by H. J. Cronin
All across his new empire slaves were rallied and put to work by the counts. Those deemed too sick, old, young, or weak were killed. The slaves aided in the construction of fortifications across the coastal areas as well as building great structures for the new empire. They were forced to worship Darkool as a god; great statues had been erected in every remaining city and town, statues resembling High Count Darkool.
Once the Clan of the Lizard was vanquished, Darkool’s next plan was to eradicate the Black Widow; her clan would truly be the last. The thorn forever in his side though, was Johan. For as long as Johan lived, he was a threat. A threat that could ruin everything Darkool had built. Even if the Night Hunter finds the means, he will have to get past my army first, Darkool mused. The skeletons and vampires were all tied to his fate – if Darkool was destroyed his army would be no more. Johan had the very powerful Shalon to contend with, though, and Darkool didn't doubt that Shalon would succeed.
For now, though, Darkool’s main concern was the Fowling Jungle. He had brought siege engines and an army to assault the jungle – fire would be useless in the jungle’s wet climate. He knew he had to do it the hard way, and that required patience, patience which Darkool lacked.
The army waded through the marshland with unstoppable determination. Soon the Fowling Jungle lay in front of them. Marshes and bogs filled the area between the army and the jungle, and only a dozen or so paths led directly to it – just another obstacle the tireless army would overcome.
It took nearly an entire day for the army of the dead to reach the Fowling Jungle; silently they stood, only a kilometre away, waiting for orders.
Darkool stood quietly, planning the assault; for him it seemed straightforward, just a forward charge into the jungle would do it. He motioned to one of his captains, and the young-looking vampire ran over and bowed. 'Captain, lead three thousand troops into the jungle, scout ahead, and return with any news,' High Count Darkool ordered; his captain bowed again and ran back to the front.
Soon a horn blew and three thousand skeleton warriors marched into the jungle.
The captain trod carefully as he led the small host past the first set of trees. He heard the animals of the jungle talking to each other. The noise grew louder the deeper they went. In no time at all long they had to start hacking their way through the jungle with their weapons – then the jungle responded.
Suddenly, scores of arrows from above began landing amongst the undead mass. With almost pristine precision, the arrows hit the skeletons, taking them out of action one by one, the arrows knocking their heads off.
The captain panicked, not knowing what to do; he could see men in the canopy jumping from tree to tree, men in lizard shaped armour. These highly skilled archers seemed like ghosts because of their appearances and disappearances amongst the trees. The captain tried to utilise some of his archers, but their accuracy was terrible, especially against an almost unseen foe. Not one skeleton scored a hit.
With his force quickly diminishing, the captain decided to order a retreat, but the jungle wasn't finished. Animals of all shapes, colours, and sizes charged into the dwindled skeleton mass. The beasts, in their own environment, made easy work of the skeletons.
The captain just about managed to escape, leaving the remaining skeletons to cover his flight. Even though the jungle creatures had joined the fight, the archers still easily found their skeletal targets. They let the captain go, so that he might warn the others against trying again. Not one of the defenders perished; the three thousand skeletons returned to the grave.
The fleeing captain made his way back to his master. High Count Darkool looked furious with the approaching captain. 'What happened?' demanded the High Count.
The captain knelt before Darkool. 'Master, we were ambushed, the jungle attacked us, ghosts in the trees and beasts on the ground,' said the shamed captain.
Darkool laughed, 'Ghosts and beasts? Do you mean to say that you have lost three thousand of my troops, in a matter of minutes?'
The captain nodded.
'Is that all?' Darkool asked, hiding his agitation.
'Yes, master, I apologise profusely, master,' the captain replied.
Darkool said nothing; he drew his sword and with lightning speed he cut the captain in half, and then sheathed the sword. The other captains and counts stared at him silently, knowing better than to say anything.
Darkool spoke to them all, 'The seeds have been sown. I expect the Clan of the Lizard to confront us, and when that happens, we attack.'
King Zethorn, Tumnis and Carmin were wandering through the gardens of the city when a messenger with a fearful look on his face ran towards them.
