Isle of Fire

The defenders of Avalon sped away from the clearing, leaving the Lord of Avalon and his loyal retainers in the woods behind them. None looked back. Their hearts were set on reaching Avalon before Bellême descended upon the castle and it wasn't long before they felt a brief chill soak through them as they broke through the enchantments Alain had constructed to trap the defeated raiders in the clearing.

Led by the astute Gawain, they followed long forgotten paths through the wooded hills. Yet, despite the protective charms cast upon them and which should have guaranteed that their flight was not hindered, the Enchantress's keen eyes soon noticed that they were being pursued. A dozen mounted men chased them, but the horses which Gervais bred proved superior, enduring the dangers of riding through densely wooded valleys until they descended from the mountainous terrain with a swiftness none of Melusine's followers could hope to match. A few stray crossbow bolts and spells were sent after them by unseen enemies lurking in the undergrowth, but they failed to sustain any injury or bring the company to a halt. Efnysien, his blood fuelled by his impetuous nature, was eager to turn back so that they could slaughter the miscreants with their own spells and spears.

Salazar overruled him, recognising the urgency of reaching Avalon before Bellême and knowing that the company could ill afford to sacrifice any of the few swords they could muster to defend Avalon, swords they could not waste on a worthless band of opportunistic mercenaries. Efnysien looked ready to argue until Godric waded into the quarrel in support of Salazar, forcing the Welshman to chunter sullenly about cowardice and dishonour.

Efnysien did have his uses, for he knew the Welsh hills and with Gawain's experience to assist him, they steered the band safely into the grassy lowlands. In their haste and due to the presence of Bellême's kinsmen on the Welsh border, the company was forced to seek passage across the Severn at a lower point where the great river flowed too fast for a mounted rider to cross safely without a vessel to carry them.

It was a treacherous place, with mud flats and tricky waters which had claimed many lives, but the company managed to persuade a few grime-splattered locals to guide them. Godric suspected that a retinue of armed warriors would have been sufficient enough to encourage the natives to lend them their aid. However, he still insisted on giving them what spare silver they had for their troubles, for the company would have stood no chance of navigating the unpredictable currents and clogging mud to reach the English bank; not without travelling along roads which would take them perilously close to the lands of their enemies.

Once they had crossed the Severn, the defenders of Avalon thundered south. Only once did the company seek a place to rest and as night fell around them, the weary band settling down and hoping to catch a few hours of troubled sleep before rising and riding on. Godric's slumber was plagued with a restlessness which hindered his search for rest. Fortunately, Salazar was also unable to sleep and soon sidled over to converse with his friend.

'We've been betrayed,' Salazar said in a hushed whisper, careful not to wake any of their companions. He needn't have feared, for being overheard when Hamon's snoring drowned out everything other than the incessant chirping of insects was almost impossible.

'But who betrayed us?'

'I don't know,' Salazar hissed in frustration, 'wizards excel at treachery and perfected the art of betrayal and intrigue long ago. Whoever did it, I suspect that they will have needed some knowledge of Avalon to bypass our defences.'

'Then that only complicates matters,' Godric sighed, thinking back to the many guests the Lord and Lady of Avalon had hosted over his years on the island, 'Alain and Morwenna never secluded themselves.'

Salazar nodded, before cursing bitterly.

'I swear that if Avalon falls because of this…' The young wizard drifted into silence, his anger choking him. He didn't have to say more, for Godric knew his friend would seek revenge against those responsible for any hurt done to them.

Nothing more was said between them that night and shortly after Salazar's vehement promise, the two knights roused their companions and were soon back on the road, racing away towards the marshes which surrounded Alain's ancient stronghold. When they crested the hilly expanse north of Avalon's dense marshland, the company finally came to an abrupt halt. It was Salazar who broke the stunned silence by cursing in rage as his companions looked towards the horizon in horror.

They were greeted by the sight of a black cloud breaking through the mist; a cloud of ash and flame which swirled up to into the sky to cast a great shadow over the marshes, for Avalon was burning.

Yet, hope remained and Godric's companions needed no encouragement to spur their horses into a gallop until they reached the boundaries of Alain's fiefdom and plunged into Avalon's marshes. The wetlands were eerily silent and the cries of waterfowl and strange creatures had fallen quiet. The wizards amongst them shivered, for their magic could sense that the atmosphere around them felt wrong as if the ancient sorcery which had saturated the marshes for so long had been broken. But even their foreboding could not hamper the company boldly persevering as they cantered into the shrouded mists and riding along twisting paths towards where the Ferryman always waited to greet weary travellers.

Only to discover that the ancient watchman was gone.

