Le Morte
For the better part of two days Mark had managed to elude the party sent to search for him.
Arthur couldn't be certain when the man had fled Camelot in the aftermath of the battle, but when Myrddin had gone to fetch him, Mark was nowhere to be found.
It had been expected that he would attempt to make it back to his keep where he could bar the gates well enough, but instead, he'd headed east, evidently in a bid to make it back to Cnut or to find another ally he could hide behind.
To Arthur, his actions only confirmed the guilt of the man, and as Mark was dragged into the throne room to answer to the accusations of being a traitor, the king could only shake his head in disappointment.
He knew that Mark was angry, bitter that Iseult had fallen in love with Tristan, but his feelings towards his son should never been allowed to cloud his judgement.
Mark had turned his back on Arthur, and worse still, he'd turned his back on the people of Wales.
"I don't know what to say. I know my father is difficult, but for him to go to Cnut?"
"I know it is hard to believe," Arthur sighed. "I don't want to either, but he's running, Tristan. It doesn't look good for him."
Tristan nodded.
"What will happen to him if he did?"
Arthur released a deep breath.
"I have let him get away with disrespecting me too many times. He did it when he first arrived and has done so ever since."
"Execution then?"
"I hope it doesn't come to that."
Despite what could well be Mark's fate, Arthur had not hidden what had happened from Tristan, nor had he made any effort to lie to him about what his father faced.
Despite the collapse of what little affection they may have had for one another, Tristan deserved to know the truth.
Still, the man had made himself scarce since the conversation, but he entered the throne room shortly after his father and took his spot at the table where Bors, Lancelot, and the others were waiting, each wearing a grim expression.
"Bring him here," Arthur commanded.
The guards escorting Mark did so, and the man paled as Arthur approached, his gaze boring into Mark's.
"Tell me why," he whispered. "Why did you seek out Cnut?"
"I didn't. I have done no…"
"DO NOT LIE TO ME!" Arthur roared, the anger he'd been keeping at bay these past few days boiling over. "You were seen, and we have the owl his druid gave you. Now, I'm only going to ask you once more. Why?"
Mark stood a little and he narrowed his eyes before spitting at Arthur's feet.
"You took everything from me!" he hissed. "You took my crown, you took my son, and you took my wife! Ever since you came here, we have suffered!"
Arthur chuckled humourlessly.
"Ask any other person here if they have suffered," he urged. "You only suffered because you could not stand losing your crown and decided to continue to be a pain in my arse. I have let a lot of things go where you are concerned, Mark, but I cannot do that anymore, It's one thing to bear a grudge against me, but you put my entire kingdom in danger. Take him to the dungeons whilst I think about what to do with him."
Mark said nothing as he was dragged from the hall, and Arthur rubbed his eyes tiredly.
Were it anyone else other than Tristan's father, he would not hesitate to do what he knew he needed to.
The room was silent, and Arthur felt his hand twitch towards his waiting blade.
"You know what you must do," Lancelot murmured in his ear. "It is unavoidable."
Arthur nodded and his gaze shifted towards Tristan who merely nodded in response before leaving the room.
It wasn't a blessing for what he knew was to come, only acceptance.
Even if Arthur wanted to make another exception for another transgression from Mark, he knew he couldn't. It would make him appear weak and give others the impression they could do the same without consequence.
Although it pained him to do so for the friend he cared for, Arthur knew he had to execute Mark for all he'd done.
"Tomorrow," he decided. "I will do it tomorrow."
(Break)
Although they'd put quite some distance between themselves and the abhorrent display of magic they'd witnessed, Salazar could still feel it lingering around him, like an immovable stain to his very soul.
He shuddered at the thought of what he'd seen.
Such magic should not be delved into.
The dead should be allowed to rest, not manipulated into doing the bidding of others.
Salazar frowned as he pondered the ritual.
It was different to the one he'd read in Herpo's works, but the result was much the same.
Those two strange women had called upon the dead to do their bidding, and he could not help but think that they'd not seen or heard the very last of it.
Still, it was Godric who seemed to be the most disturbed by it.
He'd said little since they'd left the peat bogs behind them, and he was paler than usual.
