[Warhammer] - Guardians of the Forest Page 9

  “Aye,” said Leofric, masking his sorrow with anger. “Creatures of branch and thorn, with faces of wicked crones, attacked us and took her from me.”

  Kyarno turned his steed until he was facing Leofric directly, a measure of understanding now in his eyes. He bowed his head briefly and said, “The dryads of winter. They are capricious beings and often take great offence where none is intended. Spiteful things they are, and best avoided. I am sorry for your loss, but it changes nothing.”

  “Then let us not speak of it,” said Leofric sadly, changing the subject. “Tell me of this Isha.”

  At first, Leofric thought that Kyarno wasn’t going to answer as he turned his steed and carried on riding, but eventually the elf said, “Why should I speak of her? You humans could never understand what she is to my people.”

  “Because I want to know,” said Leofric. “Perhaps if we understand one another better we might not be enemies.”

  “I do not think so, human, but I will indulge you for now,” said Kyarno, adopting a tone Leofric recognised as that of a taleteller. “Isha is the ancestral goddess of the Asrai, the mother of the earth and source of all things. The spirit of Isha pervades the soil of the earth and brings forth the water welling up from the ground. She provides the bounty and life upon which we all depend. She is the breath of warmth on the last of the winter winds and the sigh of life in the first shoots of spring.”

  “And she is the god of the elves?”

  “One of them,” nodded Kyarno. “Together with Kurnous and Loec, we honour the gods of earth and life above all others. This forest is sacred to Isha and is potent with her magic.”

  Leofric stared with rapt fascination at the forest around him, its fierce beauty beyond anything he had ever seen before, easily able to imagine that the power of an ancient elven goddess gave it such splendour.

  “Does Isha have a temple?” asked Leofric. “It must be a place of some magnificence.”

  Kyarno laughed and said, “How like a human.”

  “What is?” sighed Leofric, awaiting Kyarno’s next barb.

  “Imagining that you would build a temple of walls to enclose a goddess whose very soul is in the wilderness and yearns for the passions of nature,” said Kyarno, raising his hands and spreading them to the heavens. “Human, you are within her temple even now. The trees and grasses are her places of worship, the ground we ride upon sacred to her.”

  “Oh,” said Leofric, looking down at the ground with new eyes.

  In truth, the notion of sacred earth was not alien to Leofric, who had seen several groves and pools where the Lady of the Lake had appeared to courageous knights and which those knights who had supped from the grail were pledged to defend with their lives. Such places were holy indeed and Leofric had felt a sensation akin to what he felt in this forest of unearthly beauty.

  They rode in silence for what seemed like an hour or so. The wild wood around Leofric was alive with whispers and sounds of faraway voices. The temperature remained chill and knight shivered, wishing he had a cloak of some kind to warm him. Kyarno appeared unwilling to talk and Leofric had no real desire to break the silence, weary of the elf’s antagonism.

  Though the forest around him had become a darker, gloomier place, there was still the touch of magic on the breeze and Leofric could feel it in every breath he took. What might the magic of the forest do to him were he to spend much more time here? What changes might be wrought upon him by this place, which was plainly steeped in the fey power of enchantment?

  As he considered this, he became aware of a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, an instinctive warning of danger. He shook himself from his reverie and looked around, alert for possible danger.

  He saw that Kyarno was similarly alert and asked, “What is it?”

  Kyarno silenced him with a gesture, placing his finger against his lips and shaking his head. Leofric’s warrior instinct spoke to him of approaching danger and his hand unconsciously strayed to his side before he realised he was unarmed.

  He scanned the undergrowth, gripping Taschen’s reins tightly and letting his eyes drift over the forest. Dimly he could hear a rustling, thumping sound that he recognised as hoof beats and he looked to Kyarno, who circled his horse and gripped the hilt of his own sword.

  A nameless dread settled upon Leofric, though he could still see nothing of the approaching horsemen. Hot fear settled in his gut and he fought the urge to rake back his heels and ride from this place. He remembered the last time he had felt such fear, watching the thunderous charge of the Swords of Chaos coming towards him with the Lord of the End Times at their head.

