Wilmurin: Land of the Druids

by H. J. Cronin

  They walked for the rest of the day with the heat of the sun making each step that little bit harder. Bethegar took this time to look out at the beautiful landscape of Wilmurin, the mountains to his left, and to his right was a vast land of forests and green fields. The beauty never ceased to impress him.

  The party eventually arrived at the Dark Wood and Ka’ka helped Bethegar to the ground. Before entering the woods Bethegar turned to the giant. ‘Take care my friend, dark times may be upon us. Hide your family and keep safe,’ he said.

  ‘Dark times? What is meant by that?’ The giant asked curiously.

  ‘I do not know as yet, but heed my warning, do not risk the lives of your people,’ Bethegar responded.

  Ka’ka started to speak but then just nodded, and said farewell to the son of the king. He turned to his giant kin and together they departed Bethegar. Bethegar knew that it would not be long before perhaps his clan would be calling on the giants for aid. But until that time he would let them live in peace.

  Bethegar took on his bear form and raced through the Dark Wood; he did not stop once but carried on, determined to get to his father. He passed through the village close to his home without a single word; the people watched him run past and some had to dive out of the way of the huge brown bear running towards them. He soon came to the great gates of the huge city of Bemon and prepared to enter his home once again.

  The large gates of Bemon opened up slowly with a loud creak. The guards had recognised Bethegar and allowed him entry. He walked in and took a deep breath, looking around the familiar setting of his home. He felt happy to be home but something worried him; there was something that didn’t seem right. So, on his guard, he walked up to the citadel.

  Throngs of people came to see him as word quickly spread. People praised and thanked Drugar for his return.

  ‘Praise my lord!’ One woman called out, blowing kisses towards him.

  ‘Welcome home my lord Bethegar!’ Another called out.

  ‘Bethegar! You have returned! The king has gone mad!’ A man shouted.

  More comments like these were called out and this kind of news troubled the brute of a man. Was his father well? Had something happened? He carried on walking without a word as the crowd followed him, still praising his name and thanking him.

  He eventually arrived at the citadel and the guards opened the large doors for him. He walked into his father’s hall and smiled at the familiar smell of the oaken tables and the food and mead. He looked directly at the throne and the man sitting on it; it wasn’t his father Bemnom as he expected, it was his brother, Brehan.

  Brehan immediately stood up in shock at the sight of his brother, but quickly came to and opened his arms out wide as he approached Bethegar, ‘Welcome home my brother! You have returned at last,’ he said, with a slight disappointed tone that didn’t match the words he spoke. He embraced his brother.

  ‘Indeed I am back my brother, where is Father? And why do you wear his crown?’ Bethegar asked as he pushed his brother back gently and pointed at the crown on his head.

  ‘Come brother, take a seat,’ Brehan responded, placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder as they found a place to sit.

  ‘What is going on Brehan? Why do you avoid my questions?’

  ‘Father was a traitor—’ Brehan began.

  But Bethegar cut in straight away, ‘Traitor? What do you mean, traitor? Our father was the most loyal man in the whole kingdom.’ Bethegar said stabbing a finger at his brother.

  ‘Let me finish before you interrupt,’ Brehan said, gazing at his brother. ‘The world is changing brother, Count Darkool has returned and the Black Widow is his ally. They will take Wilmurin and wipe out any who oppose them.’ Brehan looked at his brother to see his response.

  ‘Father can help stop them, where is he?’

  ‘Father is dead. He would not join with the counts. He chose to defy them and now he is dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ Was all Bethegar could say at the revelation.

  ‘I chose to join them. With their power we can control the north! Join me brother, together we can rule,’ Brehan said, clenching his fist.

  ‘This is madness Brehan – do not tell me that Father died by your hand,’ Bethegar asked with anger growing in his face. He noticed his brother’s guards coming closer to him.

  ‘I had to brother, Father would have killed us all,’ Brehan said, making a show of sadness, but Bethegar would not buy it. He made an attempt to attack his brother but the guards were on him and stopped him.

