The Dark Chronicles Ch. 10

In the morning, they ate. When done, Lilith went to her horse, but before mounting she returned to him. She stood before him, face to face, and looked into his eyes. "Take this token, soldier, it give you free pass." She gave him a coin, her profile on its face.

"Go down to the valley, place all the bodies together. Make a burying place under rocks for the men and make a fire for the horse." She was queen now, commanding, and he a loyal man. "Go north when you're done, Ulgrif, then east to the sea. Your battle here is done, not death."

"You, lady? Where you?"

"West, soldier. My battle is yet to come, but I feel it, riding beside me." She turned from him and mounted her horse. "Remember Lilith, a good soldier's woman."

Ulgrif watched her as she rode slowly down the valley, her horse picking its careful way on the stony path. She didn't look back, but Ulgrif didn't expect her to. She rode out of sight, and a short while later the loyal soldier made his own way to the valley floor and found flat ground for a burying place.

A day later, Ulgrif struck north, leaving a high cairn to mark the skirmish and its dead. As he walked, he turned the coin in his pocket, feeling the outline of his queen's head under his fingers.

* * * *

A dusting of light snow covered the tracks and pathways leading to a high, clear place. Artur had set a large camp on the heights of Badon and fed a thousand men. To the west and south lay his kingdom's heart, and he swore this heart would never be taken.

His armies had slowly drawn the invaders west, taking advantage of the long walk from their boats by harassing the men who scouted ahead. Artur's horses would thunder down from the peaks and ridges, slaughter the small bands of men and disappear like ghosts. Rumours of spirits abounded, and of Lilith the queen riding alone, her spying eyes hidden in rocks and trees, rising up.

She brought intelligence of the pretender prince, her brother Mordant. "They follow him, Father, but trust him not, your traitor son." She spat, and spoke no more of him, her sibling filth.

Artur waited, and his men waited too, all ready. Once again, the eastern sky flickered and glowed with the signal fires, lit quicker now and burning every night. Slowly, Artur put together a map of the attack and planned his defences, and a great encirclement.

"'Twill end soon, Lilith, and we shall be remembered, in victory or in loss."

"Never loss, Father, never a loss."

Artur looked upon his daughter and saw her burning heart still fierce, where his was tired but smouldering still.

"It will be what it be, Lilith. We can do no more than that." He looked up from the map drawn on vellum. "Come, let's go to the look, to see their approach down the valley."

They went to a high ridge to the north-east of the camp where they looked out over a long valley, a small river running along its spine, and a well-ridden path. Artur knew the way well, as it was one of the main roads east, one his men regularly travelled. Lilith knew the high ridges better, and rode where the ancient walkers walked.

"Look there," she said, pointing to the head of the valley. The morning light cast long shadows, and in the far distance a mass of small shapes could be seen moving slowly, their blackness in lines before them on the stark snow. "They come upon us, on a new day, as the sun rises."

Artur was silent, studying the deployment and pondering how to break it. As the light brightened and cleared the distant mist, he saw how a single figure rode ahead on a horse, followed by a group of perhaps a dozen walking men, fifty paces back. Beyond them were the untidy ranks of men, impossible to count yet, but walking on. The army approached in silence, still too far off for any sound to carry, but advancing down the valley at a steady pace.

"I shall ride quick along the ridge, Father, to see to the end of them."

"Out of arrows' throw, Lilith, stay on the heights."

"I'm your Lilith. You think I ever be seen when I not want?"

He laughed. "I forget your ways, my love. Of course, not seen."

She looked at him and teased. "You forget, my aged father? I shall make you a cosseting rug and sit you by the fire with Maerlyn and his dice, and bring you hot mead and bread." She was affectionate, eyes bright with her love for him. She kissed him on the lips, and walked back to the camp for her horse.

