by H. J. Cronin
The Druid Chronicles
Book two
Wilmurin
Land of Darkness
By H.J. Cronin
Wilmurin
Land of Darkness
Copyright © 2015 Hamish Cronin
All Rights Reserved
All characters in this book are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United Kingdom. Reproduction or unauthorised use of material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without express written permission of Hamish Cronin
My books
The Druid Chronicles:
Wilmurin: Land of the Druids OUT NOW
Wilmurin: Land of Darkness OUT NOW
99p Horrors
#1 The House Across the Street OUT NOW
#2 The Underground Ghost Train OUT NOW
#3 The Possession OUT NOW
#4 The New Boy OUT NOW
#5 The Out of Body Experience OUT NOW
Five Chilling Tales
Volume one OUT NOW
Acknowledgments
For my son, Oscar.
Once again a big thanks for the great job done by my editor, Lesley Jones. Thanks to my artist, Elif Siebenpfeiffer, for the great job on the cover.
Thanks to my mum and dad who have inspired me in different ways to write this book, especially my dad who introduced me to fantasy many many years ago and for reading the very first draft.
Contents
Map of North Wilmurin
Map of South Wilmurin
Prologue
City under the Sea
Journey South
Escape
Under Siege
Vassal of the North
The Mjorn
Darkool’s Prisoner
An Arena in the Sea
The Cold Wood
Not Dead Yet
Annihilation
The Jungle
The Old Hermit
The Bear and the Troll
To Deceive a Widow
A Dance with a Demon
Long Awaited Confrontation
The Last Thorn in Darkool
Epilogue
Map of North Wilmurin
Map of South Wilmurin
Prologue
Wilmurin has changed. A once beautiful green land, full of life and splendour, now the grass has turned black from fire, the trees have burned and are now just charred skeletons with not one hint of their former bloom. The clear blue sky had turned dark and cloudy, with a sinister green glow amongst the black clouds in the north, slowly creeping into the south.
The northern towns are now under the rule of the sinister Black Widow clan and the larger cities now ruled by the still more evil High Count Darkool. He did not kill every human during his rise to power; he looked forward with satisfaction to the amusement of ruling over them. The ones that did perish in his initial onslaught were the lucky ones.
The last free city in Wilmurin is Lerthayl, home to the Clan of the Lion. The Lizard clan, of the Fowling Jungle, are not a significant threat to High Count Darkool so they are to be left alone for now. It is Lerthayl he wants; if Lerthayl falls then the south would belong to the High Count.
For a few months, his undead horde has laid siege to the city. Thanks to the thirty-foot-high solid stone walls and the powerful gate, the defenders have managed to defend it against the countless assaults. The Clan of the Lion has the second largest army in Wilmurin after Flordonium; only the Black Widow clan can claim a larger number. Their numbers dwindle after each assault and King Lionel knows that soon the time will come when the undead horde will break through.
King Lionel stands on the battlements in his golden armour, his long blond hair waving in the wind as he gazes out over the undead army outside his city. The skeleton warriors stand, motionless, out of range of the defenders’ catapults, waiting for the next order to attack. Camp fires can be seen where the vampire soldiers are resting and, in centre of the camp, stands a large tent: Count Kharki’s tent. This is the count who is in charge of the attacking force; King Lionel is aware that High Count Darkool’s patience would be wearing thin now. He knows the attack is coming soon. He is ready to meet it.
Count Kharki sat in his chair twiddling his thumbs anxiously, painfully aware of his obvious failure to take Lerthayl. His master, High Count Darkool, had managed to take Flordonium in a matter of days and, later, Bemon in a day. Four weeks Lerthayl had been under siege, and not a single inch of ground had been taken. The outposts of the Clan of the Lion had been destroyed but such petty victories meant nothing to High Count Darkool.
The count stared at three prisoners who knelt before him. They had been captured in the last attack and brought back for questioning. He stood up and walked over to the middle one; much like his counterparts he was bruised and bloodied, his long blond hair matted with red blood. Count Kharki grabbed the man by his throat and lifted him into the air. ‘Do you really think the druids can defeat the Vandalore clan? You pathetic swine,’ he said with a snarl, and threw the man on to the floor.
The man sneered, choked on some blood, and spat it out towards Count Kharki. 'It will be your downfall, count. The existence of your wretched clan has run its course, you will fall and the druids will emerge more powerful than ever. I am but one man – for as long as Lerthayl stands the druids spit in your face...'
Before he could finish, Count Kharki, out of anger, drew his sword and slashed at the man’s neck causing a shower of blood to fill the air. The man dropped dead instantly; Count Kharki looked down on him and smiled. ‘The war is already won for us, son of King Lionel.’
‘Indeed it is,’ said a familiar voice from behind. Count Kharki spun around with a look of horror on his pale face.
‘High Count Darkool,’ was all he could say at the sudden appearance of his master.
Count Kharki shifted uncomfortably under the stern gaze of the grey-skinned High Count.
‘I arrive unannounced to check on your progress Count Kharki,’ said Darkool. ‘It amazes me that I visit you here in your camp rather than in the keep of Lerthayl.’
