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From the Deep – Jaine Fenn

About the Author

An Extract from ‘Sylvaneth’

A Black Library Publication

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From the Deep

Jaine Fenn

Something was wrong. Kelara kicked back from the kelp strand, her wave-wings trailing. A host of tiny, glowing nektons puffed out from between the shadowed stalks, mirroring her unease. An unwelcome presence touched the shallows of the Sea of Serpents: a malevolence on the tide.

She sent a query to the Naereids tending the nearby kelp fronds.

I sense nothing, said one.

The nektons are restless, said another.

Invaders come from the shore! said a third, panic evident in her tone.

Kelara, more sensitive and powerful than her fellow custodians of the underwater forest, was sure now. We knew this day might come, my sisters, she called, silently but widely. Prepare yourselves!

Before the first acknowledgements came back, the wall of tawny green in front of her quivered, then burst asunder.

For a moment, Kelara thought she faced one of those who made their home in the green-above. But they had all fled or been killed long ago. Besides, this creature was huge – nearly as big as Kelara – and warped, its ragged furs bursting under the weight of its pallid, bloated body, limbs red with rashes and lesions. Its head was a great silvery sphere, encased in an open basketwork of woven rushes.

The apparition struck. A long, rust-pitted spear thrust straight for her heart.

She dodged, leaving a trail of bubbles.

Her opponent turned, stubby legs kicking. Like Kelara, its overall form was that of a shore-dweller. But the newcomer lacked the fronds, membranes and wave-wings that allowed Kelara and her Naereids to speed through the water. Its movements were clumsy and slow.

The invader brought its weapon round again. Kelara darted forward, under the probing spear. As the blow roiled the water over her head, she turned to swim face-up, towards the bright surface far above. When she passed beneath the interloper’s blubbery arm, she reached up and grasped the haft of its spear with both hands.

The creature was strong, but she had surprised it. Its grip on the weapon slackened, and Kelara pulled the spear free of its pudgy hands. Her palms stung at the spear’s touch. Ignoring the pain, she sped round in a wide arc, rolling through the water. The silvery head turned, tracking her movements. She whirled the spear round, turning it point-first towards the creature. Then she charged.

If her opponent saw the danger, it did not react. Instead of fleeing into the kelp or trying to defend itself, it turned its grotesque body, corpulent chest thrust forward.

The spear met flesh. The force of the blow jarred Kelara’s arms, but the resistance was momentary. The rusty tip pierced the creature’s taut skin, slid deep into the blubber–

–and all at once, her monstrous opponent came apart, skin splitting and peeling back, slack muscle and rotted organs erupting from its disintegrating carcass.

Kelara released the spear, kicking frantically up and away. She knew what this was now. This was a Rotbringer, a minion of Chaos. The corruption that was slowly but inescapably consuming the Realm of Life had finally reached her domain. She must evade the creature’s foul touch or risk succumbing to the taint it carried.

She swam clear, up into the light. When she turned to look back, little remained of the invader save an expanding cloud of brown and pink. A vile soul-stench permeated the disintegrating guts and blubber.

Where the filthy remnants touched the kelp, the fronds curled and writhed, then dissolved. In moments, the nearest strands collapsed, dissipating into stringy slime.

Most of her nektons had darted out of the creature’s way, but a few had been too slow. Caught in the noxious cloud, the nektons burst. Each tiny death stung Kelara’s consciousness. A new scent entered the water – that of rot and decay.

No! Kelara’s cry was involuntary, but she had to watch. The corruption spread outwards, infecting the next strands along. Still the taint continued. Kelara let out a low, horrified moan. The neighbouring strands twitched and shrivelled at the edges, but they did not dissolve. The ball of blight was slowing, thank the Everqueen.

Knowing – fearing – such an attack might happen, Kelara had instructed her Naereids to hone their fighting skills. They tended the kelp forests in the shallows that edged the Sea of Serpents, quietly keeping to themselves while so many of Alarielle’s other children fell. They sometimes needed to see off slow creatures of the deep who, disturbed by the chthonian motions of the serpents far below, swam up to the shallows. Grouchy, confused and often hungry, the sea beasts saw the kelp forests as a source of food, and had to be discouraged. But the threat of Chaos was something else. They must be ready to meet it.

Kelara tuned into the voices of her sisters.

I cannot hold it off!

Help me!

There are too many!

Overlaying the fear and panic, Kelara sensed a furious determination to defend their forests to the death.

But what with?

Kelara had stashed an arsenal of sharpened serpents’ teeth in a cave to await such a day as this, but the attackers had used the cover of the kelp forests to sneak up on her people, and they had had no chance to arm themselves. She drew the only weapon she had to hand: the jagged-edged clamshell kept in a pouch at her waist, used to prune kelp stalks and scrape off parasites and encrustations.

Turning her attention back to her sisters, she focused on the nearest, Anela, and swam towards her, crying, I am coming!

Hurry!

Kelara slid between the green strands. Ahead, the kelp twisted and jerked. Kelara tensed in case Anela had dispatched her opponent and this was the sick by-product of its demise.

But Anela was still in combat with the tainted shore-dweller. The Naereid had one arm round its middle. This servant of Chaos showed a different form of corruption, being emaciated rather than bloated, and the skin on its scrawny limbs looked as if it had been scourged then left to fester. Its great silver head bobbed absurdly on its gaunt body.

The two were in a tight, macabre embrace, each trying to evade yet wound the other. The Rotbringer swung its double-headed axe down while Anela dodged, at the same time slashing upwards with her scraper. Intent only on their opponent, neither had seen Kelara.

She swam closer. Her fingertips brushed a strand of kelp, cut free during the fight. She grasped it; in such desperate times, anything might serve as a weapon.

The combatants turned side-on. Kelara ducked as the notched axe sliced through the water in front of her face. If she got behind Anela’s foe, perhaps she could strike with her scraper. But what if the blow triggered the Rotbringer’s grotesque self-destruction?

She swam back half a stroke and took hold of the other end of the kelp strand, doubling it up for extra strength. At a momentary pause in the frantic combat, she looped the kelp over the creature’s head, keeping a firm hold on both ends. The impromptu garrotte caught on the reeds around its silver forehead. The shiny surface rippled, and a gout of silver broke free and flew upwards.

The loop slipped down around its neck. Kelara pressed her knees into the scabby back, and pulled with all her might. The loathsome brute’s frantic movements slowed, becoming sluggish.

There was movement ahead, past the creature’s shoulder. Another Rotbringer pushed aside the kelp. Its spear was already out. Kelara shouted a silent warning to her sister.

Too late. The new invader wriggled forward through the water, kicking hard.

It stabbed sure and low. The Chaos spear found its mark.

The blow went in hard – straight through Anela and into her opponent’s gut.

Kelara felt her sister die. The loss tore at her soul.

She threw herself backwards as the vile creature dissolved into flesh and filth. Anela’s body arced away into the depths, impaled on the spear. Kelara looked away.

Anela’s murderer had lost its weapon. But how could she kill it without releasing its corruption?

Then she had an idea.

