by H. J. Cronin
Clues and signs from the dead had led him to this beach at the bottom of a cliff. In front of him lay scattered bodies from a previous battle. There were not many of them and, to Shalon’s surprise, there were the bodies of a few elves, creatures that had not been seen in Wilmurin for over five hundred years. Johan may have found himself some formidable allies, Shalon thought to himself.
He approached a small cluster of dead men lying by the shore; most of their skin had rotted away, revealing bone in some places. He raised his staff above his head and began to chant: ‘Servant of the abyss who lay here before me, feel my power so that you may once again walk on this earth and share words with your masters.’ After he finished the chant his staff glowed green – a light shone from its tip and covered one of the bodies. Suddenly the body began to move and then began to stand.
The animated dead man stood before Shalon, stretching his limbs; he let out a gasp. ‘Thank you, master, for bringing me back. I feel alive again, what happened to me?’ he asked, looking at the dead flesh of his hands.
‘You were killed by the very man I hunt, a Night Hunter by the name of Johan. He was in the company of druids and elves, where did he go?’ Shalon asked the corpse.
‘I remember, we were ambushed, a battle followed. Elves, elves were there, where did they come from? I thought they were extinct,’ said the corpse.
‘I do not ask about the elves, I ask about the druids who accompanied them,’ Shalon said impatiently. ‘If you do not answer my question I will send you back to your eternal slumber. Your spirit has the power to see long after you die – tell me what happened.’
The corpse thought hard and then answered, ‘Yes, I remember now, I remember being dead. I remember the druid and his band stealing our ship and sailing north. After that, I do not know.’
‘Thank you for your assistance, soldier,’ Shalon said, and, using a magical burst from his staff he sent the corpse back to the abyss.
He then looked north to where the corpse had told him Johan was headed. He thought for a moment about where a journey north would lead. He searched his mind for the layout of the world, and summoning all of the magical power he could muster he gazed over the sea; then, he found it. The cold land far to the north called Jotun. They are heading to Jotun. What business have they there? he thought to himself. He knew he must reach them before they found the means to end his master’s dark reign. He used his staff to levitate half a dozen corpses, and stood on top of the pile as if it were a platform. He glided forward on top of the platform of corpses towards Jotun.
6
The Mjorn
The companions followed the Mjorn into their town, which was in the centre of a large clearing in the forest. The fact that this town thrived in the freezing climate amazed Johan. The town was large and full of life, and people who looked much like the humans in Wilmurin went about their daily lives. The only difference from the people of Wilmurin was that the men were a foot taller than a tall man in Wilmurin. Most of the men Johan saw had large thick beards; some had braided beards, some beards were long and some were short, and a few had no beard at all.
The houses in the town were made from wood, with straw roofs, and smoke billowed from holes in the roofs when families cooked their meals. The friends passed a noisy market place, and hundreds of people, especially children, came to see the foreigners. None were rude or hateful, rather they were curious. Some were even frightened of the alien-looking elf; children hid behind their parents at the sight of Larko. There were no walls in this town, no obvious defences aside from armoured men patrolling.
Johan felt slightly self-conscious because of the curious gazes from the Mjorn townspeople. None of the companions spoke, they just followed Finnvid wherever he led them. Johan didn’t feel threatened or nervous. For all he knew these people could be vicious cannibals, but not even that thought provoked him. One thing he did know was that it was extremely cold.
The party pushed through throngs of people and soon they stood before the front of a large wooden longhouse, much larger than any other building in the town; its roof was thatched and there were golden ornaments along its walls. Finnvid motioned the companions to keep on walking; they were soon walking up a short, wide stairwell towards large wooden doors.
Finnvid grasped the golden handles and opened the creaking doors; they walked inside the longhouse. The inside was not kingly or noble, it was extremely plain. Great wooden posts held the roof up, and there were long wooden tables covered with leftover food from a banquet; fires heated the room from fireplaces along either side of the hall. Johan felt there was a great similarity with the Great Hall in Bemon. Scents of pine, food, and fire filled his nose – a homely smell.