‘My... my... my lord,’ Count Kharki said, stuttering, ‘We have made brilliant progress. The surrounding strongholds of the Clan of the Lion have fallen. It is just Lerthayl that stands in our way.’
‘Do not hide your failure by emphasising your small success. I took Bemon in a day, I took Flordonium in less than two days. You have been in the south for far longer. That includes the four weeks you have besieged Lerthayl. Why is it not in my hands?’ High Count Darkool demanded in a sinister tone.
Count Kharki bowed. He did not know what to tell his master; High Count Darkool could see right through him, he would have to tell the truth. ‘High Count Darkool,’ he started, choosing his words carefully, ‘The Clan of the Lion has an extremely formidable force that fights with great intensity and valour. Their walls are huge and even though they are surrounded they still beat off our attacks. But my lord, their numbers are decreasing. The next attack will see the city under your control.’
High Count Darkool sat down, smoothed his short white hair, and stroked his chin. ‘You killed King Lionel’s son, his only son, which is why I am giving you the honour of breaking the news to him.’
‘Breaking the news to him?’ Count Kharki asked.
‘Yes. You will be at the head of the next attack. You will lead the charge and bring down that pathetic city.’ He pointed in the direction of the besieged city.
‘But High Count Darkool, am I not needed here?’
‘Do not argue with me you useless imbecile,’ High Count Darkool said in an almost inaudible but menacing t
one. ‘I will take command here.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Count Kharki said bowing. ‘I will prepare the men for the attack tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? I said nothing about tomorrow,’ High Count Darkool said, laughing. ‘You attack now!’
The look of shock on Count Kharki’s face was not lost on the High Count, but Kharki just nodded and left to make preparations. Just before he reached the exit of the tent, High Count Darkool called out to him, ‘One last thing, Count Kharki. If you fail me one more time I will rip your head from your shoulders and banish you from this world.’ Count Kharki knew that his master was not lying; he nodded and then left.
High Count Darkool then turned to the two remaining prisoners who looked down as his horrible gaze fell upon them. ‘Dinner then?’ the High Count asked rhetorically, and pounced on the prisoners, sinking his fangs into their necks one at a time to drink them both dry.
King Lionel could see the activity in the enemy camp but refrained from calling his men to arms in case an attack didn’t come. For a brief moment he wondered what had happened to his son, Limin, captured during the last attack. Limin was strong and could handle himself but that did not stop King Lionel from worrying. He was the king’s only son; King Lionel had three daughters but it was rare for a queen to rule over a clan. No, Limin was his son and he had to survive. Deep down, though, King Lionel knew that the enemy would not need a hostage.
The sound of a horn blowing broke his concentration; he could just about see the enemy on the move under the dark clouds that filled the air – the attack was coming. More horns began to alert the soldiers.
King Lionel sucked in a deep breath and with a loud voice called out to his men, ‘Men! The attack is coming, man the walls!’ The golden armoured soldiers began to swarm onto the battlements, ready for the approaching siege towers and ladders.
‘Catapults! Choose your target, ammo is low so we need to conserve it!’ King Lionel called out to his men and straight away he heard the creaking of the catapults as they were being drawn.
‘Loose!’ He ordered and down the line his captains repeated the command.
The first catapult unleashed its almighty boulder into the air, and King Lionel watched as it slowly drifted towards the enemy. It scored a direct hit and smashed the top half of the siege tower and all the bone warriors inside. Soon more boulders were flying towards the enemy. Many missed but some hit their mark, destroying groups of skeletons and four more towers.
Then the king saw fireballs flying through the air towards the city from the enemy camp. He had seen these fireballs throughout the siege and knew how devastating they were. There was nothing he could do except watch as they smashed into groups of his men on the wall; some even flew over the walls and down into the city below.
Within a few moments the enemy ladders were upon the walls. The skeletons climbed the tall ladders and soon hand-to-hand fighting broke out along the allure. The archers managed to fire few volleys into the throng of enemies below but they were ineffective in the dark.
There were no ladders near where King Lionel stood so he was able to watch the battle unfold. What worried him was the huge siege tower coming towards his position. He knew that once again he would have to fight for his life to defend his city. He knew every assault could be the last.
Luckily, the strongest wall in all of Wilmurin was that which protected Lerthayl. If the gate was breached, the city would surely fall. Waiting behind the gate was a horde of men in golden armour, ready to defend the city. King Lionel’s three daughters were also down there ready to fight; the moment the gate was destroyed, they would have to use their huge lion forms to fend off the attack.
The siege tower was packed with vampire soldiers in their black armour; Count Kharki had demanded vampire soldiers to be at his side when he joined the assault. He stood in his red armour gazing, through a crack in the wood, at the wall they would soon be fighting on. He could see the men of the Clan of the Lion in their golden armour ready for the fight.
Count Kharki felt cramped; nearly fifty vampires were crowded into the top of the tower. He had skeleton archers mount the roof of the siege towers to rain arrows down amongst the defenders. The count could now make out King Lionel standing ahead of him. His long blond hair blew in the wind and the roaring lion’s head painted on the breast of his golden armour identified him.
