Realm of Druids

by Mark Hogenelst

  Six of the Warlord’s Boarhounds that had escorted Crovar to the edge of Trunarth, bid farewell and turned to leave. Crovar not saying a word watched the Hellhounds blend into the shadows of the trees and disappear. Here on the edge of the forest where the sunlight could penetrate, curling creepers dangled from many a tree sporting a great mishmash of flowers that blossomed brightly. They all jostled for light and highlighted the otherwise grey terrain. Crovar knew he had a few hours walk ahead of him and that he would make it to the mankind cairn easily by the day’s end. Keeping the forest on his right and moors on his left, he followed a narrow, beaten down path winding through the short-wet grass. He decided to abandon the concealment of the forest as he did not know the paths in this area and reckoned it would cost him a great deal of time. Over the moors were scattered patches of purple and white wildflowers, facing upwards in a gesture to find the sun. This path was used mainly by pony and swine, he thought. A stallion dump here and there and patches of disturbed ground turned over by a boar. The pigs digging around and turning over the earth in search of bugs and roots annoyed Crovar. Not only were they noisy and smelly creatures, but they also left great big ugly holes in the ground everywhere they went. The misty rain turned into a drizzle, and a light breeze from the south blew over the area bringing a slight chill to the air as it ruffled Crovar’s hairy coat.

  After an hour of padding along at a steady pace, Crovar picked up a strong scent of swine upon the breeze crossing his path. He immediately crouched low but continued to move forward along the path’s edge with caution. He was intruding into their lands, and he imagined they wouldn’t take too kindly to finding him trespassing there. In the near distance, as light movement caught his eye as he spied a group of swine working the ground. The breeze was in his favour, so hopefully, they would not scent his presence. They turned the soil over with their noses, uprooting grass and shrubs and occasionally pausing to grunt to one another and eat the roots and long earthworms that were exposed. There were half a dozen females with young slips and at least two mature boars that he could see. The majority of them were dark with a few having white and ginger patches mixed with their otherwise black coats. Crovar could see the thick armoured shoulder pads covered in dry grey mud, short muscled neck and legs and the sharp protruding white tusks on both boars. Even though Crovar had killed many boars on his hunting sorties for the Warlord, he decided that at that moment, it would be an unnecessary risk of injury to him. Not to mention, it would also announce to all the animals in this area of his presence.

  He circled wide upwind back through the edge of the forest, where he found cover and could conceal his scent. Several Ravens flew out of Trunarth into the open air of the moors and headed south. ‘They were most likely on some errand for the witches’ or goblins’ Crovar thought. ‘Or else they have been keeping an eye on me.’ He knew the Night Grove Coven was several days walk into the south from where he was. This coven was the home of Lady Ravyne and the blind witch Lilura, who had recently given the orders for his current task. ‘Most likely, the Ravens would be travelling there.’ He thought. He was told he would be meeting a traveller of sorts who would then reveal to him what their crucial assignment would be. He managed to successfully skirt around the group of swine and come back out onto the path. He had managed to scare some grazing rabbits who scurried down a nearby burrow. The rabbits had not seen hounds in that edge of the moors before.

  By late afternoon, he saw the cairn in the distance. It lay a mile or two into the moor south from the edge of the forest. The path he was still following then suddenly wound in a southerly direction, away from Trunarth and leaving Crovar feeling rather exposed. There were only a few Warty Birch trees and mostly Gorse shrubs on either side of the muddy path. The western edge of the North Marsh was also behind him and rolling undulating grasslands of the moor stretched away in the distance as far as he could see. He had been this way once several years ago with other members of his house when they were not much older than lanky whelps. They had been hunting along the edge of Trunarth trying to bring a decent kill back to their house as initiation of their young adulthood. The breeze was still present, and the drizzle that had been continuing all day was again falling steadily. Now it seemed to fall in sheets, in a timely fashion with the developing wind gusts and limiting his visibility to some extent. The path appeared to lead straight to the cairn, which rose up in front of him like a lone grey sentry as he neared it.