‘My king,' the messenger said, bowing. 'The enemy is here! We managed to defeat a large advancing party from the trees. I fear their main force is too large for us to defeat. There is a seemingly endless tide of them.'
It was as the king feared. He looked to Tumnis who put his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword and said, 'I fight by your side, King Zethorn, be it here or where the enemy are.'
The king nodded and turned to the messenger. 'Muster the army, I choose to stand up to these invaders,' he ordered. The king then looked at Tumnis and smiled, 'It looks as though the war has indeed reached us. It has been an honour hosting you and Carmin during these months.'
'I thank you for your hospitality, King Zethorn,' Tumnis replied graciously.
'Now is the time we join this war,' declared the king.
Tumnis needed to keep Carmin away from the fight; he was too young to fight a war. The king mustered his forces and within hours King Zethorn, his sons, Tumnis, and twenty thousand troops marched through the jungle. Five hundred had stopped three thousand skeletons, along with the jungle, so the king hoped twenty thousand would be enough to defeat High Count Darkool’s army.
It took two days for the Clan of the Lizard to march through and reach the edge of the jungle; the king was shocked for a moment when he saw the dark mass that was the enemy. Like statues the throngs of skeletons stood, waiting for orders. Some tents had been erected to house the vampires, but the skeletons remained where they stood.
King Zethorn hoped to talk to Darkool first, to try and warn him away from the jungle, but in case that failed the majority of his force would stay hidden in the jungle, ready to fight. The king, along with Tumnis and a thousand warriors, marched towards Darkool. King Zethorn held his hands above his head as a sign of peace.
The king called out to Darkool, 'High Count Darkool, before we engage in combat, let us treat with each other. If we can find a diplomatic solution there is no need for bloodshed. This jungle is impenetrable – hear me out.'
Tumnis could see Darkool talking to another vampire in red armour; he then looked at the king and nodded. High Count Darkool slowly approached the king, flanked by a dozen vampire warriors.
Tumnis took the opportunity to ask the king about his plan; he whispered, 'What terms are you planning to give him? Even you should know that the Dark Count doesn't bargain.'
The king smiled, 'I will fight him if need be, but I have an offer for him. If he refuses, we attack and then retreat into the jungle, my men need more time to prepare.'
'A good diversion King Zethorn, Darkool won't expect that,' Tumnis said with a nod of approval.
'He won't see my plan coming,' said the king. Tumnis noticed that there was no fear in the king’s voice. He was either very confident of victory or very naive.
Darkool came closer and now Tumnis saw him for the first time up close; evil radiated from him like a bad smell, and the ex-captain put his hand on the pummel of his sword.
'King Zethorn, why do you request my presence? Do you come to beg for mercy like so many before you?' Darkool asked in a sinister tone.
The king ignored the provocative words and replied calmly, 'I ask you before me to beg for the mercy of my clan.'
The High Count looked irritated. 'For that insolence I will mount your head on a spike so you can watch me kill
your family,' he replied, making even Tumnis shudder.
The High Count turned to walk away but the king stopped him, 'High Count Darkool, I have a proposition. I have somebody in my care that you would be happy to meet, a boy.'
Tumnis shot the king a shocked expression and the High Count turned around with a curious look on his face.
'What boy?' asked Darkool. 'Speak quickly before I kill you here.'
King Zethorn swallowed anxiously. 'I have heard about this Night Hunter who seeks your end. This Johan, son of Haramithir. Haramithir had two sons. I have in my care the other one. This one, Carmin is his name, is unknown to the world.'
Tumnis was horrified; he hadn't expected this treachery. 'Bastard!' he shouted at the king, and suddenly two of the king’s sons firmly grabbed him by each arm, preventing any attempt to escape.
Darkool looked directly at the king, excitement building up in his face. He controlled himself when he spoke, 'Go on, how do I know you tell the truth?'
'Because this man,' the king replied, pointing at Tumnis, 'was the captain of the guards in Flordonium. The old High King demanded he leave the city during the siege, his mission is to protect the boy.'
