Chapter Four
The Council broke up two hours later, the Elves all heading off in different directions, to pass an uneasy and restless night. Caryndil strode in a daze through the dark, wandering aimlessly about the crest of the hill. The events of the Council had been staggering. The old elf, named Virine, had revealed the purpose of the Druchii raids, and it had terrified the audience. The Tomb of Alith Anar was sacred to the folk of Nagarythe, the soul of the great warrior was a beacon of hope to the scattered people of the Shadow Warriors. Yet no mortal knew its location, for Alith Anar had built it himself, and lain down inside it to die, or so the legends said. It was rumoured to be high in the Annulli Mountains, overlooking the Northern Sea, but no elf had ever found it. Yet all elves knew that if the rest of Anar were ever disturbed or desecrated, his protection would wane, and the land of Ulthuan would be imperilled.
And here was the terror- the only reason that the Dark Elves were now concentrating so mightily on finding-and destroying-the Tomb was that they planned invasion. No trifling raids, no tentative base in Anlec, but complete and utter conquest was their aim. It was staggering, the last time there had been a full fledged invasion of Ulthuan, the land had almost been swamped by the hordes of Chaos. The people and the land were, in some places, still recovering from the catastrophe. The Shadow Warriors now knew their duty. They would be called upon more than ever, to protect the North from the minions of Naggoroth, but against the massive strength of the Witch King's armies, it would be nearly impossible. Ulthuan had to be warned.
Caryndil gave a start as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled to see Falryr standing behind him.
"Caryndil, come with me, please."
Falryr led Caryndil into his tent, where the two strangers, Lindenal and Famenon, sat talking quietly with one another near a glowing brazier.
"Caryndil, the reason I called you here is one of utmost importance," Falryr began, " The brethren have enough on their hands already, what with preparing the defence of the North, and few can be spared to bring warning to the rest of Ulthuan. "
Caryndil nodded, as realisation crept into his mind. " Do you want me to abandon my people in their time of need, and head for safety?" he asked incredulously.
Falryr shook his head impatiently, " No of course not! But it is necessary to warn the people of the South! Two parties are being out tomorrow morning. One leaves south for Caledor and Ellyrion. One leaves east, to warn the Everqueen. You have been chosen to lead that force."
Caryndil stared at him. " What? Me? My Lord, there must have been a mistake! I am hardly the right choice for an expedition to Avelorn! There are others, betters-"
"Nevertheless, you were chosen by the Council, and you leave tomorrow."
Caryndil leaned, weakly, against a tent pole.
"But why was I chosen? What makes me special? Why?"
Falryr sighed, and bowed his head.
"Alas, my friend, I am forbidden to tell you why you were chosen. But I am charged to give you this-"
He produced a small, wooden box. Caryndil stared at it, fascinated. It was engraved in needle thin mithril, and was smooth and cool to the touch.
" You must only open the box when you reach Avelorn. Only there will you be able to use the Key. Whatever happens, you must not break open the box."
Caryndil nodded dumbly, fastening the box to his belt.
Falryr smiled, wanly. "Well, then. You leave tomorrow at the second hour. You will have an escort. A party of spearmen will accompany you, and a detachment of archers. Also, Lindenal and Famenon here will go with you." Lindenal bowed, as did Famenon. "Your own band of warriors may accompany you too. "
Caryndil accepted this hail of instructions and stunning revelations quietly. He bowed, and left the tent. In the morning, he was to assume command of a battleforce. He had never before been a commander of anything but his small band of elves. He made his way over to the place where his elves were sleeping, and told them of his appointment. They all vowed unanimously to accompany him. With a whirlwind of thoughts and ideas swirling in his mind, Caryndil lay down and fell asleep.
He awoke to a grey, cloudy morning, and as he got up he saw that the council area was almost completely empty of his kin, the Shadow Warriors. They had melted back into the night, gone back to prepare the defence of their beloved homeland. Only Falryr's tent was still up, and he was preparing to leave as well. Caryndil saw Famenon and Lindenal come striding briskly over to him, carrying all their battle gear. Famenon spoke.
" Commander, the troops wait below for your inspection. "
Commander. Never before had he been addressed by any name but Caryndil, not even by his own band. But he quickly got over his amazement, and donning his helmet, said, " Right. Rouse my elves here, if you will, while I go and speak with the soldiers. " Lindenal bowed.
Caryndil strode off down the hill, and as he reached the base, he saw a party of two score spearmen, their blades glistening in the sun. He saw a party of at least thirty archers, seated in the grass, and in the road nearby, a strange device of gleaming wood and metal- an Eagle Claw Repeating Bolt Thrower, the devastating war machine of Ulthuan.