"How do you kill something that is already dead?" he asked curiously.
"Fire," Harry answered before Salazar could. "Lots of fire, and it has to be hot enough to burn through the very bones."
Both Godric and Salazar nodded.
"Have you ever seen anything like it?" the former asked. "Have you seen the dead crawl from the ground in such a way?"
"No," Salazar murmured. "I have read of similar feats, but I have never witnessed it for myself, and I hope never to again. Such magic should be left alone. You felt what I did, how very wrong it was. Those women laid a curse upon themselves, even if they didn't realise it."
"Or they didn't care," Harry broke in. "You don't cast magic like that without considering the implications. They knew what they were doing. There was no hesitation from either of them. Maybe they've even done it before."
Salazar nodded thoughtfully.
"Perhaps," he agreed, "but it hardly seems important. What does matter is what we know. Those things are going to be set upon Strenger and even us if we are discovered. I can think of very few spells that would be of use when faced with so many of them."
"We could find a dragon," Harry suggested.
Godric snorted humourlessly.
"You've had enough involvement with dragons, Harry, and even if you could coerce one into helping you, there's no telling how the beast would react to being exposed to that magic. No, it could just make things worse."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"We have to do something. Cnut doesn't have the means to fight off what we saw, and I doubt even Myrddin could be the difference in such a fight. If Guthrum intends on leaving the east, he will wash over the country like a damned plague."
"He will," Salazar said gravely. "The way I see it, we have two options, and neither one of them fill me with confidence."
"Go on," Godric urged.
"We find a way of eliminating the dead, which only solves half of the problem. Those women will just find a way to raise more."
"Or we kill the women," Harry interjected.
Salazar nodded.
"But if we kill them, will that be enough to destroy the magic?" Godric asked.
Salazar frowned as he pondered the question.
"Perhaps," he answered uncertainly, "but we also have the difficulty of getting to them. They will go nowhere without the dead. They must remain close to them to maintain the control they have."
"This just gets better," Harry sighed. "You know, ignorance really is bliss."
Salazar chuckled.
"But we are not fortunate enough to be ignorant of this, and it is always best to be prepared, Harry, even for the very worst."
"I thought the dragon might just be the worst thing I have to deal with."
"There are much worse things than dragons, and even the dead."
"Until the dead are gone, you won't convince me of that. What can be worse than something that cannot be killed with a blade or so easily with magic?"
Salazar could not bring himself to argue with the younger man.
What they faced was dire, and he could scarcely think of anything that could be done against such a hoard of creatures.
That's what they were now.
There was nothing left of the people they had once been. No, they were mindless beasts at the whim of two women who'd already proven that they themselves lack any sense of morality.
"So, what do we do?" Harry asked.
Salazar shook his head.
"I am unsure," he murmured. "I must consult my research."
"You've researched these things?" Godric questioned.
"No, not with any intent of creating them, but I have works from those that have attempted it at the very least. I must return to Hogwarts. Whilst I am gone, do not do anything foolish," Salazar urged. "See what you can learn about the women but be careful. I cannot imagine anyone knowing of them wanting to discuss them with strangers to the land."
"What about Strenger?"
Salazar released a deep breath.
"I think for now, as much as it pains me to admit it, Strenger is the least of our concerns, don't you? I will return as quickly as I can. This threat cannot be left to roam the country."
With that, he dismounted his horse and apparated away, unsure if he would find a solution to such a problem.
(Break)
"What is it with all this fog?"
Phillip couldn't see who had asked, but he too had been wondering the same thing.
The fog was unnaturally thick, and especially cold for the time of year. The east of Britain was a strange land, and it only seemed to be getting stranger still.
"You know, I remember the last time I saw fog like this. I was in the north, and not long after, a group of wraiths attacked the area."
"It's not wraiths," Phillip said firmly. "I have seen them for myself, and they are colder than this. No, this is something else, something as unnatural, but it's not them."
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know," Philip answered. "We press on."
"We can't see where we are going!"
"We press on!" Phillip snapped.
He could not deny that he too was concerned with the lurking eeriness.
