Keepers of the Western Forest

by Chris Kennedy

  Chapter 10

   

  The day dawned cloudy. Darin and Stella prepared themselves without speaking. They mounted and started out.

  The forest was now very dense, with only occasional patches of grey sky showing dimly through the high leafy branches. Everything was still; not a bird was singing and the moss-covered pathway muffled the sound of Dart’s hooves. More moss grew up the sides of gnarled and twisted tree trunks and hung in swathes from the lower boughs. 

  All at once, the clouds above turned black and such a darkness fell over the path that Dart stopped and waited nervously.

  “Easy, now!” Darin whispered.

  Even as he had spoken, everything around them was illuminated by a sudden flash—and then again. Almost immediately came the thunder. Darin’s arms were around Stella’s waist, and now he pulled her closer to him. Once more, thunder crackled overhead.

  As his eyes slowly grew accustomed to the gloom, he could see a faint patch of grey in the darkness up ahead.

  “We are coming to the edge of the forest,” said Stella. “Just a little further and we will reach the entrance to the ravine where The Black Corbie stands guard.”

  Darin urged his horse slowly along the track; the rain began to drum on the leaves above their heads. By the time they reached the last trees, it was so fierce that it sprayed back up from the ground, making it impossible to see much of the scene in front of them. They dismounted and stood together in the shelter of a wide oak tree. Its branches did not afford much protection for long, however; soon Darin’s shirt under the chain-mail was soaked and cold against his skin. For her part, Stella seemed not to mind the rain, but turned up her face to it and laughed, shaking her wet curls.

  The storm ended as abruptly as it had begun. The blackest clouds were gone and a weak and bleary sun was breaking through. Darin could see the long, narrow valley that lay before them. To the left, a little stream ran alongside the path through the ravine, the ground on the other side of it rising sharply to a wooded hillside. To the right, a sheer cliff face ran the length of the valley. Great mossy boulders were strewn about the valley floor and there were several caves in the cliff.

  He felt Stella’s hand on his arm. She pointed to the largest of the caves, maybe a hundred yards from where they stood. As he looked, a horse and armed rider emerged from its depths.

  The rider wore a black surcoat over his armour and bore a crimson shield on his left arm. As he rode towards them, Darin could see that both he and his black charger were enormous. His closed helmet was of the old style, with no moveable visor: high, with slanting eye-slits and a crest consisting of a pair of wings. The device painted in black on his shield was in the shape of a crow.

  The Black Corbie stopped fifty or sixty paces from where they stood. “Sir! Neither you nor your lady shall pass this point,” he shouted. “Turn back the way you came, or I will slay you both!”

  Darin looked at Stella with a sudden sense of misgiving. He was willing to risk his own life in this encounter, but not hers.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said, “I know the forest. I am quick and light and can easily escape him if I have to. And I have faith in you!”

  Darin sprang up onto Dart’s back. He tried to remind himself that he had unhorsed many knights bigger and heavier than himself at the tournament, but he knew he was facing a very different opponent this time; his arms trembled and his grip was weak as he took his lance. He drew a determined breath, however, and summoned up all his courage. “You will regret those words, villain!”

  The Black Corbie laughed and spurred his charger. Darin urged Dart to meet him, but he scarcely had time to dress his shield and level his spear before there was a tremendous splintering of lances. He felt the blow with his whole body; for a moment, he was looking at the sky—then came the jarring pain as he landed on his back. The huge black horse thundered by him, its hooves sending up showers of shale and clay.

  He scrambled to his feet, shaking his head to clear it, and looked about him. There was no sign of his lance, but his buckler lay on the ground a couple of yards away. His enemy was already wheeling his steed around; his shattered spear was gone, but now a sword flashed in his right hand. Darin hesitated between drawing his own and trying to retrieve his shield, but realized he would not have time for either. The great black horse was almost upon him. At the last possible instant, he jumped straight across its path; now he was on the Black Corbie’s left hand side, temporarily out of reach of his sword arm.

