Avalon - Chapter 93 - Return

Return

“You’re from across the sea, aren’t you?” Gaston asked.

He was the leader of the Francian group of mercenaries Lancelot had joined. If his homeland was at war, it was nothing that could be compared to what was happening on the continent.

One needed only travel to just about any village or city to be recruited into a fighting group, much like Lancelot had done himself.

He was paid one piece of silver every moon for his service, not that he needed it.

His coffers were still full of what Arthur had given him upon his departure from Camelot so many moons prior.

No, he did not fight for silver or gold, but for purpose.

Lancelot had never been an idle man, and in only a matter of days of arriving in Francia, he had found himself employed by Gaston and his group of one hundred men.

“Britain,” Lancelot confirmed gruffly.

Gaston hummed as he unfurled the missive he’d received.

“Well, according to this, your country has its own war against the oddest of creatures. Those at the southern docks of Britain call them goblins. They’re causing quite the stir, so much so that the cities and villages are beginning to empty.

Lancelot frowned as he listened to the man speak.

For Arthur to urge the locals to leave, the situation they faced must be quite dire.

“It mentions here a Crow leading a great army.”

Lancelot chuckled fondly, though he was undeniably troubled by the news.

If Harry Potter was leading the army against their enemies, it meant that it was a magical war. He would involve himself in nothing less.

“Where are you going?” Gaston asked as Lancelot stood, his mind being quickly made up.

“It appears that I am needed at home,” he sighed.

Gaston merely offered him an encouraging smile as he followed suit and offered his hand.

“We must all fight for our homes, Du Loc. Will you return when the war is done?”

“It will be most difficult to do so without my head,” Lancelot chuckled.

“Then why return?”

“Because no matter where I find myself, Britain is my home, and I could not live knowing that I did not fight for it when I was needed.”

Gaston eyed him curiously for a moment.

“You’re a damned fool,” he declared. “Noble, but foolish.”

“Aren’t all men?”

“Only the very best.”

It was four days later that Lancelot had managed to find passage to Britain on a merchant ship, and having landed, he found himself lost at what he should do.

Were he to return to Camelot, Arthur would undoubtedly take his head, which meant there was only one other place he might find himself welcomed.

“Who are you hiding from?”

“What makes you think I am hiding?”

Godfrey, a priest leading a large group from the south coast eyed him almost amusedly.

Lancelot had unintentionally caught up with them only a league or so from the White Cliffs and seeing as they had so few fighting men among them, decided to travel as part of the group.

“You’re no pauper, and the armour you are wearing is not made here. I see it on the foreigners that frequent the docks, but you are one of us, which means you are either a traveller, or you are an exile. Regardless, you are a warrior.”

“And what would a man of god know about being a warrior?”

Godfrey smirked as he removed the leather glove from his right hand. Two of the middle fingers were missing entirely, and the third was now but a stump.

“I wasn’t born in these clothes,” he chuckled.

Lancelot nodded appreciatively.

“Britain is my home,” he declared. “I heard it was at war, so I returned.”

“An exile then.”

Lancelot did not deign the man with an answer, choosing to focus on the road ahead.

It would only be a matter of hours before he would part ways with the priest and the others, and he didn’t feel the need to explain himself further.

Arthur would likely take his head when all was said and done, and Lancelot had come to terms with that, so long as he was able to fight against those that would disrupt the peace that his friend had fought so hard for these last many years.

It wasn’t as though there was anything or anyone waiting for him in Francia.

Lancelot had made the best of his lot in life, but in truth, his existence was nothing.

As a knight of Arthur’s court, he had been a proud man, one that had helped build a kingdom, and now, he had been reduced to wielding his blade against any he was ordered to by Gaston.

There was little pride in such, and when all was said and done, it would simply begin again with nothing to show for his efforts besides a duller and bloodier sword.

No, that was no life for him, and he would sooner die at home on his own terms than in a nameless place against men that were no true enemy of his.

Here, he would get that chance, and though it would see his head removed from his shoulders, Lancelot would be able to greet his god standing tall as a proud knight, rather than a man who had merely fought for nothing because that was all he had ever been good at.

