Avalon - Chapter 82 - A New Foe

A New Foe

It wasn’t like Marcus Flint to be so easily troubled by others but given what he had witnessed and heard of thus far, he could not help but be cautious of a certain Hary Potter. The man had already somehow breeched his protections, murdered a dozen of his best men without being detected and brutally removed their eyes and hands before displaying them on the lawn of the Flint family home.

Fortunately, Marcus had been able to keep what had happened from his wife and children, and yet, he’d felt the urgent need to drastically improve the security of his home despite the great expense incurred in doing so.

Perhaps he’d been a little too optimistic that the Irish would be successful, or perhaps merely reliant, but the missive he’d received only this very morning was as troubling as it was unexpected.

To Lord Flint of Britain,

Thus far, I have watched your antics with something akin to amusement, the back and forth between yourself and Harry Potter allowing me the opportunity to watch my enemies across the sea destroy one another, relieving me of the need to do so.

Even so, upon learning of your foe’s involvement in the slaughter of my men on my own shores, I was compelled to act, to eliminate Harry Potter for his slight against me and mine.

I expect that you are aware that I sent almost one thousand men to carry out the task. Of course you are, you are a resourceful man much like me.

Ultimately, my men failed, but that is not what troubles me so. More men can be found and trained readily enough, but when word inevitably gets out of what befell those who ventured across the sea, I expect out mutual interest in seeing Potter eliminated will only become more difficult.

Come, see for yourself.

For now, our paths are set towards the same goal, and our interests align. You have my word that you will be granted safe passage and return in the hopes that we may reach a mutually beneficial agreement in seeing an end to our greatest of enemies.

If I hear nothing of you, know this; you will remain ignorant of just what it is that makes Potter so dangerous.

I urge you, Lord Flint, to come and bring your companions with you.

Lord Patrick McDonagh

Marcus could not deny that he was curious, let alone deeply concerned by the missive.

He’d heard of McDonagh, had even had the man who ruled the magical Irish with an iron fist watched by his own spies. Marcus was not foolish enough to do business with any he did not understand the motivations of, and he needed to be certain the slaves he’d purchased over the years were merely that and not spies loyal enough to McDonagh to endure the squalid life of a thrall to watch Marcus so closely.

“What are we expecting?” Gaunt asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

Marcus had been pondering the same thing since he’d received the letter, and he could only deduce it would be rather unpleasant.

McDonagh would not reach out to him had it not troubled the Irishman so deeply.

“With Potter, it could be anything,” Parkinson broke in.

He was right, and as they approached the dock, the group fell silent as they considered what awaited them only a short distance away. What Marcus did notice was only one single ship.

Its mast and sails had been damaged significantly, and a most pungent odour wafted from it so strongly that it each of them hid their noses within their tunics.

“You are right to do that,” a large Irishman greeted them humourlessly as their own boat bump against the dock. “Lord Flint,” he added with a nod, his accent strong and difficult to understand. “And you, I know you. Myrddin Emrys.”

Myrddin offered the man a bow, and his keen green eyes roamed over the rest of them that had made the journey to be here. McDonagh seemed unimpressed, but he did not comment further.

Instead, he stepped aside and gestured for them to see the ship for themselves. Upon doing so, Marcus felt the blood drain from his face.

Sitting in a large pile on the deck were hundreds of heads in various states of decay and trauma. Some appeared as though they’d been dead for several years, others had been horrifically burned, and some were no longer whole.

There were those that the skulls had been cleaved through with an overhand blow, and others that had been crudely shorn away at odd angles, many not cleanly through the neck.

The smell permeating from them was rather terrible enough to make any wretch, but the expressions of suffering and agony was something Marcus would never forget.

What bothered him just as much, however, was the sight of the single crow feasting on one of the eyes it had pulled from the skull.

“All nine hundred and seventy,” McDonagh declared grimly. “He slaughtered them all, removed their heads, and sent them back. Do you feel it? Do you feel the magic coming off them?”

Marcus could.