  The massive figure in the black surcoat loomed over him, twisting around for a backward swipe. Darin had a glimpse of wild eyes glaring at him through the slits in the winged helmet as he leapt up and seized the crimson shield with both hands. Digging in his heels, he yanked downwards with all his might and succeeded in pulling his bulky opponent, who was leaning far to the side, out of his saddle. They both fell heavily to the ground.

  Darin was the first to regain his feet. He ran over to pick up his shield and then drew his sword, his heart beating fast. By now the fallen knight was up again and advancing towards him on foot. “You will pay for this!” he bellowed, raising his sword high above his head.

  Darin saw the blow coming and held up his shield, but the sword struck the top edge of it with such force that it sliced its way down almost to the centre. The straps gave way and the round buckler was torn from Darin’s arm. He leapt backwards as the Black Corbie shook it free of his blade, growling in fury.

  Speed is my only advantage, he thought, gripping his sword with both hands as the heavy knight lumbered at him. He danced about and easily dodged the next few blows that were aimed at him. Then, seizing his chance as his enemy was recovering himself after a particularly vicious swing, he leapt into the air and brought his blade crashing down on his helmet. He had the satisfaction of seeing one of the crow’s wings fly off and then he was back to weaving and dodging again.

  He kept this up for a long time. The last clouds had dispersed and the sun was getting hotter and he was glad of the wet tunic under his mail; it kept him cool for a while as he danced around his opponent. He could see the big knight was gradually getting slower, but he knew that just one cut of that mighty sword could still prove fatal, chain-mail or no chain-mail. Darin took no unnecessary risks; even so, he found more and more opportunities to deliver blows of his own. Every time he struck at his enemy’s body, the crimson shield was there to block him, so he concentrated on the helmet. After landing a good few buffets on the tall man’s head, jumping up each time to gain a little height, he fancied the Black Corbie was beginning to stagger a little under the blows.

  At last, as the sun reached its highest point, the heavy knight sank to his knees. Darin sprang forward, seized the scarred and dented helmet and pulled it off his head. He stood before the kneeling figure with upraised sword.

  “Yield, traitor!” he panted.

  The Black Corbie’s beard and long hair were streaked with grey. His face was red from his exertions, his breath laboured. “I yield, noble sir! Have mercy, I beg you! I bear you no hatred. I fought only to please a certain great lady. Now my pride has been humbled, I see how falsely she has treated me! She never bore me any real love, she just used her hold over me and I sorely regret the many evil deeds that I have done in her name!”

  “This knight is not the first to have succumbed to the magic powers of Morgan the Enchantress,” said Stella, appearing at Darin’s side. “Although he has done great wrong, he is as much her victim as is the poor knight who is being held prisoner in yonder cave. I think you should spare his life!”

  “Gladly,” answered Darin. Now the heat of battle was over, he did not relish the idea of killing anyone. “This sword has already taken one innocent life and that is more than enough.”

  Stella shot him a curious look. “And do you regret that slaying?”

  Darin made no reply, but turned to the knight who knelt before him. “Sir,” he said, “I will let you go, on condition that you surre
nder your sword to me and swear to ride this day to the court of King Arthur. Tell the king that he with the closed visor sent you and throw yourself on his mercy!”

  “I will do as you command, fair Sir!” said the Black Corbie. He handed his sword to Darin, and then rose with some difficulty to his feet. “I am sorry now that I stood guard for so long over the poor prisoner in the cave. I was jealous of the interest my false lady took in him. He was a noble knight, but now he stands like one who has lost his reason and can move neither hand nor foot. The spell that binds him will not be broken until he looks upon someone who awakens love in his heart.”

  He mounted his charger and took his leave of them. Just before entering the forest, he turned and called back to Darin.

  “Perhaps the damsel who rides with you can break the spell. I dare say she is more worthy of a true knight’s love than the hard-hearted Morgan.”

  Darin turned to his companion. “Did you know about this spell and how it may be broken?”

  “I did. But I am not the one who can do it. He has no love for me.”

  Darin wondered why he felt so relieved. For some reason, the idea of anyone falling in love with this golden-haired girl made him distinctly uncomfortable.

  “But come,” said Stella, “your quest is not quite over.”

  She took his hand and led him towards the shadowy entrance to the cave.