Rather than closing, she stayed above her opponent, turning an effortless somersault over its head. It followed her movement, tilting its disconcertingly blank face up.

As she passed over it, Kelara reached down. Her fingers curled around the reed cage encasing the giant silver head. She tugged hard, continuing her downwards sweep. The reed cage flexed and warped, ejecting bubbles, but didn’t move.

Cursing to herself, Kelara released her hold, coming down behind the Rotbringer.

Leather straps crossed the invader’s back, holding the cage in place. She slashed at the leather with her scraper, even as her opponent struggled to turn and face her. The central knot parted. For a moment she feared she had cut too deep and broached the corrupted flesh. But the foul creature did not explode.

The Rotbringer flailed in the water, hands going to its head. Kelara kicked up again, grabbed the edge of the reed cage, and pulled as hard as she could. The invader briefly managed to hold on to the cage, then–

Plop! The cage ripped free of the scrawny neck. Gouts of bubbles burst forth. Kelara darted out of range of the rising storm of silver.

As she had hoped, there was a normal head under there. Normal by some values, anyway: this corrupted shore-dweller had patches of long, lank hair congealed with yellow pus from the weeping sores in the bald areas between. The hair moved like some vile parody of weed as the thing thrashed and gasped, hands raised to its throat. Deprived of the air in its bubble, it was drowning. Good: these were the first servants of Chaos she had met, and it appeared they were as helpless as any shore-dweller under water. Perhaps this explained why her realm had so far avoided the ravening despoliation she had distantly sensed in the green-above.

Kelara looked on, half watching the kelp around her for new threats. It took long, excruciating moments for the tainted shore-dweller to die but she had to be sure. Finally, its threshing spasms ceased. Kelara tensed, ready to scoot backwards out of range of any post-mortal ‘gift’ of corruption. But the body just flopped back and sank slowly into the depths.

Grinning in triumph, Kelara kicked upwards. From above she could see bare patches in the kelp all around. She called out to the dozens of other Naereids fighting their own battles nearby. Do not pierce them. Remove the contraptions on their heads to drown them!

She headed for the nearest Naereid. Timid and unarmed, Finala was dodging and feinting, trying to tire a foe she had little hope of overcoming. Kelara swept in from overhead, pulling at the Rotbringer’s bubble-helmet. This one was not properly attached. It levered off at once to expose a bald head alive with maggoty growths. She did not stay to see the thing die, though she revelled in Finala’s triumphant mind-shout.

In a nearby clearing – the result of an earlier death – two of her sisters struggled with a single opponent. As Kelara approached, one of them cut the ties while the other wrested its helmet off. Both Naereids swept back to watch the abomination drown.

Kelara lent assistance to more of her sisters. Where a Naereid was already locked in combat, she darted in and wrestled the cage from her opponent’s head. In other cases, she acted as a distraction, allowing the Naereid to take the offensive and remove the helmet herself.

Some of the foul creatures showed a vile cunning. Seeing the battle went against them, they plunged their own weapons into their breasts, triggering violent self-destruction. Kelara wondered what punishment awaited them on their return to the green-above, to make such a fate attractive. Or perhaps they were simply insane, mindless creatures of Chaos.

Finally, as the last drowned invader’s body sank to the depths, Kelara surveyed the damage. One in ten of her Naereids had perished. A quarter of the forest had been destroyed or harmed. But the blight showed no sign of spreading beyond its initial, explosive infection. It could have been far worse.

She led the uninjured Naereids down to where the kelp anchored itself to the rocky sea floor, to locate both their fallen sisters and the weapons and equipment of the Chaos invaders. Their own folk would remain untouched, though when time permitted Kelara would speak words of blessing over them, before leaving the silt-worms and spine-urchins to return the dead to the cycle of life. But every tainted item from the green-above had to be ejected from the sea.

Once, before Chaos had wracked the land, this part of the coast had been the shore-dwellers’ greatest settlement. Here, they had honoured the sea-dwellers they lived in harmony with. But those days were long gone. Every last shore-dweller had either been slain or corrupted, their homes abandoned, their fields left barren.

The corrupted shore-dwellers who attacked her realm must have been a lost enclave, or perhaps a tribe from distant lands; her knowledge of the wider realm beyond the immediate shoreline was limited. It had been years beyond counting since she had ventured into the green-above. As the shore-dwellers died or left, she had less and less reason to do so. Even the seasons had drifted out of kilter, as the mountains that shepherded the winter became erratic, turning summer to barren cold, then withdrawing to bring sharp and disastrous thaws. Terrible things had happened in the green-above, and it was best avoided.

Once the weapons and fragmentary armour were gathered, Kelara and her Naereids took up their burdens, bundling them in green weed to protect themselves from the dark burn of corruption. Although the forces of Chaos should have moved on by now, Kelara would not let her Naereids go ashore without knowing what they faced. She took the initial steps out onto dry land alone.

Her first feeling was of relief: although the air was ripe with decay, no Chaos horde lurked on the shore, poised to attack any who dared leave the sanctuary of the sea. There was no one here at all.

Then she saw what the green-above had become.

If she had been capable of shedding tears, she would have wept.

Sorcery, you say?

Aye, my lord cousin. Kelara had floated free of the palace floor; she pushed herself back down with a languid wave. Having to stand was one of several inconveniences she endured when she visited Lord Usniel’s reefcastle. Some enchantment trapped the air they needed in a reed cage around their heads.

But it was easily overcome, yes? Just a matter of removing these breathing helmets. The Lord of the Deeps squatted on his dais. Usniel was only man-shaped from the waist up – as befitted the guardian of the great serpents, whose own tails reached into the very roots of the world, in place of legs he had a pair of coiled serpent-tails.

At great cost, as I said! And if the forces of Chaos make such an effort once, then will they not try again?

If they do, they will fail. Nothing from above can overcome us. This is not their realm, and never will be. He gestured heavily, leaving a tracery of lights in the water. His massive body, like the palace walls themselves, was encrusted with glowing nektons.

I hope you are right. She hesitated, knowing the argument was most likely lost before she made it. Yet she had to try. But you did not see what has become of the green-above. There is no green there anymore, save the rancid green of slime and rot. Every part of the land is taken by pestilence. Beyond the tide-line, all that remains is a carpet of vile and stinking skull-like blooms protected by infected thorns.

Hmm. I will have to take your word for that.

Another reason she disliked coming here was the pressure – pressure the Lord of the Deeps needed to survive. Kelara lived among the kelp forests of the shallows, and could briefly visit Usniel’s deep, dark realm. Usniel – older still than her – was both arbiter of and voice for the serpentine beings whose slow, cyclopean motions moved the very waters of the world. While some of the great creatures he commanded could come to the surface, Usniel himself could not leave the deeps.

She deployed her final argument. My lord, the winter mountains themselves have succumbed to Chaos!

The Jotenbergs? That cannot be! For the first time, Usniel’s craggy face showed concern. Like his world-serpents, the mountains that moved were creatures beyond the reach of war or death. They were the bedrock at the heart of the realm of Ghyran: massive, solid… incorruptible.