  Just before the cairn, the path split and went around either side of it. None of the creatures living in the area had an appetite to go too close. Though it presented no danger, it appeared to be an alien mankind object that didn’t belong, and the animal instinct of vigilance and self-preservation was ever-present. Most of the animals had heard of mankind’s ferocity and atrocities from centuries past and treated anything associated with them cautiously. Crovar left the path and prepared to walk through the grass the remaining distance to the cairn. He stared at it and wondered about its construction. It appeared to be just a large pile of grey granite rocks unnaturally stacked one on top of the other with the most significant being on the ground and smaller in size as it reached a height of about twenty feet. Crovar sniffed around the field a short distance from the base of the cairn and found several rock circles about six feet in diameter. These were buried into the ground with only the tips of the larger rocks protruding through the grass. The individual rock circles formed a larger circle of their own that encircled the entire base of the cairn. Thorny creeper vines and grass clumps covered half of it, but it was still a strange object that could be seen from miles away on the moors.

  He was told that it had been built centuries ago by mankind animals that lived in tribes far to the west along the coast. He could not guess the purpose of the cairn, and his mother taught him that mankind had not been into that area of the Trunarth forest for centuries. He had heard the stories that many years ago, Shum and some of the surviving older hounds had fought and killed an exploring group of mankind animals that had ventured through Trunarth and crossed the border into the New Territories. Where they came from, no one had known, but it was rumoured that a mankind tribe existed to the far north above the forest in the mountains, where the Muntjacs hailed from, but he doubted it. A visiting goblin had once told him that mankind animals resemble the witches’ to some extent. They walked upright on two legs like the goblin but were taller like a witch and less dangerous. They covered themselves with all manner of materials and animal skins to protect their bodies. Apparently, they could not communicate very well and were easy to kill.

  Crovar cautiously approached the cairn and sniffed around the base. Nothing of any concern came to him. He did think he was a bit early and decided to nestle into the bottom of a Gorse bush tangle nearby and make himself comfortable out of the drizzle and breeze until the traveller came. He could view the cairn looming out of the grass in front, and he had a reasonable view of the open moor around him. Crovar, like most hounds, did not trust the witches’. His mind raced for a while; as he tried to think of what this traveller was and what mission he would be given. He believed that the traveller would most likely be a goblin. Crovar was not sure how long he had dozed off. Just before dark, he opened his eyes as he heard the soothing light sound of grass swishing and rustling about in the breeze. He flicked his ears about attentively as he also listened to some howls and whistles made by the wind as it blew through different angles and gaps in the granite rocks of the cairn.

  The chorus of several crickets started up nearby as they called to one another getting louder and louder like some ‘Chirp-off.’ Crovar’s quickly scratched at an itch on the side of his neck, undoubtedly caused by some resident fleas then lowered himself down again. His eyes started to close, and then suddenly opened again with a start. The crickets had stopped, and so had the breeze. An eerie silence fell over the area like a blanket. The air seemed to grow thicker and became increasingly difficult to see through as if a high fog had appeared to
replace the drizzle. Crovar nestled lower and growled softly while he continually sniffed the air for any clue to this strange occurrence. Then he saw it. On the ground at the base of the cairn, that he could only make out now through the smoky air was a red glowing pattern. It appeared to be coming out from one of the buried rock circles in the field. As he watched, it grew into a narrow oval-shaped horizontal sphere that was as tall as half the height of the cairn. This oval shape resembled a multitude of tiny red flames that did not give off any heat. A low deep hum seemed to flow through the ground from the direction of the cairn. The flame oval turned from orange to a purple-blue colour, and then the traveller stepped through.

