[Warhammer] - Guardians of the Forest

by Graham McNeill

  With feral, whooping battle cries, the remaining two warriors of the Eternal Guard leaned forward over their horses’ necks and charged the thundering, red-skinned monsters. Leofric had seen such beasts before and knew that they would tear the elves from their steeds and feast on their flesh unless the odds were evened.

  Leofric splashed into the shallows of the Crystal Mere, through the thickening cloud of blood that fanned from the floating corpse, and reached for the elf’s weapon, a long, twin-bladed spear. The weapon was light in his hands and unfamiliar, the fighting style required to wield it effectively unknown to him. He dropped the spear and dragged out the elf’s sword, a fine and beautifully forged blade, confident he could spill some enemy blood with this weapon.

  “Leofric!” shouted Tiphaine and he turned to see what she was shouting at.

  The Eternal Guard and the beastmen smashed into one another, elf-forged iron and jagged-edged obsidian clashing in a flurry of sparks. A flock of ravening spites flew from the forest, transformed from harmless specks of light to snapping, biting imps. One centaur creature fell to the blades of the Eternal Guard, its chest cloven by a blindingly quick slash, its bellow of pain deafening in the once-peaceful glade.

  An elven steed reared and lashed out at one of the beastmen, its hooves slashing for its horned head, but instead of quailing before such an attack, the monster lowered its head and lunged forward, hammering its long, curling horns into the steed’s belly.

  “No!” cried Leofric, loath to see such a fine equine specimen defiled by these monsters. But his denial was in vain as the white steed fell, its innards flooding from its torn flesh. Its rider leapt clear, only to be impaled in mid air by another beast’s horns and tossed into the air like a limp and bloody rag.

  Leofric staggered from the water and ran towards the handmaids as two of the bellowing creatures broke from the battle with the surviving Eternal Guard. They thundered towards the handmaids and Leofric ran to intercept their course. He could not allow these women to come to any harm; his chivalric code would not permit such an affront. Taschen stamped the ground beside them, the scent of blood provoking his desire to fight, yet needing his rider to enter the fray.

  Leofric pushed himself harder as he heard galloping hoof beats behind him. The warrior who guarded the women spun his long spear as his horse reared in defiant challenge to the creatures of Chaos. Leofric continued towards the women, watching in surprise as they retrieved bows from the edge of the clearing. With barely a breath of pause, they pulled on the bowstrings and loosed a hail of arrows towards him.

  He cried out as the arrows slashed past him, hearing the hiss of air as some came within a fingerbreadth of him. Grunts and bellows of pain told him that some of the arrows had found homes in the flesh of the beastmen and he spun as he heard the thud of something hitting the earth.

  One of the bestial creatures was on its knees, a trio of grey-fletched arrows protruding from its body. Its hideous face, so like a man’s, yet so different, was twisted in animal rage as it plucked the feathered shafts from its body. He heard the clash of weapons to one side and knew that battle was joined between the Eternal Guard with the women and the other beastman. The wounded creature began to pick itself up. He could see the two beastmen behind it trample the body of another elven warrior to death. Spites flickered around the monsters, biting them with spirit fangs and blinding them with glittering magicks. The beasts roared and swatted at their tiny attackers, distracted for the moment, and Leofric knew he had seconds at best.

  Trusting the defence of the women to the Eternal Guard, Leofric yelled, “For Quenelles, the king and the Lady!” and charged the wounded monster with his borrowed sword raised high. It saw him coming and its terrible face twisted in a savage grin, holding its spear before it.

  “You die, manskin!” it shouted and Leofric’s surprise almost cost him his life. The beast’s spear stabbed towards his belly, but Leofric frantically threw himself out of the way, rolling to his feet and slashing for the beast’s neck with his blade.

  The monster lowered its head and his sword impacted against one of its horns, hacking clean through the thick, brass-tipped bone. The roaring beastman rocked backwards under the force of the blow and Leofric didn’t give it a chance to recover, spinning on his heel and ramming the sword deep into its chest.

  He twisted the blade as he drove it hilt-deep into its body, dark blood pumping from the wound as the creature died.

