Trial by Battle

Alain spent the rest of the night alone, consumed with rage. He was furious at his apprentices, cursing Salazar's rash impertinence and Godric's recklessness for accepting the challenge. Now, his nephew had sworn to fight in a duel where they could only be one victor. The loser faced an early grave and Killer-Bjorn had spent half a lifetime distributing untimely deaths. More anger was directed at Melusine and Bellême, whose manipulations had led to this end and his loathing for them now knew no limits. However, Alain reserved most of his fury for himself. He had swiftly lost all advantage over his rivals on the Wizengamot, outmanoeuvred by his vile rivals. Alain had approached the Wizengamot to confidently and now all his plans were undone. It was Godric who would now pay the price for his master's hubris.

The Lord of Avalon was also frustrated because his fury warred with admiration. His apprentices had publically conducted themselves well during the great assembly. Salazar had held his own against seasoned politicians, settling on a course of action which had slipped through the minds of wiser wizards and gave Godric a slither of a chance to escape execution. Godric had impressed him too, for Alain couldn't help but marvel at Godric's courage, especially when he had accepted the trial by battle, despite the dangers it provided. He feared for his nephew, for Killer-Bjorn's murderous prowess was as notorious as his byname suggested. Yet, Godric had appeared undaunted by the challenge. Godric and Salazar were the pride of Avalon and in the aftermath of the Wizengamot, all of magical Britain talked of them with awe and respect.

However, it didn't mask Alain's failures. He had failed to stop Bellême being elected; failed to acquire justice for Hadrian and knew he had failed in his duty to protect Godric. Now, the fate of the Lord of Avalon's reputation and honour depended on Godric's prowess with a wand and sword.

Godric rose early the next day for his morning drills with Hugh. He felt strangely disconnected from his surroundings and had barely heard the advice every member of Alain's retinue had sought to offer him. It hadn't taken long for the rest of the retinue to hear about the trial, for news of it had spread quickly and talk of it was on everyone's lips. Hugh drilled them hard, but surprisingly cut the practice short. Avalon's castellan was in a foul mood and he stalked away as his comrades stretched sore muscles, intent on discovering more about Killer-Bjorn.

The rest of Alain's retinue quickly dispersed, leaving Godric to continue sparring with his two friends. Hamon helped him practice with the sword and against Salazar he duelled with magic, hoping to raise Godric's flailing spirits. They recognised the nervousness and dread which clouded Godric's mind and his concentration eventually faded to such an extent that Salazar was able to land several hexes which slipped past Godric's usually impregnable guard. Recognising that his friend's heart wasn't truly in it, Salazar had called a halt to their duel and ordered Godric to spar with Hamon. Watching on from the periphery of the makeshift tiltyard as Godric engaged Hamon without the enthusiasm that he usually brought to sparring matches, Salazar couldn't help but silently question whether he had made a terrible mistake in requesting a trial by battle.

Engrossed in a wave of rising doubt, he didn't notice Helga walking towards them through the line of trees,

'Merlin aid us,' Salazar growled irritably when he finally caught sight of her. The young witch frustrated him to no end, for she didn't appear to hold any respect for social status, as well as taking umbrage with the Welsh girl's evident delight at irking him.

Surprisingly, Helga was accompanied by another girl and Salazar soon recognised her as the raven-haired daughter of Scatter-Brain, Rowena, whose beauty had caught the attention of many wizards at the Wizengamot. Yet, she barely spared the handsome young wizard a glance as she walked by. Out striding her younger companion and content to leave Helga in Salazar's company as she approached the sparring Godric and Hamon. The two squires paused, turning to face Rowena in surprise, but the witch only had eyes for Godric.

'So,' she said, smiling slyly, 'my humble saviour is apprenticed to the Lord of Avalon. I should have realised that you were noble-born, but you never told me you were so well connected?'

Godric shrugged, his face flushing self-consciously as his sword hung limp by his side.

'It wasn't important,' he mumbled. Rowena nodded before her smile wavered,

'I'm sorry for my father's part in it,' she murmured meaningfully, 'he is…he can be…'

She fell silent, the ire she had displayed at her father's careless behaviour having long ago turned to disappointment.

'It doesn't matter…'

'It does,' she suddenly snapped, instantly reddening when she saw Godric's surprise at her outburst, 'it does matter. Did my father truly offer me as payment for your master's help?'

'Not as payment,' Godric told her, 'but he did talk of betrothal. Lord Alain turned him down…'

He slipped into silence as he caught a glimmer of hurt flash across Rowena's face. For a moment, he was sure she was about to ask him if he was adverse to the match until her mind wrestled her tongue away from her heart's control and she thought better of it. Godric was glad she did, for he would have had no response to such a question.

'Are you frightened?' Rowena asked instead, gazing curiously into his eyes as she sought something he could not quite place,

Godric was tempted to lie in order to ease Rowena's own fears. However, he soon discovered that it wasn't in him to lie to her.

'Yes,' he admitted. Rowena held his gaze for a heartbeat, biting her lower lip tentatively,

'So am I,' she said softly,

Godric stared at her curiously, but Rowena looked away, unable to meet his eye. Ignored from the moment Rowena had arrived, Hamon joined Salazar and Helga, who had been bickering incessantly as they observed Godric and Rowena. The two squires of Avalon were openly gaping in disbelief at the scene. They had never seen any young woman approach Godric so boldly, or witnessed Godric so eagerly respond to a woman's attention. In all honesty, Salazar and Hamon didn't think that Godric had any interests outside swords, knighthood and well-bred horses. As they watched a concerned Godric murmur something which they could not hear and saw Rowena react with a laugh, suddenly emerging from her troubled mood, they were almost rendered speechless.

Miraculously, Godric was now smiling as he led Rowena over and introduced the maiden to his smirking friends. Rowena smiled as she greeted Hamon politely, although she was unable to mask her surprise when she learned he was a Muggle,

'Don't worry about it,' Hamon cheerfully waved off her embarrassment, 'Godric still idolises me.'

Rowena laughed aloud as Godric playfully shoved his friend before she turned to Salazar and complimented him on his performance during the Wizengamot. She especially praised him for how his intervention had prolonged Godric's life for at least a few more days,

'He'll always be a burden,' Salazar smiled slyly, 'but I don't want him dead.'

'No,' Rowena replied, casting a smile in Godric's direction, her cheeks reddening slightly, 'we wouldn't want that'. Godric was unaware of how much this made him grin stupidly. Salazar and Hamon watched on, exchanging sly grins and sniggering quietly. Helga just rolled her eyes at all their behaviour.

'I didn't know that you were friends?' Godric told Helga and Rowena, who smiled at each other,

'Why would you?' Helga said mockingly, 'we haven't talked about it. Besides, it's not something I readily admit…'

'My father and Gofanon are known to each other,' Rowena explained helpfully, ignoring the younger girl.

'They have shared a friendship for many years,' Helga added, 'I've known Rowena since we were children.'

'Long enough for us to become good friends,' Rowena finished and the two girls smiled at each other, 'despite Helga's obvious faults…'

'What are you doing here?' Godric inquired, looking at maidens curiously.

'We've come to help you,' Helga supplied, 'and it looks like you could use it?'

'How?' Hamon asked,

The two maidens didn't answer. Instead, Rowena bent down and began to lift her frayed skirts. She bundled them up above her knees, enabling her to move more freely and in doing so, exposed her lower legs. Even Salazar and Hamon, who had spent a lot of time in the company of disreputable women, were shocked by Rowena's brazen boldness. Godric's face was blazing as he averted his gaze, the memory of her dancing spiritually beside the great bonfires, flashing before his eyes. Rowena drew her wand,

'Come on,' she beckoned to Godric, striding out into their makeshift arena beside the lake. When Godric finally recognised her intentions, he almost spluttered.

'I'm not duelling you!' he protested,

'Why?' Rowena's eyes narrowed, 'scared?'