The company wrenched on their reins when they saw it, gaping in shock. The Ferryman no longer stood at his ancient post. The Ferryman had fallen, it's trunk hewed by axes and spells so that half its willowy bulk lay broken and submerged beneath the marshland's stinking bogs. No traces of its old magic remained and no blue lights emerged to guide their way to Avalon. Hopelessness and despair battered them, fuelled by the acrid stench of burning ash and smoke tickled their senses.

Surprisingly, it was Salazar who could not resist venting his frustrations. He fell to his knees and repeatedly beat the moist earth with his fist, submerging it in the foul smelling water. He left it there, his strength seeping away and his thoughts beginning to succumb to the darkness as all hope seemed to drain from the company.

'What do we do now?' Isobel inquired in a defeated voice. She clearly thought that venturing into the surrounding mist unguided was not an appealing prospect.

'Isn't it obvious?' Efnysien spat into the marsh reeds, 'Avalon's doomed and we're fucked.'

'We have no other choice,' Godric growled testily. The sound of the Welshman's voice was beginning to grate on him and coinciding with the dire nature of their predicament, Godric failed miserably at hiding it.

'We bloody do,' Efnysien exclaimed, 'look, I hate Bellême and his Norman kin as much as the next man. But we've all heard of his reputation. Not even you, Gryffindor, can hope to defeat that devil.'

'Then you think we should turn back?' Lancel asked, looking appalled at the mere notion of fleeing from battle.

Unnoticed by his squabbling companions, Salazar's brow furrowed in bemusement.

'What the…' Salazar murmured quietly, convinced that he had felt something suddenly stir from his still submerged hand. Unfortunately, his voice was lost in the rising maelstrom caused by the argument breaking out behind him.

'Face reality,' Efnysien argued, gesturing wildly at the mist around them, 'we're lost. There's no way through this mist and Avalon burns already. We're too late...'

'You yellow-bellied bastard,' Hamon growled darkly from where he stood beside the Ferryman's mutilated trunk. Efnysien would have cursed the Muggle for the insult, but as his hand twitched towards his concealed wand, the Welshman became aware of Gawain lurking at Hamon's shoulder. The archer, whose prowess with his great bow had contributed to him making a name for himself as a wizard-killer, shook his head inconspicuously as his fingers tenderly nursed beeswax into a bowstring, radiating a wild menace few could match. Gawain didn't say a word, but his presence alone deterred Efnysien from acting rashly.

'Godric,' said Salazar, his eyes widening in realisation as he felt another strange sensation stir in his hand again. A small ripple fluttered across the surface of the murky water in response to the painless throb. His friend didn't hear him, for Godric was glaring at Efnysien.

'We ride on,' Godric replied sternly,

'Who are you to issue orders to me?' Efnysien barked angrily, tearing his scowl away from Hamon so that he could confront Godric. The Welshman may have been older than Godric and broad in body, but the younger man still looked down on him and refused to be intimidated by Efnysien's blustering, 'your no lord who can treat us like elven slaves or a coterie of fools. Why do you deserve to lead us?'

'Godric is the best in battle,' Hamon asserted,

'It's true;' Isobel agreed sensibly, 'in our time together, Gryffindor has defeated more enemies and won a reputation none of us can match.' Her retainers nodded their support, although her brother Lancel briefly looked conflicted. The valiant Breton had fought in many conflicts in his native homeland and he was unused to having such glowing praise heaped on the shoulders of another man, let alone a potential rival. Reluctant to outwardly appear irked at his own sister's support for Godri's claim to the mantle of leadership before his own, he still remained too noble to speak out, for he was the kind of wizard who spoke through actions rather than words. In comparison, Efnysien could not hide his displeasure,

'He's not even born to lead,' Efnysien continued to rant, sneering at the younger man, 'it's true isn't it? I once heard Lord Gofanon confide in my father. Gryffindor may be the nephew of the Lord of Avalon, but his blood is not pure.'

'The outburst provoked a rumble of anger from the onlookers, especially from the men of Avalon. The Enchantress groaned, shaking her head in exasperation at the Welshman's folly.

'You certainly live up to your namesake Efnysien,' she berated him, 'the kinsman of Bran the Blessed may have been brave in battle, but he was also foolish beyond belief. Remember that it was his selfish nature led to the ruin of everyone he cared for, even himself.'

Efnysien only heard half of the Breton witch's reprimand. The rest was lost as Godric reached him. Taller and stronger than his would-be rival, Godric grabbed the Welshman by his cloak and hauled him to the edge of the boggy water. Efnysien's foot splashed into the marsh, disturbing an unseen presence which slithered away with a vicious snarl. A yelp escaped the Welshman as he hastily retrieved his foot from the water, gulping in alarm.

'I do not want a quarrel with you,' Godric growled curtly, 'nor do I pursue any rivalry. But I was chosen by my uncle to lead you and I will neither betray Lord Alain's trust nor disregard the duty he has burdened me with. One day, Efnysien, you will lead your own retainers, but not today…'

The onlookers gawped in shock at Godric's forceful display. None of Efnysien's Welsh kinsmen moved to interfere on his behalf.

