Once again, hundreds of brightly coloured birds flew alongside them, their cries sounding as sweet as the call for battle from the silver trumpet of a Bretonnian clarion.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
With its high walls of red stone, wide barbican and many towers, the strength of Castle Carrard never failed to impress Teoderic Lendast of Quenelles. Though ill-fortune had dogged the line of its lords, it remained a formidable bastion against any foe.
He rode his snorting steed through its thick gateway, hung with a banner of gold depicting a scarlet unicorn rampant below a bejewelled crown. Teoderic straightened his cloak over the rump of his horse then checked that his sword hung correctly at his side. A muster of levies and peasant men-at-arms were gathered outside the castle and a knight of Bretonnia did not appear before the lowborn looking less than his best. Behind him came Clovis and Theudegar, brothers-in-arms and virtuous knights of the realm both. Three score knights followed behind, resplendent in surcoats of many colours with guidons snapping from the ends of their lances and banners raised high.
Passing from the gateway and thumping across the wooden drawbridge, Teoderic watched as the peasants stood to attention at the sight of him, displaying the proper reverence to a knight of the realm such as he. He lifted the visor of his helmet and stared up into the darkening sky. Though the sun was barely past its zenith, the day was dim and had the purple cast of twilight. Dark thunderheads gathered on the eastern horizon, though Teoderic knew that they preceded no natural storm.
A shiver of anticipation ran down his spine at the thought of facing the might of the forest spirits. What did such creatures know of honour or chivalry? Was there glory to be earned in their destruction or would he feel no more than a woodsman might feel in hewing a tree?
“How many more men arrived this morning?” he asked, turning in the saddle to address the knights who rode after him.
“A goodly number,” answered Clovis, raising his visor and surveying the assembled peasantry. “Perhaps a thousand men now muster at Castle Carrard in answer to their lord’s summons: archers, yeomanry from nearby villages and the men-at-arms we brought with us.”
“Indeed,” said Theudegar, “as well there might be. For it is their lands that are ravaged by the faerie king. It is only right and proper that they fight.”
Teoderic nodded his agreement, though he knew that to defeat the force arrayed against them, they would need a lot more. Fear was already rife in the peasants and he saw no need to add more with any pessimistic opinions just yet. He watched as a group of tired-looking peasants hammered sharpened stakes into the hillside before the river and others dragged a cart of boulders and rubble inside the castle for the trebuchet mounted on the walls. Teoderic disliked such weapons, but could nevertheless appreciate the strategic value of being able to drop large blocks of masonry on an enemy from far away.
“They say another village was destroyed last night,” added Theudegar. “Orberese, I think. Not a soul lives there now, carried away to their deaths by the wild hunt.”
“Orberese?” said Clovis. “That’s a damn shame, they bred a fine pig there. Made some good sausage as I recall.”
“How many is that then?” asked Teoderic.
“Nine this past two weeks alone,” answered Clovis. “The eastern parts of Quenelles and Carcassonne are virtually deserted. All have fled to the castles of their liege lords.”
Teoderic saw desperation on every face they passed, knowing that peasants expected the knights to save them and end the threat of the Green King. Mounted yeomen had brought word that the rampant forest creatures were heading towards Castle Carrard, covering all the land in a swathe of violent life. Battle was soon to be joined.
For nearly fourteen nights, the King of the Forest and his wild hunt had rampaged through the southern dukedoms of Bretonnia, destroying all those in their path, and now they rode out to stop them. It would be some time before a larger muster of knights could be gathered, and though Teoderic knew that it was folly to meet this threat with so few warriors, they had a duty to their people to protect them in times of trouble.
Teoderic relished the chance to ride out and face the enemy on the field of battle as much as the next knight, but knew that, if the scouts’ reports were to be believed, they were likely to be outnumbered nearly four to one. Better that the enemy come to them and then the creatures of the wood would break themselves against walls of stone.
But as he turned to look at the silver-haired lord of Castle Carrard, who stood on the crenellated battlements of the tallest tower, Teoderic knew that nothing less than the glory of a bloody charge would satisfy the venerable lord’s lust for vengeance.
