They didn’t speak much as their moods reflected the increasingly grey sky above. Scoo would often land to talk to Jericho briefly before flying high again to scan the horizon for danger. Jericho scouting in front would occasionally advise a change in direction to avoid some potential threat sighted ahead. Saniel was complaining more often about being hungry. Red Whiskers had been feeding him red berries the entire time, and while they contained all the necessary elements to sustain him, they failed to sedate his hunger. Taegan luckily had some elf rations, though Saniel was only able to eat some dry hard bread type biscuits. They had not seen the Golem since the night before where they camped on the edge of a rocky outcrop, and the Moonstone in the Talisman was now cold and grey. They sat on the side of a little clear stream that wove through shallow pools, carved out from frequent flooding. Jericho and Red Whiskers had managed to chase some fish into a few of these pools and scoop them out of the water. The fox and the wolf happily crunched on these fish, but Saniel and Taegan refused to eat them raw. It was on their third day of travel since leaving the lands of the Elvene behind them that they ran into some goblins. They were travelling with a skyrider from the Wyrm Wood Witch Coven and a dozen Ravens. A light rain fell, and the sky to the east and south were a black line of violent storms. The distant rumbling of thunder echoed around them as lighting cracked, charging the air with energy. Taegan commented that the path of storms was artificial and constructed by the witches’ and goblin mages. ‘The dark sky and storms herald them most of the time’, he added. The storms were in the vicinity of the Silent Ridge lands. Jericho was profoundly concerned and hoped his mother and siblings had heeded the warnings and left in time.
They had just reached the southern edge of the East Marsh when a distant warning cry was heard over the marsh. Scoo darted towards them low and fast from alongside the marsh. Jericho gave a quiet warning growl for everyone to get down in the grass. Scoo dived into the small bushes near Jericho and Saniel lost sight of him. Jericho then came back to the others. ‘Scoo has seen a goblin reaver pack led by a skyrider crossing our path. They head south and hopefully have not seen us. However, it was too late; three Ravens had spotted Scoo up high and out of curiosity, followed him. The group lay flat in the grass as the black dots appeared in the sky. Scoo had tried to lead them away, but it was too late. They had nowhere else to hide, and the Ravens began calling excitedly to one another when they saw them.
Scoo rose out of the grass at speed, and with great effort spun in the air upside down to hit the first Raven from underneath before it even saw him. Scoo’s powerful talons grabbed the Raven, and he finished it quickly. It plummeted to the ground in a heap of black feathers as Scoo cut through the air after the other two Ravens. He caught the second Raven, but the third disappeared quickly over a ridge into a wall of approaching heavy rain. Jericho spoke in haste. ‘If we hug the side of this marsh and move quickly, we might get in front of them before they backtrack to find us.’ Jericho and Taegan talked urgently as they moved forward. Saniel heard Taegan mention a witch and felt the Moonstone in his shirt begin to warm. He glanced backwards hoping he would see the Golem lumbering up behind them, but all he saw was a miserable looking Red Whiskers. He couldn’t see further than ten feet anyway as the rain fell in sheets pushed on by a cold wind.
They were soaked through in an instant, the chorus of marsh frogs mingled with the sound of roaring rain splattering hard onto the grass and marsh water. There was no sign of Scoo as the sky grew darker and the light faded. Saniel’s vision became weaker as he strained to watch the back of Taegan jogging in front of him. Suddenly Taegan stopped, and Saniel bumped right into him shivering. Jericho stumbled backwards into them as two red goblins came out of the rain waving clubs and yelling incomprehensively. Saniel lost his footing in the mud and slipped over. He saw Jericho leap and tackle one goblin, both of them crashing off the bank and landing with a splash into the edge of the marsh.
