The Dark Rider

CHAPTER Sixteen



Falk fell to his knees, just managing to keep hold of Nicola whose now limp body he held in his arms. He was breathing heavily, trying to force the breaths deeper, to slow them down and calm his body. He looked up, daring to hope that some warriors had survived, but he saw none in the clearing with him, not a single one. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to forget them, to focus his mind and being on what he had.

He stood, forcing himself upright against his still trembling limbs. Night had fallen in the forest. Ahead of him the great Oak spread its branches as black shadows against the moon and stars. Underneath a figure detached itself from the trunk and ran towards him, a woman dressed in white. Gwen reached him, her eyes flashing wildly.

“Why did you bring her back here?” she cried. “I cannot do anything now. The awakening is in the mind of the sister.”

“I…” he faltered, eyes dropping, unable to meet her fierce gaze. “It was a massacre yet the Rider hesitated, that is the only reason I have her. I had no choice.” He looked back up with pain-filled eyes. “Is there nothing you can do?”

She began to back away. For the first time he noticed the snow falling quietly from the clear sky.

“It is too late. You must leave, now,” she said before turning away and making a keening sound with her lips. On the far side of the clearing a pure white horse appeared from between the trees, galloping towards them. In the distance cries and shouts permeated through the night.

“He is here,” she cried in fear. As the horse approached, the woman grabbed its mane, jumping up onto its back before turning and facing him. “Get her out of here,” she called to him. “Find the sister. Complete the awakening.”

More shouts could be heard, the ringing of metal against metal. A group of warriors appeared from the trees behind them and ran past before stopping in a defensive line and notching arrows on their bows.

As they did so dark figures burst out of the clearing in front of them. Immediately the wood warriors unleashed a volley of arrows before the Serenti were upon them. Falk looked desperately between them and the woman who circled her horse around them.

“You must fly, Falk,” she cried.

Cries and shouts filled the clearing. More dark figures broke through and Gwen rode forward to face them, turning her head one last time, meeting Falk’s gaze.

“Run,” she mouthed to him, her face etched with anger and fear.

He couldn’t move. Everything had slowed so that seconds stretched to years. In his arms the girl stirred, her eyes snapping open, seeing everything and filling with wide-eyed panic. She began to struggle out of his arms.

In front of him the Serenti and wood warriors were locked in battle. He could see every detail, the sparks as blades met, droplets of blood flowing freely through the air, the sweat, the expressions on the fighters, anger, fear, rage, disbelief, the losing and taking of life.

He felt the thunder from the hooves of the great warhorse as it tore into the clearing, a vision of terrifying beauty. He saw the hooded rider sat astride the beast, his blade flashing quickly, gleaming eyes piercing everything, searching until they found and locked onto the still struggling girl, the intention as clear as death itself.

He saw Gwen, her curved sword raised, white light seeming to flow along the blade, looking towards him one last time with desperation on her face, before she turned back to meet the rider’s charge. He looked down at the girl in his arms now frozen with terror, and as he stared down at her she went limp, her eyes rolling back into their sockets as she passed into unconsciousness.

Something snapped inside of him and he forced himself into action, swinging the girl over his shoulder and running as fast as he could down the hill, away from the battle and towards the trees on the far side of the clearing.

Gwen wheeled her horse around, charging at the rider and desperately trying to cut him off. His malevolent stare left the girl, registering her approach. They passed, metal ringing against metal, both recoiling from the shock of their blows. She pulled her horse around, placing herself between him and the fleeing Falk. He pulled his horse to a stop. They stood opposite each other, his form black as the night, a dark shadow that began to move slowly towards the woman in white who seemed to glow with light.

She tensed at their approach, the intimidating great snorting breaths, the thud of massive hooves, the soft clinking of armor.

“That’s close enough,” she shouted to him, her horse rearing up, wanting to leave, to run from the massive beast approaching them.

He pulled back his hood to reveal the face of the young man Paul, his eyes as blue as the sunlit sea, gleaming with rage.

“So this is what you meant by an awakening,” he called to her bitterly.

She said nothing, sending calmness through to the panicked mind of her horse.

“Do you know what I have already done Gwen, what he has made me see in just one night?” he said, his voice cutting across the air between them. “After all you said to me, all you made me believe.”

Still Gwen stayed silent, afraid to speak, to see her failure standing before her, his eyes accusing her.

“Answer me,” he raged at her, his horse moving one step closer, eager to be unleashed against them.

Her horse turned to run and she made it turn back again to face him.

“I found you and trained you in good faith, Paul,” she said, her voice strong despite the fear she felt inside. “I did not know it was a lie.”

