The Battle-Haze
The blood red spell hurtled across Avalon's hall and Rowena knew that there was no way of escaping it. Bellême was too quick for her, for Rowena's wand had barely begun to conjure its own shield before her opponent's spell cracked viciously into life. Bellême had spent almost three decades honing his skills as a knighted wizard and the young witch could not match him. Her eyes could not move away from the curse as it reached out to strike her down and doom the people she had sworn to protect to the death.
Crack!
It never reached Rowena, for it was intercepted by the hulking figure of a warrior carved from stone. The great statue of the warlord Arthur suddenly sprung to life and leaped from its ancient pedestal, crashing in front of the young witch to impede the spell which did little more than scorch its sculptured form. Rowena stared in amazement at her saviour as the towering monolith stood tall, raising its stone sword and daring the invaders of Avalon to attack. Great gasps escaped the lips of everyone who gathered in the great hall. Bellême said nothing, but his next spell died upon his lips at the miraculous of such an unlooked for and otherworldly opponent.
A deafening shout rose to the rafters and jolted everyone from their shock.
'AVALON!'
Cries of alarm and jubilation resounded around the hall as Godric, with a sword and wand clasped in his hands, flung aside the remnants of the battered tapestry and shattered the silence with a roar. The knight of Avalon didn't hesitate, unleashing his fury as he charged into Bellême's stunned followers who clustered around their master and who now turned in shock to face their assailant.
'Avalon!' the shout echoed again as Salazar, Hamon and all their comrades took up Godric's cry, bursting from the cellar in Godric's wake to bring the battle to the men who had dared to invade sacred Avalon.
'Avalon!' the survivors of Bellême's initial attack answered their rescuers with a call of their own, seizing whatever weapons were at hand and surging towards the soldiers with keening screams and vengeful hearts. The fury of Avalon was set loose and its people would not be felled or enslaved without a fight. Shouts of alarm soon turned to shrieks of terror as another four towering stone golems, warriors of Arthur's ancient brotherhood, answered Godric's call to arms by leaping amongst the men-at-arms and wreaking havoc. The screams of the wounded soon joined the clamour, for the stone-warriors immediately began to strike out at their enemies. More cries rose up beyond Avalon's hall as more statues tasked with protecting the island, springing to life and falling upon the invaders, breaking bones and tearing flesh.
In the midst of the chaos, Rowena cried out Godric's name in heartfelt relief. But of all those in Avalon's hall who was rendered witless by the ensuing anarchy, it was Bellême who recovered swiftest. Bellême's eyes seemed deadened to the deadly struggle, a lifeless gaze which only brightened when they landed on the young knight charging recklessly into the throng. Raising his wand, Bellême flung another curse at the distracted Rowena, only for Stone-Arthur to bet the spell aside with a hand that exploded into dust as the curse struck it.
The man-at-arms standing beside Bellême burst forward, crying out as he raised his sword and prepared to hack Rowena down. However, the towering monolith was there to meet him, the remaining arm turning the blade aside before Stone-Arthur struck out with its own powerful terrible strength, striking the man with such a blow that the man-at-arms was thrown against the far wall, where his broken body crumpled to the ground. Sensing an opening, Bellême sent another spell flying past the distracted statue, but Rowena hurriedly summoned a shield charm to block it in a shower of sparks. Turning away from the dead, Stone-Arthur surged towards Bellême, who was forced forget Rowena as he met the hulking monolith with more spells.
As Bellême squandered his revenge, Godric finally reached the invaders and threw himself at them in a frenzy of sword blows and furious spells. The thrill of the melee fuelled Godric's blood and pushed him on to unleash his anger on his first opponent. Godric bellowed with the joy of it, a wolf amongst dazed sheep. The man offered little resistance, still gaping in horror as a mailed warrior charged towards him. Godric recognised fear in the man's eyes, relished its presence and knew that the soldier's life was his to take. Godric's spell hammered him aside, tearing the soldier's life from him. But the young knight had no time to savour his victory, for another man-at-arms recovered his wits quickly. He made to engage Godric, only for a feathered shaft loosed from Gawain's great bow punctured through the soldier's mailed gambeson, killing him instantly.
He fell with a mewling gasp and another soldier took his place, hacking out at the young wizard. Godric parried the blade and struck out, severing several fingers from the man's sword-hand. The soldier cried out at the sudden pain, reeling away into Hamon's path, whose spear skewered the man through the groin with enough force to lift him off his feet.
