[Warhammer] - Guardians of the Forest, Page 3

  She rose from the rock and turned her gaze towards the forest.

  The sound of the weeping child came again, beguiling and wistful, and, without conscious thought, Helene began walking towards the edge of the hollow. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the yellow-surcoated men-at-arms gathered at the base of the hollow while Leofric continued his prayers.

  She considered bringing the unearthly sound to the attention of her husband and his soldiers, but even before the thought was fully formed it was plucked from her head and vanished like morning mist, replaced with an insistent, urgent need to find the crying child.

  Helene climbed from the hollow, the full majesty of the forest stretching out before her. The thick trunks of the mighty trees seemed to lean towards her, their branches sad with leaves of autumn gold. Leaves lay thick and still about the trees’ roots and blew in a soft wind that whispered between the branches like an ancient lament.

  Coils of greenish mist crept from the treeline, but Helene ignored them, her attention fixed on the sight of a young girl child kneeling at the edge of the woods, clad only in an ankle-length nightgown of pale cream. The child’s back was to her, and Helene’s heart went out to the child, whose long black hair fell about her shoulders and reached almost to the ground.

  “Oh, my dear…” wept Helene as she saw the distraught condition of the child, feet stained green with grass, and twigs and branches caught in her hair.

  Was this what had happened to Leofric’s ancestor? Had he been snatched as a child and left to die on this bleak moorland before the great forest of Athel Loren? Was this one of those poor unfortunate children taken by the elves, never to be seen again?

  Helene took a step forward, hearing the jingle of trace and whinny of horses from behind her, and the thought of fetching help once again came to her.

  The little girl let out a grief-stricken sob and all desires, except that of aiding this poor, wretched child, were banished from her thoughts.

  “Hello? Child, can you hear me?” asked Helene, taking yet more steps forward, feeling a growing fear settle in her belly with each mist-wreathed footfall. Dim lights flickered at the periphery of her vision and she had the fleeting impression of haunting melodies of aching loss from far away.

  The child did not reply and though Helene tried to stop herself, she felt her arm reaching towards the young girl and said, “Please…”

  Her hand closed on the girl’s shoulder and Helene sobbed in terror, feeling the softness of her flesh as a mulchy wetness.

  The child’s dark-haired head slowly turned to face her, and Helene whimpered in terror as she saw that this was no innocent child, but a thing of horror.

  In an instant, the blackness of the girl’s hair thinned, becoming a whipping tangle of thorned barbs, her face a haggard crone’s, full of heartless spite and wicked malice. The nightgown sloughed from the thing’s body, its greenish skin transforming into lashing wood, its fingers stretching into razored talons.

  The creature of the forest leapt upon Helene with snapping fangs and slashing claws that ripped and bit and tore.

  Helene screamed and screamed as pain and blood filled her senses.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The scream tore through the morning air, its tone reaching deep inside every man gathered in the hollow, Leofric surged to his feet, spinning his sword in his grip so as to hold it before him. Instantly, he saw that Helene was not in sight and that a soft greenish mist gathered at the lip of the hollow.

  “Helene!” he yelled, running for his horse.

  The men-at-arms stood transfixed in fear by the green glow at the top of the hollow, coils of mist slithering down towards them. Another wailing scream, anguished and terrible, echoed from beyond the hollow and the spell was broken, soldiers running for horses and gathering their weapons.

  Leofric lifted his foot into the stirrup and hauled himself into his saddle, raking his spurs viciously back and driving his mount onwards. A terrible fear gripped him, hot and urgent in his belly, as he once again shouted Helene’s name. Behind him, his squire struggled to catch up, the gold and red of Leofric’s banner waving crazily in the air.

  The greenish mist sparkled with light and Leofric muttered a prayer of protection to the Lady as he rode Taschen into its glittering depths. Hidden, spiteful laughter whipped around him, together with something that sounded like the musical tinkling of an icy wind-chime.

  “Come on, damn you!” he yelled, looking over his shoulder to ensure that his men-at-arms were following. “Your lady is in peril! Make haste!”

