by H. J. Cronin
‘Is that your motive behind this attack on Wilmurin? To bring peace to an already peaceful world,’ Bethegar asked, taken aback by the ironic statement from Darkool.
‘Yes. When I lived before the clans always bickered and fought amongst themselves. I vowed that when I returned I would put a stop to it. However, after Wilmurin has been subjugated, why not the rest of the world? Why not spread our peaceful intent worldwide, like a crusade?’ Darkool said, his eyes full of excitement and fire.
‘You really are mad, Darkool, you should know that humans are not a race to be enslaved. There will always be rebels.’
Darkool sneered, ‘If the humans I choose to enslave dare to defy me, then I will eradicate them from the world, then only the dead will rule.’
‘Without humans, you and your kin cannot feed,’ Bethegar said, trying to agitate Darkool.
‘Food will be provided by farmed humans, humans locked in pens like animals, bred to be food, just like the cattle your people eat.’
‘You were once human too,’ Bethegar said, now standing and staring Darkool directly in the eye. ‘Do you not remember? You led the very kind of resistance you now strive to crush. The people defending Lerthayl are doing the exact same as you did many centuries ago.’
Darkool’s expression changed; for the first time, Bethegar saw an almost human look of hurt on the Dark Count’s face. ‘I will never forget those days. The elvish emperor killed my entire family because I had fallen in love with one of his nieces, which was illegal. I rose up along with my clan and raised the banners. The other clans flocked to me and we united – together we took the war to the elves and won.’ Darkool spoke with pride as he remembered past events. ‘Drugar rewarded my bravery with the curse of the vampire. I watched as the druids turned on each other, there was no longer a union but separate kingdoms for each clan. I was disgusted. I had not fought a devastating war with the elves to see my world fall into darkness again. I raised an army and attacked the mainland, hoping to restore order. Once again, the clans united against a common enemy. My force was destroyed after a long drawn-out war, the Second War of Wilmurin. I was captured by the Night Hunters and then beheaded by a silver blade. Silver will kill a normal vampire, but not me – they didn’t know my secret so I was never fully destroyed. I was hidden for five hundred years until I was found by the necromancer, Shalon, and that is how we have reached this moment.’
Bethegar was captivated by this tale; he would never have expected to be in the same room as Darkool, let alone to hear him speaking in a civil manner. Maybe, just maybe, the High Count could be persuaded to stop this war. Bethegar took a deep breath and asked a dangerous question. ‘High Count Darkool, your war has brought death and devastation. I can see there is still some of your original self inside. Return to your island, let us rebuild our land, end the suffering of countless innocents.’
Darkool stood silently, as if in deep thought, then his expression suddenly became a hateful countenance as he stared at Bethegar. ‘You dare tell me what to do? I am no longer Darkool Vandalore, enemy of the elves. I am High Count Darkool, my throne is in Vandaloria, and the blood of innocents drives me on and on. I will not stop until the world is covered in darkness and its people call me God. Drugar unleashed a beast unto this world, a cruel and vicious beast, a beast that will destroy all in its path. That beast is me. Keep your hope of victory, Bethegar, it will be you I skin alive for the slaves of Lerthayl to see. This world is mine.’
Bethegar sighed, feeling humiliated that he had ever contemplated that Darkool could change. All he could do now was to hope for a miracle; he knew that Darkool would keep his promise of skinning him alive.
The defenders of Lerthayl stood watching their king preparing for battle. King Lionel had gathered five hundred heavy horsemen to take the fight to the enemy. Many soldiers and civilians disagreed with the king’s resolve because, if or when they were defeated, the horses would be slaughtered, thus destroying a valuable source of food for when their dwindling supplies ran down. Some of the refugees had resorted to eating rats to ease their hunger.
Everybody looked at the glistening golden armour of the horsemen as they readied their horses and were helped into the saddles. The men armed themselves with swords, spears, axes, maces, flails, and other deadly weapons. This was not going to be an attack to end the siege but to deal the enemy a hard blow and rescue prisoners. King Lionel wanted to do anything to give his troops more hope, although to charge five hundred horsemen against a countless number of foes was perhaps a ludicrous idea.