'Pureblood or not, I lead here,' Godric continued unchecked, 'and Salazar with me. So hold your tongue and prove your courage.'

'And if I don't?' Efnysien muttered mulishly, stubbornly refusing to heed Godric's warning.

'If you hinder us,' Godric promised, his own anger and frustration with the Welshman momentarily getting the better of him, 'then I'll rip it out and I'll shove my sword so far up your arse that the blade will replace it.'

Efnysien gasped and the rest of their companions did the same. They were all rendered speechless, for the humble man they knew Godric to be had been replaced by a warrior who was confident with his ironclad will. Having never seen his misplaced rival in battle, it was the first time Efnysien had witnessed this side of Avalon's youngest knight and his threat and intimidating presence robbed the Welshman of any argument he was tempted to make. Silence fell over the company, who wallowed in despair at the infighting which would only serve to strengthen Bellême and make their momentous task even more difficult.

'Godric,' Salazar beckoned again and this time his urgent tone succeeded in breaking through his friend's anger. Shoving a spluttering Efnysien away, Godric went to Salazar and knelt amongst the reeds beside him, the rest of their companions clustering behind them. Salazar barely noticed their arrival, for he was staring in disbelief at where his hand disappeared beneath the water's surface and where an orb of flickering violet light slowly emerged from the deeps. The flaming ball of light omitted a spectral glow as it broke through the bog to hang low over the rippling water. It was duller than Godric had ever seen it, but it was there, a light to guide them in the shrouding darkness.

Not all of Avalon's magic had been destroyed and memories of Morwenna's blessing as she scarred his palm during his knighting ceremony came flooding back to Godric.

"You have been blessed by the Sacred Isle and your heart will forever sense its pull, whether as a place to take rest or to defend it when Avalon calls for aid."

What the Lady of Avalon had sworn proved to be true and Salazar's scar summoned the stricken magic of the Ferryman to guide them. Incredulous laughter broke out as hands clapped Salazar on the back and praised his intelligence. Leaving their horses beside the fallen stump, the company gathered their weapons and strode into the mists.

The going was slow, punctuated by Salazar being forced to place his scarred hand back into the freezing swamps to once again summon the ailing spirits as their spectral brethren shimmered and died in the company's wake, their ancient duties fulfilled. However, when the Isle of Apples finally loomed out of the veil of mist and smoke, the company paused briefly as those who had never seen the fabled land marvelled at the sight before them. Efnysien was amongst them, fleetingly putting aside his brooding mood to gaze in wonder at the towering island.

'The kingdom of my ancestors,' he breathed disbelievingly, 'I never thought I'd be blessed enough to see it.' The Bretons murmured their agreement, for their own heritage was born from the same realms of myth as their Welsh cousins.

However, an unexpected and unwelcome surprise awaited them.

Crouching and hiding amongst the wetland undergrowth, they could see six guards lurking at the foot of the path which climbed to Avalon's summit. The would-be defenders outnumbered the few men Bellême had left at the island's foot, but there were enough men-at-arms guarding the path to make a fight of it. Godric and his companions could not give battle, for the sound of clashing weapons would alert the remainder of Bellême's men to their presence, a risk they could not take if they were to reach the castle and the unknown allies Alain had commanded them to summon.

Once discovered, Godric knew that the enemy would not rush down the hill to face them. Bellême was too experienced a war leader to sacrifice the advantage of the summit. Instead, he would wait for Godric and his companions to fight their way to the castle through spells and swords to where exhausted from clambering up the steep whilst defending against the missiles hurled at them, they would be swiftly slaughtered. If they wished to reach the white castle alive, then they would have to take a different road.

Leaving Salazar and Isobel to weave the enchantments which would ensure that they wouldn't be discovered by the soldiers nearby, Godric put the question to the company.

'What other paths?' Gervais asked in exasperation when Godric voiced their dilemma, 'they're guiding the only road to Avalon unless you mean to climb the crag? Salazar nodded, concurring with Gervais.

'I'm not clambering up Eira's fall,' Salazar remarked, 'the chances of us all reaching the summit unscathed is impossible. We'd be too exhausted from scaling the crag, even if we used magic to aid us.'

'Then it is hopeless,' Lancel sighed bleakly, 'we have already lost.'

'No,' Godric interjected, 'there is another way.'

'Then enlighten us?' Efnysien growled sharply, his hands trembling and barely able to contain their reckless desire to start throwing spells at the Norman guards. Godric didn't answer. He was gazing at his closest friends, waiting for them to reach the same conclusion. Surprisingly, it dawned on Hamon first.