I only saw one. But rot had infected it. And if one of the living winters has been corrupted, then surely others may have been. She pressed home her argument. Every year the blight intrudes deeper into the kelp forests. My Naereids can barely contain it. And now the forces of Chaos strike directly at our realm. Cousin, we have stood by for too long. We must fight back!

For some moments Lord Usniel was silent. Finally, he said, Resist, yes, but not fight.

Resistance is not enough! While Queen Alarielle rests in her sanctuary, the ruination grows unchecked. We must join with the sylvaneth, and all those in Ghyran who remain faithful to the Everqueen, and combat this threat. How can you just stand by?

You speak out of turn, my lady. You are a creature of the shallows. It pains me that your guardianship of the kelp forests brings you so close to this corruption, but I am the Lord of the Deep and I do not feel–

A soundless scream tore through the depths.

The Everqueen!

Kelara had never met her queen, but Alarielle was the Mother of All, font of all life in the Jade Kingdoms. Even while she remained hidden in her distant green sanctum, her presence had permeated the realm. But now her refuge had fallen. Her response was a world-shaking shriek of horror and dismay.

Kelara looked to Usniel. His face reflected her shock.

He lifted a heavy arm. Go to your folk, little cousin!

Kelara nodded. Leaving Usniel in his gloomy throne room, she swam past constellations of nektons and up into the light.

Her Naereids had been replanting kelp lost to the Chaos attack. She found them floating unmoving, stunned by the reverberations of the Everqueen’s anguish, or else huddled together, comforting each other.

To me. We must arm ourselves!

The Naereids responded as best they could, and Kelara marshalled them. They took their places on the borders of the forest, serpent-tooth spears out and gazes fixed on routes from above. But no attack came.

When night fell and peace still reigned below, Kelara led a small party of her best fighters to the green-above. The darkness hid the worst ravages of Chaos and no further horrors greeted them. The land remained empty and barren under its crust of corruption, just as she had last seen it.

Finally, with the raw wound of Alarielle’s cry fading, Kelara conceded there was no immediate threat.

But her spirit would not rest.

In the days following the Everqueen’s scream, Kelara patrolled her territory and trained her Naereids without cease. But the next move in the great conflict took a form she could not have imagined.

She was swimming through the kelp forest in fitful daylight when the sky darkened overhead. A storm was brewing. Kelara’s sense of foreboding grew. Suddenly she felt a hint of hope and power, a distant song. She tried to focus on the entrancing soul-melody but it was faint, and not directed her way…

All at once, an unearthly chill spiked down from above. The water overhead solidified, turning instantly to ice.

Kelara did not think – she swam. Freezing water dragged at her limbs. She swam faster, angling downwards.

The frigid, deadly front fell behind. Still she did not slow. Only when she reached the sea bottom did she turn and look back. A full third of the water above was solid ice. Around her, on the shadowed ocean floor, Naereids looked around in alarm; mercifully, those not on patrol had already been down here, tending the newly planted kelp holdfasts. But some had been too close to the surface to evade the ice. She called her sisters to her.

Grab whatever will cut the ice, and split into search parties.

Each group of Naereids took a section of now-frozen forest. Listen for your sisters’ cries! she urged the rescuers as they swam away.

She herself led half a dozen Naereids to the nearest dark spot in the ice. Her mind touched that of Tiva, always one of the most measured and calculating at weapons practice, but now scared and on the verge of panic. Kelara drew her scraper and began to hack at the ice. Others joined her. Two had spears, which they jabbed and poked to loosen frozen lumps and work them free. Working together, the rescuers broke through. Tiva tumbled from her icy prison, shocked but unhurt save for bruised limbs and torn wave-wings – she had instinctively curled up tight when the ice engulfed her, protecting her body and head.

The next Naereid they came across had been crushed to death before she could curl into a protective ball.

Another faint echo of life from nearer the surface had Kelara and the Naereids frantically digging up through the ice. One of the spears broke and the Naereid using it drew her scraper. Kelara’s own scraper was half-blunted. They were still a full body-length away when the weak presence faded into death.

As Kelara scanned the ice for more survivors, a sound too deep to hear yet too powerful to ignore boomed through the water. She stopped, her Naereids thrown into disarray by the thunderous reverberation. As the last echoes faded, the ice above began to crack.

Kelara turned, looking for sanctuary, but though the frozen sea overhead graunched and grumbled, only a few lumps of ice broke free to bob under the ice-sheet. Even so, cracks showed all through the solid ice above her head now – which might make the rescue easier. She bade her sisters hurry to reach the last few trapped Naereids.

Next they found Assani. Fleet of mind and body, Assani was one of Kerala’s most competent fighters. She had managed to break free by herself once the ice had cracked, leaving her full of confused fury. The second Naereid they freed was near death and was taken off to be nursed by her sisters. Nearby, another of their sisters was already dead: the movement of the ice had crushed the life out of her.

No further calls for help came. Everyone who could be rescued had been.

Do we go to your noble cousin now?

Kelara considered Assani’s question. Both the sudden freeze and the strange concussion that had partially thawed it had come from above, so they would be safer in deeper water. They could run away. Hide. Regroup. Wait out the storm. Usniel would no doubt applaud such a move.

She looked up. Patches of open water showed overhead, areas the ice had not touched, or where it had been shattered. Whatever this latest menace was, it came from up there. They had hidden away for too long; they had done nothing and now the fight had come to them. Kelara had acquired a serpent-tooth spear during the latest rescue and now raised it high, thrusting its point towards the green-above.

No. We go to war!

Yes! Assani’s fierce joy was echoed by her sisters.

Kelara sent her speediest swimmers for the last of the weapons. While spears and javelins were handed out, she scanned the sea with all her senses, wondering where they could best lend help.

Further out to sea, the water remained unfrozen. Here, great lumps of oily darkness were dropping into the water. They bobbed, then floated. A chill colder than ice went through her. Even at a distance, the stench of foul magic was unmistakable. As another dark mass plunged into the water, then rose and froze in place, Kelara sensed its corruption as a nauseous reek, a bitter taste at the back of her throat that put her very soul on edge. She had no idea what the vile substance was, but it radiated Chaos.

She pointed with her spear. This way, my sisters. Drive the taint from our waters!

She longed to take on the freezing darkness, to eject its defiling influence from her sea. But as she swam towards it, she sensed both the size of, and the magical power emanating from, this putrescent parody of ice. Some foul master of magic was creating a great and abominable construct, reaching out across the open water. Such sorcery was beyond her ability to combat.

Hold! We must be cautious.

She led her Naereids to the edge of the ice away to one side of the Chaos structure. Then she stuck her head out of the water.

The green-above was white. Kerala had seen snow before, but this was a blizzard fit to scourge the world. No scent of corruption tainted it, but the wintery gale swamped all vision and drowned every sound beneath its howl.

Then, through a gap in the whirling snow, she saw figures. At first she thought them shore-dwellers – men. But these were some peculiar combination of man and beast. Though they stood on two legs, their heads bore great curling horns. They wore ragged furs and skins, and even the snow could not hide their stench – a stench that was more than physical. These were creatures of Chaos. There were perhaps three score of them, meaning her Naereids outnumbered them four to one. At last, a threat they could combat.

