[Warhammer] - Guardians of the Forest
Page 32
Honour was all they had left, for victory was surely beyond their grasp now.
But the impossibility of victory was no reason for a knight of Bretonnia to give up and Teoderic punched the air as he saw the scarlet and gold banner of Castle Carrard’s lord raised high in the gloom and charge towards the green-fleshed King of the Forest.
“With me!” he yelled, raking back his spurs and riding towards their commander’s banner. Nine brave knights followed him as a thunderous impact slammed into the ground barely a dozen yards from his horse. A huge piece of rock, hurled from the trebuchet mounted on the walls of Castle Carrard, crashed through the encroaching forest creatures, smashing them to splinters and scattering them once more.
Teoderic lowered his lance as he saw Theudegar angle his charge towards the centre of the battlefield, having also seen the gold and scarlet unicorn banner raised high.
His charge thundered through the snapping hounds of the forest king, his thick-limbed steed trampling the howling animals beneath his iron-shod hooves as he closed on the faerie king.
Truly was he a terrifying sight, taller even than an ogre and with a fearsome aura of great power surrounding him. His cloak of leaves billowed in the storm winds and his curling antlers sprang directly from the brow of his savagely regal countenance. His giant spear dripped with blood and his eyes blazed with unimaginable power.
Theudegar reached the forest king first, his lance shattering on his iron-hard emerald flesh. Teoderic cried out as the immense spear slashed around and clove through Theudegar’s breastplate, punching him from the back of his horse. The king swung his spear and hurled the brave knight’s body across the battlefield before lunging towards the rest of Theudegar’s warriors and slaughtering them in a frenzy.
Teoderic and the knights of the master of Castle Carrard charged at the same time, cries of vengeance spilling from their lips as they hit home. Teoderic was hurled from his horse by the thunderous impact, blood and screams of pain surrounding him as he fell. The shattered haft of his lance was all that was left of his weapon, and as he picked himself up, he threw aside the splintered wood and unsheathed his sword.
The lord of Castle Carrard stood before his enemy, his lance having pierced the forest king’s flesh. White sap spilled from the wound and Teoderic quailed before the great and terrible anger of this monstrous god.
Man and god faced one another and, for a second, Teoderic felt the world hold its breath as a sudden sense of incredible peace fell upon the battlefield. The fury of battle fled from his body and he felt a wave of — something wonderful — pass through the land.
The forest king bellowed in anger and ripped the lance from his body, looming over the knight before him. His bloody spear was poised to strike, but for some unknown reason, the forest king held his blow.
Teoderic rose unsteadily to his feet and quickly moved to stand beside the lord of Castle Carrard, his sword held before him, though he knew it was scant defence against such a mighty being as towered above him. Clovis limped towards him, and the knights who still lived rallied to their commander’s banner that fluttered in the breeze.
Shafts of sunlight broke through the clouds above and Teoderic saw that the forest king’s army was melting away, the wild riders gathering to their liege lord while the creatures of branch and wood froze into immobility. The ghostly forms of withering hags faded like morning mist in the gathering sunlight and Teoderic watched as the spectral clouds dissipated into the brightening sky.
Deathly silence filled the field before the castle, broken only by the cries of dying men and the whinny of horses. The forest king put up his spear and hooked his mighty hunting horn to his belt of skulls.
“What’s happening?” asked Teoderic of no one in particular.
No one answered, their eyes turned to the heavens as a pair of great, winged creatures swooped towards the motionless tableau in the centre of the battlefield.
As they drew near, Teoderic saw they were giant birds, hawks by the look of them, but hawks that carried riders. They circled the battlefield before landing some twenty yards away, one depositing an elf woman of startling grace and beauty, the other a male elf and a human warrior in the armour of a Bretonnian knight.
Teoderic thought there was something familiar about the knight, but could not say for sure what. But before he could question these new arrivals, the forest king leaned down to address the assembled knights.
“In all things must there be balance,” he said, his powerful voice redolent with age. “My queen calls me home and the realm of the Asrai is restored. The world is now as it should be. But do not forget this lesson, for I will hunt again.”
