The woods were silent and still in the night. No owls calling. No bats flitting between the trees. No animals shuffling through the undergrowth. The woods looked completely unremarkable, the trees were tall and straight, and in daylight the last of the spring's bluebells could be seen carpeting the forest floor. Yet despite this there was something in the air, something which had the birds and beasts hiding in their nests and dens. A sense of quiet dread.
But the woods were not completely empty. A man stood against a tree near the edge of the woods, barely visible in the pre-dawn darkness. Dressed in dark grey jeans, a long sleeved black t-shirt and black leather-like boots he seemed to blend into the shadows of the forest. The only really notable thing about the man's appearance, apart from his scars, was a battered looking vest, or waistcoat, made of some stiff looking leather-like material. A more knowledgeable observer would have realised that the waistcoat was armour made of layers of dragonhide, while an even more knowledgeable observer would have realised it was closely modelled on a muggle flak jacket.
This man standing silently in the trees was officially recognised as one of the most dangerous men in Britain and proudly held the title of undesirable number three. Although his real name and identity were a matter of public knowledge for operational reasons he went by the name Janus. In fact it was precisely because his real identity was so infamous that he even bothered with a code name in the first place.
The man known as Janus stood against the tree staring at a grim looking fortress in the valley beneath him. He could see the lights of the guards on patrol and the lights at windows where they kept watch. No change from last night. Janus shut his eyes briefly then opened his other eye. Scanning the fortress he again saw no change. The wards were no different from yesterday, the same defences ran along the walls before reaching into the sky in a vast dome. Turning from the walls he surveyed the barren ground between the woods and the fortress. Again no change, the same tripwires and jinxes, the same traps.
He glanced at the gradually lightening sky. Then checked his battered pocket watch. It was time.
Janus turned and slipped back through the woods, moving with practised ease he stalked back to the camp. He felt the wards gently brush against him as he drew near. Most wizards when setting up a hidden camp would have covered the place in a thousand wards, wards repelling muggles, wards blocking spell detection, even wards of invisibility. While that was fine in theory, in practice it was like building a gigantic wall around your camp and putting up a huge sign saying 'secret camp, nothing to see here'. Warding like that was so effective it basically created a hole, a small area of magical nothingness, hiding all signs of life and magic in the warded area. The emptiness, the lack of anything detectable in the warded area, would be blindingly obvious to any skilled witch or wizard who was actually paying attention. So instead of fortifying their camp they had simply set up a minor identification ward keyed to the team along with a few more mundane surprises. Janus carefully stepped over a tripwire and slide down into the small dell where they had made camp. Another concealment tactic, wizards often became so focused on magical concealment that they failed to realise that if you were hidden from sight in the first place you didn't need invisibility wards.
Janus made his way to the centre of the camp where a young dark haired man who went by the name of Atlas was sitting on a log, one foot resting on a small wooden chest, carefully cleaning a sword.
"Report," Atlas murmured. Janus stood at ease in front of him.
"No change on the defences. Patrols and wards are the same as they were last night and the night before. Hard to tell with all the interference but I think there's some kind of magical build-up in the central tower."
Atlas paused in cleaning the sword "You think he's completed the project?"
"Hard to say, might be, might not be. The build-up could be completely unrelated to the project or…"
"Or he could be completing it right now as we speak," Atlas finished. Janus nodded grimly.
Atlas looked down at the sword again, then looked round the camp, "Arms and Armour everyone. We move out in half an hour."
Atlas turned back to Janus "I'll send out the word to the other teams, make sure everyone is ready". At that he rose and walked into the small tent behind him.
Ignoring the nerves beginning to bubble in his stomach Janus began his pre-battle preparations. Opening the small chest he began to sort through their stock of potions. As their best potioneer who wasn't needed for wardbreaking he was the designated Potions Master and Healer. Janus always found it amusing that he, the Healer, was also one of the most deadly killers in the team. The universe did enjoy its little ironies.
With quick ease he sorted the potions they needed into two piles. First the benign potions: Healing Potions, Antidote to Common Poisons, Antidote to Uncommon Poisons, Flame Resistance Potion, Blood-Replenishing Potion, Essence of Dittany. Janus considered Wound Cleansing Potion but Essence of Dittany would serve just as well and frankly he'd be astounded if any of them lived long enough to worry about wounds being infected. The second pile contained the less benign potions: Erumpent Potion, various poisons and his own personal variation of fast acting, fast clearing Garrotting Gas. Considering each pile he began to divide them up again, slotting the potion vials into custom made bandoliers. He always found this part of preparing the most stressful. Not enough potions and they wouldn't be able to blow open that vital door, or heal that critical injury without exhausting themselves magically. Too many potions and they'd be going into battle weighed down by half an apothecary. Slotting most of the healing potions into his bandolier Janus made sure everyone had at least one bottle of Essence of Dittany and a Blood Replenishing Potion. That way any of the them could, combined with healing charms, keep a team member alive until he got there.
Leaving Atlas's potions bandolier on the log Janus began to work his way around the camp, handing out potions.
Romulus and Mordred sat together on the eastern edge of the camp. Like Janus they were both already wearing their dragonhide armour. Mordred had his eyes shut and was murmuring under his breath; Janus knew he was running through spells. As one of their two wardbreakers it was Mordred who would be doing the most complex spellwork while the others covered his back. Romulus was meticulously checking his equipment. As their demolitions and traps man he carried the most kit. Although it slowed him down, featherweight charms were apparently incompatible with some of his equipment, the traps and gadgets had saved their collective necks enough times to make it worthwhile. They had considered sharing out the load between the team but Romulus was fiercely possessive of his inventions, not to mention he was the only one who actually knew how to work half of them. Janus handed both of their bandoliers to Romulus. Muttering his thanks Romulus slung his bandolier on and put Mordred's share in front of him.
