Wilmurin: Land of the Druids

by H. J. Cronin

  Johan looked at her, not knowing what to say. It was true that Count Darkool had invaded, but neither of them could know that the Black Widow Clan had aligned with him and marched on the north. The situation was direr than even Lady Lalo knew.

  ‘What must I do, my lady? I feel that this task is futile. We have one scroll and know of another, but the third is a mystery. I fear that we do not have the time.’

  She sighed again and shrugged, ‘In truth Johan you do not have the time. Count Darkool will succeed. You can stop him in the long run, but first and foremost you must live.’

  ‘I understand my lady. Will you join us?’

  ‘I cannot. If I am seen by a druid I will be slain – the sins of my people have cost me dearly.’

  ‘How many more of you are still out there?’

  ‘I am sure it is just me who survives. Elves live for thousands of years, so I will stay here in my underground home waiting. But I had to meet the last Night Hunter before the world turned to darkness.’

  ‘Wilmurin will not fall, my lady. I will make sure Count Darkool is sent to the underworld.’

  ‘I am sure you will, Johan. Before you leave I have a token of my people to give to you as a gift.’

  Johan looked at her curiously as she turned around and fumbled in a rather large chest. He heard her sigh with relief when she found what she was looking for. She turned to Johan holding something behind her back. She then held it out in her hands, flat out to show Johan its beauty. It was a sword. It was a sword perhaps only four foot long. It had beautiful markings along the shaft and a pommel which looked like a leaf. She handed it to Johan and he could feel how lightweight it was.

  ‘This blade could cleave a rock in half with minimal effort. Its name is Slice, and it was made by my father two thousand years ago. It has survived this long because of its power and I have cared for it. Now you can care for it. May it slay many enemies, Johan son of Haramithir.’

  She placed her hand on his shoulder. Johan was speechless and just muttered a thank you. With that he was taken to the top of the tunnel by the fairies and he left Lady Lalo in her home. What was he to say to his companions? It was clear that they could not know of her existence. He would keep quiet and continue the quest. He paused for a moment, placed one hand on the handle of his sword and one hand on the blade of the sword and held it close to his chest and took a moment to thank its creator, he then felt an urge of confidence sweep over him and he walked back to the camp.

  Lady Lalo sat down on her chair as Johan left and smiled. The door to her left opened and in walked a male; he also had pale green skin but his hair was much shorter than Lalo’s. It looked as though there were twigs protruding from his head. His ears were pointed like an elf’s, and he wore a tunic made of bark and leaves. He sat down next to Lady Lalo.

  ‘You did not tell him of the rest of us, my queen?’ He asked with a confused expression on his face.

  ‘Larko, I did tell you we must see if he is capable before we reveal ourselves,’ she replied, stroking her chin.

  Larko sighed with slight contempt, ‘but Lady Lalo, the time is ripe, the legions of the dark count are on our land.’

  She exhaled, ‘My dear son, the druids will be wiped out and there is nothing we can do. If we leave now they will attack us and we will be wiped out. We have been hiding in these tunnels for over five hundred years. Soon the time will be ripe.’

  Larko nodded his submission. ‘You are right, my queen. Do you believe we are strong enough?’

  ‘We have a few dozen warriors in the deep caverns. They will be more than capable of handling the situation once the time is here. For now we watch Johan. If he proves to be as strong as his kin then we will call upon him. If not, then hope for Wilmurin is lost and we will slowly live out the rest of our lives in these tunnels.’

  So vast was Wilmurin, and so small their number, that the elves had the opportunity to hide. They used the Whispering Forest as a cover so that adventurers only rarely wondered through. They lived most of their days underground but they did venture out every now and again. The only one who knew of their existence was the Eagle, but they could trust him. He was a kind being who had helped keep Lady Lalo’s race a secret and save it from certain extinction.