Dead ahead towards the back of the hall were two large seats occupied by a man and a woman. The man had a shaggy brown beard and long, brown hair on which lay a small golden headpiece. He looked very much like King Bemnom, Johan thought, and he could see Bry’s eyes widen. Next to the large, noble-looking man sat a woman with long, dark hair and a beautiful, graceful face. She wore a brown robe lined with gold.
Finnvid gestured for the companions to stand just a few metres away from the two nobles. The man then stood and approached Finnvid, the two embraced, shared a few words and then the nobleman approached the companions.
‘I am Folkmar, chief of the Mjorn, welcome to my home, travellers from abroad,’ Chief Folkmar said; his voice was husky and powerful. ‘This is High Shield-maiden Arnora, my wife. You have met my son Finnvid. Soon you will meet my other children. It is our custom to accommodate and aid guests. If you show hostility or behave dishonourably then you will be banished to the wild, where, without supplies, you will be dead within a day.’
Ardag stepped forward and bowed. ‘Greetings Chief Folkmar. I am Ardag, my companions are Johan, Larko, and Bry,’ he said, pointing to each of them. ‘We thank you for your hospitality. I am indeed honoured to be amongst the Mjorn. We have sailed a long and hard journey from Wilmurin, but I did not expect this cold and bare island to be inhabited.’
‘We have inhabited Jotun for as long as our ancestors go back. It is said that we are the direct descendants of the giants. The good giants left Jotun many, many years ago, only the evil ones remain deep in the forests and mountains,’ said Finnvid.
‘How have you been able to sustain yourselves, Chief Folkmar?’ Johan asked.
The chief smiled. ‘We rely on trade along the coast of Jotun, as well as farming, and the rare occasion when a merchant travels from Wilmurin, but we have not seen any for months. But what interests me most is the green demon who travels with you,’ he said, pointing at Larko.
‘Chief Folkmar,’ Johan spoke up, ‘This is not a demon – he is an elf as we explained to your son.’
‘An elf?’ the chief asked rhetorically. ‘Stories of these green demons have travelled across the sea and have reached my ears just as they did those of my ancestors.’ He approached Larko and scrutinised him. ‘They say your kind are bloodthirsty and torture the people of Wilmurin. I wonder if I have been tricked and these people with you are slaves—’
‘We are not slaves, Chief Folkmar,’ Bry interrupted indignantly, then regained her self-control after Johan shot her a look. ‘I apologise for my outburst, chief, but we are not slaves.’
‘The girl is right,’ Larko finally said. ‘My people are all but extinct. Only a handful remain, and I have been sent to accompany and help these druids on their quest.’
‘The elf poses no threat, Father,’ said Finnvid. ‘He is indeed an ally of these druids from Wilmurin.’
After a brief pause Chief Folkmar finally spoke, ‘Very well Finnvid, the elf is your responsibility. If he endangers my people it will be you who answers for it.’ Finnvid nodded; Larko smiled at him and nodded his appreciation. The chief then looked at the other companions. ‘As you are here in my land, tell me why you have made the dangerous journey to the untamed land of Jotun?’ he asked, directing the question to Ardag.
; ‘Our business is onerous. A great darkness has befallen Wilmurin, and our quest can be revealed in more private circumstances,’ said Ardag.
‘What is revealed to me can also be revealed to my people, druid,’ said the chief, ignoring Ardag’s hint.
‘The situation in Wilmurin is dire, Chief Folkmar,’ Johan said, and attention turned to him. ‘An evil tyrant, a vampire lord bent on destruction, Count Darkool, has returned to claim Wilmurin.’
The chief looked troubled before speaking, ‘Vampire lord? Such evil only exists in children’s stories. Why are you really here?’ he asked in disbelief.
Ardag realised the chief was feeling threatened. ‘That is the honest truth, Chief Folkmar,’ he said. ‘Wilmurin will be engulfed in darkness and my people face destruction. We seek a means to destroy this evil vampire lord.’