Something wasn't right here, but before Phillip could ponder it much further, he heard the sound of footsteps drawing closer, footsteps that did not belong to his own men.
No, these were heavy, uneven, but more concerning was the magic that began permeating the area.
Phillip had been across much of the continent over the years, had seen things he wouldn't believe if he'd only heard of them, but never anything like this.
"Lumos Maxima!"
At first, he saw nothing, but as Phillip slowly moved his wand across his field of vision, he caught sight of something that made his blood run cold.
The person walking only a short distance away was pale, too pale to be living, but it was the eyes that filled him with a sudden fear he'd never experienced.
They were red, almost glowing through the fog as it stared at him emptily.
The staring, however, did not last, and as a cackle sounded across the land, it lunged towards him with a speed he'd not expected from something so lifeless.
Phillip was sent crashing to the ground from the top of his horse, and instinctively, he rolled into the tall reeds off the beaten track just as the first screams of his men sounded.
Righting himself, Phillip caught sight of another of the creatures and fired an array of spells towards it, only to balk as all there was to see from his efforts was a gaping hole in the forehead.
Despite the wound, the creature stalked towards him soundlessly, and Phillip did all he could in that moment and fled.
"RUN YOU DAMNED FOOLS!" he shouted.
He didn't wait for the others.
Phillip sprinted for all he was worth across the uneven landscape, and all but crawled up a hill some distance away. When he reached the top, he was fighting to merely breathe, and yet, the screaming of his men continued.
Some managed to flee, and a few even joined him, but as Phillip looked at what was unfolding below, he could not quite believe his eyes.
Whatever these creatures were, dozens upon dozens of them were skulking through the reeds, seeking out whatever live humans they could find.
Soon enough, the screaming stopped, but the dead did not.
They walked amongst the mist as though they belonged, but what was more troubling was the two other figures accompanying them.
Women.
The cackle that had rung out had been a maniacal as anything Phillip had ever heard, but undeniably feminine in nature.
Nonetheless, he'd never seen two women more terrifying in his life.
Although they were not as pale as the dead they seemed to be leading, they were equally terrifying in appearance.
Both seemed to be sporting a mask of blood, and the brown, spun robes they wore were splattered with the same reddish hue in darker patches across the garment.
From here, Phillip could see little else, and he had no intention of doing so.
Who or what they were, he didn't know, and with the few men that manged to reach him through the fog brought along with the dead, he took to his heels once more, filled with dread, and daring not to look back at what he was leaving behind.
Something sinister was afoot in the east of Britain, and Phillip had no desire to learn any more than he already had.
(Break)
Arthur had barely slept the previous night from wrestling with his conscience.
Myrddin had seen him wandering the courtyard since before sunrise, and the dreary, grey morning only reflected the mood of the king.
"I don't want to do this, Tristan," he assured his friend as Mark was led from the keep.
"I know."
The knights had all gathered neat the chopping block, and many of the citizens of Camelot had formed a crowd a short distance away to witness the execution for themselves.
As Mark was brought to his knees, Arthur slowly approached, his legs much steadier than the man was feeling.
"Having considered what you have done, and all that came before it, you leave me no choice but to sentence you to death."
Mark again spat at Arthur's feet in a final gesture of defiance.
"I'll be the first of many," he declared. "You'll get a taste for it, boy, and anyone who stands in your way will be where I am now."
Arthur nodded.
"Treason is punishable by death in any kingdom. I gave you chance after chance to work with me, Mark, and you chose to go against me. Your actions resulted in the death of many here and would've been more had we not been able to defend this castle from the Danes. You chose to be a coward, and the blood spilled here is on your hands as much as any other. Do you have any final words?"
Mark leered at Arthur for a moment.
"God will claim his debt from you, boy. I go to him with my conscience clear and my arms open. I do not think you will be able to say the same when your time comes, and I hope that it is soon."
Arthur merely nodded in response before gesturing to the guards to place Mark on the chopping block.
Drawing Excalibur from its scabbard, he released a deep breath, and Merlin watched as the young king removed the condemned man's head with a single stroke.
There was no cheering to be heard.
