“Morvhen,” he said. “It is a glorious night is it not?”
She nodded, “It is, though I’ll be happier when Valas and Sirda are gone from here.”
“As will I,” said Kyarno, slipping his hand into hers. “Has Laneir not come with his father and brother?”
“No,” said Morvhen, “and for that I am glad. Sirda is bad enough, but his brother carries more ill-will than a blight of terrors.”
“True,” agreed Kyarno. “His absence here will not be mourned. Least of all by me.”
Kyarno leaned down and gave Morvhen a quick kiss, slipping his arm around her shoulder.
“Walk with me,” he said.
“Where to?”
“Nowhere, just walk,” he said. “For I am happy to see you.”
“And I you, but we must talk. My father knows what passed between you and your uncle in the forest. He knows you struck him.”
Kyarno nodded in understanding and said, “That doesn’t matter anymore.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because I think I am ready to become truly a part of this kinband now. I am ready to pledge myself to Lord Aldaeld and take my place within the halls of Coeth-Mara.”
Morvhen stopped and gave him a piercing look, as though searching for any sign of mockery. “Truly?”
“Yes,” he smiled. “I love you, Morvhen, and I know that I am nothing without you. Your father will not countenance our union while I am an outsider, so, yes, I am ready.”
Morvhen put her hand to her mouth and said, “I have waited so long for you to say these words, Kyarno.”
“Then you will have me?”
“Of course I will, my love,” she cried, throwing herself into his arms. “I thought I would lose you, that you would never come back to us.”
“For you, Morvhen, always,” said Kyarno, kissing her and holding her tight.
“How very touching,” hissed a voice behind them and the lovers broke apart, turning to see the mocking features of Sirda Laithu. The son of Lord Valas was dressed in thick furs and a black and silver tunic with rich embroidery at the cuffs and seams; a pair of swords was sheathed across his back. Kyarno could see the tension and aggression in Sirda’s eyes, the knuckles of his right hand white where he gripped his sword hilt.
Sirda cast an appreciative eye over Morvhen’s body and said, “I had thought the daughter of Lord Aldaeld would have known better than to associate with a common reaver.”
“Sirda,” said Kyarno with a forced smile. “You are welcome in Coeth-Mara.”
“Such welcome is not yours to give, outlaw,” snarled Sirda.
“Perhaps not, but I offer it anyway,” said Kyarno.
“I should cut you down where you stand,” said Sirda, stepping close to him.
“Why are you so angry, Sirda?” snapped Kyarno. “Your steeds returned to their stable glades. No harm was done.”
Sirda laughed, a high, almost hysterical quality to it, and said, “No harm was done, he says. You are a bigger fool than even I took you for!”
Kyarno fought to quell his rising anger, saying, “Sirda, this is not the place for this. If you must have a reckoning, with me, then it can wait until tomorrow, yes?”
“Oh, there will be a reckoning, outlaw, sooner than you think!”
“What in the name of Kurnous does that mean?” asked Kyarno, taking his arm from Morvhen and sliding his hand towards the hilt of his own sword. Sirda altered the grip on his weapon and Kyarno saw that he was itching to plunge the blade into his body.
“Sirda!” said Morvhen, stepping between them. “You are a guest in my father’s halls, remember that. Do not bring shame to your kinband by your behaviour.”
“It is too late for that,” snapped Sirda, taking a deep breath and Kyarno could see bitter tears in his eyes, “There is blood between us and only in blood will it be settled.”
Kyarno slowed his breathing, knowing that whatever was driving Sirda’s aggression would not be calmed by any of Morvhen’s words.
But before either he or Sirda could draw their weapons, the fire in the centre of the hall erupted in a great blazing pillar. The wardancers leapt and spun through the flickering flames, whooping and yelling songs of war and death.
Cu-Sith stood before the roaring fire, his face savage and daemonic in the red glow. The wolf on his chest howled in time with the cries of his wardancers, its eyes alight with feral anticipation.
Throughout the hall, elves stood transfixed as the Red Wolf lowered the spear he carried and let loose a piercing cry that echoed through the branches of the trees and touched the primal heart of every elf with a fierce longing.