That opportunity would likely come sooner than he should be ready for, but he was.

The day he had been expelled from Britain was the day his life was forfeited. Lancelot Du Loc merely existed as he was now; loveless, alone, and without purpose.

At least this way, he would meet his end somewhat on his own terms, and oddly, he found that rested well with him.

(Break)

He could only stare at the grotesque sight of the dozens of wolves’ heads mounted on spears, the symbol they were depicting the very same, odd triangle with a circle within and a line running down the centre.

From the pained expressions of each, he could see they had not died well, and that their final moments had been wrought with sheer, unbridled agony.

“What happened to their eyes?” Blackfang asked as they neared the rather grim display.

“Poison,” Burgock answered, “but I cannot fathom what kind would cause this. They, however, died quickly, but painfully.”

Dark-Eye’s nostrils flared as he stepped closer, the scent of blood and something else unfamiliar assaulting his senses.

“It is serpent venom,” he murmured thoughtfully, “only much more potent than any other I have come across. No, do not touch them. Even the smallest amount were to find itself in your blood, there is nothing that will save you from it.”

“How did he get it?” Burgock questioned. “Any creature so dangerous would not part with its venom so readily.”

Dark-Eye nodded his agreement, and once more felt a sense of unease at the thought of his foe settle within him.

It was a stark reminder of what Harry Potter was capable.

It was no small feat to slaughter a pack of such magnificent beasts, and certainly not in the manner it had been done.

Perhaps he had made quite the error in unleashing them upon the world, but it was a lesson learned, nonetheless, and learned without the need of losing so many of his own kind.

Not that Potter was beyond using such a method should the opportunity arise, giving Dark-Eye yet another threat to consider.

London had been taking successfully, much to his joy and relief, but every other exchange between Potter and his own kind had not ended favourably for the king of the goblins.

“Burn them!” he snapped irritably before turning and heading back into the safety of the city.

Was it so safe?

The very thought gave him pause.

If Potter were to attack London similarly to how he had the wolves, the losses could be quite devastating, but if he could do such a thing, then why hadn’t he?

It was a pertinent question indeed, and as Dark-Eye pondered it, he only became more concerned by the very prospect.

No, it wouldn’t happen, but just in case Potter was able to do so, he would urge his people to be more cautious, to not be in the open so readily, especially after the sun had set in the evening.

Not until the threat of Harry Potter was nullified; something that needed to be achieved sooner rather than later.

(Break)

Owain still marvelled at the sight of the fully recovered Hook as he galloped across the paddock with Maxim and Gwyneth in tow. For most, what had happened to the man in London would’ve been fatal, or at the very least, leave them permanently crippled, even with magic.

Hook, however, had been fortunate.

With whatever concoction of odd potions he had been fed by Helga and some clever spell work to boot, he’d been back on his feet in a matter of days, even if those spent bed-ridden had been most unpleasant.

Even so, he had not only lived but was once again thriving.

“Claude,” Owain greeted the man as he approached. “What is it?”

“We have apprehended a stranger,” the former slave explained grimly. “We found him lurking a short distance away from the village.”

“A magical?”

Claude shook his head.

“A muggle, but he says he knows you and Harry.”

Owain frowned in response.

“Did he give a name?”

Claude rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“No, I thought it best to stun and secure him.”

Owain chuckled as he nodded approvingly.

“Make sure he is well enough, then bring him here.”

“Of course,” Claude complied, taking his leave to do as he had been bid.

Owain idly wondered who it was that had come here, and a deep frown creased his brow as he spotted a familiar man being led towards him only a few moments later.

“Lancelot,” he greeted him.

The man was disorientated from being stunned, and he rubbed his temples as he nodded.

“Owain,” he returned hoarsely. “Hell, what happened?”

“It seems you have wandered back into Britain,” Owain sighed. “Do you wish to meet your god so soon? Arthur will execute you.”

Lancelot shrugged in response.

“I have as much right to fight for my country as any other,” he said defiantly. “If Arthur sees fit to kill me when all is said and done, so be it. That’s why I came here. I thought you might be at least a little more welcoming.”

Owain chuckled humourlessly.