More combatants entered the fray, but Bellême's followers were hardened veterans of many raids and their wits returned quickly. They answered the frenzied assault with a savagery that they had become famed for. Rowena's handmaiden Fiona, screaming a weird keening sound as she jabbed at a knight with a spit, was thrown to the floor before a spell silenced her cries forever. Her killer's cruel laughter was cut short, for Salazar was soon upon him. Salazar's first barrage of spells was wasted on a shield and his opponent, grinning madly, made to respond with a deadly curse. However, a scream of agony was torn from his throat when a conjured viper slithered past Fiona's gawping corpse and buried its fangs in the man's ankle. The wizard grimaced in pain and severed the viper in half with a cutting curse. Salazar needed no other opening and his next spell cut the wizard down in a splatter of blood.
Godric pushed further into the fight, carving a path towards Bellême, who was still battling the flailing stone figure. He heard Isobel cry out in pain, but had no chance to see if she lived, for another man-at-arms approached him and sought to shield his liege lord by barring Godric's way. The man stood little chance, for Godric was consumed with the battle-haze and he fought with a heroism reminiscent of the champions of legend. But there was no glory or chivalry here and Godric hacked the man down mercilessly, then stepped over the bleeding corpse and plowed into the press of fighting men, intending on reaching Bellême.
Lost to the madness of his ancestors, Godric was unaware of Rowena entering the fight. The witch shielded a pair of young servants before turning to face the challenge roared by an oncoming Muggle. She wasted a spell on the man's raised shield and flung herself hastily aside to avoid the wild swing of the Muggle's sword. The man-at-arms snarled and came at her again, but Rowena was already rolling to her feet and her mind was far brighter than her assailant's.
With a graceful flick, Rowena transfigured the man's shield into a frothing and ferocious hound. Suddenly finding a snarling beast in the place where his shield had once been, the knight yelped in surprise and terror as the hound immediately began to savage the arm that held it. And another wave of the witch's wand tossed the knight aside as if he had been flung by a great siege engine. Rowena didn't wait to see him land, for she was already moving further into the fray in a desperate bid to reach Godric's side.
Others were not as fortunate. Ancel was dead, cut down in the opening moments of the chaotic contest. Two of Efnysien's kinsmen and a Breton retainer also lay slain, their blood pooling amongst the trampled rushes. The battle raged on above them, the wounded dismissing their own injuries in a desperate effort to aid their struggling companions. Fighting alongside them, the statue of Gwalchavard the Fair fell, whilst stone embodiment of Culhwch succumbed to a hail of spell work, crushing a man in its great hands even as his flailing limbs crumbled into dust and rubble.
Bellême was losing men too. Those who fought for Avalon were some of the most well-trained knights and promising wielders of magic in Britain. Despite their inexperience in the violent world of the melee, their otherworldly allies, youthful vigour and thirst for revenge lent them the strength to pit against the might of these dreaded killers. Bellême's followers began to fall; hewn by swords, stabbed and hammered by household tools or struck down by Gawain's devilish archery.
Hamon was struggling. His head still throbbed from the blow he'd taken in Wales and his senses were sluggish. Despite this, he had just bludgeoned a man to the ground when he spotted a small figure weaving amongst the combatants and recognised him immediately. He had ordered Bran to stay hidden within the relative safety of the undiscovered cellar, but the young lad was lured out by the sound of the nearby fight and had ventured into the midst of the battle seeking retribution for the savage massacre of his family. Delwen had dutifully followed Bran, yet armed with nothing more than small eating knives they were outmatched by Bellême's vile retinue. When a thuggish brute swatted away Bran's knife and raised his sword to deliver a killing blow, all they could do was cower in fear.
Hamon wounds may have dulled his mind, but the desperation to protect innocent lives burned as fiercely as ever and lent strength to his ailing body. With a hefty kick, Hamon barrelled the two youngsters unceremoniously aside, bowling them over as he tackled the villainous knight. Both men were sent sprawling and Hamon, falling on top of his opponent, lifted his hand to pummel the man's face. But as it rose it was struck by a stray spell and Hamon cried out in agony as blood and flesh were torn from the mutilated hand. Seeing that Hamon was injured, the knight recovered and they began to grapple furiously upon the blood splattered floor.
Yet, Hamon was exhausted. With his left hand was useless and his strength quickly ebbing, Hamon knew that it would not be long before the knight gained the upper hand. It came sooner than Hamon anticipated, for his opponent's hand managed to clench about his throat and slowly began to squeeze the life from him. Hamon squirmed and struggled against him, but it was useless to resist and even a desperate attempt by Bran and Delwen to disrupt the brute's efforts were shrugged off. Hamon frantically grasped the man's wrist, only just managing to bring the dagger to a halt before it could pierce his chest. The slim blade hovered in the air as the man's hand closed more tightly around Hamon's throat, dimming his vision and causing his lungs to burn in distress. Hamon's strength ebbed further and the knight growled, sensing that victory was close as he finally managed to free the dagger from Hamon's grip and threatened to disembowel the flailing young man beneath him.
