It broke the surface of the water as it unfolded and stood upright in the shallow mud, yawning and stretching mighty muscles. It was unrecognisable in dripping wet mud with a variety of waterlily stems, and marsh roots hanging over it. A small freshwater crab leapt in fright from its perch upon the beast’s shoulder to fall a great distance, hit the water with a tiny splash and sink back into the safety of the quagmire below. A warm, intelligent brown eye surveyed the surrounds as it tried to remember. The creature’s eye narrowed suddenly as it focused on a particular memory. It bellowed a roar that sent flocks of swamp birds taking to the sky in fright like a burst of white clouds.
It was once referred to as the companion of the Druid priests; though in another time it was a different creature. Having been forgotten by most and those that did remember had fancified it into legends of a fearsome, ferocious creature. To the witches’ it was called the Golem, and it was bound to obey the Talisman.
Jericho, sighted Saniel crouched in the grass. He leapt as the first Draugen screeched incomprehensively and reached for the mancub. Jericho bit the side of this things neck and shook savagely. He nearly let go immediately as the white flesh was intensely cold like ice. The Draugen, off-balance fell to the ground and grasped for Jericho who leapt clear. The Draugen had a terrible wound in the side of his neck from Jericho’s bite, but it did not bleed or seem to slow this thing down. With a fixed sneer on its face, it stood up and looked around for the boy with lifeless eyes. It completely ignored Jericho as he howled insults at this thing to draw its attention. Red Whiskers had crept up behind Saniel and called to him. ‘Hurry mancub or we won’t escape.’ Saniel awoke from his shock, hearing a familiar voice and jumped to his feet.
He followed Red Whiskers along a narrow rabbit path that was coated with frost and into a maze of low Gorse and Brier Rose shrubs away from the commotion without even a backward glance. However, he did fear for Jericho as howling, and screeching voices echoed across the landscape. Saniel could hear the fox muttering a complaint that he and the wolf were making a habit of rescuing this mancub. The Draugens had only been given a single order to find and destroy the mancub and as such ignored the young wolf completely. Jericho attacked several more, tripping them over and savagely biting them as they tried to go around him. All he did was to delay them briefly as they eventually evaded him to continue chasing after the mancub.
Ginerva Nightshade grumbled under her breath. This wolf was delaying her enjoyment. She would have to quickly order the Draugens to slaughter the wolf now and then resume their initial task. There was no time for the delay as the sun was rising steadily and soon the last of the night shadows protecting her Draugens would be gone. Light and warmth were the enemies to the necromancer and their minions. She began the enchantment and started to recite the cipher. Unexpectedly, jagged splinters of ice formed on the surface of the Eye of Divinity. With a loud crack, it froze then shattered loudly as if struck by an unseen object. It fell to the floor in Strala’s chamber like pieces of ice. Lady Strala stepped back into the passage from the doorway to her chamber, as if expecting something else to happen. Ginerva gave a cry of astonishment. She immediately sensed that her control over the dead witchlings was now broken. She turned, causing her dreadlocked hair to swing wildly about and faced Lady Strala to explain what had happened. She felt giddy and fell to her knees, unable to breathe, her head became hot, and the long edges of her thick hair suddenly flickered with the blue arcane flame.
Lady Strala peering through the doorway said, ‘I thought something like this might happen, that’s why I had you do it, my dear.’ The gleam in Ginerva’s eyes faded as she looked up unbelievingly at Strala. The blue flames engulfed her entire body as she lay on her side, whimpering, her life fading away. Now she could join the ranks of her beloved undead, as her soul fled, screaming to the Dread Realm. A necromancer’s soul was desired above all. Countless undead waited in anticipation to act out their vengeance against the necromancer’s torment. In the moors all the Draugens had fallen instantaneously on the spot, engulfed by a mysterious blue flame. The circling Raven’s, unsure what to do next called to one another briefly and then flew in a line towards the south.