As they saw the grey robed figure walk down, the archers rose up, and the spearmen stood to attention. Their leader walked out, and when he reached Caryndil, stopped.
" Good morning, Commander. My battalion stands ready to accompany you. "
Despite his formal, polite words, Caryndil could sense, as he had so many times before, the coolness and disdain the rest of the Asur felt for his kin. However, as he had done before, he ignored it.
" Greetings. My force will be ready to begin the march within minutes. You know of our destination?"
The champion bowed. " Many times have I desired to view the land of Avelorn, sir, and am glad of this opportunity. "
Caryndil nodded, content. Turning around, he saw his troop coming swiftly down the hill, and facing the champion again, said, " Then let us begin."
The Elves marched all that day, northeast, skirting the foothills of the mountains, and staying on one of the highways of Tiranoc. The Bolt Thrower was pulled by two white horses. They saw no one that day, a sad reminder of the declining population, though they passed many shrines and empty houses. Along the road, Caryndil outlined his plan to himself. They would march towards the Eagle Gate, the nearest gap in the Annulli, and cross over into Ellyrion, and thence to Avelorn. What would happen then, he had no idea. One did not simply walk into Avelorn and ask to speak with the Everqueen. However, on the third day of the march, Caryndil's mind was distracted from this, and violently.
At noon, the Elves were forced to dash to the side of the road as a chariot came rushing down it. The charioteers stopped twenty yards past them, and one called out to them,
" Are you going to the village of Falen Danath? "
Caryndil called back, " No, we seek the Eagle Gate "
The charioteer answered, " Beware, the Dark Ones have seized the hills around the village- if not stopped, they will block the road to the gate. We are heading for the village now, to see what defence can be made- your forces would be of use. "
Holding a quick discussion with the elves nearby, Caryndil ascertained that the majority of his force wished to proceed directly to the Gate. However, the Shadow Warriors insisted, each and every one, to fight. Caryndil himself was of the same mind.
" Tell them that we shall come. Death to the Druchii!" he cried, lifting his sword high.
The charioteer gave a spirited war whoop in return, and his companion spurred their steeds on.
However, before sundown that day, the Elves under Caryndil came upon a scene of battle- all had not gone well with the Asur. Three chariots were broken on the field, and sprawled over the carriage of one was the same charioteer who had beckoned Caryndil to help him. There was a crossbow bolt in his neck. The elves noted the bodies of several Dark Ones nearby, and turning one over, Caryndil saw that they were Corsairs, mainly, although he saw a horseman with a crossbow and spear, dead on his fallen steed, with a white fletched arrow in his heart. Dark Riders.
The spearmen looked askance at the scene of carnage, but the Shadow Warriors knelt on the ground, solemnly, in prayer for the souls of their fallen brethren. After they had finished, they piled the bodies of the Druchii into a heap, and burnt them. No Dark Elf corpse would sully the earth of Ulthuan. The charioteers they buried with their steeds, marking as their grave a shield, which bore the Tear of Isha rune upon it. By this time, it was growing dark. They had not reached the village of Falen Danath, as Caryndil had hoped they would. He gave orders to pitch camp.
Ilmerin, the one elf maiden left to Caryndil's band, approached him.
" The kin of the evil ones are not far, Caryndil," she said, anxiously. " They will have seen the bonfire. They will attack."
Caryndil stiffened, horror struck. He had not realised what he had done- in caring for the burial of his kin, he had not thought of the remaining Druchii. The champion of the archers overheard this.
" They will attack at night, when we are asleep." he said.
Caryndil shook his head. " No. Shadow Warriors never sleep when the spawn of Naggoroth are near. We have taught them that much, in our wars. "
" What, then, will they do?" demanded the archer, worriedly.
Caryndil sighed.
" Ready your troops. "
The elf stared at him, dumbstruck.
" Ready your troops! There isn't much time!" Caryndil said again, heavily.
Quickly, Caryndil surveyed the landscape. They stood in a small copse of trees, by the roadside. In front of them was the wide meadow where the charioteers had fought and died, and at the end of that, some two hundred yards away, was a thicker, darker wood, of tall pine, which stretched up over the hills, going away northwards. Caryndil ordered the archers to form up just outside the copse, using the wrecked chariots as cover. The spearmen stood behind them, and the bolt thrower was on the right. The Shadow Warriors melted away, without any instruction, to behind the road, where they could surprise the Dark Elves. Famenon confronted Caryndil.
