Wilmurin: Land of Darkness

by H. J. Cronin

  What he did know was that Lerthayl had not yet fallen to the more numerous enemy. He had been in this bed for the whole time, he had lost the feeling in his legs and become lame. His daughters tended to him and brought him news from the front. There had been five assaults by the enemy attempting to take the city, and all had been beaten back.

  Thanks to the large solid walls of Lerthayl, no siege engine could breach them. The heavy iron gates were superior to the battering rams made from bone. It all came down to brutal melee fighting on the ramparts between skeletons and well-trained men. King Lionel was the only king on Wilmurin to invest time and money in training a professional and formidable army. Whilst the other kings had laughed and called it unnecessary, King Lionel knew he would have lost the city during the first assault had he not invested in his army.

  Now his army was nowhere near its former strength, he had to call up men-at-arms from the population of Lerthayl. These lightly armoured men had the heart, but not the skill, to stand against High Count Darkool’s horde, should they breach the walls. Thousands of men-at-arms waited in the city for their fight to come.

  The king couldn't hide from the haunting sounds of wounded men and women in the hospital. Screams and curses seemed to fill both day and night. It was only two days ago that an enemy rock, flung from a catapult, had found its way over the wall and landed directly on the field hospital, killing a dozen wounded soldiers and half as many civilians.

  All King Lionel could do now was stare up at the hospital tent’s ceiling, hoping his captains commanded the defence well. Every now and then, they would visit him to receive orders and check on him. A few never came back.

  The High Count stood where the brief skirmish had taken place two months ago, gazing at the impenetrable walls of Lerthayl with fiery eyes, anger consuming his cold heart. The failure to take the city made his cold blood boil. He had to find a way to take the city; he didn't fear a mutiny, the counts wouldn't stand a chance against him, but his plan for world domination had been thwarted so far.

  If his lich king, Shalon, were here, the gates would have been blasted open a long time ago. However, Shalon was hunting Johan – any moment now Shalon would be able to contact Darkool telepathically, to give him an update.

  The sound of someone approaching from behind interrupted his thoughts. Darkool turned to see Count Sid walking towards him. Sid was part of a new council formed by the High Count. Darkool had found the other counts unreliable and untrustworthy, and without a second thought he had slaughtered them.

  'Master,' Count Sid said, bowing before his leader. He had long white hair and a young face, grey in colour like the others. 'I have been speaking with the other counts – we have a plan to take the castle. We have found a way.'

  High Count Darkool stared at him without a single word, unnerving the young vampire.

  Count Sid swallowed, 'High Count Darkool, this earth we stand on is soft, it is good earth. I was a farmer in a previous life, I know soil.’

  'What's your point? You bore me with your lessons on soil,' Darkool replied bluntly, unnerving Count Sid even more.

  'Well, why can we not dig a tunnel? We could focus our resources on digging, we will dig such a vast and long tunnel, your army can breach the castle from underneath,' Count Sid let out a sigh and watched his master's blank face for a sign of approval.

  A tunnel? Why didn't I think of that? the High Count thought to himself, trying hard not to reveal any of the joy he felt. 'A tunnel, you say?' he asked rhetorically, and Count Sid nodded enthusiastically. 'I will think on it – return to your tent,' he instructed the count. Darkool planned to wait two or three days and then give an order for digging to start; he would take full credit for the plan. If anybody argued or tried to take credit, they would be killed mercilessly.

  Darkool then noticed a cloudy white mist forming in front of him; out of the mist appeared a ghostly male figure. As the translucent figure drifted towards him, Darkool saw that it was Shalon, in spirit form. Darkool was shocked to realise the power Shalon had to perform such a spell. The lich king appeared to be standing on a pile of corpses, floating in the air.

  'Master, I greet thee once again,' Shalon said, bowing his head.

  'Good of you to join me, Shalon the Lich King, how goes your search for Johan?' Asked Darkool.

