Realm of Druids

by Mark Hogenelst

  Witch Ginerva stood in front of the Divine Eye in Lady Strala’s chamber, making commanding hand gestures. Her cloak lay on the floor beside her as dirty exposed arms protruding from a loose-fitting red shirt beckoned towards her pets. She crooned softly of a verse in ‘The Torment’, only known to the necromancer. Her thick dreadlocked hair and garments floated about her as if in water, influenced by the Dread Realm. The magic quality of the liquid in the pond did not obey the laws of gravity. For this pond was set vertically into the wall. It was embellished heavily with bones of various creatures including a skull or two from mankind animals. Ginerva watched eagerly as her witchling Draugens chased this mancub down. The mancub faltered and stopped, crouching on the ground. Ginerva leaned forward in anticipation, her red eyes gleaming fiendishly as her puppets were nearly on him. She had to give them the final command now, as her Draugens’ would perish in direct sunlight and the sun was rising quickly and was bound to win through the clouds at any moment. She chuckled as Lady Strala entered the chamber. Oh, she loved her job, ordering the dead around was so much easier than arguing with the living. They never questioned her or answered her back for one thing.

  It was not long now since prowler Ravens from Skraaw’s unkindness had arrived at the coven and spoke in confidence to Lady Strala. She listened intently to what they had to say. Strala was very fond of their leader, Skraww. The white raptor Raven, who had fought his way to become the leader of the unkindness and was famous amongst the flying, orders that lived in the moorland skies. He had fought beside Lady Strala on a few campaigns over the years and was a very loyal and close confidant to her. With various squawks, the Ravens left the central chamber, and she sat alone, in thought for some time. She then attended her private chamber where she had left Ginerva Nightshade with her Divine Eye and necromantic enchantments.

  She entered her candlelit chamber and watched curiously as Ginerva looked hard at the Divine Eye and continued with her cipher. Ginerva, ever the true magic practitioner did not hesitate at Strala’s entrance to the chamber. ‘My servants close in on the mancub my lady’ said Ginerva quickly without diverting her eyes from the pond. I must act without haste else the full sun will destroy them. ‘Slay him,’ Strala replied in earnest. Ginerva spoke the last verse with glee and gave the signal. Strala wanted to see what this mancub was capable of. If he indeed had possession of a Druid Talisman she wanted to see what he could do with it, or what the Talisman itself was capable of doing. And if he died? No matter, she would recover the Moonstone anyway.

  34.

  THE WILDPACK MARCH

  An hour before daylight, a regimented hoard of hounds marched east out of the New Territories, through Trunarth towards the distant Scarbia Mountain ranges. Warlord Shum knew that his army of 3000 hounds would go relatively unnoticed while they marched within the confines of Trunarth. Many animals living in this expanse of the forest were allies to the Wildpack, or else they were quickly killed and eaten. Shum calculated that out of the five-day march to the Scarbia foothills, he should remain undetected for at least three of those days. After that he didn’t care, by then Prince Lothian would not have had enough time to gather reinforcements. The 1,000 hounds the Warlord sent south upon Strala’s orders were merely a decoy. While all eyes focused on the south, he would lead the pride of the Wildpack to the northernmost wolf province. He looked up at the high canopy to catch infrequent glimpses of the grey sky. Good, he thought. Any spies on the wing engaged by his enemies would have a hard time seeing through that. Besides, the 500 prowler Ravens led by commander Skrooth and flying beneath the canopy would ensure nothing escaped into the skies. The damp leaf-strewn earth would also dampen the noise of a multitude of trampling paws.