The mood within Camelot was sombre at best, and when the deed was done, Arthur did not linger. He immediately headed into the keep, followed by the men loyal to him.
Before Myrddin could make his own way inside out of the impending rain, he caught sight of an owl gliding towards him, and as it landed upon his arm, he sighed deeply.
"What now?" he murmured, relieving the bird of the scroll of parchment it carried.
The closest inn to the border of the east. Come quickly.
It was an ominous note, and one Myrddin had not expected, but Strenger was not one to call upon him for something trivial.
No, something wasn't right, and as he pondered what that might be, Myrddin took his leave from Camelot to seek out the man.
(Break)
The locals had spoken of screams in the night, of a fog so thick they could barely see their hands in front of their faces when they held them up. They'd spoken of the cold and the pale figures ravaging the group of men lurking in the reeds not so far from the village.
They'd been terrified that they too would become victims to whatever horror had befallen the strange men.
When the fog had cleared come morning, all that remained was bodies that had been torn limb from limb, splatters of blood, and partially devoured organs.
Godric cursed under his breath as he surveyed the scene.
He'd never seen anything quite like this before, and it did not rest easy with him.
"They must be stopped," he murmured.
Harry nodded his agreement.
In his short life, he'd become accustomed to the macabre and gruesome, but Godric doubted he'd seen anything like this either.
"How?"
Godric shook his head.
"Let us hope that Salazar has a solution, and if he doesn't, we must find one ourselves. Come, let us leave this place for now, Harry. It take a lot to turn my stomach, and this is more than enough."
"You're not wrong," Harry said grimly, stepping over the remains of a torso riddled with bite marks.
They mounted their horses once more, and both stayed silent for some time. It was Harry who eventually spoke, and when he did so, his expression was rather dour.
"Will there ever be peace?"
"No," Godric answered honestly. "So long as there are men, there will always be war."
Harry snorted humourlessly.
"I've learned that is the way of the world, even where I came from."
"Some things never change, Harry. We can only adapt and overcome when we must."
Harry nodded.
"I know, I just wish it was one problem I had to solve."
Godric frowned thoughtfully.
"This doesn't have to be yours to solve. The dead wandering Britain is a problem for everyone."
"But who will step up to stop them?" Harry asked.
Godric did not have an answer for him.
What Harry was implying was correct. Most were content with sitting idly by and allowing the world to burn around them, but there was something the younger man failed to understand.
Most were not like him.
Most had not spent their lives fighting for survival the way he had, and most possessed neither courage nor skill he did.
"Those of us who can," Godric answered, squeezing Harry's shoulder. "We need to get a message to Salazar to tell him what has happened."
Harry nodded as he drew his wand.
"Expecto Patronum!"
An ethereal crow sprung from the tip of his wand and Godric quirked an eyebrow at the younger man.
"Wasn't that a stag?"
"It was, but it changed."
"They can change?"
Harry nodded.
"My father was a stag animagus, and I suppose that's why my patronus used to be that. It was him."
"And now?"
"It's Morgana," Harry answered fondly. "I think my feelings for her changed what my patronus is. My best ever memories are the ones I've shared with her."
It wasn't often there was much of a spark in his eyes when he spoke, but when he did so of his wife, it was unmissable.
Evidently, Harry allowed himself to indulge in thoughts of the woman, and Godric granted him that time to unwind from what they'd seen, though such a moment was not made to last on such dull day.
It was only a few moments later that a grim Salazar returned, a deep frown creasing his brows.
"What is it?" he asked.
"They made their first attack."
"Strenger?"
Godric shrugged.
"Maybe, but there wasn't enough left behind to be certain. Did you recognise any of what we saw, Harry?"
He shook his head.
"No, but I think at least some of them were wizards. It's easy to tell from what they were wearing, but Strenger wouldn't allow himself to die like this. He's still out here somewhere."
Godric snorted and nodded his agreement.
"No he wouldn't. Do you have any insight, Salazar?"
He released a deep breath before tentatively removing a book from within his robes.
Salazar stared at it for a moment before handing it to Harry.
The younger man shuddered as he grasped it.
"Is this made from human skin?" he asked.