The Red Wolf turned and bowed to Lord Aldaeld, saying, “Coeth-Mara is fortunate. Cu-Sith and his wardancers shall perform the Dragon Dance.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The hall fell silent at Cu-Sith’s pronouncement. The Dragon Dance was performed but rarely, only the greatest wardancers of Athel Loren were able to perform such a dangerous, intricate dance. The pillar of flames that reared from the centre of the hall dropped in a flurry of sparks, the fire reduced to its natural state, and the elves of Coeth-Mara swiftly returned to their tables as the wardancers took up their positions around the fire.
A hush descended on the hall and without another word spoken, the dance began.
Leofric watched the wardancers hurl themselves around the fire, not truly understanding what was happening, but content to watch the spectacle unfold before him. The paint on the wardancers’ bodies blurred with the speed of their movements, a weaving pattern of colours as they danced with fierce, savage abandon. Cu-Sith stood motionless behind the fire as his troupe danced faster and faster, a singing sensation of loss, pain and joy spreading outwards from the dancers in the centre of the hall.
The dancers became wilder, their passions stronger and their joys more extreme, more menacing. They leapt, cartwheeled and somersaulted through the flames, coming together like a whirlpool and breaking apart as Cu-Sith landed in the centre of the fire.
Leofric gasped as sparks and embers were thrown up by Cu-Sith’s landing, but the leader of the wardancers seemed untroubled by the flames licking around him. He bounded from the firepit with a wild yell, his spear trailing fire behind him.
The wardancers leapt towards him with wild howls of exultation, but with a cry, he flew above their heads, tumbling in flight to land facing them. As they tumbled, he leapt again, the weapons of the troupe clawing empty air as he passed between them.
Cu-Sith laughed maniacally as he leaped and spun, evading the darting swords and spears with ease. A soft wind tugged at Leofric’s hair as the dance grew wilder and wilder, he could hardly believe that any being could move so swiftly or so gracefully. The beat of a pounding drumbeat filled the hall, thumping in time with his rising heartbeat and Leofric could not tell whether he truly heard the rhythmic music or if it resounded deep in his soul.
Almost too fast to follow, the wardancers broke apart from the centre of the hall, spinning and twisting through the air to land amid the stunned onlookers.
As one, their blades flashed quicker and quicker, spear and sword spinning in silver blurs of steel that whipped the air into frantic motion. The wind built and filled the hall, rising from a soft zephyr to a sighing breeze and finally to a howling gale.
Leaves spun from the ground, fluttering round the hall as the wind carried them upwards and within moments, the air was thick with gold and red. The beauty of the sight took Leofric’s breath away as the leaves spun around the hall with ever increasing speed.
The shrieking wardancers closed on the firepit once more, their flashing blades spinning and keeping the tornado of leaves afloat with their movements. Cu-Sith spun like a dervish through the gathering spiral of flying leaves, his blade carving looping spiral patterns through them as he bounded from table to table.
Slowly the tornado of leaves shifted in its movements, its course angling until each one passed through the roaring fire at the heart
of the hall. Each leaf burst into flames, blazing like a firefly as it spun through the air.
Leofric watched amazed as the blazing leaves, thousands of them surely, looped upwards as the wardancers spun around the column of fire, their swords and spears spinning and moulding it into some new and magnificent form. The dance spoke to him on some deep, instinctual level and his flesh answered with fierce exultation, his soul soaring at the magic he was seeing.
Slowly at first, but with greater speed as the shape took form, Leofric saw the sinuous form of a great beast emerge from the burning leaves. A great body of light was shaped, then a long tail and massive flaring wings of fire emerged from the wardancers’ creation. Finally, a vast, draconic head was fashioned from the blazing leaves, its jaws wide and powerful.
Scarce able to believe his overwhelmed senses, Leofric saw the great dragon of fire twist and spin through the air, the leaping wardancers sustaining it with their deadly dance and flashing blades. It swooped and dived, the roar of the flames giving the dragon a mighty voice.
