III

He lay on soft pillows within a pavilion of hazy white light. His half opened eyes stared upwards at the gently billowing fabric above him, so delicate it seemed to be made from gossamer as it rose and fell in the warm breeze. This was such a welcome release from the din and stench of battle; the press of the man-like Lizard warriors threatened to overwhelm and Findrith had taken two deep and grievous wounds just as the creatures had inexplicably withdrawn to the city of gold and stone. Cerys Sunhair had worked her ways of healing upon him to great effect, although he had slipped between the worlds of wakefulness and unconsciousness with regularity.

He now sensed the side fabric of the pavilion stir where he knew the entrance flap to be and, just moving his head enough to see, watched the Spellsinger as she entered. He had not noticed how graceful or beautiful she was until then. Her pale skin had an inner glow much like the white light of the pavilion and her auburn hair hung lose and free to her slender waist. She knelt, placing on the floor a silver bowl from which coiled sweet scented smoke. Her eyes glanced up at Findrith and she smiled as she started to crawl slowly over the cushioned floor towards the Alter Noble. He couldn't help but notice her silvery green robe hung more loosely than was normally her way, allowing enticing glimpses of skin within the folds of fabric.

"Findrith Thornbranch." Her voice seemed huskier than it should and Findrith felt himself almost transfixed in fascination at this beauteous Elven maiden as she came slowly nearer. Suddenly she was over him, her face so close to his he could feel her breath hot and eager on his face. "Oh, Findrith ............... Findriiiiiiiiithsssss."

The scream pierced him to the very soul of his being and he jerked away from her trying with all his failing strength to push his body backwards on his elbows. Her face contorted as though to let forth another of the dread screams but, instead, a host of tentacles the colour of dark wine erupted from the Spellsinger's mouth towards Thornbranch. This time it was the Noble who screamed ............

"Findrith! Findrith, awaken! Findrith!" Cerys Sunhair held the Alter Noble's face gently between her hands. "Findrith, quietly now. It is but a dream .........."

"No Cerys, it is a warning. There is the foul taint of Chaos near at hand."

IV

The strange dream of Findrith Thornbranch indeed proved to be one of foresight ...

Eldor Shadowleaf sat on his haunches within the shadowy depths of a Blackthorn thicket, senses alert for the merest snapping twig which might indicate the passage of the enemy.

The Chaos abominations had somehow managed to cloak any further signs of their presence until the quickness of their approach left only one choice for Lord Barku's retinue; a response of resigned attack.

Shadowleaf remembered how he had found a place of concealment on the edge of a wood overlooking the enemy position ...

His gaze took in the foulness massed but a short distance away; knights clad in iron and furs, some striding across the field on foot, some mounted upon massive steeds whose breath exhaled from flared nostrils like smoke; horrendous misshapen daemons stretching leathery wings; naked half-women who simultaneously repulsed and fascinated; fierce barbarian riders from the lands far to the north. From amongst all this corruption, his eyes came to rest upon a monstrous war machine immediately opposite. A crew of deformed dwarfs, their powerful muscles straining and glistening with sweat, were dragging what appeared at first glance to be a cannon of huge proportions to the top of a rise of ground. The sheer size of the machine caused Shadowleaf to pay it greater scrutiny and upon closer inspection he suddenly realised the true horror of what had been brought to this place: a Hellcannon. The dwarfs began securing the many chains that hung from the monstrosity, staking them to metal spikes hammered into the ground with mighty swings from the sledgehammers they carried.

Terror began to rise within the Alter noble as he thought of the extensive carnage this creation from the Chaos Dwarfs' volcanic furnaces might reap upon the Lost Kindred at any minute. Without hesitation, Eldor drew from the quiver slung across his back, an arrow with shimmering green fletching. Cerys Sunhair had spell-sung a secret charm upon this shaft warning Eldor to employ the magic only in a time of dire need. As he drew back the bowstring to touch the tip of his nose, he uttered a simple prayer, "Isha guide me."