  His breath came in hard gulps, the thick reek of strong liquor from the beast making him gag as he wrenched his blade free. He heard more screams and the hiss of arrows, spinning to see the last warrior of the Eternal Guard dragged from his steed and gored repeatedly by the beastman’s wickedly sharp horns. Arrows jutted from its shaggy-furred back, but it seemed not to care, hurling the corpse of the warrior it had just killed to the ground and roaring in triumph as the two surviving creatures turned to join it for the kill.

  Leofric ran from the dead beastman towards his horse, knowing that he needed to be mounted to fight most effectively. His steed ran towards him and Leofric gripped the saddle and vaulted onto Taschen’s back with a wild yell.

  Another flurry of arrows slashed towards the nearest beastman, but its thick hide was proof against the elven archery. It roared and Leofric saw the muscles of its back legs bunch as it prepared to wreak bloody havoc amongst the handmaids.

  Leofric dug his heels into Taschen’s sides and the horse surged forward.

  “For the Lady!” shouted Leofric as he surged towards the beast. Its charge altered direction and man and beast thundered towards each other. The centaur creature raised its spear to plunge down into his chest, but Leofric was a veteran of many a joust on the tilting field and swayed aside from its thrust, slashing his sword across its shoulder.

  Vile blood sprayed from the wound and the beast roared in anger as the spear dropped from its useless arm and the two combatants rode past one another. Leofric wheeled his horse quickly and struck again at the monster, opening a deep gash across its thickly furred back.

  The remaining two beasts charged towards him through a hail of arrows loosed by the handmaids, though they appeared to be largely untroubled by such hurts. Leofric yelled in challenge as the bloodied beast turned to face him once more, lowering its thick horns to gore him.

  Leofric raised his sword above him and shouted, “Come on then, you bastard! Come on and die!”

  But before the bestial creature could move, a pair of blue-fletched arrows slashed from the trees and skewered its skull, the barbed arrowheads bursting from its eyes with a wet thud. With little more than a brutish exhalation, the creature toppled, dead before it hit the ground.

  Amazed, Leofric saw Cairbre and two more of the Eternal Guard ride from the trees, the Hound of Winter’s twin-bladed spear tucked under one arm as he galloped from the forest. At his heels came Kyarno and a young elven woman with chestnut hair wearing a tight-fitting dress of crimson. His heart lurched at the sight, remembering his last sight of Helene in such a dress. She carried a bow that Leofric recognised as belonging to Kyarno and sent another, wickedly-aimed shaft towards the charging beastmen.

  The Eternal Guard rode after their leader as Cairbre charged past Leofric, the Hound of Winter letting loose a feral, ululating yell as his spear came up to spin around his head. The elf rose to stand on the back of his horse, holding his spear two-handed above his head and Leofric yanked on Taschen’s reins as he charged after the howling elf.

  He shouted wildly, caught up in the thrill of the charge. Cairbre twisted the grip of his spear and Leofric saw the shaft of the weapon split apart to become two long-handled swords.

  The venerable elf rode between the two charging centaur beasts, a flurry of screeching spites flying from the folds of his cloak and swarming over his enemies. Cairbre crouched low atop the back of his horse and his flashing blades were streaking blurs of white steel. One centaur crashed to the ground in a pile of thrashing limbs, its head spinning through
the air, while the other halted its charge in a spray of earth and grass as it sought to turn to face this new foe and fight off the firefly creatures that clawed its flesh.

  Its flanks were exposed and Leofric held his sword out before him, riding hard and slashing its edge through the beast’s flesh. It roared and twisted free of the weapon in a froth of blood, its spear stabbing towards him. Leofric brought his sword up to block its powerful thrust, rolling his wrists and stabbing for the beast’s throat.

  Leofric’s blade missed its target as Cairbre leapt from his horse onto the beast’s back and it reared wildly in an attempt to throw him.

  But incredibly, the Hound of Winter easily kept his balance, ramming his twin swords into the beastman’s back. White blades flashed once more and an arcing spray of blood filled the air as Cairbre’s swords slashed the monster’s throat open. Clawed hands frantically tried to stem the spray of blood, but nothing could halt its demise and the beast collapsed with gurgling grunts of pain.