  The flame oval and low hum disappeared abruptly with a loud, sharp crack. Crovar stared at the traveller. He had never seen anything like it in his life. His body was covered in all manner of hairless animal skin that appeared to be pony hide and worn over that a long black coat resembling an unknown fur. He was as tall as a witch with ashen skin. Crovar sensed a magic stench around this witchling, and a cold sensation immediately caused the hound to shiver. His face was expressionless, and his nearly bald head had a few wisps of white hair hanging down his front and over his ears. Atop his head, his skin seemed thin, so thin that sizeable blue-coloured blood vessels were visible crisscrossing over his skull. The traveller, looking straight ahead into the dark moors turned his head slowly towards Crovar until their vision met. His eyes were bright blue that suddenly glowed intensely for a few seconds while he stared at the Wolfhound. The Lieutenant’s mane pricked up immediately at the sensation of the supernatural.

  The traveller, with his full attention focused on Crovar, beckoned him to approach with a boney finger. Crovar unable to resist, crawled out of his sanctuary under the Gorse bush and stepped forward within reach of the traveller. The traveller lunged down quickly with cold thin pale hands and took Crovar’s head between them. He leaned down close to his face and exhaled a cold breath. With a twisted mouth full of pointed sharp teeth, he whispered their mission. Crovar shook with excitement and fear. Without any further conversation, the Draugen witchling with Crovar at his side began the several weeks’ journey to reach the mankind road between the villages of Brineburg and Saltwood. The Draugen walked stiffly but never seemed to tire. His piercing blue eyes seemed to have little difficulty in finding the paths through the moors at night. Crovar felt the cold radiating from this creature, but he remained relatively warm under his thick coat. The night creatures of the moorland scattered in front of them alarmed at this strange unison, while other weary animals watched them curiously from afar calling out warnings to each other. The rain had stopped entirely, and stars were visible through rifts in the grey clouds.

  19.

  THE GLISTENING RIVER

  Blackpaws awoke on his side, feeling stiff and sore throughout his back legs. As his vision cleared, he saw Jericho sitting nearby and conversing quietly with a she-elf. A cool breeze blew through a drizzle falling from the overcast sky above, making him shiver. He rolled over slowly on the soft grass and sat up tenderly on his haunches. Thoughts and recent memories came rushing back to him as if recalling a distant fading dream. His clouded eyes cleared, and he recognised Princess Eylon with his son. Princess Eylon was the ruler of the nearby Elvene clan since her father King Aymon had died at the age of 412. It was morning, the sound of splashing water rushing around the rock base of the Duskfall Bridge, birdsong in the distant trees and the loud hum of a big black and yellow bee as it hovered around him curiously. He was confused. He had many questions to ask. He suddenly remembered the Rust-Serpent and looked around. It was nowhere to be seen, yet he remembered a fight here in the dark, goblins and then the serpent. Dull pain in his back left leg confirmed his thoughts.

  He heard Princess Eylon speak. ‘King Blackpaws, you and your son fought bravely.’ ‘What?’ He replied, ‘How, where were you? What happened?’ ‘I had foreseen this moment and decided it best to meet you here. I have grave matters to discuss with you and Bragus,’ said Eylon in a serious tone, her facial expression darkening. ‘I need to go with you to Aledran.’ ‘What of the Rust-Serpent?’ The king asked. ‘Karvu and I took care of that little matter,’ said Eylon pointing behind Blackpaws. He turned and saw an enormous muntjac standing nearby with a mouthful of grass watching him curiously. The muntjac paused his chewing to study the king for a few moments through big intelligent eyes fiddle. Blackpaws had never seen a muntjac this big before with such a giant set of antlers. ‘Thank you, Karvu for saving our lives,’ said the king graciously. The muntjac merely dipped his head respectfully towards the king. ‘Karvu does not speak, but he knows much,’ said Eylon. Blackpaws had heard stories of a huge muntjac that the Princess had rescued as a calf from some travelling goblins years ago. It had been raised by the Elvene for many years and now and was a companion and guard to the Princess. It's rumoured that an enchantment had been cast upon his antlers, making them hard as bedrock and doubling his strength. Blackpaws had however doubted these stories, until now.

