Wilmurin: Land of the Druids

by H. J. Cronin

  The little boy nodded and looked at Tumnis curiously.

  ‘There is no time to dwell, you must leave now,’ High King Jasper said immediately. He clasped wrists with Tumnis and they said their farewells. Tumnis found a new respect for the High King; he gave one last glance and then left with the boy and their escort, still mourning the fact that he would never see his family again.

  Some hours later Tumnis and Carmin had walked a fair distance from Flordonium, and now they were far enough they stopped for a rest. Tumnis looked out across the landscape to his city of Flordonium. There it stood, engulfed in flames and smoke. The screams he had heard from the women and children as they were slaughtered haunted him, and he then vowed to return with vengeance. He sighed, and the thought of his wife and children did not leave him and tears filled his eyes.

  Count Darkool sunk his fangs into the prisoner and feasted on his blood. After he was satisfied he stood up and smiled. He stood on top of the gatehouse of the third tier of Flordonium and looked out over the decimated city. The ground was littered with the corpses of the population of the capital. Count Darkool had his victory. He left the gatehouse and made his way back to the citadel.

  Count Kharki had removed his spear from the stomach of a dead man and looked up at his approaching master. He bowed as Count Darkool came closer, ‘My lord, you have victory, Flordonium is yours.’

  ‘Yes, it is my victory, but this is no longer Flordonium. This is the new Vandaloria. Send for Shalon.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Kharki said, bowing again.

  Sometime later he returned with Shalon the necromancer. He wore his black robe with his hood hiding most of his face, and approached Count Darkool applauding.

  ‘I give my gratitude, Shalon, for giving me such a fine army,’ Count Darkool said.

  ‘It is your army, my lord, so it is your victory,’ Shalon said, choosing carefully what to say.

  ‘I was not saying whose victory it was, Shalon, I was merely praising your magical ability.’

  Shalon swallowed and bowed his head, ‘My apologies Count Darkool. I did not mean to offend.’

  ‘It is of no concern to me, necromancer,’ Darkool said, dismissing him with a wave. ‘I have more tasks for you. I have lost nearly half of my force. I require you to raise more skeletons from the city’s dead, now go.’ Darkool then looked to Kharki and waved him over. ‘Count Kharki, go to neighbouring villages and select the strongest men to join my ranks of vampires. Keep the women as food for our ever hungry race, and use our prisoners as well.’ He paused for a moment, letting the order sink in. ‘Kill the children. They are of no use to me.’

  Kharki bowed and left to carry out his new task. Count Darkool walked into the citadel and through to the main hall. Skeletons were surrounding a small group of prisoners and straight ahead, hanging from the tall ceiling, was High King Jasper. His skin had been stripped from his body and his blood dripped into a puddle on the floor below him.

  Count Darkool smiled with satisfaction and thought about his next move to bring Wilmurin under undead rule. Soon the north would be taken by the Black Widow and Darkool would despatch an army to wipe out the south. Then the Black Widow Clan and the Vandalore Clan would be the only ones left; he couldn’t have too many allies. The Lizard Clan kept to themselves in their jungle far to the south, they were not a threat, and any attempt to destroy them would be too difficult a task with their numbers and choice of home in the jungle. No, they would be left to themselves.

  ‘Wilmurin will no longer be a land of druids but the land of darkness,’ Count Darkool said, smiling to himself. ‘The Vandalore Clan has risen from the ashes and now stands at the head of this expired world. The living will kneel before the power of Count Darkool!’

  11

  A Secret Revealed

  ‘Palar, what are you doing here?’ Ardag asked, full of surprise.

  ‘I heard of some creatures asking about you and your companions in Bruskany. I thought I would ride here to warn you but I was too late,’ Palar said, looking over at the lifeless Garpaw.

  ‘I thank you, friend, for coming at all. Why would you risk your life for us?’

  ‘Too long have I lived in Bruskany and too long have I been living in that den of thieves and scoundrels. I want adventure and life. I think I will find that with you. I am just sorry I was too late for your friend.’

