The journey to the blessed pool was one of joy to Leofric, the scent of sweet sap heavy in his nostrils and the cold sunlight refreshing his skin as it dappled through the fractured canopy above him. Though the path he rode was unknown to him, he had a sudden skewed sense of deja vu, as though he had come this way before… or would come this way again…
He shrugged off the unsettling sensation, seeing the sunlit glade through the trees ahead and hearing the growing thunder of the waterfall. The undergrowth and trees thinned and once more Leofric rode into the glade, its breathtaking beauty still with the power to render him speechless. He had thought its magic would have been spoiled for him by the touch of the creatures of Chaos, but as with all things natural, it had healed itself and the wonder of its magnificence was undimmed.
Sure enough, Kyarno was here, lounging atop the same rock from which he had watched Leofric when he had brought him here to bathe, his steed grazing at the edge of the glade. Dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing the last time Leofric had seen him, Kyarno looked sad and tired, his pale, narrow face turned towards the thundering waterfall.
Leofric sat for a moment to allow the calming presence of the glade’s air to fill him, smiling and pleased to be back.
“Why are you here, Leofric?” asked Kyarno without turning.
Leofric did not reply immediately, sliding from the back of his horse and setting him loose in the glade to join Kyarno’s.
“I came to see you.”
“Why?”
“To tell you that you are missed.”
Kyarno snorted in disbelief. “By whom? Who misses the elf who leaves so many dead in his foolish wake? I do not deserve to be missed.”
“Morvhen misses you,” said Leofric, holding out the leaf-wrapped scroll.
Kyarno finally turned to face him and smiled wistfully. “And she sent you to find me? No doubt because the Hound of Winter watches her like a hawk now.”
Leofric nodded. “Yes, he does, and I should not have come here.”
“So why did you?”
“You should know by now it is never wise to refuse requests of a woman.”
“There is truth in that,” agreed Kyarno, slipping the rock and approaching Leofric to take the scroll.
Leofric turned to give Kyarno privacy to read Morvhen’s words and walked to the edge of the crystal waters of the wide pool. Lights darted beneath the surface and glittering gems winked on the sandy bottom. Kyarno joined him at the water’s edge, a faraway look on his face as he watched the tumbling waterfall foam the water white.
“Thank you. I know you did not have to do this,” said Kyarno.
“You are welcome,” nodded Leofric, squatting down on his haunches and running a hand through the waters.
Kyarno tucked the message into his shirt and sat on the grass beside him and both man and elf shared a companionable silence, listening to the crash of the water and the sighing song of the trees.
“Tell me of your lands,” said Kyarno suddenly.
“I thought elves had no interest in what lay beyond Athel Loren?”
“Normally we do not, but I wish to hear you speak of them.”
Leofric thought of the world he knew, surprised to find that his memories of it were dim and hollow. He struggled to recall what he knew of the world, finding it difficult to think of the kingdoms beyond the forest.
“Bretonnia is a fine land, of honour and virtue,” said Leofric eventually, “but it suffers as do all in these dark times. Orcs and undead raiders from across the seas attack our coasts, and our people live in squalor and poverty. For those lucky enough to be born to a noble family, it can be a fine place, but for all others it is a grim land.”
“And beyond Bretonnia?” asked Kyarno.
“To the north, across the Grey Mountains, lies the Empire, a grim and fearful place of sprawling, dark forests that are home to all manner of foul creatures— goblins, beastmen and worse. It is hardly a nation at all, riven with discord and its ruler barely able to keep his lands in order. Further east is the cold northern realm of Kislev, a land said to be locked in ice and snow.”
“Have you ever been there?”
“No,” said Leofric, “I have never seen it, and nor do I wish to. It is a savage land, peopled by harsh men and women who fight a constant battle for survival against the northern tribes of the Dark Gods. It breeds them tough, but it breeds them dour. The closest I have come to Kislev is Middenheim, city of the White Wolf.”
“White Wolf? Who is that?”
