by H. J. Cronin
'Six giants,' interrupted Finnvid, unintentionally spitting food. 'The last one was a youngling.'
Jess sighed, 'Very well then, six giants.'
'Good,' said Finnvid, then went back to eating.
Jess gave him an irritated look and carried on, 'Anyway, the tale goes like this: four farmers burst into my father's hall, demanding help. Five giants and a youngling had attacked their small village, just a few miles from the village. So my father took my brother and two dozen warriors to seek these giants.' She paused to take a drink from her tankard. 'They arrived at the village to find the giants terrorising the people. My brother demanded that they stopped their activities, but giants rarely barter. One of the giants approached my father and said, "I know you, you’re that King of the Mjorn tribe, to me you look like nothing more than a farmer. How about I squash you and your warriors?" My father gave the giant one last warning but the giant just laughed.
‘This angered my father, so using his rage as a strength, he brought his mighty warhammer down, crushing the frost giant’s icy foot. The giant yelped and called for the others, my father then finished him off with one more powerful swing of his weapon—'
'This was where I came in,' Finnvid intervened with a proud look on his face. 'I charged at the giants with my large axe, followed by my father, luckily they were too stupid to come at us all at once, otherwise we would have lost and I would be dining with the gods at this present time. One by one we destroyed the foul creatures. Then, out of the Cold Wood came a throng of giantlings, frenzied up and thirsty for blood. They were no match for the shield wall of the Mjorn, and within minutes they were destroyed.'
'Your people are a warrior race,' said Johan, meaning for it to be more of a question than a statement.
'Our people have endured the harshness of the Cold Wood for centuries,' said Jess, gazing at Johan. 'Our great ancestors wrote about their adventures and we follow in their footsteps. The frost giants and their giantlings are cruel and barbaric, and to defeat them we have to be warriors. Over the centuries that is how our people evolved.'
'Why did you never seek out other lands?' Larko asked, breaking his usual silence.
'Our ancestors spoke of an evil living out at sea, men who turn into beasts, blue- and green-skinned demons and other dangerous creatures, so our ancestors thought it was better to stay with what we knew, and that was Jotun,' replied Jess, with a small amount of sadness in her tone.
'We know now that isn't the case,' added Finnvid. 'Maybe one day we can come Wilmurin, should this evil Darkool thing be stopped.’
Kris cleared his throat loudly so that all attention was on him. 'That is our priority, to stop Count Darkool,' he said with a sigh.
'We are told you know how to do that,' Johan said, looking at Kris.
'Do you not want to know who I am?' Kris asked.
'I do not wish to offend, Kris,' said Johan. 'My companions and I have travelled long and far because my father said you would know of a method to stop Count Darkool. Only you know this, so rather than wasting time, tell me how it can be done.' Johan's rare outburst shocked the guests; they all stared at Kris who looked surprised.
'Let me tell you something, Night Hunter. I have not lived for almost one thousand years, and seen many wars and horrors, to be spoken to like that,' said Kris, irritated.
'My apologies,' said Johan sincerely. 'But my journey has been long, and I still know nothing of the world we live in. I feel like a child in an adult’s body, learning new things every day – forgive my tone. I just want to do what I am meant to do so that the world will be a place without Count Darkool.'
Kris nodded approvingly, 'For you to know the method, you must first know the story. Are you prepared to sit through it, Johan son of Haramithir?'
Johan nodded, 'I will listen intently to the story and then I will do whatever it takes.'
Ardag stood on a platform above a sea of fire; he knew that the land below him was once Wilmurin. He knew he was dreaming but the heat from the fire almost made him doubt his sanity, It's, it's just a dream, he thought to himself, why am I here? Am I dead?
'No,' said a familiar voice. 'You are not dead, you have never been so alive.'
'I know your voice,' Ardag said out loud, 'but I do not know who you are, where are you?'
'I am all around you, Ardag. I will return to my old form,' said the voice.
There was a sudden gust of wind, almost knocking Ardag over. In front of him whirled a small tornado that became less intense every second. It wasn't long before a man stood in front of Ardag, a man he hadn't seen for a very long time.