And with that, the forest king turned away and thundered over the eastern horizon with his wild riders back towards the realm of Athel Loren.
Leofric watched the King of the Wood go and felt a great surge of pride in the warriors who had so gallantly stood against him. Though the battlefield was littered with the bodies of the fallen, he knew a great victory had been won here. A low mist, the bodies of dead hounds and flocks of circling ravens were all that remained of the wild hunt, and Leofric smiled as he realised that he now set foot upon the soil of Bretonnia once more.
Sunlight filled the sky, the warmth of spring upon the air, and he looked up at the welcoming sight of Castle Carrard, its many towers and red stone walls a wondrously familiar and welcome sight to him after so long.
Kyarno and Morvhen stood behind him, wary and unsure of this new and unsettling place. Leofric pointed at the castle high upon the hill above the glittering waters of the Brienne.
“This is my castle,” he said with a wide smile. “This is my domain. I am home.”
He turned as he heard the sound of armoured warriors approaching and saw a pair of blood-spattered knights. One wore a surcoat with heraldry he did not recognise, while the other…
The other…
The other knight wore heraldry that depicted a scarlet unicorn rampant beneath a jewelled crown against a golden field. Leofric started as he recognised the heraldry as his own and began to speak when the knight removed his helmet.
His hair was the colour of silver, his features regal and sculpted, with green eyes set in a face lined with sorrow. Leofric’s skin crawled as he saw a dreadful familiarity in them.
“I would have your name, sir,” demanded the silver-haired knight. “Who are you and what is your business in Carrard lands?”
“Carrard lands…” said Leofric, looking up at his castle and now seeing towers and hoardings where none had been before.
“Sir, I require an answer,” said the knight, a trace of recognition in his voice. “And are these elves you consort with?”
“My name is… unimportant,” said Leofric, “and, yes, these are elves. Kyarno Silvermorn and Morvhen Fleetmane of Coeth-Mara. Are you lord of these lands?”
“I am,” said the knight. “I am Leofric Carrard, servant of the king and the Lady of the Lake.”
“Leofric Carrard…” said Leofric. “How came you by that name?”
“It was my great grandfather’s,” answered the knight. “He was taken by the forest a hundred years ago and never seen again.”
Leofric dropped to his knees as the full weight of the knight’s words sank in.
All that had passed within the forest had been but the turn of three seasons to him, but beyond the forest… a hundred years had gone by. Could it be true? Could this Leofric Carrard who stood before him truly be his descendant?
“Your grandfather,” said Leofric. “He was called Beren?”
“He was,” nodded the silver-haired Leofric. “A great and noble warrior.”
Leofric smiled at such an accolade given to the son he had never had the chance to know.
All that he knew had passed away and all that remained was… what?
He looked up at the castle on the hill once more as a strange lightness came upon him, a fugue-like dreaminess filling his mind with thoughts of faraway lands. The
sun shone from behind the red towers of the fastness, blinding in its intensity. As he watched, the glow spread until it filled his vision and he saw again the same glorious brilliance he had seen in the forest many months ago.
At its centre he saw a slender pair of delicate hands cupping a silver chalice that overflowed with dazzling light, a light that spilled over the towers and walls of the castle and washed it away in a tide of wondrous radiance.
His eyes lit up as he recognised the chalice of the Lady of the Lake.
The grail itself…
He rose to his feet as the vision faded from his sight, the knights around him seeing the rapture in his eyes as he smiled at them. He drew his sword and knelt before his namesake.
“This belongs to you, Leofric Carrard,” he said, offering him the blade, hilt first.
The knight reached out hesitantly and took the sword, holding it before him as though it were the most ancient of relics.
“The Carrard blade!” breathed Leofric. “Lost this last century!”
“Indeed it is. Do it honour, for it is yours to bear now.”
The knight nodded, stepping back as Leofric rose and turned back to Morvhen and Kyarno, not surprised to see the prophetess standing beside them. How she had come to be here, he did not know, but her presence was the final piece of the puzzle before him.
“You knew this would happen?” he asked her.
“Yes, Leofric, I did,” agreed Naieth. “I am sorry I could not tell you before, but there was much at stake.”