“The city is named for the god of battles and winter, Ulric, and is a magnificent-looking place that sits atop a great crag of rock that rises from the forest like a mountain.”
“Why did you travel there?”
Leofric sighed, remembering the fierce battles fought around the northern city of the Empire, the death, the blood and, most of all, the hateful memory of their rout at the hands of the Swords of Chaos.
“The hordes of Chaos had poured southwards from the steppes, led by a powerful warlord named Archaon, burning and destroying everything in their path as they clove through Kislev towards the Empire. Though great victories were won at Mazhorod and Urszebya, nothing could halt the advance of the horde and they invaded the Empire in their thousands. They sought to destroy the city of the White Wolf and thence the world. My king declared an errantry war against Archaon and the knights of Bretonnia rode out to do battle.”
“I see by your eyes that it was a battle not easily won.”
“No,” said Leofric. “It was not. We were victorious, but the cost was high. We fought to save the world and, though, in the end it is fruitless, Chaos must be fought at all times.”
“You have said that before,” said Kyarno. “Why do you say that it is fruitless?”
Leofric hesitated before speaking again, unsure why he had made such a frank confession to Kyarno. Were the healing waters of the Crystal Mere working their enchantments on him once more? The thought of his sorrows being eased by the magic of the glade did not trouble him anymore; this pain he would be happy to be rid of.
“Each time the warriors of Chaos come, they come in greater numbers and reach further into the domains of men. In their wake comes death, famine, sickness and suffering. How long will it be until there is nothing left for them to destroy, until their armies reach the deserts of the far south?”
“But each time you have turned back the darkness,” pointed out Kyarno.
“We hold them back each time, but each time we are lessened.”
Kyarno shook his head. “No, each time you hurl the forces of Chaos back you are strengthened. There is nothing fruitless about fighting Chaos, Leofric, nothing, Chaos must be opposed, for it is that fight that makes us strong. I have heard you speak of the lands of your race and one thing is clear.”
“And what is that?”
“That against all the odds they endure,” said Kyarno.
“For thousands of years — through plague, warriors of the north, dusty revenants of the southern deserts or foul orcs — these realms have survived.”
“For now,” said Leofric. “It is only a matter of time before they are swept away in blood and war.”
“True, many kingdoms have arisen that their rulers thought would last forever, but are now nothing more than dust and legend, but they fought to preserve them for as long as they could.”
“What is the point if they are just going to fail?”
“I know you don’t really believe that,” said Kyarno. “You would not have become a warrior if you did.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” said Kyarno. “A true warrior fights not because he wants to, but because he has to. To defend those who cannot defend themselves. To give hope to those around him who look to him to do what is right and to fight because that is what must be done.”
Kyarno’s words spoke to Leofric of the last time be had entered the waters of the Crystal Mere, desperately scrambling for a weapon to fight the be
asts of Chaos.
Though victory had seemed impossible he had fought anyway.
“Perhaps you are right, Kyarno,” said Leofric, rising to his feet and running his wet hands through his hair. “I will think on what you have said.”
“You are returning to Coeth-Mara?” asked Kyarno with a disappointed sigh.
“Yes, is there a message you wish me to take to Morvhen?”
Kyarno said nothing, and Leofric saw the elf’s attention was fixed on something over his shoulder. He turned to see the object of Kyarno’s stare and his mouth fell open at the magnificent sight before him.
A great hart grazed with the horses at the edge of the glade, its furred hide a glorious, unblemished white, its mighty antlers curling above its head in a wide fan of bone. Leofric had hunted deer throughout his lands for years, but had never set eyes on a creature so, fine and regal as this.
It stood amid a burst of yellow primrose, the scent of which was suddenly strong and intoxicating. The hart lifted its mighty head, as if sensing their scrutiny, and as its eyes met his, Leofric was humbled by the ancient wisdom and intelligence he saw there.