'Father,' Ardag said, amazed, his mouth wide open, 'How is this possible?'
'Magic is a force that never dies in our world,' the Eagle said. 'My body was destroyed but my spirit lives on.'
'There is so much to tell you,' Ardag said with a sigh.
'I have seen everything, my son. I have followed your journey every since I fell in battle,' the Eagle said contentedly.
'Father, I heard about my wife, Klaret, she was slaughtered by a foul creature from the dead,' Ardag said, full of rage.
'That same creature hunts you on Jotun – it is inevitable that you will have to confront him,' the Eagle said gravely.
'How can we defeat him?' asked Ardag, still in a state of shock that his father stood before him.
'Magic,' the Eagle replied; he then looked at his son curiously. 'Why did you not use magic to defeat that small host of giants that attacked you? With your ability they would have been destroyed.'
It was Ardag’s turn to give his father a curious, almost dumbfounded look. 'I have not had time to learn about my ability.'
‘You do not need time, my son,' said the Eagle. 'When I died half of my life force transferred to you, now I will sacrifice my everlasting spirit to give you all of my power.'
'That is why you are here?' Ardag said, bemused. 'But Father, if you do that, will you still be able to come back to me?'
'I am afraid not,' the Eagle sighed, 'Once my spirit is spent my life only exists in the memory of those who know me. I come to you now to tell you to become the druid you were meant to be, to be the mage you are meant to be, more powerful than any mage that has ever lived.'
'I do not feel strong enough, Father,' Ardag said, looking down sadly.
'You are strong enough, son, when you awake from this dream you will harbour far more power than you have ever known, and you will become sick because of it for an entire day. You are heading the right way to be reunited with Johan and the others, and the man you meet there will give you the last tool you need to claim the great power, but be careful, this power has to be controlled,' his father said, gripping his son’s hands.
'Father, I cannot have this responsibility alone. I did not choose a magical path, please, do not give it to me,' pleaded Ardag.
'It is already set in motion, son. I cannot take it back nor am I willing to. The power you will gain could help change the tide of this war. You chose not magic but the choice is not yours now. You have proved yourself with Johan, now become the best you can be.'
Ardag knew there was no arguing with his father so he closed his mouth and nodded. He thought for a moment, 'Who is this Lone Druid and why does he have the tool to give me power?'
The Eagle smiled, 'I owe it to him to let him tell you.'
Ardag nodded. 'What happens now? Can we stay here and have more words?'
The Eagle closed his eyes and sadly shook his head, 'I am afraid our time is almost up, there is no time for conversation, my life force is depleting, my goal is complete, go now and fulfil your destiny.'
'One last thing,' Ardag said, staring into his father's eyes.
'Go on.'
'Did you know from the start… how to stop Darkool?' Ardag asked his father.
'No,' the Eagle replied honestly. 'I deceived you about elves and the Life Scrolls, but not this, the man you go to meet is the only one who knows.'
Ardag nodded, 'Are the elves
to be trusted?' he quickly asked, the mention of them suddenly reminding him.
The Eagle stared at his son, 'Elves are never to be trusted, Ardag, they will help you, but only of it furthers their own goals. Be wary.' The Eagle’s voice began to slowly fade, he became tired. 'My time is up, my son.'
'But Father, I have so much to ask,' Ardag said, fighting back his tears.
'Questions you must seek answers for – you are strong, remember that,' the Eagle managed to say in an exhausted voice. They embraced, and slowly Ardag lost his grip as his father faded away into nothing.
Suddenly Ardag felt the heat again from the fire; his rocky platform flew over Wilmurin at an unimaginable speed, and it wasn't long before he found himself in front of what looked like Flordonium, but much darker and evil. He wandered inside and saw death and decay. Bodies littered the floor, the dead walked by silently. He ran all the way to the top tier and soon found himself in the throne room. It was far darker and more unwelcoming than before. Then, in front of him, stood High Count Darkool, staring into his eyes. The two locked gazes.
High Count Darkool roared like a demon from the abyss, he reached out for Ardag but as quickly as it happened, Ardag awoke with a start.
