Arthur, King of the Britons

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Chapter IV: Dark reflections of a shattered image...
Beneath them the ground passed by in a rush, the hours it would take the wagons to arrive would take them only two dozen minutes. Igraine's heart pumped wildly with joy as the wind rushed over her face. She found riding exhilarating, though few horses were north f the wall and woad's did not ride them, and certainly not into battle. The cold armor beneath her hands was no longer painful as the icy wind bit into the skin of her face causing it to tingle, Her hair was flying back from her face, a banner of copper-gold against the countryside covered in snow.

"How much further?" called Lancelot, keeping his eyes where his horse galloped to beware any injury to his mount. She glanced around the countryside as it rushed past.

"Not too far, I think were closer than I thought." She said with a frown. "Slow down! You don't want to come around the last bend and hit the ice at this speed." He nodded silently and reined the huge mount in so that they were trotting. A regret settled in her as the wind ceased to roar and the world passed by at a more sedate pace. She paused in her musing to survey the countryside. She smiled. "Around that bend." She reached past him with one hand and pointed at the last bend. Lancelot nodded. She noticed her hand was shaking slightly and quickly put it back around his waist. A rush of excitement and happiness was causing her to tremble as well as the frigid air and reasonably light clothing she wore combined to make her skin tingle as they slowed and stopped. The icebound river was beautiful to behold... Beautiful and potentially deadly.

He slipped from the saddle with ease; he reached up and helped Igraine down. He noticed her wince as he lifted her around her too slim waist. She grimaced.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his earlier concern rushing back as he took in the sudden pallor to her cheeks. Just minutes before she had been flushed, her eyes bright and a smile upon her face, now her face seemed pale and she far too fragile too be out in the cold. She took a deep breath before pushing away from him.

Now she was walking back and forth on the ice, her eyes searching.

"She's good." Came the words from Dagonet.

"Hmm" was the only response. Lancelot watched as the snow fell around her, her unbound hair curled down to her waist, and her small hands seemed to fidget constantly as she walked. The dark dress brushed the surface as she walked, making a soft sound to accompany the silent fall of the snow and small noises the two horses were making as they waited in the cold. Finally after more than an hour she started back.

"Is it safe?" he asked. Though by her expression he could see she was disturbed. She shrugged slightly.

"It might be." Down the trail the sound of the wagons could be heard. "Good, they're coming." Said Dagonet, and sure enough Arthur and the refugees appeared a moment later. Lancelot spoke swiftly and quietly to Arthur, his words counter-pointed by the Saxon drums growing ever louder.

Arthur ran his eyes over the lake himself before dismounting.

"Get out, we walk." He glanced towards those dismounting and climbing from wagons. "Spread out!" Lancelot took Roshian's reins.

Tristan walked to the right of Arthur, leading his horse, Garfodd, his pale eyes swept the ice and snow, searching for cracks. Too his left walked Igraine, she had pushed ahead of the others, her moving in front of Arthur was subtle yet sent many messages. She respected him, she was protecting him and she was proving to her people that she was equal to the Roman commander, and to the Romans that she was not afraid. Tristan glanced back down to where his steps were leading him. For an instant he saw his reflection where he was to put his foot, his face covered by hairline cracks, with a groan the ice split. He jumped back swiftly, pulling his horse away. The fragile ice cracked and he felt fear as he turned to see whether Igraine too had stopped. She was paused like a hound; her body taught and eyes wide as the crack spread to just behind her, she did not move a muscle, or even tremble.

The eyes of all present watched the young woman. The snap of cracking ice faded away as the booming of the Saxon drums drew closer. Slowly she moved her head, her eyes seeking Tristan's. Her blue eyes looked towards him without fear or trepidation, he felt surprise stir in him at their calmness. Slowly she took another step, her muscles ready to move if she caused the ice to crack further, he too tensed his, knowing she had sought his eyes as the closest save Arthur, and the only one she could look at in safety. Her step did nothing and a collective held breath was expelled into the air. Slowly she turned. Suddenly her face split into a wide smile.

