Wilmurin: Land of Darkness

by H. J. Cronin

  'Count Sid, my plan to dig a tunnel has worked,' started Darkool. Count Sid said nothing, he wouldn't have dared to correct the High Count. 'Round up all of the remaining citizens. Thousands have perished but thousands more should have survived. I need to rebuild my cities – I need slave labour. Start gathering everybody from all the towns and villages, put them to work immediately, any resistance is to be crushed.'

  'Yes, master,' Count Sid responded, bowing. 'What is the army’s next move?'

  'We have defeated the toughest clan on Wilmurin and one of the last. Only the Clan of the Lizard remains. Our forces are to march immediately to the Fowling Jungle. There we will challenge the lizards and defeat them. Finally I will declare Wilmurin conquered and then – I move on to the rest of the world.'

  'Excellent, master, a great plan,' Count Sid said sycophantically.

  'I also want every single beach on Wilmurin fortified and defended by throngs of warriors,' High Count Darkool added.

  'Do you fear an attack?' asked Count Sid.

  Darkool gazed at him with a look that could kill. 'I fear nothing, fool,' he snarled. 'We are open to attack – there are many other civilisations in this world, and if any have heard of our conquest they may set sail here for war. I will defeat each of these civilisations one by one, but I forbid any of them to set foot on Wilmurin. Tell the Black Widow to man the northern shores: that is her job from now on, tell her I will despatch ten thousand skeleton warriors for her to command.'

  Count Sid nodded. Darkool dismissed him with a wave and turned around to take a tour of his new city. The two remaining daughters of the king were found and put to death. Darkool regretted not to be able to use them as sex slaves but their ability to change skin was too dangerous. Darkool did not want to risk any druids remaining.

  For many months, Lerthayl had held strong against a relentless enemy, by far the longest time a city had defied the High Count. Darkool stood above the gate tower, watching as thousands of slaves were escorted out of the city in shackles. They looked downcast and defeated; none defied the new masters. They were doomed to hard work for the rest of their lives, and then death.

  Darkool smiled at the thought in his mind: the strong had triumphed over the weak. He then looked south; within months they would be confronting the Clan of the Lizard. Darkool smirked at the thought of more people to enslave.

  Shalon could now see Jotun drawing closer. He had avoided the mountainous parts and sailed for a tree line he could make out along the shore. He willed the corpses he rode to fly faster. Once he arrived, he landed on a stony beach; he couldn’t feel the cold air. He burned the bodies where he left them and walked into the forest.

  There were no signs of life here; he would press on until he found any sign of Johan. After walking two miles through the forest, Shalon came across a small settlement of perhaps only five hundred people. He would start his search here.

  As he entered the small settlement, the people gazed at him curiously; most ran back into their hovels. Not long after, half a dozen men confronted him. They had long beards of different colours and large round shields. These men were large and looked like formidable warriors.

  'Johan,' Shalon said coldly.

  'We do not speak your language so well, demon. Leave these lands now, away with you or the gods will judge you,' one of the warriors dared to say.

  'I will obliterate each of your gods, human, just like I will obliterate you,' Shalon said bitterly. He pointed his staff at the man who had spoken and shot a bolt of green and red energy at him; the man didn't make a sound as the bolt sent him flying back, killing him instantly.

  The others looked on, horrified. One stepped forward, shaking terribly, 'There is word that some strangers arrived at the Mjorn’s main stronghold to the north of here. Carry on your search there and leave us be.'

  'No mercy,' Shalon said coldly.

  He pointed his staff at the men and blasted them with a powerful wave of green energy, knocking them all down, breaking their necks. Villagers began to scream and attempted to flee but Shalon showed them no mercy.

  Like a shark in a feeding frenzy, Shalon annihilated and mutilated every man, woman, and child in his path. Some challenged him, but their shields and axes were no match. Shalon set the huts on fire and killed the animals. Within an hour, nothing was left of the village but burnt corpses and charred remnants of buildings.