'Ardag!' said Bry, her face full of fear.
'What happened?' asked a baffled Ardag, scratching his head.
'You suddenly passed out, Ardag, are you well?' Bry asked, concerned for her friend’s wellbeing.
Ardag sighed and smiled as he remembered what had happened, 'Actually Bry, I've never felt better.' He felt fresh, his body began to tingle, thousands of images suddenly flashed through his mind. His brain filled with knowledge of magic and otherworldly things. 'Watch,' he said to Bry, who looked at him questioningly.
Ardag sought out a stick beneath the snow and placed it in front of him. He thought about the stick levitating and, amazingly, the stick took off from the ground and floated in the air. Bry looked horrified.
'How did you do that?' asked one of the warriors. Bry was still speechless.
'It appears that I have a newfound ability,' Ardag said, smiling. He clicked his finger and the stick exploded into a thousand pieces. He looked at Bry excitedly, 'It looks as though our luck in this war may be changing.'
Johan, Larko, Finnvid, Jess, and the other Mjorn sat around and waited for Kris to start his tale.
'It was long ago, five hundred years to be precise, that the Second War of Wilmurin ended with the end of Darkool. Many years prior to that, the Vandalore clan launched an assault upon Wilmurin, their goal: conquest. The clans came together and fought the counts, battles were fought and entire towns wiped out. There were large numbers of shape shifters because the old clans had large families. The war quickly turned against Darkool – his vampires were destroyed by beheading. However, once it was discovered that Wilmurin’s largest supply of its natural resource, silver, could kill a vampire with one single slice, the war against Count Darkool turned into a landslide.
'The evil count made it his last goal to rid Wilmurin of silver so he despatched groups of vampires to destroy the precious metal, which only could be found near Shartak, the Black Widow’s home. The silver was destroyed, only the Night Hunters had silver swords forged, and when Sworcadia was recently destroyed, the counts took all of the silver away—'
'Silver?' interrupted Johan. 'It is only silver that stands between killing Darkool and victory?'
'A very rude man indeed interrupts a speaker,' Kris said to Johan with a smile. 'If it were that simple, Johan, then Count Darkool was would have not caused the destruction he has.'
Johan nodded, embarrassed by his outburst. Kris continued, 'The Night Hunters managed to corner Darkool during his last attempt at victory, and the enemy army were swiftly defeated. Darkool was captured, the Night Hunters beheaded him in front of all of the druid nobles – Count Darkool was seemingly defeated. But his body was never destroyed like a normal vampire, a normal vampire disintegrates quickly but Darkool remained as bone. It became apparent that the silver did not work on Darkool, it destroyed his body but not his soul. We knew of one other metal, filven, a rare metal, almost identical to its cousin, silver. After a concerted search throughout Wilmurin, only a tiny amount was ever found, the size of a small pebble. To our amazement, it was so heavy that no one could lift it – only a Night Hunter could lift it with ease. We placed this small amount of filven on the bones of Darkool and they began to sizzle, it burned a hole through one of his bones and then vanished. This was when we knew that it is filven that will destroy Darkool, and only a Night Hunter can do it.'
'Why do you think it's only Night Hunters that can lift this metal?' asked Johan.
Kris shrugged, 'It is one of those mysterious things which have no explanation.'
'It is said that Night Hunters have the blood of elves flowing through their veins, not just human blood, maybe that is the key to their ability to wield this metal,' said Larko, breaking his silence.
'Maybe you are right, elf,' said Kris, gazing at Larko curiously. 'Your people inhabited Wilmurin for two thousand years, how is it you have you not heard of filven?'
'My people?' Larko asked rhetorically, tired of being judged. 'My people used up all of the gold on Wilmurin, we lived with gold and wood. Our people never liked silver so we never sought it.'
'So, returning to the story before we sidestep any further,' Johan quickly said, sensing an uncomfortable tension in the air.