“I couldn’t give a shit what happened between you, him, and his wife. That’s not my business. As far as I’m concerned, we need every sword we can get.”

“So, I can stay?”

“Aye, Claude here will find you some suitable rooms. You remember Hook.”

Lancelot nodded as the man approached atop his pause, and his eyes widened at the sight of the woman who followed.

“Gwyneth!” he said in disbelief. “Everyone believes you to be dead!”

The woman was frozen in a mixture of shock and fear, and Owain realised his error too late to prevent the young boy coming into view from behind his mother.

Lancelot gasped in response, and Owain managed to take him by the shoulders and lead him towards the village square.

“That…”

“Quiet!” Owain snapped as he removed his wand.

Lancelot shook his head.

“That can only be Arthur’s son!”

Owain released a deep breath as he nodded.

“They have been here since he was little more than a babe,” he explained. “Harry and Hook found them in a keep that Cnut and his men had sacked.”

It was odd to think of the Dane as what he had once been.

Owain had come to know him well enough and had appreciated his company during the time they’d spent together, up until he had left with his cousin Erik the Red and sailed west.

There had been no word from him since, and Owain did not doubt that he was dead at sea or had found somewhere else and was thriving.

“Jesus Christ,” Lancelot cursed.

Owain echoed the very same sentiment as he eyed his wand and the man standing before him.

He knew that it would be best to obliviate him of what he knew, but Harry was certainly better than him in the practice of the Mind Arts. As such, he fired off a patronus to summon the man, still chastising himself for his foolish oversight.

(Break)

He took no pleasure in the destruction of such creatures, and even less so in removing the heads from their still warm bodies but dispatching the wolves had been necessary.

To allow them to run amuck amongst the fighting men of a battlefield was not a risk that could be taken.

Still, their deaths would not be in vain.

Using some clever magic, he created something quite sinister before arranging it to be delivered outside the main gate to London; a further reminder to Dark-Eye that this war was far from won by the goblins.

His efforts had the desired effect, and Harry had looked on as his gift was discovered.

It was unlikely the goblin would ever admit it, but he had been rather unsettled by the heads of his wolves being arranged into the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, even if he didn’t understand the meaning behind it.

Even so, it was but a token gesture on Harry’s part, though one that had served its purpose.

Now, he truly needed to understand the magnitude of what he faced, and as he continued to drift lazily above what would one day be the capital of the country, he nodded to himself.

During the day, it seemed, Dark-Eye was less concerned with what the other goblins were doing.

There were indeed thousands of the creatures, and their fighting force still numbering considerably more than Harry’s own.

Nonetheless, he remained confident of an eventual victory, especially when he discovered exactly where it was he could seize his greatest advantage.

Thus far, it had not been easy to do so.

It wasn’t as though the goblins that were not taking part in the fighting were lined up and marched back to where they resided when not out in the open.

No, they seemingly vanished shortly before the sun went down and reappeared the next morning.

It irked Harry that what he sought still eluded him, but he was getting close, and closer still since Morgana had gifted him a breakthrough.

Flashback

Try as he might, the crystal still refused to yield anything to him, and he fought the urge to hurl the damned thing into the lake nearby. Instead, he carefully placed it on the tree trunk in front of him and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

The magic was unlike anything he had ever used himself, and Harry doubted he even could if he knew what it was.

The closest he had come to experiencing it had been in Gringotts; a memory of a fleeting feeling of familiarity as his vault had been opened, and then it was gone as quickly as it appeared, which told him very little of its origins.

He shook his head as he glared at the crystal balefully.

It was quite the artefact in itself, and thrummed with power, only a power he could glean no understanding of, something that only frustrated him the more time he invested into it.

“Shit,” he grumbled irritably.

Once more, he lost himself in thought, only to be startled out of them a moment later as a book was slammed in front of him.

“Did you read this?” the heavily pregnant Morgana asked.

“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them? I’ve read most of it.”

Morgana rolled her eyes at him before picking up the book, finding the section she was referring to, and placing it back in front of Harry.

“Goblins,” he murmured, chiding himself for not having perused the work beyond his need of it.