‘You think the answer lies in Jotun?’ Finnvid asked before his father could reply.
‘We are unsure – we have been misled before, but our most recent clue sent us here,’ said Bry.
It was Johan’s turn to speak up. ‘We seek a Lone Druid, a man who now resides on Jotun, who knows a way to stop Count Darkool.’
‘There are no druids here on Jotun, Johan,’ responded Chief Folkmar.
Finnvid looked up at his father, who was deep in thought, before finally speaking. ‘Father, what about the tales of that old hermit in the woods? Deep in the Cold Wood, north-west from here.’
‘He is an old man my son, he is not a druid,’ the chief replied.
‘Old hermit?’ Johan enquired.
Finnvid nodded. ‘Yes, many years ago a man arrived on the island. He had no name or origin, but he stayed with our ancestors for a week before disappearing into the forest. He has not been seen since, only the odd sighting from gatherers.’
‘That could be our man, the story fits,’ Ardag said with a hint of excitement in his voice.
‘No one survives in the forest without supplies,’ said the chief. ‘Forget about the hermit. It is too dangerous to search for him.’
‘Chief Folkmar, I thank you for your hospitality. All we request from you is suitable winter clothing for the journey. You need not concern yourself about us,’ Ardag said, bowing.
Chief Folkmar thought for a moment, stroking his beard. ‘I will give you whatever supplies you require, Ardag. One thing I will tell you, however: I do not believe it was by chance that you have come to my town. I will seek advice from the seer. She is an old witch who lives just outside the town. She may be able to help you with your search. Stay in my town for a week and I will seek a meeting with the seer. Take and eat whatever you want in my name, you will find my people most welcoming.’
Before Ardag could speak, Johan spoke, ‘Thank you for your kind offer, Chief Folkmar. We would be happy to use this seer if her advice could assist us.’
The other companions muttered their agreement. Chief Folkmar clapped his hands together and said excitedly, ‘So be it! My son Finnvid shall accompany you along with his older brother Thorkell and younger sister Jess.’
Finnvid nodded and led the companions away. Johan turned to give the chief a nod of thanks, and the chief returned the gesture with a wave.
Thorkell had a shaven head and a long, brown beard; he had a hard-looking face but a pleasant manner. Jess is beautiful, Johan thought to himself. She had long, dark-red braided hair and beautiful, piercing blue eyes. Her face was slim and her frame slender; she must have been only a couple years younger than him, maybe seventeen or eighteen. She smiled at him every time she looked up at him and he returned her smile.
The companions and the chief’s offspring sat around a table in the large mead hall. When the companions entered, noise and activity in the hall had almost stopped dead, hundreds of eyes peering at them, but soon everyone went back to what they were doing before. The large room had a very similar appearance to the long hall but here there were many more people; this was where the locals ate and drank. Families and friends laughed and shouted, telling the stories of their day and new tales they had heard. There were a few dogs in the hall as well, barking and squabbling and feeding on leftover scraps from the table.
Aromas of a dozen different foodstuffs filled the air. For the first time in months Johan felt a part of something; he almost felt at home. He ate pork off the bone along with potatoes and some strange local foods. The mead he sipped was the tastiest he had ever had. Its sweetness and strength warmed his throat. Every time the companions finished their bone-handled drinking horn, another was given, and soon they were very much drunk, sharing tales with the Mjorn.
‘I see you have warriors, Finnvid, and I wonder why? There seems to be no threat here,’ asked Johan.
‘Our race prides itself on our warriors. We have some of the bravest fighters, and we are also numerous. Every child is taught to fight, taking the skills he has learned into manhood. There are other tribes in Jotun like us, but we are also trading partners and allies, ’ Finnvid replied.
Jess now spoke; her voice was light and soft, ‘There is a threat to the Mjorn – out in the woods there are frost giants, ferocious beasts, you have probably seen similar kind in Wilmurin. These are larger and more dangerous, and every now and then they raid the town with their followers the giantlings, and they steal women. The giantlings are large men who are the spawn of stolen women.’