'Yes, yes of course,' said Kris, still keeping eye contact with Larko. 'As the search for filven over Wilmurin entered its third year, the druids gave up, even the Night Hunters gave up. I decided to search other shores, starting with Jotun, and, to my luck, I found what I was looking for. A horde of filven so great it could create a sword. I couldn't believe my eyes, deep in the mountains it glistened, waiting to be harvested, but, even with magic I couldn't move it.'
'What happened next?' asked an intrigued Johan.
'Knowledge of filven began to leave the minds of the druids. Even my son, the Eagle, forgot.'
'You're his father?' Johan suddenly blurted out.
Kris smiled, 'Yes, I am. Some dark form of magic began to creep into the minds of all mortals on Wilmurin, it was as if it were a last attack from Darkool from beyond the grave. Everybody started forgetting about it, even my son, as powerful as he was, lost all memory of filven. I managed to communicate with my son from here. I dared not return to Wilmurin. In case I forgot, also.'
Johan nodded, absorbing all the information, 'So how did my father know about you?'
'Haramithir lost his memory of filven, but he, like all the druids and Night Hunters, didn't forget about Darkool. Your father made it his goal to find out how to destroy Darkool forever. Every time I reminded my son how to destroy the count, he would forget, as if he were a sick man with a short-term memory. I decided to tell him I knew a way to stop the Dark Count so that when you returned you could find me. My son told Haramithir, who was too weak to travel, my message, and that is how he passed on the knowledge to you and that is why you are here today.'
'I never met him, but my father seemed like a great man. Where is this hoard of filven?' asked Johan.
'It is in the mountains, a two-week trek from here. Wait for Bry and my grandson, then make your move, Johan. Bring as much as you can – you must forge a sword and then take the fight back to Darkool,' said Kris.
Johan swallowed nervously, 'But I have never forged a sword, I wouldn't know what to do.'
Finnvid stood and bowed, 'We have some quality blacksmiths back home, they will be more than willing to aid you. My sister and I have decided that with what men we have left, we will come with you to the mountains. Never has one of our kind set foot near them.'
Johan smiled. 'Thank you Finnvid,' he said, 'I knew I could rely on you and your tribe.'
'Be wary, Johan,' Kris suddenly said. 'The mountain is home to a monster. If you get past the frost giants and their king, you have a viler creature to pass.'
'Fro
st giants?' Johan asked, worried.
'The mountains make a good home for giants, Johan,' said Jess, 'that is where their king dwells, but we know nothing of this other beast.' She looked at Kris questioningly.
'The chimera, one of the nine demons from the damned lands,' said Kris with a sigh.
'A demon? What does it look like?' Jess asked.
'A ghastly creature, a powerful one too. It has the head and body of a lion, and the head of a goat is attached to its body. It has a serpent for a tail and large, red, bat-like wings. A true abomination, the lion breathes fire, the goat lets out a deafening squeal and the serpent tail has a venomous bite. I used magic to cloak myself but even that didn't help me in the end. I just about managed to escape after seeing the filven hoard the chimera sits upon.'
Johan looked terrified and wouldn't have been ashamed to admit it, 'How can we destroy this beast?' he asked.
'It decided to stay here rather than return to its evil home, and because of this, it is merely flesh. Normal weapons can send it back to the abyss, all you have to do is get close enough – my grandson Ardag will be a vital tool.'
'Chimera, frost giants, frost giant kings, what's next?' Johan said to himself.
Kris was quick to answer, 'Next, is Darkool.'
'This cannot be real,' said Bry, mesmerised by the luscious green oasis the small party stumbled upon.
'It must be very powerful magic, Bry. Let's go over there – cautiously,' said Ardag, pointing to a small house. 'I wager that's where this Lone Druid is.' The magic had indeed rendered him useless for a day, just as his father had said, which had caused them to lose a day.
The two druids approached the door to the house warily. Before Ardag could even draw his hand back to knock the door swung open and, on the other side, Johan greeted them with a smile.
'Thank Drugar you live!' bellowed an ecstatic Bry and she embraced her friend. 'We were worried.'
Johan blushed and then embraced Ardag. 'We were nearly giant fodder – if it wasn't for Kris, the Lone Druid,' he said, pointing at the elderly man.