The arrow flew from Shadowleaf's bowstring and at once he knew he could not miss. A trail of green phosphorescent light streamed from its strange flight feathers and, as he watched the arrow reach the zenith of its trajectory, it burst into a ball of incandescent white light from which flew not one arrow but a veritable hail. Too late the Chaos Dwarfs had spun around seeking the source of the sudden illumination and to a man they fell to the soft earth, each with an arrow through the neck. Two of the cannon crew lay quite still but one still moved. In a moment Eldor resolved to finish this survivor himself. He reached across his shoulder to free the great weapon slung there and, bursting from the undergrowth in a shower of twigs and dead leaves, set off across the intervening ground at the unnatural speed born to one of the Alter Kindred.

As he approached the Hellcannon, Shadowleaf sensed a dread aura emanating from the war machine. At once, a sound as though a thousand tormented souls had screamed at once rent the air and the chains restraining the diabolical behemoth began to clank and rattle violently as the Hellcannon exhibited a life and will of its own. Eldor now saw the remaining Chaos Dwarf had slumped dead to the sward and he debated for an instant whether he should continue onwards and attempt to disable the machine. Even as he thought this, a sudden gout of molten ichor burst fountain-like from the mouth of the Hellcannon in a spray of dark red droplets. Quick as the Noble's reactions were, Shadowleaf could not wholly evade the surprise assault. Veering desperately to his right, some of the spray landed upon his left arm, the skin beginning to burn and melt immediately. Panic rising in his chest, the Wood Elf tumbled down the bank of a small burn which cut a meandering course across the field. He fell into the water, the icy coolness of the crystal clear liquid giving a little relief to the fiery pain consuming his limb. In relief he saw the flesh of the arm had stopped the rapid degeneration caused by the Hellcannon's ichor spray, although the arm streamed with blood and sebaceous fluid dreadfully.

Eldor hastily turned to look back towards the Hellcannon fearing another such attack. The daemon machine now rocked from side to side bucking against its restraints as one by one, each chain snapped or flew from the earth complete with spike still attached. As he watched, a troupe of Wardancers suddenly emerged from a small wood near to the slope where the berserk Hellcannon was now free of its bonds. Again the screams of the tormented dead sounded from the mouth of the Hellcannon as a second jet of dark red ichor arced across the field towards the Wardancers. It caught them completely unawares and Eldor stared in horror as the tattooed flesh of the followers of Loec sloughed from their bones. In shock Eldor saw the behemoth now lumbering down the slope of its own accord as though it were intent on pursuing the Wardancer troupe. One of the few remaining elves, before turning to disappear back into the wood, now saw the Noble as he emerged from the soothing stream.

"Shadowleaf!" he shouted, "Go! Lord Barku will need aid. We will lead this cannon from hell on a merry chase!" And so saying the Wardancers melted into the trees, the Hellcannon indeed intent on rampaging after them.

Turning to look across the field, Shadowleaf saw the sway of battle poised on a knife-edge. The wood he had attacked the Hellcannon from lay to his right partly obscuring the fighting. Up ahead a retinue of Dryad Handmaidens advanced upon a ragged group of daemonic Furies. Before the Chaos creatures could take to the air the Dryads were upon them. Shadowleaf caught up with the Forest Spirits as they entered the fray. The daemons stood no chance as the razor sharp thorn-like hands of the Dryads shredded them with ease and the Alter Noble spun and whirled his great weapon taking the heads of the remaining few.

Now Eldor could see the battlefield clearly as he was now forward of the tree line of the wood. The Chaos forces were gradually grinding down the Wood Elf battle line. The carnage was truly frightening. The Glade Guard Archers were locked in a desperate struggle with mounted Daemonettes, standing no real chance against the ghastly beauties and their vicious mounts. Even with a last ditch counter attack by Lord Barku's personal Dryad Handmaidens, very few escaped with their lives.