An axe blow put an end to the struggle. Having seen the deadly brawl unfold, Ella rushed to aid the young man she had grown so fond of. With a wild cry, she swung the axe frantically down. Miraculously, the axe's bearded head struck the knights unprotected back, slicing through his gambeson and biting deep into his spine. The knight howled as the axe carved him open, reeling away from his would-be victim to twitch and writhe in agony. Ella fell back with a horrified shriek as Hamon, gasping for air, surged to his feet. Ignoring the quivering Ella and his wounded body, Hamon heaved the axe free and with a guttural roar brought it back down with two brutal blows which reeked bloody ruin upon the back of the knight's skull.
Backing into the ruined doorway, Bellême was still fending off Stone-Arthur, hewing great chunks of masonry from its towering bulk until a final flaming red spell caused its flailing remnants to explode in a cloud of dust and splinters. Bellême roared his victory before the sound of running feet signalled the arrival of a new challenger. But it was not Godric Gryffindor who reached him first, for the young wizard's path had been barred by the angelic faced Villon, who gave no quarter as he blocked Godric from reaching Bellême. Instead, it was Lancel the Valiant who leaped through the falling dust to confront Bellême. Driven by a desire to win renown, Lancel knew that defeating a wizard as renowned as Bellême would bolster his reputation as a promising warrior far beyond his rivals. Bright lights flashed as several curses were exchanged in the opening moments of their duel, both combatants dancing over the smouldering rushes and molten ash spewing forth from where spells clashed.
Godric growled in frustration. He was confident that his ability with both a sword and wand surpassed Villon's, but Bellême's valued follower was a wily fighter and he consistently danced away from Godric's blows before countering with his own. A vicious curse burned Godric's cheek and another burst in a shower of sparks as it struck Godric's shield charm. However, before he could retaliate, Godric heard a loud shout hail him.
'Villon!' the voice roared and suddenly a haggard looking Salazar was there, his wand twirling in his hand. His first spell sent Villon stumbling back with a hiss of pain, leaving Godric to pursue Bellême with Salazar's encouragement, 'Godric, go!'
Lancel fought bravely, but his chances of hindering Bellême's retreat were diminishing quickly. The Norman baron had a name forged on the battlefield and a brutal reputation drenched in the blood of many fallen enemies, combining an aptitude for dual-wielding with a killer's instinct. Now he demonstrated his skill, for Lancel had never thought a warrior like him. Bellême strode towards Lancel, swatting away the younger man's increasingly frantic spells and raised his great sword as he went. Lancel twisted away from one of Bellême's curses and then sprang to counter the oncoming fae-knight whilst flourishing his wand.
He was never given the chance to cast his spell. Bellême's sword flashed, severing Lancel's outstretched wand-hand at the same moment he conjured a shimmering obsidian bolt and sheathed it in the younger man's throat. The Breton gurgled, his next spell dying on his lips, before collapsing in an undignified heap. Blood spewed from his neck, staining his golden locks as Lancel twitched, his eyes bulging as his body was wracked by his death throes. Bellême lingered over the dying young wizard for a heartbeat and relished his victory with a grim smile. Then he was moving, striding towards the broken door in an attempt to escape the chaos about them. He left Lancel to breathe his last, an abrupt and pitiful end for a young man born with so much promise.
Rushing to intervene, Godric witnessed Lancel's fall and his rage overtook him. He sped past the dead young man, ignoring the retreating men-at-arms just as the statue of Derfel Carden bundled one soldier over, parried a spear thrust aimed at Godric's side and, twirling the great stone sword above his sculptured head, crushed a man's skull beneath the brandished weapon. Flying shards of stone stung Godric's flesh and clattered off his mail with bruising force, but the young knight ignored the pain. He was consumed by a madness, the battle-haze which for many millennia had turned good men into killers. In that moment, nothing mattered more to Godric than thwarting Bellême's escape, ideally with a blade in his gut or a spell to his evil heart.
'Bellême!' Godric roared. The Norman glanced behind him, surprised by Godric's daring but flashing a smile which made it clear that he was glad of it. However, Bellême was experienced enough to realise that the tide of the battle was turning against the invaders and regardless of the enticing prospect of finally fighting Godric wand to wand, Bellême deemed it more prudent to withdraw from the bloodbath, signalling for several of his men to deal with the oncoming knight. The three men immediately obeyed and attacked the young warrior charging towards them, dutifully allowing Bellême to slip away from the bloodshed. One of Gawain's great arrows clattered harmlessly off stone where the Norman's head had once been.
Godric did not break his stride as he threw himself onto his enemies. Emboldened by the battle haze, Godric bravely faced all three opponents at once. His opening spell struck a shield charm with a jolting blow that knocked the wizard flying backward over the mound of rubble and broken wood. Godric used his shoulder to ram another soldier aside as his sword parried the third man-at-arms' blade. An axe hacked out, forcing Godric to step hastily away from a blow which would have cleaved him in two. Godric countered, cursed when he missed, and then was forced on the back foot again as the swordsman's thrust tore out links of Godric's mail tunic but failed to penetrate the thick gambeson beneath it.