The king stood on a fallen piece of rubble to address his men. 'Soldiers of the Clan of the Lion,' he bellowed out, 'On this dark day we ride out to confront the enemy, not just for the freedom of our people but for the freedom of the prisoners, whose lives are under a constant threat of death. The difference between the enemy and us is compassion, let's show them what people do when backed into a corner. Let's show them how a cornered lion bites! We have friends out there who cannot be allowed to die in vain. I lead from the front – those who are willing, follow me.'
With that, King Lionel took on his lion form; a thick brown mane grew from his neck, his face grew into the shape of that of a lion, and soon his whole body transformed. He bellowed out an almighty roar that would be heard for miles, revealing razor-sharp teeth. The gates opened and King Lionel charged out; his men did not hesitate to follow.
The guard violently threw Bethegar to the floor of his cage, to lie amongst human faeces and horse manure. His two vampire guards laughed and left him there. The man cowering in the corner was still there, whimpering; the other one had vanished. Bethegar felt sadness because of the loss of his companion and friend, Parmeus. He sat up and began to think.
Darkool was as cold and evil as Bethegar had thought he would be. His pride was stung at the knowledge that all hopes of victory were gone, the fact that he had been debased from king of the mighty Clan of the Bear to a prisoner lying down in manure. The sky never became brighter and the air never felt clear, Wilmurin has changed for the worse, he thought to himself. When or if Johan found a way to destroy the count, he was going to need an army to get even close to Darkool. With almost no armies left on Wilmurin, the possibility of victory grew slimmer every day.
Bethegar thought back to his childhood, playing with his brother and sister in the gardens of Bemon, his old home. They would play tricks on Bry and, every now and then, he and his brother would fight. Bethegar grieved for his brother; images of Brehan as a young man became clouded with images of him dead in his father's hall. He still could not believe that Brehan had betrayed his family.
He then thought about his sister, somewhere out there with Ardag and Johan, searching for a way to stop Darkool. If they are still alive, that is, he thought to himself. Bry was his younger sister, so it was natural that he worried about her; he was grateful, however, that she was elsewhere, and he thanked Drugar that she wasn't in Bemon when it fell. Her fate would have been unbearable to think about.
Lastly, he thought about his father. If the other clans had listened to King Bemnom then Darkool’s advance would have at least been halted. The Vandalore clan had relied solely on surprise and a quick attack to overcome the druid armies, which they had managed flawlessly. His father had warned of it and the current situation was the result of a refusal to listen. Bemnom’s advice had ultimately cost him his life after the betrayal by the Black Widow and Brehan.
What was he to do now? He was helpless where he was, with no means of escape. He looked at the petty man in the corner of the pen. He had short grey hair and a short beard,and was wearing a torn tunic covered in muck. He hugged his knees; his whimpering had stopped and he just rocked back and forth. 'Poor fool,' Bethegar muttered to himself. He wondered what crime the man had committed, but then knew that no crime needed to be committed to anger High Count Darkool.
Suddenly the man looked up and stared at Bethegar. 'What did you say?' he asked Bethegar.
Bethegar was surpr
ised and shocked that the man had heard his mutterings. 'I said nothing about you, friend, I was just talking to myself,' he said to the man who stared at him.
'Do you call me a poor fool because I look poor or because of the situation we find ourselves in?' he asked Bethegar; surprisingly his voice was soft and gentle, not at all what Bethegar had expected having observed his rough appearance.
'I say it because of the situation we're both in. I meant nothing by it,' Bethegar said, and turned away.
'You mean to say that you don't think the situation we are in is poor? Or do you think you have offended me?' the man said, still in his calm voice.
'Look, old man, I apologise for saying it. I am worn out and tired, let's end this conversation so I can sleep,' Bethegar said firmly.
The old man laughed, 'There will be a time to sleep, but for now, Bethegar son of Bemnom, we have work to do.'
'What are you talking about? What work?' Bethegar asked, the man’s behaviour disturbing him.