  He turned his head to look at the guards. ‘Let go of me now otherwise I will tear each of you limb from limb,’ he warned them, and knowing better than to challenge a druid, they let him go. He then looked back to his brother, ‘You knew of the ambush didn’t you? You knew that they were coming for us, you told them where we would be. You tried to have me and our sister killed. She yet lives, as does Johan; you have failed your first attempt.’

  Brehan looked slightly irritated at the latter comment but then calmed himself down and continued, ‘That was an error, brother. I beg you, do not make me kill you – we can be powerful together,’ Brehan said holding his arms out.

  ‘No brother, you have already killed yourself. Count Darkool will wipe you off the face of this world once he has used you enough. You will be his pet and never an equal,’ Bethegar said, and spat on the floor.

  This clearly angered Brehan, who jumped onto his brother throwing both of them to the floor. He hit his brother repeatedly in the face. Bethegar managed to block a couple shots and quickly threw his brother off of him. He stood and clenched his fists, daring his brother to come closer. Brehan fell for it and ran at Bethegar; just as he got close enough Bethegar side stepped and using his brother’s momentum he threw Brehan across a table, smashing all the plates and glasses that were on it.

  Brehan stood up, dazed, but quickly shook it off. ‘I will kill you now Bethegar, you are no brother of mine.’ Brehan opened his arms out wide and grew twice his original size; thick black fur began to grow from his skin and he took the shape of a huge bear. He had taken his father’s black bear form, the powerful form of the king, and growled at Bethegar, challenging him to make a move.

  ‘Very well, challenge accepted. Know this first: Father loved you as did I. You betrayed this clan and now you will pay,’ Bethegar said, and with that he too took on his brown bear form. They stared at each other; the guards and king’s aides in the room all stood back and watched this spectacle, none of them willing to intervene.

  Neither brother made a move. One would wait for the other, both knew that one of them would have to die on this day. Suddenly both bears charged and leapt over the table at each other, both roaring.

  Brehan, in his black bear form, had the upper hand at first. He had the form of the king of their clan; the black bear was most powerful of the bears but it took the person behind the form to really make the difference. Brehan knew that Bethegar was more of a skilled fighter and had more brains than he did, so he would try and rely on brute strength to overpower his brother.

  The usurper Brehan was upon his brother instantly, trying to find an opening to bite at his brother’s throat, but Bethegar held his paws up and blocked the would-be fatal bites. Bethegar managed to fling his brother off onto the floor beside him and quickly got back up on all fours.

  The two bears, now on all four of their paws, circled each other once again waiting for the other to make the next move. It came from Brehan again, who attacked his brother with a barbaric ferocity, managing to catch Bethegar’s face with his claws which sent him to the ground. Brehan immediately was upon Bethegar, but the latter managed to fend his brother off by kicking him with his back legs, and quickly regained his normal bear stance.

  Brehan snarled at his brother with impatience; the fight was going on much longer then he had anticipated. Brehan again managed to send his brother backwards, this time swiping left and right with his powerful hammer-like paw which Bethegar just about mana
ged to block.

  They circled each other again during another stalemate. The two giant bears growled at each other, both fatigued, but their will made them carry on. Brehan had turned bad and Bethegar had no other options but to stop him; to reason with his brother was no longer an option. But Bethegar was finding his much stronger brother an extremely formidable foe and for a moment questioned the likelihood of him winning, but he immediately shook off the thought because such thoughts can get one killed.

  The bears suddenly both stood on their hind legs and clashed with a thud that shook the very hall they were fighting in. Both bears had their long arms hooked around each other’s heads as if trying to hug one another. Suddenly Brehan’s strength prevailed and he managed to force his brother to the floor, with a huge swipe of his paw he hit his brother in the side and with his claws tore a gash into the almost helpless Bethegar.