  His sword shone with a spectral light, its blade cutting through the mist with ease as Leofric felt the ground level out beneath his horse. Ahead, he could faintly see the dark outline of the forest’s edge, the gnarled trunks of the oaks seeming to close ranks as he charged towards the source of the screams.

  “Helene!” he shouted, circling his horse and riding up and down the length of the treeline. “Helene! Can you hear me?”

  Leofric heard the muffled thump of hoof beats and turned as he saw Baudel and the men-at-arms riding towards him.

  “Spread out!” yelled Leofric. “Ride along the forest’s edge and do not stop until you find her!”

  Baudel nodded, but before any of the soldiers could begin the search, another scream sounded, this time beyond the trees, echoing from inside the forest. Leofric turned his horse once more and felt his flesh chill as he saw a splash of fresh blood on a tree trunk.

  “Oh no…” he whispered. “The forest has her.”

  “Wait, my lord!” shouted Baudel as Leofric rode his horse towards the dark, mist-wreathed trees. “We can’t go in there.”

  “We have to,” cried Leofric. “In the name of the Lady, I order you to follow me!”

  The soldiers milled in fearful uncertainty, their duty to their master warring with their lifelong dread of the faerie folk’s realm. Sparkling laughter, rich with the promise of dark amusement, rippled through the mist, and the horses stamped their hooves in fear, eyes wide and ears pressed flat against their skulls.

  Leofric snarled in anger and jabbed his spurs into his mount’s flanks, riding into Athel Loren.

  Behind him he could hear Baudel shouting, “Come on, men! Lady Carrard needs us and you’re just going to let her die? Call yourselves men of Bretonnia, you’re no better than bloody dogs! Move!”

  Belittled into action, the majority of the men-at-arms followed Baudel as he rode after Leofric, but some did not, dragging the reins of their beasts and riding away, tears of shame and fear burning their eyes.

  Leofric charged heedlessly through the forest, seeing a flash of a scarlet gown ahead, his horse plunging deeper into the forest as he cried out Helene’s name once more.

  “Baudel!” he shouted, pointing with his sword. “Left! Go left!”

  There was no reply and Leofric angrily twisted in his saddle, ready to berate his soldiers, but his mouth snapped shut as he saw that he was alone. Dimly, he could see the shadowy forms of horsemen riding beyond the dark lines of the trees, ghostly and indistinct. Laughter and a hissing rustle of leaves in a strong wind sounded and Leofric spun his horse searching for the source of the noise.

  Again he saw the flash of scarlet and urged his mount towards it. He rode through the trees, emerging into a glade with a fallen tree at its centre, resting atop a cloven rock. The ground was churned with hoof prints and a broken spear lay in the mud.

  “Helene!” shouted Leofric, once more catching sight of her red gown and pushing his mount onwards. He leapt his horse over a growth of thorns, landing on a worn path, and charged around a spur of dark evergreens before emerging into another glade, similar to the previous one.

  No… not similar, he realised, seeing the same fallen tree and cloven rock, identical. How could he have circled back on himself? More hoof beats sounded and he heard a scream, a man’s, then a gurgling cry of pain.

  The noise of rustling leaves grew louder and louder, as though a storm whipped through the
forest, but Leofric could see nothing. “Helene! Where are you?”

  His fury and fear growing by the second, Leofric rode from the glade once more, leaving by a different path, as he heard the sounds of battle from ahead. Briars snatched at him as he rode past, tearing his caparison, branches seeming to close in and block his passage, but he slashed and hacked with his sword and the way was opened.

  He rode into another clearing, thankfully a different one from before, in time to see two of his men-at-arms snatched from their saddles by unseen assailants, dragged into the deep undergrowth behind them.

  Leofric charged forwards, shouting, “Come out and show yourselves, damn it! Fight with honour!”

  The undergrowth shook with terrible violence and one of his men-at-arms crawled from the greenery, his face a mask of blood and terror. Something green and icy-white rose up behind the soldier and Leofric cried out as he saw the gnarled, hag’s face atop a writhing branch-like form of moss, weeds and wood. Slashing fingers struck at the man, who screamed in agony as he was torn to shreds.

