. He felt startled at finding out this new fact about himself, but not much surprised him since arriving in Wilmurin.

  Lady Lalo continued, ‘I know of your quest to find the scrolls, and with that I wish you luck. But Johan, Wilmurin is in grave danger. Count Darkool has launched an invasion. Hundreds of thousands of his minions march on the capital, and once Flordonium has fallen it will not be long before the rest of the clans follow suit. The druids are too naive to believe he has returned. Your quest must be completed with haste – destroy Count Darkool to save the world.’