  ‘His death was by Vandalore hands, not yours, you have nothing to apologise for,’ Ardag said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.

  The two men walked over to Bry and Johan who sat by Garpaw. They had fought a bitter battle with the Blood Guard and the count; they had only just won the fight, but all came out scarred from the battle and one had not lived through it.

  Johan looked up at the two men approaching them with tears in his eyes. He looked curiously at Palar but had heard the exchange with Ardag and was grateful to see him.

  ‘Ardag, during the fight I saw the shade of a young boy, pointing down at the floor,’ Johan said pointing to his right where he had seen the boy.

  ‘A boy, you say? Strange,’ Ardag said, stroking his small goatee beard. ‘Let’s go and investigate. Palar, could you stay here with Bry while Johan and I go and see? If anything happens, get her out of here.’ Palar nodded and Bry said nothing, still mourning over her dead friend. Ardag looked up at Johan, ‘Come Johan, let’s go and look.’

  Johan and Ardag bypassed the various objects that littered the floor – tables, chairs, cutlery, old tankards and various other everyday items. They walked over to the corner of the dark hall with their torches in hand. They couldn’t see any obvious signs of what the spirit child could have been pointing at. It wasn’t until they began to leave the corner that Johan spotted a light shining up from a table which lay upside down.

  ‘Ardag! There!’ He called out as he saw the mysterious light.

  They immediately shifted the table to reveal a trap door with a light shining through it. They lifted the hatch up easily and it revealed a ladder, leading to a lit corridor below them. They gave each other a knowing look and Ardag instantly climbed down the stairs followed by Johan. They found themselves in a yellow stone corridor lit by torches on the walls. The corridor led to a small wooden door at the end.

  They made their way to the door at once, but remained on their guard for they did not know what was behind it. They arrived at the door and stopped. Ardag gently tapped the door and then put an ear to it. He stroked his chin and gently pushed the door open. The two companions stepped into a large open room with nothing but a stone altar at the end and two large stone statues on either side of it.

  They drew their swords and walked warily towards the altar.

  Johan looked at Ardag and broke the silence, ‘Ardag, the real scroll must be there. Let’s go.’

  He stepped forward but Ardag stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, ‘No Johan, my father said it is guarded. I imagine those two statues are golems.’

  ‘Golems?’

  ‘Yes, magical living stone. Powerful foes that are very hard to beat.’

  ‘What do we do then?’

  ‘Be on your guard, if you see them move, let me know.’

  They carried onto towards the altar, both feeling uneasy and wary. As they came closer they saw that the golems both held great swords. They were as still as statues and did not move as the companions came closer. The two of them had come very close to the altar when Johan noticed that there was only a piece of parchment on the table and no sign of a scroll. They gave each other a worried look.

  There was suddenly a strange noise – stone moving on stone. The companions looked up and saw the silent golems looking at them, expressionless. Without warning they suddenly jumped at the companions with their swords held high.

  Johan dodged one blow as it was just inches away from him. He brought his sword up and blocked another; the blow was so hard it sent him to the floor and his arms rang with pain. He instantly got up as another slash came from the huge stone gol
em. For all of their might, the golems were not very fast. But simple human weapons could not defeat them; they were made of stone after all.

  Ardag attacked his golem with great speed and agility. He slashed the golem several times on the leg, which caused little more than a scratch and which the stone creature could not feel anyway. There had to be a plan, but he had barely enough time to think about it as he parried another would-be fatal attack from the golem.

  It was then that Johan suddenly remembered what the elven queen had said to him about his blade, Slice. ‘This blade could cleave a rock in half with minimal effort’; he smiled at the memory and knew that with enough power he could cut through these stone beasts.

  He came on with a renewed attack against the golem, this time hacking and slashing at its stone legs. He managed to cut through one of the legs and then the other, sending the golem to the floor.

