Chapter Four: Darkness Past
Boredom was a thing of the past as Giles Onasi retrieved a notebook and fountain ink pen to take notes on the Case of the Wild Mage Dark Lord Tristan Conté. Rapidly, Giles scribbled down his initial impressions of Conté as well as a note to find out what was up with the references to the Earldom of Hogsmeade as well as Hogwarts' status as a neutral entity. Hogwarts was older than most, if not all, of the Ministries of Magic, but it had always operated as if it was under Ministry jurisdiction. Was that not the case? And did it even matter?
With the diary open on his left and his notes ready and waiting under his right hand, Giles dove back into the account, eager for the next installment.
Merlin's beard, he dares! He dares send his sycophant to Hogwarts, imploring us to aid him against the Crown! I shall put my blade through his black heart myself!
A tiny scorch mark was below the words, burned through the page and several following. Giles winced at the evidence of the Founder's raw fury.
Chatter rang through the Great Hall as the students conversed over their dinners and debated the increasingly hot topic of one Tristan Conté and his ongoing vendetta against several kingdoms. Above the students, at the Staff Table, the four Founders put their heads together, organizing their schedules so that Godric and Salazar could spend more of their time hunting the dangerous man down.
The longer Conté was permitted to roam, the more likely it became that he would bring the whole of the wizarding world crashing down; the wizards simply did not have the numbers or the unity to survive a concentrated effort to wipe them out. There were too many wizards serving the different kings and queens of the lands and those wizards often held the same grudges their rulers did. Without unity, without cohesion, the wizards would stand no chance against their non-magical foes. Hogwarts was yet young, the unity it sought to foster years, if not decades away; the wizarding world could ill afford the chaos Tristan Conté sought so assiduously to unleash on them.
Abruptly, chatter ceased and the four looked up to see a man in blue robes with silver trim standing at the Great Hall's entrance. Emblazoned on the front of his robes was a silver crown and sword. The wizard stepped forward and spoke into the silence, "I bring greetings from His Majesty, King Tristan Conté. His Majesty would treat with the Earl of Hogsmeade in hopes of securing the future of our world."
Godric rose to his feet, his expression one of outrage and fury. "Conté now lays claim to the title of 'King'?"
"As the Heir to the First Ruling Line, it is his right," the messenger returned stiffly, offering a brief bow to Gryffindor.
The other Founders rose, shifting to battle-ready positions as Godric stalked around the Staff Table and down the center of the Great Hall. When he reached the messenger, he leaned in and declared, in a loud, ringing voice, "Return to your master and tell him that Hogwarts will never support him or his ilk. He has slaughtered innocents and drawn the ire of the kings of these lands down on those with magic, whether we support your master or no."
The Founder stepped back, drawing his sword with a ring of steel. "Should your master continue, our world will be wiped out in a Purge that will make the Purge of Uther Pendragon seem but a trifle in comparison. Hogwarts will not permit it! So swear I, Godric Gryffindor."
"And I, Salazar Slytherin!"
Godric almost smiled as he felt Salazar at his back; the slim, dark-haired wizard was often dismissed as a cripple by opponents at first glance, but Salazar had long ago proven that he could hold his own in almost any fight.
At the Staff Table, Rowena and Helga readied themselves to cast protective spells over the students should a fight break out. The messenger glared at the wizards who had denounced both him and his message, but backed away without drawing his wand. "His Majesty will not forget your defiance, Earl Gryffindor," the man declared. "He will not forgive; he extended his hand in friendship and you have slapped it away. You seek peace with those who would slaughter us!"
"Perhaps," Godric drawled, "They would not attack us if we did not attack them first!" With a final glare, the messenger vanished back out the door. Godric held his position for several moments, silently requesting that Hogwarts ensure the man left without further issue. Without turning, the redhead murmured, "Later, Salazar."
He heard Salazar huff, but the other replied, "Agreed, Godric." Then Slytherin turned and headed to his table to begin the picky, tedious work of calming the students down.
"Godric, what were you thinking?" Salazar demanded sharply.
Godric sighed quietly, gesturing for his friend to calm down. "Salazar, though I might wish otherwise, I know that as long as those of magic and those without magic live alongside each other without truly understanding and accepting each other, there will always be tension and jealousy. It is all but inevitable…human nature at its worst, old friend. And we are far removed from the days when Albion seemed to be just within reach." The redhead gave his friend an apologetic look. "I did not mean to make light of what you suffered, Salazar."