As he watched the wonderful animal feed, a tremor rippled through the earth, sending the imps that capered in the water scurrying into the undergrowth with wild squeals. A surging, powerful energy rose from the very ground and Leofric felt his heartbeat race with a nameless exhilaration. A breathless shiver of anticipation rushed along his spine, a primal energy filling his muscles with a wild urge to run, to fight and to hunt. He turned to ask Kyarno what was happening, the words dying in his throat as he saw golden wychfires blazing in the elf’s eyes.
“Primrose…” breathed Kyarno, an ancient longing suffusing his voice as the echoing blast of a mighty hunting horn sounded from far away.
“What about them?” asked Leofric nervously, the distant skirl of the horn chilling him with its promise of blood.
“…the first flower of spring,” finished Kyarno.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Deep in Athel Loren, in a secret glade sacred to both forest and elf, a mighty oak tree trembled, its ancient surface gnarled and pitted with age. Five thousand and more summers had it seen, its roots stretching deep into the rock of the world. Known as the Oak of Ages, yellow blooming primrose flowered amid its thick, twisting roots and green, verdant grass bent and swayed in the gathering breeze.
A crack split the trunk from roots to branches and a gust of wind, like the first breath of the world, billowed from within. The deafening blast of a hunting horn echoed from deep inside the tree, as though a vast hall lay beneath the ground; the baying of hounds and the raucous cries of birds stirred from their eyries rising from the forest to accompany the exultant echo of the horn.
Sweet-smelling sap ran from the crack in the oak tree and the thunder of mighty hooves beat on the air as something ancient, terrifying and primal stirred from its slumbers and spread through the forest once more.
The sound of the hunting horn came again, Leofric could feel its power in the very depths of his soul. He trembled at its might, a fear deep in his bones screaming that he was this hunter’s prey. His every sense told him to run, that nothing good could come of this sound.
He remembered a similar sensation when he had first ridden through the forest, when the wild riders of Kurnous had surrounded them. Kyarno had said that those warriors were the wild huntsmen who rode alongside the King of the Wood when he awoke in spring…
Leofric looked back towards the edge of the glade, seeing that the white hart had vanished into the forest at the sound of the horn and that the yellow of the flowers seemed much more vivid.
“We have to get out of here,” said Leofric.
“Yes,” agreed Kyarno, the gold fire still glittering in his wide eyes. “We are in serious danger. The King of the Wood has awoken and is on the hunt…”
Every tale Leofric knew of the dangerous king of the faerie forest ended in blood. The same fear he had felt when confronted by the warriors who served him arose but this was much worse: the paralysing dread felt by all hunted things.
Leofric and Kyarno ran for their steeds, climbing onto their backs and riding hard into the trees. As they plunged into the forest, Leofric saw that the bright feeling of vitality had vanished utterly, the beauty and grace changed to something far darker.
Where the sunlight had warmed his face, now it cast fearful shadows. Where the curve of branches had artfully shaped pleasant bowers, now they grasped for him and tore at his clothes as they rode headlong for Coeth-Mara.
Leofric saw the true face of the forest, ancient and powerful, its need to grow and spread manifest in the impossibly fecund hearts of the trees. Stark against the skies, the tall, clawed branches reached out for him as they rode and he cried out in terror as the rising horn-blast came again, louder and more powerful than before.
Kyarno rode beside him, his eyes alight with savage lust is the forest came alive around them. Shadows rushed alongside them, darting shapes and capering creatures with wings and branch-like limbs.
Faces leered from the trunks of gnarled trees and a shimmering mist gathered between them as the distant howls of hunting packs drew closer. Though it had been morning when he had set out for the Crystal Mere, the sky above swiftly changed from pale blue to an angry, bruised purple, dark clouds forming above the treetops and the first rumbles of thunder building.
“Kyarno!” shouted Leofric. “What’s happening?”
“The wild hunt is abroad! Hurry!”
Leofric urged his mount to greater speed as lightning split the sky and a rolling thunder tolled from the clouds. Ghostly shapes loomed in the mist, clawed hands of twigs reaching out to him with spiteful laughter.