‘I have never killed a king before,’ Count Kharki muttered to himself.
The siege tower came to a standstill as it stood just before wall. Two vampires on either side began to crank the wheel, slowly lowering the heavy ramp. Suddenly it dropped and smashed the stone crenellations below. For a brief moment Count Kharki looked out over the defenders, their shields held high, bracing for impact.
‘Charge!’ he shouted, before he charged along the ramp and jumped down into the packed enemy ranks. His soldiers followed, and all along the line more siege towers landed. Hundreds and hundreds of skeleton and vampire soldiers now joined the battle.
Count Kharki landed directly on three enemy soldiers bringing the four of them down to the ground. He quickly pulled his sword up and repeatedly stabbed down at the helpless men. The fighting became intense as more of his soldiers poured out onto the wall. He saw one of the enemy about to finish off one of his soldiers and immediately drove his own sword into the man’s back, severing his spine.
He felt a presence behind him and turned, but he was too slow to stop the hilt of a blade smashing him in the face. For a moment he reeled back and then regained his posture; his attacker had the upper hand and stabbed his sword into Count Kharki’s stomach, ignorant that a vampire could not die in such a way and, using his hands, the count pulled the sword out. The man looked at the vampire in horror and went to attack him again, but Count Kharki held him off; he grabbed the man, lifted him above his head and threw him over the wall into the mass of undead down below.
The lone count had a moment to see how the battle was going. There had been little progress as his soldiers were fighting the defenders fiercely on the wall. A ram worked on the gate but the wood had little effect against the tough structure. Count Kharki was running out of ideas and once again felt he was not going to take the city.
It was at that moment that he saw King Lionel staring at him through the dozens of soldiers fighting in between them. Count Kharki snarled and quickly made his way to the king, shoving anybody in his way aside.
King Lionel saw the count in his red armour approaching and lifted his sword. ‘Now, Count Kharki, is the hour I send you to the abyss!’ the exhausted King Lionel managed to say.
‘It is your pathetic clan that will fall, king!’ Count Kharki replied. ‘And you need not worry about your son any more, King Lionel, he is food for the worms now.’
‘Dead?’ King Lionel said, shocked to the core by this news.
‘Dead by my hand. I return his necklace to you,’ Count Kharki said, smiling, and threw the necklace on the floor before the king.
‘I will kill you where you stand, you abomination!’ King Lionel called out to the vampire, and charged at him with all his might.
The two clashed amongst the already chaotic battle and fought bitterly on top of the wall. Count Kharki fought with lightning speed, keeping the king on his toes. For every attack the king attempted, Count Kharki answered it even more ferociously. King Lionel managed to cut the count’s left leg; blood oozed but that had little effect on the count, who attacked again with undead swiftness.
King Lionel contemplated taking on his lion form but the wall was too narrow and he would risk the lives of his men. He continued fighting the count with his sword, trying to find a weak spot. He saw his chance when the count lifted his sword high, ready to bring it down on the king. He slashed his sword into the air, cutting through the morbid flesh of the count. The count’s sword arm flew off, and he fell to the ground clutching the stump of his arm.
Count Kharki looked up at the king in horror but then started to cackle, an evil laugh. �
�Destroy me, you bastard! But we both know that Lerthayl will fall – High Count Darkool is here. He will see that your city burns and your people are slaughtered,’ he said, spitting out blood.
For a moment, King Lionel stood motionless at the mention of the High Count. Without another word he brought his sword down and cut the count’s head off, then watched as the vampire exploded into black dust.
The Clan of the Lion had the upper hand. The wall had been defended and now the enemy was retreating. Only the skeletons remaining on the wall fought to the end. The rest on the ground slowly walked back to safety. King Lionel was satisfied with the way his men had fought this time; fighting in the dark was not easy – only the lights of the torches lit the wall, but that had been enough for the defenders.
King Lionel turned to his captain and spoke in a hushed tone, ‘Captain, the enemy will be back. The next attack, I fear, may be the last.’
‘Yes, my king, what are your orders?’
The king thought for a moment and stroked his chin. ‘Tell the other captains to keep the men on full alert. Gather as many men as you can to defend the gate. I have a feeling they will break through soon. How much food do we have remaining?’
‘We have enough supplies for another two weeks and then we’re out,’ the captain replied with a hint of sadness in his tone. The men had been on half rations since the siege had started so the city wouldn’t suffer famine.
‘Good. We can eat the horses once the food has run out,’ King Lionel said, nodding, deciding not to tell the captain that he thought they wouldn’t last another two weeks.
‘And after the horses, rats?’ the captain asked cheerfully.
The king winked at him and looked back over the ramparts, towards the fires of the enemy camps. It would be ironic that the rats may soon be feeding on their dead once High Count Darkool decided to attack. There were no allies left; the north had been taken as well as the majority of the south. The Lizard clan never came to the aid of the other clans. The Clan of the Lion were alone in this struggle and soon they would face their greatest challenge – and King Lionel knew it. However, whilst he and his men fought bravely they still hung on to hope, which can be the strongest weapon at a time of need.