Godric snarled at his opponents, but his mind was sharpened by years spent on the tiltyard under Hugh's uncompromising tutorage. Cursing, Godric felt his fury at being waylaid from confronting Bellême explode from him. Flames burst from his wand, engulfing the swordsman's foot, who howled in agonised panic and retreated. But his companion quickly took his place and Godric saw the axe rising high as its wielder prepared to split Godric's skull apart.
The blow never came, for a stone hand intercepted the axe's descent and displaying otherworldly strength, brought the weapon to a halt before it could land. As stone grated upon stone, Godric watched Stone-Bedwyr hoist the man from his feet and crush his helmeted head into a wall. The second blow took the man's life. Godric had no time to watch, for the wizard had recovered and now cast a curse which forced the younger wizard duck hastily to avoid it as the spell singed his red hair. Bending low, Godric hacked out with a backhanded swing and felt his blade bite deep into the swordsman's knee. The swordsman screamed again, toppling over as the severed limb spurted blood and bone. Godric's next spell killed him before he'd even hit the ground.
The approaching wizard skidded to a stop, aghast at the sudden change in fortune. He could not retreat, for Stone-Bedwyr instantly sprang into an attack, forcing the wizard into a desperate defence. He could do nothing to impede the young warrior bounding past him and who clambered over fallen masonry to race for the bailey.
Yet, Godric staggered when his eyes fell on a familiar face. He had discovered Lambert's corpse, but Bellême's flight meant that he could neither linger nor dwell on it. Only a brief thought broke through the madness, for it seemed so unnatural to see a sword clasped in the steward's lifeless hand. Godric turned away and sprinted for the bailey, ignoring Rowena's frantic calls for him to come back.
Horror and anarchy awaited Godric when he burst into the bailey. The stone warriors in the keep were not the only statues who answered Godric's call to arms, for the rallying cry had triggered a long forgotten magic which echoed throughout the island. There were panicked cries as several figures almost fell down the spiral staircase in their desperation to flee Yusuf's tower, closely followed by billowing smoke and the screams of the comrades who failed to escape from the rampant Kelpie which murderously pursued them from the scholar's domain.
Beyond the castle walls, the men-at-arms and wizards who Bellême had tasked with hunting down any stray inhabitants who had sought refuge amongst Avalon's rocky outcrops and glades were suddenly thrust into a battle for their lives. Statues of beasts and heroes which had previously littered the island now sprang to life to confront the invaders who had disturbed Avalon's peaceful slumber. Amongst them were the nine maiden guardians of the long lost Cauldron of Rebirth, who brought violent retribution to those who had stained the sacred isle with blood. Stone clashed with steel and spells as one maiden who had spent many lifetimes perched serenely on the moss-strewn rocks at the pool's heart finally stood and dived into the water as her sisters brought death to their enemies.
She remained submerged for the briefest of heartbeats before erupting onto the embankment, grasping at a poor soul's ankle with her outstretched arm before he could scurry away. The veteran soldier screamed in terror, kicking and clawing at the grass until his fingers were bloody as the maiden slipped back into the water and dragged her prey with her. They both disappeared into the pools dark depths with a final, chilling wail.
The bailey itself was littered with corpses. The churned mud of the courtyard was waterlogged and strewn with the bodies of Gervais's prized horses. Only a few still lived, running amok and driven mad by the roaring fires which consumed the stables and some of the outer walls towers. Godric was barely aware of sprinting past the bodies of Tancred and Dunstan, who had bravely fallen in a futile effort to defend the keep.
Godric forced his stinging eyes to focus on the retreating Bellême, who was almost strolling towards the gate where half-a-dozen retainers were trying to subdue one of the hulking stone sentinels who had once stood guard at Avalon's gate. Its companion was missing, but judging by the shouts and screams rising from the islands steep road, it was vigorously hunting Bellême's men through the burning glades.
A bolt of magic singed Bellême's shoulder as it flew perilously close, bring the Norman baron to an instant stop. The famous wizard turned to face his new challenger and chuckled mockingly,
'Have you come to die little Gryffindor?'
'Bellême,' Godric snarled, so consumed with rage and hate that he could barely speak. He skidded to a halt and stared at the wizard whose existence had plagued half his life. Two of Bellême's followers nudged their mounts to face Godric, but a wave of Bellême's sword swiftly ceased any intervention they would make.
'Is your lust for battle not yet sated?' Bellême asked, his voice laced with amusement, 'or do I have to end your miserable life before this day is done?'
'You won't escape,' Godric replied, breathing heavily, 'I swear that I'll see you dead for this!'
Bellême laughed, unmoved by Godric's passionate threats.
