Malekith grunted. He looked down at Alarielle. The Everqueen was still unconscious. ‘What of her?’ he asked, his voice softening, though only slightly.
‘I shall guard her with my life,’ Teclis said.
The Eternity King looked at him and laughed hollowly. ‘I am sure she will appreciate it.’ He raised his hand, and with a roar that shook the glade, his dragon swooped towards him. Malekith shot skywards on a column of twisting shadows, and was in the saddle moments later. The dragon roared again and Malekith laughed wildly as the beast crashed into one of the newly arrived bloodthirsters, coiling about it like an immense black serpent.
Two more of the bloodthirsters raced towards the dais, their mighty hooves churning the soil. One leapt into the air with a single flap of its leathery wings and flew towards them with a bone-rattling bellow. ‘This one’s mine,’ Tyrion said. He extended his sword and a burst of cleansing light shot from the blade, clipping the daemon’s wing. The bloodthirster smashed into the dais with a startled roar. Before it could recover, Tyrion reversed his blade and leapt, driving the sword into the beast’s skull with both hands. As he tore the blade free, the second hurtled past him, towards Teclis.
Teclis gritted his teeth and smashed the end of his staff down. Magic flowed through him, and out, assailing his opponent. All eight winds were his to command, and he did so now, battering the daemon with amber spears, thorny growth, blistering starlight and searing flame. Blinded, bleeding and burned, the creature crashed down onto the dais, and did not move again. Teclis met Tyrion’s gaze, and the latter nodded curtly.
Tyrion turned as his steed, Malhandir, galloped through the press of battle, bowling over flesh hounds and trampling bloodletters. He vaulted into the saddle, hauled on the reins and turned the horse’s head east, towards the spot where the Emperor and Hammerson fought. Teclis silently wished his twin well.
Every muscle in his body ached and he could feel his strength beginning to ebb. The Incarnates had reserves of power he did not possess, and he was drawing near his limits. He looked down at Alarielle. There was no telling why she had collapsed, but he thought it likely had to do with the eruption of a daemonic portal so close to the heart of Athel Loren. As the Incarnate of Life, she was tied body and soul to the living world. The opening of such a portal would have felt much like a red hot blade being driven into her flesh.
A shadow fell over him, and he looked up in horror as another bloodthirster dropped towards he and Alarielle. His exhaustion forgotten, he raised a hand and hurled a bolt of cerulean lightning at the daemon. The creature roared as the bolt struck home, but it did not fall. It landed on the dais, the ancient white wood cracking and warping beneath the touch of its hooves. The beast loomed over him, reeking of blood and offal. He thrust his staff forwards, calling forth more lightning.
The bloodthirster shrieked and stomped up to him, hacking at him with its axe. The blow smashed into the dais, narrowly missing him. Teclis tumbled backwards. Before he could get to his feet, the axe was descending on him again. Hastily, he interposed his staff, knowing that it wouldn’t protect him even as he did so.
The axe halted, bare inches from him. The bloodthirster gave a strangled cry as it staggered back. Teclis’s eyes widened as he saw thick tendrils of plant life coil about the beast’s wings, legs and arms. And beyond it, he saw Alarielle on one knee, her palm pressed to the dais. The wood buckled and ruptured as more roots thrust through it and snagged the struggling daemon. The creature bucked and thrashed, snarling, but for every tendril it ripped free, more tightened about it.
‘This is my domain, beast,’ Alarielle said, as she rose to her feet, ‘and you are not welcome here.’ She made a fist, and the bloodthirster screamed as the roots suddenly burrowed into its flesh. As its roars reached a crescendo, she opened her hand, splaying her fingers. A moment later, the bloodthirster convulsed and then was torn apart by the flailing roots. As chunks of daemon pattered down, Teclis climbed to his feet.
‘Alarielle, I–’ he began.
‘Quiet,’ she said. She turned and surveyed the ruin that had been made of the glade. Her features contorted into an expression of grief and anger. ‘The forest is screaming. It is caught in a nightmare which does not end. It must awaken,’ she snarled. ‘Do you hear me? Awaken.’ She raised her hands, and swept them out as she spoke. ‘Awaken and fight!’
And before Teclis’s disbelieving eyes, it did.
It happened swiftly. At first, there was only the sound. Deep and sonorous, it was akin to the rumble of a distant avalanche. Then, all around the glade, trees began to move, their roots tearing free of the clammy ground as their bark flexed and twisted into half-remembered shapes. In ones and twos the ancient guardians of Athel Loren were jarred awake by the cry of the Everqueen. The ground shook with a fury unseen since the days before the coming of the elves as the forest began to move.
Ponderous at first, and then faster and faster, the gnarled feet of the newly awakened treemen thudded home into the sod, propelling them into battle with the ravening daemons. They erupted from the forest on all sides, hurling themselves at the enemy with creaking roars. Bloodletters and flesh hounds alike were smashed aside or trampled underfoot and brass-fleshed juggernauts were crushed like tin as the ancient guardians of the forest roared into battle with the invaders. Daemons scattered like dead wood caught in a gale.
Teclis watched in awe as Athel Loren awoke for the first time in millennia. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying, for the forest unbound was as powerful in its own way as the Dark Gods, and equally as deadly.
Only where the treemen clashed with the bloodthirsters did their advance slow. The greater daemons were shards of Khorne’s rage made manifest, even as the treemen were splinters of the great soul of Athel Loren. Not since the first incursion of Chaos had such a battle been waged. Lesser daemons were crushed as the titans battled, and even the Incarnates were not immune to the fury of the creatures. Teclis saw Arkhan nearly swatted from the air by the wing of a bloodthirster, and a moment later, his brother was almost crushed by a toppling treeman.
A roar sounded, echoing above the din of the colossal battle. Teclis looked up, and saw a black shape, vast and terrible, dropping towards he and Alarielle. One of the treemen climbed the dais and sought to ward off the new arrival, but the ancient was no match for the newcomer. A great hammer, covered in ruinous sigils, thudded down, and the treeman’s arm evaporated into a cloud of charred splinters. As the guardian reeled, an axe hacked deep into the thick bark. The treeman fell with a groan. A moment later, its head vanished beneath the hoof of the bloodthirster as it climbed the dais to confront Teclis and Alarielle.
‘Ka’Bandha of the Third Host, Huntsman of Khorne, bids you greeting,’ the creature rumbled. ‘The Lord of Skulls has laid claim to this forest and every scalp within it, and it is my pleasure to claim them on his behalf.’ As it spoke, the creature drew closer, until it loomed over them. It raised its hammer.
‘Prepare thyselves, for thy doom is come…’
FOURTEEN
Teclis stared up at the beast, and felt fingers of dread claw at his heart. He knew the name Ka’Bandha, for it was associated with many dread prophecies and dark futures. The Huntsman of Khorne stalked his prey across the vast sea of infinity, and had last trod the world during the previous great war against Chaos, when Teclis had helped the human leader, Magnus, escape the clutches of the Blood Hunt.