“Goblins,” Morgana said with a grin before turning and heading back towards the house.

Harry frowned as he read the passage pertaining to the creatures, and though it told him very little about them, given their rather secretive nature, it gave him more than enough to have something of an understanding of what it was he now possessed n the form of the crystal.

He shook his head as he re-read the passage.

The magic of the goblins is not so dissimilar to that of humans. There was once a time that they too used wands, but they lost those rights after several failed rebellions. Nonetheless, they have retained their magical abilities, as we see in our banks whenever we make a deposit or withdrawal.

When I asked Tongue-Screw of their practices, his response was quite sharp, as one would expect.

‘We do not share our secrets with humans. Our magic is what we were forced to work with. We are prohibited from carrying wands, but we have other means. The Earth gives all to our kind; our homes, our vaults, our safety, and our magic.’

“The bloody Earth,” Harry huffed.

It was a logical revelation.

The goblins had chosen to dwell underground where they undoubtedly mined for precious metals, and evidently crystals, and magic.

Harry was not so familiar with elemental practices.

He could use his wand to create and manipulate wind, water, fire, ice, and lightning, but true elemental magic was a natural affinity someone was born with.

It made sense that given they had spent centuries living below ground, that the goblins had develop quite the gift for it.

Even so, the knowledge of such did not necessarily help Harry, not unless he could find and use a counter to it, which meant he would need to peruse his extensive library.

He groaned at the thought as he made his way into the kitchen, only to find his wife poring over a pile of books herself.

“I am already looking into it,” she sighed.

Harry beamed at the woman and placed a kiss on her cheek, eliciting a playful glare from Morgana.

“What would you have done if you did not have me or Hermione to do your research for you?” she asked amusedly.

Hary shrugged.

“Blagged my way through everything.”

Morgana hummed and shook her head.

“For such a brilliant wizard, you really are a prat, Harry Potter. Here, I will help you, but I am not doing it for you, and do not even think about sticking that bottom lip out. Not even Taran gets his way with me when he does it.”

Harry grumbled under his breath as he took one of the books and began attempting to peruse it for what he was looking for, a fond smile tugging at his lips as Morgana reached across the table and took his hand.

They had spent several hours trawling through many tomes, and the work was ongoing, something Morgana had taken on herself.

Harry was grateful for it.

He’d never gotten into the habit of becoming particularly studious, and his wife had a much keener eye for detail than him when it came to research.

“Bloody hell!” he cursed, startled by the sudden, familiar voice speaking to him whilst he was atop his broom.

“I ned you in Godric’s Hollow. Something unexpected has come up.”

Owain’s voice was rather grave, and Harry released a deep sigh as his eyes roamed over the city below for a final time before he apparated away.

Whatever it was must be important.

Owain would not send for him unless it was, after all, but that didn’t mean his work here was done for the day. As has become his habit when he wasn’t working on other matters pertaining to the war, Harry would be back when the sun had set to see what else he could learn or achieve in putting an end to the conflict.

He had hoped to do so before the arrival of he and Morgana’s second child, but he knew now that it was quite unlikely.

Still, all would be said and done soon enough should all go to plan, and then he only had the lingering problem of the Wizard’s Council to solve, and of course, Myrddin Emrys.

Harry was uncertain what he would do with the man, or what would even occur between them when they were no longer allies. Nonetheless, he was prepared for all eventualities, and should it become necessary to do so, he would not hesitate to kill him.

There was a part of him that hoped such a thing would not come to pass. Myrddin was a manipulative, stubborn git, but he was not evil in the same way Voldemort had been, nor any of the others who sought power Harry had been at odds with.

He was misguided and set in his ways, often unkind to those he saw as evil, but he himself was not.

It was odd to be so conflicted when it came to someone, though Harry realised he’d often felt the very same about Dumbledore over the years he’d known the man.

His own actions had been questionable at best from time to time, but ultimately, he only wanted what was best.

Still, he’d been an interfering know-it-all too, just like Myrddin.

It was no wonder there were those that had referred to the headmaster as the modern Merlin.

They were quite similar, after all, something Harry knew he would need to contend with when it came to the two of them inevitably coming to blows in the future.