'The caves,' he exclaimed and despite it being years since their venture into the deeps below Avalon, the young knight shuddered in dismay at the memory. Godric saw Salazar visibly tense, his skin paling.

'Caves?' Efnysien asked, vexed by their silence as everyone watched the three knights of Avalon curiously.

'Merlin's caves,' Salazar breathed,

'You can't mean,' Isobel gasped, unable to believe that such an ancient legend was true, 'surely they're just a myth?'

'No,' Salazar continued, all enthusiasm for the venture draining from him, 'we've seen them. As children, we once delved into their depths and chanced our luck with the spirits there.'

'Then what is stopping us?' Lancel asked and a murmur of agreement ran through the gathered retainers, 'if children can survive it, then there is no reason why armed warriors should fear it.'

'It's what dwells there that we fear,' Godric replied ominously, 'and the reason we only visited the caves once.'

'We're all blooded, even the woman,' Efnysien grunted, ignoring the withering look Isobel levelled at him, in order to glare at Godric; who the Welshman didn't consider to have reached manhood. However, having already made his feelings about their rivalry, Godric chose to dismiss the unsubtle insult for more pressing concerns, 'I'm sure whatever monsters inhabit these caves will be no match for us.'

'Not these creatures,' Salazar replied, staring at Efnysien without a trace of his usual contempt, 'these are creatures so evil that no spell works against them; monsters who suck all the joy from the world. Look at Godric; even the bravest amongst us fear to tread in Merlin's caves again, for he knows that the curses spun by Nimue the Last still lurk in the dark, as potent as the day she cast them in order to ensnare the greatest wizard to ever be born and keep her evil deeds secret.'

This time, a shudder of fear for the unknown ran through the crowd.

'I reckon we should leave these ancient spirits be,' Gervais muttered uneasily, whilst Delwen nodded fervently, scooting closer as the horse breeder slung an arm protectively across the girl's shoulders protectively.

'We have no choice,' Salazar said sourly, 'Bellême's followers are guarding the road to the gate and the glades have been torched. Merlin's caves have remained hidden for centuries, with only an unfortunate few ever discovering them since their founder's murder. I doubt a stranger like Bellême would have found them. If we are to defend Avalon, then it is the only way.'

'Then lead on, Slytherin,' Lancel finally spoke up, waving the younger wizard ahead.

The rest of the company nodded and gripped their weapons tightly, ready to dare the mysterious caves, however unwillingly. If it was the only way, then honour demanded they walk it.

'Can you remember where the entrance is?' Hamon asked his friend as the warriors looked on expectantly. Salazar hesitated, before reluctantly shaking his head, seemingly lost.

'I know where it is,' Godric revealed, 'or I will do when I see it. I engraved a mark in a nearby tree, just in case we ever needed it again.'

The group edged away from the road, skirting around the wooded foot of the island and used the trees and mists to shroud them until they came upon the solitary willow tree. Clearing away the thorns and nettles with spells and spears, Godric finally beheld the bark he'd marked that long ago day and the entrance to Merlin's caves which lay behind it. The band eyed the dark mouth cautiously, half expecting one of the monsters they'd been told about to leap out at them and it seemed to breathe an unnerving aura of evil and uncertainty. But they were warriors who had rode with the Lord of Avalon to war and so they forced themselves to summon the courage to face the dangers which skulked unseen in the dark.

'If you hear whispering,' Salazar said as he lit his wand and led the way into the enveloping darkness, 'speak out and keep a close eye on the person in front of you. Whatever you do, do not follow it.' Those who had never before entered the labyrinth of caves looked unnerved by the warning, determined to heed Salazar's advice. At the back of the armed band, Godric and Hamon exchanged a knowing glance and rested their hands on their sheathed swords. They lingered at the rear of the band to ensure that no one deviated from the path or fell behind, lured away by whatever foul creatures wished to feast upon them.

The young knights of Avalon had forgotten how dark Merlin's caves were, for not even the lights beaming from their wands seemed able to pierce the clogging darkness far. However, the group was not disheartened and they pushed on, probing further into the murky depths of the caves. The atmosphere surrounding them began to chill their very bones as Salazar followed the sound of falling water in his search for the great cavern which lay at the heart of Merlin's subterranean labyrinth.

Regardless of the prevalent danger, the three young men who had walked this path before had also forgotten the ethereal beauty the caves possessed. Or they had been too young to fully appreciate it. The pale light conjured by their wands danced across the millions of small crystals embedded in the damp rocks and the wizards amongst them sensed the sorcery which saturated the ancient caves. Eyes widened in awe as they tread by, many gasps of wonder issued from them. This was especially true when Salazar led them out of the constricting tunnel and beheld the great, glittering cavern. They hesitated for a brief moment, basking in a spectacle that few had ever dreamed of witnessing.