'No…I just…'

'Just what?'

'I can't duel a…'

'A woman?' she answered for him with a raised eyebrow.

'…Yes…' Godric admitted sheepishly,

'Oh, how very noble,' Helga called jeeringly. Godric scowled, ignoring Helga and was preparing to reply when suddenly from out of nowhere came a spell which struck Godric with enough force to send him sprawling in a heap, landing heavily and rendering him breathless. His body twitching from the effects of the spell, he glanced up to see Rowena smiling innocently back. She stood with a hand resting on her waist, tapping the wand against her hip impatiently whilst her eyes burned challengingly. His friend's amused laughter and Helga's jubilant cheering echoed around them.

'Do you have any more objections?' Rowena asked sweetly, 'or do I have to put you on your back again?' Godric stared back dumbly, the mischievous glint in her eyes causing a whirlwind of emotions to flare up inside him. Then suddenly he let out a booming laugh,

'Not a chance,' Godric grinned exuberantly. He leapt up and with a wave of his wand they were duelling.

Godric thrived on the adrenaline which surged through his veins when he fought and he could tell that Rowena, despite her noble and elegant demeanour, shared his enthusiasm for this thrill. She was neither the fastest nor the most powerful opponent he had ever faced. But she was probably the cleverest, for what she lacked in power she made up for with her brilliant inventiveness and masterful control over her magic, bringing a finesse to her spell work that rivalled the older Salazar.

As their duel began, Godric was assailed by a multitude of hexes, jinxes and charms. Rowena hurling spell after spell towards him with impressive speed. Godric shielded himself, blocking some with magic before using the lakeside shingle to intercept Rowena's colourful barrage. Then it was Godric's turn to retaliate, sending a powerful spell flaming towards the maiden. Rowena reacted quickly, conjuring a torrent of water from the lake to douse the burning fire before responding with equal vigour. She was a talented witch, but Godric's earlier stupor had quickly disappeared and soon his superior fitness and duelling expertise gained him the upper hand. After all, he had been trained by a paladin in Muggle fighting techniques and a wizard worthy of the title Lord of Avalon.

As they duelled, their friends watched on, observing them closely,

'They seem friendly,' Hamon commented, before smirking, 'Strange way to flirt,' Godric and Rowena were laughing, oblivious to the attention they were receiving from their companions as they playfully mocked each other's efforts in between pauses in their duel.

'It's Godric's way,' Salazar advised amusedly, rolling his eyes.

'Because you're the master?' Helga scoffed. Salazar's amusement disappeared behind a scowl,

'Remind me to give him a few pointers,' Hamon chuckled,

'His way seems to be working well enough,' Helga pointed out lightly as Rowena burst out laughing until she hastily threw herself to the side as one of Godric's spells narrowly missed her. She rolled back to her feet with a dazzling smile and with a wave of her wand, was engaging him again.

'Miraculously!' exclaimed Salazar, astounded.

After Rowena was knocked to the ground for the second time, the two duellists finally called a halt to the fight. Sweating heavily and covered in dust, Rowena was smiling with exhilaration, an expression which was mirrored on Godric's beaming face. They chattered excitedly, complimenting each other as they returned to their friends, pointedly ignoring the amused looks they were receiving.

Godric had little time to savour the scene, for Hamon was soon demanding that they spar with swords again and the young wizard was reluctantly dragged away. The ensuing sword practice came as a great surprise to Rowena, who watched on as Godric impressively beat away Hamon's attacks before retaliating with his own. Finally, she turned to speak with Salazar,

'Are you and Godric close?' Salazar smiled at her,

'Like brothers,' he admitted, 'all three of us are'.

'Are you confident that he can win?'

Salazar scrutinised Rowena closely. Outwardly she looked almost nonchalant, but in the depths of her eyes, Salazar saw the same fear and doubts which gnawed at his own soul. The tempest of emotions which radiated from Rowena surprised him, but he did not dismiss them. Godric always had the uncanny ability at seeing the best in people, and his honest attentions had clearly worked their way into Rowena's affections. How far they had delved was a mystery and Salazar had no intention of prying into further.

'Watch him now,' he advised her gently, 'despite being a Muggle, Hamon is no push over. Indeed, he has the strength of two prized horses and is the son of the most formidable man I know. Yet, he still cannot overpower Godric, who despite his age, is one of the best fighters I have seen. One day, Godric will be equal to a boatload of fighting men…'

'Truthfully?' Rowena asked disbelievingly.

'Trust me. Godric might not be the brightest wizard and he may appear like nothing more than a common villein,' Salazar paused, looking rueful, 'but he's probably the noblest wizard I know and in a fight, he's like a hero from a song. I know it better than most, but with either a sword or wand, when it comes to duelling, he's a devil.'

'He'll need to be,' Helga joined their conversation thoughtfully, her eyes trained on the two sparring young men, 'I've been watching his opponent. Overcoming this Killer-Bjorn would be a hard task for a wizarding master, let alone an apprentice.'

'You've seen him fight?' Salazar inquired,

'Yes,' Helga answered, turning to look at Salazar. Her tone lacked its usual mocking undertone, 'he's as his name suggests; a killer. He can fight with either a staff or blade, although he is no dual-wielder and he appeared to favour magic, so there may be some hope if Godric can take Killer-Bjorn's staff out of the fight. I didn't see much, for he cursed his sparring partner so badly that none of the Lord of Bellême retainers would face him. He spent the rest of his time sewing iron rings into that bush at his chin.'

'A clever trick,' summarised Rowena, again looking anxious, 'and a valuable defence. Those rings could turn aside a sword blow, maybe even a spell if they are inscribed with runes…'

'He knows some tricks then. No wonder the man was outlawed for killing men in his homeland. There are rumours that he has never been defeated; that his hot temper turns him into little more than a beast who thrives on bloodshed.'

'So he is a berserk then,' Rowena wondered, 'I thought they were just legends…'

'Most of the rumours which surround them are,' Salazar interrupted, 'yet, as men possessed with an all-consuming rage and violent disposition, they're as real as you and I. But if someone can survive the initial onset of rage and passion, then a clear head and confidence in your own skill will lead you to victory.'

'Does Godric always fight with a clear head?' Helga asked. As he was about to answer, Salazar faltered, suddenly remembering the untamable rage which had consumed Godric when Salazar had first called him a 'Mud-blood'. Salazar winced at the memory and the uneasiness which had clung to each maiden's heart soon blazed stronger at his hesitance.

'I cannot say,' Salazar finally responded firmly, sounding as if he was trying to persuade himself as well as his companions, 'but trust me when I when I say that I would not have pushed Godric, my brother in all but blood, along such a dangerous path if I didn't believe he'd survive. Godric will live and surprise all his doubters. He may even surprise himself…'

Rowena frowned at Salazar's words, wondering if there was more to Godric than she had initially assumed. As she turned back to watch him, she couldn't help the fond smile which flickered at her lips,

'He'll win,' she said, with more confidence than she felt.

The words had barely left her mouth when Godric tripped on a loose rock and fall flat on his face, to Hamon's howls of laughter. The young wizard had been sneaking too many furtive glances in their direction and as a consequence misjudged his footing.

'He's a dead man,' Helga sighed drolly.

The two witches remained in their company for a long while, offering aid and advice. After sharing a noon meal, they departed, Helga in search of her great-grandfather and Rowena to find her father. Before she left, Rowena had turned and quickly promised in a hushed whisper to come and find him before his battle began. Godric's face had instantly reddened and he spent the next moments pointedly ignoring Salazar and Hamon's amused gazes.