Salazar shook his head, regret on his face. "And I should not have been so quick to take offense, Godric. I know well that it is your dream to one day rekindle faith in Albion."
Helga cleared her throat, pinning the two male Founders with a Look. Though she was gentle, she possessed a core of steel, steel that gleamed in her blue eyes and on her face. The Healer's red hair framed her face as she remarked tartly, "Now that you two have sorted that out, perhaps you can turn your attention to what happens now? Conté will not take our defiance of his messenger lying down."
"No, he will not," Rowena agreed, concern in her dark eyes as she pushed her long raven hair back and idly tucked it behind her ears. "Godric, you must send a message to your cousin, Cináed, at once. If you do not, Conté's men will be able to imply to the King that we have broken our agreement to remain neutral."
"I shall write it yet this eve, Rowena," Godric promised, before thudding his fist on the table. "But we must take the fight to Conté and quickly. If he is bold enough to come here, then he is gaining in strength and allies. It may not be long before even our strength is not enough to stop him."
"Agreed," Rowena murmured. She looked down a moment as if steeling herself. "Godric, Salazar, you both must go after Conté. Tomorrow."
"But the students," Salazar protested.
"This is more important," Rowena insisted. "We cannot afford for the two of you to split your time and attention as we planned; I cannot believe we even considered such a foolish strategy." Grimly, she faced her friends. "Helga and I will keep the school running and the students safe while the two of you hunt this monster down."
The two men traded looks and Salazar spoke. "Rowena, what if he attacks Hogwarts?"
"Let him come," Helga hissed angrily. "He will see that Hogwarts is no easy target."
"No," Godric disagreed at once, shaking his head. "I will add a request to my letter to Cináed that he send several wizards of the Royal Court to Hogwarts to aid in Hogwarts' defense until Conté is dealt with. This I will request as our condition for assisting in this task though we are bound to remain neutral."
By the end of the following week, it was done. Hogwarts was protected both by its impressive wards and a full complement of Royal Wizards. Moreover, Salazar's discreet tracking charm on the wizard who'd entered Hogwarts had yielded a location, deep in a forest thought to be impassible by both man and beast. Godric and Salazar set out on horseback, determined to bring an end to the threat of Tristan Conté.
Giles sighed and rose from his table to retrieve another drink. He opted for one of the sodas Roy had insisted he keep in his cold-box after trying pumpkin juice. As the wizard popped the soda open and drank, he thought hard, sorting through the information he'd gleaned thus far. He was getting more details, but he didn't have the whole picture. Not yet.
Godric and Salazar entered the forest on foot, reluctant to bring their mounts into such treacherous territory; the forest's terrain was too uncertain to ride on at any speed, making it more likely that the horses would injure themselves as they moved. It was, therefore, much safer to walk.
The two wizards moved cautiously through the trees, searching for any and all signs of their enemies. The longer they searched, the more oppressive the forest felt, but the men were careful to keep from reacting.
"They are close," Salazar murmured.
Godric nodded once, slipping his wand into his hand. Glancing back, he saw Salazar idly draw both his wand and one of his throwing knives. The redhead switched his wand to his left hand and rested his right on the hilt of his sword even as he moved around a tree and skirted a small clearing.
"Akwele!"
Godric leapt sideways as the green spell shot past and struck a patch of undergrowth behind him; the undergrowth turned to ash. His sword rang as he drew it and the wizard dropped into his fighting stance. "Reducto," he hissed, sending a bolt of blue at his opponent.
Salazar Apparated, ending up next to their initial attacker as the man twisted away from Godric's opening spell. Before the wizard could react, Salazar's throwing knife flew into his heart. The two friends had no time to celebrate, however, as five more wizards arrived in a gust of wind and magic, hurling offensive spells, most in Latin, with a few Old Religion spells mixed in, at them.
Godric threw up a shield that held long enough for the two to retreat to the relative cover of the trees. From there, Godric and Salazar traded looks. Skilled as they were, they were no match for wizards wielding the Old Religion. Even so, to give up was anathema.
"I'll get their attention, Sal," Godric murmured.
Salazar scowled, but nodded reluctantly. "If you die, I shall never speak to you again," the raven-haired man declared, a fierce glitter in silver eyes.
"Noted."