A sudden whispering disturbed the caves and gazes which had only just been shining in wonder contorted in alarm. The band turned as one to peer towards a tunnel which disappeared into the dark and the source of the whispers. Staring at it, Godric felt a shiver run down his spine at the memory of where the echoes came from and the phantom Nimue had placed there to guard her murderous secret. Salazar alone barely spared the tunnel a glance, choosing to scan the great cavern for any signs of the evil they thrived in the caves. Salazar frowned when he noticed that the water pooled at the caverns foot appeared far shallower than he remembered, whilst the rocks which lay the furthest away from any falling water were more slippery and far damper than any natural occurrence could have caused. Magic had been used here, for these caves had recently been touched by an old and powerful magic. Salazar could sense it clearly and shivered as the magic rattled him.

'The whispers,' Isobel croaked as she felt the pull it had on her heart, 'where does it lead?'

'The Tomb of Merlin,' Salazar replied absentmindedly, looking up at the weaving flight of stairs carved into the rocks. He made to climb them, but Lancel, Efnysien and a number of retainers did not follow him. They stood frozen, still staring at the tunnel from where the whispers issued. Godric tensed and the grip on his sword tightened, ready to use his strength to intervene if any of their company chose to give their hearts the fate the whispers endorsed.

Beside him, Bran shifted in fear, forcing Hamon to place a reassuring arm around the boy to calm him. Bran may be a Muggle, but he had heard the name of Merlin in the folk tales the village elders once sang. He was also old enough to recognise the nervousness which permeated the warriors around him, so he was grateful when an equally frightened Delwen clasped his arm and cowered beside him.

'This is wrong,' Gawain grunted, making his displeasure and unease known, 'the magic here is unnatural. The dead should be left to their sleep. We should go…'

'The Tomb of Merlin?' Efnysien repeated, gawking at the Welsh archer, 'it must be a mystical sight to behold, one filled with countless treasures. All wizards would envy us if they learned we had seen it?' Lancel supported him, his eyes glazed with wonder and his enthusiasm to pursue it obvious.

'No,' Salazar snapped sharply, 'I have seen it and I promise that the treasures said to be there is nothing but a legend spun by bards. They do not exist and all you'll find there are the dark enchantments Nimue left there. If you give your heart to the whispers, then you will meet your death. Follow me; better to die with honour in battle than to be lured into the dark and taken by the creatures who prowl these tunnels.'

Many of their companions looked prepared to argue. However, it was Isobel who put an end to any arguments before they materialised. The Enchantress cuffed her brother hard around the head with a blow which instantly dispelled any appeal Lancel had for seeking out the Tomb of Merlin.

'Fools,' she snapped harshly, glaring at the wizards and retainers gathered around her, 'you all yearn for honour, but what renown can be acquired by searching these caves for the tomb of a bygone hero? Avalon, the sacred stronghold of magical Britain, is besieged. Honour lies in defending it, for the Lord of Avalon has chosen us to fight for him. Lead on Knight of Avalon.'

Isobel's speech had the desired outcome, snapping those who had fallen under the allure of Nimue's spell from their lapse in wisdom. Her erstwhile lover, a gifted orator, smiled in appreciation.

'Well said,' he praised her sincerely. Isobel merely shrugged and gestured for Salazar to lead them to the castle. They trudged on, clambering slowly up the narrow stairway as it rose into the darkness above them. Delwen cowered further into Gervais's side, although Bran proved braver, despite his eagerness to reach the castle being influenced more by a desire to leave the ghosts of Avalon behind them.

Hamon rustled the young boy's hair fondly. Then he began to sing. Hamon was no great bard, but he did not need to be. It was an old battle song he had learned from his Welsh comrades, a rousing song of ancient warriors on the eve of long forgotten clashes. Many of their companions appeared to know the song, for as more voices rose to join the singing, it began to drown out the enchanting whispers and the power behind Nimue's magical allure slowly began to wane in response to their rallying courage. Godric slapped his friend's back, which Hamon answered with a grin. Godric thought it was strange how the closer they came to a fight, the better Hamon's spirits became. He supposed that this was a consequence of Hamon's time under Bayard's raucous influence, as well as sharing the same blood as a Muggle who once dared to slay a troll.

Higher and higher they climbed, creeping through slime-strewn passageways as they weaved along the rim of the cavern, carefully avoiding the treacherous edge so that no one slipped into the void and fell to their death.

Finally, the company reached the place Salazar had been searching for. A small beam of light shone down from the glittering, crystal studded rocks above them and when Salazar enlightened the company that they had reached their destination, the relief was audible. Godric smiled ruefully, for it appeared that their entrance to Merlin's caves had escaped Morwenna's stringent searches, although Godric had to admit that the risk of rousing the Lady of Avalon's wrath was enough to dispel any desire to find it again.