He’d initially thought that it was merely the horror of witnessing what was before him, but no. Marcus could feel the magic, the same coldness that had been prominent the night his own men had been murdered and displayed on his front lawn.

“The question is, what do we do about it?” Rosier asked quietly. “We have already made an enemy of him. Will he not come for us all?”

McDonagh had the temerity to laugh, though there was no humour in the bark.

“Aye, he might do,” he mused aloud. “He must be stopped, for all of our sakes. This Potter, no spy can get close to him, and he is as dangerous as they come.”

Marcus chuckled in a similar vain to their Irish counterpart.

“I have two among his own men,” he boasted.

McDonagh quirked and eyebrow at him.

“Would that be them?” he asked, pointing to the only two whole bodies dangling from the broken mast above. “They’re not mine.”

Marcus had not paid the bodies much heed, but as his gaze swept up towards them, he felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.

They were indeed his men, and both had suffered greatly in their final moments.

“This was in one of their hands,” McDonagh explained, offering Marcus a roll of parchment smeared with the blood.

Swallowing deeply, he unrolled it.

Cease your foolish efforts, Flint.

It will be you I come for next; all of you.

The message was short and succinct, and Marcus swallowed deeply as the threat hung over him. He could feel it in his bones, and after seeing here what Potter was capable of, he did not doubt the veracity of the threat.

“Hell,” he cursed as he handed the note to Rosier, who in turn handed it to Parkinson.

When they had all read it, silence reigned for several moments before Gaunt kicked the side of the ship.

“I’ll hang the bastard!” he declared. “I’ll string him up by his guts. I’ll make this look like a fucking pleasurable get together!”

The others nodded darkly.

If Potter thought this would deter them, he had another thing coming, yet, Marcus could not rid himself of the fear that had gripped him, and he suspected the others felt it too.

“Myrddin?” he questioned the man who’d remained silent thus far.

He nodded in response.

“Potter must be stopped,” he murmured, choosing to ignore that it was them that started this, well, Rookwood had by kicking up such a fuss about his foolish son.

Still, none here could’ve known that things would take such a turn.

There was no longer any pretence of this being a quiet grudge they bore against Harry potter. No, this was quickly developing from a mere wrong to be righted into an all-out war.

(Break)

He frowned at the deep wound on his shoulder, noticing he did not quite heal as well as he used to.

Even only a couple of decades prior, there would be little left other than a purplish scar from such an injury, but now, it remained unpleasantly scabbed, though fortunately, it had stopped weeping several days ago.

Still, it served as a stark reminder that Godric was indeed far past his best when it came to martial pursuits, and he knew he’d been fortunate to survive the battle.

It had only been his experience that had seen to it.

His enormous foe had been faster and stronger than him, a rather bitter pill to swallow but something that could not be denied.

Were it not for the overzealous man making a fatal error, Godric feared he would not be standing here now, lamenting his better days.

With a sigh, he applied a thick layer of salve Helga had provided him, along with a stern warning that he should consider his fighting days long behind him.

There were younger men to do that now, and one he had trained himself to stand in for times like this when Godric was no longer as capable.

He smiled as he pondered the days that Harry had been little more than a boy, one too stubborn to quit despite what was thrown at him, one who had thrived where most would crumble.

That boy was indeed a man now, a leader of men, and one who inspired loyalty like no other.

Godric could not find the words to say just how proud he was of his protégé, and he knew that Salazar, Helga, and Rowena if she was here, would feel the very same way.

It was a brief yet noticeable disturbance that pulled him from his thoughts, and he frowned as he spotted the piece of parchment that had appeared on his bedside table.

Godric knew where it had come from and given the last conversation he’d shared with his old friend, he did not believe these would merely be welcome tidings.

Preparing himself for what he knew to be the inevitable, he unfurled the note and deflated defeatedly.

Old friend,

I fear what we have spoken of will imminently come to pass.

My kind gather as I write this, yet I do so, even in the knowledge that it will mean my life is forfeit. All messages are tracked, and the voice of the few so vehemently against the wishes of the majority have been all but silenced.