Godric did seek some time alone to gather his thoughts and quell his needling fears. He took a sword that Bayard lent him and practised the sword strokes which he had been tutored in for the last five years, before moving on to his wand. It was his magic that he most feared would unman him, for he still lacked control of it, especially in threatening situations. In Avalon's tiltyard, he could seek a brief reprieve if he sparred against Alain, but he could expect no such courtesy from the deadly Killer-Bjorn. Yet, Godric did have something up his sleeves, an idea which had materialised during his long lessons with Yusuf and listening to drunken tales in Avalon's guardroom, before being practised repeatedly in the privacy of the tiltyard. It was by no means perfected, but it could potentially save his life when he battled Killer-Bjorn.

The rest of the day was spent in the company of his friends. Yet, the mood was morbid in the Lord of Avalon's camp and Godric could sense their fear for him. All of Alain's retinue had approached him to offer their advice for the fight to come, but his uncle had been markedly absent from the camp, which cast the young wizard into an even sourer mood.

He was nibbling at a small, tasteless bowl of pottage when Ella found him. The whore had dragged herself from her new lover's bed and had come to Godric as the bearer of news,

'I told you once,' she said as she emerged from the darkness, 'that ill fortune seemed to cling to you. But even I underestimated your penchant for trouble. You're a dangerous man to know Godric…' She sat down beside him, smoothing out her rumpled skirts and plucking the pottage bowl from his hands. She sniffed the meal once, shrugged at the unappetizing smell and then helped herself to a mouthful. Scowling at her assessment, Godric was patient enough to wait for Ella to speak, recognising the whore's playful games.

'I have discovered that you can learn much when sharing a bed with a prominent wizard,' she told him conspiratorially, 'did you know that how well you do in this duel tomorrow may decide the fate of Britain? If you win, then Lord Alain's influence will remain unchanged. If you lose, then his more fickle supporters will disperse like smoke in a strong breeze and ultimate power over the Wizengamot will lay in the hands of this Lady Melusine.'

'This wasn't my doing!'

'It was your decision to accept the challenge, to leap without thinking into the trap which was set for you with no thought for the consequences,' she suddenly retorted waspishly, 'you may not have been the cause, but your recklessness has pitted all on one throw of the dice. Amalric has told me much about the state of wizarding Britain, the feuds which plague it and the divisions which have caused rival factions to hiss and snarl at each other like wolves. Now, this magical world stands on a precipice of change, teetering on the edge of ruin. Yet still an uneasy peace has managed to last, no single faction able to gain the upper hand over the other. Now, because of your rash actions, you may have endangered the peace and steered them to war!'

'Why are you telling me this?' Godric growled, irritated and in no mood for her games.

'Because you need to be aware of what hangs in the balance. Besides, Amalric asked me to pass on this knowledge. He fears that his father is blinded by all the talk of blood purity and may break over a generation of Black tradition to throw their familial wealth behind Melusine's cause. He sent me with this message as a show of good faith and once Alain returns, I shall share it with him.' She finished eating and pressed the empty bowl back into Godric's hands. Standing, she made to leave, but paused before the night's gloom shrouded her completely,

'I also once said that you were almost a man,' she told him seriously. When you meet that wretched creature in battle tomorrow, it is time to prove your manhood.'

Godric's night was a restless affair. He experienced the most fretful sleep of his life, haunted by uncertainties and eventualities which had yet to come to pass. The nightmarish presence of the harbinger of death also granted him little sleep. This time, they did not meet upon the field of battle but faced each other in one of Avalon's mystical glades, surrounded by a clogging mist. Lost in the murky fog, Godric could hear the screams of women and the clash of fighting men, as well as seeing the dull flash of shadowy lights illuminating the dark glade. Godric didn't know where this fighting was taking place or the cause of the conflict and even if he wished to help, he seemed transfixed by the towering figure's unsettling presence.

Unlike his past dreams, the haunting apparition had made no move to engage him, but simply chose to watch him from behind that eyeless mask. Godric thought that this drawn out inaction was more unnerving than the armed and grisly spectre bearing down on him with his gore-encrusted sword raised and a wand crackling with malicious spells.

Then suddenly, the spectre drove its sword into the ground and threw aside its wand. Reaching up with large gloved hands, it unbuckled the helm from its head and slowly lifted it clear. As the spectre, who had remained faceless for so many years finally revealed the features behind the mask, Godric's mouth fell open at the sight, for the spectre was not as faceless as he first thought. As the spectre's mouth stretched into a knowing smile, Godric screamed, a cry so loud that it startled him from his slumber.

Following this nightmare, any attempt at sleep was futile. Godric rose early, drenched in sweat and his muscles weary. Alain's camp was silent and still, the yew trees stained with a layer of glimmering dew which twinkled like tiny stars in the faded sun which had yet to rise above the distant horizon. Still haunted by spectres revelation, Godric ventured into the lakes' chilling depths in order to calm his frayed nerves. The cooling water had its desired effects and soon his mind was clear and his body refreshed. When he finally emerged from the lake and was once again greeted by the pale sun, he found Alain waiting patiently for him with a clean tunic and morning meal.

'Here,' his uncle said with a sad smile, offering him a bowl of burned porridge and honeyed bread. When Godric looked at the meal and grimaced, Alain chuckled and shrugged dismissively, 'I'll admit, cooking charms are not my forte. But you'll need it to give your muscles strength for the trial to come. Sit awhile and eat, I'd like to speak to you before the others rise…'

As he always did, Godric followed his uncle's instruction, although Godric had little appetite. At first, Alain did not speak, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. When he did find the courage to look his nephew in the eye, the Lord of Avalon's expression burned with regret,

'I am sorry,' Alain said meaningfully, 'I truly am. If I had been wiser, more alert to Melusine's motives, then maybe this could all have been averted.'

'No,' Godric disagreed, shaking his head wearily, 'Melusine had this planned long before the Wizengamot was called. You could have done nothing more than you already have,'

'But if not for Salazar, Merlin bless him, then you'd be dead already…'

'I've grown up watching your retinue train to fight,' Godric smiled sadly, 'I dreamed of the day I could join them. They would not have let any of the dogs in Bellême's pay take me. You wouldn't either…'

'You think I would have tipped our world into chaos to spare your life?'

'Yes,' Godric said firmly. Alain smiled sadly, seeing the truth in Godric's words. He leant over and grasped his nephew's shoulders, staring into those emerald eyes which reminded him so much of the half-sister he could scarcely remember.

'Have you had a chance to observe Killer-Bjorn fight?'

'No,' Godric admitted, 'but Helga ferch Pedr has and she told me all she knows. They say he's a berserk.' The young wizard gulped, for he had grown up hearing tales about these legendary warriors and he feared meeting one in battle.

'Berserk or not,' Alain calmed him, 'Killer-Bjorn will not be invulnerable. Hugh defeated a troll, and nothing is as berserk as a wrathful troll. Besides, all Seidr fight like mad dogs.'

'Salazar advised that if I can weather the initial storm, I should be able to survive.'

'Salazar often speaks good sense,' Alain acknowledged warmly, 'but I believe he is mistaken about this. Killer-Bjorn will underestimate you and may not think the berserk rage is needed to defeat you. However, it may be in your best interest if Killer-Bjorn does. Try to antagonise him and use his feuds to unsettle him. You may be able to slip through his guard.'

'Easier said than done,' Godric mumbled, making Alain laughed,

'You will survive this,' his uncle reassured him, 'just remember that you are a wizard too. You will have both a sword and wand, and the skill to unite them.' Godric nodded, understanding what his uncle was trying to tell him. Too often in their lessons together, Godric would depend on one or the other rather than uniting his skills with both to promising effect. Alain was reminding him that he had the potential to be a dual-wielder and that he may need this ability to survive the day.

Alain let him contemplate this for a moment, before smiling at his nephew.

'You said it was Helga who brought you news of Killer-Bjorn?' he asked curiously, 'is this Gofanon's great-granddaughter?'

Godric nodded,

'Good,' Alain smiled, 'it warms my heart to see you making friends rather than enemies.'

'It's easy to be friends with Helga,' Godric chuckled, 'although Salazar may say differently.'

Alain laughed aloud before his countenance became sombre once again.