'Greater men than you have promised to do the same,' Bellême confessed honestly, 'and worms now feast upon their corpses. What makes you any different? How can you believe you stand a chance against me?'
'I can promise,' Godric growled, his eyes clouding with bloodlust, 'that no one has desired your death as much as I have.'
'Then let us find out,' Bellême smiled, shifting into a defensive stance and twirling his sword lazily in his hand with an easy confidence that only fuelled Godric's fury further and spurred him into an attack.
'Bastard,' Godric roared, not caring that his anger was consuming him and influencing his judgment. All that mattered to Godric was his sword, magic and the all-encompassing desire to end the life of the monster before him.
Godric cast a jinx which sent several bursts of glittering light hurtling towards Bellême. The Norman danced nimbly away as two plunged into the mud at his feet before erecting a shield to meet the third. It struck the shimmering magical barrier with a clang that echoed off the surrounding walls and exploded in a shower of sparks. Bellême smiled sardonically at Godric through a haze of acrid smoke.
Only for his jeering smile to instantly disappear as a glimmering blade flashed through the vaporous veil and threatened to tear Bellême's throat apart. The Norman was forced to hastily jerk his head back, the hiss of the blade rebounding in his ears. Bellême snarled and threw Godric back with his own retaliatory barrage. Godric felt Bellême's spell shatter his shield charm, and unhindered by his opponent's onslaught, he swerved aside and rushed to engage him again. Bellême sidestepped the oncoming lunge, had his own counter attack parried by Godric's magic and then settled into a furious exchange of flurrying blows and crackling spells with such terrifying speed that it would have incapacitated any wizard not born to be a dual-wielder.
The combatants found themselves locked in a brutal dance, both vying for the upper hand as the sound of their duel reverberated across the whole island. There would be no clemency. Creatures like Bellême did not abide by the rules of chivalry and any thoughts of mercy did not cross his sadistic mind, whilst Godric could never forgive the man who had brought fire and death to Avalon. They both knew that only one of them could be victorious and this lent a ferociousness to their blows that rang with murderous intent. Soon they were both stained with blood from niggling wounds and spattered with mud thrown up by stomping feet and narrowly avoided spells.
Godric began to feel the strain of the fight and his tired mind battled to ignore the burning fatigue which clawed at him. Never before had he fought such a draining fight and as he battered away Bellême's attacks and responded with his own, the strength in his arms and the power of his magic started to wane as he repeatedly battered away Bellême again and again. His duel against Killer-Bjorn had been a different experience entirely. The Icelander's blows had been wilder and his spell's crippling, but they were conjured crudely with the intent of hammering a dueller into submission. It was the Seidr way, a style of combat which was as startling in its brutality as it was easy for an experienced fighter to outwit.
Bellême's manner of fighting differed greatly from the Icelander's. Like Godric, both his wand and sword moved simultaneously. However, with a surprising grace for such a big man. Every strike was also measured as if each blow tested his opponent for an exploitable weakness. As they traded more attacks, Godric was aware of those soulless eyes burning into him, constantly vying to outsmart the young upstart who had dared to challenge the prowess of the greatest fae-knight in Britain and Normandy. It was as much a contest of iron wills than one of physical strength or killing intent. But Godric was no novice to battle; he was the slayer of men like Killer-Bjorn the Icelander and Muggle-Bane, and his youth combined with his lust for blood ensured that Bellême did not remain unscathed. Blood was drawn and spells scared their skin as the two combatants fought on, each struggling to break the ongoing stalemate.
Again they locked swords, their blades ringing until both men were forced to part, their breath laboured and muscles aching. Bellême sent his next spell bursting forth, forcing Godric to retreat as the curse soared harmlessly past before exploding against Avalon's keep. Waving his wand in retaliation, Godric's magic picked up a stray axe and hurled it at Bellême. The Norman wizard transfigured the twirling weapon into two thick ropes mid-flight and sent them hissing back. Once caught Godric's wand hand, wrapping about his wrist and provoking a curse as a burning sensation seared his flesh.
But Godric's sword remained free and he hacked the second rope apart before freeing his arm from the rope which held him with one upward slice. A spell was already leaving Godric's lips even as the severed rope burst apart in a shower of cascading lights.
'Reducto!'
'Bombarda!'
The two spells met and exploded, finally bringing their heroic exertions to a temporary end. The force of it threw the combatants, stumbling as they tried to keep their footing in the slippery mud. Great rasping breaths grated from Godric's throat and his body seemed to scream with discontent. Nonetheless, Godric was aware of Bellême's calculating gaze transfixed upon him and shifted painfully into a fighting stance. Frustratingly, the fatigue which afflicted Godric was not mirrored in his opponent's countenance as Bellême had spent close to two decades waging war. Despite the scorch marks and blood-stained tears in his mail and gambeson, Bellême remained composed, although admittedly there was a wariness which bordered upon rueful approval in his lifeless gaze. Godric had outlasted many of the men Bellême had fought since the Norman had crossed wands with Alain outside Rochester's walls.