“You betrayed me!” he shouted at her. “You set me up and gave everything that was rightly mine to another, to Nicola, and you left me to him.” Horse and rider were restless, moving ever closer. “Do you know what that feels like, Gwen, to have your life fall apart in front of you?” She shook her head slowly waiting for the move she knew he would inevitably make. “To be used to destroy the very things you loved and cherished?”

“Myrkur blinded us all, Paul,” she replied, her heart heavy. “I had no idea what you truly are, believe me, I am sorry.”

“Sorry?” he laughed. “Is that all you have to say for what you have done?”

“It is something I cannot change now,” she said in acceptance. “Further emotion serves no purpose.”

He looked at her, his eyes spearing into her, and she fought to stop him from seeing into her soul.

“You know why I am here,” he said. “Let me pass.”

“No, Paul,” she replied. “That is something I cannot do.”

“Then I will kill you,” he said.

“You can try,” she replied defiantly holding her sword up high. “But you do not know everything.”

For a moment he considered her, reminding her of the boy she had met all those years ago. How young he had been, how elated she had been at finding him, believing in him, believing that he was the one. And now it had come to this. A deep sorrow filled her heart.

He urged his horse forward slowly, wary of her and her magic. They circled once, eyes locked. She was scared of him, scared of how powerful he was.

He lunged forward, his sword piercing the air like an arrow heading straight for her chest. She moved deftly to one side, swinging her own sword down in a sweeping arc towards his unguarded shoulder. Metal sang against metal as she struck his armor, her blow glancing off the dark material.

Already he was turning, his broadsword curving round in a massive circle which she blocked with her raised blade, the edge of his black blade emitting sparks as it cut across and down her own weapon. She shifted her body weight backwards, swinging again as she did so but this time he blocked her attack and he turned, coming at her with a relentless series of heavy blows which she blocked with increasing effort, each sending shockwaves down her shoulders and across her body.

She was forced backwards, her magic failing, horse whinnying with the effort, the warhorse trying to butt and stamp against her own lighter steed, and she felt herself tiring, oh so tired, each blow an overwhelming full assault on her senses, and just when she thought her magic would fail, he stopped, pulling his horse around to stand a few meters away from her.

“You cannot defeat me, Gwen.”

She panted heavily, mustering her strength and energy.

“You are already defeated, Paul, if you are with him.”

“I will find her and I will kill her,” he said. “Now let me pass and I will spare your life.”

“There is only one way you will pass me,” she replied.

He stared at her, eyes revealing nothing.

“So be it.”

He came at her, and as he did so she pulled her arm back and threw her sword with all her force and power like a javelin straight at the center of his body. She then jumped up onto her horse’s back and leapt high into the air, drawing a silver knife from her belt as Paul twisted desperately to avoid the tip of the incoming blade which cut through the armour of his shoulder and raked deeply across his flesh before glancing off to land in the soil behind him.

Gwen saw the cut as she arced gracefully across the sky above him, and as she soared her heart leapt for she saw that there was a chance, that perhaps she could win, and for a moment she felt a great happiness fill her and the land in one rich pulse of life and she plummeted down towards him, knife drawn and ready to strike.

As the sword cut him Paul howled in pain, the impact of the blade cutting deep and accelerating the turning movement of his body. He found himself falling from his horse and above him a flash of pure, beautiful light such as he had never seen filled his senses and he fell with a jarring crash onto his back, pain ripping through his shoulder, the blade of his sword pointing skywards and, still blinded by the light, he felt something heavy land on him with a sickening thud, and then all was silent.

Moments passed and then Paul groaned, pain arcing in burning spasms down his left side. He felt a sharp pricking sensation against the skin on his neck, and as his sight began to return he found himself staring into the open, empty eyes of Gwen’s lifeless body which was impaled on his sword above him, red blood staining her white clothes and beginning to flow freely over his armor. Her arm lay across his chest, the point of a silver knife pressing against his jugular, and he wretched, vomit almost choking him.

Paul turned to one side spitting out sick and blood, his body shaking uncontrollably, his eyes full of shock, for he could not believe what he had just done. He tried to drag himself away with his good arm but he just pulled her body with him, her blood mingling with the blood flowing from his shoulder. His sword blade was still sticking grotesquely out from her back waving in the air with each movement he made.

He struggled more, clawing frantically at the ground with his gloved hand, anything to get away from the monstrous vision before him. Suddenly he was free and he lurched to his feet and stumbled a few steps away. As he did so a wind began to fill the clearing, tugging at his hair and stinging his face as it increased until he was surrounded by a swirling maelstrom of air ringing in his ears and forcing him onto his knees. Then a bright light like a supernova filled the clearing. Paul squeezed his eyes tightly shut, throwing his arm up to shield himself. Still the light burned into his mind and he cried out a long unearthly scream. Then, in an instant, the light and the wind disappeared and all that was left was silence.