'Godric,' he told him, his heart heavy, 'you are a remarkable wizard Godric and a nobler man I don't think I have ever met. It is an honour to not only know you but to call you my nephew.' Alain squeezed his broad shoulders once, then let go.

'There too few hours left before you are called to battle,' Alain stood and prepared to leave, having said what he needed to say. But before he left, he turned once more to his nephew, 'if you live through this day, then I promise you will have earned the right to join my retinue.'

Godric gave his uncle a small smile,

'I'll try to do Avalon proud, Lord,'

'You always have, Godric,' his uncle said sadly, 'just make sure you live.'

The next few hours passed far too quickly for Godric's liking. He stretched his muscles and completed a few drills with both sword and wand, but most of his time was spent in the presence of his closest friends. He tried to savour every moment with them and his heart was heavy at the thought of leaving them. However, even as he marvelled at the warmth and support he received from all of Alain's retinue. He was moved by how deeply they cared for him. From an uncharacteristically sombre Bayard to the tearful Isolde, he felt oddly disconnected from them. He was aware that these moments could be his last with those who had become like family to him. Black-Hollow was a distant memory compared to the faces of those gathered around him. He was almost reduced to tears by their belief in him, even when he couldn't believe it himself.

It was a brief moment with Rowena which truly raised his subdued spirits. She had slipped away from the vigilant watch of the handmaidens in her father's pay, for Scatter-Brain was far too excited to see the upcoming duel to notice her absence. When she found him, Godric had sought some privacy alone and was sat amidst the yew trees, looking out over the lake's tranquil water. She called out to him and he hastily tried to rise as she emerged from the trees, but she waved him back down before joining him. The atmosphere turned slightly awkward, Rowena seemingly intent on smoothing out the wrinkles of her drab skirts whilst Godric was content to simply sit and watch her, observing how she seemed embarrassed and irritated by being lost for words. Her dark eyes occasionally flickered in his direction, only to hastily retreat behind long bangs of loose raven hair before their eyes could meet,

'Your friend Hamon told me I could find you here,' she finally admitted, 'he thinks you can do with some company.'

'Hamon does things like that,' Godric murmured fondly, 'he's wiser than even he thinks he is'.

'He's worried about you,' Rowena told him, 'they all are. Your friend Slytherin can barely speak he's so worried.'

'I know,' Godric said, his fears suddenly whelming, 'they've all been telling me that I'll survive; to see this as nothing more than another training bout in Avalon's tiltyard. But we have all heard of the kind of man Killer-Bjorn is. I…I wish that I had their confidence.'

'You're very brave,' Rowena suddenly blurted very ineloquently, finally raising her gaze to meet his. She coloured immediately, but her eyes shone with belief. Suddenly it was obvious, even to Godric's inexperienced eyes that Rowena cared deeply for him and that she feared for his survival. Godric felt the sudden urge to embrace her, to wrap her in his arms and take her fear away. Before he could act on the sudden impulse, Rowena stood shakily, looking away from him. Godric stood with her but didn't move closer like his heart desired. Instead, he stayed silent, suspecting that Rowena still had more to say.

'This is all that fool Edwin's fault,' she hissed,

'Lady Melusine sees me as an enemy,' Godric disagreed, shaking his head, 'and she loathes Lord Alain. She would have found a way to incriminate me with or without Edwin's help.'

'Nevertheless,' Rowena scoffed, 'he still had a hand in it. Who does he think he is, pompously striding around in those awful clothes and with that ridiculous beard as if he is a grown wizard? He looks absurd.' She huffed, scowling, 'the Firebrands are all fools!'

'I only know him a little,' Godric defended the young wizard, dismissing the wave of pleasure which fluttered in the depths of his stomach at how vehemently she disliked Edwin because of how he had ignorantly influenced Godric's present situation, 'but I think he is a good man. He's only responsible for being played so easily by Bellême. Wiser wizards have befallen a similar fate. I do not blame him for my predicament and wish him no ill.'

'I do,' Rowena huffed, before looking sheepish, 'and that's very noble of you. But I fear that it may be too late…'

'How so?' Godric questioned inquisitively,

'I may have slipped hellebore into his mead,' she admitted,

'Isn't that poisonous?' Godric queried, thinking back to Morwenna's lessons.

'Not in very small doses,' Rowena assured him nonchalantly, 'and it wasn't nightshade. I won't have any lasting effects, although he spent most of the night and this morning in the bushes. I doubt he'll be able to attend the duel today. When I left, he was groaning like a woman in childbirth.'

'Rowena,' Godric exclaimed, although he couldn't resist chuckling in amusement at her embarrassed flush.

'He deserves it,' she insisted firmly, before glancing at him nervously, 'do you think less of me?'

'No,' Godric smiled instantly, 'I'm just weary of crossing you.'

'Do you intend to?' she challenged him coyly,

'Never,' he smiled and Rowena briefly beamed in return.

'It was Helga's who suggested it,' she finally admitted with a shrug, 'and she can be very persistent about getting her way.'

The lesson here, Godric thought ruefully, was to never cross Helga ferch Pedr and he swore to inform Salazar of what fate could befall him if he took his mocking too far.

'I have something for you,' she muttered timidly. Rowena reached up and unclasped the silver brooch which pinned her blue cloak to her shoulder, nervous hands fumbling with the pin before finally succeeding in removing the jewel. Then she stretched out her hand, offering Godric its shining burden.

'Take it,' she said softly as Godric reached out and grasped the brooch in his own hand. As he did so, their fingers glanced against the other and they both felt a sudden jolt of feeling, hastily covered.

'I can't take this,' Godric replied just as softly, examining the brooch closely. The crest of a raven with its wings spread in flight lay engraved amongst the silver spirals. He looked up, realising that this must be a family heirloom and thus, beyond any price Godric could afford.

'Please, you must,' Rowena urged him, 'in the songs I have heard, heroes of old were given small tokens by maidens, a lady's favour which was thought to bring these warriors luck in dark times.' She stepped close to him, wrapping her small hands around his own to close his fingers about the cold brooch. Her eyes sparkled and Godric found that he could not turn away from them.

'Luck?' he whispered,

'For luck,' she agreed, still staring at him unblinkingly and heedless of the blushes which stained both their faces.

'I'll wear it,' Godric promised earnestly, 'always.'

Rowena smiled brightly and breathed out a relieved sigh. She was so close that Godric felt the release blow softly across his face and he returned her smile tenfold. By all accounts, Godric barely knew the girl stood before him. Indeed, he could use the fingers of both hands to count the number of hours they had spent together. Yet, a bond appeared to exist between them, a bond which saw him yearning for those sparse moments he could stay in her presence, a yearning which fuelled his courage to such an extent that he felt as if he could face a thousand wands in battle and still be victorious.

Rowena looked as if she wished to say more, but before she could utter a word they were hailed by Hamon, Salazar and Helga, who had once again materialised out of nowhere. From the corner of his eye, Godric saw Rowena quickly step away from him as their friends emerged from the trees, breaking the strange spell which had descended over them.

'The odds are not stacked in your favour,' Salazar admitted, drawing level. If he was worried, he hid it well and the only outward sign of his distress was the paler complexion which stained his tanned skin.

'Thanks,' Godric answered sarcastically,

'I wouldn't worry,' Salazar smiled in amusement, 'we know better. It just confirms that you've got surprise on your side.'

'We've wagered all our gold on you to win,' Hamon grinned, 'well most of it anyway, we'd be idiots not to put a few galleons against you…'

'We don't want to lose everything,' Salazar smirked.

'This is my life you're gambling on!' Godric cried incredulously,

'And we have every confidence in you to make us rich…I mean win,' Salazar chuckled sheepishly,

Godric glanced at each of his companions, scrutinising them closely,

'Have you all wagered gold on this?'