You must be ready, for a war will now be upon you like nothing you can imagine.

It will begin close to the south coast, but I fear you will not arrive in time to prevent it.

If you can, move with haste, old friend.

The letter had been hurriedly scrawled and not even signed, but Godric did not doubt the source from whence it came.

Only one other could communicate with him in such a way, and he could only smile sadly at the fate that would befall him.

He would never profess to be a friend of all goblins, but one in particular had opened his arms to Godric, and he him in return.

Releasing a deep sigh, he shook his head whilst preparing to take his leave of the castle, already knowing the message had come too late, though grateful for as much a warning as he could be given.

“Going somewhere?” Salazar asked curiously as he reached the entrance hall.

“It appears that the goblins have decided that now is a good time for their rebellion to begin.”

Salazar scowled.

“Of course they have,” he sighed. “Arthur is without Myrddin, and there is not peace among our own kind with all that is happening. Now is the perfect time for them if they hope to be successful. What do you know?”

“Nothing for certain, but I do not doubt that I am right.”

“And you are going to investigate.”

Godric nodded.

“Then I will join you,” Salazar insisted, “and perhaps it would be prudent to send for Harry.”

“When we have verified it,” Godric assured hm. “For now, he is resting. He bloody well needs it from time to time.”

Salazar shot him a knowing grin and gestured towards the door for him to take the lead.

“You know, I never thought I would see the day that both of us would find one student we became equally fond of, or who could embody the very best of us both.”

Godric chuckled.

“You’re not wrong, but it is our differences that are both a strength and weakness in him. He’s a good man.”

“He was that before he arrived here. I only fear that all he has done is just the beginning of what he is to face now. The goblins will not be defeated easily, and Harry will not shy away from their efforts.”

“He will not,” Godric agreed, “and although I do not doubt myself, I do hope I am wrong. A war that will need us united is far from what is needed, given the current unpleasantness.”

Salazar nodded gravely.

“If you are right, an accord must be reached, and Harry…”

“Is not the most diplomatic of people.”

“He is not,” Salazar snorted. “Where are we going?”

“South, to the white cliffs. They will start their campaign where they feel safest.”

They apparated away upon passing through the gates, but instead of being greeted by the scent of the sea air as they arrived on the south coast, it was the unmistakeable smell of burning in the distance.

“There,” Salazar said darkly, pointing to the east of their position where even in the night sky, the smoke could be seen.

“We’d best walk it,” Godric suggested. “We don’t want to apparate into something foolish.”

With a nod from Salazar, the two of them hurried towards the disturbance, the smell of burning wood growing stronger, though it was joined by the tang of blood and death the nearer they drew.

Both paused immediately as they crested one of the hills to find themselves looking down on what little remained of the village that had fallen victim to the goblins.

Those that had been slaughtered were strewn about the collapses and burning buildings, and not even the livestock from the fields nearby had been spared.

Men, women, and children alike littered the streets as though they were offal to be disposed of.

Godric swallowed deeply as he took in the devastation, and another wave of dread washed over him as he looked into the distance to see more smoke.

“And there,” Salazar said grimly, pointing towards another plume to the west of it.

“They left nothing, not even the babes.”

“They are an abhorrent creature and wished to send a message. There is no going back now, not from this, and they know it. I think perhaps now would be a good time to send for him.”

Godric nodded as he wrote a missive and tapped it with the tip of his wand.

It vanished as he did so, and though neither he nor Salazar wished to find themselves faced with further scenes of what they had discovered here, both knew that it was inevitable before the day would be done.

(Break)

Harry was quiet.

He always was after the conclusion of a battle, or he’d been compelled to do something most would deem to be rather distasteful, but as ever, he’d been steadfast in his decision on the course of action to take.

He’d lost close to seventy of his own men, and though Morgana knew it could have been much worse, it was not something that rested so easily with her husband.

It had been Harry himself and Owain who’d taken the heads of the attackers and had mounted them on the various weapons the Irish had brought along.

A filthy task to say the least, but one he had insisted on completing himself.