‘And there are other creatures that live in the forest, far worse than giants and giantlings,’ Thorkell added, sounding much like his father. ‘It is dangerous indeed. We need no walls though, the giants would just smash through them.’
A week quickly passed, and the companions had learned all they needed about the Mjorn. The people didn’t live very differently from the people of Wilmurin. The Mjorn followed a strict honour code and firm laws, the most unusual, to the companions, being that the women were warriors, just as the men. They were known as shield-maidens, and the wife of the tribe’s chief was the High Shield-maiden. Women were always left to fight last; after the men had been killed the women took up arms. Even the children learned to fight at a young age and were quite formidable, according to the chief.
The Mjorn were masters of the sea, sailing great wooden longboats. The time Johan and his companions visited was the coldest in the Mjorn year; it would be another few months before they could set out to fish and open up trade once more. The small party couldn’t get used to the bitter cold that hit them in the day and the unthinkable cold at night, but fortunately they had been given thick, animal-fur hides to cover their upper bodies, which kept them warm, along with fur lined breeches and boots. Soon they were looking like the natives, except for the beards; the only one with anything close to a beard was Ardag with his moustache – even Johan only had stubble.
The companions stood with Jess and Finnvid on the northern border of the town. They were waiting for Chief Folkmar and his retinue to arrive. All around the town there was a seemingly endless snow-covered pine forest stretching for miles until it stopped at the foot of a great range of snow-covered mountains far in the distance.
‘My father has come,’ Finnvid said, raising his voice over a slight murmur from the companions and, as if on cue, they all turned to see Chief Folkmar arrive, flanked by four men in chainmail armour wielding axes and shields.
As the chief approached his children and the companions, he greeted them individually before saying, ‘Now we go to speak to the seer. I must warn you that she isn’t always the most pleasant woman – she is a witch, after all. Be on your guard and let me do the talking.’
Larko laughed out loud causing the others to look at him curiously. ‘I apologise, Chief Folkmar, it’s just that you call me a demon yet you treat with a witch.’
The chief looked at him, stunned by the words he had just spoken. ‘I treat with a witch, elf, because she has an incredible power, she is neither evil nor deceitful. Your kind, however, have a more infamous reputation,’ he stated bluntly.
‘An infamous reputation that I remember, a dark age t
hat existed a long, long time before even your father’s father existed – a dark time that I would do anything to redeem. I cannot change the sins of my people, all I can do is look to the future and help the people that my people once enslaved.’
‘An honourable thing indeed, elf,’ the chief said with a smile, and clutched Larko’s wrist. ‘I pray to my gods that this is true.’
Bry shifted uncomfortably. ‘Shall we continue to this seer?’ she said, still harbouring some animosity towards the elvish race.
‘Yes we shall, young Bry,’ Chief Folkmar said, and led the way to visit the seer.
The company left the town and walked through the forest. The forest was cold and quiet; Johan felt the crisp cold air against his cheek, and every now and then a snowflake found its way through the tree tops, falling onto the already shivering companions.
As they walked, Johan took the opportunity to raise an important subject. ‘Ardag, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this for a long time. Can you tell me what happened when I was a baby?’ he asked.
Ardag and Bry looked at each other. Bry would have only been a baby herself at the time, being the same age as Johan, but she knew the tale.
Ardag sighed and smiled as he answered. ‘The Vandalore clan had launched a vicious and unprovoked attack on Wilmurin, straight for Sworcadia. Their army was made up of throngs of vampire warriors, tough and numerous. They engulfed the small fort and slaughtered everybody inside, including your family, from your brothers to your grandparents. The enemy butchered the soldiers. The counts wanted to wipe out your father’s bloodline and anyone who would be a threat to Count Darkool, should he return. Unbeknown to the clans at the time, the Vandalore clan had a very real intention to bring Darkool back. Your family, as you know, are the only ones who can kill Count Darkool, for reasons unknown.’