'I didn't,' said Rowena, looking disapprovingly at her companions. Godric believed her instantly. When his gaze locked on Helga, the golden haired girl simply smiled innocently back. Godric shook his head,

'I don't even want to know,'

'Godric,' Hugh voice resounded across the lakeside, interrupting their conversation, 'it is time!'

A sombre silence descended on the group. Helga and Hamon wished him luck, the latter embracing him in a suffocating bear hug before he left. Salazar caught his eye, opened his mouth to speak, but for once, words failed him and thinking better of it, he simply nodded in encouragement. Godric smiled back. He knew Salazar's guilt over the current situation hung heavy on his heart, but Godric did not blame him. This was the fault of Bellême and Melusine's cunning manipulations and his own recklessness. At least a trial by battle meant that he'd have a wand, sword and the chance to put his life in his own hands.

Rowena lingered behind, looking as if she wished to say more. But as Godric began to inquire about what troubled her, she suddenly darted forward and embraced him.

'Live,' she breathed in his ear. Godric was stunned. When he moved to return it, Rowena hastily broke the embrace and hurried away, blushing more fiercely than Godric. She ignored Hugh's stern gaze as she fled past him, but as Godric ambled towards him, the younger man thought he saw the smallest of smirks breaching Hugh's stony expression. He shrewdly chose to ignore the castellans questioning gaze and let Hugh lead him away so that they could prepare for the duel to come.

It was sweltering in thick gambeson and leather jerkin he pulled on. They wouldn't do much against powerful spells or strong sword blows, but the gambeson would soften bruising spells and the leather could turn aside a weak attack. Hugh remained silent as he helped Godric dress and didn't comment when the young wizard pinned the silver brooch onto the thick leather at his shoulder. He traced a finger across the silver raven and silently wondered what luck it would bring him.

After buckling a thick belt about his waist, Godric sighed. This was it; time to prove before the eyes of wizarding Britain what kind of a man he would be. He could already hear the distant echo of an excitable crowd waiting for the trial to begin. He brushed sweat from his eyes, although he couldn't tell whether it was because of the heat or just his rising nerves.

'Ready?' Hugh finally broke the silence. Feeling nauseated, Godric could only nod stiffly, 'Lord Alain wanted to be the one to do this. He had some final words to say to you. Sadly, Lord Gofanon is enraged by what has come to pass and has requested Lord Alain's counsel, so he has sent me in his stead.' Godric nodded stiffly, wondering if his disappointment at Alain's absence had been so noticeable.

Hugh scrutinised Godric for a few heartbeats, before reaching up and drawing the sword that hung at his shoulder. The castellan looked down at it, before holding it out to Godric and urging him to take it. The younger man gasped in wonder as he reached out and took the blade by its hilt. He held it up, marvelling at how perfectly balanced it was, as well-crafted a sword as human hands could forge.

'This sword has not left my side for more than a score of years. Today, it is yours to use. I do not doubt that your opponent will have magically enhanced his own weaponry. He seems like a man of little honour, the type who would seek every advantage before the battle has even begun. I do not know what magic is in the brooch that maiden gave you. It may not hold any at all. Yet, this sword is warded against magic,' Godric looked closely at the sword, seeing the runic scrawl engraved into the blade, 'and it contains certain defences against spells. In all my years, you are the best I've trained. There are few men I'd deem worthy of wielding this sword, but you are one of them.'

Godric felt the sting of tears prickling his eyes. Never had his mentor ever shared such encouraging words. He tried to reply but found that his tongue had betrayed him. He had dreamed of holding this weapon and he suddenly felt the burning desire to wield this blade with the justice it deserved.

Hugh nodded, understanding what had remained unsaid. Then he led Godric from Alain's tent and towards the makeshift arena where the duel would take place. Godric could see a huge crowd gathering around the deadly arena. He tried to ignore the tumult of noise which echoed from it, fruitlessly attempting to calm his rising nerves. A pair of sparrowhawks danced overhead and Godric tried to determine whether this was a good omen or not, then decided it was a pointless task. He would not put his life in the hands of superstitions, but in his own skill with wand and sword.

'Remember,' Hugh told him as they walked, 'that you are not just fighting to acquire justice for Hadrian. Nor are you fighting simply to defend Lord Alain's honour. You are fighting for yourself. Bellême singled you out because he believes that you are weak. Prove the bastard wrong. This Killer-Bjorn may have more experience, but you have surprise in your favour and skill which far out strides his. They do not know how capable you are.'

As they neared the arena, a great cry rose from the throng of spectators and all eyes turned to watch him. Hugh strode out in front, using his size to intimidate the crowd into parting before them. Godric looked straight ahead, although he couldn't quite ignore pitying expressions on many faces or the scornful jeers from those who crowded around him.

When they were within a few yards of the arena, Hugh leant in close and whispered in his ear,

'Get close, use your sword and end it quick. Kill him if you get the chance,' and with this last whisper of advice, Hugh shunted Godric into the arena and left the fate of his protégé in Godric's own hands.

The duelling arena was a small, circular tract of land surrounded by a ring of stones which marked the arena's boundaries. Each stone had a grisly skull placed upon it, their eyeless sockets facing inwards and with a glowing mark scratched into their foreheads. These skulls were the guardians of the wards and would ensure that no spectators would be harmed by any wayward spells cast by the duellers. Their presence would also deter any intervention or aid the crowd may offer, for as soon as the trial by battle began no one but the two fighting men would be allowed to cross these boundaries until a victor had been decided.

Standing alone at the edge of this new stage, Godric paused to assess the environment. The site for the trial had been hastily decided. Small rocks and fallen branches littered the arena, which was a dust-covered ring of land with little pockets of grass sprouting haphazardly around them. A large crowd surrounded it, for unlike the Wizengamot, any wizard or Muggle was allowed to watch this spectacle of blood. Godric quickly located his uncle. Alain stood close by, his squires and retinue gathered loyally around him. Alain smiled encouragingly at Godric, then bent his head to listen as Hugh shouldered his way through the throng to whisper in his ear. Salazar and Hamon were smiling as confidently as they dared, joining in with the cascade of applause and cheers which exploded from Bayard, Isolde and the rest of Alain's retinue who were keen to demonstrate their support for one of their own.

Rowena was stood nearby, her foolish father and their fellow outlandish countrymen amassed around her. Helga stood at her friend's side, deciding that Rowena would need her presence more than her great-grandfather required it. They both smiled at him, but such was Godric's nausea that he could barely return it without threatening to vomit.

Melusine was perched on her throne like chair, casually sipping wine as she prepared to enjoy the entertainment to come. Godric felt a sudden surge of hatred whelm up inside him as she smiled wolfishly in his direction. Her supporters were clustered around her, all confident and waiting with eager anticipation for blood to be spilt. Bellême's expression was unreadable, whilst Melusine's lover Thorvald stood tall and as grim as ever, displaying no hint of fear for his kinsman. Then Killer-Bjorn emerged from the crowd and Godric had eyes for no one else.

Outwardly, Killer-Bjorn appeared confident and at ease, the opposite of Godric's ashen-faced, nerve-wrecked countenance. But the occasional twitch and the wildness which shone in his eyes betrayed his adrenaline and eagerness to begin what he thought would be a slaughter. His thatch of dark hair hung loose to his shoulders whilst his beard clinked and glistened as the iron rings he'd sowed into it shone in the pale sun and shuddered with every breath. He wore dark robes of midnight blue and in his hand was the gnarled staff of a Seidr wizard. A sheathed broadsword hung at his hip. Before the duel could begin, Melusine ordered the Seidr wizard to kneel beside her. Once she had his ear, she crooned something inaudibly into it, which made the Icelander's eyes widen in surprise. He murmured something in return, grinning eagerly before returning to the duelling ring. When their gazes met, Killer-Bjorn smiled slyly. Godric scowled back and deep within his soul, he felt his magic stir in anticipation.