'What is this?' Efnysien said, eying the ray of light skeptically.

'The light hails from Avalon's cellars,' Salazar told him, 'that's a broken slab above us. If we prise it open, it should be big enough for a grown man to pass through.'

'Ah,' Gervais mumbled, unable to resist a smirk, 'so this was why Lady Morwenna had Godric shovelling shit for weeks.'

Hamon chuckled at the memory, before taking a long spear from a Welsh retainer and prised the slab from its resting place in a cascade of dust and the grinding of stone. Then the company used magic to levitate themselves into the gap.

Godric went first, followed closely by Hamon. As the Muggle knight knelt down and offered to assist those entering the chilling cellar behind them, Godric rushed straight to the damp and web-covered stairs. Over the scurrying of startled mice, Godric could hear screams rebounding off the walls and intermingled with angry shouts between the hammering of spells against reinforced wood. Godric felt the first surge of rage threaten to overwhelm him and it took all of his willpower not to leap up the stairs and bring death to those who defiled his home.

A hand on Godric's shoulder managed to ease some of his mounting fury. Salazar was beside him, the last of the company to escape the caves. Now he stood with his wand drawn and with all their armed comrades waiting nervously behind him, waiting for Godric to lead them on. Salazar had led the group this far and successfully navigated the crystal caves with all its dangers, but it was Godric who they would follow into battle.

Without a word, the two friends began to creep up the cellar stairs, taking care to make as little noise as possible so that they would not alert any nearby soldiers to their presence. However, when a great crack thundered above them, causing the ground to tremor and groan in reply, the warband hurried along with more urgency. No attention was given to the clamour of pounding feet and spear shafts bouncing off stone, for the terrified cries of trapped souls drowned out all their reason and spurred the rescuers towards the great hall.

Reaching the summit of their climb, they sprinted on until they reached a large tapestry which parted the cellar's corridor from Alain's great hall. Godric unsheathed his sword and looked ready to charge through the tapestry when Salazar came to an abrupt halt and held out an arm to block his friend's rash progress. Their companions slowed to a halt, whilst Godric gazed questioningly at his sworn brother. Salazar shook his head again and raised a finger to his lips, commanding those around him to remain silent.

The wizard was the only one who appeared to have maintained control of his senses and thought ahead to the imminent battle, already realising the pitfalls of charging recklessly into a fight and sacrificing the element of surprise. Then he gripped Godric's mailed suit and waved him forward until the pair stood at each end of the woven veil. Pressing their faces against the cold stone, Godric and Salazar stared out through the narrow parting between the tapestry and the wall. Well-hidden, they observed the confrontation unfolding in Avalon's great hall.

The survivors of Avalon's household cowered beside the high dais. They were mainly the women or young servants and Godric recognised Ella and Belin amongst them, holding an axe and hunting spear which they barely looked capable of wielding. The young knight felt his dread spreading when he saw no sign of Morwenna, Yusuf, Lambert or the retainers Alain had left to defend Avalon from an attack they were skeptical would ever come. A number of other faces were missing and Godric prayed that it wasn't their harrowing screams which continued to echo off Avalon's walls.

Godric shook his head and did his best to distract the rising dread by shifting his gaze towards the threshold of the great hall. It had the opposite effect. He instantly paled, his heart pounding painfully in his chest at what he saw. For Rowena stood alone before the hall's door. Her raven hair was loose and wild, her blue robes dishevelled and torn, whilst her skin was so pale that it seemed all her blood had drained away. Her elegant wand was clutched in a trembling hand by her side. She had her back to those she shielded, facing a doorway which now lay in ruins. The stone table of Arthur which had once adorned the hall's rafters, but now lay collapsed in two great halves at the hall's threshold amongst the rubble of half the door arch.

It was clear that Rowena had tried to barricade the door. However, it would take more than an ancient ornament to withstand the magic of the menace who now stood framed by the broken threshold. For Sir Robert of Bellême had come to Avalon and he had brought death with him.

Bellême approached Rowena slowly, stepping over the unmoving body of one of his men-at-arms. The wizard didn't spare his fallen follower a glance, for his steely gaze was fixed upon Rowena with the cold, calculating gaze a prowling wolf would level at its prey. Silently, Bellême's followers edged into the hall behind their master, both magical and Muggle, and began to forge a threatening wall of swords, shields, spears, and wands to face the inhabitants of Avalon.

'Don't come any closer,' Rowena cried. Godric regained his senses in the same moment, his body twitching as he made to storm into the hall and protect his friends. But again, Salazar checked him. The older wizard shoved him back roughly,

'Wait,' Salazar hissed quietly when Godric glared at him incredulously. Nevertheless, Godric obeyed his friend, despite his heart roaring in favour of action. They both turned back, only to discover that Bellême had come to a halt and now stood ten yards away from the young maiden who challenged him. Bloodied sword

'This is what has defied me?' Bellême finally said, his eyes on Rowena and his expression betraying something akin to amusement, 'this rabble of women and children?'