“For you,” snapped Leofric. “What is there left to me?”
“You heard the words of the Lady,” said Naieth. “You know what is left to you.”
Leofric wanted to feel anger towards Naieth, but the vision of the grail had purged him of such petty considerations. The Lady had indeed told him what was left to him and he nodded, dropping to one knee and pulling Helene’s favour from his gauntlet. He wrapped the blue silk scarf around his hands as he recited a vow he had learned from childhood and had hoped always to someday pledge.
“I set down my lance, symbol of duty. I spurn those whom I love. I relinquish all, and take up the tools of my quest. No obstacle will stand before me. No plea for help shall find me wanting. No moon will look upon me twice lest I be judged idle. I give my body, heart and soul to the Lady whom I seek…”
He rose as Kyarno stood before him.
“What do those words mean?” asked Kyarno.
“That I am sworn to the quest for the grail,” said Leofric, bending to pick up a fallen helmet. Its shape was of a design unfamiliar to him, but it was not displeasing to the eye and he placed it over his head, raising the visor as he saw a flame-maned elven steed come galloping over the eastern horizon.
“Aeneor,” he said, recognising the beast as it cantered towards him.
“Would I be right in thinking that these are dangerous lands?” asked Kyarno.
“All lands are dangerous, Kyarno, you should know that.”
“Then you will need a weapon,” said the elf, twisting the haft of the Blades of Midnight and separating them into a pair of white-bladed swords. He offered one of the weapons to Leofric, who smiled and took up the weapon.
“It is light,” he said, spinning the blade.
“I believe the Hound of Winter would not have been displeased to know you bear it,” said Kyarno. “May it keep you safe in your quest.”
“I will return it to Coeth-Mara when it is at an end,” swore Leofric.
Leofric turned back to Naieth and asked, “I will return to these lands?”
“You shall, Leofric,” nodded Naieth. “Many times.”
“Good,” said Leofric, nodding towards the assembled knights who watched their discourse fearfully, “then I will say no goodbyes.”
Leofric climbed onto the back of his elven steed and snapped down the visor as he considered what lay before him. He was now sworn to the quest for the grail and his entire body sang with the glory and yearning of such a venture. Leofric took a last look at the castle that had once been his as his namesake approached him, the Carrard blade held before him.
“You never told me your name,” said the knight.
“These are your lands now,” replied Leofric. “I charge you to keep them safe in the name of the king and the Lady.”
“Please, sir knight, I beg of you,” said the silver-haired knight. “Your name?”
“You know my name,” said Leofric, before turning and riding into the west in search of the grail.
“There was a knight came riding by,
in early spring when the roads were dry,
And he heard that Lady sing at the noon,
Two red roses across the moon.”
EPILOGUE
Season of the Knight
Leofric Carrard travelled far and wide on his quest for the grail, journeying to lost lands and encountering many strange and wondrous things before its completion. In distant Cathay, he slew the Jade Dragon of the Emerald River and saved the wives of Emperor Zhang-Jimou from decapitation by the Executioner Cult of the Jade Pearl.
The mysteries of far-off Ind were laid before him as he quested for the grail in the Caves of Fire and learned the secrets of the ancient stylites who dwelt there.
His quest drove him ever onwards until, at last, in the darkest place of the world, Leofric discovered the grail and supped from its radiant waters as a hunter’s moon arose over the forest of the Asrai.
Leofric was to return to Athel Loren many times over the years, each time travelling its secret paths and hoping to reach a young knight searching for his lost wife before it was too late.
…time is a winding river beneath the boughs of Athel Loren, and many things are possible there that some would think hopeless. Paths once trod may be trod again and their ends woven anew…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hailing from Scotland, Graham narrowly escaped a career in surveying nearly five years ago to join Games Workshop’s Games Development team. As well as six novels, he’s also written a host of short stories for Inferno! and takes on more freelance work than can be healthy. Graham’s housemate, a life-size cardboard cut-out of Buffy, recently suffered a terrible accident during a party and now keeps herself to herself in the spare room, scaring people who don’t know she’s there and plotting the best way to have her revenge on the miscreant that damaged her.
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