Artur studied the valley longer, and from the huddled shape of him, knew that the single rider was his son, Mordant, come to claim his pretender's crown. "It's not yours to have," he said to himself, and he too went back to the camp. "Rednock, my horse. I ride to parley."

By mid-morning all was clear. The mass of the heathen invaders filled the valley, perhaps two thousand, perhaps somewhat less. Halted now, small fires could be seen burning amongst the troops for food and warmth. Up on Badon Mount, Artur's army likewise sat waiting for command, and the men counted the opposite numbers of men. Peace would be better.

A horn called, and Artur rode slowly down from the lookout and made for the valley below. He was clad in his regal cloak of wolf and stag, Scalibet his blade sheathed at his waist. He rode in clear sight, his head held high. The only sound was the clop of his horse's hooves as they broke the thin snow and left a trail behind him. The ranks of men were silent on both sides. Eagles flew above the ridges and rabbits ran, but other than the birds and their prey, all was still.

Artur rode on until he found a clear space with crisp white snow all around him, where he stopped. The freeze of his breath could be seen in the air, slow and steady. His horse's breath was like a plume, and it too was steady and slow.

Mordant spurred on his own horse and rode to the clear space, his horse prancing, its hooves high. He circled around Artur twice at a distance, as if to impress or to gather courage, the watchers could not tell. His frozen breath came quick, and the horse was skittish. It reared onto its back legs once, and Mordant struggled to control it, nearly falling.

Artur remained motionless the while, not even turning his head.

The commanders of the invading men, amused at Mordant's pretences, studied the king before them. They leaned their heads together in whispers, and made their measure of him.

Mordant finally controlled his horse and rode to face Artur, the plumes of his breath still quick. The slush beneath him was shuffled and brown, all messy. Beneath Artur's horse the snow was crisp and white, the long trail leading back to the heart of his land measured out by the even pace of his horse, in sure and steady steps.

They spoke, but were too far away to be heard. Mordant could be seen gesturing wildly in supplication or anger, the watchers could not say.

Artur touched the pommel of Scalibet still sheathed and shook his head. He spurred his horse and turned his back on his son. He slowly rode back the way he came, following his own trail in the snow, a solitary figure alone in the valley. The watching men were silent, the huddled command stood still, and waited for Mordant to respond.

Mordant circled the clear space once, before pulling up his horse. He unslung a bow from his side and reached behind his shoulder for an arrow from the quiver, stringing it quickly. He raised the bow and took aim at Artur's back.

"Artur, turn now and face me," he cried out, but his voice quivered and cracked. "I be king in your place!"

But Artur did not turn. He rode straight on.

Mordant circled his horse once more, then raised and lowered the bow at his father's back, as if undecided. Finally he stopped and took deliberate aim. "Father, stop!" he cried out.

Artur did not stop, he simply rode on.

The arrow, when it flew, flew fast, and hit Artur's back high up, piercing a lung. He lurched forward but did not fall, coughing red blood which spattered bright onto the stark white snow. Some of the men later swore they saw him spur his big horse on, for it lurched forward into a gallop and he did not fall.

High above the valley, from the ridge, there was a single high scream of agony like a calling hawk, a chilling shriek. A far thunder of hooves was heard a moment later as Lilith followed her father, riding like the wind to be with him, just like she rode as a child.

Down in the valley, the soldiers of the invading army let loose a low hiss and turned their backs on Mordant. Their commanders turned too, and their captain shouted, "Retreat!

"Betraying scum, false prince. We will not follow a mouse who'll shoot a man's back, and that man his father. We are gone from this place."

Mordant circled, uncertain, then he too followed Artur, trailing the red blood on the stark white snow.

* * * *

Mordant reached the top of a ridge, still following the red trail of blood and the marks of the horse ahead of him. He looked down a long grassed slope to a wide lake below, its far shore veiled in mist, unseeable. Part way down the slope he could see a spreading patch of bright red blood against the snow and Artur's body still and bleeding, sprawled beside a stream. His horse stood by, its big head down low, nuzzling the fallen man.