She selected those who had some skill in fighting out of the water, the best part of a hundred Naereids in total. Follow me, she instructed. We can take them before they know we are here.

Kelara hauled herself up onto the ice shelf.

The beastmen, with no inkling danger lay in that direction, had their backs to the water.

The Naereids crept forward in a line, keeping low, weapons in hand. The Chaos creatures remained oblivious, intent on events near the bridge-like structure. Whatever was happening over there, it was hidden by the whirling snow.

A little nearer… she told her sisters. Too far away and they would not have the range. Too close, and their foes might sense their approach. When Kelara judged the distance right, she held up a hand. The Naereids stopped at once.

Now!

They hurled their javelins.

A third of the beastmen fell, skewered on thin bony blades. Would these foul creatures explode like the ensorcelled underwater invaders? she wondered. But they just dropped to the ice, gargling and screeching, much to her savage delight.

The surviving beastmen turned to face the unexpected threat.

Attack!

The Naereids rushed forward, Kelara at their head. The ice slid away from her damp, webbed feet, and she fought to stay upright. From the corner of her eye she saw two of her companions fall, while others stumbled, then caught themselves. Up here they were the clumsy ones.

Their opponents had their weapons drawn now. One scowling individual threw a rusty hand-axe, and a Naereid fell with a whistling shriek. The beastmen stood firm, braced to meet the charge, but the Naereids did not falter.

Kelara targeted a big brute with a broken horn and a necklace of red-stained fingerbones. Her first thrust was clumsy, the spear too light in her hand. The beastman knocked her blow aside. Kelara ducked under his pitted sword.

Having to fight on land robbed her of a whole dimension, but she was already adjusting to the lack of water resistance. Hand to hand, such free movement was a boon – she was faster than her opponent. While it was still completing its sword-swing, she brought her spear up from below, piercing the creature’s side.

The beastman grunted and staggered back, but did not fall. She had missed its vital organs.

She tugged the spear free, dodging to the side as her enemy’s rusty blade sliced the air. She extended the movement to pirouette on the spot, using the slippery ice to her advantage.

Her opponent was fazed; his next strike fell short. That was the chance she needed. Releasing her momentum, she stabbed side-on, spear braced in both hands. Her blow punched straight through the beastman’s chest, cracking ribs. It howled in agony, dropping even as she pulled her weapon free with a spurt of dark blood.

Another foe loomed out of the snow. This one was squat, with a single eye, the other just an oozing, infected scar. Kelara, elated at her success, thrust her spear into its remaining eye before it could raise its weapon. It screeched, warped hands clutching at the ruin of its face, and fell backwards.

She pulled her weapon from the beastman’s head and looked around. The nearest Naereid, Chella, was holding off two beastmen. Kelara sprang forward, plunging her spear into the back of the larger foe. It whirled. The spear, half embedded in its back, was jerked out of her hands.

Her opponent nearly matched her in height. It snorted through its pock-marked snout and raised a barb-ended chain flail. With its free hand, it reached back, knocking the spear free. The weapon slid away across the ice.

Kelara went for her scraper – even half-blunt, it should cut through this creature’s hairy flesh, if she could just land a blow.

The beastman began to whirl his flail overhead. Kelara took a step back, searching for an opening.

When the flail swung away, she darted forward, slashing at the exposed neck. Her scraper met only air.

The flail flicked down. Kelara dodged back, though not before a barbed hook nipped at her head-fronds.

She needed her weapon. Sparing a glance beyond her opponent, she saw whirling snow and grappling figures, but no spear.

The beastman grinned, viscous slather dropping from its jowls. It brought the flail around again, this time sweeping low, aiming for Kelara’s legs. She jumped straight up. When she landed, she stepped back. Retreat was her only option. This was not a battle she could win.

Even as she thought this, her opponent gasped, and looked down. There was her missing spear! Its point protruded from the creature’s chest.

With a strangled grunt, the beastman pitched forward.

Hah!

Kelara recognised the shout of triumph as Finala was revealed, standing behind the now-fallen beastman. The Naereid drew Kelara’s spear from the twitching body and offered it back to her.

Thank you, sister, said Kelara as she took the weapon. She sensed Finala’s pride at saving her, returning the favour from the first battle beneath the ice.

Finala must have come from a way off, as the two nearest Naereids were engaged in their own duels. As Kelara watched, Chella stabbed her remaining opponent in the guts, twisting the spear as it went in. The creature folded and fell.

With no threat nearby, Kelara surveyed the battle. It was all but won, with the last few heavily outnumbered beastmen being brought down. Bodies lay strewn across the snowy landscape, and ichorous blood steamed on the ice. Kelara reached out in a silent roll call. All but three of her Naereids answered. More losses to mourn, but they had won.

Her triumphant joy fled when a sudden gust of wind blew the snows clear for a moment. On the far horizon, beyond the sea of ice, loomed a mountain where no mountain should be. Nearer, on the ice itself, a terrible army was revealed. Unspeakable creatures beyond count marched, scurried, shambled or crawled towards the dark curve of the Chaos bridge: giant pot-bellied man-things with lesion-covered skin; a chittering horde of hunched and robed figures; hulking tribesmen in rust-red armour. Further off, their true size impossible to gauge due to distance, hunched figures rode monumental beasts covered in mangy fur, or bloated with rolls of pale, pestilent flesh. And everywhere, on ragged robes, on battle-worn shields, on flapping banners of tanned skin, she saw a three-lobed sigil. This had to be the mark of one of the great powers of Chaos, perhaps even the unspeakable entity the shore-dwellers had referred to as the Father of Plagues.

What could they do against such a fearsome multitude? She and her sisters had despatched a few unwary outliers, but that was nothing. This army could roll right over them without noticing.

Should she send word to Usniel, to let him know the war had come to them at last? Surely this would convince him to join the fight. If he could rouse the young serpents from the dreaming depths, they could turn the tide of this battle.

Even as she pondered, a brief flash of wonderment lit her spirit. She thought it came from the direction the monstrous army was heading. But it was faint, gone as soon as she focused on it.

Did you feel that? she asked her companions.

Yes!

The Everqueen!

Just an echo.

So weak…

Back to the water! instructed Kelara.

She divided her forces into a dozen shoals. Find out what is happening, my sisters. Go out under the ice in every direction. Look above wherever the ice is clear, though make sure you are not seen. Discover all you can of these momentous events, both above and below. Go with all haste, then return here.

While her Naereids scouted further afield, Kelara surveyed the extent of the ice around her kelp forests. Though she itched to join the fight, the odds were overwhelming; and while she waited to find out what could be done, she must look to the part of the sea she was responsible for. The ice was thickest along the shoreline, a solid rim. Farther out it fragmented, forming fissured promontories. Her forests would take harm from being frozen, but would survive – provided the forces of darkness did not win here today.

Once she knew the kelp forests were safe, she headed back to the rendezvous point.

One of the first scouting parties to return reported that the unfrozen sea ahead was dotted with broken ice and small bergs.

