The surviving goblin and Crovar escaped to the east. They were not sure what they had witnessed. At first, they thought it another swamp troll-like Huldra, but no it was like nothing they had ever seen. Crovar was at a loss. Lady Strala would surely kill him if he returned to the Bloodwood Coven a second time defeated. He wasn’t sure what Shum would do but expected a similar fate. He could go into exile; however, he might try the goblins for now. He had heard rumours of a disconcertment between the two species of late and decided to see for himself. Grell chuckled from within Slugheart Swamp hide and called Crovar and the goblin reaver Reek, to him. He would have a use for these two. Grell was warned by Mazamaag his patron Daemon, of the Golem and of its immunity to enchantments. This was most likely why the witches’ feared it so much; however, he doubted whether it could defeat the NaZuth. Either way, it would defend the Talisman carried by the mancub, and in the process hopefully, it destroys many hounds and witches’. Grell hurried to his chamber. He needed to speak to Mazamaag and inform of everything that he had witnessed through the Divine Eye.
38.
THE DAEMON SUMMONING
Lady Strala’s nightbirds, a Raven prowler and several other animal familiars left her chamber, thankful that they still lived. The lady sat in complete darkness with a mood as foul as the blackest night. She had been told of Crovar’s second failure. This time resulting in the slaying of his party that had accompanied him to kill the wolf and bring the mancub and Talisman back to the coven. Sitting on her throne, she wrapped her fingers upon the skull of a sizeable Cablemoth set grinning into an arm on her stone throne. The Cablemoth once flew the skies in the southern moors until they were hunted by the Ravens and nightbirds into extinction. Strala was in deep thought. There have been so many failures. If you wanted something done, you must do it yourself she kept repeating to herself over and over. Her glowing green eyes and the contrasting white runes on her black cloak were the only eerie light source in the chamber. The symbols moved erratically around and in and out through the woven fabric, reflecting her unstable temper. Her best skyriders were eagerly prepared to lead the Wildpack army east to begin the conquest of the southern wolf packs and Elvene clans. The desired result would be a clean sweep along the Scarbia Ranges, but Strala was yet to give the order to commence as she had delayed.
The Warlord Shum had allied with Brod and his goblin reavers outside the New Territories and should now be invading the ruling wolf clan territory in the north, Duskfall province. Her counterpart Lady Ravyne from the Night Grove coven south of Trunarth Forest had assured her that Duskfall would fall and thus allow their army to march unmolested towards the Great Rift. Then when the north and south armies met, the moors would belong to the witches’ and the Aledran bears and what was left of the cowardly elves would be forced to show themselves and intervene. Grell was on another mission for her, and she was waiting for him to report back with news of the NaZuth. Of course, all this would be much easier if she had the Talisman. She sighed and stood up. It was time to consult her patron Daemon ‘Dalgaith the Wretched’ and see what advice he was willing to part with. He was very unpredictable of late.
Strala strode through the dark rock-walled passages to her private chamber. A small fire lamp was set into one wall giving off an orange wavery light that lit up that part of the chamber. She walked in and stepped over the shrivelled corpse of the former necromancer Ginerva. She lifted a plump arm and made a reaching gesture towards a dark corner of her chamber. Out of the dark, her sweep emerged and flew to her hand. She muttered a few strange words and then silence. The jewel in her sweep glowed briefly then went back its standard colour. A dull scraping noise followed by a slight vibration was heard and felt in her chamber. A stone panel receded slightly into the shadow, and then slid sideways with a low grating noise to disappear behind the adjacent wall exposing a niche. It stopped with a soft click as several barely audible whimpering noises came out of the darkness. With small gestures, Strala beckoned an unseen shape forward.
A small thin goblin female dressed in grey rags stepped cautiously into the light of the fire lamp. She was in a poor state having been imprisoned in her rocky cell without food or water for days now. She was a gift from king Boorag. Her punishment was for her constant rejection of the king’s advances. Boorag figured that if he couldn’t have her, then no other goblin could. Being delivered to the witches’, she already knew what her fate would be. However, it was an outcome better than being a plaything to the disgusting Boorag. Lady Strala stepped forward and then paused. She almost pitied the goblin. She smiled and beckoned the goblin towards her.