The forest swept by beneath them as the warhawks carried them swiftly through the sky, the wind whipping past in a blur of cold air. Leofric clutched the bird’s feathers tightly, gripping its body with his thighs as its powerful wings bore him and its elven rider towards the mountains.
The mighty bird carrying Kyarno flew alongside him, with Cairbre and Naieth carried on the backs of birds just behind Lord Aldaeld’s great eagle. Morvhen rode atop a warhawk of her own, balancing easily on its back with her long hair cascading darkly behind her. Cu-Sith and his wardancers made their own way towards the Shadow-Gave, easily able to keep pace with the warhawks through secret paths of the forest that they alone knew or dared to travel.
The site of the breach in the waystone barrier was clearly visible from the air, a spreading patch of darkest green that spilled out from the forest’s edge. Who knew how many had died in Bretonnia already and how many were yet to die? It seemed as though the undulating green swathe moved even as he watched, the speed of its growth swifter than he would have believed possible.
The mountains ahead reared up like grim, grey sentinels, towering peaks that marked the southern boundaries of Bretonnia and Athel Loren, and, beyond which lay the mercenary city-states of Tilea.
Their ultimate destination was easily visible, the corruption unleashed by the Shadow-Gave impossible to miss from the air, a spreading dark stain on the mountain that pulsed like a wound in the rock itself. A huge fire burned at the centre of the darkness that smothered the mountainside, circled by scores of howling beastmen. The host of monstrous, baying abominations waved spears and axes towards the massive form of the missing waystone, perched on a rocky plateau below a wide cave mouth.
Dark pinioned shapes wheeled in the air above the fire, their piercing cries carried on the cold wind and sending a jolt of loathing through Leofric.
“What are they?” he shouted, pointing to the shapes.
“Creatures of Chaos!” cried Kyarno in answer. “Beasts of the air warped by the Corrupter’s foulness and drawn to its fell powers.”
Leofric watched as the monstrous birds began climbing higher into the air, angling their flight towards them, and gripped the warhawk’s flanks tighter as its rider coaxed it into a rapid descent. The elf looked over his shoulder at Leofric and said, “I will need to set you down, human. I cannot carry you and fight.”
Leofric nodded as the warhawk riders that carried passengers dropped from the aerial armada, heading quickly for the ground to deposit their burdens before rejoining their comrades for battle.
The ground rushed up to meet Leofric as the warhawk rapidly lost altitude, dropping through the air until it was skimming the rocks, no more than a few feet above the mountainside.
He saw Kyarno and the Eternal Guard leap from the backs of the warhawks, landing easily on the jagged rocks as though such a feat of acrobatics was the most natural thing in the world.
Fortunately, he did not have to try and imitate the natural grace of the elves, as the warhawk he rode upon spread its wings and landed atop a flat slab of rock above them. Leofric slid from the back of the mighty bird and started to thank the rider for bearing him this far, but no sooner was he down than the bird leapt back into the sky to rejoin its fellows.
The ground underfoot was black and slick, as though the fabric o
f the rock itself softened and attempted to reshape itself under the malign influence of the Shadow-Gave. Leofric heard wild howls and brays from above and knew that the creatures of Chaos were ready for them now.
Behind him, he saw Kyarno and Cairbre, both with their weapons at the ready, bounding from rock to rock, heading uphill towards the Corruptor. Morvhen still rode upon the back of a warhawk, an arrow nocked to her bow, the dark shapes of the warped creatures of the air closing rapidly with her, and Leofric wished her safe in the battle she would fight.
Leofric drew his sword and began making his way uphill, unable to match the grace of the elves, but making up for it with sheer determination.
The route uphill was steep and treacherous, winding through a copse of dark trees whose branches twisted towards the sky as though clawing at the clouds in agony at the foul transformation wrought upon them.
Further on, the ground levelled off onto the rock-strewn plateau and Leofric saw the silhouettes of dozens upon dozens of bestial creatures appear at its edge.