  After the massacre in the small village, Shalon carried on in the direction the man had told him to go. He didn't know how far it was but the abomination needed no sleep nor rest. Tirelessly he walked through the snow; the only noise that could be heard was his feet crunching in the snow. Behind him, a small plume of smoke came from the ruined village.

  12

  The Jungle

  Tumnis and Carmin travelled endlessly on the unforgiving sea. Tumnis had once been the captain of the guards in Flordonium; now though, he was a pitiful, lonely man travelling with a young boy who knew nothing of the troubles that engulfed the world. The quiet boy didn't even make any remarks about the green sky. Tumnis wouldn't be recognised by his former countrymen now, with his long messy hair and beard.

  For many months they had sailed south, every now and then stopping off along the coast for some respite. The original plan had been to travel north-west, but the lands there were too dangerous for a boy. Tumnis had decided to travel south, to the Clan of the Lizard; he hoped the war hadn't reached that part of Wilmurin yet. He hoped to find refuge with the lizards, and that the south may even prove safer for the boy, Carmin. The enemy would have a hard time penetrating the wet, humid, and unforgiving Fowling Jungle.

  The two now sailed along the south coast of Wilmurin, a tall cliff face lined with green vines and other jungle plants separating the sea and land. The lizards dwelt deep in the jungle, their large step pyramids hidden by thick vegetation. It would be dangerous taking the boy through the jungle, but now Tumnis had no other options.

  Tumnis rowed the boat towards the face of the cliff; he found it hard to keep the boat capsizing because of the waves battering against the cliff. He managed to grab a thick vine that dangled from the top. He tested its strength by pulling hard; when he decided it was safe to climb he helped the boy up first and followed. The slimy vine made it hard to get a good grip but eventually the two made it to the top. Tumnis looked down to see that the boat had disappeared; now they had no provisions. The only protection they had was the old captain's sword.

  Now Tumnis had the opportunity to look around and take in their surroundings. A very narrow clearing separated the jungle from the cliff edge. The jungle in front of him seemed alive and thriving. He heard strange animal noises and birds singing, noises he had not heard for a long time. A musty, humid smell filled his nostrils. The Fowling Jungle didn't seem to want any guests to enter. Tumnis held the boy’s hand and together they walked into the jungle.

  The air inside the Fowling Jungle felt close and the smell of damp assaulted Tumnis’s nose. They had to navigate through a field of vines that covered the ground, and every now and then one foot found its way into a tiny bog. The sound of exotic birds’ singing filled the air; the canopy blocked out much of the sunlight. From time to time one of the many strange creatures of the jungle leapt from one tree to another – green monkey-like creatures that neither Tumnis nor Carmin had seen before.

  Whilst the rest of Wilmurin had a mild climate with pine forests, the deep south was much warmer and the jungle was a far cry from anything else in this land. Darkool will have extreme difficulty invading this jungle – the Clan of the Lizard won't be his only enemy here, Tumnis mused. He didn't doubt that the creatures in this jungle would fight off any would-be invader.

  They carried on for a mile, the journey taking ten times the amount of time it would take to walk on good terrain. They stopped by a small fallen tree to rest; the humid air made it difficult to breathe, and both of them were hungry. Still the boy hadn't said much since they set sail. Tumnis wouldn't risk eating anythi
ng the jungle had to offer – he didn't know what was good and what was bad; they needed to carry on to the lizards’ city, only another two miles. Defiantly, they pressed on towards the city; they would not let the jungle swallow them.

  The long and hard trek through the jungle eventually paid off – after four hours of walking, they now stood before the walls of Zenith. Zenith was a city hidden in the jungle, the walls made from solid stone, but years in the jungle had turned them green – regularly the resident clan needed to clear them of branches and vines.

  Tumnis had been here only once before. The first things to catch a visitor’s eye were the three great step pyramids in the centre of the city. The central one was the largest and was the main keep, the residence of the clan leading family. The other two were dedicated to the two gods that the Clan of the Lizard had found since making their home in the jungle. Thousands of dwellings and other typical city structures surround the pyramids.

