[Warhammer] - Guardians of the Forest

by Graham McNeill - (ebook by Undead)

  “Come!” bellowed Beithir-Seun. “Climb upon my back and we will away. The call to war is upon us!”

  Leofric’s stomach lurched at the dragon’s words and he grabbed Kyarno’s arm as the young elf took a step towards the mighty creature.

  “What does it mean?”

  “By what?”

  “By ‘climb upon my back’.”

  “Exactly what he says,” said Kyarno, looking oddly at Leofric and then chuckling to himself as he clapped Leofric on the shoulder. “How did you think we were going to get back to Coeth-Mara?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Leofric. “I assumed the same way we got here.”

  “You would rather travel the paths of the dark fey once more?”

  “No,” said Leofric, “But this…”

  “You should relish this,” laughed Kyarno. “After all, how many humans get the chance to soar through the sky on the back of a dragon?”

  “Oh yes,” said Leofric sourly, “I feel so privileged.”

  Rushing wind whipped past Leofric’s head, but he kept his eyes tightly shut for fear of seeing what lay below him. Or, more accurately, what did not lie below him. He gripped the spine on the dragon’s back as tight as he could, his arms wrapped around it and his fingers digging into a frill of skin with all his strength.

  They had lifted from the chasm glade of Beithir-Seun in the beat of powerful wings nearly an hour ago, and Leofric had barely opened his eyes the entire time. To be carried on the back of a horse was the way for a knight to travel, not like this.

  Man was not meant to fly, and though the king often rode to battle on the back of his hippogryph, Beaquis, and some of the richer knights of Bretonnia boasted a trained battle pegasus, the saddle of a warhorse was as far as Leofric wanted to get from the ground.

  He could feel the great creature’s powerful heartbeat through its tough scales, a deep and slow thudding boom, and the motion of its muscles lifted him up and down as they bunched and relaxed to keep its wings moving.

  “You are missing a spectacular view,” shouted Kyarno.

  Leofric looked up to see Kyarno standing at the dragon’s shoulders next to Cairbre, the wind rushing through his braided hair as he called back to Leofric.

  Behind them, all he could see was sky, brilliant blue and cloudy.

  “Do you have to do that?” asked Leofric. “You are making me feel sick.”

  Cu-Sith sat astride Beithir-Seun’s neck, but Leofric kept his eyes focussed on the hard, scaled back of the dragon. The elves seemed completely at ease, their stance shifting in response to the creature’s movements, looking for all the world like they were having the time of their lives.

  The dragon dipped one of its wings, curling round in a slow bank and Leofric saw the green canopy of the forest speeding past, thousands of feet below him, and cried out, clutching onto the spine even tighter.

  Far below he could see the snaking course of the Grismerie as it meandered through the forest, sparkling and clear as it flowed from the mountains towards Parravon, one of the frontier towns of Bretonnia, with its deep chasms, high walls and many towers.

  Though it was a great distance away, Leofric could see a slender bridge crossing the river, a graceful structure of wood and crystal. Thousands of birds of many colours flocked around the bridge, the sound of their trilling song reaching Leofric even up here.

  Soon the bridge was lost to sight, but hundreds of the birds flew up from their circling to join them, crying out in welcome to the dragon as though it were a long lost friend unexpectedly returned. The dragon slowed its flight to allow the birds to keep up with it, roaring in answer to their cries.

  Leofric began anew his prayers to the Lady of the Lake as the tremors of the dragon’s roars reached him, entreating her to keep him safe until he had solid ground beneath his feet.

  “Lady watch over your humble servant,” whispered Leofric as the long flight continued. “Keep my grip strong. And keep this beast from moving too suddenly!”

  Soon Beithir-Seun angled his course to the west and as a thin line of green came into view above the blades of his muscular shoulders, Leofric could tell they were descending. He began to relax a little at the thought of being on the ground once more, opening his eyes and watching as the forest canopy rushed up to meet them.

  Birds surrounded them, hundreds, if not thousands of them, and though he was utterly terrified to be travelling in this manner, he could not deny the magnificence of the sight.