The ring of spectators parted and Gofanon stalked forwards, conjuring large stone steps until a large podium was erected and he stood taller than all those who had mustered to watch the trial,

'Wizards of Britain,' he cried, using a sonorous charm to magically magnify his voice so that it carried over many rows of heads, 'we are here to witness a trial by battle. Killer-Bjorn the Icelander has sworn that Godric of Avalon slew his kinsman unjustly and has challenged him to a duel to the death. Godric of Avalon claims he is innocent. He has sworn on his magic that Killer-Bjorn lies and that Rurik Ragnarsson died fairly as he sought the death of the Lord of Avalon. Let this battle decide who speaks the truth. Once battle has joined, it can only end when one of these men lies dead on the field and only then can the truth be assured…'

Gofanon looked at the two combatants gravely.

'It is customary to salute your opponent,' he told them sternly. Neither Godric nor Killer-Bjorn moved. Gofanon chose to wait a few heartbeats until it was clear that this tradition would be ignored. He sighed and then raised his wand high above his head.

'When the horn call sounds,' he roared for all to hear, 'then the trial by battle will commence…'

Godric tightened his grip on Hugh's sword and gently pressed a hand for luck against the raven-brooch pinned to his jerkin. As his eyes never left Killer-Bjorn's, Godric missed the sly smile a keen-eyed Helga bestowed on Rowena as she nudged her with an elbow, triggering a bright blush from the older maiden. Rowena pointedly ignored her young friend's amusement, for she refused to take her eyes from Godric. Salazar and Hamon waited with baited breath, both silently praying for Godric's victory whilst Alain and Hugh appeared grimmer than many had ever seen them.

Godric's breathing stilled and time seemed to slow. His short life had led to this moment. It was time to prove that his childhood desire of becoming the greatest fae-knight in the wizarding world were more than just idle fantasies. Stood alone, with no one to aid him, he suddenly felt the overwhelming impulse to do as Rowena had urged. He wanted to live.

Sparks shot from Gofanon's wand and a high horn call resounded over the arena.

Godric was moving before the echo died…

Killer-Bjorn's staff twirled in his hand as he raised it high, a curse already on his lips. But Godric's youthful reflexes proved superior and he sent a spell hurtling towards the wild wizard. It hissed as it narrowly missed Killer-Bjorn's ear and exploded against the magical wards. The wards shimmered brightly in a shower of colourful sparks as they protected the crowd from wayward spells.

Killer-Bjorn's smile vanished, instantly replaced with a scowl. Then a barrage of spells issued forth from his staff, which shone with crackling magic. Godric dodged two blazing red hexes and summoned a shield to deflect a third, his feet moving as quickly as his wand-hand, content to test Killer-Bjorn's power. He realised early that whilst staffs stored more magic and were capable of distributing curses with the force of a thunderous striking hammer, they lacked the finesse and speed of a wand.

Twice Godric had a chance to strike, but both times he hesitated, unsure whether he should go on the offensive or hold back to let Killer-Bjorn exhaust himself, which gave his enemy a chance to recover. Then he was forced to hastily duck away from another colourful salvo, rolling aside from a vicious cutting curse which threw up a long line of dust and earth as it hewed the ground where Godric had stood a moment before.

Forced to watch with the rest of the crowd, Salazar was itching to draw his wand and rush to his brother's aid. Indeed, Hamon was thinking the same and seemed just as prepared to dart forward, heedless of the fact that he was unarmed. Yet the glistening barriers between the skull-laden stones hindered any advance they could hope to make. Salazar heard a growl beside him and he turned to find Alain staring piercingly at the scene playing out before them,

'Don't hesitate,' Alain hissed softly, his anger flaring as he saw his nephew commit to the same complacency which had plagued his magical duels for last few years.

Godric rolled to his feet, breathing hard and suddenly discomfited. Another curse burst into flames beside him and Godric was again forced to instinctively dance aside. He risked a glance at his opponent, only to find the wizard unflustered and he felt fury suddenly surge within his heart. Killer-Bjorn's last spell had been cast with the intention of engulfing the young wizard in flames and roast him alive. These were not flashy spells for the benefit of entertaining a crowd baying for blood. This was magic designed to harm, even to kill, and with this realisation, Godric came crashing back to reality. He was not in Avalon's tiltyard. He was not sparring with his childhood friends and there would be no reprieve if he made a mistake. He was in a duel to the death and if he lost then his life was forfeit and his honour discredited. The anger in his heart turned to a chill fury, as cool as the deadly steel in his hand.

Godric dodged another spell, then cried out loudly as he raised his wand. No spell flew towards Killer-Bjorn. Instead, it appeared as if all the debris which littered the duelling arena had been summoned towards Godric. Yet it did not strike him but seemed to be forming a human-like figure made from stone and wooden shards until it stood between Godric and Killer-Bjorn, hulking and prepared to defend the wizard who had conjured it into existence.

The impressive feat of magic caused an awed murmur to rattle through the crowd. The silent golem stood as tall as a man and despite it lacking a head, one arm and had several gaping holes in its torso, the golem seemed capable of fulfilling the role Godric had summoned it to play. Transfiguration had always been a particular forte of his, a discipline of magic well-suited to Godric's vivid imagination. In truth, Godric had taken the idea from his own English heritage and the shield-bearers of old. Those shield-bearers were like the aged Siward, whose oath-sworn loyalty demanded that they stand, fight and die to protect their liege lords. It was the code of a warrior which was now rarely practised and had long passed into legend. Now Godric used their legacy for his own purpose.

It didn't take long for his opponent to respond. A venomous volley of spells flew forth with deadly intent and Godric urged the golem forward to meet them. The half-formed golem leapt on, ignoring the thunderous blows delivered by the first spells which impacted against it and the crowd gasped as the young apprentice of Avalon was finally able to retaliate with spells of his own, firing them from behind the safety of the golem's looming figure.

Then a sizzling curse tore the golem's arm from its shoulder. It reared back from the force, temporarily knocked off balance. But before it could right itself, Killer-Bjorn twirled his staff and pointed it directly at the stone sentinel. There was a flash of white light and suddenly the golem exploded outwards, scattering stone, splinters and billows of dust across the arena. Blinded by the dust cloud, Godric heard Killer-Bjorn's wild bellow and instinctively threw up a shield charm.

As abruptly as his shield shimmered into existence, it was struck by a great orb of seething blue flame. Godric's hasty defences shattered instantly and with a cry he was thrown from his feet, sent spinning backwards before coming to an unceremonious halt when he landed prostrate on the flat of his back.

Godric hastily scrambled to his knees. He was winded, gasping for breath and with his eyes stinging and half-blinded by dust, Godric tried to scramble to his feet. He seemed unharmed, the padded gambeson having soaked up most of the crunching force he had landed with. But his mind quickly realised that whilst his sword was still clasped in his hand, his wand was missing. As the haze of dust slowly shifted with the breeze, he found it lying amidst a small patch of parched grass, at least ten yards from him. His eyes widened, for the distance was too great for him to reach before his opponent cursed him. Killer-Bjorn was prowling the ring, searching for a more advantageous viewpoint through the dust cloud.

Crippled with inaction, Godric remained motionless as his enemy blindly circled him. A sudden laugh pierced his fretful and disordered mind. Mocking laughter, eerily similar to that of the masked spectre who had haunted his nightmares for so many years. With a swift glance, he discovered that it was Bellême who laughed. The powerful magnate watched on, chuckling in amusement at Godric's paltry efforts. Godric's eyes turned to the figure beside the wretched baron. Melusine lounged resplendently upon her litter, her fair face smiling victoriously as she saw her vile plans bearing fruit. His anger flared, willing him to rise to his feet. As he tried to stand, the jeers of the crowds seeped into his consciousness and his anger flared brighter at the taunts.

'Channel it,' Godric heard Hugh's voice order, drilled deep into his mind through hours spent on Avalon's tiltyard, forceful and broaching no argument.