  Leofric charged forwards, swinging his sword in a downward arc towards the hag’s face. His sword struck the centre of her skull, but fast as quicksilver, the crone of wood came apart, her outline blurring as the branches and leaves reknit themselves once more.

  Leofric turned to strike another blow, but something landed with a malicious cackle on the back of his horse, slashing at his armour with grasping talons. The rank stench of winter moss assailed him, the rich wetness of the cold earth. Lank hair, like that of a corpse, spattered his armour.

  He gagged and hammered his elbow back, hearing the crack of splitting wood as another creature of branches and pallid green flesh erupted from the undergrowth.

  His horse reared and struck out as it had been trained to do, its iron-shod hooves smashing into the creature before it with the crack of splintering wood. The creature burst apart in a flurry of leaves and mud, and the sickly smell of wood sap filled Leofric’s senses.

  “Get off me!” he yelled, hammering his elbow back once more and crying out as he felt razor-sharp talons slide between the gaps in his armour and pierce the mail below. Blood streamed down his leg as he reversed the grip on his sword and hammered the point backwards through the gap between his arm and body, feeling it slide into wet, mulchy flesh.

  His assailant screeched in rage, tumbling from the back of his horse as he saw Baudel ride into the clearing, with his men-at-arms behind him. He could see the fear on their faces, but could not spare them any words as he wheeled his horse to face his fallen attacker.

  The thing of branches sprang through the air, its haggard face full of spite, and Leofric swung his sword in a great upwards sweep that hacked it in two as it leapt. It exploded in a green mist of sap, wood and leaves, a dazzling ball of light whipping from its remains and flashing into the trees.

  Leofric raised the visor of his helmet and shouted, “Baudel! Any sign of my wife?”

  “No!” called back Baudel. “We have to get out of here. I don’t know how many men we’ve lost already!”

  “No! I won’t leave without her,” roared Leofric. “Come on, she can’t be far.”

  Without waiting to see if his men followed, Leofric rode off once more, desperation surging in his veins. He charged wildly into the forest’s depths, the cackling laughter of the woodland hags following him at every turn. Darting lights spun and looped through the high branches of the trees and sparkling mists wove in and out of his path.

  Leofric wanted to weep in frustration as the forest closed in around him. Where was she? He could no longer tell which way was which…

  Again he saw a flash of red and pushed his lathered mount onwards once more. He thundered down the overgrown path, emerging into a clearing with a familiar fallen tree and boulder.

  “Lady, no!” he wept. “Please, please, no!”

  He slumped over the neck of his horse, his hope that he might find Helene growing fainter by the minute. What chance did he have when the very forest conspired against him?

  Angrily he pushed such despairing thoughts from his mind. Was he not a knight of Bretonnia, sworn to uphold the traditions of chivalry? A knight never gave up, never despaired and never abandoned a damsel in distress.

  He straightened in the saddle as Baudel and six other riders finally caught up with him. All of them bore the scars of battle and their yellow surcoats were stained with blood and dirt. Fear was writ large on every face and their desire to flee the forest was plain. His banner still flew, but the lad who bore it wept in terror.

  “Spread out into a line!” ordered Leofric. “We’ll quarter this area of the forest.”

  “My lord, it’s no use,” said Baudel. “It’s impossible, the trees confound us at every turn!”

  “I know,” snapped Leofric, “but what choice do we have?”

  “We can live,” said Baudel, pointing to a patch of clear sunlight beyond the trees that plainly led back to the heath before the forest.

  “No, we stay,” stated Leofric. “I won’t leave her.”

  Baudel nodded and said, “Then we stay too.”

  Even as the words left his throat, the light of the sky was snatched away as the branches of the trees closed in. Leofric readied his sword as the cackling of the woodland creatures grew from all around them, the crack of branches weaving themselves into new and terrible forms and the frenzied rustling of leaves growing louder with every passing second.