  The motion of the dragon’s wings ceased as they flared outwards to slow his flight, the left wing dipping, and once again Beithir-Seun banked sharply as he descended in ever-tighter circles towards the ground. Leofric saw the River Brienne and realised they must be approaching Coeth-Mara.

  “Hold on, Leofric!” shouted Kyarno from the dragon’s shoulders. “We will be on the ground in a moment!”

  “Not a moment too soon!” shouted back Leofric as Beithir-Seun folded his wings in close to his body and dropped towards the forest floor. Leofric screamed in sudden alarm, fearing that some calamity had befallen the mighty creature, but at the last moment, the dragon’s wings shot out and gave a powerful beat to flare outwards and control his descent into the elven halls.

  Leofric felt the dragon’s claws settle on the ground and let out a heartfelt sigh of relief as he released his death-grip on its spine. He slid down the dragon’s haunches, landing on unsteady legs, supporting himself on the trunk of a silver-barked birch. Hundreds of birds fluttered and flapped through Coeth-Mara — white plumed doves, colourful finches, robins and sparrows, and their song filled the air with music.

  Kyarno landed lightly beside him, his face alight with amusement, and Cairbre soon followed him, a youthful vigour creasing his features with a boyish grin. The Red Wolf somersaulted to the ground in front of Leofric and he could see that quite a crowd had gathered to greet them.

  Elves stared at Beithir-Seun in fascination, thrilled to have one of the most ancient guardians of the forest in their midst. They came forward in great number, eager to meet this defender of Athel Loren, and the lack of fear they showed towards the powerful creature amazed Leofric.

  As he regained his equilibrium, he saw that Coeth-Mara was thronged with elves, more than he had ever seen before. Elves of all different appearance and garb clustered around the dragon and Leofric saw a wide variety of runic symbols on furs, tunics, robes and cloaks, realising that these elves must belong to different kinbands.

  The kindreds of Athel Loren had answered Lord Aldaeld’s call.

  Night was drawing in and the torches had been lit by the time the last of the warrior kindreds that had answered Lord Aldaeld’s summons arrived in Coeth-Mara. Not all had come, and many had not even acknowledged his call. But enough had come and at first light, the elves of Athel Loren would take the fight to the mountains and the children of Chaos.

  Kyarno sat with his back to an ancient willow, feeling its connection to the earth in the rhythmic pulsing of its sap. He had hoped Morvhen would have been waiting for him upon their triumphant return on the back of Beithir-Seun, but she was nowhere to be seen, no doubt Aldaeld was keeping her safely ensconced from his attentions.

  The forest was alive with elves of many kinbands, warhawk riders, waywatchers, glade riders, Eternal Guard and the wardancers of Cu-Sith. Tomorrow they would fight and Kyarno would go with them. What awaited him, he did not know, but it had to be better than the life of solitude that was his lot from now on.

  What was left to him now? Was he to travel the lands of humans as an itinerant adventurer, forced to seek his fortune by grubbing through ancient ruins and dungeons for treasure?

  He traced the rune of Vaul in the forest floor with a twig, pondering on his uncertain future, when he heard soft footfalls behind him. He recognised the tread and said, “You grow no stealthier with age, uncle.”

  “No,” agreed Cairbre. “I was never cut out to be a waywatcher, was I?”

  Kyarno shook his head. “No, you alw
ays were noisy. It’s the one thing I remember of you from when I was a child.”

  “You must remember more than that, surely?”

  “Yes, uncle, I do,” whispered Kyarno. “I remember the flames and blood when the beastmen killed my mother and father. I remember you carrying me clear of the burning ruin of our halls. But most of all I remember the loneliness.”

  “I know, boy, I know,” said Cairbre, sitting on the other side of the willow trunk with his back to Kyarno. “There’s not a day goes by I don’t wish I could have reached you sooner.”

  Kyarno smiled, staring up at the pale glow of the moon. Flocks of birds still circled Coeth-Mara and he said, “I never hated you, uncle. I want you to know that before tomorrow.”

  “I never thought you did, Kyarno,” sighed Cairbre. “And I always loved you and wanted the best for you.”

  “Strange how such thoughts often come on the eve of battle,” said Kyarno.