She looked on as Harry bounced Taran on his knee, smiling as the boy pulled at his beard.

“That’s a good grip,” the man chuckled. “You’ll need that when you swing a sword for yourself.”

Morgana rolled her eyes.

“That will not be for some years yet,” she said firmly.

Harry nodded, but she didn’t miss the mischievous glint in his eye.

“Not until he is much older,” Morgana reiterated. “How old were you when you first held one?”

Harry frowned and his expression darkened.

“Not until I was twelve and I was faced with a sixty-foot basilisk.”

Morgana grimaced at the thought, pleased that Taran would not endure such a thing. Well, she hoped. Given who the boys’ father was, nothing was uncertain.

With a shake of her head, she left the room to prepare dinner, doing her utmost not to think of just how fortunate Harry had been throughout his life to be where he was now.

When she had the table set, she returned to the living room she had spent many hours forming to her liking to find her son enraptured by his father who was animatedly telling Taran a story.

“And then the little bas…” He broke off as he spotted Morgana quirking an eyebrow at him from the doorway. “The little naughty snake bit your dad right here,” he corrected, pointing to the puckered flesh on his arm where the fang had punctured him.

Taran could understand nothing of what was being said to him. But he curiously touched the marred flesh before giggling.

Harry snorted and shook his head.

“You might think it is funny, but I didn’t,” he grumbled amusedly. “Come on, I think your mother might have some food for us.”

Morgana smiled warmly as Harry carried the boy through, taking hold of his arm and placing a kiss on his cheek.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Maybe I just wanted you to know how much you are loved,” she replied. “By both of us.”

His own smile was all she needed to see to know how much her words meant to him, and as he led them into the kitchen, he held out her chair.

“Oh, what now?” he sighed as a piece of parchment materialised just above them and began drifting towards the ground.

Cursing under his breath, he snatched it out of the air, frowning deeply as he read it.

“What is it?” Morgana asked.

Harry deflated as he shook his head.

“It seems that things have just gotten all that worse.”

(Break)

“Arthur, Myrddin is here to see you.”

The king shook his head tiredly.

“Send him in, Tristan.”

He had hoped that he would not see the man for some time, but as ever, when it came to Myrddin, it seemed he would do as he pleased regardless of Arthur’s wishes.

“Do you not understand the meaning of banishment?” he asked.

Myrddin frowned at him before inclining his head.

“I do, and I would not be flouting your command, Arthur, were it not of the utmost importance. I bring rather unpleasant news. You see, the Irish attempted to invade the lands you gifted to the Peverell family, and it did not end as they intended.”

“They were defeated by Harry and Owain.”

“Indeed, but it is what happened after the battle that troubles me. The Irish eventually surrendered, and should’ve been granted the grace of imprisonment, or being sent home without whatever they brought along. Instead, all of them were executed, had their heads mounted on their weapons, and a single ship from nine was returned to Ireland, along with two others who had been hanged for a perceived treachery.”

Arthur nodded.

“I know.”

“You know? And you approve of this?”

“I do,” Arthur answered. “The Irish had no business attempting an invasion, and those that live within the lands under the protection of the Peverell family are free to defend them in any way they see fit. Harry himself informed me of what he’d done.”

Myrddin looked at him in a state of disbelief, and Arthur held up a hand to prevent the impending protest.

“His decision was a ruthless one, but one he deemed necessary. A message needed to be sent to the Irish, one they would not forget. Had I taken such an action against Cnut, perhaps Guthrum and Eadwulf would’ve reconsidered their own ambitions. I aim to be a just man, Myrddin, but sometimes, justice is an ugly mistress. I thought I might avoid a dalliance with her through mercy and look where it got me.”

Myrddin shook his head.

“It will mean between my own kind here. Potter is taking liberties he never should have…”

“Necessary action,” Arthur cut in, “and I do not doubt his success. You may have aligned with his enemies, Myrddin, but it is Harry who has kept my people safe from yours. He has earned my loyalty, and he will have it.”

Myrddin was almost saddened by the declaration.

“As you wish, my king,” he sighed, startling as the door banged open.