Salazar nodded grimly.
"It is and is one of a kind. What you hold there, Harry, is the works of Herpo the Foul. I have told you about him."
"You did," Harry murmured. "He took a path that no man should take…"
"But one that we can learn much from," Salazar broke in. "What is in that book should never be allowed to fall into the hands of those that wish to harm others, or even seek power. I have read and digested each page, and what we face is mentioned in there. Although Herpo created his own army of dead in a different manner, the result we saw is much the same."
"How do we kill them?"
"Fire, but normal fire will only scorch the flesh. It will fend them off for a time, but it will not destroy them. Herpo writes of a fire that was summoned by a warlock to destroy his creations, but he also speaks of how he became enamoured with it, of how he used it himself to destroy his enemies, of how he perfected it."
Harry frowned as he flicked through the pages, pausing as he reached the one he sought.
"Fiendfyre," he murmured.
Salazar nodded.
"It is a most dangerous undertaking, and only one with the power to manage it absolute control should ever summon it. Say what you will for Herpo's morals, he was an incredibly gifted and powerful wizard."
"What happens if you summon it but can't control the flames?" Godric asked.
Salazar shook his head.
"The fire will consume all in its path," Harry answered. "It will not stop until it is stopped. It is much more difficult for someone not the caster to best it."
Godric cursed under his breath.
"It is too much of a risk to take."
"For you," Salazar returned. "You are far too noble to use such a spell, and I should never be allowed to wield such power. With all I have done in my pursuit of excellence, I fear I too will become enamoured with it. Just the thought of it at my fingertips concerns me, Godric."
Godric nodded as he clapped Salazar on the shoulder.
The man had spoken to him over the years of the difficulties he'd faced when using some magicks he'd come across.
More than a few times, Salazar had almost lost himself to it, and it had been his sheer brilliance and determination that had prevented him from doing so.
Salazar had always seen it as a flaw, or a weakness in his character, but Godric saw it only as a strength.
He recognised that such magic should not be in his hands, and he'd fought those urges for much of his life.
Salazar delved into things he should probably leave well alone, but he never failed to pull himself back from the brink when he felt himself teetering over the edge of what was right and what was wrong.
For that, Godric commended and respected his friend, even if he didn't always agree with what he'd done.
"It seems so easy to summon," Harry said worriedly. "There is almost nothing to it."
"By Herpo's design," Salazar sighed. "I expect he wanted this book to be found by someone who would want to use what is within. Perhaps the original spell he'd witnessed was more complex and he broke it down to what is there now. I cannot say for sure, but it fits with the man he was. Herpo lived for the violence and chaos he could create with magic, and for someone to use it so negligently would only please him from beyond the grave."
Harry shook his head as he offered the book back to Salazar, who shook his head.
"No, it is better served in your hands, Harry," he said quietly. "There is no telling when you might need something from there."
Godric frowned and Salazar shot him a pointed look when he opened his mouth to protest.
Instead, Godric said nothing and Harry placed the book in the trunk he kept with him before shrinking it down and placing it back in his pocket.
"So, what do we do now?"
"We continue searching for Strenger until we find him, or learn of his death," Salazar answered. "He's still out here somewhere, and I would rather it was us that find him before those women and the dead."
Harry nodded and urged his horse forward, but Godric took Salazar by the forearm.
"You will explain to me why you gave him that book."
"The truth," Salazar said sadly. "Just the truth he deserves to know and that I am too cowardly to tell him."
Godric's frown deepened, but Salazar offered him a comforting smile.
"The truth?"
Salazar nodded.
"It cannot harm him, not now, but it may have done before."
"Before what?"
"Before he pledged his soul to the woman he loves. His soul was his and only his to give. He did so without repercussion, Godric, and that is all that matters."
Godric was confused, but Salazar said nothing else as he followed in Harry's wake, leaving behind a confused man who was clueless as to what he'd learned, but not doubting that he had indeed learned something significant about the boy they'd cared for these past years.
(Break)
He immediately knew that something was terribly amiss when he arrived a short distance from the border to the east.