" Where are you going, Commander?"
" I shall remain here, with the main body" spoke Caryndil, surprised.
Famenon nodded. " Then I will accompany you. "
Caryndil frowned. " I have no need of a guard. Go to the spearmen, they will need support."
Famenon looked deeply offended. " My liege," Caryndil winced, " it is my duty, as a Warrior of Chrace, to guard you with my life. Besides, " he said, " Lindenal is with the Shadow Warriors." Caryndil looked over and saw that he was, polishing his long sword, and giving words of encouragement to the elves around him.
" Well, " Caryndil sighed, reluctantly, " If you must..."
The attack came just as the sun was about to dip below the sea. A cry went up from the archers, and Caryndil saw that there was a dark, metallic glint in the woods across the meadow. Suddenly, from out of the eastern wood rode at least twenty Dark Riders, mounted on midnight steeds, and heading straight for the archers. Letting forth a mighty shout, the first rank sent a hail of arrows towards the cavalry. Two fell, dragged along the ground in inglorious death. However, the remainder loosed a volley of bolts at the archers, and four fell screaming. The cavalry swerved away from the road and crossed the field again, firing more bolts, and being met by the same white fletched arrows. One more Dark Elf fell, and three archers died. The Bolt Thrower, on Caryndil's signal, fired, taking down another Dark Rider, and wounding one's horse. The riders veered off, heading back into the woods. A ragged cheer went up from the High Elves. But then, a host of dark armoured warriors burst from the woods- Corsairs. There were at least fifty, and behind them were foes that Caryndil had always dreaded fighting- Witch Elves. They danced maniacally, waving vicious daggers and swords in a deadly ballet, rushing towards Caryndil's line. Then, the Dark Riders returned, and now pelted head on towards the High Elves. Caryndil's heart sank, and around him, the elves were becoming nervous. The archers were slowly backing away. With a shout, Caryndil reassured them. Famenon was motionless, and Lindenal moved about amongst the spearmen, reassuring them. A hail of bolts took the lives of several more archers and spearmen, but the bolt thrower was now firing volleys. Corsairs died in droves, but when the archers sought to finish them off, they shrugged off the darts with their scaly green cloaks. They were only yards away, and then-
" NAGARYTHE!" with a cry, six arrows flew from behind the road, and six Corsairs fell, hit in their faces. Then, before they could react, six more arrows flew towards the Dark Riders, and two fell. The six Shadow Warriors were up and firing. Caryndil strung his bow, and murmuring a prayer to Loec, joined in, his arrow finding the heart of a crazed Witch Elf. Again, he felt the familiar battle flame leap up within him, and he exulted to see his fellow Shadow Warriors in the fight. But now the Shadow Warriors had been seen. Several Dark Riders veered towards them, and fired their bolts. Witch Elves followed. With horror, Caryndil saw one of the bolts hit Durhiel, an old elf, in the stomach. He doubled over in pain, and Caryndil saw the others retreat, firing as they went. To other Elves, it might have seemed cruel to abandon a comrade, but the Shadow Warriors knew, with the grim certainty of four thousand years of battle, that the wound was fatal. Caryndil murmured a prayer for the elf's soul, even as the Dark Riders cruelly and needlessly sent a dozen other bolts into Durhiel's shaking body. The Shadow Warriors melted away, but Caryndil knew that they would return.
The threat to their flank gone, the Druchii surged forward again. Caryndil ordered the archers to fall back, and the spearmen to come forward. In one fluid movement, the elves stepped forward, forming a semicircle, with the archers on the inside. The Dark Elves were about to make contact, a final bolt thrower salvo downing four more Corsairs, when the front rank dropped, spears held high, the second and third ranks lowering their spears in a beautifully co-ordinated motion. Then, the Druchii hit. Many died instantly on the wall of spear points, but others got in closer, and fought viciously. The Corsairs at first were confounded by the spearmen's tight formation, but then the Witch Elves hit. They vaulted over the ranks in front, and sunk their daggers into vulnerable necks and faces, their skill mocked the spearmen's defences, and the beleaguered elves began to die. Caryndil rushed into the combat with a roar. On his left he saw Lindenal cutting swathes through the Corsairs, his heavy blade as light as a normal sword. A Witch Elf, shrieking hatred, leapt through the air, daggers outstretched, to stab the elf in the back. But Lindenal turned at the last possible moment and ran her through, the hatred in her eyes turning to shock and disbelief, before her corpse was kicked contemptuously off by the Swordmaster. Caryndil himself fought well, his blade flicking in and out of the Dark Ones, dealing swift death. Famenon protected his back, no defence could stand against his mighty axe. Caryndil saw the Corsairs hesitate, and he thought for a moment that they could triumph. But then, suddenly, he heard a sharp cry, and turning saw the remaining Black Riders plough into combat, their spears skewering the spearmen. One turned in his saddle and fired two bolts at Caryndil, who dodged the first, but turning back around, was horrified to see, in an instant, a bolt heading for his heart. He was doomed, but then-
It hit, and instantly evaporated into black dust. Caryndil looked, amazed, at the point of impact, and saw the little box that Falryr had given him. It was glowing brightly, hung on a chain round his neck. Yet other elves weren't so lucky. The Bolt Thrower crew was dead, and by now, the spearmen were outnumbered and outflanked, dying where they stood. They could not remain where they were.