  The Clan of the Lizard were very different from the other clans. Years of living in the jungle had turned their skin green and scaly. It was as if they had taken on the forms of lizards in one way or another. The leading family had the ability to shape-shift into large, ferocious lizards that stood on their hind legs. Their strength matched that of the bears.

  After Tumnis had persuaded the guards that they were not enemies they were allowed access, and he and Carmin walked through the streets. Tumnis had forgotten how busy Zenith was; the city was densely populated because of the clan’s neutral status in all wars. It had a formidable army, however, an army that would soon be called upon to fight, should Darkool have Zenith in his sights.

  The citizens gazed at the new arrivals curiously, and Carmin in turn gazed back at them because of their strange appearance. They eventually arrived at the foot of the central pyramid and began to ascend the steep steps to the top. As they neared the top Tumnis turned around to take in the magnificent sight; the pyramid stood tall over the highest tree in the jungle, they could see for miles in all directions.

  Tumnis smiled when he saw that King Zethorn had come to greet him, accompanied by his four sons. There was a strict rule in this clan – the king was the only family member allowed to speak; his sons were only permitted to speak if they were spoken to or if their father was absent.

  The king looked at Tumnis, his green skin covered in bright red tribal tattoos. 'What brings Tumnis, captain of the High King’s guards, to my city uninvited,' the king asked coldly.

  Tumnis, now too exhausted and hungry to remember his manners, replied harshly, 'Have you not heard of the destruction of Flordonium? Or the fall of the north and, soon, the south? Are you so hidden here in your jungle that you are completely oblivious of the rise of High Count Darkool? You and your people seem entirely unaware of the war that has ravaged Wilmurin – where was your aid when the capital fell?'

  The king was horrified by this verbal assault from Tumnis. His expression became bitter. 'How dare you come to me, saying such things and questioning my rule? Answer at once, before I cut your throat,' demanded the king.

  Tumnis bowed his head. 'I apologise for my outburst, King Zethorn. Wilmurin is overrun, by now the clans will have been wiped out.'

  'I am not oblivious of the war that has raged across Wilmurin, nor am I willing to threaten the lives of my clan with warfare. Darkool will not attack the Fowling Jungle – he would lose too many troops. He knows we will not cause him any concern, we are content here, he knows we're not a threat,' the king reasoned, his cold tone vanquished.

  Tumnis stood quietly for a moment. He knew why the king had made this decision, but he also knew the destruction that Darkool could cause. The war was over for Tumnis, though, his concern now was to protect the boy.

  'Why do you come to Zenith?' the king asked, breaking an uncomfortable silence.

  'It is the last refuge on Wilmurin. The High King ordered me to lead this boy, Carmin, to safety. I managed to escape Flordonium before it burned, and ever since we have been on the run. The days have become dark and the word in the villages is that the north has fallen, as well as most of the southern clans. Only you and the lions remain, unless Lerthayl has already fallen.'

  'Do you bring the war with you?' King Zethorn asked, stroking his chin.

  Tumnis shook his head, 'We bring no wars with us, but I guarantee the war will eventually find you and your people. I want to be here to help when that day comes. I offer you my sword.'

  The king smiled. 'Let us forget our earlier disagreement and start again, as allies,' he said, with his hand extended. Tumnis accepted and shook the king’s hand.

  It was twelve days since their arrival at Zenith; Tumnis had settled in quickly but the boy found it hard, he had not said a word – he was used to the luxuries of the capital and its food. Here he had to eat food provided by the jungle – exotic looking fruit and vegetables; the Clan of the Lizard didn't eat meat, it was forbidden to eat the creatures of the jungle. This was a deal between their gods and the clan.

  They stayed in the king’s pyramid. Zenith was an entirely different kind of city to the dull greys of the other cities; this one was colourful and full of life. The walls inside each room of the pyramid looked as though they were painted as exact copies of the colourful jungle outside.

  As the days went on and Tumnis explored the city, he hoped that by some kind of miracle the war would not find its way here. The people were peaceful and friendly – the way they looked would have anyone believe they were demons but their personalities countered their appearance. Tumnis decided that he could well live here if the war didn't destroy it.