  Cairbre vaulted lightly from the dying beast’s body and landed on the back of his own steed, which circled the fallen creature warily. Leofric reined in Taschen and turned to make sure the other monsters were dead.

  Relief flooded him as he saw that the handmaids were all safe, their expressions defiant. Tiphaine smiled in gratitude at him and he lowered his sword. The elven woman with the bow ran towards them and Leofric could only assume that this was the Lady Morvhen, seeing the regal cast to her features.

  A fierce shout of anger tore the air and Leofric readied his sword once more. He wheeled his horse to face the sound, lowering the weapon as he saw Kyarno hacking at the fallen corpse of the beast Leofric had killed. Kyarno’s sword rose and fell, sending blood arcing high into the air as he chopped the foul monster into gory chunks.

  The young elf wept as he hacked at the beast’s corpse, tears and blood streaking his face as he dropped to his knees. Morvhen ran towards him and he collapsed in her arms, weeping like a newborn babe.

  Leofric made to walk his horse towards Kyarno, but a hand gripped the reins and he turned to face Cairbre, who shook his head slowly.

  “No,” said the Hound of Winter. “Leave him be.”

  “What is wrong with him?” asked Leofric.

  “Nothing that need concern you, human,” replied Cairbre, turning his steed away and riding towards the elven steeds that sadly nuzzled their fallen riders.

  “Cairbre!” called Leofric after the Hound of Winter’s retreating back.

  The champion of the Eternal Guard halted his horse and looked back over his shoulder. “What?”

  “You fight… like no one I have ever seen before.”

  Cairbre’s expression softened for a moment and he nodded, accepting the compliment, saying, “You also fought well, human. I will ensure that Lord Aldaeld hears of your bravery defending his daughter’s handmaids.”

  Leofric said, “Thank you,” watching as Morvhen helped Kyarno to his feet and led him towards his horse. Singing lilting songs of lament, her handmaids moved slowly through the glade, gathering up the weapons and bodies of the fallen Eternal Guard, lifting them and gently laying them across the backs of their steeds.

  Cairbre himself took up the body of the warrior whose steed had been killed and, with eyes cast down, the sad procession left the glade of the Crystal Mere and began the journey back to Coeth-Mara.

  BOOK TWO

  Winter’s Grey Despair

  “Four came over,

  Without boat or ship,

  One yellow and white,

  One brown abounding with twigs,

  One to handle the flail,

  And one to strip the trees.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Coming back to her body was always the hardest part. The reunion of flesh and spirit after travelling the secret paths that linked the realms beyond the senses and the beating heart of the forest was becoming more difficult and dangerous for her each time. Naieth felt a momentary claustrophobia as her spirit fought the confinement of her body, eager to be flying on the currents of magic that saturated Athel Loren.

  She recited the names of the elven gods one by one, the ancient primal ones of the land and the newer idols of civilisation and culture embraced by the distant kin of the Asrai across the water, forcing her spirit to settle.

  As always after journeying through the lines of power that threaded the forest she knew she would be weak, and so lay still, keeping her eyes open to reassure herself that she was indeed back in her body. A hooting caw nearby made her smile and she rolled her head on the soft; pillow of leaves.

  “I know, Othu,” she said, addressing a grey-feathered owl that perched on a low branch beside her. “I am getting too old to travel the forest’s secret paths.”

  The owl hooted again, rolling its eyes and turning its head from her.

  “Easy for you to say,” said Naieth, sitting upright with a low moan. “But I had to see. I had to know for sure.”

  Afternoon sunlight dappled this place of branches, gathering in golden pools in the low hollows of the chambers Lord Aldaeld had appointed to her and she smiled at this simple beauty. She enjoyed the sense of peace she felt in Coeth-Mara and felt closer to being at home here than she did anywhere else in Athel Loren. The smile fell from her face as she remembered that she was something of an unwelcome guest; that her skill of divination and her power to pierce the veil of time was both sought after and dreaded.

