Ariel stepped slowly into the Oak of Ages with her head lowered. She was dressed in a long white mantle, girdled by wreaths of larkspur, and in her hair she wore a chaplet of delicate blue vervain. She carried a cloak that shimmered in the moonlight; an intricate weave of leaves and spun gold that rippled between her fingers, shimmering like water.
The song reached another solemn crescendo as Ariel entered the circle and stood over her immortal, blood-drenched lover.
Sensing her presence, Orion tried to stand. At first he was unable to rise. His body was still wracked by a series of jolting changes and he stumbled, dropping heavily back to his knees.
Ariel looked pained, but remained motionless.
Orion tried again to rise and this time he succeeded. He towered over his disciples and his queen, swaying slightly as he looked up at the shafts of moonlight. Then he turned his gaze on Ariel. His face was contorted by pride and pain, but he managed a nod of recognition.
She nodded in reply, still singing as she floated gently into the air and placed the cloak of leaves over his shoulders.
Orion’s spine gave one last crack as he shrugged the cloak into place. He was now nearly ten feet tall and as he looked down at his disciples power rippled from his flesh, filling the chamber like a heat haze.
At a nod from Atolmis the priests stepped back into the recesses of the chamber, fading into shadow as Orion walked past them. The final transformation of his flesh was complete and as he approached the centre of the tree he stretched his enormous limbs and smiled. There was no trace of his injuries and he could feel his oak apple heart pounding in his chest, fierce and virile. The weariness that had overcome him in the Vaults was a memory.
At the centre of the tree there was a natural alcove and a broad, uneven shelf of root. Lying on the wood was a gilded horn on a strap of vines and, next to it, there was a spear, its blade inscribed with an intricate network of knotted runes. Orion took the horn and slung it around his neck. Then he lifted the spear, tested its weight and turned to face Ariel and the priests.
‘The Wild Hunt has begun,’ he said, striding from the tree.
Hundreds of nobles were assembled on the moonlit dais outside, clutching torches and wearing masks of birch wood, painted to resemble the snarling faces of animals. As Orion emerged, they threw petals before his hooves and garlanded him with flowers, but he was deaf to their prayers, peering through the ranks of masked figures, looking for something.
After a few minutes of staring into the darkness, he raised the gilded horn to his lips and let out a long, lowing note.
The nobles gradually fell silent until the only sound was the crackling of their torches and the echoes of the horn blast.
Then, from deep in the trees, there came a reply: a chorus of baying howls, ringing out from every direction.
Orion blew his horn for a second time and, around the edges of the clearing, the shadows rippled into life. Grey, rangy hounds emerged from the trees, sniffing and growling as they caught the scent of his divine blood. They padded around the masked figures for a while, moonlight flashing in their eyes. Then they began circling Orion, regarding him with cool, wary, intelligence.
Behind Orion, Atolmis stepped from the Oak of Ages and saw the hounds. He revealed his yellow incisors in a grin. ‘Kurnous has risen,’ he howled, thrusting his spear into the air. ‘Let the Wild Hunt begin!’
The nobles raised their torches into the air and joined their voices to the cry of the hounds. ‘Orion!’ they screamed, delirious with bloodlust. They drew knives and spears and crowded around their king, howling his name like a warning. ‘Orion!’
A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION
Published in 2012 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK
Cover illustration by Cheoljoo Lee.
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ISBN 978-0-85787-713-0
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