  He planned to rid the north of wolves and their allies once and for all, then systematically head south and destroy all the known packs before they could unify. Duskfall was ruled by an upstart wolf prince named Lothian. His wolves were often running into Shum’s brawlers and scouts to the far east of Trunarth near the open moors. The wolf scouts were fierce enough, often besting Shum’s hounds in their sorties when they met on the boundaries between the lands. Shum decided that he would personally kill Lothian when they met, but only after his Boarhounds had roughed him up a bit. So, with a 1,000 brawlers about to cause havoc in the south under the command of their house lieutenants, Shum’s columns of brawlers advanced towards his goal. Once he had wiped out the first few packs, the elves would show themselves to aid the wolves and with the help of the goblin mages, the witches’ would locate the hidden Elvene maze. The elves always managed to conceal their strongholds through complex enchantments that even the witches’ could not break.

  Small black shapes circled in the skies above the canopy. A group of the fastest Raven prowlers hovered above the canopy and regularly reported to commander Skrooth of any change in the grey world above. Shum’s Wolfhound scouts would also advise of what lay ahead. So far, they had encountered minimal animals. Swine mostly, that fled quickly out of Trunarth and into the moors and a herd of muntjac females who disappeared over a small hill in alarm to flee deeper into the northern forests out of harm’s way. Shum sent small detachments of Shepherd hunters after each of them to ensure the word did not get out and also to feed his hungry mob. To the fleeing animals, the stench of wet hounds was overwhelming. They were used to evading small groups of Wildpack brawlers, but to see numbers like this moving was very concerning. Heavy dew lay on the forest floor and shone randomly as grey light from the morning sky found gaps in the canopy to shimmer through. Shum surveyed his Wildpack war machine marching before him as the Raven prowlers left his side again to conduct another reconnaissance from the skies.

  In the not too distant south lay the open expanse of the moorlands and to the north the unbroken deep forests of Trunarth. Shum’s borders of the New Territories stretched north quite a distance; however, no one knew precisely what lay past that. Over the years small raiding parties of brawlers had been sent north, but few had ever returned. Raven prowlers report an unbroken expanse of treetops that closed in even thicker the further north one travelled. It was thought that mindless beasts took haven in the uncharted deep north. All that really mattered was that nothing threatened the Wildpack from this direction and it appeared that very few prey existed, so it was left alone.

  The hounds marched in their house formations. It was untidy, but they managed to maintain a semblance of discipline as they wound through the enormous trees led by their Lieutenants. Wolfhounds, Shepherds, Rottweils, Master Staffs and the Warlord’s own house hybrids, the Boarhounds represented the highest number of brawler hounds. Midmorning saw Shum call his lieutenants to a halt by a brown flowing stream. The water was muddy, indicating rain further upstream in its catchment deep in the northern forest. Silent creepers hung from many trees over the stream, desperately trying to avoid the shadows and fighting for sunlight. Though the skies here were clear and relatively warm, there was little breeze bringing relief to the humid forest. 3000 panting hounds drank their fill, and after a short rest continued on. The Scarbia foothills lay only two days ahead. By the end of this day they would be encroaching into the Duskfall province and no doubt Prince Lothian would be enraged to the extent that he may throw all of his warriors against the Wildpack. Shum’s hoped this would occur as spies had advised over months previously that the Duskfall warriors numbered no more than 200 - 250. However, upon Lady Ravyne’s orders, the Wildpack was to meet with a goblin army from a northern hide by the end of this day. Shum didn’t believe he needed their help, but he had learnt not to question orders from the witches’.

  Brod was known as the nervous king of the goblin hide, Windburn Grotto. It lay several days south into the moors and was within a deep narrow chasm carved naturally into the granite rock. Cold burning winds often whistled through the Grotto, hence its name. The sharp rock face that seemed to shear down through the moor was covered in green moss and slime. Numerous small slippery footholds were chiselled here and there
into the rock giving access to the surefooted goblins that dwelt in the caverns below. Brod personally led 300 red goblin reavers and two mages north to meet Warlord Shum and join his Wildpack army. Brod was an old thin beady-eyed goblin with a short pointy nose, who preferred the isolation of his hide and rarely ventured above ground. However, the orders of Lady Ravyne from the nearby Night Grove witch coven directed Brod to personally lead his small army. He was not pleased about the whole ordeal.