A second shoal, sent to find the extent of the open water, confirmed that the Chaos structure whose wrongness still polluted the sea was indeed a bridge; on its far side the ice remained pure.

A solid sheet of ice must have covered this part of the sea in the initial, magical freeze. Later, it had been partially shattered in the centre of the sea – perhaps when that great concussion sounded. But then, some unspeakable sorcery had been employed to bridge the gap between the two ice shelves.

Most likely the ice extended all the way to the far shore of the Sea of Serpents. Any remaining doubt she had was banished: this was the site of a great confrontation between the forces of the Everqueen and the minions of Chaos.

All her scouting parties were back now, save one. She had sent swift Assani the furthest. Had she been discovered?

Then a familiar mind touched hers. A moment later a score of lithe forms came arrowing through the water.

Assani! What did you find?

We scouted the shoreline on the far side of the gap, as you instructed. Even through the ice, we heard the commotion. We went above, to see two armies facing each other up on the ice. A host of woodland folk are ranged against the Chaos army, but they are sorely outnumbered.

Kelara could not let the sylvaneth face this threat alone. Yet to intervene was to invite the rapacious gaze of the enemy, and despite her earlier bravado, her Naereids were no combat-ready army. But this was not about the survival of one of Ghyran’s minor peoples; the future of the whole Realm of Life was at stake.

We must help them!

With Assani leading the way, Kelara and the Naereids swam as fast as limb and frond would propel them. To her relief, their path did not bring them close to the dark bridge.

The ice remained unstable at the edges, but when they reached the far side, the fissure Assani had used was no longer obvious. The ice was growing mushy, giving no easy access to the world above. We must find a way through! Kelara exclaimed.

The Naereids split up, searching for a route. A short while later a shout came: a patch of clear water and stable ice had been found. Kelara beckoned Assani to follow her while she bade the rest of her sisters wait for them.

When she climbed out of the icy water, Kelara saw that the snow ahead had abated. Some way off, she saw the backs of hulking treelords and fleet dryads. She had come up behind friendly lines. Beyond their swinging branches and plunging scythes, she glimpsed the snarling faces of warped tribesmen, packs of slavering hounds and the occasional larger figure: half-naked, long-limbed creatures with craggy, malevolent faces and scabby skin, swinging massive clubs or hurling boulders.

Assani, climbing out the water after her, asked, Should we try and get behind the enemy, to surprise them again?

It had worked against foes not expecting trouble, but the battle was in full swing now. By the time the Naereids got behind the enemy army and made their way back up onto the ice, it might be too late for them to make a difference. We may be of more use lending aid to the forest folk, perhaps fighting alongside them. Maybe we should–

Kelara’s words died as the blizzard cleared further, affording a glimpse of the full scale of the battle. The forces arrayed against each other stretched along the ice as far as she could see. Holding the line for the forces of Order were beings such as she had never imagined. They had the form of men, but were encased in shining armour of silver and blue. A double line, shields locked, faced the Chaos horde. Behind the wall of shields, more shining men raised ornate bows and fired arrows that burst into bright flame, raining down a storm of celestial fire on the seething mass of the Chaos army.

Assani echoed her amazement. What manner of man are they?

I do not know. Kelara called to her sisters below: All those able to fight on land come with me! The rest of you, wait here.

As soon as her companions had assembled on the ice, Kelara began to lope towards the strange warriors as fast as was safe on the treacherous surface. Suddenly a great roar rang out over the clamour of shouts and clashing weapons. A huge, bull-headed figure crashed through the armoured ranks, tossing the fighters around like driftwood in a stormy sea.

The beast turned, slipping on the ice, its tree-sized axe swinging. It had not seen Kelara’s small force but appeared intent on attacking the lines it had just broken through – a rear attack, just as Kelara and Assani had considered. The shining men, moving in perfect synchrony, had already plugged the gap. Focused only on the enemies before them, they appeared oblivious of the danger from behind. Kelara sped up, hoping to engage the bull-creature before it ran amok behind friendly lines. But they were too far off, too slow.

A tight formation of armoured men appeared out of the snow and set upon the creature. Their leader cracked its leg with one swing of his weapon. The beast toppled onto the ice and his comrades fell on it, despatching their enemy with brutal efficiency.

As the bull-creature gave a final tortured bellow the warriors’ leader saw Kelara and ran over to her. He carried a great hammer, and the insignia on his massive shield was also a hammer, set between twin thunderbolts. His face was hidden behind a silver mask. Recalling the bubble-headed invaders, Kelara half raised her spear. The newcomer halted. Beneath the gore that spattered it, his armour was the blue of sunlight through pure water.

‘What are you?’ he called, perhaps taking in her frost-rimmed fronds and pale blue-green limbs, so different in form to the sylvaneth fighting on the ice. His voice was deep and hoarse, but that of a man, not a monster.

Kelara shaped her words into a form the shore-dweller could understand. ‘Not what. Who. I am Kelara, Guardian of the Kelp Forests. These are my Naereids. And what, I mean who, are you?’

‘I meant no offence, Lady Kelara. This land holds so many strange creatures. I am Retributor-Prime Markius of the Hallowed Knights.’

‘And why are you here?’

‘To escort Queen Alarielle to safety.’

‘The Everqueen! Where is she?’

He gestured with his hammer. ‘Ahead, but… your queen’s handmaiden wove an arcane song that drew on the last of Alarielle’s power. She commanded a living mountain to freeze the sea, that we may cross it.’

‘I saw that!’ The Jotenberg, glimpsed through snow. What else had the power to turn the sea from water to ice in an instant? Then the full import of the warrior’s words hit her. ‘But you say it was “the last of her power”?’

‘Queen Alarielle is… diminished. Her essence is now contained in some kind of magical seedpod. Her handmaiden carries it – her. Half of our troops remained behind to delay the forces of Chaos who seek this queen-seed. It is–’

‘–over there!’ Kelara pointed ahead. Now she knew what she was dealing with, she could sense the divine beacon of the Radiant Queen’s soulpod just over the horizon.

‘Yes.’

‘How can we help?’

‘The queen-seed must reach the far shore. Go to the aid of your queen.’

‘We will.’

As Kelara turned to go, the Hallowed Knight returned to the fray.

Once back under the ice, Kelara gathered her Naereids and, focusing for a moment on the distant, divine presence, led them away from the battle overhead and towards the Everqueen.

But they were under the ice shelf now. It formed an impenetrable ceiling.

Assani voiced her fears. How can we lend aid, trapped here below the ice?

Before she could answer, the queen’s presence flared, and a strange, silent song impinged on Kelara’s consciousness.

A moment later, the ice quaked.

Sudden creaks and groans filled the ocean, then the ice overhead buckled and cracked. Kelara stared upwards, eager to reach the action. But the quake did not abate. Anyone trying to surface risked being crushed, ground between ever-moving, interlocking sheets of ice.

We must reach the queen-seed.

Kelara sensed a pattern in the ice movement: it came from behind her. They were heading into a more stable region.

Then she saw light ahead. Not just the dull snow-filled light of day, but a divine glow as bright as pure sunlight. It had to be the Radiant Queen’s soulpod.

