CHAPTER 13

The Rescue

"So, you are serious then?" Aenarion asked incredulously.  "Yes," replied Garrick not a hint of humor in his voice".  So you are going to just march right down to Skavenblight, the heart of the Skaven Empire, and tell the ruling skaven council to release your friends."  "Well, not exactly like that," Enrico answered with a smile, "but close!"  "We haven't quite formulated a plan," conceded Garrick as he continued to pack up his belongings.  "A plan," Aenarion continued "to travel across the treacherous Grey Mountains, pass through the fringes of the Forests of LorenForests of Loren, where, by the way, visitors are not welcome, then, through Bretonnia and finally on into Skavenblight.  It had better be a hell of a plan," he finished with a laugh.  "I didn't say it was going to be easy," Garrick countered.  "What would you have us do!" Enrico retorted, "Let them be sacrificed to the Skaven god."  "Aenarion is not suggesting that we let your friends be sacrificed," Lyndryell spoke up, no longer able to take the bickering.  "I'm not?" asked Aenarion.  Lyndryell ignored his friend's jest.  "Just that we come up with a plan before running blindly into trouble."  They all agreed to mingle with the towns-people for a day to get information regarding Skaven activity, if any, in the area and also the political climate in Bretonnia.  All except Gilchrist.  They had left the Barren Hills and travelled to Nuln to rest and resupply.  It was the southeasternmost city large enough to equip them for the perilous journey ahead.  And through it all Gilchrist had been strangely silent, spending most of his days divided between the Witchhunter's Guild and the Temple of Sigmar.  The group knew that something terrible had happened in that cursed mountain, but did not know what.  Gilchrist refused to talk about it and the others respected his privacy, as the prophesies of Heinrich Kemmler had affected them all in some way or another.

They arrived at the inn that evening and gathered in a quiet corner at the back of the room and prepared plans for the journey ahead.  Enrico was always the most effective at gathering information.  And, true to form, he had learned of a treacherous path they could use to cross the Grey Mountains without having to travel to one of the main passes to the north and draw attention to themselves.  It was said at places to be only wide enough for one man to walk at a time and that Orcs, Goblins, Skaven, and all manner of foul beasts used it at one time or another, and thus it was seldom, if ever, trav-elled.

Garrick had learned that Quenelles and Parravon were at war.  "Fools!" Aenarion shouted.  "We saw it coming a year ago,"  Lyndryell said calmly.  "I know, but I just thought Sir Renaud would come to his senses and realize what a mistake he was making," Aenarion said more to himself than to Lyndryell.  "I certainly do not look forward to going back there," Lyndryell replied.  "Is there a problem?" Enrico asked, a look of concern on his face.  "Lets just say we made some enemies before we left," Aenarion answered.  "Aenarion, you make enemies wherever you go," Garrick said pulling his huge axe from his back, "But we can take care of ourselves, can't we Enrico."  "Yes, we can my friend, yes we can."

Gilchrist walked up to the steps of the temple and knelt down in front of the Holy shrine of Sigmar.  It was a large sculpture of sculpture of Sigmar made of pearly white marble.  Truly beauti-ful to behold.  He prayed silently, lost in himself, still haunted by the nightmares of his master, wondering if he had done the right thing.  He knew he had, but there was this nagging doubt and he felt that he was losing his faith.  He had spent every waking moment seeking the companionship of other Witchhunters and of his God.  He felt bad for his friends, but knew they just would not understand.  His faith had been severely shaken and only in prayer would he become whole again.  He continued praying and started feeling warm inside.  The room began to glow, then he was bathed in light.  A voice spoke softly in his ear.  "Gilchrist Hauk, I have heard your prayers."  He looked around. There was no one to be seen.  He began trembling.   "I am not worthy of this honor" he stammered clumsily, not knowing what to say.

"Speak not noble Witchhunter.  You have proven your worth to me.  Heed my words carefully Gilchrist Hauk.  Keep your faith strong, for the road ahead contains hazards many times greater than the ones you have already faced.  The dark clouds of Chaos are gathering and your destinies are closely entwined. Remember to keep your faith, for there will come a time when it is all that you have."    The glow lessened and Gilchrist felt the warmth throughout his whole body.  Then the voice returned, "Fear not, your master is with me and here he shall stay."  Gilchrist stood up and looked around and everyone was going about their daily business as if nothing had happened.

"So that's it then, we travel this path over the moun-tains, skirt Loren and Quenelles and then on to Skavenblight."  "Not much of a plan," Gilchrist interrupted as he walked into the room.  Everyone looked up, surprised to see their friend after all this time.  "Not much, but workable!" Aenarion finished.  "Why skirt Loren?" Garrick asked, "We have Lyndryell with us."  "Wood Elves do not take kindly to strangers or to Wood Elves who show strangers into the sacred forest," Lyndryell answered so matter of factly that no further question on the subject was forthcoming.  "What about when we reach Skavenblight?" Enrico asked.  "No one that has ever seen Skavenblight has ever lived to tell about it so we will have to decide when we get there what our next move will be," Aenarion answered.  "As I said, not much of a plan," Gilchrist repeated, but continued, "so when do we leave."  They were all silent for a few moments, star-ing at Gilchrist, wondering what had gotten into their friend.  "We leave at dawn," Garrick answered, not able to take his eyes off of Gilchrist's face.  "What are you all staring at?" he asked more than a little annoyed at all of the gawking faces.  "Your hair, it is streaked with gray," Aenarion replied, the others shak-ing their heads in agreement, "What happened?"  "I regained my faith," was all he said.