Wilmurin: Land of Darkness

by H. J. Cronin

  King Bemnom nodded his acceptance. It was at that moment that Brehan cut in, 'What about me, Father? Why do you send Bethegar and not me? I would like to meet this Night Hunter, I have changed my mind.'

  'When I required your assistance with the troll you ran away, leaving your brother to go alone. You will stay here as punishment,' the king said, hiding his anger. Brehan only glared at Bethegar before storming off.

  'I will go and talk to him,' said Bry, sighing. She was always the peacekeeper when the brothers argued.

  'Very well,' said the king approvingly. 'She may make a good queen one day,' he muttered to himself. He then looked up at Bethegar who stood, as loyal as ever, and whispered to him, 'Because all of this business with the necromancer and the troll, take a small detachment of troops with you, best to be safe.'

  Bethegar and his small troop of two dozen men marched through the Dark Wood, trying to find the supposed location the Night Hunter and Ardag were to appear. Bethegar was in his bear form, a form with a greater sense of sight and hearing. They were in the western part of the Dark Wood, where it was a lot less dense.

  Suddenly Bethegar’s excellent ability to hear came into effect; not so far away he heard voices. Three men, to be precise. He signalled to his captain with a low grunt and the party picked up pace. They approached a small dike that overlooked parts of the western woodland. Now Bethegar could see who was making the noise. There were two men in khaki clothes. It wasn't long before Bethegar noticed that one of the men in khaki was Ardag, conspicuous by his most distinguished moustache and brown cropped hair. The other man Bethegar had not seen before, his hair had been shaven off and he had a stern look on his face; Bethegar knew this was Johan.

  It was the man clad in black armour talking to Ardag and Johan that took Bethegar by surprise. What are the Black Widow’s men doing here? he thought to himself. The Black Widow clan was one of the many druid clans, and one of the largest clans on Wilmurin. How did they know? Bethegar sensed something was ill.

  It was at that moment that Bethegar heard the captain of the Black Widow’s men order them to take Johan and kill Ardag. This was clearly a dire situation that Bethegar needed to deal with. With a growl to let his men know to attack, Bethegar charged towards the Black Widow’s men. He jumped into the air and flew towards the captain. With one big snap of his powerful jaw, Bethegar tore the head from the captain's shoulders. He landed on all fours with blood dripping from his mouth. He saw Johan look at him in bewilderment, and then moved on to his next target just as his men charged into the fray.

  Bethegar shook off the daydream, his thoughts had ventured too deep. The thought of encountering another Grimneck made Bethegar shudder. He hoped that his journey to the mountain in the coming days wouldn't bring him face to face with one; he was too weak.

  Thinking about his father made Bethegar feel sad; he even felt sad for his brother who had betrayed the clan – pity more than sadness for his brother’s corrupt heart. He willed his sister and her companions on, not noticing a hooded figure watching him.

  15

  To Deceive a Widow

  Captain Fern stood trembling in front of the Black Widow. She was the only female to have made captain; she stood out and Katrina liked to have women in positions of power. Captain Fern knew the Black Widow wasn't going to like the news she brought so she spoke softly, trying to avoid fumbling her words. 'Mistress, we've searched high and low for the fugitive Palar, he cannot be found.'

  The Black Widow sighed, the brief pause intended to add even more anxiety to the captain’s already nervous state. 'Do you know why I haven't killed you already?' She said at last, and the captain shook her head. 'Because you are an example to the other women in the ranks that they can be better. If I kill you for failing the task, it will prove the men right.' Captain Fern nodded, not daring to breathe loudly. The Black Widow continued, 'Seeing as our efforts to find him have been futile and it has cost me the lives of three incompetent captains, I will cease trying to locate him. Order our patrols to keep an eye out.'

  'Yes, mistress,' Captain Fern said, bowing, grateful for the mercy shown by the Black Widow.

  'Is there something else I can help you with?' asked the Black Widow as she noticed the captain hadn't left. She became irritated.

  'Mistress,' began the captain. 'There's no heiress to lead us should, Drugar forbid, anything happen to you.'

