Chapter 20
The Battle of Brise-Roc
12 July 1992, Brise-Roc Fortress, France
"Tell me Miss Arwen. "Berated Henry Thurgood." Are all the mudblood children of your age so dim-witted or did you have to take lessons to be so stupid?"
Alexandra by a monumental effort of will managed to not take her wand and curse the man in front of her so badly until the man looked like a frog or a snail. It did not stop her to fix him with a cold stare she had perfected a long time with the Dursleys.
A few seconds passed in a cold, silent stare. Finally, Thurgood was the first to break the stalemate and lowered his brown eyes to look at his shoes.
"Clean this mess!" He snarled in an enraged voice where fear, anger and disgust were all present, before walking away in direction of the lower levels of Brise-Roc.
The mess in question was his own tent and everything in it, noticed Alexandra with a non-hidden disgust. Wizarding robes, food, bottles of Firewhiskey and Butterbeer, Knuts, potions ingredients and several instruments prised by cursed-breakers were littering the floor. An impartial observer would qualify it as a dustbin in her honest opinion, and it was considerably worse knowing that this last week, she had cleaned this tent every day thoroughly and in an exemplary fashion.
Cleaning the tent perfectly was not enough to the taste of Curse-breaker Henry Thurgood, however. Never mind the odious pureblood who had no skills in keeping order of his own possessions, he also insisted that because Alexandra was his assistant, she had to cook everything he wanted, write his memories-which-will-no-doubt-be-the best-seller-of the-year and a myriad of other tasks. All the while without him giving precise and coherent instructions.
After a week in the presence of Thurgood, punctuated by his insults of "mudbloods" and how she was a worthless being, Alexandra was really on the verge of murdering him. Only the contract she had signed with Grimjaw in this office prevented her to so, the accountant having been very clear on her instructions: the curse-breakers had to face goblin's justice. Her role was to find proof, not to execute the sentence.
On June 3, she had to admit she hadn't especially cared. Alexandra didn't like killing, Devkins had left her a very bad reminder, and it had been a case of 'me or you' when the Defence Professor had fought her at Hogwarts. She had been more interested in negotiating her services for the price of 2 000 Galleons and five artefacts of her choice found at Brise-Roc (under the condition there was no known owner to claim them back).
In hindsight, she should have demanded to read the files they had on the different suspected curse-breakers, it would not have prepared her to the reality of these imbeciles and inbred idiots, but it would have provided a nice advance warning. Alas, she had not done so. And Alexandra really, really regretted it now. The main issue she had with her assignation was the less and less likelihood the goblins had only wanted to get rid of these curse-breakers because they stole or abused their employment contracts, but also because said persons were generally loathsome characters.
Thurgood, the curse-breaker she was currently assistant, was bad enough. The man was rude, arrogant, selfish, gluttonous, had no manner, and seemed to delight from any opportunity to insult the common goblins or the humans who were below him in the hierarchy of the expedition force. These were his qualities. His light brown hair were spiked like if someone had cursed them to stand straight until the end of times, which combined to his perpetual anger, made sure everyone stood well away from him.
Not that the others were any prize. If anything, Stephen Selwyn of the Noble and Ancient House of Selwyn, the senior curse-breaker sent by Gringotts London, was even more arrogant than Thurgood (if it indeed was humanly possible) and was a fanatic supporter of the pure-blood idiocy which had done so much damage in Wizarding England during the decade of her birth. The man was throwing out the words "mudblood" and "blood-traitors" in conversations like these were the only words in his vocabulary. The less said about how he was treating the liaison goblins, the better.
The rest of the English group was a reflection of the leadership provided by Selwyn and Thurgood: null. Andrew Flint, of one the secondary branch of the Noble House of Flint, was looking like he was closely related to a troll and had the aggressive behaviour and the stupidity of the species in question. Marcus Cram and Denver Poke were young adults who had found the job promised by their families was too boring and had applied for the position of curse-breakers with the idea of filling their pockets with gold and searching for adventure. Timothy Boxley was an old man who had left the administrative branch of Gringotts London because the pay was not good enough for him to earn a decent retirement, although his gambling problems no doubt played a part in this. Craig Trigg and Jeremiah Maestro were men who were continuously drunk, how and why they were doing this job was beyond her knowledge. Brendan Parkin was a smuggler, who considered his duty to sell to the rest of the curse-breakers all sort of things which figured on the forbidden list of any curse-breaker having sense. And yes, it included the equivalent of magical drugs, alcohol and adult movies.
Nine curse-breakers sent by Gringotts London, all purebloods. All idiots. No wonder the goblin had only been able to find a single assistant, Alexandra herself, to deal with this band of thieves.
Of course, there were some good points as well. Grimjaw had been courteous enough to allow her to work under a pseudonym, and she had taken "Galadriel Arwen" as her new fictional name. She did not know how Thurgood and the others humans present would react if they learnt her name was Alexandra Potter, and she had no intention to find out. Pureblood being out of touch with anything concerning the non-magical world, much less the Lord of the Rings, her anonymity had a good chance to hold until the end of her mission.
Alas, Thurgood and his fellow curse-breakers had no idea of proper hygiene and it was painful to live in the same area as them, but they were forced to do their job about eight hours a day, which left the young Ravenclaw away from their non-pleasurable presence the better part of day's light.