She started forward, drawn to the presence of her deity. But the way was blocked. Though the ice was not thick here, it remained unbroken. The frozen surface was thin and clear enough to see through; she made out spindly, distant forms that must be the sylvaneth. But so few, and moving so slowly! At the centre of their small group shone the transcendent light of the queen-seed, carried by Alarielle’s handmaiden – that must be the brave and faithful Lady of Vines, who was said to have sprung from the very body of the Everqueen.

Kelara cast her awareness wide, searching for some means to get to the Lady of Vines and her precious cargo.

Her senses recoiled at the touch of Chaos. The enemy was close, converging on the small party of sylvaneth. For a moment she thought she caught a dark echo of corruption and power in the water itself, but then her roving senses lit on a mundane and welcome clear spot ¬– a gap in the ice.

This way. She shot through the water, her Naereids trailing behind her. The hole was some way from the Lady of Vines but it was their only route up. Hurry!

The gap was tiny, a body-sized fissure in thin ice. As she approached, Kelara scrutinised the immediate surroundings, checking for cracks or faults that could, should more shudders come, turn this from an exit into a death-trap. All appeared stable.

When she put her head above the freezing water, the air was full of chill salt mist, and the distant grinding of the ice competed with the sounds of combat: battle-cries from the throats of men, and the howls and grunts of their vile opponents. Above it all a song such as Kelara had never heard wove through the air, soft yet powerful, evoking days of light and life while compelling all who heard it to fight, to stand up against the forces of darkness. Summoned by the song, Kelara pulled herself up onto the ice shelf.

Ahead, through the mist, a heavenly radiance shone. Even at this distance the queen-seed filled Kelara with wonder. The Lady of Vines, who cradled it in her arms, had the form of a shore-dweller; though she was a branchwraith, her woody torso was encased in shivering creepers. The exquisite song came from her. She was surrounded by a dozen dryads.

As Kelara looked for the best route across to them, a shadow fell over the Lady of Vines’ party. A moment later, a spear of darkness stabbed down from the misty sky, skewering one of the dryads. The remaining dryads turned to face the threat; but their movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. The cold, which Kelara barely felt, was slowing these woodland dwellers.

Something comes!

The distant shout came from below, but before she could respond, darkness boiled overhead, and a miasma of Chaos assaulted Kelara’s every sense. She jerked her head up and met the blank, many-eyed stare of a giant fly swooping down on her. The green-skinned figure on its back held its twisted ichor-black sword high, ready to cut her down in passing as it flew towards the Lady of Vines.

Without thinking, Kelara hurled her spear. The bone tip buried itself deep in the rider’s flaccid gut, which was already marred by a pustulent wound. The Chaos-rider shrieked in surprised agony, and toppled backwards off its mount. The fly-thing flitted away, showing a swollen, diseased abdomen. Kelara refocused her attention on the deeps, from where a panicked chorus of mind-shouts was rising.

But the aerial abomination was coming back round. As it darted towards Kelara, a venom-tipped proboscis unfurled from the point of the creature’s great scabrous head.

She had no weapon, and the only escape route was cut off by the Naereid still hauling herself up through the ice-fissure. She could not even save herself and her folk, let alone help the Lady of Vines.

The ice beneath her erupted.

Kelara was flung upwards as the surface burst out and up with a thunderous crash. As she flew through the air, she caught a brief glimpse of grey flesh pushing up through shattered ice. She came down hard on ice that tipped the moment she hit it. Stunned, but saved from a severe concussion by the slippery surface, she slid helplessly back into the water, a rain of smaller fragments pelting down around her. She kicked down and away, tracing an erratic yet urgent path out of range of the turmoil. When sense had returned enough to know she was out of immediate danger, she turned and looked back up.

A great serpent, young enough to swim free but still as long as a kelp-tree was tall, thrashed and twisted above her, churning the icy surface to splinters as it coiled in on itself.

For a moment Kelara’s heart sang: Usniel had sent aid!

But something was wrong. Why would the serpent break up the very ice the Lady of Vines was fleeing across? Then she saw how its once silver-grey flanks were dull and scarred, pocked with open wounds and patches of raw, diseased skin.

The serpent had been corrupted. No wonder the Lord of the Deeps had refused her call to fight Chaos: the taint she sought to keep out of the sea had already taken hold in its depths. This epic creature had come from the deep, but not to help. It must have been summoned by the fell power she had scented earlier. The forces of darkness had subverted this serpent, using it to disrupt the Lady of Vines’ flight.

And it was not alone.

She tuned into the calls from her sisters. More serpents were heading up into the light, heeding the call of Chaos.

Closer, she sensed a small bright point, fading: the Naereid who had followed her through the fissure had been trapped, then battered and crushed by the shattering ice. Even as Kelara started towards the distant figure, the final spark of life fled.

A brief tide of despair washed over Kelara. What hope was there for Ghyran when its mightiest denizens, the Jotenbergs and sea serpents, had been infected by Chaos?

No, they must fight, no matter how hopeless their cause. While the Radiant Queen lived, the Realm of Life might yet recover.

Naereids, to me, she cried. We must stop the serpents! She kept her tone buoyant, though they all knew the odds.

While her sisters converged on her, Kelara swam over to the dead Naereid, and eased her poor sister’s spear from her unfeeling hands.

Beware below!

Alerted by Assani’s shout, Kelara extended her senses.

Not one, but two serpents were rising up from the darkness towards them. She dimly sensed her more distant sisters scattering and reforming in their wake, then the lead serpent loomed up from the depths. Its great head was thrust forward, the heavy frill that edged its cheeks and jaws flattened by its passage through the water. The huge, luminous orb of its eye was clouded, no longer the rich, deep blue of the open sea but a milky green, the colour of shoreline scum. Its anguish washed over Kelara. Insofar as the serpents felt such emotions, it hated what it was becoming – and what it was being forced to do.

The monstrous sea-beast ignored Kelara. Propelled by the sorcerous call, it arrowed past, homing in on the beacon of the queen-seed. Amidst everything else, Kelara could still sense the divine presence, whole, undamaged and on the move. But not for long. This was a threat the Lady of Vines was helpless against, perhaps oblivious of.

Even as she thought this, the serpent twitched and recoiled, as though struck by an invisible blow. The sweep of its tail swatted aside several Naereids. At the same time, the serpent thrashing overhead froze, going limp.

Both serpents started back into movement a few moments later. Yet they appeared oddly unfocused. The serpent at the surface turned on its tail once, then began to swim back down and away, only to pause, shudder, and circle again. The nearby serpent tossed its head, as though trying to dislodge something, then swam off, but at a diagonal to the Lady of Vines’ position.

Kelara, attuned to the sorcerous currents weaving through the water, saw the truth. Usniel was fighting back. From the depths of his reefcastle, he was extending his will, trying to regain control of his beasts, or at least divert them from the deadly mission the Chaos sorcerer had set them to.