With an echoing bellow, the monstrous creatures loped down the mountainside towards the mutated trees and Leofric felt his fury at such abominations spill out in a cry of purest rage.
“For Quenelles, the king and the Lady!” he cried as he ran towards the charging beastmen with the warriors of the Asrai beside him.
Like harpies of their dark kin, the winged beasts of Chaos sped through the air towards them, their ungainly flight a crude mockery of the graceful movements of the warhawks and their riders. As the gap between the foes closed, Morvhen saw how badly they were outnumbered as yet more rose from dark eyries in the mountains.
She took aim at a creature with the head of a slavering wolf and the leathery wings of a bat. Its eyes were red and slitted, its mouth filled with long fangs. Her warhawk banked, instinctively swinging into a position that gave her a better shot. Between breaths she loosed her arrow, the shaft arcing through the air to pierce its skull and the monster tumbled from the air, clawing at its face.
A flurry of arrows flew from the warhawk riders and a dozen or more beasts fell from the sky, their foul flesh home to blue-fletched arrows. Morvhen bent her knees, leaning into the sharp turn of her bird as it banked again.
Then all semblance of formation was lost as the flying monsters were among them, the sky awash with spinning birds and creatures as each manoeuvred for position. She saw Beithir-Seun tear a Chaos beast in two with his claws as he bit another in half. Morvhen loosed a trio of arrows, one after another, as the white under belly of a beast flashed overhead, swiftly drawing another arrow as she saw another beast slash at one of the warhawk riders and tear him from his mount’s back.
“No!” she screamed as the elf fell from the warhawk, She spitted his killer on an arrow, ducking as long, yellowed claws snatched at her head. Her bird spun around and she sent an arrow into her attacker, a monstrous black-winged creature with the twisted body of a snarling lion, but the shaft passed through the thin membrane of its wing. It screeched in pain and looped around, turning with its clawed rear legs reaching for her.
She dropped to her knees, gripping her mount’s feathers as it rolled to avoid the beast’s claws, but as fast as it reacted, it wasn’t quite quick enough and she felt the mighty bird shudder as the beast’s jaws snapped and tore open its belly. Her warhawk screamed in pain and broke from the combat, desperately heading for the ground to save its rider before it expired, but Morvhen knew they were too high for such a manoeuvre.
Morvhen heard a screech of triumph behind her and risked a glance over her shoulder to see the same leonine beast closing for the kill. She slung her bow over her shoulder and leaned in close to the warhawk’s head.
“Farewell, great heart, I will avenge you,” she said to the dying bird as she rose to her feet and leapt towards the diving monster.
It roared in anger, snapping at her as she flew towards it, but her unexpected jump had caught it by surprise and its wide jaws snapped empty air as she looped one arm around its neck and swung herself onto its furred back.
The creature bit and clawed at her, but could not reach her. It rolled and lowered itself into a dive, attempting to shake her from its back, but she wound her fingers into its mane and held on tightly. Morvhen’s sword hissed from its sheath and she plunged the blade deep into the beast’s back, pulling it clear and stabbing it in again and again. Blood gushed from the mortal wounds and the monster let out a piercing roar of agony as the elven blade ripped through its body.
Morvhen looked up as she heard the shrill cry of a warhawk and yelled in relief as she saw a riderless bird flying alongside her. Abandoning the dying monster, she leapt from its plummeting corpse, the ground rushing towards her until the warhawk slotted itself between her and the rocks and pulled into a shallow dive before climbing back to the battle.
“My thanks,” shouted Morvhen as she sheathed her sword and slung her bow from her shoulders. Climbing towards the furious aerial battle, she saw warhawk riders jink and roll in a deadly ballet with the black-winged creatures of Chaos. Many of the warhawks fought alone, too many of her fellows having been torn from the backs of their mounts by the flying beasts.
Above her, her father slew beast after beast with his unerringly accurate lance strikes, skewering their vile bodies upon the blade of his magical weapon while his noble eagle tore at them with claw and beak. Beithir-Seun roared and fought with all the fury and might of his kind, his jaws snapping at his enemies and his claws tearing them limb from limb as they swarmed him. Deadly accurate bowfire picked off the beasts that were able to evade his huge jaws and land on his massive body, but the dragon still bled from a score of wounds where his thick, scaled hide had been torn open by bestial claws.