"Aren't you glad it was me and not you?" she joked to Arthur with a wry grin. Arthur actually smiled a moment at the comment. He then looked to the crack across the ice and then turned towards his men. They knew what he was silently asking each of them.

We were going too slow however and the drums got louder and louder. Arthur looked at us.

"My ass is sore from riding all day." Bors said simply.

"Let's see what the bastards look like." Galahad said with a rather dark expression.

"I never liked looking over my shoulder anyway." Tristan said with a shrug, he felt his body come alive at the prospect of the coming fight.

The others nodded their agreement with their comrade's statements.

"I am able. I can fight." Alecto said as coming forwards, his youthful face showing a mixture of emotions.

"No." Arthur said, his hand reaching out to touch the lads shoulder. "You must live to recount all that you have seen." He told him, his words overlaid with a slight sorrow.

"But you are seven against two hundred!" He protested, his eyes showing his fear that the knights would be killed, Tristan allowed himself the slightest smile as he turned away, If only the boy knew how many had died, and would yet die, it was the way of things.

"Eight." Guinevere said as she strode forwards with her bow. "You could use another bow." She commented her eyes on Arthur.

Igraine felt a fierce sense of pride and sorrow as the knights agreed to remain. The drums grew louder.

She watched Guinevere step forwards, her dark eyes resting on Arthur.

"Nine, actually." Her words were softly spoken, yet every one of the knights turned, they looked at the slender girl dressed in a soft gown and her lethal array of weapons. A wolfish grin lit Bors' face.

"Ah, me little darlin'!" he said expansively.

Arthur turned to the refugees who instinctively moved closer to the presence he radiated. He motioned to Ganis.

"This man is your captain. You will follow his instructions!" Arthur said in a tone that warned the remaining Roman guards that this was not to be questioned, as they seemed disgruntled, they moved amongst themselves.

"And if you even think of revolting... Just remember." She smiled in what she knew was a cold and amazingly evil way. "I am a witch, and each of you will die, screaming in torment if you do not obey Ganis."

The tone of her voice was colder than ice, and though she knew it not, her strange eyes glittered with menace, her casual use of power in speaking where no Roman woman would have, combined with the soldiers memories of the way she had killed their master and another of his guards was a powerful mixture. Combined with the knights silent threats. She smiled in a wicked fashion as she withdrew her sword and made a swift circle in the air, the sword glowed as she swung it and then pointed it at the lead soldier.

The refugees and their reluctant guards had just disappeared around the bend, leaving the knights standing in a line across the ice. Lancelot looked down at the small woman beside him, and the taller Guinevere on the other side. Both wore simple dresses as they stood in the gently drifting snow. Lancelot smiled at Guinevere as he noticed a flash of fear as the Saxons appeared. "There are a large number of lonely men out there." Lancelot he commented. Guinevere looked up and smiled.

"Don't worry, I won't let them rape you." She replied sarcastically. He grinned at her before looking again at Igraine. He felt his smile melt away. Her face was pinched and taught a dark expression of pain on her face. He sensed it was not a physical pain that darkened her. For the first time he felt that inner fire he admired, the bravery and compassion, the courage and intelligence fade, as she seemed close to tears as she looked across the ice. Suddenly he remembered her pain after the deaths that morning; the darkness and pain had been visible then too. But he had no more time to ponder.

Arrows were fired as the Saxons started out onto the ice in large numbers. They fell well short but they were still a warning that he should ponder these thoughts later.

"Prepare to fire!" Arthur commanded. Guinevere gave him a look of surprise and anger.

"They're out of range!" She exclaimed, her words showing she felt anger that Arthur would waste arrows. He barely glanced at her. "Bors, Tristan!" He cried the order. They raised their bows and fired a succession of arrows. Their arrows fell amongst the Saxons, wounding and killing. But still the Saxons came on, though now there was an edge of fear to their approach.

