The Legend of Arthur Blackrose
'Look at Arthur, such a happy child.'
'Aye, the Light knows how; I have not been myself since Rhian passed and the boy longs for a mother.'
‘While Sunamor prospers my Lord can expect a favourable match; one of the High King's daughters even.'
Baron Aldric waved away the suggestion of marriage. 'Nay Windal; Arthur gives me all the love I need, and my people.'
'Indeed my Lord. And they love you too.'
The door to the keep creaked open and a black-liveried servant stepped out onto the platform from which the noble and his sage observed the young prince at play in the courtyard garden below. He held a scroll bound in red ribbon. Carefully Aldric pulled the ribbon ends and unfurled the letter. His forefinger ran over the parchment as he considered the words and he lingered over the image of a black rose inscribed at the bottom. Then, quite without warning the Baron's face became a mask of pain; his fingers rigid claws that crushed the scroll in his grasp.
'What is it my Lord?' The sage’s words were wasted; the baron could not hear. His muscles fought against him and the servant gasped as Aldric fell from the platform. Windal screamed and within moment’s castle guards appeared. They carried Aldric inside and laid his rigid body on the long table. Strafe, the captain of the guard approached Windal, who hovered over the still form of their Lord. Aldric's breath came in shallow scrapes, foam of spittle on his top lip.
'By the Light, what treachery is this? Jonas says he was struck down after reading the scroll.' The soldier gestured to a corner of the long hall where two guards were holding the terrified servant. 'The answer must lie in that parchment. Let me see.'
'No,' Windal said firmly, and he seized the captain's arm. 'It is a poison letter. If you touch it you will die.'
Strafe stared at Windal, his eyes full of disbelief. Then he looked back at Aldric and snatched his hand away.
'There's nothing we can do,' Windal sighed, 'except pray that his passing is not too painful.'
'Someone will pay for this,' growled Strafe, and then he stopped himself, because young Arthur was at his side, looking upon his father with horror and fear etched in his eyes.
Years Later…
'The period of the protectorate is over,' announced Strafe to the excited crowd, and he turned his sword so that the hilt faced the new Lord of Sunamor. 'Arthur's time has come,' he shouted, and the people of Westaster roared their approval.
Arthur stood, lean and broad shouldered, a rapier in black. His leather jerkin creaked as he accepted the blade and raised it to the crowd. Then, without so much as a word he turned his back on his people and walked from the ceremonial platform.
'Have you no words for those who toil in your fields and bake your bread?'
Arthur stopped and turned on Strafe with eyes of ice. 'Bring me my captains,' he growled. 'We ride at dawn.'
‘Ride my Lord? Where will we ride?'
'To wherever the black rose grows.'
Strafe wiped a hand across his forehead, scraping at the dust of a thousand days. The last three years had been a blur. They had barely slept a night within the walls of Sunamor since Arthur had taken office and launched his campaign of retribution. They had burned swathes of the Great North Forest where the black rose grew in deep hollows; laid siege to castle Winart where the rare flower flourished amongst the inlets of the island fortress; forced the people of Wellhaven to their knees and sacked Woodfold where the flower had once been used as a symbol of celebration; they razed Heartwitch to the ground where the rose grew wild on the banks of Heart Lake, and now they rode west, across the Pelinor Plains to Gormont, where King Allain and the militia of Gorwentia waited. At last the long column came to a halt. On the horizon the banners of the Southlands could be seen. Arthur signalled with his sword for the battle lines to be formed and four thousand grim knights, their shields bearing the sigil of the black rose, ordered their mounts for the charge.
Strafe pulled alongside Arthur, whose expression as always gave nothing away; at his side Windal looked utterly spent.
'My Lord, this is madness,’ pleaded Strafe. ‘The whole of the north kneels before you; is that not enough? Let us return to Sunamor; your men yearn to see their families again.'
'My father was my family,' Arthur snapped, his words hitting Strafe like a hail of arrows. 'He was killed by the poison of the black rose; when I have destroyed all of its habitats I will know beyond doubt that his murderer is punished. Then, then Strafe we can rest.'
'But Gorwentia is backed by Rosewall. We cannot win this battle; your army will be smashed and we will all die. Or is that what you want Arthur?'
The Lord of Sunamor did not reply. He put his battle horn to his lips and made ready to blow.
'Enough!'
Arthur paused. It was Windal's voice that stayed the note, and the vengeful Lord turned to face him. 'What did you say?'
'I said, enough. I can’t take anymore killing. This was not how I meant it to be.' Windal cowered before Arthur, knowing what would come of his words, but unable to keep his silence a moment longer. 'It was I who poisoned your father.'
Strafe gasped. Arthur displayed no surprise. 'I think I have always known. Who, other than you could have acquired a sample of my father's blood to mix with the oil of the black rose?'
'It is true. I took a drop, just a drop when he cut himself on your tenth birthday.'
'I remember,' said Arthur, grim-faced.
'But why?' asked Strafe, his face white with shock.
‘Rhian was the most beautiful creature to walk the earth. I loved her, and I advised Aldric that to have another child after three miscarriages was too dangerous. He took no notice, despite my pleading. As I feared, Rhian passed as Arthur came into the world and I hated Aldric for it.'
Arthur nodded. He nudged his horse forward and with a swing of his blade smote the head from the sage. Windal's body fell to the ground.
Strafe flinched to see the grizzly remains. He almost dared not speak, but there was more than his own life at stake. 'Then why all of this Arthur? If you suspected it was Windal, why have we harried the north? Innocent men have felt the touch of my steel. We will all go to hell for this.'
Arthur turned on his captain. 'Their blood is not on your hands. It is all my guilt. I am vengeance, and the entire world shall know my pain.'
Strafe grimaced. He made the sign of the Light at his breast and resigned himself to battle. Then Arthur reached across to touch him.
'But they will not hear of my pain from widows and orphans; they will hear it in the songs of my people, in the justice that we shall bring to their doors. The kingdom we have created in the north shall be a testament to my mother. Strafe, sound the withdrawal; it is time to go home.'
Arthur turned his horse about and Strafe brought the army back from the brink with a blast of the horn. For months afterwards, the only marker of the battle that never was, was the sun bleached skeleton of Windal, and a single black rose that threaded through his remains.