The fog rolling across the land was denser than could be deemed natural, but it was the magic permeating the air that troubled Myrddin. It made his skin crawl with discomfort, and the air reeked of what could only be described as death.
It was unlike what he'd experienced in Wales when meeting Ignotus Peverell.
The magic there had felt very much alive, but this was so deeply unnatural that he shuddered at the thought of what could have created such an abomination.
Keeping his hand firmly on his wand, Myrddin made his way into the inn across the way, and when he entered, he was immediately accosted by a pale Strenger.
"Do you feel it?" the man whispered harshly. "Do you know what that is?"
Myrddin had never seen Strenger in such a state.
He was pale and trembling as though he'd endured the most terrible of things.
"What happened?" he asked calmly.
Strenger shook his head and tried to steady his laboured breathing.
"I don't know," he replied. "We were travelling through the east and were set upon by dead men."
"Dead men?" Myrddin returned with a frown.
Strenger nodded.
"Hundreds of them. They killed most of mine. I saw them tear through my men as though they were wolves in a herd of sheep."
"You're certain they were dead?"
"Nothing like what I saw could be living. They were walking corpses, Emrys, with red eyes, pale skin, and nothing could stop them. I blew a damned hole in the head of one of them, and it kept coming for me."
A frown creased Myrddin's brow.
"I have heard the rumours of this place," he murmured. "Stories that are quite unbelievable. Did you see anything else?"
"Two women," Strenger answered. "They were leading the dead like they were an army."
Myrddin nodded to himself.
He expected that Arthur would need to overcome some obstacles on his path a throne overlooking the entirety of Britain, but nothing like this.
"Take what men you have and leave," Myrddin urged. "Remaining here will only get you killed. I will see what this is for myself, but before I do, is there anything else you can tell me?"
Strenger shook his head.
"Slytherin has been seen here, along with Godric, and another man. I expect they are looking for me."
Myrddin hummed thoughtfully.
"Then perhaps I will come across them," he mused aloud. "Go, find somewhere safe. I will reach out to you when I am certain of what is happening here."
Strenger did not need telling twice.
He immediately left the inn, and Myrddin suspected he would already be in the wind before he followed suit.
Why Godric and Salazar were here was a puzzling revelation, particularly when Hogwarts was currently full of students.
Had they been informed of the dead or was it something else that brought them east.
Myrddin did not know, but he was indeed curious to learn of what caused them to venture from the north, and even if it wasn't the dead that had done so, they would undoubtedly know of what had happened here.
Perhaps he would seek them out.
If nothing else, they would be able to share their thoughts on the matter, and despite the rather frosty tension between them, they would see the reasoning in doing so when faced with such a thing.
After all, it wasn't every day that a horde of dead were raised and set upon people, and it was not a problem that would be so easily dealt with.
(Break)
Her dreams had been a feverish myriad of different things.
At times, she'd felt as though she was flying, and others she was falling into a deep abyss where she was clawed at by pale hands.
There had been fire, but it had not scorched her skin as she'd anticipated.
The flames had not been hot enough to counter the icy chill surrounding her.
Often, Morgana would wake in a cold sweat, but she was too exhausted to do little else than fall into another restless sleep. For how long this lasted, she couldn't be certain.
It could have been mere hours, but it felt to be several days at least.
When she did wake with the ability to keep her eyes open, she could immediately feel the differences in herself. The magic flowing through her was much her own, all of it, but there was more to it now than there had ever been.
What became most clear to her, however, was that the fairies were no longer buzzing around her head.
Both were on the ground, pale and unmoving, having evidently served their purpose.
It saddened Morgana to see them in such a way.
They had often irritated her to no end, and the sickness they brought had been most unpleasant, but she'd never wished harm upon them beyond the occasional muttered threat.
Nonetheless, even though they were dead at her feet, their magic lived on, and that was the difference she felt within her.
It had been there for so long now that she couldn't remember what it was like without it, but now that it was so prominently a part of her own, she couldn't forget it either.
She'd always felt a connection to everything around her, as though she belonged to the very trees she'd been drawn to live among. Now, she felt as though the trees belonged to her.