An hour later and the crumpled body of the sacrificial goblin lay on the floor in a twisted position. The Daemon ‘Dalgaith the wretched’ hung upside down from the ceiling of Strala’s chamber. He had chosen the form of a giant nightbird and hung with enormous leathery wings wrapped tightly around his body. A narrow head with pointed ears and a long snout of a hound looked at Lady Strala with interest. Several drops of goblin blood fell from exposed teeth to the chamber floor. Being content, for now, he was prepared to converse with Strala. Dalgaith spoke words through a mouth that was never meant for speech. In a parody of spoken communication, the Daemon hound’s mouth moved about.
'What do you desire my Lady?’ he spoke in a hissing type voice. ‘To unify the Covens and rule this realm as I am destined to.’ She replied quickly. ‘We have spoken of this already.’ Said Dalgaith. He continued ‘Have I not instructed you already on the process?’ ‘Yes, my Daemon lord, but there are other forces at play.’ She replied. Dalgaith closed his eyes, and after a moment or two said ‘It grows increasingly difficult to send you aid. My adversary ‘Mazamaag the Deceiver’ has claimed this mortal realm, and he is too strong for me to challenge yet. I require all my strength and power in the Dread-Realm to delay his emergence from the shadow.’ ‘What does he want?’ said Strala quietly. ‘He wants the Moonstone Talisman that you have failed to obtain so far. He believes it will grant him unchecked power in my realm and this one. That’s why you must secure it.’ ‘I have tried.’ She replied, ‘But it protects against my enchantment and physical force that's been thrown at it so far. '
Dalgaith hissed loudly and disappeared. The pale red body of the female goblin suddenly twitched strangely and then rose stiffly to its feet. Its eyes opened and the dull green eyes were now completely black in colour, emitting an evil spark. He continued, now speaking through the goblin in a high smooth voice, ‘Keep the hounds and goblins busy with the wolves and elves, for I feel the elves conspire against me also. Then you must concentrate your energies to send Mazamaag's pet, the NaZuth back to the shadow before it devours you.’ Strala inquired ‘Who called the NaZuth here in the first place?’ ‘I will find out eventually who Mazamaag leagues within this realm.’ replied Dalgaith, ‘then you can make them suffer.’ The goblin corpse pointed its head to the ceiling and screamed a high-pitched tone before collapsing to the floor. Dalgaith had returned to the Dread-Realm.
Strala stared at the goblin corpse and thought long and hard. Who else was versed adequately in the black craft that was close to her, having in-depth knowledge of her plans and schemes? Her thoughts immediately turned to Grell. Later she met Salum in private and spoke with her. That night Salum was on her way to the Slugheart Swamp goblin hide to meet with King Boorag. King Boorag looked nervously at the witch Salum. Her green eyes seemed to burn with excitement as she spoke. Boorag was worried. The witches’ were so unpredictable. Hadn’t he just sent Lady Strala a handful of prisoners for her pleasure? Was there something wrong now? As Salum spoke, Boorag understood, then became angered. He nodded in agreement as Salum mounted her sweep and left the hide. King Boorag would surround himself with more force than usual and make Grell account for his crimes. He sent a message for Grell to come at once to his throne cave.