  War, he thought to himself, it's odd to call such a one-sided affair a war, this is more of a slaughter than a war. Nevertheless, he knew that for as long as there were druids on Wilmurin, Wilmurin would never be Darkool’s. He was only a man though, he didn't have any magical abilities to shape-shift, nor the ability to use magic as a weapon. His weapon, like every other soldier, was made from worldly materials.

  It wasn't until the twentieth day that the boy, Carmin, broke his silence. At dinner, when quiet had fallen over the guests are they devoured their food, Carmin spoke. He sat next to the king and innocently asked, 'King Zethorn, why are you green?'

  The king laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. 'When Drugar gave us the ability to shape-shift, we were given the lizard, the symbol of our clan. All the other clans dispersed, finding and building their homes. We travelled south, strategically as far from Blood Island as possible – our ancestors knew that one day Darkool would betray us all because of his lust for power. We eventually found the Fowling Jungle. It seemed inhospitable and dangerous, then two godly men appeared and, after negotiating, our ancestors were allowed in. The deal is that we are the only clan allowed to reside here, the jungle will protect us but in return we must not destroy it, nor are we allowed to take food from it unless it grows from a bush or a tree.

  'Over hundreds of years in the Fowling Jungle, the food and air have transformed us. We became at one with the jungle, our skin colour began to change to green, and we became scaly in places. The jungle welcomed us and made us. We do not risk its destruction by fighting in wars or making alliances. We are welcoming to all that welcomes us. The jungle provides us with materials to make weapons purely for defensive reasons not offence and to build our city.'

  The boy only nodded; it was a lot to take in. Tumnis listened and spoke softly to the king, 'So that is why you have not joined the war. Do you not see that your home is still being threatened? If Darkool doesn't strike now then he will eventually. He's not interested in allies.’

  'If Darkool attacks this jungle we will give him such a hard fight that our end will be remembered. We have more than enough soldiers to protect us, if it is our end then fate has already decided our demise,' the king said, staring straight ahead. He then looked at Tumnis and continued, 'Enough of this talk about dark days ahead. Tumnis, I don't want to hear any more.'

  Tumnis lowered his head. 'Certainly, Y
our Majesty, but please let it be known that I will assist with the struggle, should it come,' said Tumnis, careful to not anger the king.

  King Zethorn smiled and nodded in appreciation, 'Very well.' He then leaned in and whispered so that only Tumnis could hear, 'Tell me one thing: what is the significance of the boy? Why is he so important?'

  Tumnis swallowed, unsure how to answer. He knew the king was an ally and a good man, so he concluded that he had to know about Carmin. 'He is an heir,' Tumnis whispered, and the king looked on intently. 'He is the lost son of Haramithir. There are two of these Night Hunters that remain, Johan and his brother Carmin. Johan seeks a way to destroy Darkool – if he fails then that duty will fall upon Carmin. They’re the only two in this world who can kill the High Count. I have to keep the boy safe, it's my final duty.'

  The king looked on silently, stroking his chin and staring down at the boy who was eating his meal. Tumnis watched him for a response. After a moment of silence, the king finally smiled and spoke, 'Does the enemy know of the boy?'

  'I can assure you that his presence is not known,' replied Tumnis.

  'For as long as the boy is unknown to the enemy, you are most welcome to stay here,' the king said, clapping his hands together.

  They dined the rest of the night, sharing stories and jokes from the past. Tumnis felt safe and at home. He looked at the boy and winked, reassuring the lad that everything would be well.

  High Count Darkool and his seemingly endless host marched through miles of swampland; so many marched south it sounded as if an earthquake ripped through the earth. The High Count’s next target was the Fowling Jungle. His final assault in this evil crusade would see the Clan of the Lizard quashed.

  They had marched for two months now; after the fall of Lerthayl, Darkool did not waste time sitting idle. Instead, he rallied his captains and the other counts, raised more skeletons, and led the march south.