Morgana could feel every part of everything; the plants, the grass, the trees, and even the gentle breeze swaying them.
With a frown, she placed her palm on the trunk of a large fir, and when she closed her eyes, it seemed as though it was just as much a part of her as the hand she was using.
Releasing a staggered breath it took no effort for her to connect with the magic of the tree and manipulate it.
Morgana opened her eyes and watched as it grew instantly; reaching a size that would take several decades to achieve if it managed to survive that long.
It was an odd feeling being able to manipulate it in such a way, and when she managed the same feat with a few plants, she began to wonder what else was possible with her newfound ability.
With the fairies having done what they'd intended to, now, she could experiment with the gift they had given her.
Why it had been bestowed upon her, she didn't know, but Morgana was determined to see just what was now possible for her.
(Break)
"Have you ever heard of the dead being raised, Harry?" Godric asked curiously.
He shook his head.
He hadn't
Of all the monstrous things Voldemort had inflicted upon the people of Britain during his rise to power, no one had ever mentioned him controlling an army of dead men.
"That is good," Salazar murmured. "It means that the knowledge of such was either protected or was unable to be replicated.
Not one member of the trio was comfortable with what was roaming the lands somewhere around them, and Harry suspected that Salazar had wondered if Riddle had indeed managed to replicate the feat of the witches here.
Harry couldn't be certain that he hadn't, but he could not imagine spending the better part of three years in the wizarding world without having heard it being mentioned.
"This just gets better," Godric grumbled irritably.
As they found themselves approaching the next village, another figure could be seen on the path walking towards them, and Harry recognised the man immediately.
"Myrddin," he whispered.
He frowned as the very same thoughts of Strenger's possible connection to Myrddin crossed his mind, and he couldn't help but think that his presence, here and now, was not a mere coincidence.
"When I heard you were travelling with a third man, I had not even considered that it might just be Sir Harry Potter accompanying you," Myrddin commented, smiling as he approached them.
"Sir Harry Potter?" Godric questioned with a frown. "Are you really the Sir Harry who fought a dragon at the battle of Camelot?"
Harry nodded, relieved that Godric had shown the initiative to minimise their knowledge of one another.
"So, you heard of what happened there?" Myrddin asked curiously.
"We did indeed," Salazar interjected with a scowl. "We were making inquiries into Guthrum's plans after what happened at Camelot. We are expecting a disturbance of the peace in Daneland. We must keep abreast of what is happening around the country at such a time. We certainly did not expect to hear rumours of dead men slaughtering the locals."
Myrddin nodded gravely.
"I received the news from a close companion," he sighed. "It is an abomination to raise the dead. What brought you here, Sir Harry?"
"Marsh reed," Harry answered. "I was looking to harvest some, and the best can be found in the east. I met Salazar on the banks of the peat bogs and he gave me some rather useful advice. I certainly hadn't expected to bump into perhaps the most famous wizard in the country whilst doing something so dull."
"Yes, Salazar is not as exciting as most would believe," Myrddin chuckled, his gaze boring into Harry's.
The man evidently knew better than to probe beyond words, but Harry did not drop his guard for even a moment.
"Well, I do find myself at a loss at how to defeat these creatures. I must consult some of my works for a solution but help from three exceptional wizards such as yourselves would be most appreciated."
"We intend to remain in the area," Godric replied.
Myrddin nodded.
"Then I shall return shortly, hopefully with a solution to such a terrible problem. Good day, Godric, Salazar, Sir Harry," he addressed each, nodding before continuing along the path in the opposite direction.
The trio said nothing for some time, not until they reached the outskirts of the village ahead.
"Do you still think there might just be a possibility he is here by coincidence?" Harry asked.
Both Godric and Salazar wore grave expressions.
"No, I am not," the former whispered dangerously.
Harry could only shake his head.
Despite the task ahead of him, he had thought that perhaps Myrddin was not so lacking in morals that he would assist the man who'd murdered Rowena's daughter, but his presence here spoke all he needed to know and seemingly did so to each of them.
"If he is somehow connected to Strenger, you need not worry yourself about killing him, Harry. I'll bloody well do it myself," Godric vowed.