Chapter Six: Battle of Corus
Giles broke off from his reading to pace around his living room, sifting through the facts he'd accumulated thus far. While it was true that he didn't have the full picture, he could guess where the entries were going. Gryffindor and Slytherin had worked with the mystery Wild Mage to bring down Tristan Conté. What he couldn't figure out was why, in the name of Merlin, were Wild Mages feared if they had helped stop the one rogue in their history? It made absolutely no sense to the Auror. Unless…
Reluctantly, he turned back to the innocent looking diary. There was only one way to find out, but he dreaded it; had he been wrong? Had he been wrong about Wild Magic, wrong to defy his world's laws? And who had sent the diary in the first place? Unable to answer any of those questions, Onasi walked back to the table and picked up the diary, flipping it open to the bookmark.
Fire swept away from the trio to reveal a small, but comfortable room. Salazar staggered, forcing Godric to focus on his friend as the dark phoenix back-winged off his arm and blurred. Slim female hands gripped Salazar's other arm and guided him towards the room's door. "Come," she murmured to Godric, "I will tend to your hand once I have seen to your friend."
Remembering Salazar's impact with an unfriendly tree trunk, Godric cringed and hurried after Isolde, though he was exquisitely careful to use his good left hand instead of his right. Isolde led them up a set of stairs to a bedroom with two beds already prepared and waiting. She settled Salazar on the bed and held up three fingers.
"How many?"
Instead of answering, Salazar glared as best he could; Godric swallowed at his friend's uneven pupils. "I. Am. Fine," Salazar growled.
There was a moment of silence, then Isolde shrugged and turned to Godric. "Your hand," she ordered.
Godric stifled his reaction to her turning away from Salazar without helping him and held his hand out. "Háligan swelan (7)," she whispered, resting two fingers on the back of his hand. The throbbing pain in Godric's hand all but vanished as Isolde's magic curled around his hand, soothing the burn away.
When the spell faded, Isolde turned to a table Godric hadn't even noticed until then. She picked up a small jar and twisted back towards the redhead; without asking, she grabbed his hand – gently – and smeared the salve in the jar over what was left of the burns. The rest of the pain vanished as she coated Godric's hand in what looked like Burn Paste.
Once done with the salve, Isolde put the jar back down on the table and flicked her gaze upwards, pinning Godric with her ghost-like eyes. "How does that feel?"
"Much better," Godric replied.
He would have continued, except Salazar abruptly keeled over, only to be caught by Isolde; her dark blonde braid whipped through the air as she whirled towards her second patient. Shaking her head, Isolde maneuvered Salazar's limp form to lay prone on the bed. "Stubborn idiot," she hissed under her breath.
"Can you help him?" Godric questioned anxiously.
Rather than answer, Isolde reached out, resting a hand on Salazar's forehead. "Thurhhaele," she murmured. As the observer rather than the patient, Godric watched with intense interest as ebony magic swirled around Salazar; it was the same shade as her phoenix Animagus form. As the magic sank into Salazar, Godric saw the younger man's breathing ease.
"He will be fine," Isolde informed Godric without looking up. "You may sleep in the other bed or I can show you to another room, sir knight."
"I will stay here, thank you," Godric replied immediately, though he hesitated. "Do you…"
Blue-gray eyes shifted to Godric when he stopped. "Yes?"
Steeling himself, Godric asked, "Do you know how to cast Dream-Catchers?"
Isolde's gaze softened at his anxious look at Salazar. "I will do so, sir knight," she promised, already drawing an elegantly carved wand. "Will you need some as well?"
Though he wanted to say 'yes', Godric was well aware that he still didn't really have any idea of who Isolde was. "No, thank you, milady," he declined; his eyes flicked down to Salazar and he considered an instant. "Actually, I think I will take your offer of another room."
The next morning, Godric made his way back to Salazar's room, praying that his friend was all right, that he hadn't made a mistake by trusting their mysterious rescuer. Inside Salazar's room, he halted in surprise; Isolde was humming to herself as she sat on the unused bed and tended to a throwing knife Godric recognized as Salazar's. In the light, she was even more beautiful than she'd looked in the dark shadows of Tirragen's dungeon.
Her blue-gray eyes lifted from her task and she offered a tentative smile. "Good morn, sir knight." She spoke quietly, to keep from disturbing Salazar, and set the cleaned and sharpened knife down on the table in front of her.
With a start, Godric saw two wands set apart from the knives; he swept forward, shock and relief flooding him as he lifted his wand and returned it to its sheath on his forearm. Keeping his own voice down, he asked, "You retrieved our weapons?"
"Of course," Isolde replied, picking up another throwing knife. "I could hardly leave them to be pawed over by Tirragen's thugs." Another smile flashed at Godric. "Your swords are downstairs with my brother, Elyan. I know swords, but Elyan is a master blacksmith."
Godric bowed, ever so slightly. "We are in your debt, my lady." He hesitated; challenging her after she had helped them felt…unchivalrous…but he still had no idea why she had helped them or what she wanted from them.