“What is it?” Arthur asked the two men garbed in the grey cloaks worn by Harry’s group.

None spoke, but one handed him a roll of parchment before they left hurriedly.

Unrolling it, Arthur’s nostrils flared in irritation.

He’d been warned of this eventuality., and yet, now that it had arrived, he was unsure what to do.

“Arthur?” Myrddin questioned worriedly.

The king shook his head as he handed the note to the man. It would affect him too, after all, and those he had chosen to side with.

Harry had pointed out that there would likely need to be an alliance of sorts amongst all magicals to fend off the threat of the goblins, but from what Arthur knew of the current tensions, the rebellion could not have come at a worse time.

“I see,” Myrddin said darkly. “I must leave. I must see this for myself and confer with my associates. This changes things, Arthur, for all of us.”

With that, he hurried from the room, and Arthur wondered what it was he should do.

Should he ready his men to march, or should he wait for further instructions? Given that he was unsure, undoubtedly out of his depth, and that Harry was already looking into it, he opted for the latter.

He would wait until Harry inevitably arrived to discuss it with him, and from there, Arthur would know what needed to be done.

(Break)

He looked upon the damage the goblins had left in their wake, and cursed under his breath at just how violent the creatures had been to those that had lived in these villages.

Harry had read about the rebellions, had been lectured on them by Professor Binns on numerous occasions, but none of it could’ve prepared him for seeing it for himself, for witnessing the misery and suffering those here had endured in just a short amount of time.

“Thousands,” he murmured, reaching down to inspect the countless amounts of smaller footprints.

“Sorry?” Godric asked.

“There are thousands of them, most with wands and weapons, and some without magic. I suppose they did not manage to fully arm themselves in time before deciding to take advantage of what is happening.”

“Fighting thousands will be no easy feat, Harry.”

“I know,” Harry sighed, his wand snapping towards the magical disturbance he felt nearby. “You cannot hide from me, Myrddin.”

The man appeared before them, his own expression deeply and genuinely troubled by what it was he’d found.

“I had hoped that your missive to Arthur would find you mistaken. I see that such hope was false,” he said sadly. “This is most abhorrent, and the council will not take kindly to this.”

“Only because the goblins are now a threat to them,” Harry snorted humourlessly. “Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

“Now is not the time,” Salazar interjected irritably. “If the two of you wish to kill one another, either get it over with, or shut up. This is a time that you should be able to find common ground for agreement, and you will damned well need to. Neither of you can face this threat alone, with or without the council’s assistance. So, for the time being, until the goblins are dealt with, put your differences aside. The people of Britain will need you both.”

Godric nodded his agreement, and as Harry met the sceptical gaze of Myrddin Emrys, a man he had come to deeply dislike, he knew they were right.

When faced with thousands of goblins, there was little to no chance that either could win without the assistance of the other.

“Alright,” he agreed, “but if you make any attempt to double-cross me again in any capacity, I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand. As much as it pains me to admit it, Salazar is right. Our time will come but today is not that day.”

Myrddin nodded as he accepted the proffered limb, and the two shared a moment that so few would understand.

Both were undeniably powerful and influential wizards, perhaps the two greatest within thousands of miles of one another, and though there was more than a little distrust between them, they understood what was at stake, and were willing to do what was needed to face a new threat, one that would need both of them to overcome.

“Then I will arrange a meeting with the council,” Myrddin declared. “I understand of the rather delicate relationship you have with some of the members, but we will need them.”

Harry merely nodded before Myrddin vanished to do what was required.

“You’re doing the right thing, Harry,” Salazar praised.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I fight with men I trust, and Myrddin has already proven that I cannot trust him, not even when we have a shared goal.”

“Then you keep your wits about you,” Godric urged. “He would be a damned fool to try any of his tricks with this hanging over us.”

“He would,” Salazar agreed, “and if there is one thing I know about Myrddin Emrys, it is that he is not so foolish, not when it truly matters.”

“That remains to be seen,” Harry murmured unhappily, preparing himself to return to Godric’s Hollow to discuss his findings with Owain.