  'The dead teach me a lot, master. I have learned that Johan travels north-west, to Jotun. I do not know his business there though – I travel there as we speak.' The cold, emotionless voice of Shalon would frighten anybody.

  High Count Darkool smiled, pleased with his servant’s progress, 'Well done Shalon, as always, you have done well. Find this Johan as quickly as you can, do not show any mercy to those that stand in your way.'

  Shalon managed a sinister smile, 'Mercy is a human trait, master. I am no longer human so mercy does not register in my cold mind. I will kill all enemies in my path.' With that, the lich king faded from view.

  Darkool nodded approvingly and walked back to his tent; in two days’ time he would give the order for his troops to start digging.

  King Lionel, king of the Clan of the Lion, lay on his bed with one of his daughters, Harriet, at his side. She had beautiful golden locks and a pretty face, and she held her father's hand with a firm grip, as if she wouldn't let go. She pitied her once powerful father; now he was a cripple, but as for long as he lived, the men had hope.

  Harriet had just been dealing with another wounded soldier. Twice enemy arrows had struck him; the shafts had broken off, making it impossible to remove the arrowheads without surgery. Harriet had attempted the surgery but the man had lost so much blood, death was inevitable. With screams and cries for his mother, the young soldier died of his wounds. Harriet felt that this was the last straw. She was almost ready to give up, but shook off the notion and carried on – the men needed her and the hundreds of other nurses. Now, though, Harriet took a break and sat with her father.

  'Father, the men are saying we can't win this fight, there is talk of giving in,' she whispered.

  The king spoke softly to his daughter, 'We are surrounded – if the men give up, they will be slaughtered. They know this, it's that thought that keeps them fighting.'

  'I wish the war had never come to Lerthayl. I wish it had stayed north.'

  'We are all pawns in the game of life and death, Harriet, every man and woman will die. Be it on the battlefield or in a bed. Our aim in life is to make the most of the time we have, fate has brought the war here, fate will decide our demise, fate is what makes us the people we are,' the king said. His daughter felt a surge of emotion.

  'Who will lead the men? With you incapacitated, the defence lies very much in the hands of the captains,' Harriet said tearfully.

  'You will, Harriet, you are my eldest daughter. Don your armour, reveal yourself as the new queen, lead the men to whatever fate Drugar has bestowed upon them.'

  Harriet looked at him, bewildered. 'I am not qualified to lead men, especially in a doomed city. You cannot ask this of me!'

  'A good leader is strong, fair, and most of all brave. You are all of these things, the men need someone of my line to lead them. Your sisters are too young. This is the last thing I ask of you before I die – this is an order,' he replied firmly.

  Harriet didn't know what to say; she had no other option, and she smiled at her father, 'I will make you proud and, if this is the end of our clan, I will make it even harder for the enemy to breach our walls. This clan will go down fighting strong.'

  'My world grows darker by the minute, Harriet, death draws closer, tell your sisters I love them…' King Lionel tried to say. His words were drowned by a terrible choking.

  A sobbing Harriet tried to ease his pain but the king was past any help; his wounds were too bad. Harriet didn't speak, but gripped her father's hands as he gasped for breath. The once proud and powerful king died in her arms.

  Harriet had known this was coming and sat quietly at her father's side. She felt a hand on her shoulder and lo
oked up to see her sisters behind her; they had seen everything and were weeping.

  Harriet wiped her tears away and spoke firmly, 'The king is dead and I am now queen of this clan. There will be a time for mourning, but now we must prepare the walls and gate for more assaults. I will not see this city fall.'

  The king’s body burned that night in front of thousands of his people, who cheered his legacy. They welcomed Queen Harriet with thunderous applause, a new fire ignited in their hearts. Motivation to fight and win was now the ambition of the men.

  It had been a week since the king’s death; the new queen had bolstered her defences, repaired equipment and prepared for more attacks. The enemy hadn't attacked for a while which bought the queen some much needed time.