Strala had sent Salum with a message to Boorag. With Grell taken care of, Mazamaag may find it challenging to continue influencing the mortal realm, and as
such, the power of the NaZuth should wane. That’s of course if Grell is even linked to Mazamaag as his minion in the first place. It was only a calculated guess, however, and Strala had distant plans for the mage Grell anyway and to bring those plans to fruition early was of no great concern to her. Witches’ from her coven, visiting witches’ and a handful of goblin mages had been working on a complex concealment enchantment to deal with the NaZuth if he should come for her. Strala knew some of them would most likely die. But wasn’t her life more meaningful? She was destined to rule Frelith after all. It had been a few days, and the army of 1,000 hounds camped above the coven were restless. She had meant to deploy them for their campaign against the southern wolf packs. However, she wanted them as fodder to delay the NaZuth should it attack. Already she had been told of several factions’ infighting and their Lieutenants finding it challenging to maintain control. ‘They have recovered from the great march out of the north my Lady, and grow bored and unruly’ said Falix, the lieutenant in command of the house of Danes. ‘What would you have us do?’ With 1,000 hounds, she could easily spare a few, she thought. With that in mind, Strala decided to exit the coven that night and make an example of a few of them. She looked at Falix, her eyes gleamed a wicked green. ‘Oh, I’ll be up later for a visit. Now get out!’ Falix bowed and backed out of the Ladies Chamber. He made sure to move his Dane brawlers furthest away from the coven entrance for the night.
39.
THE NAZUTH
It was about midnight, the bewitching hour that everyone talks about. The sun was at its furthest point away on the other side of Frelith, and the witches’ believed their magic abilities were now at a heightened state. The older witches’ knew, however, that it was just an old sorcerers’ tale told to young initiates in their training. Strala emerged from the coven entrance to stand within the Bloodwood tree circle. The closest trees leaned towards her as if anticipating a command and wailed mournfully, which was music to her ears. The frown faded from her face and she inhaled the misty cold air. She patted one of the Rust-Serpent guards on the head, and its rusty chain made a noisy rattle as it moved to follow her, enjoying her rare affection. Several pony hide tents were erected between Bloodwood trees which housed the goblin mages and marked the beginning of the combined goblin-Wildpack encampment. Several hide tents had to be repeatedly moved when annoyed goblins were forced to escape the curious prodding and poking of the Bloodwood trees.
Strala hadn’t been outside since the Wildpack army arrived. It was a beautiful night. A cold southerly blew, heavy black clouds threatened a downpour at any minute, and it was chillingly dark. Pitch black to those who did not possess the night vision ability that is. A noisy rustle of tree branches and leaves came to Strala’s ears over the cold wind gust as several nightbirds left the Bloodwood trees to take to the night sky and announce the lady’s presence. Strala closed her eyes briefly and her appearance changed to that of a skeletal figure. She knew the hounds feared it most. However, her glowing, almost fluorescent green eyes remained and pierced the darkness. Her full black cloak covered in white runes did not move, despite the strong gusts of wind. It concealed all her body except for long bony hands and a grinning skeletal head. One bony hand with long white fingers was gripped firmly around the shaft of her sweep. She walked through the outer circle of guardian trees and was acknowledged by two shivering red goblins on watch. She ignored them and sauntered towards the main hound encampment where she could hear the occasional yelp and whining.
Several low growls came out of the dark near her, as two sentry hounds on watch detected her presence. They quickly bowed before her and backed away when they recognised who she was. Good, she thought, these two were doing their job and showed me the correct respect. She walked past them and into the edge of the Wildpack camp. She stopped and looked around. What a lot of hounds, and how they stink! She thought. Ahhh, these few will do. It was quite awkward to walk too far in her present facade of bones. A circle of a dozen Rottweil brawlers were bunched up tightly for warmth on the ground in front of her, their backs to the wind.
A couple had already awoken and were staring at her in fright, too afraid to do or say anything. Lady Strala chuckled quietly and tilted her sweep towards the group. Her skeletal jaw clattered open and shut several times as she named her striking curse over and over. A dozen hounds rose to their feet and looked about in alarm with their ears pinned back, and tails tucked hard between their legs. They appeared to be confined in some circular invisible field, hitting an unseen barrier as they tried to flee. The Rottweil, commander Lieutenant Torgan trotted up after being awoken by others to see what was going on. When he saw Lady Strala, he quickly barked at the other 100 or so milling hounds to get back and not interfere. The trapped hounds could see and hear something no other hound could as they were under glamour.