A lone figure stood before the might and majesty of the fiery dragon. Cu-Sith stood unmoving with his spear held before him, and laughing with wild abandon. The dragon leapt towards him, its blazing jaws spread wide to swallow him whole and Leofric had to fight the urge to draw his sword and fight the monster.
Cu-Sith leapt from the path of the dragon, somersaulting over its long neck and slashing with his weapon. The dragon came at him again and again, directed by the energies of the wardancers, but each time it bit thin air as Cu-Sith expertly evaded its attacks, turning to strike back each time.
The confrontation went on and on, the dragon snapping and biting, and Cu-Sith cartwheeling and leaping around it. Leofric was lost in admiration for the incredible beauty of the sight before him and the unbelievable skill of Cu-Sith. The memory of Cu-Sith’s blades at his throat was swept away as the wild exultation that had seized every elf in the hall reached deep inside him and stirred his primal heart.
Unable to stop himself, he beat his palm against the table in time to the drumming beat of the unheard music, swept up in exultation by the phenomenal exhibition.
Instantly, the dragon of fiery leaves dropped from the air, its mighty form extinguished as the wardancers abruptly stopped their dance.
Every eye in the hall turned upon him and Leofric knew he had made a terrible mistake.
A blur of colour and movement exploded beside him and the breath was knocked from his body as he was hurled to the ground. A blur of silver steel flashed before him and he found himself looking into the crazed eyes of Cu-Sith.
“You interrupted Cu-Sith’s dance,” said the wardancer, hauling him to his feet and pushing him back towards the table.
The Red Wolf spun in the air, his foot lashing out to strike Leofric square in the chest and hurl him onto his back on the table. Fast as quicksilver, Cu-Sith was upon him and Leofric felt the touch of cold steel at his groin.
“You should keep your animals on a leash, Lord Aldaeld!” yelled the wardancer.
“I’m sorry,” gasped Leofric, fearful of moving lest Cu-Sith’s blade unman him.
“Sorry?” hissed Cu-Sith. “The Red Wolf will geld his pet and then you will know your place, human!”
“No!” shouted Leofric as he felt the tip of Cu-Sith’s blade pierce his flesh.
Though darkness had closed in and the snowfall had grown heavier, Caelas Shadowfoot could follow the trail of the Laithu kinband without difficulty. Their tracks were easily visible through the powdered snow that fell, and the more he saw of them, the more uneasy he became.
Elves did not travel the paths of Athel Loren so recklessly. Something was amiss, and it sat ill with him that he did not yet see what.
Kneeling beside the deep tracks of a horse, he knew there was little point in following the back trail anymore and turned to head back towards Coeth-Mara. The moonlight pooled in the glade, filling it with a silver glow and long, angled shadows.
He slung his bow, pulling his green scarf over his face and setting the hood of his cloak over his head.
And then he saw it.
Sudden fear seized him as he ran lightly across the snow and dropped to his belly beside the tracks. Caelas drew his long knife and reached gently into one of the tracks with the blade, an angled shadow within showing a subtle difference in the shade of snow. He cursed as he realised what he was looking at, the fresh fall of snow having hidden it from his keen eyes.
He had thought the new snow accounted for the deepness of the tracks, but as he looked closer, he saw that the original prints were deeper than would normally be expected of a single rider. He leapt to his feet, caution forgotten in the wash of fear that chilled him worse than the weather.
Swiftly, he checked the tracks of the other riders, finding the same depth of tracks.
These horses had carried more than one rider.
Somewhere between here and the time he had seen the Laithu kinband, these horses had shed a rider. Which meant that somewhere between here and Coeth-Mara were at least forty warriors hidden in the wilds.
Caelas had no idea why Valas Laithu would want to have warriors stealthily approach Coeth-Mara, but such concerns were irrelevant just now.
Warning had to be taken back to Lord Aldaeld of the threat to his domain.
Now he understood the Laithu kinband’s apparent lack of caution, and he cursed himself for assuming that they had rode blindly into Coeth-Mara, allowing his disdain for their skills to blind him to their true wiles.