  The sound of approaching riders grew louder and Leofric rubbed Taschen’s neck, whispering soothing words as the beast pranced nervously, also sensing the palpable tension in the air.

  Leofric saw shapes moving in the periphery of his vision, catching fleeting glimpses of dark riders atop great elven steeds. A single, rising note of a hunting horn sounded, wild and exultant, and Taschen whinnied in fear.

  Leofric shared that fear, feeling as helpless as a cornered stag awaiting the hunter’s lance.

  “Do nothing,” warned Kyarno. “Say nothing.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The Wild Riders of Kurnous…” said Kyarno as the riders emerged from the trees like ghosts, a pall of fear travelling before them like a shadow.

  Tall they were, and strong: six elves mounted on powerful steeds cloaked with hoar frost, with eyes that shone with an inner fire. Each rider wore a shaggy bearskin cloak the colour of the blood-red sun, and their bare flesh was tattooed and scarred with spirals and blood. Bleached skulls hung from their belts and torques of dark metal banded their arms. Tall helms of bronze with engraved cheek plates and long, curling horns like a stag’s covered most of their faces, but Leofric could see pale eyes, as cold as chips of ice, but afire with something magical and terrible. They carried tall spears of silver, looped with coils of thorns and feathers, and tipped with lethally sharp iron blades.

  Barbaric and feral, these elves looked more akin to the savage Norse than any of the elves Leofric had thus far seen. A savage death-lust radiated from every one.

  “You bring a human into Athel Loren?” said one of the riders, his voice cold, threatening and unnatural.

  “We could smell him for miles around,” added another.

  “We will kill him,” said a third, drawing a long dagger from a leather sheath at his hip. Leofric looked at Kyarno and was surprised by the tension he saw in the youthful elf’s face. He returned his gaze to the wild riders, the power and presence of these elves sending a thrill of fear coursing through his veins.

  Another of the wild riders walked his horse forwards, lowering his spear as he spoke. “It is not permitted for you to be here, human. You travel near the King’s Glade.”

  As one, the remaining wild riders lowered their spears and closed in on Leofric.

  “No,” said Kyarno, sidestepping his horse to put himself between Leofric and the wild riders.

  “No?” hissed one of the wild riders. “You defy us?”

  “To defy the wishes of those who serve the King of the Wood is to die,” said the wild rider who had first spoken.

  Looking at him, Leofric sensed a fearsome, ancient power. The rider’s features were cold and emotionless, and he knew that these elves would kill him without a second thought.

  “This human is under my protection,” shouted Kyarno, whipping his bow from his back and nocking an arrow in one swift motion.

  The wild rider looked quizzically at the arrow in Kyarno’s bow and said, “You cannot fight the wild riders of Kurnous. My warriors would kill you in a heartbeat.”

  “Maybe,” agreed Kyarno, “but I’d put this arrow through your eye before that happened.”

  “Why would you raise arms against the servants of Orion for a human?”

  Kyarno did not answer immediately, and Leofric wondered if the elf was now going to give him up to these savage elve
s, whose spear tips were getting uncomfortably close to his unarmoured body.

  “I am Kyarno Daelanu and I have been entrusted with his care. I have sworn an oath that this human will come to no harm.”

  “An oath to whom?” demanded the wild rider. “What kinband do you serve?”

  “That of Aldaeld Eadaoin, Lord of a Hundred Battles and steward of this domain.”

  “And he wishes this human to live?”

  “For now,” nodded Kyarno in a tone that reassured Leofric not at all.

  “Where do you take him?”

  “To the Crystal Mere,” explained Kyarno. “To wash as much of the filth from his body as the waters are able.”

  The wild rider nodded, putting up his spear. “The forest warns us of danger, the touch of evil is upon it.”

  “Mayhap this human is not the cause of it after all,” said another.

  The leader of the wild riders nodded, though his eyes of cold fire never left Leofric.

  “A taint is on the land, darkness comes and the king is gone from us until the vernal equinox. There is evil abroad in the forest this day, Kyarno Daelanu of the Eadaoin kinband. Keep your bow and sword ready, Athel Loren may have need of it ’ere the sun sets.”