The princeling dismounted and approached his father, tentative now, afraid of the blood. "What have I done, Father?" He spoke the words low, fearing an answer.

Arthur coughed, spitting more blood. "You missed my heart, foolish boy. Couldn't you even do that?" He mocked his son. Mordant saw no forgiveness in his father's eyes and knew himself cursed till the end of his days.

"You never loved me, Father. I was always alone. It was always Lilith, never me."

"Don't pity yourself, boy. You made your choices, Lilith hers." He coughed again, and moaned with pain.

Mordant saw the arrow remained in his father's body, its shaft snapped in the fall from the horse. "What can I do?"

"Redeem yourself, boy? Return my sword to its maker." Artur choked, and spat blood once more. "Take Scalibet to the lake and cast it to the waters."

He struggled to release the sword from its sheath, but finally did so, grunting with pain.

Mordant took it, turning it over in its hands, seeing the carefully crafted blade, the inlaid jewels on the haft.I could still be king, with this sword. He looked down on his father, and was not redeemed. "I will take the sword, Father, and cast it to the waters."

He walked off, going down to the water's edge where he stood for a long while before hiding the sword under bushes. He would collect it later, after Artur had died, go to Camlann and be crowned rightful king.

He returned to his father, 'Tis done. I went to the water's edge and threw Scalibet to the centre of the lake."

"What did you see?" Arthur's voice was fading now, but he wanted an answer.

"Nothing, Father. Just ripples, where the sword hit the water and sank."

"Nothing?" Artur looked up to his son. "You lie, Mordant. You did not throw the sword." He racked his body with a shuddering breath, full of pain."Go back. Throw the sword, and tell me that you did."

So Mordant returned to the water's edge and stood there, considering his father's request and his own ambition. Again he disobeyed.

"Nothing, Father. A wide spread of ripples, nothing more."

"You kill me, Mordant, and you lie once and that is enough; yet you lie twice and wonder why I don't trust my own son?" Artur looked at him, and Mordant saw sadness in those grey eyes, and finally understood redemption.

"I am sorry, Father. I will do what you want of me."

He returned once more to the lake, and as he did so a thin veil of rain began to fall, clamping down distance and reducing it to grey. Mordant recovered the sword from the bushes where he hid it, and proceeded right to the edge of the lake. He could not guess what Artur expected him to see, for his father had given him no clues. But he finally understood this third time he must cast the sword away, and with it his ambition and his future, and be cursed for striking his father down.

So he swung the weapon about his head three times and released it towards the centre of the lake, right into the middle of the darkest mist. As soon as the sword left his hands the mist parted, and from it gliding quick came a boat, moving fast upon the water, no sail and no oars, but fast moving on the water. In the centre of the boat stood Nymue, come to take her dagger back, that she had made so long ago. She raised her hand and caught the sword, and held it high. In a strong voice she cried out, "Who so carries this sword, shall be the rightful king of Britten, and shall be the future king. Hail Artur, King."

She pointed at Mordant, "Go, bring the king down to the lake and place him in the boat. Hasten, boy, before he dies."

Shaking in fear from what he'd seen, Mordant stumbled back to where Artur lay. The king's breathing was shallow now, barely raising his chest, but he gasped, "What did you see?"

"A boat, Father, and the lady of the lake who caught the sword."

"Ah, your truth at last, my son, you tell the truth." Artur's head fell back, and his breath became more shallow than before, gasping in the cold air, death rattling in his throat.

A squall of rain blew over them, and fierce ripples spread upon the stream. Suddenly, rising up from the fast flowing water, her body sheened blue from the cold, stood Lilith, tall and proud and the water streaming from her limbs, hatred in her eyes.

"What have you done, scum my brother, killed a man?" She rose before him, full naked in her fury. "Killed my father before my eyes? You will die slowly for this, brother, I swear it. I will kill you myself, full slowly, and you'll plead me to make it quick.