The battle was far from over, the sky filled with spinning, looping combatants, arrows flashing through the air, claws and beaks tearing at flesh and screaming bodies falling to their doom.
She nocked another arrow to her bow and angled her bird’s course back into the thick of the fighting.
A booming peal of thunder sounded, though no rain fell and no storm broke upon the fields. A wild, exultant horn echoed from the mist that gathered on the darkened eastern horizon, and the distant howls of hunting packs drifted on the cold wind. Despite himself, Teoderic Lendast shivered at the sound of the horn, its skirl promising blood and death. He gripped his lance and cast an eye along the thousand men that awaited the wild hunt on the slopes before Castle Carrard.
Nervous bowmen were arrayed behind lines of defensive stakes and trembling men-at-arms stood ready with long, hooked polearms. The lord of this host, though Teoderic knew that to call such a paltry gathering of force a host was a joke, rode at the head of a group of twenty knights in the centre, his scarlet and gold banner snapping in the strong wind.
Teoderic commanded a score of knights, banners and lances held upright and ready for the charge, and at the far end of their battle line, Theudegar led another twenty armoured warriors. Clovis sat on his whinnying steed beside Teoderic, struggling to calm his mount as yet another blast of the horn sounded, much closer this time.
“Damn, but I loathe the sound of that horn,” swore Clovis. “It chills my blood to hear it.”
“I know what you mean,” agreed Teoderic, rubbing his gauntlet over his own mount’s neck as it stamped in fear at the sound.
“Never fear, though,” he said, with a confidence he did not feel. “We’ll soon put these things to flight and it will sound naught but their retreat.”
Clovis nodded, but Teoderic could see his eyes through the visor of his helmet and remained fearful. Teoderic did not blame him, Clovis had but recently been elevated to a knight of the realm and knew full well the bloodshed that awaited them in battle.
“Look!” cried Clovis, pointing to the eastern horizon. “The mist parts!”
Teoderic followed Clovis’ pointing finger and saw that he spoke true. The mist thinned as the crack and snap of branches sounded from within and the rustle
of leaves, like malicious laughter came to the assembled Bretonnians.
“Stand firm!” shouted the lord of the host as a ripple of fear passed through the men. “Not one man shall take a backward step or he shall have me to answer to!”
Teoderic heard that damnable horn again, accompanied by the wild baying of hounds and the shrieks of ravens and crows. The ground before the mist rippled with life and growth as shoots of plant and flower erupted from the ground and shifting forms of green light emerged.
Like packs of capering maidens of briar and thorn, the forest creatures threw off their concealing cloak of mist and stood revealed in all their terrible glory. Cries of alarm and fear sounded from the Bretonnian lines, yeomen and those of more stout heart steadying the ranks with clubs and stern words.
Packs of hunting hounds swarmed over the ridge, weaving in and out of the wraiths of branch and root as they flocked downhill in a tide of razor thorns and spiteful shrieks. Billowing clouds of black birds thronged the air and ghostly clouds spread across the face of the moons as a peal of thunder and a sheet of actinic lightning split the sky.
The terrible, brazen note of the hunting horn sounded once more and Teoderic felt a primal fear seize him as he saw the enormous horn blower emerge from the mist, tall and mighty, with a crown of antlers and a cloak of leaves and clutching a terrifying, many bladed spear. Crackling magical energies wreathed the awesome figure and there could be no doubt as to this mighty being’s identity.
Snapping hounds and fiery-eyed riders atop rearing black horses and bucks that snorted in fury surrounded the king, whose burning gaze swept across the pitiful army arrayed against the might of the forest.
Teoderic lowered his lance as the woodland king’s booming laughter echoed in time with another rumble of thunder, nodding to Clovis as the giant figure unleashed another deafening blast of his hunting horn and led his wild riders in a furious charge towards them.
[Warhammer] - Guardians of the Forest Page 29