  The Black Widow looked at her, startled by what she had said, and becoming uncharacteristically speechless. Was this just pure insolence, punishable by death, or did the captain have a point? She stared at her, both anger and curiosity welling up inside her. 'What did you just say?' Katrina asked simply.

  'My apologies for being blunt, mistress, I am a strong woman who speaks my mind when I feel it necessary to do so. I know it's not my place to advise you but I feel that you should have insurance in place,' the captain said gently, not wanting to risk further angering the Black Widow.

  'Get out of my sight,' said the Black Widow, coldly. Captain Fern knew not to carry on the discussion so she bowed and walked away.

  Katrina was bitter because she knew the captain was right – she did need an heiress. She had been so busy since her mother and sisters had died that she hadn't had the time to mate and produce daughters. If anything happened to her, her clan would be vanquished, especially in view of her fragile alliance with High Count Darkool.

  At the moment she was stuck in Selarmus, under Darkool’s orders; she hadn't been back to her home, Shartak, for a long time and there were no worthy males in Selarmus to mate with. She then remembered something her mother had told her, about adoption. Her mother had said that the bite of the Black Widow on a chosen woman adopts that woman into the family.

  She only knew one possible candidate for adoption, and that was Captain Fern. Although the captain had failed in the task of locating the rogue, she had proven herself before, particularly in the cleansing of a small, local, defiant settlement. She decided to think on the matter another day. She now awaited the return of Count Ulmar, who had left Selarmus on an errand for Darkool.

  Palar hid beneath thick shrub and waited patiently as four horsemen trotted past, another patrol. He’d had nothing but trouble trying to elude the enemy. He had just made it to Bruskany, another town under the Black Widow’s control.

  The rogue had fond memories of Bruskany. He had worked for a criminal gang leader called the Crow, so named because of a crow mask he always wore. The Crow had instructed Palar to kill the captain of the guards as payment for Palar dealing the illegal herb narnum on the Crow’s territory.

  Palar had had no choice but to follow the Crow’s orders, but in doing so the captain of the guards had caught him and, in a double cross, he turned on the Crow. Palar and the guards destroyed the Crow’s criminal network in one swift attack. It was during this time he had first encountered Johan and the others; things became dangerous in Bruskany for Palar with the captain of the guards, so Palar decided to leave and join the companions, ultimately rescuing them from an almost fatal encounter with one of the counts in Sworcadia.

  Now he was back here, looking at the walls of Bruskany from a distance. His fortune had changed when he escaped captivity and the brutal hand of the Black Widow. His journey would lead him to the mountains, where he had decided to live as a hermit, away from the enemy and danger – unless Johan and the others returned and succeeded in defeating High Count Darkool.

  He lifted his cowl to hide his face and slowly walked towards Bruskany. Palar decided that the journey was too long and treacherous to do by foot so he would go on horseback instead. The patrols of four horsemen were too well armoured for him to attack so he chose to steal one instead, from the town's stables. The only problem with that, though, was that the stables were in the town.

  Palar reached the town unchecked and unchallenged. His cowl was large; to a stranger he would appear to be a beggar. He hoped no one would recognise him – the scoundrels of the town would sell their own brother
s for a bit of cash. The first blessing Palar came across was that the gates were open. For hours he had watched his old town and for hours the gates had been open. Maybe the Black Widow didn't expect any attacks.

  As he entered the town the foul smell and dirty streets that he expected to confront were gone. The town was far cleaner and less smelly then he ever remembered. 'For all her faults, at least the woman likes a clean town,' he mused to himself, referring to the Black Widow.

  The hustle and bustle of the town hadn't changed that much; the only difference, aside from the cleanliness, was that there were dozens of guards at every corner of each path and road. They checked papers and questioned people. There were some desks set out with queues of men, young and old, signing up for military service.