The man would not be pleased by the turn of events, but Harry did not doubt he would do all he could to ensure the threat of the goblins was nullified, just as Harry intended to.

Even if that meant working with those he considered his enemies.

It was a small price to pay to ensure the safety of Britain, after all.

(Break)

She watched as the sun began to rise in the distance, pondering the myriad of emotions her husband had endured throughout the night. Harry had been devastated upon arriving on the south coast, furious shortly after, and frustrated for much of the time since.

He’d yet to return home, so Morgana could only assume that the missive he’d received from Godric had indeed been true and that the goblins had decided to make their move.

With the current state of Britain, and particularly the rather tense affair between Harry, the Wizard’s Council, Arthur and Myrddin, magical cooperation was at a low point, and not conducive to combatting such a threat as the goblins posed.

Despite her own misgivings and thoughts on the creatures, they were nothing if not cunning and ruthless, and Morgana had no doubt that their foray into rebelling against humans was carefully considered.

At the very least, they were confident that they could win.

Although he would not appreciate the comparison, their very nature was much like Salazar’s; ambitious, but also conscious of their own self-preservation.

No, they would not be so bold if they were not confident.

She was pulled from her musings by the return of her rather grave husband, who placed a kiss on her cheek.

“I can only imagine it was more terrible than you could have fathomed.”

He nodded as he took a seat by the fire to warm his hands.

“Much worse. There are thousands of them, and they tore through those villages with no regard for anything but bloodshed and suffering.”

“Thousands?”

Harry hummed thoughtfully before shaking his head.

“Underground.”

“Sorry?”

“I would bet all the gold I have that they’ve been digging a network of tunnels. That’s why it has taken them so long. Thousands of goblins would not go unnoticed anywhere in the country, but if they weren’t seen…”

“They can move around as freely as they like.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed. “I’d even bet those tunnels are too small for us to navigate, but perfect for them. It is something I will have to discuss with the others.”

His tone was laced with contempt, and it took little for Morgana to deduce who he was referring to.

“The Council.”

“And Myrddin,” Harry sighed. “I have already informed Owain of what has happened, and we are going to begin mustering the men. It will do us no good waiting for the attacks to happen. That will only play into their hands.”

“You’re going to hunt them down.”

Harry nodded.

“I think it is the only way we can defeat them. We must be proactive. Being reactive will not be enough. With how many there are, I expect they can raze a village to the ground in a matter of moments and be gone long before any semblance of resistance can be mustered. Of course, we will have men watching all over the country, but watching and waiting would be damned stupid, not when forcing them into a confrontation will be for the best.”

“Will they do it?”

“Maybe not straight away, but eventually, we will corner them and force it.”

Morgana nodded.

When it came to such things, Harry had become something of an expert in the art of war, but ultimately, the approach taken would not only be his decision.

He would need to the council and Myrddin to agree to it, or he might just find himself fighting this war alone, much like he had been doing with the others he’d endured throughout his life.

(Break)

Although he had left Potter alone with Salazar and Godric, Myrddin had made no assumptions as to what had transpired on the south coast of Britain.

Instead, he had carried out his own investigation, only to find that the trio had been correct in their own thoughts of what had occurred. Thousands, not mere hundreds, of goblins had indeed torn through this part of the country, leaving nothing standing or breathing in their wake.

It was a sobering experience to say the least, and Myrddin, though reluctant to work with the Crow, knew that Salazar had been right.

Alone, they would indeed perish, but together, they could certainly defeat the threat upon them.

Still, it was not an easy admission to make to himself.

Myrddin was proud to be a rather spectacular wizard that was scarcely stumped or bested by anything placed before him, but such a threat could not be taken lightly, and he needed the members of the Wizard’s Council to understand that.

First, he needed to convince Rookwood, Flint and the others that had come together in a bid to eliminate Harry Potter. They would be the most difficult to convince of the necessity of an alliance, but once they saw the devastation for themselves, Myrddin hoped they would be able to overcome their egos.

Flint especially would be problematic.