  Ardag looked over with surprise at the powerful sword that Johan wielded. ‘Stab it in the head, destroy the brain to beat the creature,’ he called out.

  Johan did as he was asked and brought the sword down, easily cutting through the stone and ending the golem’s existence. Now he knew what to do, he quickly disposed of the other one and saved Ardag.

  ‘How the hell did your sword do that?’ Ardag asked with his mouth gawping.

  ‘I don’t know, it must be magic,’ Johan said, smiling.

  ‘Thank the god for you, Johan son of Haramithir,’ Ardag replied, patting Johan on the shoulder. He then turned to the parchment. ‘What do you think that is?’

  ‘I have no idea, maybe a note from a thief.’

  ‘Maybe, you read it. This is the home of your father, after all,’ Ardag said, raising his hand towards the parchment.

  Johan nodded, walked up to the altar and picked up the parchment. There was writing on it which he could just about read as it had faded over the past years; it must have been there for some time.

  Haramithir of the Night Hunters: Year 2787

  ‘It has been five years since the Vandalore Clan wiped out my family. My son, Johan, has been transported to another world through the magic of the Eagle. Although Count Darkool was defeated nearly five hundred years ago, he can still return. I believe that is why the Vandalore Clan attacked, to see if we had kept his body, which of course we did not. If the count was to return it would mean grave danger for the entire world, for he will know how to defeat us and he will come back more powerful.

  I have heard a tale of three scrolls that can destroy the dark count forever. When they come together a spell is completed. Once the spell is used it will destroy Count Darkool himself for all eternity. But the tale is false for I have found them all. They did not come together as the tale suggested, they are mere Life Scrolls, which can bring one back from death; only these three exist. One has been kept in Sworcadia under this altar, the other two are in Wilmurin. It and this parchment are guarded by my golems so that when my son is of an age to come here, I will know he is destined for greatness if he can defeat them.

  To you my son, if you read this, I greet you. I wish I could have known you. I apologise on behalf of the Eagle for deceiving you; we hoped to lead you to this note. Count Darkool will eventually return and without our clan he cannot be destroyed, the world will see blood and darkness. You must find a way to stop him. I have devoted my life to finding a way but I have failed. I do not believe the answer is in Wilmurin.

  You must travel beyond the sea to Jotun. There is a Lone Druid there, who will know what to do. I am too close to death to seek him out.

  The Life scroll will provide you with another chance should you fall, so keep it safe. My last word to you Johan is that I love you and I know you will do what is needed. Destroy the count and save Wilmurin. Goodbye for now, my son.

  Johan gripped the parchment and fought back the tears. He did not have any idea where to go next.

  Ardag looked at his troubled friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘What did it say?’ he asked.

  ‘It was my father, he knew I would come here. These scrolls are Life Scrolls,’ Johan replied and gave the letter to Ardag to read.

  ‘Life Scrolls? I have heard stories of such items. Only three are in existence,’ Ardag said, holding the parchment.

  Johan went back to the altar and scrutinised it. The top layer had a small, filled gap in the stone, which seemed to be a seal. He pushed it with all of his strength; it fell off and inside was the Life Scroll – he suddenly had the same feeling he’d had with the other one in Bruskany. ‘This is the second one,’ he said, holding it up in the air. He then looked at Ardag, ‘We must move with haste. My father said that the answer to defeating Count Darkool lies not in Wilmurin but in a place called Jotun. We must find this place as soon as possible.’

  ‘Selarmus, the port city to the west. We will go there – they will have ships, and we can continue our journey.’

  ‘This Life Scroll can be used one on Garpaw,’ Johan said as they walked back to their friends.

  ‘No Johan, they are for you, should you have need of them,’ Ardag said, shaking his head.

  ‘If I can bring Garpaw back then that is an extra hand for us. There is strength in numbers. He has become our friend and has saved my life more than once.’

  Ardag just shook his head, ‘Whatever you feel is right. I know he would not want you to rescue him, but I suppose I cannot change your mind.’