  It wasn't long before he walked past a very familiar, dull-looking building, the Rookery – the Crow’s old stronghold. He also passed his old safe house and even dared to enter. He looked around his old place and it looked as though he hadn't left. He walked up worn out, creaky stairs to the first floor, and underneath a concealed broken floorboard he found an stash he had kept for emergencies. It was a large oval bag and, in it, narnum, lock picks, stale food, money, weapons, and keys. He took out a long sword and sheathed it, keeping it hidden under his cloak. He also picked up his old wrist crossbows, dangerous ranged weapons he could conceal under his robe; Palar had learned how to reload in seconds, making him as dangerous at a range as he was up close. Now armed with two daggers, a sword, his two crossbows, and more narnum than was possible for one person to smoke, he made his way downstairs again.

  As he descended something startled him. 'What are you doing in here?' Came a hoarse, grumpy sounding voice. Palar froze and looked up.

  It was a guard, his only armour a black leather cuirass. Palar could see another two guards waiting outside; any attack by Palar would be futile. 'I am a beggar, apologies, I need shelter,' he said, putting on the voice of a humble old man and bowing his head so as not to show his face.

  'Be gone, you beggar. I heard reports of a strange man entering this house. If I see you in here again I will cut your throat,' threatened the guard. 'This house, along with every other house, is the property of the Black Widow, you must pay a tax to live here. By the looks of you, you don't have anything, so piss off.'

  'Sorry sir,' said Palar, hopping past the guard, not making eye contact. His cowl saved his life; grateful they hadn't searched him, Palar had enough weaponry and capability to kill twenty of these pathetic guards. Such actions would only have brought him an honourable death, though, and Palar wasn't ready to die.

  Palar returned to the street and carried on to the stables.

  It had been three days since Captain Fern, forgetting her place, had drawn the Black Widow’s attention to her lack of an heiress. Katrina had thought about an adoption and decided that it was the best way to ensure the future of her clan. She called for the captain, but before she arrived one of the gate guards burst into the hall.

  'Mistress, pardon me,' he said, panting.

  The Black Widow was furious and bellowed at the man, 'How dare you burst in on me without seeking permission. I will have your heart for this.'

  The man went pale but continued unabated, 'Mistress, the captain sent me, there is an army approaching.'

  Now Katrina’s angry expression turned to a curious one. What army? Or who's army? She leapt up from her seat and followed the guard to the gates, flanked by a dozen of her royal guard – women bred only to fight, their armour resembling a black widow spider curled up.

  The Black Widow reached the gates and stood next to Captain Fern; she then saw who was approaching. To her dismay she saw the count in his red armour coming towards her. Throngs of skeleton warriors followed him.

  ‘You return so quickly, count?' she asked bitterly. She then whispered to her captain, 'Prepare the men for a possible battle, quickly.' The captain nodded and ran back into Selarmus to muster some troops.

  The count bowed mockingly before the Black Widow, ‘Do not question my coming here, woman, remember you are a vassal of High Count Darkool. You are beneath me and you do not question where a count may or may not go. Do I make myself clear?'

  Katrina bit her tongue and held back an onslaught of anger towards the count. How dare he speak to her in this way? She responded calmly, 'I merely ask the reason for your return.' However, she couldn't control her annoyance. 'And if you speak to me like that again, I will rip your head from your shoulders and send it to Darkool.'

  The count glared at her as the Black Widow stared back defiantly. A brief stalemate ensued, before the count broke it. 'I have come to reinforce this town, Black Widow, under High Count Darkool’s orders. He wants to fortify and defend every possible entry into Wilmurin. Selarmus is to be the most heavily fortified.'

  The Black Widow stared at him, offended that Darkool thought she needed extra help, but she knew he was here to keep an eye on her. 'I do not need your help, count – leave this place and find another to place to fortify. I have not missed you and I fare better without you.'

  Count Ulmar laughed, 'The High Count has ordered me to come here, so here is where I will stay.'

  'Ha!' exclaimed the Black Widow. 'Does the High Count fear an invasion? Is Darkool turning mortal?'