  For one thing, he did not trust the Wildpack as it was well known that the witches’ would often feed goblins to them if they were displeased. Secondly, he did not know their final mission but guessed it would be something to do with an assault against the wolves in the Far East. His numbers in the Windburn Grotto were populated by many young inexperienced goblins. He had lost most of his older fighters in the battle ten years ago against the elves and wolves when aiding the Wildpack’s desired conquest of the northern moors. They had all failed miserably with the cunning elves using magic enchantments that surpassed his mage’s abilities. The witches’ were nowhere to be seen, and the outcome of that particular battle might have been different if the witches’ had cared to intervene and assist. Brod was sure that they ordered all this invading and fighting so that they could sit back and watch for their entertainment.

  They travelled by night as they did not have the luxury of concealment in the forest as the hounds did. The nomadic swine and ponies would undoubtedly report their movement to the wolves if they were sighted. The goblin mages through minor enchantments, however, had managed to conceal their tracks and scent through the moors. They had instead an uneventful three-day journey, including a half-day detour around a black quagmire that was rumoured to be bottomless. Then they came to the banks of the Glistening River which at this point cut through the moors at its closest point to Trunarth. The Duskfall lands commenced on the other side from where the goblin command lay concealed in a dense thicket of Gorse and bramble scrubs. This part of the river was chosen as it was wide and shallow and close to Trunarth.

  The goblin reavers all wore warm dark cloaks covering a variety of leather and fur jackets and leggings. They looked fearsome enough with their tattooed upper bodies depicting allegiance to the Windburn Grotto and their king. Upon their cloaks was the crest of the Windburn Grotto, a crude design of a nightbird above a lightning strike the colour of ice. Most went bare feet, which was of no concern as they were all thick-soled and hairy underfoot. They all carried weapons of sorts including gnarly wooden clubs and rusty short swords and knives.

  The two mages conferred to one other and occasionally spoke to king Brod in quiet whispers. The king and some of his appointed commanders rode the Cavern Arachna-Pede. They were nervous creatures unaccustomed to the light that primarily dwell in the wet maze of the earth deep below the Windburn Grotto. They often communicated, calling out to each other in a series of soft clicks and hisses. These nearly extinct creatures are an arcane hybrid of the black tunnel spider and the red millipede. They were created as a joke by some witches’, a long time ago. Their six-foot-long oval-shaped bodies were propped up by a multitude of short hairy legs with a small broad head containing eight tiny black eyes that blinked in unison. They are entirely covered with a tight, but firm skin shielded with small course scales of a combination of silver, red and brown colours. Despite their fearsome appearance the Arachna-Pede are omnivorous having a dietary intake of mushrooms, mud beetles, worms and other small rodents found in the moist caverns underground. Brod kicked his stubborn mount in its sides often, as it was difficult to control despite the tight rope reins looped around pinching rings pressed into the back of its broad head.

  That night goblin reavers on guard on the banks of the Glistening River met with several of Shum’s Wolfhound scouts. The main body of the Wildpack was only four hours march away and on time for their predetermined campaign. During that night the Wildpack followed the brown stream through Trunarth and out into the open moors where it flowed into the Glistening River. The need for secrecy was no longer an issue. Shum’s Wildpack and Brod’s army would be assaulting the heart of Duskfall by the eve of the following day. Prince Lothian would never get reinforcements in time to push them back. The witches’ were in waiting for the elves to show themselves, and then they would strike and destroy the Grelen Elf Clan once and for all. Half a dozen Arachna-Pede were tethered to a clump of Dwarf Birch trunks on the edge of the encampment. They nosed about burying their flat faces into the Mugwort and the dark red Pigweed herbage that created plentiful ground cover along the river banks. The sky had become heavily clouded, blotting out any moon and starlight to plunge the northern moors into complete darkness. The 300 red goblins and the 3000 hounds camped quietly upon their orders of silence. Neither species fully trusted the other, but in this case, they had united against their shared hatred for the wolves and fear of the witches’.