'Melusine has underestimated you,' Bellême acknowledged, 'she thought your continued survival was due to luck, but you have more skill than I was led to believe.'
'That was not my intention,' Godric spat back, revolted with the idea of impressing his enemy, hefting his sword again and returning to the duel. Bellême ducked beneath Godric's wild swing, but his own sword was deflected by a spell. The Norman wizard twisted deftly and hacked out, only for Godric to block it with his own blade before it could disembowel the younger man. Yet, Godric could not press his attack, for the older wizard shoved him back and they disengaged again for a brief respite.
'Fool,' Bellême growled, 'I am no base born Icelander. I heard rumours that you that you and the other whelps of Avalon have been knighted; that they call you Gryffindor. I wonder if it was premature. There's more to being a knight than bravery or misguided loyalty. There is no place for chivalry in battle, boy. Neither taking a life nor lifting some girl's skirts will make you a knight. Any fool with a sword can kill someone.'
'What would you know of chivalry?' Godric snapped contemptuously.
'I play by the devil's rules,' Bellême remarked, 'and it has gifted me with power.'
'Power?'
'It is all for power,' Bellême said, 'our hearts yearn for it and we spend our lives being governed by our need for it. All men dream of wielding it, from kings and knights to the vilest beggar and the power I wield will be remembered for years to come.'
'Lord Alain will come for you,' Godric declared, 'he will never forgive this. Then you shall see real power.'
'Alain of Avalon will soon be dead,' Bellême sneered mockingly. He did not fear the Lord of Avalon. He never had, unlike many other men, 'and I know Melusine. The Cripple is probably been killed already!'
'Liar,' Godric cried, firing another spell. It was a tired effort and Bellême battered it aside carelessly, snorting in derision. He made no attempt to reply. His men-at-arms were calling to him urgently and the screams of the soldier's being pursued beyond them only grew louder.
'You don't know my uncle,' Godric continued, 'Melusine is no match for him.'
'Melusine has many guises,' Bellême chuckled darkly, 'the fair lady; the noble descendant of Merlin; the pitiless she-wolf. She's never revealed her true nature, not even to me. But she was born with a ruthlessness few others can match. Do you think I learned duelling from a nun? I've seen Melusine peel the skin and flesh from her enemies whilst they still cried out for death and what gold she has taken from her sisters and lovers, has been used to influence the loyalties of weak men. She is both cunning and powerful; it is why she is such a feared enemy. If the Cripple has fallen into her clutches, little Gryffindor, then none can save him.'
'No,' Godric cried, refusing to believe it. The combatants rushed in and their weapons clashed, but once again Bellême parried the younger wizard's efforts with increasing ease. The Norman baron laughed cruelly as he kicked the flagging Godric away.
'Pitiful,' Bellême chuckled scornfully, 'no wonder the Cripple of Avalon is no more when he puts his trust in worms like you. Alain's power is broken and that creature he dared to make his wife is dead, killed by my sword when she tried to resist us. His castle is in flames. Once I've crushed you, the last of his blood, then there will be nothing left of the bastard upstart but ash and bones.'
'No,' Godric whispered, trying to ignore his enemy's vile vitriol.
'You know I do not lie,' Bellême snarled, 'I swore an oath on my mother's grave that I would see the Cripple die. I've dreamt of this day; dreamt of the day when I could make Alain of Avalon pay for the part he played in my mother's murder. I've committed years to sapping his legacy so that one day I could watch it crumble into dust.'
Bellême regarded the burning castle, breathing in the scent of acrid smoke conjured by the licking flames and for once allowed his jubilation to seep through the unreadable mask. His smile made the younger man bristle,
'There is so much your little mind cannot hope to understand. In this you are very similar to your brother, Gryffindor,' Bellême smirked as Godric's eyes widened, 'the one who blundered into the Old King's Court, a forgotten face amongst the pages and squires. I was surprised to learn that the Lord of Avalon had a nephew at court, a secret the Cripple tried very hard to hide. He had just cause, for the Cripple has many enemies and rivals other than me. I was especially glad when I discovered your brother was a Muggle. It made his death far more satisfying. It was all too easy to make it look like a hunting accident; just another young fool who overestimated his skill with a spear and paid the ultimate price.'
Godric glared at Bellême with a loathing he'd never felt before. He remembered listening to his father's drunken ramblings when the grave tidings had arrived in Black-Hollow, for William was a confident rider who had survived many hunts in Black-Hollow's lands without incident and it made no sense that an accomplished rider like Godric's brother had fallen to his death. To learn that it was no accident filled Godric with fury. Poor, good William; a victim to an evil man's hatred for a kinsman he'd never meet.