  The elves were not planning on launching their own attack. Once the chaos of war was on Wilmurin, and if Count Darkool was destroyed, then the elves could head for the coast and cross the great ocean to a new world. This was Lady Lalo’s dream, a new start for her people where they could live in peace. All of this required close planning, so it was imperative that the war brought enough distraction for them to make their flight. But Lady Lalo was not going to leave Wilmurin yet. She placed most of her faith in Johan, the last Night Hunter.

  As Johan made his way back to the camp he considered what tale to tell his companions. He couldn’t think of anything, especially when he looked down at Slice, his new blade. He had made a promise to the lone elf, so telling his friends was out of the question. He had to think quickly. He saw the camp drawing close and eventually he entered; the other three immediately honed in on him with looks of shock and fright.

  ‘Where have you been Johan? I was so worried, you know not to go wandering off from us like that!’ Bry said with a clearly frightened voice.

  ‘It’s fine, I just went to get some fire wood is all,’ Johan reasoned, holding a bunch of wood in his hands.

  ‘Take care in what you do, Night Hunter, we are tied to your fate,’ Garpaw said, frowning.

  ‘I am fine, Garpaw. Just wandered a bit too far,’ Johan said, looking at him apologetically.

  Ardag looked at Johan and then at the sword in his scabbard; he noticed the fine craft of the hilt of the sword. He then looked at Johan questioningly: ‘Johan, where did you get that blade from? It is elf kind – such weapons have not been seen for centuries.’

  Johan swallowed nervously, ‘I found it in a small hole under a tree,’ he lied. He drew the sword and the others gasped. ‘I slipped and fell down and landed right in front of it. It’s as light as a feather, see.’ He handed it to them to pass around.

  Ardag sensed Johan’s unease and sighed as he held the blade. ‘Here you are, Johan. It is a good sword, take care of it,’ he said, and gave it back.

  Johan sighed with relief, which was not lost on Ardag. After having a rest and some food they were off again. They soon left the Whispering Wood behind and carried on to Sworcadia. The land from here was very hilly but green. The sun shone down on the companions, giving them all feelings of contentment and making them comfortable. They continued without stopping, and soon in the distance they could make out Sworcadia.

  It stood on a flat open space of land, and was a single large, square keep. Its only defence was a square wall that surrounded it, which for the most part had been destroyed. Sworcadia was not a city but a fortress for the Night Hunters; they only had houses for the few dozen soldiers they employed as guards. But that was many years ago. As they neared it Johan looked upon it and felt grief that this had been his family’s home, and now it was just an empty shell with not a living soul inside.

  Sworcadia had black scorch marks along its walls and upon the keep from a great fire that had burned here. The Vandalore Clan had attacked without mercy. They burned the keep and everyone inside. The small number of guards that helped protect the clan could not stop the onslaught of the vampire and human warriors of the Vandalore Clan. Although the Night Hunters were the best natural swordsmen in Wilmurin, the surprise attack had destroyed them. It was the quick response of the capital and the other clans that prevented the Vandalores from invading Wilmurin further.

  The small group approached it warily and slowly, being careful not to make any noise. Sworcadia was abandoned but the Eagle had spoken of the scroll being protected; where it was they did not know. People stayed away from here because of tales of ghosts and other monsters that decided to make their home there.

  The companions continued walking towards the b
urnt out main gate. The once green grass that surrounded Sworcadia was also black from fire. Ardag led the way with Johan behind him, followed by Bry and then Garpaw. Ardag pushed the burnt gate, easily opening it; his sword was drawn and he walked into the grounds of Sworcadia. The interior was burnt and it was like a scene from an apocalypse. Buildings stood with collapsed roofs and right in front of them were the black stained walls of the keep.

  Johan looked around, still with a feeling of sadness and felt his eyes start to well up. This had been his family’s home for many years. His mother, his father and all of the others; although he had not known them he felt connected to them and this devastation brought a lot of emotion out of him.

  ‘This place is cursed,’ Garpaw said, looking around anxiously. ‘The dead are watching us.’

  ‘Oh, man up, wolf,’ Bry remarked. ‘I can hold your hand if you’re afraid of a few ghost stories.’