" Retreat! " shouted Caryndil, hoping to continue the fight in the wood, where the lack of numbers would be compensated for. The archers broke and ran, but the spearmen slowly moved backwards, forming a square, giving ground slowly. Yet finally, they too were broken, and the survivors fled. Caryndil was the last to go, calling out a taunt in the harsh, ugly tongue of Naggoroth before he left. The Witch Elves and Corsairs screamed in fury, and followed him in.
The Elves fled back into the copse, trying not to listen to the sounds of the Druchii murdering the wounded. There were no formations now, the elves were all spread throughout the darkening wood. The shadows were long and dark. Suddenly, Caryndil stopped. The surviving archers and spearmen halted with him. A warning raced through his mind. Turning to the nearest spear elf, he hissed, "Your armour! Cover your armour!"
The elf was puzzled. "Why? What with?"
"Take off your mail and breastplate!" whispered Caryndil. " The light shines off of them, you will be seen. The Cursed Ones are garbed in black, you stand out like a ghost! "
The elf was indignant. " My armour is sacred to my family, I will not abandon-"
A bolt came hissing through the gloaming. Caryndil turned and grabbed the obstinate elf by the shoulder and tried to pull him down. But he wouldn't budge. Angrily, Caryndil rose to force him down- and saw a black barbed shaft protruding from the elf's silver breastplate, nailing him to a tree.
Caryndil ducked the second bolt and spun around, arrow notched. He saw a shadowy figure in a tree and loosed his arrow. The figure fell, and Caryndil saw that it had been a Shade, the arch nemeses of the Shadow Warriors, outcasts alike, shunned by Druchii society. Soon, other bolts began hissing through the air, and the elves began to die, their armour giving them away. Desperately, Caryndil ran from tree to tree, his arrows bringing swift death to what Shades lurked there, but it soon became clear that he was badly outnumbered. And now, the Witch Elves had caught up with the fleeing Asur. Screams filled the wood. They didn't have a chance. Those who took off their armour were slit open by the poisoned blades of the Witches, and those who kept their armour were slain by the Shades. Caryndil had lost contact with Famenon and Lindenal. He knew that there was no hope, but his people were not given to despair, and he refused to give up. He saw his band among the dying, loosing arrows at any Shades who showed themselves. But then, in horror, he saw the Witch Elves catch them surrounded in a clearing. Syraith died first, then Endath. Ilmerin ran, fending off the howling maniacs with her blade. Shouting, Caryndil ran to help her, but then she was hit in the leg by a bolt. She stumbled, and was hit again, in the shoulder. Still, she tried to run, but two Shades dropped down and impaled her with their cruel blades, stabbing over and over and over, until the elf maiden stopped shuddering. As her body hit the ground, the Shades stooped over her, readying their knives for decapitation. But this final disgrace Caryndil would not allow. The Shades died with arrows embedded in their necks.
Standing alone, amidst the bodies of his only friends and family, Caryndil drew his long sword, and readied himself to die. The first Witch Elf ran at him shrieking, and found him better prepared than the defenceless archers, whose heads she held in her hand. She died in shock, with the blade through her midriff. The next assailant was slain too, but then two leapt at him. He parried their attacks with desperate skill, calling on all his ancestor's battle prowess to aid him. One Dark Elf was relieved of her head, but the next kicked him, knocking him to the ground. He rolled over in agony, to see the Witch standing over him with raised blade. Saying a prayer, Caryndil closed his eyes, ready to meet death, but before he did so the Witch oddly fell apart, into two perfectly even pieces. With a roar, Famenon strode forward, his axe mocking any defence the evil ones could make. Within seconds, not a single crazed Bride of Khaine lived in that glade, their pale bodies littered the grass. Famenon pulled Caryndil up to his feet. The elf was in a state of shock. His band of followers had been killed to an elf, and their bodies mutilated and defiled by the despicable Druchii. Despair stole over his heart, and he looked up in sorrow at the moon, now glowing above the forest. He had lost. He had failed.
