There was a time when the hounds got bored. They watched the other species in the moors through resentful eyes from the border of the New Territories. It was ten years ago now when Warlord Shum decided to send a company of Danes on a sortie into the northern moorlands. These lands, however, were inhabited by the swine clans and under the leadership of a massive black and white boar. The leader, Nargus Saddleback, was a great armoured boar many believed invincible, a warden to the north and a great ally to the Grelen Elf Clan further south. Shum’s Danes poured out of the New Territories into the moors and attempted to claim an area above the Northern Marshes. Initially, many swine clans fled south in a kind of disorganized chaos after witnessing the Danes roaming freely out of the forest. Survivors from other species, including the ponies, had also followed suit. Falcons and Kite Hawks had previously given warning that hounds were massing along the edge of Trunarth, so the elves began preparing for whatever would come next. The Lady of the Night Grove Witch Coven to the west was not pleased. The Wildpack had not consulted her before deciding to invade the northern moor, as the witches’ had other plans. Hearing about the witches’ displeasure Shum had decided that he dared not ask for her assistance.
The Wildpack Company then encountered stiff resistance from a federated army of swine and elf. Shum on an impulse then sent forth a mixed company of Wolfhounds and hybrids from his own house. Falcons and Kite Hawks watched from afar and reported the hounds continuing conquests to the Grelen elders. The Grelen Elves were alarmed at the rapid expansion of the Wildpack. The hounds seemed countless and poured out of the New Territories into the moors like an incoming tide. The Grelen Elves mustered the surviving swine with their cousins in the uplands and mounted a significant counter-attack in an attempt to drive the hounds back to the ‘New Territories’ in Trunarth Forest. A half-mile-wide front of swine spearheaded into the advancing ranks of hounds. Champion warriors of the swine covered in heavy mud amour proudly led their fellow fighters towards the line of panting brawler hounds.
In unison, the company of large boars galloped forward with their heads down and protected from thick shoulder pads of iron gristle and caked in inches of hard mud. They made some ground and even managed to push small groups of hounds back towards Trunarth. Huge white tusks swung side to side, creating horrific wounds in the hounds packed so tight in numbers; they couldn’t get out of the way as the boars ploughed into them. But the exhilaration was short lived. Lieutenant Horntooth on Shum’s orders led a company of Boarhound brawlers towards the advancing swine. The hounds numbered the enemy ten to one and rapidly destroyed the front line of Nargus’s greatest fighters. Lieutenant Horntooth was a giant Boarhound champion with a broad head, long thick fangs and a shiny black coat. He clashed savagely with Nargus in a field surrounded by death. Nargus covered in battle wounds, snorted and shook his head to charge on shaky legs towards the howling Lieutenant. Another Boarhound appeared quickly from one side and grabbed hard onto one of Nargus’s squat ears, causing the swine leader to slow down and spin, striking at the new threat. Lieutenant Horntooth lunged with wide strong jaws, to deliver a crushing bite to Nargus’s throat. Nargus roared and collapsed under crippling legs, but not before he sunk 10 inches of ivory deep into the Lieutenant’s chest. Both champion swine and Boarhound died, locked together in this fashion. The Grelen clerics watching in disappointment had kept the majority of their elf rangers back to ensure that Shum did not try to outflank them.
The Wildpack under the leadership of Shum was relentless. The Grelen Elves fearing defeat in the Northern Moors dispatched Falcons to seek aid from the wolf packs and bear clans in the distant Scarbia Ranges. If the Wildpack expanded further south unchecked, then other lands would fall victim to the hound’s conquest. The witches’ were pleasantly surprised to see that Shum had gained ground and decided they might take advantage of his achievements so far. They provided a minimal amount of aid through sending Ravens to intercept and kill the messenger Falcons. This was a token effort to aid the Wildpack. However, several Falcons got through the Raven filled skies to reach the wolves.