Godric charged out from cover, flinging as many curses as he could and never staying in one place. Cutting Curses sliced into trees, knocking branches down on the attacking wizards; Reductor Curses struck small stone outcroppings, spraying shrapnel everywhere; anything Godric could think of to get attention and keep that attention, he did, while also dodging the return spells furiously.
In the background, Salazar made his own move, Apparating into the thick of the enemy to cast his own destructive spells. Each and every spell thrown hit its target; each knife he hurled drew blood; between the two wizards, the enemy was falling, regardless of their superior magic. Moreover, the longer the fight lasted, the less the enemy used the Old Religion, as if the attacking wizards didn't possess the magical reserves necessary to use the ancient spells for long.
"Enough!" A man's voice cut through the small glade in a battlefield roar. Wind whipped in the center of the clearing and the speaker stepped out, dark eyes flashing as he took in the fact that all six of the wizards sent against Gryffindor and Slytherin were dead.
Godric took full advantage of the man's apparent distraction to hurl a Bone-Breaking curse at his chest; Salazar flung a Cutting Curse from his own position.
A smirk flashed across the newcomer's face before he shouted, "Gescildan!" The two curses struck a glittering barrier of pale, washed out gold. The wizard tossed his head, disdain in his stance as his dark locks flew around his shoulders. One hand lifted towards Salazar. "Oferswinge (2)!"
Salazar was hurled backwards into a tree, his head cracking against the trunk; he collapsed in a heap as Godric bellowed challenge and outrage both. The furious redhead charged, his sword shimmering and hungry for blood.
"Ahatian (3)," was the almost lazy spell as the stranger turned towards the charging Godric.
The hilt of Godric's sword turned red as heat surged within it; Godric dropped it with an involuntary yelp of pain. Before he could bring his wand to bear, the new wizard was inside his guard and swinging a fist into his jaw.
Godric crashed to the ground, struggling to retain consciousness. A low, amused chuckle came from the wizard who'd bested him. "Such a pity; I had so looked forward to this fight, but neither of you were even worth the bother."
"See if you think that with my sword through your chest," Godric spat, twisting on the ground to bring his wand up.
"Onbregdan (4)." Godric's wand wrenched itself away and flew up to the wizard's hand. "How the mighty fall in the face of the Old Religion," the man mocked. "Gehaeftan (5)." Ropes materialized around Godric, pulling tight around the wizard and trapping his arms against his sides.
Godric snarled, straining against the ropes and summoning his magic for a concentrated effort; he could not surrender, he could not. Around his wrists, the ropes began to fray as fire heated them from within.
"Hmmm, I see you are not completely useless," the wizard murmured. Kneeling, the wizard smirked again. One hand hovered over Godric's face. "Swefe nu (6)."
Godric tried to fight, but the spell pulled him down into slumber too quickly.
The redheaded wizard woke to a fierce headache, a crick in his neck, and sore shoulders. Groaning, he tried to shift to a moderately more comfortable position, but the ropes around him tightened at the first movement and pulled him back against a set of bars. Likewise, Godric's attempt to roll his shoulders only made the bindings around his wrists contract, yanking his shoulders back even more and drawing an involuntary hiss of pain from him.
"Godric."
Unable to turn, Godric leaned his head back against the bars. "Salazar?" A vision of Salazar flying back into a tree trunk flashed through his mind and Godric shuddered. "Are you all right?"
"I am well," Salazar murmured. "Your right hand looks burned."
"He burned me with my own sword hilt," Godric rumbled unhappily. "And took my wand."
"Yes," Salazar hissed. "Mine is also gone." Silence hung between the two men.
Godric broke it. "Have you heard anything?"
"We have not found their main hideout, if that is what you are asking, but this does seem to be the location from which they've been launching their attacks on the nearby villages," Salazar observed shrewdly. "The man who captured us is their leader, a lieutenant of some sort to Conté."
"Who is he?" Godric growled, his eyes hardening.
"If the name his followers are using is accurate, Alexander Tirragen."
"Awake ar' ye?"
Godric flinched at the unknown voice, whose owner he could not see so long as he was tied to the bars of his cell. It was not the voice of his attacker, but that was no comfort when, for all Godric knew, every last wizard in this place was knowledgeable in the Old Religion.