  ‘Quiet woman, I am not afraid, just on my guard is all,’ he replied.

  ‘I’ll make sure, if they come that is, to protect you,’ she said, smiling.

  He shot her a serious look. ‘I can handle myself Bry, I am a wolf after all,’ he said proudly.

  Ardag stopped and looked at them. ‘Shut up, both of you. If you make any more noise then anything that’s in there will surely know that we are here,’ he warned and put his pipe away. Bry and Garpaw looked at each other, smiled and then nodded at Ardag.

  They carried on to the entrance to the keep. Ardag pushed the door but it would not shift. He looked to the others who followed his cue and helped him try to open it. Each with one shoulder pressed against the door, with a heave they pushed and the door slowly opened. They walked into a large room which echoed with their footsteps as they entered. It was dark, with the only light coming from some broken windows. They could make out outlines, shapes of items such as tables and chairs which were turned over, broken things like glass and other everyday objects. There was no throne in Sworcadia but a large square council table.

  Ardag looked to the others, ‘Be on your guard, I’ll get us some light.’ He looked around and picked off four unlit torches from the wall; the wood was heavy but it was bearable. His father had taught him how to summon sparks to start fires, and he lit the four torches and handed one to each of his companions. These gave off a brilliant light so that the companions could find their way around. He also took some more for spares.

  ‘Where do we go now?’ Johan asked, looking around the room. The atmosphere was enough to make even the hardiest person fearful.

  ‘We continue along. Behind the council table ahead is a room where the Night Hunters kept a lot of their valuables. We start our search there,’ Ardag said, his voice echoing around the room.

  They continued walking to the doorway. Every now and then they thought they heard noises and quickly turned. The enormous room was so quiet that a pin drop could be heard from one end. The companions were on edge and the smallest noise sounded amplified. Johan was not the only person feeling scared, they all felt uneasy. But the companions were strong and wilful so they carried on.

  Apart from blood stains they had not seen any bodies lying around. The Night Hunters had been buried in the catacombs but the Vandalore Clan’s human soldiers had just been left where they died. This made even Ardag feel uncomfortable. They arrived at the door and opened it, and entered another dark room. The great hall they were just in dwarfed the small room they walked into; their torches illuminated the entire room.

  In the centre of the room was a stone altar and upon it there was a sealed scroll. The companions froze at the sight of their easy target.

  ‘Well, this was an easy catch,’ Garpaw remarked as they walked towards it.

  ‘Too easy,’ Bry observed cautiously.

  They continued towards it but Johan stopped. ‘Wait,’ he said, looking at the others and holding his arms out as if to form a barrier around it. ‘The other scroll we acquired in Bruskany had a different feeling to it; it felt alive and created an atmosphere around us. I cannot feel anything with this one.’

  The others gazed at him. Garpaw sighed and moved forward. ‘Don’t be silly now Johan, it’s just a scroll,’ he said, and lightly pushed Johan aside and placed his hand on the scroll.

  Just before he reached it Ardag held out his hand. ‘No! It’s a fake!’ Was all he could call out as Garpaw picked up the scroll.

  Their torches suddenly blew out and the room became so dark that no one could see their hand in front of their face. They heard a groan and slow movement around them. The companions couldn’t see anything as the noise came closer. All they could do was feel for each other and then huddle close together. There were now multiple groans, they were surrounded by something. A vile smell of death filled the room.

  ‘Ardag, what’s happening?’ Johan said, clutching his sword.

  ‘Johan, stay with me, we will find out soon enough,’ Bry said, touching his shoulder.

  ‘Smells like something’s died in here,’ Garpaw added.

  ‘Whatever it is stay together, while it’s dark we cannot hope to accomplish much individually,’ Ardag suggested.

  Suddenly their torches lit up again illuminating the whole room with a sudden flash of light. Surrounding them, walking slowly towards them, only a few metres away were nearly two dozen undead beings. They wore the armour of their previous life, some had missing limbs and others stared at the companions with hunger in their dead eyes.