Fearing a devastating loss, the Grelen Elf Clerics in desperation sought assistance from the fire elementals and cast the ‘Flamma Fluctus’ enchantment. As enormous black clouds began to form in the distant north over Trunarth Forest, the grey cleric of the Grelen stood atop a small knoll near the North Marsh at the head of a ragtag army of swine and hog. Several battle-weary warthogs stood shoulder to shoulder facing the drawn up lines of the advancing Wildpack. From their shovel-shaped heads jutted long wide tusks of the toughest ivory. Their hides comprised of tough brown and black skin covered in thick large warty protuberances serving as a sort of iron-hard scaled amour. Being bigger than their comrades and chosen for the task, they stood around the knoll guarding the Grelen cleric as they cast their enchantment. Their loose flowing brown cloaks billowed about in the breeze while they pointed their short marble staffs at the hounds in unison and muttered a string of ancient words. Each staff began to glow with a multitude of colours cast out from the small jewels within. Most of the wounded and exhausted boar and warthog warriors stood their ground on shaky legs and waited for orders from the Grelen. Strange flashes of lighting began to fall from the black clouds over distant Trunarth striking into mighty Oak trees which splintered to bits.
A new company of Master Staff hounds assembled just north of the defenders’ position and waited in anticipation with teeth-baring and howling in blood-curdling delight. Seeing the battle turning to his favour, Shum himself had entered the moors and took command from a safe distance back from the front line. The quietly spoken words of the Grelen cleric were suddenly amplified a hundred-fold and boomed across the marsh. A strange wind blew in from the north from the direction of the black storm and got increasingly hotter. Many hounds pinning their ears back, looked around with unease. A massive wall of fire grew steadily out of an enormous fissure that suddenly appeared in the ground between the Wildpack and the Elvin cleric. The hounds began to fall back from the crippling heat, ignoring the barking orders from their Lieutenants. The long wall of yellow flame grew higher and higher until, as if unable to sustain its form, toppled over like a colossal wave falling upon the first few formed ranks of the Wildpack. Shum and several Lieutenants watched from atop their viewpoint in alarm. Shum howled in anger as he saw the fruit of his army destroyed so quickly. Bedlam took hold, and in the confusion hounds broke rank to retreat north to the distant tree line of Trunarth Forest. The hounds brave enough to follow the commander’s orders were consumed by fire. The swine and hog army let out a triumphant roar. The thunderous sound of the flame wave drowned out the cries and howls of the hounds in their panic to escape. The flame eventually receded and faded out, leaving behind hundreds of dead hounds lying in positions of agony. The sickening stench of burning hair and flesh flooded the North Marsh.
Earlier that day, however, Shum had dispatched a company of his fastest Wolfhound brawlers east in an attempt to outflank the defenders. The Grelen Elves anticipated this maneuver and had sought aid from the water elementals. The usually sluggish Glistening River flowing out of the Scarbia Ranges and winding through the northern moors for miles had suddenly become a swollen raging torrent of brown water cutting off Shum’s dispatched company. These hounds unable to go back travelled many miles east towards the distant Scarbia Ranges in an attempt to find a crossing or another way around this sudden obstacle. Outrunner scouts eventually trespassed into the Duskfall wolf province. The hounds came across wolf scouts and tore them to pieces. The wolves soon learned this and with the bears as allies, had mounted an offensive against the Wolfhound brawlers and destroyed the majority of their company, chasing the survivors north back towards the New Territories. The surviving hounds eventually limped back into Trunarth, for that day the elves and wolves were victorious.
The Wildpack was not always a formidable aggressor. Many centuries ago, all that existed was merely a few large tribes of unruly hounds that fought and ki
lled one another, which kept their numbers in check. They were the leaderless and wandering nomad scavengers of the northern moors. The witches’ had united the tribes and used them in a long-ago campaign against the elves and wolves. From that time on bargains between hound, witch and goblin were forged. The witches’ granted leadership status to many hounds that maintained unification of the individual tribes and thus formed the Wildpack. Unchecked, their numbers grew into the thousands. What the witches’ could make with their dark magic, the Wildpack could achieve with numbers and brute force.
16.
WARLORD SHUM
Years after the Wildpack’s loss to the elves, their numbers had replenished. One thing the hounds had in their favour was the ability to breed, and they needed no helpful enchantment to do that. Shum sat in his place of power within the ‘New Territories’ along the inside edge of the Trunarth Forest. A short distance behind him was the fallen shell of a giant Beech Tree. The hollow trunk of this once mighty tree now serves as the home to the Wildpack Warlord. The inside of the shadowed den was laden with dry grass and leaves and maintained daily by hounds of the lesser houses to the Warlord’s taste. Low dead branches reaching to the ground are adorned with some whole and some partial skulls of campaign victories. A massive boar skull sporting tusks 12 inches long was hanging among the dead exposed roots above the entrance. The skull belonged to Nargus, the boar leader of the Northern Marsh tribes who ten years ago fought to the death to buy his clan time to escape south into the moors. He had taken the lives of two score of hounds before he was brought down by a giant Boarhound champion. Parts of the skull showed signed of having been chewed by small teeth. The perpetrators no doubt, being some inquisitive pups up to some mischief. Other trophies included muntjac warriors fought in sorties in the east towards the mountains and numerous skulls of hounds, who had attempted to usurp the Wildpack leadership over the years. There were even some mankind skulls from distant tribes when several of their explorer warriors took it upon themselves to explore deeper into Trunarth and cross over into the Wildpack’s New Territories.