  As the river constantly gurgled over some exposed rocks in its centre, Shum and Brod sat together behind a large heap of boulders on the river’s edge to avoid the cold breeze that had suddenly sprung up. Shum swallowed the last of his rabbit meal while Brod used a sharp twig as a skewer to eat the last few green caterpillars crawling around in the bowl on the ground. Brod’s mages squatted nearby and oversaw their king. Several fierce Hellhounds also sat silently beside Shum as his personal guard. In front of both leaders, a large semi-circle of Brod’s goblin commanders and Shum’s house Lieutenants had formed. All attention was on what lay on the ground in front of them.

  A large grey and tan Duskfall wolf scout breathed heavily on his side. He couldn’t move with a broken back he had sustained fighting a dozen of Shum’s brawlers' several miles from here. His hide was torn with gaping wounds over his entire body. They had dragged him unceremoniously to this place on the border of the Duskfall lands as a trophy to be shown to Shum. Brod was pleased; it appeared the wolves were not invincible and that they may have a chance of succeeding if their campaign was correctly executed. Several of Shum’s Lieutenants circled around Pico, lifted their legs and urinated on him. This brought a loud response of raucous laughter from the nearby hounds.

  The wolf Pico coughed up some blood and winced with pain as he tried to move. Several goblins and hounds laughed at this and looked at their leaders expectantly. Through glazed eyes, Pico looked up at the two leaders of his sworn enemies. He knew he was to die shortly and with great difficulty he said through gritted teeth, ‘Enjoy this moment dog scum, when Prince Lothian finds out, you will all be torn to pieces.’ Shum howled in delight, ‘Look at my army, I doubt it.’ Shum then looked into the dark beyond the assembled leaders and barked loudly, Diego!’ A heavily muscled young Boarhound brawler bounded up playfully from the shadows. He sported a wide grinning mouth full of giant teeth and a long protruding red tongue. Diego, one of Shum’s favourite sons, stood quivering in front of Shum with teeth chattering and his tail held straight in the air waiting for a command. Shum nodded slightly, and Diego turned and fell upon the crippled wolf. Shum and his Lieutenants howled in bloodlust as Pico’s life faded away. Brod’s commanders looked uneasily at each other and backed away slightly with their drawn rusty swords hidden under their cloaks. They preferred to stay right out of the way when these brawlers were in bloodlust frenzy. They were not entirely sure that these hounds would alone be sated with the life of this wolf.

  Darnet ran as fast as he could. He stopped often and listened to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He was still several hours away from the Duskfall stronghold, and he needed to get home urgently. It was only two hours ago that he and Pico had been ambushed when they went to investigate the sound of a swine squealing in pain. They had crept up on two filthy Master Staff hounds killing a female swine on the banks of the Glistening River. As they watched these hounds, it almost seemed like they were toying with the miserable swine. To make it squeal loudly on purpose? As they were about to intervene, Pico the older of the two scouts suddenly caught the scent of other hounds hiding nearby.
He immediately felt an impending sense of danger.

  ‘It’s a trap, run!’ he howled at Darnet. Darnet only managed to leap away in time as six large staffs erupted from the nearby dense grass and flanked the wolves. Darnet tried to jump clear through a gap between the barking hounds when one had locked its vice-like jaws around his tail. Darnet howled and turned to snap at the hound. It was at that time that Pico jumped onto this hound, grabbing him by the back of the neck and shook savagely. The hound let go of Darnet’s tail, and his howl turned to a gurgle as he went limp to the ground with a broken neck. But it was too late. Darnet escaped in huge leaps as two of the staff’s attempted to chase him on their short-muscled legs. They soon gave up and raced back to join their five comrades who fell upon Pico with a wave of insane anger.