'Now it is done,' Bellême had continued, 'no one will remember the Cripple's name and once I've slaughtered your friends and your girl has screamed her last, then there will be no one to remember Godric of Avalon. Think of it as an honour, for I rarely concern myself with the names of those I kill.'
'You can try,' Godric glared back defiantly, 'but I will fight you until the very end. You are a disease which blights our world. Men who think they can bully and terrorise others into giving them power when all it breeds is resentment and hate. You cannot know how deep my hatred for you runs. I despise you and all men who are like you. I have done since the day you beat me bloody before all the great men of the kingdom, for nothing more than a goblet of spilled wine. I have pictured your death a thousand times and prayed that I would be the one to do it. If it is my fate to die here, then I'll make sure that you never forget the name of Godric Gryffindor!'
'Godric Gryffindor,' Bellême threw back his head and laughed scornfully at the byname even as he began to lift his wand, 'you whimper like a kicked puppy dog, just like when we met.'
The Norman's amusement was almost his undoing, for Godric pounced in the same moment that Bellême revelled in his victory by barking with sardonic laughter. At learning of the true extent of Bellême's wickedness, a resurgent wave of madness swept through him and Godric struck with the ferocity of the shredded lion on his chest. Bellême's eyes widened at the warning his waiting followers cried to him, loud enough for the wizard to shift his head slightly as Godric's wand flashed. Instead of tearing Bellême's face into bloody ruin, the dark spell sliced deeply across his cheek, ripping apart his flesh until it left a jagged line from mouth to ear.
It was the darkest spell Godric had ever used. But it still wasn't enough.
Bellême roared like a wounded bear and he unleashed his own magic like a wild beast. A blinding light sent Godric tumbling roughly across the bailey, his wand falling from his hand as he splattered through the mud. Godric hastily clambered windlessly to his feet, just in time to see his opponent wielding his wand furiously as he conjured magic far darker than any he had used thus far. Grasping his sword in both hands, Godric deflected one spell before twirling nimbly to block the second.
Only for his sword to shatter the instant the crackling spell struck the blade.
A curse escaped Godric's lips as the dark magic Bellême coveted proved too powerful for the runes engraved in the younger wizard's sword to withstand. Godric stared in horror at the broken hilt in his hand, small shards of steel lacerating his own flesh as they flew past.
Then his world exploded in excruciating agony, the impact of Bellême's third spell forcing him from his feet and driving the breath from his body, burning through both mail and gambeson to cut into his shoulder. Godric cried out, his muscles twitching in protest against the corrupting dark magic and the sudden stench of roasting flesh almost made him vomit.
The squelch of boots stepping into the mud beside him forced a squirming Godric to open his eyes, only to find Bellême towering above him. The derisive amusement shone from the Norman baron's eyes throughout their duel was gone and not even a triumphant smile graced his hard features. The soulless gaze had to stare down at the wounded man. Blood streamed from his disfigured face and scarlet drops rained down upon the stricken young knight at his feet.
'Melusine was not the only one who underestimated you,' he growled coldly, 'you meant to kill me with that spell. How strange that we are not so dissimilar, you and I. Beneath the noble façade, lay a soul just as merciless as my own. But you're no paladin yet.'
Bellême's eyes narrowed dangerously,
'I don't suffer rivals!'
'You lie…' Godric gasped defiantly, grimacing as another jolt of burning pain shot through his shoulder.
'Lies,' Bellême scoffed scathingly, 'our world is founded upon lies. We lie about the purity of our bloodlines and to hide our ambitions. All our oaths are undermined with lies. But they can be useful, for a simple lie can help you achieve power. Look about you, Gryffindor, look at the destruction around us and know that this sacred place was destroyed so that Melusine could possess a simple scroll.'
Bellême suddenly kicked out, knocking Godric's arms away and pressing his studded boot down upon his wounded shoulder. Godric screamed.
'Melusine wants the Cauldron of Rebirth; for what cause she'd want such an ancient trinket I do not know, nor do I care. But she desires it so greatly that she has lied, deceived and killed to accomplish it. I have no reason to question her desires and no qualms about aiding her to realise them. I've lied to her, sworn to protect her and delivered her the scroll all for my own purposes. It has also led to the fall of Alain the Cripple, and with that bastard gone, then chaos will return to Britain and in times of chaos men like me prosper.'
'Old Gofanon is weak,' Bellême sneered as Godric looked up at him in rage and horror, 'his body fails him and his champion is gone. The old factions who have hoarded their power for so long are collapsing. It is time for a new era to rise from the ashes of their outdated traditions. They have been weak since Old King William came to these shores and petty rivalries were exploited to fracture them. They have been weak ever since heroism died on the battlefields of Clontarf and the Conquest. There is no longer any honour in the magical world, nor any in our ancient bloodlines. The days of Merlin and those loathsome weaklings who aspire to his teachings are gone. In the new world, we can only trust in our own power and the desire to achieve it.'