'The last I saw of them, your sister is well, and so are Johan and Ardag. They left Wilmurin some time ago, I cannot see beyond Wilmurin. You must be the one to help him from this side if they come back,' the man said, standing up.
'What are you talking about? Who are you?' Bethegar asked; he did not know what to think, whether to be intrigued or angry. Who was this man?
'I am the one you called Drugar, and I am here to help turn the tide of the war,' said the old man.
'You're Drugar?' said a bewildered Bethegar. 'How is this possible? How do I know you tell the truth?'
'Faith guides you, Bethegar son of Bemnom. Faith will tell you that I am Drugar. I do not come to persuade you, but to offer you a chance against Darkool.'
'You are the reason for his rise, you changed him into what he is,' said Bethegar coldly.
Drugar sighed, 'I am the first to admit that I brought Darkool to Wilmurin. I transformed him to curse and stop him after he and the others overthrew the elves. I did not expect this. I hoped that when I created the shape shifter druid leaders there would be eternal peace, but it is human nature to bicker and fight. Darkool is a mistake that cannot be undone, even I cannot tell you how to defeat him. I am a god with the power to enlighten and transform but not to destroy. All our hope relies on Johan. I sense that he is making good progress, but they left my sight when they left Wilmurin.'
'Drugar, if it is you, I am sorry if I offended, but I am just a slave now at the will of High Count Darkool, no longer can I make a difference. You should seek King Lionel to further your plan,' Bethegar said and sighed.
Drugar sucked in a deep breath and spoke to Bethegar in a more hushed tone, 'King Lionel rides out to meet the enemy very soon. It is inevitable that they will fail – use it to your advantage and escape.'
'Where could I go?' Bethegar said anxiously. 'I barely have the strength to move, I am best left to die here, alone. Seek out King Lionel.'
'You are the strong leader I need,' Drugar said, patting Bethegar on the shoulder.
'What would you have me do?' Bethegar asked.
'The moment you have the opportunity to escape, then do so. Use the bear and travel north,' Drugar said pointing in that direction.
'North? That's madness, the north is under enemy control, there is nothing for me there now,' said Bethegar irritably.
'There is an army for you in the north,' whispered Drugar as two guards walked past.
Bethegar looked puzzled, 'What army? The clans are all defeated, as you know.'
'I do not speak of the clans, Bethegar,' said Drugar, and then he paused for a moment, 'I speak of the mountain tribes.'
'Brigands and bandits?' said Bethegar, now really agitated by the suggestion. 'If they haven't all frozen to death, they sure as anything won't come to our aid – they only leave their homes for plunder. Surely this can't be your plan.'
Drugar sighed, 'When I allowed the human leaders, your kin, to transform into beasts, I made a mistake. I should have allowed all humans to become druids. Imagine an entire force of shape shifters.'
'What has this got to do with the mountain tribes?'
'You will journey to their territory upon the mountains and call them to fight. There are three thousand fighting men and women there. I will offer them peace in exchange for their service. They will find new homes away from the harshness of the mountains,' Drugar said, obviously inspired by his own plan.
However, Bethegar was not convinced, 'How can three thousand stop the forces of Darkool?'
'Three thousand men can't, but three thousand druids who can take on the forms of three thousand bears can give the Dark Count a fight, providing Johan with a chance to strike when the time is ripe,' said Drugar, pumping a fist into an open palm.
'How do I persuade them?' asked Bethegar.
'I will come to you to help when you arrive. The tribes are as much at risk of annihilation as everybody else, which will be our strongest tool to persuade them. Our advantage is that Darkool does not yet know they even exist. Surprise will be the main weapon,' said an excited Drugar. He looked around and then reached out to shake Bethegar’s hand – he accepted the gesture.
'Remember, escape the moment you get the chance. I must leave now, my time allowance in the material world is limited.'
'Thank you, Drugar, you may have come late but your coming may have turned the tide. Thank you again,' said Bethegar, bowing.