  The count glared at her and, full of rage, he bellowed at her, 'That is the last time I let you defy me, woman. The High Count has given me strict instructions to come here and oversee the construction of defences. You will also stay here, under my guard. He wants Wilmurin to be ready for when he ventures away.'

  'Away?' Katrina asked, feeling a wave of emotions pass through her – anger, rage, disappointment. She knew it was too late for her to make any sort of move against the High Count, especially with Count Ulmar being here now; she was sure that any action against the count would lead to her downfall.

  'The High Count plans his next advance. The Clan of the Lizard has been humbled, its jungle destroyed and its people forced into slavery. Wilmurin now belongs to High Count Darkool, there are no free lands. He plans to amass a fleet and sail in all directions to invade the world. His horde is endless, more troops are raised each day. It is only a matter of time before he destroys you as well – your home, Shartak, is now his. He has instructed one of the other counts to take it by force and destroy all inside. You have no clan. Selarmus and Bruskany are your only refuge now,' he said with an evil grin.

  This turn of events left Katrina feeling bewildered. Darkool had betrayed her, thousands in Shartak have been killed, her people. She felt sadness at her naivety, anger at Darkool, and shame for her mother. Why had they sided with the Vandalore clan? The result of this war may have been different if they had sided with the druids. Katrina stared at the count, speechless, fighting back the urge to rip his head off and destroy his bone host. However, she knew, in the long run, that would be ineffective. She had to humble herself or the remaining towns in the north, large and small, would be enslaved. High Count Darkool was unstoppable; soon the world would be covered in darkness. For the first time she hoped this Johan will find a way to stop him, if he wasn't dead already.

  'How many men do you have here?' asked the count as he noticed a build up of armoured troops behind the Black Widow. He then saw her motion to them to stand down. The Black Widow was humbled.

  'I have six thousand trained and ready,' she replied bluntly.

  'Good, I have three thousand skeletons with me. Nine thousand should be enough to defend this town.' The Black Widow nodded, saying nothing, so the count continued, 'Start with the beach. I want walls, catapults, trenches, the lot. Make it impenetrable.'

  The Black Widow nodded and turned away, not wanting to say another word to the count. Captain Fern followed, along with the royal guard, whilst the count and his troops moved into the town.

  Captain Fern took the opportunity to whisper to the Black Widow, 'Mistress, what are we to do?'

  The Black Widow sighed, 'There is nothing we can do, captain. S
end word to all of our patrols, the hunt for Palar stops. We need all the men we can get, we have to listen to our masters.'

  The captain was taken aback by her mistress’s attitude – never had she known the Black Widow to be so calm and under control. 'Mistress, I am sorry about Shartak.'

  The Black Widow sucked in a deep breath. 'Enough about Shartak, what's done is done. Captain Fern, I require to speak with you alone,' she said, and the two left the others and walked towards the hall. She had a while before the count arrived so she would put what little time she had to good use.

  Palar crept around the stable, which was guarded by three men in black armour. Soon another joined them and Palar listened intently.

  The man joining them spoke first, 'Did you hear the new orders?' he asked the others, who all mumbled in the negative. He carried on, 'The mistress has sent out word that the hunt for the fugitive stops now. One of Captain Fern’s men has just arrived to pass on the news.'

  Palar smiled – the enemy had given up, which would make his life all the easier. As the guards continued talking Palar tried to figure out a route to one of the horses he could hear whinnying. There were three options: the first would be to charge the guards, kill them or knock them down, then snatch a horse; the second plan would be to climb to the top of the stables and jump down, then ride the guards down; the third would be to wait for them to go.

  He thought for a second, weighing up the options; he quickly dismissed option three, he had little strength to climb, so option one it was to be. He armed his wrist crossbow with a deadly bolt and readied his twin knives. Without a moment's hesitation he approached the guards, who didn't pay much attention to the apparent beggar until he lifted his arm. Out of his sleeve came a bolt that whizzed through the air and hit one of them in the neck, sending him to the ground with blood pumping from his wound. The other three were momentarily startled, two of them too slow to act and soon they both were holding in their innards as Palar simultaneously cut them both.