'It is the magic of Avalon which has defied you,' Rowena said, and Godric gulped when he heard the fear and nervousness she was trying so hard to mask, 'a sacred magic that you have dared to defile…'

'I do not fear the magic of long dead wizards,' Bellême replied blandly, 'nor do I fear the ancient wards of an island whose true power was lost after the fall of Merlin. I certainly do not fear little girls.'

'This little girl has stopped your men from entering this hall ...'

'We still broke through,' Bellême scoffed, 'but what do you think your feeble defiance has achieved? My men's lust for blood has only risen and the screams of your people are a consequence of it.'

'It has given us hope,' Rowena countered,

'Hope?' Bellême chuckled, 'your last defence is hope? If you were a more powerful witch, then I may have found you a nuisance. After all, you are very bold for such a young witch. But I don't know you, so I doubt you're anything more than an impoverished waif. Unless the Cripple has taken another stray under his wing now that those young fools of his have been knighted? He really does have no pride.'

Rowena bristled at the insult,

'Alain of Avalon is a better wizard than you'll ever be,' Rowena sniped icily.

'Lord,' a harried man-at-arms slipped through the fallen barricade and Godric recognised the angelic features of one of the Villon brothers, Bellême's most loyal followers. Whilst he had a vicious gash in his cheek which was bleeding profusely, there was a triumphant smile on his face as he held out a scroll, 'we've found it, Lord.'

Bellême prised the scroll from Villon's hands without taking his eyes from the stubbornly defiant Rowena.

'It took you long enough,' Bellême said, 'you're sure this is the scroll?'

'Yes, Lord,

'The scholar told you so?'

'No, Lord,' Villon sneered, 'he's dead. Caused a little trouble when we burst in. The bastard killed Old Eudo and wounded Ulric badly before I gutted him.'

'So if the scholars dead?' Bellême demanded emotionlessly, 'how can you be sure?'

'Jean swore it was, Lord, and he reads in more languages than any of us.'

'Good,' Bellême said before he beckoned his brother forward. Philip of Bellême stepped out from the armed band and took the scroll from his brother's hand,

'Does he speak the truth, brother?' Philip looked unsure. He drew a dagger from his belt, sliced open the wax seal and quickly scanned its contents.

'Yes, brother,' he finally agreed and Bellême nodded in satisfaction.

'Then take it to the Lady Melusine,' he instructed his brother, 'and tell her that all debts are paid.' Philip looked bemused by the order, but nevertheless followed his brother's command by swiftly leaving the hall. Villon's predatory gaze landed upon the waiting household,

'What should we do with the rest, Lord?'

'Burn this place,' Bellême growled coolly,

'No!' Rowena exclaimed loudly. She looked horrified at Bellême's command, although tears were already streaming down her cheeks from the devastating news that Yusuf was dead.

'No?' Bellême asked her inquisitively, 'what is it to you, little maiden?'

'All the knowledge of Britain is here,' said Rowena desperately, before gesturing at those who cowered behind her, 'and these people have done nothing wrong. Would you have their blood on your hand?'

'I have no need of it,' Bellême shrugged, 'those women and children at your back are worth far more to me than the writings of other wizards. My men must be rewarded…'

'Let them go!' Rowena said as many of Avalon's trapped household wailed in despair at such a fate.

'It doesn't work like that,' Bellême told her, sounding amused, 'my men have fought and died for me. I must repay their loyalty and I have promised them the wealth of Avalon in gold and slaves in return. You are all the spoils of war, little one.'

'You will enslave us?' Rowena asked,

'Yes,' Bellême said indifferently, 'although my men must first sake their appetites. The survivors will be our slaves, or will be sold on to crueller masters.'

'You heartless dog,' Rowena suddenly snarled angrily, her rage fuelled by the fate in store for them, 'what honour is there in making war on women and children?'

'None at all,' Bellême surprisingly agreed, a subtle sardonic smile dancing at the corners of his lips, 'but I still enjoy it.'

'You are the worst kind of wizard!'

Godric closed his eyes and cursed beneath his breath. Rowena stood at the mercy of a notoriously amoral wizard and she chose to insult him. The young knight slowly drew his sword, the blade coming free with a hiss.

'I have thought of another fate for you,' Bellême said, his voice now devoid of all trace of humour.

'You do not have to tell me,' Rowena snapped, 'you have already promised to let your men take us as they want…'

'Rape has never stirred my blood as it does other men,' Bellême shot back darkly, 'I've never been fond of such things. I have other ways of making women scream.'

Rowena glare intensified at Bellême's threat and her magical aura became almost palpable. The young maiden stood tall, the air around her crackling.