  “I will,” promised Kyarno, lowering his bow and easing the string.

  The wild rider turned his horse and without a word being spoken, the rest of the riders set off after him, disappearing into the forest in eerie silence.

  Leofric let out a huge shuddering breath, as the dread presence of the wild riders faded into memory. Kyarno slung his bow, leaning over his horse’s neck and patting it softly as he too let out a breath of pent-up fear.

  When he was sure the riders had passed beyond earshot, Leofric asked, “What were they? I have never seen the like.”

  “They are the king’s guard,” said Kyarno. “The wild huntsmen who ride alongside Kurnous when he awakens in spring and who guard his sacred places while he slumbers.”

  “The wild hunt…” breathed Leofric, remembering nights when the horn of the hunter echoed through his lands and the exultant howls and cries of the terrifying charge of the wild hunt tore through the countryside.

  Nights when only the foolhardy or desperate dared venture out and both peasant and nobleman offered prayers to the Lady that the wild hunt would pass them by.

  These were fearful times of dread, when the long watches of the night echoed to the howls of hunting beasts and the timbers and roofs of the towns shook to the thunder of flaming hooves that beat on the storm-wracked skies. Come the morn, a trail of devastation marked its passage, bodies gathered into the storm of the hunt, torn to shreds and let fly to drop many miles from where they had been taken.

  “Yes,” agreed Kyarno, and Leofric was surprised to hear a tremor of fear in his voice. He had not considered the possibility that the elves of the forest might fear the awakening of their king as much as the human inhabitants of the lands nearby.

  “Come,” said Kyarno, “we should be on our way before they change their mind and return for you.”

  “Might they do that?”

  “Indeed they might. You heard what their leader said. There is something evil abroad in the forest this day and if they do not find it soon, their lust for battle may bring them back to you.”

  Leofric nodded, casting nervous glances around him for fear that the wild riders might already be surrounding them. He had no wish to lay eyes on these savage warriors again and knew that, but for Kyarno’s words, he would now be spitted on a spear point, his blood soaking the grass at his feet.

  “Thank you for speaking for me,” said Leofric. “I think I would be dead now but for your words.”

  “I did not speak for you, human,” said Kyarno. “I spoke for me. Lord Aldaeld would have my head on a lance if I had let the wild riders slay you.”

  “Well, I thank you anyway,” said Leofric. “You saved my life and I will not forget that.”

  Kyarno nodded curtly and urged his mount onwards, Leofric following swiftly behind him, and they rode at a swifter pace through the unseen paths of the forest towards their destination.

  Eventually, Leofric could hear the sound of rushing water from ahead and felt a curious lightness touch him, as though even drawing near the Crystal Mere placed a soothing balm upon his soul. The roar of the falling water had a musical quality to it, like the chime of an exquisite crystal goblet.

  The trees thinned ahead and he could make out a fine white spray, the rippling reflections of light fracturing on a large body of water.

  “The Crystal Mere,” said Kyarno proudly.

  Leofric rode into the glade and his breath was snatched away by the ethereal beauty laid out before him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kyarno had described the Crystal Mere as something natural, in terms Leofric would understand, but he saw now that the description did not do this incredible place justice. A rock-sided pool filled the wide glade, with a gracefully curved beach of pure white sand opposite a tumbling waterfall of water so pure its sheen was like that of a mirror.

  The elf had compared the falls to the tears of Isha and though Leofric had only the vaguest understanding of this elven god, he knew that her sorrow must be sublime indeed to weep such wondrous tears. White water foamed at the base of the waterfall, tumbling a hundred feet or more from the rocky, moss-covered slabs above. Water plummeted in billowing clouds to strike a knife-edged wedge of rock that hurled it back into the air, diffusing multiple rainbows of dazzling colour throughout the glade.

  The sun was almost directly overhead, dappling the soft, sweet-scented grass in velvet light and the chill Leofric had felt in the dark of the forest vanished, the fine mist of water imbuing the air with a pleasant coolness.