  “Ride!” shouted Leofric as the creatures attacked once more.

  Monsters of branch and root rose up from the ground, weaving from the trunks of the trees with an unearthly green light. With thick, ridged skin of hardened bark and malicious black eyes, they tore at the Bretonnians with implacable fury. Leofric chopped his sword through the branch-like limb of one of the creatures, the timber cracking from its body in a spray of sweet sap.

  It screamed in rage, its other arm slamming into his breastplate with a solid thump and Leofric grunted in pain, feeling as if he’d been hit by a thunderous lance impact. He reeled back in the saddle, dragging on the reins to prevent himself from being unhorsed and brought his sword back in a deadly reverse stroke that took the forest creature’s head off.

  He rounded on the other creatures in time to see his standard fall, the young lad lifted from his saddle with a scream of terror. Long, stabbing talons plunged into his chest, dragging his body high into the trees with a deathly wail.

  Leofric rode forwards and caught the falling banner, wedging its base into the stirrup cup normally used to hold the butt of his lance.

  “Carrard!” he yelled as the ground beneath him writhed with life. His horse sidestepped nimbly as roots and creepers surged upwards, grasping and clawing with thorny appendages.

  Another man was dragged down, his body obscured by dancing lights that spun around him with capering laughter. Shifting forms spun through the lights: imps, daemons and tiny, ghostly knights. Baudel rode through the mass of branch creatures, stabbing with his spear and screaming obscenities at his foes.

  Leofric urged his horse onwards, riding towards Baudel’s aid as a whipping branch leapt at him, striking the visor of his helmet with a ringing hammer blow.

  Starbursts exploded around him and he felt the banner slip from his fingers as he fought to stay conscious. His head rang with the impact and he could taste blood, but he gritted his teeth and held on. He couldn’t see properly, his visor had been buckled inwards by the blow, so he snapped it upwards.

  Something dropped from above him with a high, skirling laugh and he felt moist, clawed hands tearing at him. Straddling his horse’s neck before him was a creature of pallid green flesh, its features running like wax, changing from a maiden of unearthly beauty to a hideous, wrinkled hag and back again in a heartbeat. She was laughing, but there was nothing but hate and bitterness in the icy sound.

  Leofric slammed his helmet into the hag’s face, and her laughter turned to a squeal of rage as she toppled from his horse, b
ut by then it was already too late. Baudel fell from his horse, his belly torn open and emptying its contents across the forest floor, his eyes glazed and dead.

  “No!” shouted Leofric as slashing branches pummelled him and he felt himself pitched from his saddle, landing in an ungainly heap across the fallen tree. He cried out as he felt at least one rib crack and rolled onto the wet ground, fighting through the pain.

  “Forgive me, Helene,” he hissed. “I failed you…”

  A flash of colour caught his eye and he reached out with a bloodstained gauntlet to grasp a silken scarf of blue, edged in white lace that lay on the forest floor.

  “Helene…”

  Leofric snarled in anger, snatching up Helene’s scarf and tucking it inside his gauntlet, before pushing himself to his feet as a dozen or more of the fell forest creatures emerged from the wood, capering, malicious crones and blank-faced tree wraiths surrounded by clouds of swirling lights. His horse whinnied in fear and cantered over to him, its nostrils wide and flaring in fear.

  He pushed himself painfully to his feet, hot agony flaring in his side where his ribs were cracked. Blood streamed down his leg and he felt nauseous and dizzy from his head wound.

  “I am Leofric Carrard! A knight of the realm and warrior of Bretonnia!” he shouted defiantly, “and if you damned forest creatures want me dead then you’re about to find out how a knight of Bretonnia meets his end!”

  He raised his sword in salute until the quillons were level with his chin and kissed the blade.

  “For Quenelles, the king and the Lady!” he roared.

  But before he took a single step, the forest creatures hissed and pulled back from a growing light that slipped effortlessly through the forest. Its course was towards this thrice-cursed glade and Leofric felt a surge of hope flare as he saw the faint outline of a glowing woman in the depths of the light.