"Take up our father's body, brother mine unbeloved," she said, venom in her voice, dark fury in her eyes. "Carry him down to the boat, lay him to rest." She stood before Mordant. "I'll kill you then, don't doubt it." She took a step forward, ice shards streaming from her body. "Filth. Do it!"

Mordant feared his sister's wrath more than his father's blood, and obeyed her. He knelt before his father's still body, lifting him into his arms. He struggled to his feet with the weight of his father's death, and staggered down towards the shore. Lilith followed, tears frozen ice on her cheeks, her body blue and black and her snakes coiled all around. She walked after her stumbling brother, and saw his quivering back.

By the shore the boat lay close, Nymue at its stern, by the steering oar.

"Place the king in the boat, Mordant. I take him now, to Avelynn where he will rest." Nymue paused, then spoke again to Mordant. "I saw part of this streaming back: the blood on the snow. But I never knew it was Artur that you killed, I never knew it was this."

Nymue beckoned to Lilith. "Come, girl, I see you now. But I'll turn and you'll go. I cannot see what you do."

Lilith came forward into the water, grief in her eyes but her pride not broken. She bent over her father's body in the boat, and for the last time, coiled the snakes on her arms with his. She closed his eyes of the brightest blue and kissed him on the lips. "Sleep well, my father. I'll ride on the wind beside you, never fall." Lilith's blue eyes were sightless through her tears, which dropped on his cheeks like rain, like blood. She kissed him again on the lips and on his closed eyes.

"Take my father, Nym Nymue, and wash him in clear water. Take him to sleep in a safe place."

"Your wish, Lilith, is mine to be done."

Lilith stepped back from the boat and it immediately began to glide and turn on the water, smooth ripples streaming backwards. It silently moved into the mist and was gone.

The only sound was a soft lap of waves on the shore, rushes brushing together, and the harsh sound of Mordant's ragged breathing.

Lilith turned to her brother, her hand hidden behind her back. "Come, brother, let's talk." She stepped forward out of the water and walked up to him, her nakedness a deliberate provocation. "What, brother, dare you not look? I know the weight of your eyes upon me, I always felt your look, always knew you were there, a hiding in the dark, following me."

She went closer to him. "Come, sweet brother mine, you always wanted a kiss."

She tenderly reached for the blaze on his cheek, the king's mark made there, raging dark. "Oh my brother, I slept with you nine months, was it never enough?"

Mordant startled back, dread in his eyes, all colour drained from his face but the blaze. Lilith stepped right up to him, her breasts against his chest, and put her arm around him, her grim strength holding him close. "Oh, my brother, taste my lips." She kissed him hard on the lips, her tongue thrusting between them, fucking into his mouth. "My lips, brother, taste my lips. Taste this."

And with her other hand she plunged her killing knife deep into Mordant's belly, upwards to pierce his lungs, downwards to rupture his gut, left and right to spill his flesh and blood all steaming on the ground.

Mordant's eyes opened wide with the adrenal shock, and he looked down in wonder at what his sister had done. His guts fell to the white snow, staining it pink and red and brown in a spreading circle around him. He fell to his knees for a moment and looked up at Lilith in disbelief. "What...."

Lilith stepped back as Mordant's body fell forward into its own filth, looking down on him as she might look at a gutted fish by a fisherman's basket. She prodded at him with her foot to make sure. She knelt and made one swift cut, then weighted his body with stones, and it sank slow swaying to the bottom of the lake.

She washed herself clean in the cold water, and called her horse down to her. She tied the bridle of her father's horse to the pommel of her saddle, and so too the bridle of her brother's horse to her father's saddle. She sheathed her sharp knife and dressed herself in her hiding cloak.

Lilith rode to Camlann, three horses all in a line.

Mordant looked down from a high pole with his sightless eyes, and saw nothing.

© Electricblue66 2018