'I am Rowena Ravenclaw,' Rowena declared proudly, her clear voice no longer betraying her fear, 'a descendant of Lailoken. You may only see a girl before you, but the blood of a score of great witches runs in me. You can beat me, enslave me and kill me. But I promise that if you do not spare the lives of these people, then I'll make sure you fear me before I fall.'

Godric's frustrations with Rowena fell away with every defiant word she declared. He marvelled at the way she challenged the greatest fae-knight in Britain, shielding the survivors of Avalon like a lioness defending her den and promising Bellême that she would do all in her power to inflict damage upon him before she died. In that moment of courage, Godric had never admired Rowena more.

The gathering wolves laughed at her bravery. Bellême did not. Instead, as he had done to Godric during the younger man's duel on Ynys Mon, he levelled Rowena with a calculating glare.

'You are as foolish as that craven worm you call a father,' Bellême growled, letting his opponent know that he now knew her.

'I am a Ravenclaw,' Rowena reiterated, bristling at the insult.

'A noble bloodline,' Bellême said, before spitting onto the trampled rushes.

'Purer than most,' Rowena shot back proudly.

'Perhaps it is not so surprising that you have defied us for so long,' Bellême admitted impassively, 'many of my men carry wounds inflicted by your wand and you have delayed our victory long enough. You will not deny us our spoils…'

'I will bring this hall down and bury us all before I let you touch them.'

'Brave words,' Bellême sneered, 'but such insolence is pointless. No one is coming to save you. By now, Alain of Avalon will be dead, as are all those fools who ride in his retinue. Lady Melusine will have seen to that, whilst I was tasked with destroying his household. I killed his lady…'

This provoked more cries of anguish from survivors. Godric heard an intake of breath from Salazar and felt his own body tense at Bellême's confession, whilst their companions clutched their weapons in anticipation for the fight they knew was not far away. Refusing to dwell on what Bellême had said, Godric didn't need any prompting from his friends as he drew his wand and pressed it against the stone of Avalon's keep. Closing his eyes, Godric paused to channel his magic and cast the spell that Alain had claimed would summon magical defenders to aid them in their battle.

'Piertotum Locomotor,' he breathed softly. A light was emitted from the tip of his wand and permeated the stone. It shone for a heartbeat, before disappearing into the cracks. Godric's brow furrowed, for nothing happened and he had no way of telling if the spell had worked or what allies had been summoned. His attention returned to the confrontation between Rowena and Bellême and all he could do was hope that his magic had not failed him.

'…I torched his castle and soon the name of Alain of Avalon will be forgotten, never to be remembered in the annals of history. Now, listen to me, girl. If you lower your wand and kneel at my feet, then I may spare your life.'

'I bow to no one!' Rowena snarled defiantly despite the tears which streamed down her face. As men licked their lips and sensed an imminent release from the tension, Godric realised that if his heart had not already belonged to Rowena, then surely it would after seeing her now. Bellême watched her strangely,

'You remind me of my mother,' the Norman baron said, 'she was also an extraordinary woman who did not bend to the will of men.'

'I think not,' Rowena snapped, her face twisted in revulsion, 'what evil beast did she have to lie with to give birth to a cowardly creature like you. If the Lord of Avalon is dead, then at least his honour and reputation will far surpass that of a loathsome worm who takes his sword to women and children.'

For the first time since their confrontation had begun, anger shone from Bellême's lifeless eyes and his bloodied sword quivered in his hand.

'Lower your wand,' he ordered Rowena.

'I'd rather die,' she retorted fiercely,

'You won't die,' Bellême told her softly, 'I have watched maids endure immeasurable torture for days without succumbing to death. My dungeons echo with the screams of their torment. After insulting my mother, I promise that I have worse in store for you.'

'I will never yield,' Rowena spat and her body tensed. Unnoticed, several men-at-arms who were standing beside the broken hall door cast nervous and bemused glances behind them as a fresh wave of screams and shouts of alarm echoed off the walls from beyond Avalon's walls. The sound was lost upon Bellême as he glared malevolently at the maiden before him.

'I will enjoy breaking you,' he promised her and threat sent a chill cascading down Godric's spine, sparking his rage. Godric would not tolerate Rowena being threatened, 'I will make you scream…'

A strange stillness descended upon the great hall. Then Bellême struck and Rowena, momentarily distracted by the vile man's threat, could do nothing. There was only time for Rowena's eyes to widen in surprise at how far Bellême's prowess with a wand outmatched her own as a violent red spell burst into life and hurtled towards the stricken witch, who had no hope to shield against it.

Rowena watched the spell come, knowing that her defiant resistance was over as Avalon's remaining inhabitants cried out in horror and a voice suddenly roared louder than all others.

'AVALON!'