(Break)

“They are worried, Dark-Eye, fearful even,” Burgock explained having spent much of the day discreetly listening to the murmurings of the goblins around the city.

Dark-Eye nodded thoughtfully.

“Then we must either act or keep them below ground.”

“They will not like the latter.”

“No, it is not something I relish the thought of, but I am considering our course of action. London must be held, and we must be much more tactical with our targets. Winchester was once the gem in the crown of Britain, but that is no longer so, and although the muggles are numerous, they are no true threat.”

“But the magicals are,” Burgock pointed out.

“The magicals are,” Dark-Eye agreed as he stood and began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. “Where does their power lie?”

“With Potter.”

“To an extent, yes,” Dark-Eye confirmed, “but their true power is not in the number of wands they can muster against us, it is with those that wield the power that matters. The Wizard’s Council. The men and women of it have undoubtedly provided the army that opposes us, and have done so from their own forces, which means…”

“That they themselves are quite vulnerable.”

Dark-Eye grinned in response as he pondered how he could use such a circumstance to his advantage.

“I will send scouts immediately,” Burgock declared before Dark-Eye could give the instruction himself. “They will discreetly search every corner of the country until we discover what it is we are looking for.”

Dark-Eye nodded his approval.

The members of the Wizard’s Council were the weakness he had been looking for, his own leverage to use against those opposing them on the battlefield.

If those they served were in danger, their men would have to withdraw themselves from the fighting, clearing the path ahead for Dark-Eye to seize a final victory.

Those that refused to kneel before him would be put to the sword, and there were those that simply could not be allowed to live no matter how much they might plead for their lives.

Potter, Emrys, Pendragon, Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Peverell would face such a fate, as would their families to avoid a rebellion in the future.

Yes, Dark-Eye took comfort in the very thought of those men and theirs no longer looming of him and his own people, and soon enough, that would indeed become a reality.

For now, however, he needed Potter to think that all was as it had been these past moons, and when the time was right, he would strike where it mattered most and would bring Britain to heel.

“Blackfang, I want you to assemble half of whatever creatures you wish and around five hundred of our own men,” he instructed. “I want you to make quite the show of intending to take some of the surrounding villages. The fate of the creatures matter little, but I would see our own preserved as best you can manage. Take Gutrot with you.”

“To what end?”

“Merely to convey the message to our enemies that we are proceeding as we have been.”

Blackfang nodded before a grin tugged at his lips.

“Of course, my king,” he agreed readily, taking his leave of the room.

Dark-Eye nodded approvingly as he retook his seat by the fire.

The colder months had already drawn in, and though war usually slowed down during the harsher climate, he would use it to get exactly what he needed to take what he wanted.

(Break)

It was indeed a most concerning development, and as Harry’s gaze flitted between Lancelot and Gwyneth, he could only shake his head. The woman was quite pale, and for the first time since he’d met him, Lancelot was silent as he stared at Gwyneth in shock.

“You know, Arthur was distraught when he heard what had happened to you. Had it not been for Myrddin whispering in his ear, he would’ve married you.”

Gwyneth shook her head.

“What Arthur and I had was a fleeting, whirlwind moment of freedom we both needed. Neither of us were in love with the other.”

“You had his child.”

“I did,” Gwyneth said unashamedly, “and I was all but cast out of my family for doing so. It brought my father great shame to look upon his bastard, so when I got the chance to disappear entirely, I took it with both hands, and I regret nothing. We are happy here. I am married, and I have two daughters with my husband.”

Lancelot offered the woman a smile.

“Truly, I am happy for you,” he replied sincerely, “but that boy out there is Arthur’s son. Does he even know?”

“No, not yet, but he will when he is old enough to understand the implications.”

“And Arthur has no idea?”

“I did not tell him. He had just gotten married, and I did not expect I would see him again. There is no telling what would’ve happened to Maxim if the queen would’ve found out about him. Bastard children are not treated well, and had she had her own with him, Maxim would’ve been treated as nothing but a threat.”

Lancelot released a deep breath as he nodded his understanding.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he sighed. “It is not as though Arthur will wish to see me.”