Jericho didn’t hang around to find out why these things had all collapsed and burst into flame. He raced after Saniel and Red Whiskers and soon caught up to them panting. The pair of them looked fearfully at him as the young wolf bounded through the tall grass. He told them what he had witnessed. Saniel thought on how similar this sounded when he had encountered the white creature in the street near his mother’s house. Jericho, still panting, looked at Red Whiskers and said, ‘I told you his legs were normal.’ Red Whiskers looked at Saniel’s legs. His pants were a little worse for wear since leaving Saltwood a few days ago. The fox replied ‘Hmmm, your right. There are clearly other forces at work here.’ Saniel held the Moonstone in the palm of his left hand, and it was hot to the touch. The blue flame and its effect, he thought. Was this all the stone’s doing? Saniel did not share these thoughts with Jericho and Red Whiskers but was about to tell of his adventures when a cry above them was heard. All three looked up as they crouched for cover.
A large black wingspan opened above them that they thought to be Raven. Then they noticed the silver body and handsome features of the Falcon. The large Falcon seeker, Scoo from Ayah’s caste hovered for some time to ensure it was safe. Red Whiskers noted the sharp-looking silver spikes attached to his legs. It was a similar type of weaponry that Ayah wears. This Falcon was not as big as Ayah, but he was handsome with thick brown feathers, a white breast, and bluish highlights around his head and a sharp grey beak. He landed on some open grass amongst the cover of bushes and spoke in a high whisper type voice. ‘My prince Jericho, Princess Eylon and Bragus would have me part a message to you of grave importance. You are to make immediately for the sanctuary of the Elvene. Elf rangers are en route as we speak, to aid and guide you the rest of the way.’ ‘How far from us, are they?’ Inquired Jericho hopefully. Scoo tilted his head to one side as if he was thinking. ‘Two days’ he replied. ‘Oh, and I just saw a small party of creatures heading this way about two hours to the south. I would suggest you alter your direction.’ ‘In that case, we need your eyes brave Scoo. Don’t leave us’ pleaded Jericho. Scoo nodded his blue-grey head and replied, ‘I have promised the Elf rangers that I would guide them to you, and besides the Ravens know I am here in their lands and they will not rest until they find me. If they find me in the sky, they will find you. Farewell.’ He called as he took to the wing to soon become a distant dot high in the sky.
‘Mancub?’ said Red Whiskers inquiringly. He was concerned; this boy was looking very white and exhausted. He was struggling to keep his eyes open. Saniel replied flatly, ‘My name is Saniel Mister Fox.’ Jericho rolled his eyes and spoke. ‘Saniel, we need to get away from here to where we.......you can rest for a while.’ Red Whiskers joined in ‘I know the way to the Elvene lands, we should probably go now. The Ravens know where we are, and as the Falcon said, other things are heading this way.’ ‘Not with good intentions I’ll wager’ said Jericho as he looked around. The sun was somewhat reassuring. The weather for once was comfortable, and the young wolf and fox were also tired as they had altered their course to travel a day and night nonstop to find the mancub near Blackmire Castle.
They went northeast taking a significant variance in their course to skirt the top end of a vast black marsh. Red Whiskers told the others how he thought it was called the Slugheart Swamp and at the southern end, far away from them thank goodness was the Slugheart Swamp goblin hide. They all looked around nervously as if expecting to see red goblins suddenly show up. All they saw was a string of wide-eyed brown ponies galloping north who only went faster with tails high in the air and ears pinned back when Jericho called to them to stop. The buzz and hum of the insects had even diminished. Saniel, of course, had never seen a goblin yet and really didn’t want to add them to his list of experiences, however. Apart from Jericho and
Red Whiskers, Saniel would rather forget everything else that had happened since he left home.
It was mid-afternoon when Red Whiskers led them along a small thin path and up a slight rise towards an open knoll. The moor grass was quite long with only the random clump of Dwarf Birch trees and a solitary Hawthorn tree growing on the slightly higher ground. A rabbit family huddled sleepily in a nearby cosy warren, and a solitary boar lay hidden, deep in a mud wallow under a tangle of Gorse bushes snoring softly. As they got to the top of the small knoll, they stopped for Red Whiskers to survey the north-eastern landscape and gain his bearings. Saniel lay on his back on the bare rocky ground to catch his breath and rest. Jericho was concerned; they had only been travelling as fast as the mancub could walk as his strength was fading. He often wondered why this mancub wouldn’t just drop to all fours and move as he and the fox did. Jericho and Red Whiskers forced him to drink water and eat the red berries of the creeper vine they occasionally came across, which sustained him for brief periods.
37.