  She now stood on a stairwell that led to the ramparts, so that the thousands of men below could see her. Her blonde hair blew alluringly in the wind, her golden armour stood out. The men stood silently, waiting for her to speak.

  'A week ago my father passed away, he was and is loved by all of us. He held this city for a long time, now it is my job to ensure these walls stand. I have heard men talking about our professional army being almost diminished – that is not true, you are the professional army of this clan, militia and soldiers alike. Our goals are the same, let us share the same fate. We will not fall within these walls, the Vandalore clan can throw what they like at us but it is all futile. We are lions and we are strong.

  'Men and women of the defence! With Drugar as my witness, I pledge to lead this clan to glory. If this is to be our end, I will make sure it is such an end that even High Count Darkool will be awed by...'

  Some sort of commotion at the back of the mass of troops interrupted her speech. As word finally reached the front, the news hit Harriet like a thousand knives in the gut. Words that gave her speech no meaning and made it invalid. The words were: 'They are in the city!'

  Cold, dark, and evil was the existence of the skeleton that dug at the soil with as much haste as possible. The skeleton had been a man once upon a time, a blacksmith in the north; now magic had transformed his corpse into a fighting skeleton. He could not remember his previous life, the only feeling he experienced was cold. Orders came from 'the master', magic allowed him to see the world as he once did, even without eyes. He had no armour apart from a crude helmet, a sheathed sword, and, in his hands, a shovel.

  The master had ordered him and a host of other skeletons to dig a tunnel under the city. Behind the diggers, thousands of skeleton warriors followed, ready to attack. It had taken a week to get to where they were, they had had to support the tunnel with wooden beams, which took time. Now something told him he had reached his destination, so he began to dig upwards; the others followed suit, until eventually they had dug a ramp and, as they got higher, they hit stone – a road inside the city.

  All around him the skeletons began hacking at the stone, a chip led to a crack and the cracks became larger as the skeletons worked harder. Little by little the stone gave way, a large opening formed, and the old blacksmith jumped out of the tunnel and onto a cobbled road inside the city. His companions followed, dozens of skeletons at a time; in front of the diggers was large force of horrified-looking defenders.

  Soon they started shouting, but the skeletons couldn't hear the human language any more. The humans were shouting, 'They are in the city.' The blacksmith charged into the front ranks of the defenders with fury. Quickly a defender smashed him with a large axe, his place immediately taken by another skeleton.

  Skeletons poured out of the opening like ants out of a hill, swarming the city. The men and dead became locked in a bitter fight. The blacksmith lay on the ground, destroyed; finally the bones of the once living man could rest, without any more intervention from magic.

  Harriet ran down the stairs and amongst her men. Horror, anxiety, and nausea gripped her stomach. The enemy had found a way in and within moments her father's city would be overrun. What hurt her most of all was the thought that she had failed her father.

  She pushed her way through the ranks of defenders and ordered them to form up and fight to the last. The situation continued to deteriorate; the enemy had also attacked the walls, and now the defenders had to defend two fronts. It wasn't long before Queen Harriet reached the fight that had broke out on the ground. She saw flesh and bone fighting in a bitter struggle. The men held firm but were quickly falling; without a second thought Harriet sallied forth into the fray.

  She chopped and cut with her blade, but the never-ending mass of skeletons defied the valiant defenders. The fighting distracted her from using her true power, and it wasn't until she saw one of her men hacked to death she remembered her lioness form. Without wasting another moment, Harriet switched. The powerful beast waded into the throng of skeletons like a battering ram, sweeping them aside and roaring with all her might.

  This seemed to motivate the men, and soon they found a new strength and fought harder, pushing the bone warriors back towards the opening in the ground. Harriet roared to signal her men; they understood instantly, and soldiers with large square shields moved to the front and formed a shield wall. Archers shot over their heads into the bone mass, arrow shots so powerful skeletons fell by the dozen.

  Next, spears were passed to the men who had formed the shield wall; they now held the tips out between the shields to form a porcupine. Harriet took position behind her troops and roared them on. Slowly the porcupine pushed forward, the skeletons not showing adequate strength to break the wall. The enemy pushed them all the way back into the tunnel.