“That’s why you came here.”

Lancelot shrugged.

“I thought of all the people I knew here, you’d be the one most likely to welcome me.”

Harry nodded as he released the grip on his wand.

He sensed no deception from Lancelot.

The man would keep Gwyneth’s secret until she was ready to see it revealed, if that time ever came.

Harry would not force the issue, though he remained firm in his belief that her son should know. For his own sake when he inevitably decided to venture off into the world on his own.

It had certainly not escaped Harry’s notice that Maxim resembled Arthur so closely, and Lancelot had evidently seen it for himself at first glance.

“I will tell him,” Gwyneth assured him as though she read his thoughts on the matter. “Just not yet. Let him enjoy what remains of his childhood, Harry.”

Harry nodded as he looked towards Lancelot.

“I agree. When it becomes known who he is, he will not only be in danger, but others will expect him to succeed Arthur. He will be as revered as he is despised.”

“Then it’s a bloody good job he’ll have us watching over him,” Owain said gruffly. “That boy is one of ours, crown or no bloody crown.”

Gwyneth offered him an appreciative smile, though her expression shifted to one of abject horror as a caterwauling charm sounded throughout the village.

“What is that?” Lancelot asked, his hand coming to rest on the handle of his sword.

“That means the goblins are attacking,” Owain said grimly. “Come on, Potter. Let’s go give the little shits a slap.”

Harry nodded and gestured for Lancelot to remain where he was.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “Your time will come, but this is for the magicals today. Use this time to get to know Hook.”

Gwyneth sagged in relief and Lancelot merely nodded in response, taking a seat, whilst Harry and Owain prepared to depart to Camelot to face whatever waited for them courtesy of the goblins.

(Break)

The villages surrounding London were of no consequence.

Much of the land was not fit for farming, and only the winding river that passed through the city itself was of any true value.

Still, Blackfang understood the genius of the plan Dark-Eye had concocted. With Potter distracted by the efforts of the goblins to take yet more land for themselves, to expand the hold they had on London, the man would be too busy to pay much heed to what was happening more discreetly up and down the country.

When the members of the Wizard’s Council were inevitably found, they would be put to the sword before their lands were taken, bringing the goblins one step closer to controlling Britain both physically and politically.

For now, however, it was not lost on Blackfang or Gutrot tha their own task came with more than a little risk.

Potter would undoubtedly respond to the attacks, which needed to be believable to avoid raising suspicion.

As such, a significant force had been gathered to sell the charade as a genuine attempt to further their progress, and as the goblins and creatures were unleashed upon the unsuspecting village east of London, Blackfang waited for the response of the enemy.

Through the growling and snarling of his own kind, the thunderous thudding of hooves and clashes of steel from the centaurs fighting the few humans here who dared oppose them, Blackfang noticed the place was quite empty.

Where were all the humans?

He pondered that question as all feel eerily silent until a sudden coldness swept over the land, chilling him to the bone.

The others accompanying him were aware of it too, with many shuddering as the equally cold voice spoke on the winter wind.

‘It was foolish to come here…’

The battle cries of their enemies came from all sides, and before Blackfang knew it, the skirmish was unfolding around him.

(Break)

The centaurs whinnied as they were cut down, or screamed as spells tore through them from the ranks of Harry’s men. The goblins immediately began to scatter, but many were caught before they could flee.

Harry had no doubt they had come here to slaughter those that called this place home, but this was one of the villages that had been empty for a number of weeks now, only the most stubborn of men having remained behind.

They fought too; swinging swords, clubs, and any other weapon they had managed to fashion, and though they were largely ineffective against the goblins, centaurs, and other odd assortment of creatures that had been gathered here, they fought on, nonetheless.

The struggle was a violent one, and blood, dismembered limbs, and discarded weapons littered the ground, but even as the goblins and their forces attempted to retreat, they were given no quarter.

Some managed to escape, but most did not.

Harry had not arrived here this evening with the intention of driving them out of the village but ensuring those that had dared intrude upon this place could not do so to any other.

“Watch it, Harry!” Owain urged, darting in front of him to block a swing from the sword of a centaur.