CROVAR AND THE SWAMP TROLL
Red Whiskers had offered Saniel a fat red worm he had found crawling out of a mud hole, but Saniel had respectfully declined the offer. Red Whiskers spoke ‘I can’t sense the elf rangers the bird had mentioned.’ ‘No wonder’ replied Jericho, ‘They would still be a day and a half away yet.’ The fox did not respond. He was about to speak when he suddenly stopped; his little nose held high as he sniffed at a light southern breeze. ‘Danger,’ he whispered.’ Jericho stepped forward and looked hard in the direction the fox was facing. He did not have quite as good sense of smell as the fox, but he could see further. He spied some figures moving in a line towards their general direction. Still a fair distance away, but Jericho could make out a considerable shape. It was similar in shape to a mankind animal only much more significant in size as it walked towering over the grass and small trees with a loping gait. It was carrying what looked to be a brown tree trunk or something of similar shape over one shoulder. Jericho had heard stories from his father of the swamp trolls that lived deep in the moors but had never seen one in their kingdom. In the gaps between the grass, Jericho caught occasional glimpses of a dozen figures or so walking in the company of the swamp troll.
The hair on the back of his neck pricked up, and he growled softly. He had recognised the lead shape as the large grey and white Wolfhound, Crovar. ‘So’ growled Jericho softly, ‘the hound had gone away to lick his wounds and now comes back with reinforcement. They would mean us great harm I would think.’ Jericho and Red Whiskers crouched low and jabbered on what to do. ‘I could not fight such a force’ said Jericho in a worried voice. ‘Do you think we could outrun them or hide?’ Red Whiskers added hopefully. Jericho thought for a second then replied gloomily. ‘Normally you and I could outrun them, but not with the mancub in his fatigued state. We couldn’t hide either; the hound would have too good a nose for that.’ Some Ravens appeared from nowhere and circled above them, completely giving their location away to their adversaries. Crovar was pleased.
After several days of trekking north, the Raven prowlers had returned and led his party the rest of the way to where the mancub and upstart wolf were hiding. He would capture this mancub alive, win back Lady Strala’s favour and relish in the rendering of this young wolf to pieces. He had Huldra the swamp troll at his command. Not the brightest of creatures, but loyal and insanely strong. Four red goblin reavers from the Slugheart Swamp who unlike most other goblins, were renowned for their savagery and bravery. The crest of the Slugheart Swamp hide displayed proudly on their mud-stained cloaks. They wore long sharp knives; enchanted gifts from the witches’ and each carried a crude spear with a black three-pronged pointed tip. The scrolling style symbol tattoos on their faces made them look even more formidable.
Jericho and Red Whiskers hurried a tired Saniel down the far side of the knoll. Red whiskers thought they had an hour maybe two before the pursuers caught them. It would be dark in a few hours, and they would never reach the Elvene, or the dispatched elf rangers sent to help them. ‘What do we do?’ whined Red Whiskers despairingly. ‘Keep going’ replied Jericho through clenched teeth. Saniel tried his best, stumbling along and trying to hold back his tears. He was so tired and just wanted to lie down and sleep. The Moonstone within the Talisman had gone cold and clear, and it flapped about under his shirt like a useless thing. He felt like he was on his own.
It was nearly dark; most of the screeching Ravens had gone and were replaced by clicking and hissing nightbirds. No chance of hiding in the dark now thought Jericho. A distant baying behind them warned them of how close the pursuers were now. Jericho came to a small clearing of grass and looked around desperately. He spotted a small pile of granite rocks half hidden in the shrubs and long grass. He urged Saniel towards it and pushed him through the dark and into a small cavity among the rocks. ‘Red Whiskers go! 'Jericho barked. ‘Tell my father what had happened here and bring me honour.’ Jericho looked at Saniel, who lay almost unconscious from exhaustion. Red Whiskers quickly disappeared into the long grass and was soon out of sight. Jericho was slightly disappointed, after his bold statement to Red Whiskers he had thought he would stay. However, he didn’t blame him for leaving. His ears caught the sound of crashing sticks and trodden grass. A triumphant howling nearby snapped him from his thoughts. Crovar and the swamp troll would be upon him in moments. He readied himself and stood spread legged in front of the granite rock heap. He would die here with the mancub he had sworn to protect, and hopefully, take the hound with him.