'The stone use it now!’ yelled Taegan. ‘I don’t know how to.’ Cried Saniel. The goblin paused and looked at Saniel in surprise; it was scarce to see a mankind animal this far into the moors. He turned to yell a warning. Taegan stepped forward and smartly rapped the goblin on the side of the head with his marble staff. A tremendous white spark flew up from where the staff had struck the goblin’s red head. The goblin collapsed to his knees, dazed from the blow as Jericho climbed out of the water and pounced to finish him off. The first goblin was nowhere to be seen. They crouched low and huddled together as they could hear goblin speech above the drone of the rain echoing from the distant dark. The goblins sounded confused as their two comrades sent forward had not answered their calls. Saniel looked at the dead goblin. He wore a brown coat and a shield lay next to him on the ground with a simple coloured picture on it. The image was of a fat green frog with a sword skewering him on a black background. ‘Badwind goblins’ whispered Taegan. ‘That’s their sigil.’ He added. The voices faded away, and the rain eased.
'These may have been two scouts from a raiding party perhaps?’ Said Red Whiskers. ‘I don’t think they were looking for us. They are most likely on their way south to join Strala’s army.’ Taegan whispered. ‘I think it likely.’ Said Jericho, ‘Or we would have had the whole lot attack us. There’s something else.’ Added Jericho in thought. ‘Where I left that first goblin in the water, a great ripple on the surface of the marsh appeared. I don’t know what made it, but it was big and drew the goblin under.’ Taegan spoke with a slight waver in his voice, ‘let’s keep moving before they come looking for their scouts.’ Red Whiskers looked to the marsh. He had a fair idea of what creatures lurked in that water.
The rain eased as the sky lightened a little and Saniel could see a bit further. The swine path they had been following around the marsh was now boggy. It was even slower going than normal as thick black mud clung to all their feet, making it challenging to walk unhindered as they trudged through at a slow pace. Now it was mid-afternoon, and Saniel’s clothes were semi-dry at least. They pushed on through the mud and wet grass to put as much distance between themselves and the dead goblins. ‘We should have rolled that second goblin into the marsh as well, to buy us some more time.’ Said Taegan. Nobody answered or said anything. They hadn’t seen Scoo since that encounter, but they presumed he had flown some distance to get around the sudden storm and likely led the Ravens away at the same time. As quickly as it had started, the rain had slowed down to a light drizzle even though the boiling sky remained. They could see some distance across the marsh as they trudged forward. Silver flashes caught their eye here and there on the water surface which was small fish flipping about. Red Whiskers gave a little yelp and looked at the water. They all saw it then, a lump under the water that carried a small bow wave as it moved to keep pace with them. ‘We need to move away from the water’s edge.’ Said Taegan warningly, ‘It’s following us waiting for one of us to go near the edge and then strike.’ Taegan knew that the feared yellow Serpent resided in the marshes around this area and they had a taste for large prey such as ponies and swine.
After travelling another mile or two, they were increasingly confident that they had avoided an unpleasant meeting with the goblin pack and the skyrider. The sky was still overcast, but the clouds were now light with no rain in sight. They were concerned that Scoo had not returned but knew he could outrun any Raven and hoped he had got well clear. Jericho slowed the pace down a little as Saniel was falling behind with Red Whiskers continually pushing him along. A line of stunted trees came into view as they moved forward. The trees stood in a small group on the moor and went right to the marshes edge. They cast a dark shadow underneath and the colour of their small brown leaves in their upper branches contrasted with the bright green moss-covered trunks.
Jericho decided to make for that direction, where they could rest in the concealment of the small wood. As they neared, a tall figure stepped from the shadows and stood confidently in their path. Jericho stopped immediately and growled loudly. Taegan
cursed under his breath. The witch stood tall and menacing in her long flowing Grey cloak. Her exposed face bore the mark of the plague, completely scarred but with two piercing blood-red eyes, marking her from the Wyrm Wood Coven. Uneven clumps of short black hair clung in patches upon her balding head as a gnarly hand held tightly onto her sweep hanging by her side.
Two large hooped gold coloured earrings dangled low from stretched black earlobes. Saniel was slightly taken back as he had never seen a person with more frightening looks since the Draugen, and his chest began to pound. For a moment, the witch surveyed the little group looking them up and down. Her dry, cracked lips parted as she spoke with a hiss through blackened teeth. ‘A wolf, elf and a fox. What is it you seek?’ Saniel could feel the warmth of the Moonstone radiating into his chest. Apart from the witches’ general hideous appearance, the boy couldn’t help noticing that she had eyes like a cat. The witch continued, ‘I am Lavina Crimson, who are you?’ Nobody replied. She continued. ‘Is this what you seek?’