Standing stiffly amidst the baying crowd, Salazar barely had the courage to watch as Killer-Bjorn raised his staff and cast a spell which dispersed the blinding dust cloud to reveal a dishevelled Godric crouched upon the ground.

'Get up,' the young wizard heard Alain snarl fiercely. Standing nearby, Rowena seemed unable to turn away even as fear clawed at her heart.

Godric lumbered to his feet and stumbled aside as a series of spells raked the ground beside where he had fallen. Killer-Bjorn's rate of spell-fire had slowed and Godric was certain that his opponent's last spell had been cast with the intention of narrowly missing. Killer-Bjorn's smile was arrogantly confident as if he thought the battle was already won. The Seidr wizard was toying with him now, content to prolong the entertainment for the benefit of their bloodthirsty crowd. Excitement rippled through them, for now, Godric had regained his feet, it was clear to all that his wand was lost. He had been disarmed of his magic, with nothing more than a Muggle's sword to defend him against a staff-wielding mage who possessed a killer's instinct. They assumed the trial by battle would soon be over and this bloody ritual complete.

What they did not expect was Godric's sudden defiance. Standing tall, he released a roaring battle cry before charging towards Killer-Bjorn with his sword raised. It was an unexpected move, for it stunned everyone including Killer-Bjorn who lurched to a surprised halt as Godric, spurred on by the derision of the crowd, burst from the dispersing dust. The young wizards face didn't betray the desperation of a man soon to die or the anger of a man raging against his fate. Rather it showed a cold serenity which blazed with a killing intent not commonly found in such a young wizard.

The blood of his forefathers had awoken in Godric's veins and the battle-calm, the fabled state of a warrior, had finally descended.

Killer-Bjorn recovered quickly and levelled his staff at the young wizard surging towards him. Godric, as agile as a prancing stag, dodged aside from his opponent's first spell and ducked a second, his momentum unchanged as he closed the gap between them. Then a third curse suddenly crackled into being just as Godric reached Killer-Bjorn. It was too late to avoid it, but already the sword of Hugh was flashing in his hand and Godric deflected the spell away with the magically enhanced blade. The sword, reinforced by magic, didn't shatter and with a final cry of elation, Godric leapt forward, bringing the sword back and ready to strike.

The Icelander was unsheathing his own sword even as his eyes widened in disbelief. Killer-Bjorn was no dual-wielder, but like all Seidr he was accomplished in the art of swordplay. The combatant's blades clashed twice before Killer-Bjorn, twirling his staff deftly in his hand, brought both his weapons swinging down. Godric's sword rose to meet them, bringing the blade and staff to a sudden halt as the two duelling wizards began to strain against each other. Killer-Bjorn had a strength born from experience and a lifetime of hardship, but Godric was both taller and broader than the Icelander. The glow from Killer-Bjorn's staff burned Godric's flesh, but he took no heed of his discomfort, for he concentrated on his opponent as the Icelander snarled and spat in his face.

'Just lie down and die, little puppy-dog!' he hissed, spewing his foul, rancid breath from a maw of rotting teeth, 'you can do nothing against this wolf.'

Godric barely heard him as his muscles strained against the Icelander's strength. Dimly, he could hear Hugh's voice resonating in his mind. Bastards survive, for that was what knights were and there was no honour on a battlefield, just a will to survive, fight and win. Suddenly, his mother's voice flooded his senses, telling him that he would one day have to choose who he wanted to be and the memory of her name for him, her brave little lion, gave a sudden surge of strength to his body.

'If you're a wolf,' Godric snarled back, 'then I am a lion.'

Godric swung back his head and launched it forwards. Blood splattered across his face as his forehead crashed into Killer-Bjorn's face and Godric felt his opponents nose crumple beneath his skull. The pressure on his blade was instantly released as Killer-Bjorn whirled away in pain and shock. The reaction of the crowds crashed over them, most crying out in surprise whilst Alain's gathered retinue roared their approval. Salazar and Hamon cheered loudest of all, recognising a move born from Godric's lessons under Bayard's bruising tuition. The young wizard glanced to where Melusine's faction gathered and saw that the witch's smile had vanished, whilst Bellême had fallen silent. Watching on, Helga whooped with delighted laughter as Rowena felt an unfamiliar sensation at Godric's display of an ignoble brutal streak she hadn't anticipated him possessing. A flutter of excitement burned deep within her at the realisation.

Back in the arena of battle, Godric's pressure was relentless as he pursued his stricken enemy. A flurry of blows crashed down upon Killer-Bjorn, who hastily knocked them away before lunging with his own blade. Godric parried it aside and the Icelander yelled out a spell, his staff suddenly bursting into flame as he twirled it into an attack at the same time Godric swung his sword to meet it. One blow deflected it downwards, another parried Killer-Bjorn's sword aside and then Hugh's blade was swinging around in a bright ark. A sharp crack resounded over the arena and molten sparks showered the area. Killer-Bjorn's staff was as thick as a small hand and protected by many runic-spells, but Hugh's sword had been forged by the by the finest swordsmiths in Christendom and now it proved its worth by hewing the Icelander's staff in two as easily as a knife carving butter.

Killer-Bjorn didn't have time to register his loss before Godric's elbow crashed into his face, breaking the Icelander's teeth. Only a hasty backhanded swipe kept Godric at bay, stopping the young wizard's eager pursuit. Both combatants took a welcome pause from their trial, breathing heavily with exertion. Now they were both wandless and the duel would be decided on swords alone, for neither combatant could dive for Godric's discarded wand without the other taking advantage of their momentary defencelessness. Killer-Bjorn's smile had been wiped from his blood-splattered face. His glare, wilder than ever because of the throbbing pain from his broken teeth and nose, promised instant and violent retribution. Godric's gaze remained emotionless, giving nothing away.

With a keening yell, Killer-Bjorn charged again, his broadsword hissing through the air towards his younger opponent, who dived forward to meet him. The clash of steel rang out as the duellers exchanged a flurry of blows, fleetingly sprang apart and then darted into another attack. It was clear that they were evenly matched. Godric was the greater swordsman, with huge potential if he survived the day. But he lacked the cunning experience that the Icelander possessed in abundance and which had seen him victorious in many duels. It was only Godric's youthful agility and strength which kept him alive during the next exchange as Killer-Bjorn rained huge blows upon Godric.

Both men were bleeding. Godric's face was cut from ear to forehead, a wound he'd received when his tiring reflexes had proved too slow to fully avoid his enemy's frenzied hacks. It now bled profusely and half-blinded his right eye. A sword blow had also struck his left shoulder and whilst it was bleeding heavily, at least he could still use his arm. But Killer-Bjorn was also hurting, for his robes were torn and stained red on the left side where he'd narrowly avoided being disembowelled. Blood also dribbled down his neck, for in another test of strength between the combatants, Godric had managed to throw off Killer-Bjorn's assault and the Icelander's lapse in balance had gifted the young wizard the opportunity to strike. It was a clumsy and wild blow, but it still found Killer-Bjorn's neck with enough force to send the Seidr reeling away choking. It was a killing blow, but this was a battle between wizards and the iron rings which hung from Killer-Bjorn's beard were charmed with protective spells. Instead of tearing out the Icelander's throat, the rings had enough strength to deflect Godric's own magically enhanced blade. As they finally disengaged, a few of the iron rings dropped to the ground, hewed from the hair and severed in several places.

They panted heavily, their breath rasping in their throats. Although his lungs burned, his head stung and his muscles ached from the continuous train, Godric's world was now inhabited by only one man. All his focus was directed towards the Icelander, who seemed similarly affected for the conceited smile had finally faded. Godric was so focused that he was ignorant of the concerned looks he was receiving from his friends. Salazar had winced and turned ashen-faced when Godric had received his head-wound. Rowena's reaction had been far more noticeable. She had spent most of the battle in strained silence, but when Godric had almost had his head carved apart by the Icelander's sword, she had gasped loudly in horror and had gripped Helga's arm so tightly that younger girl cried out from the pain of it. The unexpected response had earned her a puzzled look from her bemused father, who had been watching the duel with rising excitement and awe. He quickly dismissed it, returning his attention to the battle at hand. Helga threatened to jinx Rowena if she dared do that again.