Famenon's voice brought him back to his senses. " Commander."
Caryndil blinked, and then turned his head. " What?"
"The others are all dead- but Lindenal lives. We must find him."
Caryndil was puzzled. " How do you know that he is alive? "
But Famenon would not answer, and Caryndil gave up trying to ask him. " Come then, " he said, and, gathering up all his store of elven resolve, he strode off into the shadows of the trees. It did not take long to locate the Swordmaster. There was a great clamour in the woods to Caryndil's right, and they found Lindenal cornered against a great oak, fighting with at least six Corsairs. It was a vastly outmatched combat, but to Caryndil's amazement the Corsairs died, one by one, the graceful sword swooping around their clumsy defences in a dance of death. The last two, showing the inherent cowardice of their race, ran from the Swordmaster's vengeful blade, but they did not escape the two arrows that sailed from Caryndil's longbow. Lindenal, panting with exertion, rested his blade against the tree. Caryndil stood in awe of the elf's martial prowess.
Painfully, the elf spoke " I tried to save the others, but we were overmastered and taken by Shades in the wood. There were more of the Dark Ones, but they have gone. "
"Gone to warn their Lord", said Caryndil, through clenched teeth. "We have little time." Then, locking away all his grief and anger at the demise of his band, he forced himself to go on. " We must not allow the mission to fail. We continue on to the Eagle Gate. "
Famenon looked around bleakly at the High Elven dead sprawled over the fair wood, their silver armour tainted by blood. "What about the fallen? They deserve our respect," he said lamely, for he knew as well as the other two that time was of the essence.
Caryndil knew that they had to leave, but nonetheless he felt aggrieved that his kin should lie unmourned and disgraced. It was hard, but locking away remorse, he began to walk away from the wood, keeping his cloak about him in secrecy. Famenon and Lindenal followed close behind. They left the wood, and were cautiously picking their way across the meadow where the battle had been fought, keeping low to the ground, and were in the verge of the dark forest on the other side when they heard a great noise, a low rumbling and shaking, pierced with guttural, croaking cries. They knelt on the ground just in time to see fifty armoured knights, Druchii mounted on great slavering reptiles, the feared Cold Ones of the North. The Knights drew up in ranks on the battlefield, and held their lances up in a salute. Through the moonlight, Caryndil's keen eyes made out a figure of a tall elf in black armour, seated on a Cold One, bearing a great sword of twisted iron. He spoke, and by his words Caryndil knew him to be a Lord.
" Well, my knights, it would appear that another field is ours, the weak fools have all been slain, their bodies now belong to your mounts, feed them well tonight"
His warriors laughed, their harsh voices a mockery of the sylvan High Elf speech. Caryndil's heart burned with loathing, for this coward had not even been at the battlefield, but was claiming a victory. But the Dark Elf was not finished.
" Tonight we feast in the village of Falen Danath, courtesy of its late inhabitants," he rasped, holding up a head. It was the terrified face of a little girl, still recognisable even through the blood. Caryndil's loathing was an almost physical force.
" Tomorrow we move up into the mountains, we will search this part of the land, and then meet with Lord Yeurl to co-ordinate the assault upon the Eagle Gate!"
Lindenal swore in anger. " Their brazenness knows no bounds " he hissed.
Caryndil did not hear him. " We must move, we aren't safe here, " he said to his companions. " We must gain the Gate before the attack. Move!"
Famenon and Lindenal obliged, getting up and moving into the woods. Caryndil turned to follow, but stopped. He made sure his friends were out of sight, and then he unslung his longbow. Selecting an arrow, he took out his knife, and scratched the words, " The Light Shall Triumph ", in the language of Nagarythe. Then he wrote the names of every member of his band, Ilmerin, Hylindor, Syraith, Durhiel, Marhiel, and lastly, his own name, Caryndil. He strung the longbow, and put the arrow in the notch, drawing the string tight. Concentrating his mind on the dead bodies of his kin, and the evil of the foul being that stood gloating before him, he loosed his arrow. It flew through the night, and buried itself in the face of the Dark Elf, piercing his poisoned brain and ending his life almost instantly. He toppled from his mount, his harsh laughter turning to a death scream. His minions were thrown into confusion. But Caryndil did not see this. He unstrung his bow, slung it around his back, and followed his friends into the wood, melting into the shadows, as he had done a thousand times before.