The witch reached into her cloak and withdrew an object. She licked it with a long forked red tongue, seemingly relishing the taste and threw it to the ground. It was a mass of blood and tangled feathers. Everybody gasped when they recognised the remains of Scoo. The witches’ eyes narrowed and turned a darker shade of crimson as her green witch mist thickened around her. Without warning, Taegan stepped forward and quickly cried the words to a crippling curse. His staff glowed with magic energy as he pointed it at the witch. Jericho then crouched low, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. The witch laughed mirthlessly and waved her sweep rapidly from side to side. Taegan’s staff was ripped from his hand by an unseen force and cast some distance away, rolling harmlessly into the mud and grass. ‘So, I have now established that you are enemies to the covens.’ She paused and stared at Saniel as if she had only just realised what he was. ‘A mancub? Why are you here?’ Saniel swallowed unable to speak; nervously he reached into his shirt and with shaky hands withdrew the Talisman out by its silver chain. It hummed loudly and vibrated on the end of the chain, swirling blue smoke twisted about randomly inside the Moonstone’s centre, forming strange random arcane symbols.
The witch Lavina looked startled. ‘What is that? I can hear it calling someone.’ She focused on the stone and then her red eyes suddenly opened wide and her mouth formed into a twisted snarl as if she seemed to realize something. The witch then straddled her sweep, it's jade jewel now glowing brightly in the handle. She kicked off the ground to hover in the air as she yelled, ‘Wait, what, I don’t know this. What is this? What is that you carry? NO…’ She pointed a crooked finger at Saniel and screamed, ‘I know what you are!’ The witch Lavina was afraid. She had heard the rumours of the mancub with a Druid Talisman and did not want to risk anything; she must get to Lady Strala and warn her. She flew quickly above the small tree tops looking behind her and began rising over the marsh. Sudden turbulence started in the water below her as the surface of the marsh erupted. The last thing she ever saw was a huge one-eyed grinning green giant with outstretched arms reaching up for her. Her dark wooden sweep flicked out from under her and landed in the shallow water on the edge. The jewel faded quickly to its lime green colour.
Bragus had given his apologies and left the group in the visitor’s chamber above. The mankind animal above was named Barney, and to Bragus’s surprise, he could talk. The higher learned species of the moors were all under the belief that mankind had degenerated to the point that they could only communicate between themselves with grunts and groans and not be able to converse with anyone outside of their species. The Princess and some of the other bears were playing host to this Barney, allowing him to feed and rest. Bragus slipped away to the Chamber of Ponds to consult the soothsayer chalice once more. He was afraid of what he might see and wanted to be on his own. He put a great paw on either side of the chalice and looked at the silver surface, which reflected his face like a mirror. For a second, he stared at his reflection and noted his grey hairs and tired look. The coloured jewels and stones around the top edge began to glow as power was drawn into the liquid. Bragus grunted a few words under his breath and ripples appeared on the surface of the water. The ripples faded and were replaced by images. He watched for some time and saw a possible future.
The witches ‘were leading the goblins and the Wildpack. He saw the destruction of the wolf kingdoms. He saw, the entire Vale on fire and Aledran Mountain reduced to rubble as the last of the bears and elves were entombed alive. He saw the mancub Saniel desert Aledran, influenced by the Talisman Moonstone and allowed everything to be destroyed. Frelith would deteriorate and devolve as it did in the last cycle. The images faded, and the Soothsayer Chalice returned to its cold state. Bragus shivered and left the chamber, he had work to do. He entered the public chambers and gave commands to his chiefs. The chiefs went to call to arms the warriors of Aledran and prepare for war. Ayah Cloudchaser dispatched Falcons immediately to the elf clans, and wolf packs with urgent messages. Bragus spoke to Princess Eylon in private, and they agreed to send messages to the muntjac lords in the Misty Mountains of the north and the mighty bovine herds in the southern highlands.
55.