  Brehan, now staring at Bethegar’s bear form on the ground, gave a loud roar of certain victory. Using his front paws he dug them into the rear legs of Bethegar and swung him around. Although Bethegar was twice the size of a regular bear, Brehan’s sheer strength lifted him with ease. He swung him for a moment and released him flying into the air, and Bethegar crashed through a table.

  Bethegar attempted to rise again but felt extremely weak. He saw his brother approaching him, hungry for the kill. But Bethegar could not give up, the fate of his homeland was in his hands, and Brehan would surely lead his people to their destruction. He suddenly saw a bright light descending from the ceiling of the Great Hall; no one else seemed to notice it. It flew down and hit his body. Bethegar suddenly felt a surge of strength, a new-found will to carry on and win this fight.

  To the amazement of Brehan, Bethegar now stood back up on his hind legs and gave out a roar that echoed throughout the land. Bethegar suddenly leapt at his brother with his two front paws reaching out to grab the shocked Brehan. Bethegar came on slashing, hacking, clawing, kicking and hitting his brother with a ferocity that Brehan had never seen before. The speed was too much for Brehan to keep up with and he failed to defend himself. Bethegar clawed and scratched several deep wounds in his brother and sent him crashing down to the ground, motionless.

  Just like his brother had done to him Bethegar picked Brehan up and threw him with all of his might against the wall. There was a loud crack that echoed through the hall as Brehan hit it. It was neither the wall cracking nor the wooden table underneath, but it was Brehan’s spine snapping as he hit the wall with such power.

  As Brehan lay immobile on the floor his brother approached him slowly and warily. Brehan returned to his human form, lying there with claw marks covering his torn and broken body. He looked up at his brother. ‘Forgive me brother. I have betrayed you and everybody else,’ he struggled to say above his crackling voice. ‘One more thing,’ he carried on in a broken whisper, and Bethegar, now too in his human form, listened. ‘The Black Widow has amassed a giant force of men. Nearly fifty thousand make their way to the north.’ With that he closed his eyes and never saw day again.

  Bethegar stood over his brother’s still, broken corpse. Brehan lay quietly and Bethegar looked at him, full of sympathy for how his brother had turned. He pitied his brother, but killing him had been his only option because there was nothing to reason with.

  One of the aides approached Bethegar warily. ‘My lord – I mean my king,’ he started with a stutter. ‘Would you like us to destroy the body?’

  Bethegar looked up at the man, trying to fight back the tears. He shook his head. ‘No, we will give my brother a druid burial. Although he would have seen our kingdom turned to ash he was still my brother. Prepare the pyre,’ he ordered the aide, who quickly obeyed.

  Bethegar looked as the aide, along with others, carried Brehan to the funeral room. He could not mourn his brother’s loss as well as his Father’s. Time was against him and soon the enemy would strike.

  He looked up at the guards. ‘Benning, come here,’ he called out to the captain of the guards.

  Benning quickly responded, ‘Yes sir.’ And ran over to his new king and saluted. He had a moustache that twisted on both sides and short cropped hair. He was a tall, well-built man, not as much a brute or as imposing as Bethegar, but still a large man.

  ‘Benning, assemble some riders. One is to be sent to the Black Panther Clan and another to the Clan of the Wolf. Tell them to mobilise their army immediately as there is an imminent threat to the north. We will gather before Perthyon, the city of the panthers, as that is furthest south and likely the enemies’ first target. Send some riders to Flordonium as well to alert High King Jasper of the impending danger,’ he paused for a moment to allow the information to sink in, and then stroked his large beard and carried on, ‘after the riders have been despatched, assemble our own army to be ready for war within the next fortnight.’ Benning nodded and made to turn around and hurry off. Bethegar placed a hand on his shoulder, ‘Benning, after you have followed my instructions make love to your wife, spend time with your children and prepare to not return.’ Benning understood what the king meant with these words, nodded and quickly left to do his errands.

  Three days later Bethegar made his way to the armoury. One day previously his brother had been cremated. He felt sadness at the thought of his brother turning over to the enemy, but great anger that his father’s body had never been delivered to him. He was accompanied by a small retinue of guards but knew he did not need them; the people of Bemon loved him as he loved them.