A sudden panting behind him and he spun to see what the source of this noise was. Red Whiskers stood on a rock, his eyes were wide, and he had difficulty speaking. ‘Another great creature looms in front there and comes this way.’ He puffed out. Jericho looked past Red Whiskers into the dark and replied, ‘what creature?’ ‘I dddddont know’ squeaked the fox. A booming unrecognizable voice echoed out of the blackness towards them. Jericho and the fox unable to leave the mancub behind and run had naught else to do.
They nestled quickly into the rocks alongside the cavity where Saniel lay. They could feel a slight rhythmic shaking in the ground and sensed something big lumbering towards them from the other direction. It felt like a string of ponies were about to gallop past. Could it be the swamp troll? Thought Jericho. Maybe he outflanked us. But it wasn’t the swamp troll, it was another creature. The Golem paused as it passed the granite rocks and looked down at the trio huddled there. It snorted in admiration, not for any of the three, but the Druid Talisman carried by a mancub. The Moonstone hummed slightly in recognition. Its call had been answered. Jericho had caught a glimpse of a huge single dark brown eye peering down at him. The colour of the eye reminded him of the warm woods within his father’s kingdom. The Golem raised its head and let out a terrifyingly loud booming howl. Crovar not far away slowed down with a look of concern on his face. What was the source of that alien roar? He had never heard a sound like it before. He urged the goblins and Huldra the swamp troll on towards where the nightbirds had indicated his intended victims to be hiding, as he hung back a bit. The nightbirds suddenly scattered about in all directions clicking loud warnings. Crovar watched Huldra the hairy giant lumber away, his colossal club held in both hands as he followed the goblins into the dark towards the source of the strange voice.
Several moments later and Crovar holding his breath listened intently. The sounds of an exclamation followed by shouting, grunting, and then silence. The goblins and Huldra should have captured the wolf and mancub by now and be calling for him. There were some quick crunching type noises then followed by silence again. Crovar crept closer and peered through a low thicket towards a small clearing. What he saw made him gasp in disbelief. Three of the four goblins lay about the ground obviously dead with the forth goblin nowhere to be seen. The tree trunk usually carried by Huldra, lay discarded on the ground nearby. A grunting noise in the dark at the far side of the clearing came from Huldra, who was desperately fighting for
his life. Another creature equal in height to Huldra but heavier built with abnormally broad shoulders had giant scarred hands around the throat of Huldra and was squeezing tightly.
This creature had green-tinged skin and walked upright on two legs as thick as small tree trunks. It had unusually long arms with great hands that had a firm hold on the gasping swamp troll. Huldra reigned mighty blows upon the head and chest of this creature in a vain attempt to escape the vicelike grip. This enormous succession of blows would have crushed and killed most other creatures; however, these mighty strikes had little to no effect. This creature stared out of one great brown eye into Huldra’s terrified face and did not waver. The Golem knew nothing of the magic, even though it was born of it. It had the uncanny ability to reject enchantments and could heal itself at an incredible rate. The enchanted knives the goblins wielded did no damage to the Golem, who had simply brushed them aside. The Golem relied solely on brute strength, and of that, he possessed a lot. Huldra had never encountered a being with greater power to his, and he knew he was about to die at the hands of this strange beast. The Moonstonewithin the Talisman pulsed and the Golem released his grip.
Huldra, the Swamp Troll, collapsed to the ground, barely alive with his face red and taking great gulps of air. The heart of the Moonstone peered into the soul of Huldra to see that he was an unwilling servant to the witch caste. The Talisman decided that it may have a use for him in the future and decided to spare him. Huldra crawled onto his knees, coughing and fought to stay conscious. He stared up at this creature that had bested him. It was wearing a giant loincloth of some unknown material, had greenish tinged coloured skin with various lesions and stains of mud. One of the goblin spears hung down harmlessly from a green leg, where the tip stuck into the skin. He carried no weapons and stared curiously down at Huldra though one great green eye in the centre of his face, above a flat nose and a wide smiling mouth. It grunted gently and helped Huldra to his feet. Huldra still regaining his breath staggered away and walked into the darkness. He was going home. He didn’t care what the witches’ did now; he had met an adversary even more powerful than they. The Golem strode towards the rocks where the wolf, fox, and mancub lay.
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