In the centre of the melee, Lord Barku suffered a fiery magical onslaught which left him smouldering as he engaged the main body of mounted Chaos Knights. Dryads attempted to lend their Lord support and into this raging battle, Eldor Shadowleaf now hurled himself. The Chaos Knights were strong, their armour seemingly impenetrable, their steeds fighting with as much fury as their masters. Barku held the middle ground as around him the battle raged. Dryads began to fall to the Chaos blades. Barku lashed out at Sh'eth Kraa, the Slaanesh General, wounding him, but not fatally. Findrith Thornbranch, still slow from wounds received in the Southlands, fell in the press of battle as he fought back to back with Eldor Shadowleaf.

Eldor was suddenly aware Findrith was no longer behind him. He parried a rain of blows coming at him from several different directions when, into his line of sight, Cerys Sunhair appeared upon her elven steed. She seemed to be attempting to spell-sing into the combat in a bid to lend some magical aid. Suddenly, from out of the Chaos lines, a party of the wild marauders mounted on their shaggy battle ponies dashed at high speed towards the elf maid.

"Cerys!" Eldor screamed in desperation as he watched the North Men overpower the Spellsinger. He redoubled his efforts against the enemy blades, the mighty great weapon humming through the air, as his only thought now was to reach Cerys's assailants and send them to hell. At last he fought free of the combat around him, and breaking into a frantic run, set off in pursuit.

The Marauders had taken a route skirting the edge of a small hill, the Elf Maid struggling as she lay across the front of her restrainer's saddle.

"Hurry, Keth!!" one of riders from behind shouted, "I want her now. Here's as good a place as any!"

"Shut your foul mouth or I'll shut it for you with my axe. We'll stop where I say an' I'm first!"

"But I've never had a She-Elf before," the voice whined in reply.

"Shut it! Over here there's some cover. We don't want the whole army here as well, do we?" reasoned Keth.

The Marauders entered a grove of saplings, thorn bushes and scrub and soon found a small clearing where they drew their ponies to a stop.

Keth brutally hurled Cerys into the dust from his mount, quickly dismounting himself before the Elf could recover her senses. The two other riders followed their captain's example, drawing their weapons in case the Spellsinger should attempt to escape. Keth yanked the horned helm from his head, grinning with broken teeth as he anticipated despoiling the maiden.

"This is where the fun begins."

"How true." murmured Eldor Shadowleaf.

Keth's lips still moved and held a semblance of a grin as his head flew into the air like a macabre comet streaming a tail of blood. A nearby Blackthorn bush had seemingly exploded in a shower of twigs and leaves as Eldor Shadowleaf burst from within its depths, his great weapon a blur of silver light. The remaining two Marauders were dead before Keth's head hit the ground.

Eldor swiftly went to the shaken Spellsinger. "Cerys. Cerys." His tone was urgent. "Can you walk? We must find refuge quickly."

In a daze Cerys took in the Alter Noble's face, not seeming to recognise him at first.

"Eldor?"

"It is I."

"Thank Isha," she sobbed. "How fares the Kindred, Eldor?"

"I fear all is lost. There is nothing else we can do." A sudden weariness struck Shadowleaf. "We must find concealment and rest."

"And heal this arm." Cerys replied as she saw for the first time the Noble's wounds, "Come," she said.

A sudden strength and calmness radiated from the Elf Maid as she led the way into the wilderness.

The towering form of the Treeman Ancient Lord Barku stood as though rooted to the spot in the midst of the howling Chaos horde. Smoke curled from one badly charred area of bark and sparks occasionally leapt into the air. Sh'eth Kraa surveyed the devastation about him and was pleased. This number of Elf-scum dead would certainly please his patron Slaanesh and perhaps go someway toward advancing himself along the path towards favour again.

"My Lord Sh'eth Kraa!"

His reverie was interrupted by a Marauder messenger who brought his pony to a halt before the General. "We have news of an upstart pretender to your dominance of this region. He awaits four days march from here and says he will grind your bones into the dust, my Lord." The messenger looked on nervously awaiting a response from the Chaos Lord. Sh'eth Kraa smiled. Today had been good but tomorrow would be even better.