"Aim for the outside. Push them together." Arthur commanded, his voice carrying no further than necessary so as not to forewarn the enemy of his plan. The Saxons crunched together, their ranks collapsing inwards, but still they pressed on, the ice staying firm beneath their feet. After several more volleys of arrows they had collapsed still further, their fear making them retreat.

Lancelot aimed and fired, drew and released; he did not wait to see whether he had struck his targets. Beside him Igraine was firing two arrows for every one of the others, her aim seemed uncannily accurate he noted, as another fell from her out of sync shot. He drew and released again.

"The ice isn't breaking. Prepare!" he cried, half the knights readied their swords whilst the others continued to fire, Guinevere and Igraine simply remained firing.

"They have Armor piercers!" warned Igraine between shots. Lancelot noticed her face was still pinched but had all the expression of a block of stone. He shivered in the chill air as she fired again.

Suddenly down the line Dagonet threw down his sword and gripped his axe. With a great roar he pelted across the ice, several Saxons fired at him.

"Dagonet!" cried Arthur; Bors joined his cry of anger and anguish. Dagonet never paused. He arrived at the crack across the ice and raised the great axe. With a tremendous heave he smashed at the ice. Igraine suddenly ran forwards, her soft leather shoes pattering on the ice. "Igraine!" cried Lancelot, his mind screaming at him to run after the seemingly insane girl, the only thing that stopped him was his training. Her arrows were clutched in her fist. She took two dozen steps and knelt, raising her bow. She aimed with uncanny accuracy. Her arrow struck a Saxon archer through the neck.

"Cover them!" roared Arthur as arrows fell sporadically at Bors and Igraine. Lancelot forced the taste of bile away and Raised his bow, blocking out the arrows that fell so close to the two ones he cared for. He saw another great stroke out of the corner of his eye he saw Dagonet heave another great stroke at the ice. It shattered and began to crack, but it was too late, A Saxon ran forwards with a crossbow, an arrow sliced through his eye, another ran forwards and was cut down by an arrow, but more Saxons were firing at the brave knight now.

Arrows bit into the ice around her as archers tried to shot the young woman who was so effectively killing them. Deep inside her tears were shed, yet her outside was as hard and cold as the ice at the edge of the lake, it would melt after the battle but for now it was hard and strong, deadening her senses to everything but the enemy. Aim, kill, aim, kill... She saw a man with a strange blonde braid and slight beard grab a crossbow from another, she reached for her third last arrow and aimed as the man fired. The weapons kickback caused him to duck, her arrow grazed over his head, his scream cut through her as it mingled with the cry from Dagonet, mortally wounded he made one final effort. As he fell to his knees the ice gave a great popping crack. The bow and arrow fell from suddenly nerveless fingers.

An inhuman scream of outrage ripped from her lips as she ran to the fallen man's side. She gripped his upper arms as arrows fell like a deadly form of rain through snow that drifted softly onto the blood that pooled beneath the dead and dying. Tears of bitterness left her eyes as she stumbled and fell another arrow fell with a sickening thump into Dagonet's side. She screamed again, an animal cry as she crawled, hauling the heavier man with her. Suddenly Bors and Arthur were with her as the Ice cracked and suddenly the ice fell out from underneath the Saxons. The ice began to crack in their direction, She heaved but suddenly the ice cracked around them, Arthur and Bors threw themselves away trying to haul Dagonet and the crazed girl with them to no avail. The two sank from sight into the icy depths below the ice...

And Lancelot's voice howled out his anguish. "Igraine!" he cried running forwards. He threw himself to where the ice was closing over the two. For a moment her face was visible in the ice. Blue eyes wide.

Then she vanished.

"Igraine!"

Nice cliffhanger huh? Evil grin PLEASE REVIEW!!! If I get enugh reviews I will pst the next chapter within 24hrs! It's called "In Darkness I am, from Darkness I have come"