  ‘Shit, they’re zombies! Looks like we have our work cut out for us. Cutting their heads off is the only way to send them away from this world,’ Ardag called out with a smile, holding his katana in hand, aware that zombies were formidable in numbers, but for a skilled fighter they were more of a pest.

  Ardag charged into the mass in front of him with his sword held high above his head, ready to bring down. Bry lifted her arms in the air and the druid took on her mighty light brown bear form and roared at the coming undead. Garpaw looked up and howled and then took on his giant wolf form; the wolf snarled at his enemies and charged. Johan raised his hands and shouted to his ancestors as he too ran into the fray.

  For every zombie they vanquished another seemed to appear. Ardag made easy work of the morbid flesh with his curved katana. He sliced and cut through the zombies one at a time. One clean downward thrust sliced through one creature’s neck like a knife through butter, parting its head from its body and sending it to the underworld.

  He felt an arm grab his shoulder and turned his head to see a hideous face gleaming at him ready to bite. Ardag was much faster than the zombie and he brought his katana in low and sliced the monster in half from its waist. The creature still used its hands and clawed at Ardag's legs, pulling him down to the floor. Now level with the zombie he brought his katana in an arc and cut the zombie’s head off before it could make another move which might prove fatal to Ardag.

  Garpaw leapt onto one of the abominations and slashed at its face with his sharp wolf claws. He slashed with lightning speed until its head was a pile of mush. He looked around with a snarl at the fight around him, seeking out his next victim. He saw it. One of the zombies was just feet away from Johan with its arms raised ready to attack. Garpaw quickly darted towards the zombie, he flew in the air and with a strong swipe of his paw he relieved the zombie of its foul head.

  He attacked another enemy who managed to stab him in the back before Garpaw tore him to shreds. He shook off the pain, howled his victory and made for some more enemies.

  Johan looked at Garpaw and nodded his appreciation. He found a never before known skill with his blade. He swiped and swished, slicing through mort flesh. One monster came at him armed with a meat cleaver; it still wore the crude iron armour of its previous life. The zombie brought the meat cleaver down, attempting to slice Johan’s head in half. Johan quickly parried the attack and managed to block another, he swung his sword in a small arc cutting through the zombie’s legs bringing it down, and then stabbed his sword into the monster’s b
rain stopping it forever.

  He saw his friend, Ardag, surrounded by half a dozen enemies; worrying that he would be overwhelmed Johan quickly ran at the zombies with a loud roar. He immediately cut one to pieces and made fine work of another. One came at him with a ferocious intensity, the strength of the zombie was astonishing but Johan managed to block the attacks and defeat his enemy.

  Bry, in her bear form, looked up with blood dripping down from her lips and looked for her next victim. The enemies were almost all dead, but then she saw that Garpaw was cornered by a dozen of the slow moving zombies; the other two companions were too occupied so she charged into the throng. Her powerful paws easily hit the zombies out of the way. All it took was one swift hit of her paw to decapitate one of the zombies. Together the wolf and the bear quickly finished off the last of the enemies with ease. They returned to their human druid forms.

  The battle was over; the companions were exhausted. Garpaw had a knife protruding from his back and he collapsed onto the floor. The others rushed over to him as blood poured from the wound.

  ‘Move aside,’ Ardag said to Bry and Johan. ‘I chose not a life of magic but a life of the sword. But one thing my father did teach me was how to heal. I need some space for this.’

  Bry and Johan nodded and stood back. Johan’s eyes filled with tears at the prospect of losing his friend but Bry placed her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. Garpaw didn’t say a word but was shaking as the blood drained from his body; he tried to speak but it only came out as a gasp. Ardag hushed him and placed his hand over the knife and removed it. His hand hovered over the wound and he began a low hum which turned in to a very quiet chant. His hand began to turn blue and a light glowed from his palm. The light shone from his hand onto the wound and to the amazement of the two companions watching, the blood made its way back into Garpaw’s body and the wound began to heal.