Paul fell forward onto his hands and knees, head shaking, trying to clear the ringing from his ears and the vivid afterimage in his eyes. White hot pain lanced through his shoulder, forcing him to push himself up again. He looked around, his sight gradually returning. All that was left of Gwen was her sword still sticking up from the ground and her knife lying where she had fallen.

A movement at the edge of his vision made him turn, and he saw her white horse by the tree line pawing at the ground before it turned and was gone melting into the shadows of the forest. Sounds began to register. The whinnying and snorting of his warhorse. The groans and cries of injured fighters.

The pain increased, burning across his chest and down his arm, and he felt weaker and weaker, his body swaying from side to side as he tried to keep himself upright. He put his arm out to support himself but found that his muscles were too weak and he fell onto his side. His ears were ringing again but he was sure he heard movement and then he saw, on the far side of the clearing, shadows in dark armor come running from the trees.

At least a hundred Serenti appeared, fierce men-like creatures armed with swords and crossbows, several on horseback, and they fanned out to encompass him and the clearing while groups of them crossed the open ground stopping to hack at every dark shape on the ground. Paul tried to shut out the sound of screams cut short. A group were upon him and for an instant he stared into cruel red eyes and then they moved on and it was over and the figures joined the perimeter.

Silence descended on the clearing, a heaviness that made it difficult to breathe. Tendrils of ice drifted in the air and behind them trees were slowly turning ghostly white as they became enveloped in a killing frost that crept across everything.

On the far side of the tree line the Serenti parted, and from the shadows between them came seven horses and cloaked riders in a phalanx, and in the center followed a single massive black horse several hands taller than the others whose hooded rider was clothed in a black darker than night itself. The ice reached Paul and a choking chill washed through him as he lay there for he knew who this was and he began to tremble.

The riders approached and stopped a few meters from him, filling his vision with iron hooves and a wall of clinking metal-clad legs that stamped and moved restlessly in front of him, before parting to allow the single horse through. Paul raised his eyes to look into the depths of the hooded cowl but he could see nothing and his head dropped back again.

Paul squeezed his eyes shut as a hissing sound escaped from the hooded figure, the cowl moving slowly from side to side, surveying the clearing. The horse moved forward and a hand appeared from within the cloak. Slender, ghostly white fingers extended downwards to encircle the exquisitely decorated hilt of Gwen’s sword still sticking from the ground. With an imperceptible pull the sword came free and was raised into the air.

The voice, flat and emotionless, came directly into Paul’s mind.

“You have lost her again.”

“The white witch is dead,” thought Paul. Instinctively, he knew he did not need to speak out loud. “Is that not enough for this day?”

“Perhaps.”

The horse stepped forward, the tip of the blade dropping to scribe circles in the frozen earth. The cowl raised to the sky as if sniffing the air.

“There was another here.”

Paul drew in a ragged breath trying to keep his mind clear, to fight the soothing sleep that was becoming so inviting, for he felt he would not wake up from it.

“A girl. Alex.” The shadow in the cowl dropped to look at him. “Your sister. She was given something I need.”

Paul felt the pit of his stomach turn to ice. What was Alex doing here? How could Gwen have involved her, put her in such danger? Anger flared again and now he had no outlet, could not ask why, for Gwen was truly dead.

“And now, I will have to get it.”

The point of the sword slowed and stopped hanging centimeters from Paul’s face. Paul swallowed hard, sucking in cold, frigid air. He tried to pull himself away from the shining point in front of his eyes, yet he was paralyzed by pain and the weakness that was taking over his body as his blood continued to flow from his shoulder. He could not think anymore, could not accept what was happening, that his sister was going to be next. The feeling of hopelessness was absolute.

“You are dying,” said the voice.

Paul blinked for part of him had known.

“The wound is corrupted by white magic.”

The figure dismounted from the horse, boots hitting the ground in front of Paul. There was a rustling sound and all Paul could see was Myrkur’s cloak and then he felt pressure on his shoulder. Again the voice sounded in his head.

“I can stop this, if you ask of me, but not heal it, not completely. The white magic is too close to your heart.”

“Why would I not ask this of you,” asked Paul in his mind.

“There is a cost. To you,” the voice replied, smooth and emotionless. “It is something I cannot describe. You will only know. Afterwards.”

Paul blinked again and tried to remember the words. Time seemed to be slipping in his mind and he was sure he was dreaming, for reality was bending around him and there was no possibility that this could be real. Faces came to him. His sister laughing as they walked along the beach at Penwryn. Nicola, naked, her slender arms wrapped around him, hands caressing him, and then her body vanishing into shadow for she had betrayed him. Then a voice in his head spoke saying, “I accept,” and afterwards he realized it was his voice, but by then everything had fallen into darkness.