Janus moved on to the next of the team. Pythia was sitting cross-legged near the edge of the camp, staring into the woods. The only sign of her preparations that she had tied her messy hair back into a ponytail. Unlike the others she wore no armour, not matter how many times Atlas had begged her. Her staff rested across her lap and she occasionally stroked it. Janus was never quite sure why she used a staff rather than a wand though having fought alongside her hundreds of times he couldn't deny it was effective. As usual she didn't even blink as he placed her share of the potions in front of her.
The last member of the team was sitting with her back against an old oak tree. Eyes shut she could almost have been sleeping were in not for the obvious tension in her face. Janus knew that like Mordred she was running through every ward and method of wardbreaking she knew, though unlike Mordred she wouldn't need her back protecting. Janus crouched down in front of her. "Athena," her eyes flickered open in response. He handed her the last bandolier. "You ready?" Athena nodded and tapped his leg with her wand. He smirked slightly, "Of course I'm ready". Athena rolled her eyes and then leant back against the tree, returning to her planning.
Janus walked back to the centre of the dell and began his personal pre-battle preparations. He checked every buckle and clip of his armour twice. When done with that he checked his two wand holsters. Finally he checked his wands. Janus has lost his original wand years ago but truthfully he felt far more comfortable with these wands than he ever had with the wand he'd carried at school. These were the wands of the man he was now, not the boy he'd been. These were the wands that had chosen him to carry them to war. His left hand wand, 13 inches, Hawthorn with a Phoenix Feather core. His right hand wand, also 13 inches, Ebony with a core made of the Heartstring of a Basilisk. Finding nothing wrong with his wands Janus sat down and began his pre-combat meditations.
Janus didn't really know why they all had their pre-mission rituals, most of which went far beyond what was practical, there was no need for him to check his armour twice but he always did. Pythia had once said that the little rituals helped to create a division between war and peace. Helped them get into the mind-set of kill or be killed, and then leave that mind-set when the mission was over. She claimed the code names functioned in a similar way, as well as being a security measure they helped them to separate the young man or woman from the killer; one of the reasons they never used their real names when on missions. In Janus' humble opinion that seemed like an excellent way to develop a multiple personality disorder; though when it came to questionable mental states he really wasn't in much of a position to throw stones, even at Pythia.
Chasing away these thoughts Janus slipped into the trance like state of his meditations preparing his mind for what was to come.
"Time," a low voice called.
Janus looked up from where he sat cross legged on the ground. Atlas had emerged from the tent, flicking a small gold coin in his hand. He was wearing his Graphorn hide armour, sword sheathed over his back and wand holstered at his right hip. Janus felt the fear bubble up again before he ruthless crushed it back. The team slowly gathered around. Pythia drifting over. Romulus and Mordred striding with determined faces. Athena just, strolling over like she was on a walk in the park.
"The diversion attacks are all ready to go on our signal," Atlas began "On our approach the aim will be to as avoid and deflect defences rather than engage or destroy." Janus nodded, they needed to remain undetected for as long as possible.
"Mordred and Athena will unpick the wards on the sally-port identified by Janus. That will get us through the outer wall. Once inside we cross the interior as quickly as possible then climb the inner wall," Atlas looked at Romulus "That's your responsibility," Romulus nodded. "Once inside we're blind and frankly if we've not been detected by then it'll be a miracle so…" he paused.
"So once we're inside unleash hell" Janus finished.
Atlas snorted "Pretty much. We'll go hard and fast for the centre of the building." He paused again "You know our objectives, primary objective is to destroy the project, secondary objective is to kill the Dark Lord if possible." Atlas looked around the circle suddenly grim; he looked much older than his twenty-three years. "All other considerations are secondary."
Janus felt strangely calm at this statement, hearing what Atlas meant but would never say. They all knew that this was only a hairsbreadth away from being a suicide mission. None of them feared death; they had all lived with the proverbial axe hanging over their heads for many years. But to hear Atlas say that their lives were a secondary priority somehow made it more real. "Well a near impenetrable fortress, hordes of enemies, an immortal dark lord and almost certain death. Hope everyone has their wills written, and for the record I'd like to be cremated". The team chuckled at Janus' poor attempt at gallows humour, even the ever serious Mordred.
"Always look on the positive side don't you?" Romulus muttered with a faint smile.
"There's a positive side to life?" Janus retorted
Pythia glanced up at the still dark sky "It does look like it'll be a nice day to die," she murmured.
"No-one is dying," Atlas snapped. "We get in. Get out. We'll regroup back here before falling back to Headquarters. If for whatever reason you can't make it back to camp or Headquarters we meet at the emergency rendezvous point in two days." Atlas glared fiercely around the group as if daring them to contradict him, looking almost like he believed his own words "We are all getting out in one piece. You hear me."
As they began to break camp Janus couldn't help but find Atlas' choice of words ironic, 'in one piece'. They'd all been broken into pieces by this war a hundred times. And they'd all stuck themselves back together a hundred and one times. He glanced over at Romulus and the sadness that never quite left his eyes. At Mordred still muttering spells under his breath, a man who walked tall but was weighed down by so much guilt. At Pythia staring into the middle distance again, never quite sure if she was seeing or seeing. At Athena, silent, but still screaming inside. And at Atlas, standing strong and defiant but aged before his time, crippled by his burden. Janus didn't know what the other saw when they looked at him and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.