  Captain Benning had followed the king’s orders accurately. The riders had been sent and his army mobilised and armed. It would be a fourteen day march to Perthyon; food and provisions had been prepared for his force. Large baggage trains were formed to carry the loads. Fifteen thousand of his men would be marching to war along with five thousand from the Clan of the Wolf and ten thousand from the Black Panther Clan.

  Thirty thousand soldiers in all, not nearly enough to stop the vast horde of the Black Widow. It was well known that she had the vastest army in the realm with just over fifty thousand men at her command, along with other beasts of the underground under her dominion. Only the Clan of the Lion could match it. All the druids could do was slow her progress and take as many of them down as possible. With any luck the other clans would come to their aid as well as Flordonium, but Bethegar knew these thoughts were futile; they also had to contend with Count Darkool and whatever army he had amassed.

  Hopefully the goodness of the druid clans would help them prevail in the coming war, Bethegar thought to himself. But sometimes hope was not enough.

  He arrived at the armoury and went straight to the king’s armour. The king’s armour was made of bronze, was extremely strong and could withstand many blows. Even more impressive was that when the druid wearing the armour took on his bear form, the bronze changed its shape to accommodate the large bear. Much was the case with all of the armour of Wilmurin; each clan had its own battle armour which suited its particular form.

  He donned the king’s armour and stared in the mirror at himself. He wore his father’s armour and felt a certain pride at wearing it. His beard overlapped the top of the breastplate and his long scruffy hair showed under his helmet. The breastplate had the image of a roaring bear on it. He carried an axe but seldom used it as he used his bear form as his main weapon.

  Nearly two weeks since he had given Benning the order, Bethegar stood atop his battlements gazing out at his army preparing themselves. Men said their farewells to their wives and children, sons to their parents and parents to their parents. They wore the customary brown stained plate armour that his clan wore with their banners held high. They saw their king looking out upon them, and once word had spread they gathered before the great gates of Bemon ready to hear their king address them.

  Fifteen thousand faces looked up at him. He knew these people were relying on him and he would try his hardest not to let them down. He stood there proud in his bronze armour with his helmet in his arms so his people co
uld see his face.

  ‘Men!’ he started with a loud voice that echoed throughout the mass of men; with the castle being situated inside a dent in the mountains his voice was amplified greatly. ‘This day we march south to Perthyon. There we will meet our fellow clans and together we will make a stand. I am always an honest man; the Black Widow has amassed an army that dwarfs ours. It is likely that most of us will not return from this battle. The bitch spider wants to rule the north alongside that vampire Count Darkool,’ the men murmured at the mention of the Count’s name; no one official had acknowledged his return yet.

  ‘We cannot let it happen!’ he carried on. ‘Brothers, I bid you raise your weapons against our enemies and stand for what is right. If Wilmurin falls to this new plague then let it be done with honour and let us show our enemies that they have bitten off more than they could chew! Men! We fight for our families, we fight for our friends, we fight for my father, we fight for Bemon and most of all we fight for Wilmurin!’ he shouted and pumped his fist into the air.

  The men echoed his call, ‘WILMURIN! WILMURIN! WILMURIN!’ they shouted back with their weapons raised.

  Bethegar felt pride as he looked out at his army. He heard footsteps to his side and saw his captain, Benning running towards him looking paler than a white cloudy sky.

  ‘My king! My king! My king!’ He shouted as he approached Bethegar.

  ‘What is it, man?’ Bethegar asked the flustered man.

  ‘My king,’ Benning said, trying to catch his breath; he then looked up at Bethegar. ‘My king, it’s Flordonium.’

  10

  Darkool’s Prize

  The great undead host had marched towards Flordonium for some time now. Four villages had been wiped off the face of the world. Every man, woman and child had been put to the sword. Count Darkool did not like prisoners. But tirelessly his bone army marched without question or complaint. They had met no resistance so Count Darkool knew that his approach was very much unknown.