'Are people worth so little to you?' Godric growled through clenched teeth, 'is power all you care about?'
'Power is everything,' Bellême suddenly snarled fervently, 'all wizards strive for it; few ever manage to claim it. Those too weak to see it will fall…'
Disarmed and wounded, Godric still summoned the courage to defy Bellême. He spat at him, refusing to give the Norman baron the pleasure of seeing the fear and despair which clawed at his soul as Bellême outlined his nightmarish future for Britain.
'It's strange,' Bellême murmured softly, 'how even you can be defiant in the face of death. You once slighted me before all my rivals. Tell me, where is your magic now Godric Gryffindor.'
His wand glowed in anticipation of the final, fatal curse.
'Shame,' Bellême said, 'you showed promise. If the Cripple had not tainted you with his weakness then you may have made a valuable apprentice. Alas, we shall never know…'
'Protego Horribilis!'
The cry drew the two combatants abruptly from their exchange as a glistening shield expanded between them, dislodging Bellême from his place above Godric and shoving the Norman back. Rowena, her raven hair singed and blowing wildly about her pale face, strode from the keep's splintered doors with her wand outstretched and a spell on her lips. Salazar was with her, tiredly firing his own spells and behind him came more of the survivors of the battle for Avalon. Amongst them were the remnants of the keep's stone statues, who launched themselves across the bailey like raging bulls.
Bellême hesitated, confident in his ability to defeat any of the wizards and Muggles who rushed to oppose him. But as great a paladin as Bellême was, even he could not overcome over two dozen vengeful adversaries. The shouts of his followers alerted Bellême to the danger and reinforced the Norman's urge to retreat. The hardened retinue had thrown down the great monolith, casting the crumbling stone figure into the abyss below the drawbridge and now one rushed forward with Bellême's horse. Mounting the stamping beast deftly, Bellême sheathed his blade and rode for the gate.
There he reeled around to face Avalon's bloodied inhabitants, who despite their bold and stubborn front, were too exhausted to pursue him. Gawain sent an arrow whistling through the air, but Bellême battered it away contemptuously,
'Avalon has fallen,' he suddenly roared, 'and a new dawn rises. Blood will out!'
Then he turned a rode away, his men galloping in his wake until they disappeared into the blackened smoke which surrounded Avalon. Screams, yells and the clash of weapons rose from within the billowing veil of ash, as those unlucky few who tried to flee the island on foot were mercilessly pursued through Avalon's burning glades by the vengeful stone guardians.
Godric's emotionless gaze watched on helplessly as Bellême ride away. But as his most hated enemy disappeared, he was finally able to consider the chaos around him. Rowena and Salazar were hastening towards him, their expressions struggling to contain the warring concern and relief at seeing him bloodied and bruised, but still alive. Even though his heart soared at seeing that his friends had survived the brutal battle, Godric ignored their calls of his friends and the fierce urge to go to them. The nightmarish world around him slipped away as his red-eyed gaze landed on the strangest sight of the battle.
The corpses of beasts and men lay strewn across the bailey. Rising stiffly to his knees, Godric discarded his broken sword, hissing at the pain his wounds inspired and the scorching heat of the blazing fires burning around him. He ignored them all, crawling through mud and blood until he reached his target. Godric felt the beast within his heart roar in grief, although no trace of it escaped his lips. He felt numb, as if every one of his senses had deserted him, for Godric's eyes were transfixed on the body before him and for the rest of his life, the fall of Avalon would be immortalised by what he saw.
Morwenna, the Lady of Avalon, lay dead. Never again would the soft patter of her gentle footsteps be heard as she walked amongst the apple glades and never again would her enchanting voice rise up in song as she swam and bathed in its sacred waters. Never would her smile shine radiantly as she looked upon her beloved husband. The sword which had killed her had struck the nape of her bare neck and bitten deep until it cleaved into her heart and ended her life. Her once violet eyes were closed and Godric bent over the body to stroke her soft hair away from her beautiful face. Even in the cold embrace of death, Morwenna remained as serene as she had in life, regardless of the blood still pooling around her.
No tears fell from Godric's eyes. It did not mean his grief was any less than that felt by those who wept bitterly as they clustered around their fallen and fair lady. Godric could barely comprehend that the woman who had nurtured and mothered him from being an unwanted fosterling to a proud man, was now gone. The world would be a dimmer place for it, for the island she had inhabited for many lives of men was now stricken with death, ablaze with hungry fires as the once gleaming castle now stood in ruins. The bitter truth of Bellême's parting words hammered Godric's heart.
His world had been shattered and chaos had come to Britain.
For Avalon had fallen…
Hope you enjoyed the battle!