  Harriet returned to her human form and bellowed out to her men, 'Well done men! Do not get complacent, we have not won yet, we must take the tunnel and send these creatures back to the abyss.' The men cheered and pressed on.

  The queen turned to see how the fight on the wall played out, her hope for victory shattered when she saw the walls overrun by skeletons. The fighting in the city had distracted the men, some had even fled, thinking defeat imminent. The walls were taken, soon they would open the gates, unleashing hell upon the city.

  Harriet turned back to see if her porcupine had made progress. The skeletons had retreated into the hole, now only two or three metres separated the men and the opening. A figure in red armour stepped out of the hole; he had short white hair and grey skin, and he wasn’t wearing a helmet. Harriet found him mysterious and breathtakingly handsome, but the man had a strange, evil aura about him. The queen knew who this was.

  'Throw down your weapons, people of Lerthayl. You have fought well, now is the time to give up,' High Count Darkool called out to the defenders.

  His voice was seductive but Harriet didn't fall for his charm, 'I am Queen Harriet of the Clan of the Lion, turn around and leave my city be.'

  High Count Darkool laughed, 'Queen? I must have dealt a fatal blow to that father of yours. Tell your men to throw down their weapons, Your Majesty.'

  'We do not negotiate with vampires, go now and leave us in peace,' Queen Harriet demanded.

  'I am not here to negotiate, my dear,' Darkool said mockingly. 'I do not offer terms. I will slaughter every single man, woman, and child in your city, without mercy. I just wanted it to be easier for my army.'

  Harriet stood quietly for a moment, her men looking to her for encouragement. She sighed and called out to Darkool, 'If you want my corpse, come and get it.'

  Darkool smiled sinisterly. ‘Have it your way then, bitch. Defiance is futile!' he bellowed, and pointed his jagged sword towards the shield wall. A long green bolt of energy shot from its tip and into the shield wall, blasting it to pieces. He called out to his troops and, once again, throngs of skeletons poured out from the hole. This time they were more fired up than before. From all sides, it seemed, the enemy attacked the mass of defenders.

  Harriett took on her lioness form and rejoined the battle, knowing this was the last stand. For every one of her men that fell, five skeletons fell as well, but it wasn't long before the defenders were overwhelmed by the un
dead horde.

  Harriet watched her men fall, one after the other, until slowly and inevitably the defenders were reduced to a small group of two hundred men. The city of Lerthayl began to burn around her. She could hear the screams of the innocent as they were slaughtered by the attackers. The flames made fighting even harder because of the heat.

  Slowly the defenders’ numbers dwindled even further, and Queen Harriet and High Count Darkool stood face to face; she knew this was a fight she could not win. With a loud roar she leapt at him. Darkool aimed his sword at her and shot a bolt of green energy at her, engulfing the lioness in green flames; she dropped to the floor squealing in pain. Slowly the High Count approached her and stared down at her, he smiled and drove his sword into her belly, then cut her head off. He lifted the lion’s head high so that her men could see.

  They instantly threw down their weapons, gazing at the seemingly invincible vampire. High Count Darkool ordered his troops to hold. 'Those who remain will have two options: join me or become my food,' he called out to the men. 'For your valiant defence I offer you immortality – join my ranks of vampires. Join the victors or suffer the fate of the defeated.'

  The defenders looked at him silently, no one spoke; some looked around at each other. For a moment, Darkool thought they would make one more heroic stand and die like heroes. Instead, one by one, they began to kneel. It did not take long before all ninety of the remaining troops were on their knees.

  Darkool whistled one of his captains over, 'Captain, deal with these prisoners, then fetch me Count Sid, I need words with him.'

  The vampire captain nodded and ran off through the packed ranks of skeletons. Moments later Darkool saw Count Sid coming towards him. The count bowed in front of his master, waiting for him to speak.