Darkool looked at Tumnis with a sinister gaze. 'So you are Tumnis, the one who put up quite a struggle defending Flordonium. I wondered why none of the prisoners identified your body – it was because you survived.'
Tumnis said nothing.
'Now you are here in my grasp and the clan you travel with are happy to see you dead,' Darkool said, smirking.
'The king is lying Darkool, he tries to save his clan. He will use any excuse to avoid conflict. I, on the other hand, was looking forward to a fight,' defied Tumnis.
Darkool glared at him with anger. 'Your look of shock showed me the truth in King Zethorn’s words. Bring me the boy, if I decide he is who you say he is, your clan is pardoned,' said Darkool.
'A good bargain, High Count, I assure you you will not be disappointed. I brought the boy with the army, this was my plan all along,' the king said, bowing before Darkool.
'How could you betray Wilmurin? The druids?' Tumnis asked the king, full of anger and rage.
'I apologise Tumnis, but when it comes to the lives of my people, no one is more important than they are. I brought the boy secretly to avoid your suspicion – we all would have died if I hadn't made this decision,’ the king said softly. Tumnis could now see through the act.
'So we have been prisoners all along, completely unaware,' concluded the shamed ex-captain.
'Yes, that is correct. I knew this day would come – the moment you told me about Carmin, I knew I had a life-line. There are no other options – I do it for my clan.'
Moments later Tumnis saw Carmin coming out of the jungle, flanked by two guards. The boy didn't look frightened, he smiled when he saw Tumnis, but then he spotted Darkool and he gasped.
'Don't do this, King Zethorn,' pleaded Tumnis, 'he is just a boy.'
The king ignored him and spoke to Carmin, 'Carmin, young lad, you will now be under the care of High Count Darkool.'
Now the boy looked scared and looked to Tumnis, 'Please don't let the king hand me over to him, do something, Tumnis.'
Tumnis stepped forward to get the boy, a futile rescue attempt; the king’s sons gripped him harder. One of the guards escorting Carmin firmly took hold of him and passed him to Darkool. Tumnis watched helplessly; he tried to wriggle free numerous times, he swore and begged for the boy’s life but no one listened.
Darkool looked at the captain and snarled, 'Count Sid, finish this man off. I am sure the lizards do not want him.' Count Sid drew his blade and walked towards Tumnis.
'No!' Carmin called out.
Darkool looked at him and smiled. 'And if I keep you alive, as a hostage, then one day you may have the capability to destroy me when I least expect it. No one knows you exist, no one will miss you. You are therefore a burden,' he said with a sinister grin. He drew his sword and cut the boy’s throat. The boy choked and grabbed his neck, as if trying to stop the blood flow, before falling down. He landed on the ground with a thud, lifeless eyes staring at Tumnis.
Tumnis's eyes filled with tears, and he looked at Darkool with hatred. 'Your empire will fall under this Johan's blade. King Zethorn has chosen his fate, but you, Darkool, your end will come,' he said, before Count Sid drove his blade into the captain's heart.
Tumnis's last thoughts were of his family, with whom he would now be reunited. His goal in this life had failed the moment he took the boy through the jungle. Now the fate of the world lay on the shoulders of Johan. With Carmin meeting a horrific end the last Night Hunter now was certainly Johan. It was extremely unlikely that Johan knew of Carmin; only a select few had known of the boy, and they were all dead.
Darkool looked at King Zethorn without any emotion and spoke in an authoritative tone, 'Now this issue is resolved, I give you the terms of this alliance. You are no longer a king but my servant – if there is any insolence your clan will cease to exist.'
Zethorn only nodded. High Count Darkool was pleased with his swift conquest and even more so with the discovery of Carmin. His war on Wilmurin was over; his eye would now look to the rest of the world. For now, though, his efforts would be solely concentrated on fortifying Wilmurin, and waiting for Johan to be found.