THE FALL OF THE WOLVES
Shoulder to shoulder, Shum’s brawlers moved in as the defenders realised they were likely doomed. The exhausted wolves and swine, however, were determined to fight to the death for their homeland. Above the din of howling, snarling and barking, nightbirds screeched loud urgent warnings to the Wildpack. Shum and Brod looked past the battle towards a pass nearby between the northern hills where the nightbirds were circling. Streams of muntjac warriors poured out of the pass and galloped down towards the action, their hooves creating a thunderous roar. The muntjacs of the Scarbia Pines from the Misty Mountains had answered the call of the wolves and come to battle. A great muntjac with a dark coat and tall full tiered antlers led them onwards, shaking his head snorting loudly. He was unmistakable with his shaggy white shock of hair that stretched from his chin to his chest. The lead muntjacs bellowed out challenges of defiance to the attacking hounds and goblins that were pressing the survivors into the caves. The muntjac leader Lord Snowbeard was first to the killing field and immediately drove his mighty antlers into the head of the last Rust-Serpent that was turning to face him. Several muntjacs’ leading the charge and either side of Snowbeard were cut to pieces by the goblin reavers spinning chains.
Holk seeing an opportunity charged with his remaining boars and smashed into these bewitched goblins knocking them left and right. The chains dropped to the ground, with several of the glowing blades landing in the dried remains of the vine wall, igniting it along its length. The flames reflected hundreds of muntjac’s eyes as they hewed left and right through the brawlers and panicky goblins. Now the fight changed direction and pressed towards the knoll Shum, and Brod sat upon with the attackers now becoming the defenders. The wolves and swine now in higher spirits at the appearance of their muntjac cousins fought through the thin line of remaining brawlers. The stony field was thick with carcasses and blood as the hounds ran back towards the knoll ignoring the barking commands of their house lieutenants to fight. The goblin reavers, much slower than the retreating hounds, were all caught by the pursuing muntjacs and trampled underfoot.
King Brod and his advisers had turned their fidgety Arachna-Pede mounts around and began to ride away. The king’s personal reaver guards ran after him. Soon there were no goblins left. Shum growled and barked after him. ‘Coward!’ As Brod disappeared down the other side of the knoll in haste. Shum looked to the black sky for the witches’, but they were no longer there. He cursed their decision to split his army and taking his other 2,000 brawlers into the northern woods. For a moment, everything seemed to flow around him in slow motion as he reflected on recent events. Only a portion of his vanguard remained, with the last of his brawlers retreating up the knoll towards him. A thick line of muntjac warriors were galloping behind them, trampling over the falling hounds in pursu
it of the rest. The remaining vile wolves and swine followed, occasionally pausing to finish off his wounded brawlers. The last detachment of his Hellhound guards circled defensively around him, unsure of what to do next.
Shum hated the witches’ almost as much as he hated the wolves. They had always treated him with disdain and they had taken two-thirds of his mighty army and now driven him here to be destroyed by those he loathed the most. Several of his surviving lieutenants barked loudly at him for their final orders. Shum did not hear them. He remembered his favourite mate, Yola and how the blind witch Lilura had killed her needlessly. How he wished his trusted friend Crovar and his son Diego were with him now. The sound of the battle slowly crept back into his conscious. His panicky lieutenants were still barking at him. It was pointless to run; they would hunt him down and destroy every hound in the Duskfall Province. The only way he was to survive and become victorious was with force, and a thousand of his brawlers lay dead on the stony field before him. His Hellhounds created a semi-circle in front of him and fanned out towards the advancing herd of muntjacs bearing down on them. They showed no fear and would die proudly to protect their warlord.
A long rush of air, at first faint and far away then louder and closer to him reached his ears. Shum’s ears flicked this way and that trying to identify the source. Then a crunching thud snapped him from his dazed state. He spun to see the broken body of King Brod on the ground behind him, seemingly dropped silently from a great height. A look of horror on the king’s dead face. The sounds of howls, screams and bellows flooded his ears. He felt the cold wind from the west ruffling his coat. Screeching nightbirds circled above him now, and the small number of surviving brawlers stood with him as several hundred muntjacs thundered up the knoll towards him. What was this? The leading line of muntjac warriors slowed down from a full gallop to an uncertain trot and looked about, nose high in the air.
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