  Jericho looked on at his father with slight amusement. It was not often that he saw the king surprised by anything, and this was one of those moments. Next to the muntjac cowered a small red fox who stared nervously at the king of wolves. ‘Who might you be?’ inquired Blackpaws. ‘My king, I am Red Whiskers from Saltwood Marsh to the far west. I was on my way to see you, but I met the Princess at the Elvene on the way. ‘He said in a low, quiet voice. Princess Eylon interrupted. ‘Red Whiskers has completed a long journey to get to my kingdom and deliver news from the far side of the moors. However, all will be revealed to you in good time. We must make for Aledran.’

  Blackpaws stretched his back legs out, testing them after remembering the blow from the serpent. Apart from some minor numbness and grazed skin, he was otherwise fine. ‘Regus, my scout? What of him? 'Inquired Blackpaws looking around. ‘Have no fear,’ replied Princess Eylon. ‘The Falcon Ayah Cloudchaser had already sent a message to Prince Lothian at daylight. We located Duskfall scouts at their west border on our way here, and they are now escorting Regus back to Silent Ridge as we speak.’ ‘What of Lothian? As the leader of Duskfall and my father in law, I must speak to him about what has happened here!’ ‘We cannot’ said Eylon. ‘Duskfall is a full day away from here to their stronghold caves. The Prince knows what has happened. He will disperse scouts to comb the Duskfall province for any more trespassing goblins. Now we cannot delay any further.’

  So, this strange company of wolves, a great muntjac, an elf and a fox set forth towards the foothills of the Scarbia Range to enter the lands of Aledran and converse with the bears. The foothills in front were shadowed by the snowcapped Scarbia Mountains directly behind. A rough one-mile-wide gap between the foothills directly in front of them marked the beginning of the Great Rift. A day’s journey through the vast ancient forest in the valley would lead them to the bear's mountain stronghold, within the Vale of Aledran. The day continued to stay overcast with the sun shielded by thick grey clouds. The edge of the moors gave way to further pockets of woods made up of a few tall trees and stunted tangles of low brush. The grass plains grew into smaller and smaller pockets until they disappeared altogether.

  A hodgepodge of flowers, growing dispersed and sparingly, was a welcome sight in the otherwise unchanging backdrop. Soon the company was following a path through a forest of tall Oaks and Ash trees. The members of the company felt an immediate calm as the forest engulfed them and bathed them in a dappled green half light. Red Whiskers marvelled at the sheer size and height of these trees. They had a majestic appearance with giant trunks covered in rough bark and giant knots indicating great age. With the Glistening River on their right and just out of sight, they could hear the comforting sound of water gushing and tumbling over rocks. It wound its way through the forest down into the open moors of the Duskfall province, now well behind them. By mid-afternoon, the cloudy sky started to break and gave way to sporadic sunshine. ‘The combined influence of the witches’ shadow
enchantment and the normal moors gloom never comes closer than this to the region of Aledran. The properties of Aledran Mountain, which we don’t fully understand, somehow hold the witches’ sorcery at the borders.’ Princess Eylon remarked. She was right, as the ground level in the wood began to rise slightly, the earth had dried out properly, and the sky was nearly cloud-free.

  They chattered as they proceeded along the winding path through green shadows under the tall trees. Everyone’s mood improved with the welcome change in the weather. Princess Eylon told Red Whiskers that his son Red Tail had been sent on an important errand to the Grelen Maze in the far north to deliver a message to King Cornelius. They couldn’t risk a report by air as the Ravens and nightbirds had become thick of late, but a wily little fox knew the ways of concealment when travelling. Red Whiskers shook his tail proudly at hearing this. All the same, he hoped he would see either if not both of his sons soon. The air had become comfortably warmer with the sound of birdsong and insect buzzing increasing the deeper into the forest they went.