Her eyes turned sad, as if she could read his thoughts, and she turned back to Salazar's knife, gently coaxing a nick off the edge. "You mean to stop Tristan," she announced without looking up from her task.
The wizard stiffened, but did not deny her statement.
"My brother was not pleased with my actions yesterday," Isolde continued. "He reminds me that I do not have Tristan's raw power, nor the experience he has built up for years." Her eyes narrowed and Godric could tell that they were turning icy and ghost-like. "It is true that the last time I crossed blades with Tristan, he defeated me with ease, so perhaps Elyan is simply afraid for my safety." Her gaze shifted to Godric, pinning him in place. "But I cannot stand aside and allow Tristan to bring down everything our family has stood for since time immemorial."
"Family?" Godric questioned sharply.
Her smile was sardonic. "He is my cousin, sir knight," Isolde explained simply.
Godric's frown turned thoughtful. "Then perhaps you might answer a question, my lady." The ice in her eyes faded as she arched a brow and waited. "Does Conté have a claim to royalty?"
Isolde considered his question for some moments as she continued to work. "He does and he does not," she finally replied. "It is true that our family is descended from the First Ruling Line of Narnia, but it is also true that our family lost that status long ago." Her smile was wry and sad. "The Four Kings and Queens of Narnia, led by Aslan, overthrew the White Witch who was our enemy. They ruled Narnia wisely and well, sir knight, until they vanished to from whence they came." She paused, then added, "And now the Third Ruling Line governs our homeland, as the Lion wills. 'Tis likely that they will rule till Narnia is no more."
Godric leaned back on his heels. "So, your answer is that while your family once held royal status, it no longer does?"
Isolde inclined her head. "For so long as our family lives, we are still of the First Line, but the Kings and Queens of Narnia are deemed so by the Lion and no other." Her expression turned bitter. "In any case, Tristan's actions shame the gift Aslan granted our family; we are meant to protect, never to harm." Ghost eyes snagged Godric's again. "Any King or Queen of Narnia must know this above all: We are first in every desperate attack, last in every desperate retreat, and, when times of famine come, we must wear the finest clothes and laugh louder over the scantiest meal than any other in the land."
"And yet you wield the Old Religion," Salazar observed, his silver eyes flinty.
Godric was impressed that though Isolde was caught off guard, she merely turned her head to the man on the bed. "My family wields Old Magic, not the Old Religion," she refuted. "Though, I confess, it is easy to mistake for the Old Religion." Her eyes turned intent. "Even after the fall of Camelot, we have taught others how to use the Old Magic; those you fought were taught by Tristan, I have no doubt."
"They used more Latin spells than Old Religion spells," Godric observed gruffly, taking his chance to scan Salazar; the younger wizard looked much better than he had the night before.
"Yes," Isolde agreed. "The Old Magic is more…power hungry, if you will. While Tristan's followers can use the Old Magic, they do not have the magical reserves to use it for long." Tossing her head, she added, "If Tristan had had the patience to wait until his men were more practiced, they would not have such limits, but my cousin has always been more impatient than he should be." Her eyes gleamed. "We will use that against him."
" 'We'?" Salazar demanded at once.
A cunning expression spread over Isolde's face. "But of course," she mocked, "Surely your second round against Alexander Tirragen will go better than the first." The two men traded looks at that, remembering how easily they'd been taken down. "And naturally, my cousin, far more experienced than Alex in the Old Magic, will fall just as easily in the face of the greatest Latin Magic the two of you can bring to bear."
"Enough," Salazar interrupted. "You've made your point, milady."
"Have I?" Isolde questioned, looking up at Godric. "Or should I add that the two of you have no idea where my cousin is?"
"Very well," Godric surrendered. "But, perhaps, breakfast and our swords first?"
A smile spread across her face and she laughed in delight. "Certainly, sir knights."
Isolde led the way through a small tunnel, deep underneath a small trading town called Corus. The witch's sword was in her hand and her wand gleamed in her off hand. Behind her, Godric's own sword was at the ready and Salazar's rapier guarded their rear. A small globe of light hovered above the trio, cast and maintained by Isolde.
When they reached what looked like a dead end, Isolde sheathed her wand and murmured an Old Magic spell at the rocks in front of them. One rock slid upwards, revealing a small passageway. Another word and the light above them vanished. "This is our way in," Isolde informed them. "But it cannot be our way out. Do you understand?"
Godric nodded once. "This is not our first fight against Dark Wizards, Isolde," he asserted.
"True," Isolde acknowledged. Without another word, she ducked through the gap in the rocks; the two men followed. The first guard was just on the other side of the tunnel; Isolde's sword found his heart before he could call out in alarm.
"As we planned," Godric growled, taking the lead. Isolde smirked as Salazar moved to be right in front of her, his expression firm. Just outside the first room, they found a trio of off-duty guards; two swords and a knife flashed, bringing down the guards without a sound.
A cry rang out nonetheless; Godric jerked around to see another guard, white-faced and shocked at his fellows' deaths. A Bone-Breaker sailed across the distance; the guard cast an Old Magic shield, but the curse shattered it, leaving the guard open to Salazar's follow up Reducto.