13
The Old Hermit
The old hermit scrutinised the companions, particularly the elf that stood with them. His eyes then fell upon Johan and he smiled; he looked back at Larko and frowned. 'What curse has brought you with Johan son of Haramithir, Larko, son of Lady Lalo,' he said, his voice old and grating.
'I am here as a friend, what remains of my race has helped the druids,' replied Larko. Johan was confused by this development, and was distracted by thoughts of Ardag and Bry – where were they?
'Death and destruction follow your race, elf,' the hermit said coldly.
Larko looked at Johan, as if asking for help. Johan spoke up, 'You must be the Lone Druid my father spoke of. I am Johan and this elf speaks no lie, he saved my friends and me. Ardag and Bry are still out in the wilderness.'
'With Ardag’s brain, they will come to no harm,' said the old man, reassuring Johan with a smile; he then looked at Larko and spoke to him bluntly, 'I do not trust elves, but Johan speaks highly of you. I will trust his judgement.'
Larko bowed his head, 'Thank you.'
'I do not do it as a favour for you, elf,' he said, again in a cold tone. 'I guess the tale of how you survived the purge of the elves will be told another time.'
Larko said nothing. Johan cleared his throat to interrupt the awkward silence; he then spoke to the hermit, 'Who are you?'
'I will explain all when we reach my home – it's too cold out here to linger.'
'I trust you have some warm food hermit – my stomach speaks to me,' Finnvid said joyfully, and the others laughed.
The hermit was not amused, and spoke to Finnvid harshly, 'I will not accept rudeness in my home. If you bring such manners with you, I will leave you here for the wolves.' The hermit walked away, expecting the small party to follow.
Johan held back a smile and motioned to Finnvid with raised eyebrows. Jess hit her brother on the arm and followed the hermit; the rest soon followed.
They walked with haste, the hermit was surprisingly quick so the party had to speed up. Johan felt cold and alone; although he was slowly getting to know the Mjorn, he was without his closest friends, and he felt vulnerable without them. Part of him felt relieved, though, to have finally found the Lone Druid.
They walked for a half hour before they arrived at a place they were not expecting to see. It was almost as if a paradise existed within the Cold Wood. Right in front of them was a small area of green, luscious woodland. The space was so small that Johan could make out the far edge, where thick green grass met the cold, hard, frosty ground of the Cold Wood. The trees in this space blossomed with greens and other colours, birds sang, and the sun shone, the air warm and
fresh.
Everybody in the party felt warm and safe. This small oasis was very different from the inhospitable Cold Wood. In the centre of the oasis they could see the hermit’s home, a warm-looking house with a thatched roof and a small stream of smoke coming from the chimney. Wild flowers and grass covered the forest floor, insects milled about in the air and small, unrecognisable mammals scurried around.
'How is this possible?' Jess asked, astounded by the sight.
The hermit smiled. 'This place is invisible to all I intend not to see it, this is my home and so it has been for centuries. Here is the only place life thrives in the Cold Wood, evil has no place here, nor does the cold.'
'Who are you?' asked Johan again, gawping at the beauty of the oasis.
'My name is too long for you to pronounce, but you may call me Kris,' the hermit said, bowing. 'Welcome to my home.'
Kris led the small party to his house; the interior seemed larger than it appeared on the outside. It was homely; Johan felt warmth and comfort as he stepped into the house. The furnishing inside made it feel even more inviting. It consisted of one big room, with a kitchen area, an eating area, a seating area, and a small bed. The walls were covered in various artefacts and other ordinary, and extraordinary, items.
'Tea?' Kris asked the small party. 'I have roast venison, potatoes, pork, root vegetables and ale.'
Finnvid, Jess, and the other two warriors’ eyes lit up and they nodded vigorously; the Mjorn had quite an appetite. They hadn't had a proper meal since the night in the cavern. The small gathering sat around a table and dined with pleasure; the Mjorn tucked into the meal as if it were the last food in the world, Johan and Larko were a little more civilised.
'Did we ever tell you the story of when my father and Finnvid killed five frost giants?' Jess said, speaking over the sound of the others eating. Johan, with a mouth full of food, shook his head.