Suddenly without warning, they set savagely upon each other, foaming from the mouth and howling incomprehensively. It took only a matter of minutes before only one wounded hound remained standing. Strala was pleased. The Plaguing or Rabid curse as its better known is very effective in close quarters such as these. Having regained his senses, the surviving hound took a long leap towards Strala. Furious and grieving, he had unknowingly just killed two of his brothers. In mid-air he was struck to the side by a mighty blow in the shape of a fist made up of Strala’s green witch mist. The ‘Stench of Death’ broke ribs and back, driving the unfortunate hound hard onto the ground.
Strala spoke, and her voice was magnified above the howling cold wind. ‘Now it seems some of you are not satisfied with waiting on my commands. This is only a quick lesson in patience. Do not continue to anger me, or else I would educate you further. Now feed these bodies to my pets guarding the entrance.’ With that, she turned and walked with unnatural jerking motions towards the circle of Bloodwood trees. The witnessing hounds moved back to their resting places and stayed well clear of the dozen bodies.
As she was about to enter the opening below the stone slab marking the entrance to the coven, she stopped. What was that, she thought. A distant baying of several hounds could be heard from the far west side of the camp and was coming closer. Both Rust-Serpents were at the end of their chains and looking towards the source of the noise. They both hissed angrily as they had detected an intrusion of some kind. Strala also sensed something was wrong. Sure, these stupid hounds howled whenever she punished a few, but this was different. Strala waited patiently with her arms crossed and hands concealed within the sleeves of her cloak. She faced the darkness outside the circle of Bloodwood trees towards the hound’s camp and listened as the ruckus approached. Soon the sound of desperate barking and heavy panting came closer.
The commander of the Shepherd house Lieutenant Bork followed by the lieutenants from other houses came towards Strala and bowed, making sure to stay well out of reach of the Rust-Serpents. ‘My Lady,’ panted Lieutenant Bork. ‘I have urgent news from the outpost to the northwest, where my scouts keep watch.’ Strala did not move or speak. The increasing cold wind made an eerie whistling and howling sound as it passed through the lone stone cairn nearby. It seemed to almost echo the ever-present wailing from the Bloodwood trees. The Shepherd swallowed and continued. ‘One scout returns my lady and claims he is the only one left alive after his five companions had been slaughtered by a strange beast.’ Strala’s eyes burned a brighter green. Lieutenant Bork stepped back a pace and prostrated himself even lower. ‘What was the description of the beast?’ She asked in a bone clattering speech. ‘My lady he speaks nonsense, of a phantasm, a dark shadow with no shape that was preceded by intense cold.’
Strala remained motionless for a second or two as if in deep thought. The witch then tapped her sweep into the ground invoking the changeling enchantment. Her skeletal form instantly disappeared to be replaced by a handsome middle-aged woman with greying hair. The green mist - ‘Stench of Death’ now circled lazily around her despite the howling wind. Her voice now normal, but with a slight waver and hint of fear
spoke. ‘Rally all your brawlers and direct the goblin reavers to the Bloodwood Grove and send the mages to me.’ The nearby hounds leapt away, barking loud orders over the wind. Strala entered the coven and proceeded to the Ladies Chamber where she called all available witches’ to her. Strala slowed her breathing and did not show unease as she gave orders to the dozen witches’ before her. Green eyes gleamed inside the dark chamber mixed with the red eyes of the Wyrm Wood Coven witches’. The goblin mages continued casting the ‘Tenebris Caligo’ charm in a desperate effort to conceal the coven from the approaching threat but to no avail.
It flowed over an open stretch of moors like a black sheet of water, the grass, bushes and stunted trees dead and twisted in its wake. It ignored the Night birds that circled noisily above it as it neared the outer Wildpack ranks circling the Bloodwood Grove. The void shadow did not care, it had one purpose, and that was to take a particular soul as its prize. Black sorcery had been invoked that had created an arrangement between it and its caller to the mortal realm. It would run over anything that got in its way. It raised itself off the ground and surveyed the terrain directly in front. It sensed the target soul nearby. However, its vision was momentarily interrupted by an impenetrable cloud. The NaZuth then screamed a most horrible cry at the obstacle in its path. This caused many goblin reavers to vomit and faint.
Realm of Druids Page 24