With that, Drugar vanished; it was if he was never there. Bethegar considered how he was to escape. Should he take on his bear form and charge the gates? Next time he was taken out should he break through and run? He was still deliberating when his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the bellowing roar of a lion.
King Lionel, in his glorious lion form, mane flowing in the wind, roared and roared as he charged towards the enemy lines. Five hundred heavy horsemen rode behind him like a following storm, their golden armour shining in the green glow of the dark sky. The king, in his lion form, was as large as a horse and more ferocious than any animal.
Horns began to sound from the enemy camp, King Lionel could see the camp come alive with vampire soldiers scurrying around behind the still line of skeleton warriors. Soon arrows began to land amongst the horsemen, now in a wedge formation, killing half a dozen of them, but most bounced harmlessly off the thick armour.
The king was only five metres from the enemy line when he leapt into the air; over the enemy he flew and landed upon a number of them. The cavalry soon crashed into the enemy line, to the sound of weapons on weapons and horses whinnying. The king bit, clawed, gnawed, and trampled enemy soldiers, five at a time sometimes. He was in his element; the vampire soldiers knew to stay away, the skeletons soon became a mass of trampled bones.
The horsemen numbered only a few compared to the hordes of enemy but they made an amazing impact. They fought through the front line and into the camp.
A horseman startled Bethegar when he rode past wearing the armour of the Clan of the Lion; then another and another, followed by more. Suddenly the enemy approached them; some were taken from their horses and brutalised.
Bethegar quickly ran over to the gate and bellowed out to the horsemen, 'Men of King Lionel! Free me! Please!'
None of the soldiers seemed to hear him until one rushed over after another yell from Bethegar. Using a long sword, the soldier cut the bonds that bound the gate and Bethegar was now free.
The lion roared after he tore a pathetic vampiric warrior to pieces. The aura of an approaching being suddenly distracted king’s thoughts. He looked up and saw that the enemy troops had backed off, forming a circle around the king and a handful of his men. From between two skeleton soldiers a male in red armour with short white hair, wearing a crown made from bone, stepped out. High Count Darkool.
'It was a foolish mistake to leave the safety of your home, King Lionel,' Darkool said in an ice-cold tone.
King Lionel growled and the two circled each other.
Darkool spoke again, 'You did not seriously
think this pathetic attempt would break the siege? You're an incompetent leader, one I will kill now. I was going to enslave your city once I took it, but, because of your insolence, I will burn Lerthayl to the ground, I will slaughter every man, woman and child in cold blood, all because of you—'
Before he could finish what he was saying, King Lionel roared and pounced on Darkool. The two were now locked in a vicious grapple on the ground with bites, punches, claws, and kicks. Darkool managed to compose himself and with all his strength, he threw the king off himself and into a mass of bone and flesh.
The lion got back up and grunted off the pain before charging at Darkool again. This time Darkool was prepared; he drew his sword and pointed it at the lion, shooting a long, green, snake-like energy bolt at the king.
The king avoided the shot and then another. He pounced on Darkool again and began gnawing at his face with razor-sharp claws. The High Count’s face became unrecognisable; it was at that moment he drove his sword into the belly of the lion. As well as the sword he shot another green bolt of energy at the king, sending him into the air and then crashing down to the ground.
The king’s body lay helpless, burnt, and still. He returned to his human form and lay there, awaiting his fate; he had no strength to tell his men to flee, he felt foolish for throwing lives away needlessly. This is how I will be remembered, he thought to himself.
Darkool approached the downed king and stared at him without pity. 'You fool,' he said. 'The world you know is gone, there is only the dead, and you will join the long list of my victims.'
The count lifted his blade in the air for one final blow, when suddenly a huge jaw engulfed his arm and bit down. The jaw of an enormous black bear. Bethegar tore Darkool’s arm from its joint, causing blood to gush out like a waterfall. Darkool gasped helplessly as Bethegar nodded a greeting to King Lionel, who responded with a curt nod. Two of his horsemen used the distraction to rescue the king and carry him back to Lerthayl, after fighting through the enemy lines. Darkool could only scream after them.