Even as hope flared, a new apparition appeared. A third serpent swam upwards into sight. Bigger than either of the two she had encountered so far, this beast showed no hesitation, no sign that it harkened to the Lord of the Deeps. It was heading straight for the queen-seed, mindless insanity burning in its blank, monumental gaze. Kelara’s meagre magics could do nothing to affect the silent, sorcerous battle for control of the serpents playing out around her. But here, so close to the queen-seed, she could make a difference. This serpent was a creature of Chaos now. It must not be allowed to reach the Lady of Vines.

Stop the serpent!

Most of her Naereids had reached her safely. Every one still able to obeyed without hesitation. They exploded into action, swimming hard to keep pace with the beast as it slid through the water with sinuous swiftness. When they closed on it, they were going flat out. They would only get one chance.

Strike hard!

As one, her Naereids thrust their spears into the serpent’s diseased flanks. With several score hitting it at once, these pin-pricks got its attention. The beast convulsed, its progress arrested. It coiled in on itself, swatting the attacking Naereids as it sought the source of the irritation. Cries of agony exploded in Kelara’s head. The light of half a dozen lives went out around her.

Again!

Fewer spears hit home this time. The serpent writhed and twisted. Kelara ducked its swishing back-frill; once three times her height, the fronds along the creature’s spine had been eaten away to scabby lace by leprous growths. But even a passing blow, by any part of this giant of the sea, could end her life.

Though the serpent had slowed, the jabbing spears were little more than an irritation. They delayed the beast, but did no serious harm.

Kelara kicked forward and swam ahead, fighting to keep a straight course through the turbulent water. Keep harrying it, my sisters!

She reached the serpent’s head. Just off to the side, Finala hung limp in the water; half her upper body had been crushed to a pulp, wave-wings and one arm reduced to stringy masses of flesh and membranes teased into streamers by the swirling current. Kelara tore her eyes away from the heart-breaking sight and turned to assess her target.

One obvious point of weakness stood out: the serpent’s huge and baleful eyes, attuned to the darkness of the deeps. The half-blind eye on this side was overhung by a cankerous nodule that burst forth from the brow-ridge.

Kelara swam nearer.

The serpent still twitched and flailed under the Naereids’ spear-thrusts, but too many of Kelara’s sisters had been disabled or killed. As the remainder tired their attacks became less effective. The serpent started moving forward again.

Kelara braced her spear under one arm, holding it close to her body. Then she rushed forward, sleek as an eel. She held the spear ahead of her like a lance, aiming for the centre of the eye. An up-close vision of the slimy orb filled her sight. After momentary resistance, the spear went in, puncturing the tough surface of the eyeball then breaking through into the gelatinous centre.

The serpent convulsed. Kelara, remembering her encounter with the beastman earlier on the ice, kept a tight grasp on her spear. She held onto it – but the weapon itself was being eased out by the serpent’s frantic movements. It gave a last shake of its head and the spear tore free of its eye with a gout of thick green ichor. Kelara, and the spear, flew backwards. She braked her motion with a frantic kick and a silent curse.

The creature’s eye was too big. Her spear had not penetrated deep enough to do serious harm. Did it not have any vulnerable spots?

Yes, it did.

The infected creature had opened its mouth in a silent wail of pain when Kelara stabbed it in the eye. Before she could think better of it, Kelara swam between its gaping jaws and into the cavernous maw.

As soft darkness engulfed her, she noted the irony. She was surrounded by weapons such as the one in her hand. Some of this serpent’s teeth were missing from its rotten gums. For all she knew her spear could be a tooth shed by this very beast.

Thinking this, she grasped the weapon firmly in both hands.

For Finala! And Anela, and every other Naereid who had lost their lives to the march of Chaos. And for Ghyran!

Bracing her spear, she swam with all her might towards the far end of the living cave. Her weapon rammed into the soft skin at the back of the serpent’s throat. It met little resistance, and plunged deep. Her leading hand came up hard against soft, pulsing flesh.

The shudder that went through the serpent almost dislodged her. But she held on. She had found her mark. She pushed harder, pressing herself into the disgusting wall of spongy tissue in an effort to penetrate as deep as possible. A paroxysm of agony went through the serpent. The spear, slippery with its lifeblood, slipped from Kelara’s hands. With nothing to hold on to, she was knocked backwards.

She twisted in desperation. If she could only turn, she might swim free of its mouth. Then the serpent’s tongue rose, catching her in yielding clamminess. Her last thought was of the queen-seed: a final, urgent hope that it would find safety. Then she was slammed into the bony roof of the serpent’s mouth. Darkness closed in.

Kelara blinked. There was something in her eye. She raised a heavy arm to clear her vision. It ached. All of her ached. Her leg was a throbbing focus of pain.

She opened her eyes.

She floated in the deep, surrounded by her Naereids. What happened? she asked.

We freed you. Assani gestured at a grisly object off to one side. After a moment, Kelara recognised the floating mass as the serpent’s jaw. Strands of flesh trailed from it. Her Naereids had torn it from the beast’s head. Of the serpent itself there was no sign. No doubt its body had returned to the depths.

Thank you. But what of the battle?

I am not sure. We saw some serpents turn back, though not all…

And the queen-seed?

We do not know.

Her Naereids lacked her strength; perhaps they were unable to sense the Everqueen. Unless… No. She must find out for herself. But the pain was distracting. Kelara looked down: one of her legs had been crushed. It would take all the ministrations of her cousin’s healers to mend.

Ah, Usniel. No wonder he had been so brusque. Brusque, but uncorrupted. He had known of the Chaos taint deep in his realm, and been battling it secretly. Yet he had not shared this with her, not showed his hand until the final moment. Between them they had tipped the balance, but she would still have harsh words for him when they next spoke… and then she would lend him aid. She had seen off the incursions of Chaos in the shallows. Once she had recovered, and mourned the dead, she would help her noble cousin drive the taint from the deep.

But that was for the future. And without Queen Alarielle, there was no future.

Kelara concentrated, focusing on the green-above, seeking some trace of the divine light they had fought so hard to save. Nothing. She did sense, distantly, that the two armies fought on. But the celestial presence was gone.

No, not gone! The light was distant; while Kelara’s Naereids fought to save her from the serpent, the Lady of Vines had reached her goal. Kelara homed in on the glorious brightness and saw, for a moment, a vision of the Lady of Vines stepping onto dry land, the queen-seed cradled in her arms.

Alarielle’s most faithful servant had crossed the sea and evaded capture – thanks in part to Kelara and her folk. Even now she carried the queen-seed farther from her enemies. Kelara sensed the strength beginning to return to the dormant goddess now she was safely ashore. She was gathering her forces, ready for the fight back.

The Everqueen was safe. Hope endured.

About the Author

Jaine Fenn is the award-winning author of the Hidden Empire series of space opera novels as well as numerous science fiction and fantasy short stories. After studying Linguistics and Astronomy at university she spent some years working in IT by day while writing, running and playing tabletop RPGs by night. She is now a full-time writer. Recently she has written for video-games such as Halo Wars and various games in the Total War franchise, including Warhammer II. She lives in Hampshire, with her husband and too many books. ‘From the Deep’ is her first story for Black Library.

An extract from Sylvaneth.