With the alarm sounded, the trio found themselves fighting for every scrap of ground they took. Isolde joined the magical battle, wielding Old Magic with precision and grace, mixing sorcery and sword without so much as a single misstep in the deadly dance around her. Whenever her male companions faltered, she was there, cutting the enemy down with a ruthlessness that reminded Godric of Salazar's early days.
As the group fought their way through the dark wizards, the quake caught all of them off guard, hurling both friend and foe to the ground. Isolde cried out in shocked recognition and raised both hands. "Eorthe ac stanas, hiersumaþ me. Deteon ne forcwýsan gúþwineas (8)," she yelled above the wails of falling men and the crash and crack of stone.
Godric scrambled to his feet, astonished to note that the earth beneath himself, Isolde, and Salazar had steadied. The two wizards traded looks, understanding without words that Isolde was now helpless in combat; she had to hold the spell. Red and black closed ranks, Salazar switching to his rapier instead of his throwing knives and usual Apparition tactics. Grimly, they cut through their opponents, taking advantage of the fact that the earth still moaned and writhed beneath Conté's people.
A feral roar heralded the arrival of a familiar raven-haired man. Godric snarled and leapt to meet the man, his sword flashing in his grip. Tirragen's sword met Godric's, hilt to hilt as he strained to hold Godric off long enough to use his magic. But Godric had no intention of letting him; Gryffindor twisted and heaved, sending Tirragen's sword flying, blade first, into the ceiling. He brought his sword up.
"Godric, move!" Salazar yelled.
Godric threw himself sideways and watched in shock as the quakes broke the ceiling, sending Tirragen's sword straight down; Tirragen had time for a single cry before the blade struck. Godric swallowed harshly. "Let's move!" he called, flicking a glance at Isolde in silent question.
She grimaced; Salazar sheathed his wand and rapier and hurried to her, retrieving the staff he'd dropped to fight more effectively. Without pausing, he slung Isolde over his shoulder and carried her after Godric. Godric took over the lion's share of the fighting as Salazar bore Isolde, his face growing more and more pinched as his crippled leg protested the unexpected demands Salazar was making of it.
The quakes around them intensified, giving Godric an undeniable advantage over the unprotected wizards he fought; Isolde's magic gleamed around her as she grimly held her spell in spite of the jostling Salazar was giving her. "We must hurry," she gasped out. "I can hold the spell, but the longer my magic and Tristan's fight, the more likely that we will cause an even worse earthquake. The earth has its own ways of dealing with such pressure."
Godric growled in frustration, but picked up his pace, taking advantage of each and every opening he saw; Salazar shifted Isolde enough to draw his wand again and add to Godric's spellfire. Together, the two wizards battered their way into the lair's inner sanctum.
Inside, Salazar let Isolde down, aware that he couldn't fight with her on his back much longer. The man in the center of the room was similar to Isolde, but exuded a darkness that neither Godric nor Salazar had seen with Isolde. His eyes were blue, his hair a brown so dark as to be almost black, and his height was on par with Godric's. Both hair and beard were neatly trimmed and the sorcerer wore a royal blue robe with silver trim.
"So," the sorcerer mocked, "The great Earl Gryffindor and Baron Slytherin have come for me." His head cocked to the side. "Tell me, great ones, would you have gotten this far without the lovely traitor at your side?"
"I am not the traitor, Tristan," Isolde retorted, her magic flaring a deep ebony. "You turned on everything our family believes in. I cannot, will not, permit it to continue!"
"Then you shall die as one of them!" Conté roared, his hand whipping forward.
His magic erupted in a wave of solid orange; the wave morphed into a wicked looking blade as it flew. Isolde gasped in shock as it embedded itself in her chest; she fell sideways as Salazar howled dismay and defiance in equal measure, throwing himself at Conté. Slytherin's rapier met Conté's dagger and Salazar dodged to the side, his rapier slashing through the tendon at the base of Conté's thumb. Conté's dagger fell from a hand suddenly unable to hold it and Salazar followed up, his blade ramming through his opponent's chest.
Godric dealt with the last few minions as his friend practically flew to Isolde's side. The redhead followed, his heart sinking at the lost look on Salazar's face; it was not the first time Salazar had lost those he cared about, but usually it took much longer for Salazar to warm up to people. Isolde had cut through all of Salazar's defenses; never once had she treated him as inferior, as a cripple, or as a dark wizard, she'd gone out of her way to clean and sharpen every one of Salazar's throwing knives, and she'd respected him enough to let him dictate terms until he truly needed help.
Salazar pulled the woman up, almost crying as he took in the damage Conté's spell had done; she was dying and nothing either wizard could do would stop her death. "Please," she whispered, "Take me home. Take me back to Elyan."
"We will," Godric promised, grief in his face as the life faded from her eyes. His gaze turned to Salazar. "We will," he whispered.
[7] Old English for 'Heal burn'
[8] Old English for 'Earth and stones, obey me. Do not shake war comrades.'