Other huge Oaks and Elms circled the Warlord’s private encampment in the centre of the ‘New Territories.’ Here these trees had an unnatural appearance. Extensive root systems that should have been under the earth were exposed as high as ten feet in the air and intertwined to make a giant circular entanglement that was almost impenetrable. The tangle was completely green from the deep cover of moss and mould and other strange green flora that was growing through it. Various tunnels and additional accesses through the tangle into the leadership circle were guarded by the Warlord’s handpicked Boarhounds. Those personal guards to the Warlord were nicknamed the Hellhounds and were largest and the most savage that stood out amongst the Wildpack brawlers. They stood silently with broad red tongues hanging from huge jaws. The houses of the Boarhound brawlers were the most fearless of all, but they possessed the least intelligence. However, they were fanatically loyal to the Warlord and beneath their deep red short coats there existed a squat frame covered in genetically inherited iron muscle.
Yesterday the Warlord’s forage hunters had done well. They had returned with the carcass of a muntjac doe. These were found a considerable distance east where the forest met the mountains and was usually an elusive prey. They were fleet of foot and traditionally accompanied by large muntjac males sporting racks of long sharp antlers and difficult to kill. It normally required a pack of at least six hounds to bring one down. Shum having had his fill of meat this morning allowed his bitches and whelps to feast. He watched with humour as his many pups fought one another over the carcass even though there was plenty to go around. Several of his trusted lieutenants sat patiently nearby, looking mildly amused. A Raven had delivered the word that witches’ from the nearby Night Grove Coven were on their way to seek an audience with him. He stared up through the massive Oak trees, into their canopy and to the sky beyond. It was heavily overcast, which was always a common weather trait preceding the witches’ arrival. Although black clouds moved sluggishly through the sky above, no rain fell. A distant bird let out a pretty little tune, which was rare in this part of the forest as most wildlife, including the birds, avoided the New Territories. The only birds that came willingly into the Wildpack camps these days were the Ravens that were allied with the hounds and ferried messages back and forth to goblin and witch.
It was late in the afternoon when distant sentries to the southeast let out long and loud warning howls. The howls grew closer as the signal was relayed to Shum and his counsel of Lieutenants. A high-pitched shriek of laughter was heard in the distant air, followed by a cold blast of wind blowing through the tangle that rustled the leaves loudly. The chill swirled around the leadership circle, causing Shum and his Lieutenants to shiver involuntarily. Several of the pups in midway battle with each other stopped and propped their ears upright looking alarmed. With their tails tucked tightly between their legs, they skulked away with wide eyes seeking the safety of their mothers nearby. The Warlord was slightly nervous. The witches’ were cruel and unpredictable and usually demanded a blood sacrifice every time they visited. Shum gave a quick barking order instructing the Bitches to take their whelps and leave the circle. The bitch Yola and her pups lingered at the edge of the tangle, causing Shum to snort loudly in displeasure. Despite being his favourite bitch, Yola had always been too curious and disobedient for her own good.
‘There, Lord.’ Said Lieutenant Jurgess, as he indicated with a nod toward the western sky. Shum caught glimpses of several skyriders approaching through the far trees. As they closed the distance, Shum saw that they were dressed in the typical dark garb of the witch with cloak and hair billowing out behind them. They came towards Shum and his counsel zigzagging lower through the trees, calling out to one another and laughing. Many hounds lay flat on the ground with their ears pinned back as the witches’ passed close by overhead. It was no secret that the witches’ had particular tastes. They may have been allies with the witches’ for centuries; however, the hounds naturally feared those who wielded the magic arts. Three witches’ landed in the leadership circle between Shum and the semi-circle counsel. Two of the three witches’ had a wicked gleam in their bright green eyes as they glanced around with a look of scorn on their faces. They wore the simple outfit of the witch, a full-length black cloak revealing only their hands and face. Their pale skin seemed to radiate a very light green aurora. Holding her sweep by her side, the witch in front performed a mock bow to Shum. Where her eyes should have been sat two sunken empty sockets, she pointed at the Warlord with a long finger, ‘Greetings Devastator’ she said in an old croaky voice, despite her youthful appearance. The other two witches ‘shook silently and made valiant attempts to stifle their laughs.