The rotling roared out a challenge and Felyndael, Guardian of the Waning Light, turned to meet it. They always sought to challenge him. It was not bravery, he thought, so much as hunger. Hunger for challenge, hunger for conquest… hunger for death. They were like the roots of a blighted tree, still stretching for nourishment even though the trunk was dead. They belonged dead, but could not die. He gestured contemptuously, and the rotling lumbered towards him.

Around him, his fellow tree-revenants fought with other rotlings, leaping and slashing among the clumsy plague-lovers. Scarred Caradrael bisected a bloated warrior from crown to groin as lithe Yvael cut the sagging throats of three with a single blow. Daemonic ichor splashed across the wondrous curved structures of the reed-city of Gramin as the rotlings stumbled and died beneath the blades of his twenty-strong kin-band.

Felyndael felt a surge of satisfaction as his warriors fought with their customary flowing grace. They flickered in and out of sight, lunging and striking at their opponents from every direction at once. They were veterans of the withering years, and could easily dispatch three times their number in open combat.

He turned his attention back to his challenger as the brute, bulbous and clad in stinking furs and pitted metal, came at him in a clumsy rush, roaring out the name of its foul god. It seared the air with its murk. An axe swept down, and Moonsorrow rose to meet it. The ancient blade hummed with strength and struck with the force of an avalanche. The jagged blade of the axe shivered apart. The rotling reeled back, pustule-dotted jaw working in shock beneath the rim of its foetid helmet. Flabby paws waved in hapless defiance as Felyndael darted forwards, quick as the wind.

Moonsorrow screamed in joy as it pierced the noisome bulk. Flesh, muscle and bone parted like smoke before the bite of the sword. The rotling hunched forward with a shrill wheeze, clawing helplessly at Felyndael’s bark-clad arms. Wriggling worms spilled from its mouth and pattered to the ground as its stinking ichor gushed from the wound.

Ably done, noble one, Yvael thought, her compliment pulsing through Felyndael’s mind as he pulled Moonsorrow free of the rotling’s cancerous body. He let the creature sag to the ground and looked around.

I am not alone in that, my sister, Felyndael thought. Around him, his tree-revenants finished off the last of the dead thing’s companions, killing the bellowing brutes with graceful savagery. The rotlings had become separated from the flow of the horde now occupying the circular streets of Gramin, and thus were easy prey for him and his kin-band as they erupted from the spirit paths close to the heart of the city.

The reed-city was as much a thing of Ghyran as Felyndael and his warriors. Alarielle’s magics had constructed it in ages past. She had drawn up the reeds that grew thick and wild in the shallows of Verdant Bay and woven them together into a great metropolis of canals, bridges and high, sweeping arches, spreading outwards from the Basilica of Reeds at Gramin’s heart. All as a gift for the mortals who had sworn to care for that which she had entrusted to them in ages past – a clutch of slumbering soulpods.

It was a duty that the citizens of Gramin had upheld until the final days of the withering years, when the rotlings had come from the sea. Their plague ships had clustered like maggots along the shore, befouling the green waters of the lagoon, kept pure until then by the budding soulpods. The raiders swept through the city with fire and axe, killing or enslaving all who inhabited it.

Felyndael’s grip on his sword tightened at the thought. Though they had not been of his soil, the mortals had been caretakers, even as the sylvaneth were. They had not deserved such a fate, and he wished that he had been there. Perhaps– no. The season was done, and the cycle continued. Though his heartwood cried out for vengeance for the atrocities of the past, his task now was more important than simple slaughter.

The raiders had left the city itself – and that which even now slumbered beneath it – untouched, after scouring it of all mortal life. Perhaps they had deemed it unimportant, or indefensible. Regardless, they had retreated to the great sargasso, where they had raised foul citadels upon the floating weeds and left the reed-city and its hidden treasure to sit silent and undisturbed.

Until now. Until Alarielle had awoken, and her scream had set the skies to burning and the winds to roaring. As the echoes of that scream spread throughout Ghyran, the rotlings had returned in their scabrous galleys, stinking of ruin, and their return endangered the slumbering grove of hidden soulpods. Now the city shuddered in the grip of a malaise, and the waters beneath screamed without ceasing.

Moonsorrow trembled sympathetically in his grasp. He could feel the ghost of the mountain for which the sword was named stir within the blade. A sorrowful weight, a millennium of tragedy, condensed and compacted into the weapon he now held. A burden and an honour both. It sang to him sometimes, when the moonlight struck the blade just so, and the din of battle had faded.

But it was not singing now. Even if it had been, Felyndael could hear but one song – the war-song, the song of the reaping. Alarielle’s voice resounded through him, branch and root, summoning him, driving him to war. It had been centuries since he had last heard the Everqueen’s voice. It was like a gale wind, ripsawing through the realmroots. She sang and screamed and whispered all at once, crying out in wordless command.

It was a command he had no difficulty obeying. Indeed, he had never stopped fighting. Felyndael of the Fading Light had never set aside his sword, had never set down roots or shrunk into the dark and quiet like many of the others. He had fought without ceasing since the first rotling had set ragged claw on the good soil of Ghyran. And he would not stop until the last of them were mulch beneath his feet. He would not stop until they had been punished in full for their crimes against life itself.

The sword hummed in his grip, the voice of the mountain murmuring to him. Calming him, settling its weight upon the rage that rose up within him like a wildfire, snuffing it. But not for long, he suspected. It grew more difficult to ignore with every turn of the seasons. The harder he fought, the harder it became to do anything but fight.

He had become a hollow thing, burned black and made brittle by war. But he would serve until his roots shrank and his branches cracked. Calmer now, Felyndael examined the body at his feet. Why had the rotlings come back? The servants of Chaos always sought to destroy the soulpods, when they knew of them. But that was not the case here. He would have sensed it if the soulpods were in any direct danger. Something else was going on.

One of his warriors, Lathrael, stretched out her hand. The air is wrong here, she thought. Her words pulsed gravely through the connection that bound them.

It is sour, Caradrael the Scarred thought, with the mental equivalent of a shrug. Like everywhere the rotlings infest. And so? Caradrael’s bark had been kissed by fire long ago, and it had made him short-tempered. Let us kill them, and cleanse this place.

Their numbers are great, Yvael thought.

Then our vengeance will be all the greater. Caradrael’s thought was the hiss of a slashing branch.

No. Lathrael is right. It is different, Felyndael thought. Like the calm before a storm. It trembles, like a thing afraid. Wait – something is–

The air shuddered as unseen bells tolled. The sound of it was every axe-thud, every root-snap and crackle of flame. It was the sound of bark sloughing, curling, decaying and the scream of dry grass in the burgeoning. Felyndael nearly dropped Moonsorrow as he clutched at his head. The others were similarly afflicted by the droning reverberation.

As the tree-revenants recovered their wits, horns brayed in the distance, and drums thudded. The rotlings were agitated. But not, Felyndael thought, by his kin-band. Something else had come to Gramin. Come, brothers and sisters, he thought. Let us see what has our foes so excited.

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A Black Library Publication

Published in Great Britain in 2018 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

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ISBN: 978-1-78572-940-9

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