He cleaned the snow from his knife and, as he prepared to sheath it, the briefest reflection ghosted across its mirror sheen. Without thought, Caelas threw himself forward as a trio of arrows slashed through the air above him.
Caelas dropped his knife and rolled, his bow drawn and an arrow nocked as he rose to one knee. He loosed a shaft to where the arrows had come from and was rewarded with a cry of pain and the sound of a falling body.
He dived to one side as two more arrows flew from the undergrowth, one passing within a finger’s breadth of his shoulder. But the second archer had anticipated his move and the arrow thudded home in his chest. Caelas grunted and tore it from his body, feeling warm blood wet his cloak. He scrambled painfully into the cover of a stately birch tree as another pair of arrows thunked into its trunk.
His breathing came hard and fast; by now at least one of his unseen foes would be circling him, aiming for a clear shot while the other kept him pinned behind the tree.
There was no way out and his eyes darted from tree to tree as he tried to guess where the next attack would come from. He could see four places where an enemy might loose a killing arrow, but there was no way to tell which one his attackers would head for.
But then Loec smiled upon him as a stray moonbeam glittered from something in the undergrowth over to his right. Caelas nocked a fresh arrow and waited. Once he was sure the second archer would have reached his new position, he stepped out from behind the birch, his arrow aimed to the left.
No sooner had he moved than an archer rose from the undergrowth where the reflection had come from and Caelas spun, dropping to one knee and sending his arrow through the throat of the cloaked figure before he could fire.
He dropped his bow and dived forwards as a second arrow flashed towards him from a cleft in a boulder before him. The arrow sliced across his shoulder, but Caelas continued his roll, scooping up his fallen knife and hurling it towards the shadowy outline of the hid den archer. A strangled scream told him he had struck his target and Caelas fell to his knees as blood bubbled up in his throat.
He knew his lung had been punctured and he was losing blood rapidly, but before he tended to his wound, he slipped silently around the boulder to discover the identity of his attackers.
An elf in furred winter garb in the colours of the forest lay dead with Caelas’ knife buried in his throat. He knelt and pulled open the elf’s cloak, nodding to himself as he saw the Laithu kinband’s rune of moonlight.
/> A waywatcher of Valas Laithu.
Dizzy from blood loss, Caelas wrenched his knife clear of the body, wiping the blade clean on the corpse’s tunic then taking the arrows from its quiver. He cut the dead waywatchers cloak into strips to fashion an impromptu bandage, plugging the sucking hole in his chest, then pulled himself to his feet.
His senses tingled and his warrior instinct warned him that these three would not be alone. Time was of the essence, knew Caelas, and though it was doubtful that he would survive to make it back to Coeth-Mara and warn Lord Aldaeld, he had to try.
Leofric gasped as the razor-edged steel of Cu-Sith’s blade touched the skin of his inner thigh and tried in vain to pull free of the wardancer’s grip. His efforts were to no avail as he was held fast by the wild elf. The tattoo of the red wolf on Cu-Sith’s chest snarled at him, relishing the prospect of spilled blood.
“Cu-Sith does not suffer interruptions to his dance, human,” snarled the wardancer. The tip of the blade broke the skin and Leofric felt a trickle of warm blood run down his thigh.
“I am sorry,” cried Leofric. “The music! It roused my soul with its magnificence.”
“Cu-Sith needs no human’s appreciation. Cu-Sith already knows he is the greatest wardancer of Athel Loren. No enemy has ever laid a blade upon Cu-Sith, nor does he bear scar or bruise.”
Leofric twisted his head from side to side, hoping that someone would come to his aid, but all he could see was a tightening circle of angry wardancers, their weapons drawn and once exultant features now curled in anger.
“Cu-Sith!” shouted a voice, and Leofric recognised it as Naieth’s. “Wait!”
The wardancer looked up as the prophetess moved through the circle of wardancers, their whooping cries angry and hostile as they parted before her. They spat insults at her, leaping close and slashing around her with their blades, but she did not react to their taunts.
“You speak for this human?” asked Cu-Sith. “Loec is listening.”
[Warhammer] - Guardians of the Forest Page 20