The creature was wearing a strange collar around its neck, and its eyes were quite vacant for a creature he knew to be intelligent.

What had been done to them, he didn’t know, but now was not the time to ponder it, not whilst the half-man-half-horses were trying to relieve him of his head.

One attempted to do so with a wild swing that Harry managed to duck beneath before driving his own sword through the creature’s guts.

It collapsed to the ground in a heap, kicking its legs in protest, and fell limp only a moment later.

The next die screaming in agony with half of his face having been torn off from a gouging spell, and then another with his chest ripped open, exposing his still-beating heart.

His fate was not so kind.

Before Harry could finish what he’d started, around half a dozen of the centaurs stampeded towards him, crushing their wounded companion beneath their hooves.

Their eagerness, however, blinded them to the danger they were in.

With another wave of his wand, iron spike shot from the ground, impaling them before they could get within a dozen feet.

Their screams were quite terrible to hear, and Harry dispatched them quickly, only to realise that the village was suddenly quite devoid of their enemies.

The goblins that had not been killed were gone, and in their wake, they had left only the dead and dying creatures they’d employed to assist them.

It would take considerable effort to clean up the mess, and yet, Harry was more occupied with what the goblins had hoped to achieve.

Had this merely been revenge for the Cursebreakers he’d killed, or did Dark-Eye truly wish to take possession of this land?

If that was so, he’d made a rather poor showing of it, and Harry could not help but wonder if that had been his intention at all.

(Break)

“He came.”

“Only to where I was,” Blackfang answered irritably.

He was covered in blood.

Whether or not it was his own remained to be seen, but the revelation elicited a frown from Dark-Eye.

He had expected Potter to respond to both attacks, to split his forces to do so, but he had not.

“And you?” he asked Burgock.

“Nothing. There were no humans there, and anything of use has been destroyed.”

“Because they have moved to Camelot,” Gutrot reminded them. “I do not expect we will find many of the villages and even cities occupied.”

Dark-Eye growled irritably as he shifted his attention to one of the scouts that had returned.

“We did not find any of the members of the Wizard’s Council, but someone found us,” he explained nervously.

“Found you?”

The scout nodded and swallowed deeply.

“She was quite adamant to speak with you. She says she can be of invaluable assistance.”

“A human?”

The scout nodded once more, and wheezed as Dark-Eye snatched him by the throat.

“You brought a human here?”

“Outside the gates,” the scout croaked.

Dark-Eye snarled as he threw the scout aside and stalked from the room.

“Where did she find you?”

“Not far from Theotford. She lives in the woods.”

Dark-Eye shook his head as he pushed the eastern gate open, drawing both his wand and blade as he approached the hooded figure.

She did not flinch as he did so and looked upon him interestedly.

Her face was obscured by a hood, and Dark-Eye paused only a few paces away from her.

“You would turn on your own?”

The woman laughed, the tone much harsher than any other human.

“They turned on me,” she almost whispered. “I am no longer one of them, and your enemy is mine.”

“My enemy?”

“Harry Potter,” the woman spat.

Dark-Eye frowned as he attempted to get a closer look at the woman, and he caught a glimpse of her smile before she lowered the hood. The king of the goblins winces at the heavy scarring on one side of her face.

The eye socket was empty, and no hair grew on the left side of her head.

He couldn’t be certain what had been done to her, but she reeked of the foulest of magicks.

“Harry Potter murdered my mother, and attempted to do the same to me,” she explained, he one eye narrowed dangerously.

The side of her face that had not been horribly burned was quite normal for a human.

The woman had dark hair and heavy-lidded eyes which were an odd purple colour. Her unblemished skin was quite pale, waxen even, but it was not enough to distract Dark-Eye from the grotesque burns she’d sustained.

“You were Guthrum’s witch,” he whispered in realisation. “You raised an army of the dead.”

“No, my mother raised the army of the dead,” the woman corrected, “but yes, I was one of Guthrum’s witches.”

“And I expect you have quite the tale to tell.”

The woman smiled, the scars on her face and neck twisting into something quite unpleasant to look upon.

“I do, king of the goblins. Quite the tale indeed.”