  ‘Not a chance, my friend,’ Johan said with a wink.

  They made their way back through the flame lit tunnel and back to the great dark hall of Sworcadia. They continued outside to the castle grounds to where Bry and Palar had taken Garpaw’s body for druid cremation. They had waited for Johan and Ardag to return before starting the ceremony.

  As they approached, Johan could see that Bry had been crying. They explained what had happened below the castle. As they reached their lifeless companion Johan passed the scroll to Ardag. Ardag held the scroll and suddenly words began to form on the blank pages. He read them out and as he did a red mist formed around it and floated through the air and into Garpaw’s mouth, the scroll unexpectedly burst into flames causing Ardag to drop it to avoid being scolded.

  Garpaw suddenly gasped and looked up at his companions with shock and fright in his eyes. ‘What happened?’ he managed to mutter.

  ‘You were killed by the servants of the Vandalore Clan, but Johan has brought you back to life using a Life Scroll,’ Ardag said, holding his hand.

  ‘Impossible!’ Garpaw said, staring at Johan. ‘My life is in debt to you, Night Hunter.’

  Johan felt uncomfortable with the name but knew he would have to get used to it.

  ‘Right! Enough with pleasantries, where do we go now?’ Palar interrupted from under his cowl with a voice that sounded like a whisper.

  ‘We leave for Selarmus and there we will make our way across the sea,’ Ardag replied.

  ‘Across the sea?’ Bry interrupted, ‘we cannot go across the sea! What of the Mer People?’

  ‘A bed time story for little children, she-bear,’ Palar said, laughing.

  Ardag shook his head disapprovingly with a smile, ‘She is right to be cautious of the sea, but the Mer People stay below the water. They will not affect us.’

  ‘Very well then. After Garpaw regains his strength, we leave for Selarmus,’ Johan announced optimistically. They all nodded in agreement but stopped suddenly when they heard a noise in the distance.

  It was a faint noise like a drum, and then as it got closer it felt like a minor earthquake as the ground rumbled.

  ‘Giants?’ Garpaw asked nervously, knowing that he would be quite ineffectual at the moment.

  ‘Not Giants,’ Ardag said, and headed towards a ladder which led up the wall.

  As they stood on the wall they gazed out upon an enormous host of men marching past Sworcadia; most had crude leather armour which was black with a black widow spider painted on the front. Others wore thick plated armour with the same symbol and there were ev
en men mounted on giant spiders.

  ‘That’s the grand army of the Black Widow Clan,’ Garpaw said, as the companions kept their heads down avoiding detection. ‘Why do they march north?’

  ‘It seems obvious that a war has started – they march to destroy the north I would imagine,’ Bry said, gazing out at the enormous host.

  ‘We will wait for them to pass and then make our way to Selarmus with utmost haste. Wilmurin is about to head into an all-out war if it has not already done so.’ Ardag said warily, and left the wall.

  The others followed him; Bry was last as she looked upon the army heading towards her homeland, and she was filled with fear for her father and remaining brother. The Black Widow had taken Bethegar from her, and she prayed to the druid god that she would not take Bemnom and Brehan as well.

  Ardag, Johan, Garpaw, Bry and their newest companion, Palar, stood in a semi-circle just below the wall. They could hear the army marching beyond the fortifications, but luckily no one bothered with the ruin that was Sworcadia.

  Ardag looked around at his companions’ wary faces and came up with a plan. ‘Once the Black Widow’s army has passed we leave immediately – we cannot afford to stay here for all our sakes. Selarmus is the furthest and largest port town in the north west,’ he paused for a moment and looked at Palar, ‘Palar, I trust you know the port well, you will be our guide.’ He turned to the rest of them. ‘It is a three week hike there. We must again walk through the Whispering Forest and past Bruskany. We will not stop in any populated places until we reach Selarmus – I will not risk being found.’

  They all nodded their agreement. Johan cleared his throat and spoke, ‘What do we do once we reach Selarmus?’