  “Yes,” agreed Cairbre. “War makes philosophers of us all. I suppose the nearness of death brings home to us what matters most.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Kin,” said Cairbre simply.

  The next day dawned bright and clear, the spring sun bathing the central glade of Coeth-Mara in warmth and light. Everywhere was bustling activity as the elves readied themselves for battle. Leofric watched as solitary individuals in hooded cloaks disappeared into the forest surrounding the elven halls to protect its borders while others took the fight to the mountains.

  Warriors checked the keenness of blades and archers gauged the line of their arrows, smoothing the fletching and sharpening the points.

  But of all those gathered beneath the boughs of Coeth-Mara, the most pleasing to Leofric’s eyes were the giant hawks with long tails, hooked bills, strong talons and broad wings that would carry them into battle. He had hunted with falcons many times, and appreciated the grace and deadly beauty of such birds, but these were magnificent and regal, quite unlike anything he had seen before. The warhawk riders shared many similarities with their mounts, slender-limbed and agile, with quick, lethal-looking movements.

  Though not nearly as huge as Beithir-Seun, who growled impatiently at the edge of the glade, Leofric had a more obvious connection to the warhawks than a beast he would normally have tried to slay. The flight on the dragon had been terrifying, but Leofric strangely relished the idea of riding into battle on a warhawk; the prospect filled him with a mixture of terror and excitement. Though saddened not to be able to ride into battle on Aeneor, there was no way a steed, even an elven one, could match the speed of the warhawks.

  Leofric had tended to his sword and armour as best he could and though the impish spites that followed him around Coeth-Mara were helpful when it came to putting the armour on, without an actual squire to clean them properly, they looked far from their best.

  He saw Kyarno and the Hound of Winter approaching, Kyarno with his sword strapped at his side and his bow slung over one shoulder, and Cairbre with the Blades of Midnight carried lightly in his right hand.

  “Good morning,” said Leofric. “It is a fine sight indeed to see so many magnificent warriors gathered together.”

  Cairbre nodded and placed his hand on Kyarno’s shoulder.

  “Isha watch over you, boy,” said the Hound of Winter, “and may Kurnous guide your hand this day.”

  The two elves embraced one another, the gesture looking forced and awkward to Leofric’s eyes. Cairbre and Kyarno may have made their peace, but there were still barriers between them. Eventually, the Hound of Winter released his nephew and, without another word spoken between them, turned and walked away.

  “Ready?” asked Kyarno.

  “Yes,” said Leofric. “I am. It is time to hold back the darkness one more time. For we are warriors are we not?”

  “That we are,” agreed Kyarno, as Leofric held out his hand to him.

  Kyarno took the proffered hand and said, “There is much I do not understand about humans, too much I think for us ever to be friends, but you and I may yet be brothers in battle.”

  “That would sit well with me, Kyarno,” said Leofric. “And who knows what the future holds. Perhaps one day our races may become friends.”

  “I would not count on it, but it is a noble dream,” said Kyarno.

  “Tell me one thing though,” said Leofric.

  “What?”

  “I know Eadaoin means Fleetmane in my language, but what does Daelanu mean?”

  “It means Silvermorn, the promise of the new sun after the long night.”

  “It is a good name,” said Leofric. “I wanted to know so I could speak of you when I leave Athel Loren.”

  “When you leave?”

  “Yes,” said Leofric. “If we win this day it will be to save the lives of the people of my lands. I will return to them soon, I can feel it.”

  “I feel it too,” said Kyarno, falling silent as Lord Aldaeld and his warriors made their way to the centre of Coeth-Mara. Naieth walked with Lord Aldaeld, dressed as Leofric had first seen her, in a robe of gold and elven runes, her copper hair teased into braided tresses above her tapered ears with silver pins and garlanded with feathers and gemstones.

  She carried her long staff of woven twigs with a carved eye at its top and Leofric saw she wore a secret smile, one of pride and love for those around her.

  Lord Aldaeld wore a scarlet cloak of feathers and his body was adorned with many fresh tattoos and painted designs. Gleaming torques of gold and silver banded his arms and he wore a golden helm with the curling horns of a stag. His sword was scabbarded at his hip and he carried a silver lance with a spiral pattern carved on its blade.