The horn came again and Leofric cried out, the wild blast sounding as though it came from right beside him.
Thunder came again and this time he realised that the sound came not from the clouds above, but was the hammering of hooves. He heard branches snapping aside, the barking of hounds and the caw of dark birds.
He looked up to see the sky alive with thousands of shapes, murders of ravens and crows swirling in huge numbers above as something massive thundered through the forest towards them. Rain, heavy spring rain, now fell from the skies as the full fury of the storm broke.
Dark light flared in the forest around him and he saw shrieking shapes in the mist either side of him, riders on dark steeds with eyes of golden fire. Whooping yells of fierce joy echoed from the forest and Leofric saw that cloaked riders surrounded them.
They rode with wild abandon, leaping and weaving in and out of the mist, brandishing long, thorn-looped spears above their heads. Skulls bounced from their belts and torques as they rode, and they had the look of a devil about them, their aspect no longer truly elven, but something far older and more powerful.
The wild riders of Kurnous unleashed…
Snapping hounds bounded alongside them, howling in praise of their king. Leofric gave his horse its head, knowing that it could better evade these riders and hounds than he. Something massive drew near from behind. He could hear the crash of its thunderous approach even over the booming storm that raged above, and Leofric felt a suffocating fear arise in his breast at the thought of laying eyes on this terrible, bloody king.
“Leofric!” shouted Kyarno. “This way!”
He needed no further urging and yelled as his steed broke towards Kyarno. The beasts of the wild hunt howled and cried, the snapping crash of their king deafening as he charged towards them.
Leofric plunged after Kyarno, crouched over Aeneor’s neck, his heart hammering in his chest as the undergrowth around them grew thinner. He heard Kyarno shouting something in the magical tongue of the elves and felt the forest shift in response to his words. Branches whipped past them, one laying open his cheek across the scar given to him by Cu-Sith, but Leofric ignored the stinging pain, too intent on the hunting packs behind them.
A sudden sense of vertigo seized him and the forest aroun
d him became blurred and ghostly, as though he looked at it through a fogged window. Lights streaked his vision and he fought to stay on the back of his horse as a wave of dizziness swamped him.
Sounds became muted and his every breath was like the bellowing of an angry god in his ears. He clapped his hands to his head in pain, tumbling from the back of his horse and landing heavily on the forest floor.
He lay still for several moments before he realised that the sounds of pursuit were no longer behind them and that the forest was no longer as hostile in appearance or deed. Kyarno lay across his horse’s neck, his breathing shallow and his skin even paler than normal.
“What happened?” gasped Leofric, fighting to calm his rampant heartbeat as he climbed to his feet using the trunk of a nearby tree. “Are we safe?”
“For the moment,” wheezed Kyarno. “We have a brief respite. But we will need to ride again soon.”
“What did you do?”
“I spoke to the trees and asked them if we might pass along the secret paths that travel between worlds and link some of the glades of the forest. I told them of your service to the Eadaoin kinband and they were gracious enough to allow you to travel with me. We are some miles yet from Coeth-Mara, but if the Lady Ariel is with us we can still make it.”
Leofric rubbed his side where he had hit the ground, looking up into the sky where the thunder and lightning still seethed. Ghostly lights flickered above them and he knew that they were not yet safe.
“Coeth-Mara?” asked Leofric. “Will you find welcome there?”
Kyarno shrugged. “Let us worry about that if we get there. Can you ride?”
“I can,” said Leofric, climbing back onto his horse as he heard the far-off sound of the hunting horn once more.
“Then let us be away before the wild hunt catches up to us once again!”
Like a rotten tooth expelled from a diseased gum, the waystone heaved from the blackened ground, its vast granite bulk swaying gently for a moment before it toppled to the earth with an almighty crash. The beastherd roared and bellowed in triumph as the stone fell, stamping the ground and locking horns with one another.
[Warhammer] - Guardians of the Forest Page 24