‘It has been many months since we last spoke, Lilura,’ replied Shum. Shum knew Lilura the Blind and what she was capable of doing. Great ugly black stitches held her eyelids shut, and the mark of the leech was evident on her neck. Her lack of eyesight did nothing to inhibit her cruelty, for her other senses were heightened to a terrifying degree. ‘What does lady Ravyne wish of us?’ Lady Ravyne was the leader of the Night Grove Coven, some two days journey west of the North Marsh, and the closest witch coven to the New Territories. ‘The lady has not long returned from the ‘Occurrens Locus’ and has decided to gift you with a task of importance.’ Said Lilura. The ‘Occurrens Locus’ was the annual event where the Ladies of the five covens would meet on the night of the Blood Moon. Lilura continued, ‘You must send two companies of your Wildpack south into the moors within two days. '
'For what purpose?’ Shum barked in an annoyed tone. He continued ‘We are not mangy dogs here to do your bidding. A score of years ago, I did the same and lost the fruit of my army.’ An angry red glow shone out between the gaps in the stitches below the witches’ eyelids. Throbbing red veins appeared in her neck and forehead, which began to quiver alarmingly. The black apertures in Lilura’s face briefly filled with fire then faded back
to black as she clenched her teeth. ‘To question me is to question Lady Ravyne. A score of years ago you sent an army into the Moors. A movement not sanctioned by our Lady.’ The witch screeched in anger. The two skyriders accompanying Lilura wearily retreated several paces; they knew to stay out of the path of their leading Skyrider when she was angered. She turned to face a bitch nearby consoling five terrified pups in the edge of the tangle. Lilura lifted her sweep slightly off the ground and brought it down again with a thud, raising a tiny cloud of dust. A thin green jagged flash arced from the sweep’s jewel towards the bitch and her pups. Several of Shum’s Lieutenants backed away in alarm with their tails between their legs. The Warlord stood his ground.
The guardian brawlers looked out from the tangle growling softly and waited for a command from their Warlord if one was to come. The bitch Yola suddenly lifted her head to howl in pain. ‘Tempestas,’ yelled Lilura. Yola and her pups were picked up and spun by an invisible wind to be thrown high above the tangle and strike hard against the trunk of a mighty Elm tree. A loud crunching thud filled the air that was the sickening sound of bodies breaking. Their crumpled lifeless bodies fell to the ground. Many other hounds nearby watching in fear, howled in dismay. Shum, shaking with immense rage only managed to control himself and not pounce upon Lilura to tear her throat out. The other two witches’ unable to contain their amusement burst into laughter. Lilura now returning to a more composed state turned and said to Shum. ‘Must I remind you of our arrangement?’ Shum lowered his eyes and swallowed hard.
‘Now,’ she continued. ‘Your Wildpack brawlers will meet some of our skyriders and goblin mages who will conceal their movements as they travel into the moors. Also make ready your mightiest warrior to meet on the eve of the morrow on the south edge of Trunarth, near the old granite mankind cairn’. ‘What will he do there?’ Inquired Shum with caution. ‘He will meet a traveller, a servant of ours and will be given instructions.’ ‘I will do as the lady has required,’ said Shum between gritted teeth and bowing his head slightly. ‘Good, she will be pleased.’ Replied Lilura, and without a further word, the three witches’ mounted their sweeps and flew over the tangle to disappear through the trees quickly gaining altitude. The crumpled body of the bitch Yola bounced along the ground behind the witches’ as if attached to an invisible line. It flew into the air, twisting and turning horribly to follow the witches’ through the wood. They were soon out of sight with their prize, and the sound of their incessant cackling to one another faded away. Shum bit down on his tongue in anger until blood trickled from his mouth. His Lieutenants looked expectedly at each other as Shum barked loudly, ‘Bring me Crovar!’
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