Godric missed it all, for he used the much-needed respite to assess the situation and plan his next move. He knew he would have to end it soon or Killer-Bjorn's experience, as wearied as it was, would soon begin to tell. As he stared at Killer-Bjorn, he noticed that the Icelander appeared to be glancing at someone in the crowd and following his gaze, Godric saw that his opponents gaze strayed to Melusine, who sat amidst the Icelander's loudest supporters. He remembered how it had been Melusine's words which had encouraged Killer-Bjorn and a fledgeling idea began to take shape in his mind.

The next time their sword-dance met, they approached each other slowly and without crying out in an effort to conserve their flagging energy. However, they had only traded a few strokes before their blades locked again. As they strained against the other, Godric took his chance.

'What has she promised you?' Godric grunted between clenched teeth.

'Honour,' the Icelander spat back, bloodied saliva spraying Godric's face,

'Honour?' Godric growled mockingly, 'you have no honour! Is it gold? Weapons? Power?'

Killer-Bjorn grunted but didn't reply. Godric grimaced,

'Or was it her body?'

A furious scowl darkened the Icelander's features, but his silence was telling and Godric knew he'd struck the truth. During the brief interlude in their fight, Godric had observed how his opponent had sent fleeting glances towards his patron and he'd recalled the memory of how Killer-Bjorn's gaze had yearningly lingered on Melusine throughout their meeting. Loyalty and honour had not influenced his support for the witch, for it was interweaved and overpowered with the lust and passion he felt for a woman who had taken his fairer cousin as her lover and treated him as nothing but a valuable yet wild, untameable hound. Now, with such cunning that it would have brought a proud smile to Salazar's lips, Godric wielded this truth like a blade.

Godric laughed grimly,

'Bloody fool,' Godric snarled scornfully, 'She lied! Even Melusine wouldn't rut with a hog!'

His barb had the desired effect, for Godric's piercing revelation finally struck a nerve. Deep within his soul, Killer-Bjorn knew it to be true and he expressed his hurt in the only way violent men of his heritage could. He went berserk.

Killer-Bjorn roared like one of the huge frost giants which stalked the mountains of his homeland. His rage erupted in the fabled state of the berserk, those men who were so consumed with fury that they became like wild beasts in battle, finally consumed him. The air around him seemed to shimmer with untamed magic and such was the force of his anger that he was able to throw Godric away from him before launching a furious assault with renewed vigour. He was battle-mad with bloodlust and the huge blows he launched at Godric had the strength to sever the head from an ox as a chorus of encouragement and shouting roared from the crowd. But Godric kept his head and with a sobering coolness he parried aside each furious attack until his arms screamed with aching stress.

Godric managed to stay alive until the time to act finally arrived. Killer-Bjorn surged forwards to renew his assault, Godric deflected a flurry of blows before dodging a thrust and lashing out with a well-aimed kick. Killer-Bjorn was bowled over, rolled quickly to his feet and charged again, his mouth frothing and spitting with hatred. But Godric was already darting away, sprinting as fast as his labouring breath would allow towards where his fallen wand lay abandoned. The Icelander immediately followed in murderous pursuit. The crowd roared louder, sensing that the battle was nearing its end.

Sprinting because his life depended on it, the young wizard dived unceremoniously for his wand. Godric yelled out as his fingers brushed against the wand, almost slipped away and then finally managed to grasp it. Godric rolled, letting his momentum drive him on as he sprang to his feet. Killer-Bjorn, grinning as madly as any fiend and with the blood of a berserk burning in his veins, reached him the instant Godric rose up and lunged with the intent of plunging his blade through the small of Godric's back. In that moment, the crowd stilled and only a combined cry from Salazar, Hamon and Rowena broke the sudden silence. Then as one they gasped, gaping in shock as the duel came to an abrupt and violent halt…

For as Killer-Bjorn's sword thrust forward with the killing stroke, Godric suddenly spun aside. In the same moment, he pointed the wand at his opponent's blade and roared.

'EXPULSO!'

The spell forced the sword down with jarring strength, grinding the blade's point into the earth. Killer-Bjorn stumbled forward, overbalancing and cried out in agony, his muscles tearing as his blade was wrenched from his grasp. Still twirling deftly as he spun away from Killer-Bjorn's killing thrust and his wand burst into life, Godric brought his sword swinging around and delivered a blow worthy of a true dual-wielder and as strong as any he had ever struck.

Killer-Bjorn's scream was cut abruptly short.

Blood splattered the arena. The Icelander stumbled forward for a few uncertain steps, then collapsed into an undignified heap, twitching with blood spurting over the earth until his body finally fell still. His head was completely severed from his body and it bounced twice before rolling to a stop in the dust, leaving a trail of iron rings and gore in its wake. The mad grin was still transfixed upon his face, but those wild eyes, now wide and unseeing, stared out from where the head had fallen towards the witch whose ambitions had sent him to his death.

Godric stood above the corpse. His stroke had cut into the nape of the Icelander's neck. After all, he was a Seidr wizard and it was inconceivable to think that he would ever turn his back on an enemy. No magical rings had been sowed into the wild locks and his neck was unable to resist Godric's blow. It was Killer-Bjorn's downfall. Now, Hugh's sword hung limp in Godric's hand, Killer-Bjorn's blood streaming down the blades fuller until it dribbled from the tip and formed a small gory pool at his feet. Godric breathed deeply, his eyes remaining closed.

Then the crowd roared louder than they ever had before and as Killer-Bjorn's blood soaked into the dust, the boundary wards flickered and finally died. The noise hit Godric as suddenly as a wave thrown from a storm raged sea and as he blinkingly tried to comprehend what had just happened, he saw Alain's retinue charging towards him. Salazar and Hamon were the first to reach him and they threw their arms around their young friend and engulfed him, shouting incoherently over the deafening clamour. Then Alain was there, beaming brighter than Godric had ever seen him and his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Pride radiated from his uncle. Hugh was at his shoulder and as their gazes met, he saw the castellan offer him the slightest hint of a satisfied smile before nodding approvingly, his pride in Godric's achievement matching Alain's. Stranded in the middle of a sea of awe and jubilation, he only managed to catch the briefest glimpse of two maidens cheering with the rest of the crowd. Bright tears slid unchecked down Rowena's slender face as she beamed at him, her eyes glistening with the promise of the future.

Finally, as the full realisation of what he had achieved finally consumed him and the beast within his heart roared victoriously. Amidst the maelstrom, Godric turned to face the woman whose ambitions had led him to this trial by battle. Melusine's glare was venomous, her violet eyes were more chilling than they had ever been. In contrast, Bellême looked unconcerned by the death of an ally and a thoughtful smile danced at his lips. He watched the younger wizard with an expression more unnerving than his fury, burning within those dark eyes.

Surrounded by his friends, Godric stared back, tall, valiant and defiant like a wizarding-warrior from a long gone age, with a wand and bloodied sword clasped in his hands and defiance shining from his eyes. Salazar's words had been proven true. His death may be yearned for by many, but now the wolves knew that Godric of Avalon was not an easy wizard to kill…

Here we go. Godric's starting to exhibit some of the skills that will help him become, as Rowling said, the greatest dueller of his time, whilst Salazar is becoming a gifted orator/politician. Hopefully Rowena and Helga are also showing that they're not just fragile maidens but are also starting to show glimpses of potential. Sorry for the long wait, but I really needed to nail these chapters as they are quite important for both the rest of this story and also the others to come. Hope they are worth the wait. I've got a fair few more chapters finished now so I'll hopefully be looking to post more in the coming days. Thanks for everyone whose reviewed/following the story. It means a lot...