  Behind him came Morvhen, clad in simple brown leathers and furs, with a powerful recurved bow carried at her side and a pair of crossed quivers across her back. Leofric straightened as he saw that Tiphaine accompanied Morvhen.

  Aldaeld crossed the glade towards Leofric and Kyarno, stopping just before them and fixing them with a stern gaze.

  “Lord Aldaeld,” said Kyarno, giving a respectful nod to the lord of the Eadaoin kinband. Leofric followed suit, unsure as to why Lord Aldaeld felt the need to speak to them this morning of all mornings.

  “Kyarno,” began Aldaeld. “You have done my kinband a great service by bringing us the great Beithir-Seun. I thank you for that.”

  “I was happy to do it,” said Kyarno. “I may not be part of your kinband now, but I am glad to fight alongside it.”

  For a moment neither said anything until Lord Aldaeld finally said, “The Hound of Winter speaks highly of you, Kyarno Daelanu, and my daughter seems taken with you, though Isha alone knows why. I can see just by looking at you that you are no longer Kyarno the troublemaker. Only time will tell what you have become, but should you live through this day, we shall speak again.”

  Kyarno struggled for words, but settled on saying, “Thank you, Lord Aldaeld.”

  Aldaeld nodded and turned away, moving to stand in the centre of the glade. As he left, Morvhen approached Kyarno and spoke softly to him in elvish as Tiphaine drew near Leofric.

  She nodded in greeting, her almond eyes sad.

  “Hello, Leofric,” she said, holding her hand out to him and Leofric saw she offered him a beautiful, faultless crystal, its surface smooth and unblemished.

  “I cannot,” said Leofric. “It is too beautiful.”

  “I desire you to have it,” insisted Tiphaine. “It is a moonstone from the Crystal Mere, like the one gifted to the warrior hero Naithal by a naiad of the Waterfall Court. It has great power and will protect you from harm.”

  “It is beautiful,” said Leofric, pulling the blue silken scarf of Helene’s from his gauntlet and wrapping the gemstone within. He returned the favours to his gauntlet and started to say more, but Tiphaine stopped him, placing her finger on his lips.

  “I do not know if I will ever see you again, Leofric Carrard,” she said, “so think on all we have spoken of and your time in our forest realm wil
l have been well spent.”

  “I will,” promised Leofric. “For you have inspired me to great deeds and have always spoken to me with courtesy and grace. For that I thank you, my lady.”

  Tiphaine did not reply, but stepped away from him, all activity in Coeth-Mara coming to a halt as Lord Aldaeld cast his head back and raised his lance to the sky. The sunlight reflected dazzlingly on the silver blade, the power of its magic clear for all to see.

  For a moment all was silence until Leofric heard the faint beat of wings and looked up to see a gigantic eagle circling to land before the elven lord. A gasp of astonishment swept the glade as the powerful bird landed gracefully before Aldaeld, its feathers golden and its bearing both noble and fierce.

  The magnificent creature took Leofric’s breath away, his admiration for the warhawks swept away by the regal countenance of this noble bird of prey. From the looks of awed admiration of the assembled elves, it was clearly a sign of great favour to have such a beast consent to carry an elven lord into battle.

  Aldaeld climbed swiftly onto the great eagle’s back, the elves following his example and climbing to the backs of their warhawks. Leofric, Kyarno and Morvhen ran for the warhawks chosen to carry them as passengers and climbed onto their backs behind the elven riders.

  The great eagle spread its graceful wings and leapt into the air, carrying Lord Aldaeld into the sky. The eagle gave a piercing cry and the warhawks also took flight, following the golden form of Lord Aldaeld’s eagle.

  Beithir-Seun took to the air immediately after, his bulk slower to gather speed, but soon catching up to his smaller, more nimble brethren.

  Leofric felt a wild exhilaration as he was carried higher and higher above the trees, his earlier fear of the skies forgotten in the rush of adrenaline that surged around his body at the thought of battle.

  He watched as the aerial armada climbed into the air, privileged to be in the company of these magnificent warriors. Scores of warhawks filled the sky, with Lord Aldaeld at their head atop his eagle and the terrible form of the great dragon, Beithir-Seun, flying above them.