  Naieth sat up, reached over to an artfully shaped wooden bowl and cupped her hands to lift out some water, rubbing the refreshingly cool liquid into her face. As she leaned over the bowl, she saw her reflection staring back at her, the long chin, melancholy mouth and the sad, accusing eyes. Droplets rippled the water in the bowl and she looked deep into her wavering reflection for a moment longer before averting her eyes, unwilling to meet her own gaze.

  She had seen much too bloodshed in her long life and as she looked at her hands, long, thin and worn, she knew that much of that blood was down to her. For too many centuries she had guided the Asrai along their path, and none of those years had been easy. She thought of Kyarno and told herself once again that it had been for the best, that it would…

  That it would what?

  Naieth scooped a handful of water from the bowl, shattering her reflection, and drank the gloriously fresh liquid, feeling strength return to her body and a reassuring solidity come upon her limbs. Travelling in the realm of the spirit was incredibly liberating, but returning to flesh grew harder and harder each time.

  Her companion, Othu the owl, hooted once more and she said, “I know I look tired. I feel tired and don’t need you to remind me!”

  The bird hopped from its perch, flying into the higher branches of the tree and Naieth closed her eyes. She took a deep, calming breath, already angry at snapping at Othu; after all, he was right. She did look tired.

  The owl hooted again and she looked up to see his beak bobbing in the direction of the main hall of Coeth-Mara, now hearing soft footfalls approaching. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, opening her mind to the souls of those who came to her.

  Two of them — one proud and regal and with a will of oak, the other young and courageous, but with the heart of a poet.

  She smiled as she recognised them as Lord Aldaeld Eadaoin and Tarean Stormcrow, feeling their suspicion of her like a red ripple in the magical air of Athel Loren.

  When she had arrived at Coeth-Mara a week ago and asked for permission to enter, Lord Aldaeld had offered her the hospitality of his halls, but she had seen the wary look in his eyes as he had done so.

  Plainly he did not wish her here, but knew better than to offend a spellweaver by refusing her entry. All the Asrai knew that the mages of Athel Loren travelled nowhere without good reason and were wary of them, even amongst their own kind.

  Though many kinbands called Athel Loren home, there was often little contact between them and any dealings between them were fraught with suspicion. She turned and l
ifted her arm, apologising to Othu with a nod of her head as he dropped from above to land on her wrist.

  She bowed as Lord Aldaeld and his herald entered, both elves moving with the supple grace of warriors. The Lord of Coeth-Mara wore a long cape of restless leaves and feathers, glowing spites rippling the fabric as they slipped around him. Naieth felt a thickening of the air and smiled inwardly as she realised Aldaeld had somehow persuaded a cluster of radiants to gather about him, tiny imps, little more than colourful lights that sapped the winds of magical energy.

  Clearly Aldaeld was taking no chances that she might attempt to cloud his mind with her spells. His tattooed chest was crossed with two thin-bladed daggers and his hand gripped the glowing green pommel of his longsword.

  Tarean Stormcrow was clad as he had been when her spirit had watched him speak to Kyarno this morning, his easy smile and confident manner radiating calm.

  “Something has happened,” stated Aldaeld, without wasting any words on a welcome. “The forest is angry and speaks of blood spilled.”

  “Yes,” agreed Naieth. “Blood has been spilled. At the Crystal Mere.”

  “You have seen it?” asked Tarean Stormcrow.

  “I saw it, yes,” said Naieth.

  “Well?” snapped Aldaeld, taking a step towards her when she did not continue. Naieth flinched, the radiants making her skin crawl, and feeling her connection to the consciousness of Athel Loren fade at their nearness.

  “Your daughter is safe, Lord Aldaeld. No harm has come to her.”

  The elven lord’s shoulders sagged a fraction in relief, then straightened as his eyes narrowed and he asked, “Then whose blood was shed?”

  “Four of the Hound of Winter’s warriors are dead.”

  “Four! Blood of Kurnous! What happened?”

  Naieth backed away from Lord Aldaeld, saying, “Beasts of Chaos penetrated the forest and attacked them.”