"Ye will get some rest while ye can if'n ye is smart," the unknown mocked. " 'Is Majesty will be 'ere soon e'ough to deliver 'is judgment on ye." Bootsteps receded, then paused. "Make peace wit' the gods, ye traitors; 'Is Majesty isna happy with ye." Jeering laughter floated after the guard as he departed.
Godric licked dry lips. "Salazar?" he questioned carefully.
"I am as bound as you are, Godric," Salazar replied regretfully. "Perhaps your affinity?"
"Perhaps," Godric agreed, summoning his magic. Sweat beaded on the redhead's brow as he concentrated, focusing his magic on the ropes that held his wrists tight. With agonizing slowness, they burned; it was close to an hour before Godric could pull his wrists apart, snapping the last strands of rope.
Before Godric could turn his attention to the next set of ropes, Salazar inhaled sharply and Godric felt someone next to him. There had been no sound, just a small whisper of wind and the sense of no longer being alone. "Hold still," a female voice instructed. Godric felt the female's hands touch his body right next to the clump of ropes keeping him tight to the bars. Then the female sighed and Godric heard her draw a blade. The blade slipped under the ropes and carefully, achingly cut through them.
"There," the woman whispered, pushing the severed ropes away. "Easy there, sir knight; those ropes drain your strength even as they bind."
Duly warned, Godric levered himself up to a sitting position as the woman turned away and whispered something over the cell door; it opened soundlessly. Curious, Godric watched as the dark blonde woman made her way to Salazar's cell. Her braided hair fell past her shoulders and Godric could see a gleam of metal in the braid, as though she'd braided a spike strip into it. She appeared to be about a head shorter than Godric himself, slim, and graceful; even as she crept as quietly as possible in the darkness, Godric could see that she was beautiful.
Salazar was far more wary of the stranger than Godric, but neither man had much of a choice but to trust the mystery woman who knelt next to the raven-haired wizard and cut him loose. Godric forced himself upright, hissing as his burned right hand came in contact with the ground, and cautiously edged out of his cell and over to Salazar's. The woman pulled Salazar up on his feet and, as she supported him, turned her head, her pale blue-gray eyes meeting Godric's; Godric sucked in a startled breath as he took in the fact that her eyes were icy and ghost-like, the effect amplified by the darkness around them.
"Tristan comes tonight, sir knights," she informed them quietly. "I can get you away before he comes, but we must go now and you will have to trust me."
"We do not even know your name," Salazar countered from his position against the bars of his cell; despite his brave words, he cradled his head, clearly in a great deal of pain.
For a moment, the woman looked caught off guard, then she smiled and gave Salazar a wink. "I am Isolde; will that do, sir knight?"
"It will do," Godric decided, concern for Salazar rising; his friend only let himself show pain when it was excruciating. "Which way, milady?"
A soft chortle of laughter spilled from Isolde. "This way."
She leapt up, her form blurring and shifting. Automatically, Godric brought one arm forward to act as an impromptu perch. A phoenix landed on his outstretched arm, chirping thanks.
The phoenix was as dark as the shadows around them and her feathers were edged with a glint of dark blonde, giving her a rather striking look, even in the poor light. Her head angled around and she gave a soft warning sound, urging Godric to hurry.
Without hesitation, Godric grabbed Salazar's arm and pulled his friend in close. Fire danced around them and pulled them away from the dungeon with shouts of fury echoing in their wake.
Giles' jaw dropped as he read the account of the phoenix Animagus rescuing the two Hogwarts Founders from Conté's dungeon. Stunned, he let the diary thud down to the table and stared at his notes; they blurred in his vision as his eyes unfocused. A Wild Mage…they were rescued from a Wild Mage Dark Lord by another Wild Mage.
The Auror had assumed that since Wild Mages were so rare, there hadn't been any other Wild Mages around to counter Conté's actions, but, according to Gryffindor's diary, there had been another Wild Mage. At least one. So if a Wild Mage had helped to stop Tristan Conté, why then, were Wild Mages shunned and mistreated? They hadn't stood idly by, they'd helped stop the Wild Mage Dark Lord, so why…?
Onasi swallowed hard. He'd wanted answers – and he was getting them – but even so, none of this really told him how to fix the problem…or if it even could be fixed.
[2] Old English for 'to thrust through'
[3] Old English for 'to become hot'
[4] Old English for 'to bring'
[5] Old English for 'to restrain'
[6] Old English for 'send to sleep now'