  Wild and vivid flowers of red and yellow blossomed at the edge of the glade, filling it with an incredible perfume that soothed Leofric’s troubled heart and gave him a sense of tranquillity that was beyond words. Brightly plumed birds nested in the trees and the ever-present spites darted swiftly between the trunks, chasing each other in the shallows of the pool or cavorting in the waterfall’s spume.

  “It’s incredible…” breathed Leofric, drinking in the unearthly beauty of the scene.

  “It’s pretty, yes,” agreed Kyarno, gracefully dismounting, while Leofric clambered from his saddle.

  “Pretty? This place is beyond such a poor word,” said Leofric, dropping to his knees and clasping his hands to his face in prayer. “Its beauty makes my heart ache.”

  Kyarno released his horse, slapping its rump and setting it loose in the wondrous glade. The elf bounded atop a low collection of rocks at the water’s edge and said, “It’s just a glade. A pretty one to be sure, but just a glade.”

  Leofric shook his head, unable to comprehend how Kyarno could so blithely dismiss such incredible beauty and wonder. The clearing seethed with life and richness of colour, so much that Leofric felt tears of joy coursing down his cheeks as he wandered like a blind man who had suddenly regained his sight.

  Fruits of incredible colours hung from the branches of the nearest trees and Leofric suddenly realised how hungry he was as he caught their intoxicating scent — bitter and rich, but with a strangely sweet aroma.

  “What are these?” asked Leofric.

  “They are called aoilym fruit,” replied Kyarno with a smile, reclining back onto the rocks and rolling onto his side. “Try one, they are deliciously sweet.”

  Leofric reached out to pluck a scarlet, pear-like fruit, but pulled his hand back at the last second, remembering tales of faerie food and its effects on humans. From the earliest age, children of Quenelles and Carcassonne were taught never to accept food or wine from fey strangers. Bretonnian lore was replete with ballads of those unfortunates who had drunk faerie wines or eaten faerie food and been driven mad with all manner of bizarre and hallucinogenic experiences.

  Leofric withdrew his hand from the pungent fruit and said, “No, I don’t think I will after all.”

/>   “Your loss,” said Kyarno, lying back on the rock and pillowing his head on his arms. “It is a feast beyond anything you will have tasted before, human.”

  “Perhaps,” said Leofric, returning to the edge of the water. “But that is a chance I am willing to take.”

  “Well, go on then,” said Kyarno as Leofric continued to stare in wonderment around the glade.

  “What?” asked Leofric, startled from his reverie.

  “You were brought here to get cleaned up,” said Kyarno, pointing to the sparkling waters of the Crystal Mere, “so get cleaned up.”

  Leofric nodded, eager to bathe in the water. An ache flared in his heart as he thought of how much Helene would have been enchanted by this place, though, shamefully, the ache was more bearable than it had previously been.

  As Kyarno lounged on the rocks with a bored expression on his face, Leofric stripped off his shirt, britches and boots, leaving them folded on the soft grass at the edge of the pale beach. Normally, Leofric would have felt incredibly self-conscious stripping naked before a stranger, but such notions of modesty seemed ridiculous in this place.

  He descended to the beach, letting out a sigh of pleasure as the soft sand eased between his toes, like the deepest, most luxuriant rug. He wiggled his toes in the sand, smiling as a warm, relaxing sensation eased its way up his legs.

  Leofric stared at the pool before him, able to see its sandy bottom, and already wet from the foaming water misting the air from the waterfall. The crystalline waters rippled with life and light, looping sprays of sparkling water spites playing in the shallows.

  “Is it safe to bathe with those spites in there?” asked Leofric.

  “They won’t bite. Nip, maybe, but this is a place of healing and rest,” sighed Kyarno. “You are safe here.”

  Though the forest tore at them and flocks of black-winged birds swooped and dived above them, the roaring centaur creatures did not slow their charge. Powerful muscles, swollen by the breath of the gods, drove them onwards and kept them strong, the intoxicating brew in their wineskins keeping their courage high in the face of the creatures that assailed them.