He was not the most reasonable of men.

Waiting for them to arrive, he took a moment to peer across the sea that led to Francia, pondering how the threat of the goblins could be nullified.

It was the arrival of Rookwood that interrupted his thoughts, and the man frowned as he sniffed the air.

“What happened here?” he asked.

“All in good time, Willan,” Myrddin replied. “I would prefer only to speak of it once.”

Rookwood frowned at him, but did not press the matter until the rest of the group arrived in the next moments, each as curious as the last as they took in their surroundings.

“The goblins,” Myrddin said simply. “Thousands of them have decided that they are to rebel against Britain, and what is waiting for us is only the aftermath of the very first wave of many attacks to come. This is no half-hearted effort on their part, or a bid for further rights. They mean to take Britain for themselves.”

He was not pleased to see them so concerned, but it was the reaction he needed.

“Now, more than ever, the entire council must be united, and not only that, the entire country. We will need one another to quash this rebellion, and before you say anything else, I would like for you to see for yourself what has been done here. We cannot afford to be prideful or allow our egos to lead us to foolish mistakes. All men must come together to face this, or we shall surely fall.”

Myrddin said nothing else but led the gathered group to the first village only a short distance away and allowed them several moments to absorb what was in front of them.

The smell of burning, blood, and the evacuated bowels of the men, women, and children here was overpowering, and each hid their noses in scented handkerchiefs, or within the collar of their robes.

“Hell, what a mess,” Parkinson declared.

Myrddin nodded his agreement.

“None were spared here, or the two villages over. This, gentlemen, is a declaration of war.”

“We already have something else that requires our attention,” Flint interjected heatedly.

Myrddin shook his head.

“This is much more important than any feud you may harbour towards Harry Potter.”

“You would have us work with him,” Rookwood deduced.

“I do not believe we have any other choice. Even the entirety of the council combined does not have the men or resources to fight such a war, and though I am loathe to admit it, Harry Potter is the finest military leader in this country. I have seen him. Men follow him, and he leads from the very front. I witnessed him defeat an airborne dragon, destroy an army of the dead, and inspire those around him. Did he and his forces not just destroy an Irish invasion in a matter of moments? If we are to defeat this rebellion, we will need him, just as much as he will need us. For the good of all men, we must put our differences aside, for the time being at the very least.”

As expected, Flint was the least happy, and Rosier was the first to nod.

“Will he do it?”

“As reluctantly as any of us, but yes, he has always proven to be a man of his word.”

It was an odd thing to admit aloud, and though Myrddin and Potter would never see eye to eye on most things, he was willing to give the man his due respect.

He had certainly earned that over the years.

“I don’t trust him,” Flint grumbled, grimacing as his gaze drifted towards a child that had been hung from a nearby tree.

“Nor I,” Rookwood sighed, “but take a look around. We cannot defeat this alone.”

Myrddin nodded approvingly.

“Whilst we have spent years fighting amongst ourselves, the goblins have been growing their army. Even together, we will likely be outnumbered, but together we can defeat them,” he said confidently. “We must fight as one. At the very least, we should meet on neutral ground to discuss it.”

“And if we cannot reach an accord?” Gaunt asked.

A sense of dread filled Myrddin at the very thought.

“Then it is inevitable that this is what will become of Britain,” he said darkly, gesturing to the devastation around them.

It was a sobering thought, and it appeared his words had finally resonated with his companions.

“Where shall we meet?” Flint asked reluctantly.

Myrddin nodded thoughtfully.

“I think Camelot would be best,” he declared. “Arthur should certainly be included, and Potter will agree to attending a meeting there.”

“And what if it is a trap?”

Myrddin shook his head.

“I would not allow it, and Potter understands what it is we face. He has already been here and seen it for himself. He knows what is at stake, and if nothing else, he is honourable. If he agrees to meet in the spirit of diplomacy, he will.”

The others murmured amongst themselves for a moment.

“Very well,” Flint agreed. “Make the arrangements, but if there is even a whiff of deception, I will kill the bastard where he stands.