As a third good point, the landscape was also spectacular. Brise-Roc, like the dwarf fortress of Erebor imagined by Tolkien, was built inside a mountain, with a monumental bridge over a large precipice being the only way to access it.
The valley leading to the bridge was where the goblin army and their human employees had based their camp, and it was a magnificent spectacle, with thousands of flowers blooming in the green pastures, the imposing mountains of the French Alps all around them. A blue sky without any trace of clouds, very warm temperatures, a river with cold water to freshen the bodies when it grew too hot and some adorable animals emerging from their dens like marmots contributed to make the scene an idyllic vision. It was infinitely better than the weather and the ambiance she would have seen at Privet Drive at any rate!
Fourth, Alexandra had a lot of anecdotes to send to Hermione by the intermediary of Atalanta. It was always good to have a friendly ear to complain your boss was a jerk and that the pure-bloods were diseased with criminal stupidity.
Unfortunately, the good news ended there. It had been seven days since the goblin army and the curse-breakers had arrived to Brise-Roc and in that period of time, no one had managed to find a trace of the goblin garrison which had been stationed there. The humans and the goblins had opened the gigantic steel gates, only to be greeted by a silence of death. The citadel was empty of living beings.
So far, no one had managed to explain how such a thing was possible. The vaults of the upper levels, full of gold and silver bullion stocked there by different branch of Gringotts Bank and wealthy magical parties, were intact. The gates of the fortress were intact. The magical protections of the upper levels were intact. No door had been breached, no alarm sounded, no ward deactivated. Only the goblins supposed to guard the place had volatilised themselves.
In these circumstances, Warfist, the general goblin in charge, had ordered the immediate evacuation of everything in the upper levels vaults. A few goblins had adventured themselves in the depths of the mountain, but before their return, the priority was now to evacuate everything remotely precious.
In the last weeks, the goblins and the humans had worked in rotation every hour to extract tons and tons of precious metals.
Alexandra had in the mean time passed her time tidying up, putting into order and cleaning up everything in the human camp. It had been a monumental chore, and not only because the pure-blood wizards didn't know what a washing machine was. She didn't know if the Ministry was able to realise she was doing magic with a magic wand here, so she was stuck with her wandless capabilities. Her skill in this area had not improved since the beginning of June. In fact, it was growing worse. Teleportation and changing her appearance worked for an unknown reason, but levitation or every other spell she had learnt at Hogwarts in the last ten months were chaotic and unreliable. Last time, she had tried to use Wingardium Leviosa, she had made a tent float ten feet above ground. Impressive, expect the tiny little fact she wanted to levitate a pen roughly above her head.
As a result, cleaning charms were about the only things the green-eyed girl trusted herself to do without using her wand. The rest was done by hand, like at the Dursleys. So yes, a chore. The only silver lining in this was that, unlike at the Dursleys, Alexandra was paid for this job.
After several hours of hard cleaning, she had finally cleaned the entirety of the space occupied by the curse-breakers. And with two hours spare before the first came back from their mission. Smiling widely to have finished her work for the day, Alexandra was about to go plunge her feet in the cold water of the river when a lone goblin rushed out of the mountain like Sauron himself was after him.
Oh well, what happened inside Brise-Roc was interesting, but not her problem. Moreover, an entire army of goblins warriors didn't need the help of a first-year witch to fight. The Potter Heiress was half-way to the torrent when the amplified voice of Warfist exploded from nowhere.
"EVERYONE RALLY AT THE GATES!"
Okay, apparently the assumption her day was finished was completely off-mark. Abandoning any idea of relaxing and cold water, Alexandra began to run towards the gates.
It took her less than ten minutes to reach the massive doors protecting the entry of Brise-Roc, but the goblins were even faster. Hundreds of goblins were in perfect ranks, fully armoured and ready for war with large halberds, spears and axes. Alexandra gulped at this vision of martial strength. Seeing dozens of goblins transporting gold and silver the whole week, the mystic of the goblin warrior had lost a lot of its aura in her eyes.
Now she regretted it, and she realised how the wizards had suffered so many defeats in the Goblin Rebellions droned by the monotonous voice of Professor Binns. The goblins were smiths without equal, but it was their rapidity to take the battlefield and their military discipline which had crushed wizards and witches in the past despite one side lacking magical wands. According to her watch, four-fifths of the entire expeditionary force, some 4000 warriors, had been armed and gathered in less than fifteen minutes, and the rest were already inside the mountain. Even to her untrained eye, she supposed there were non-magical military forces in this planet which would kill to have this kind of force.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Snarled a grizzled voice with a heavy German accent behind her. Turning her head, Alexandra watched as Heinrich Sturmwald, a curse-breaker affiliated to Gringotts Berlin marched rapidly to the position she occupied.
In a brief moment, Alexandra really hoped she had not been the intended recipient of the remark. Sturmwald was nothing like the English curse-breakers she had to deal with on a day per day basis. Of middle-age (though with magic it was difficult to judge accurately), black-hair, livid blue eyes and a strong complexion, the German curse-breaker was the complete opposite of someone like Henry Thurgood. One look at Sturmwald's face and the two nasty scars on it had been quite enough to convince her at her first meeting with him this man was the real deal of the profession. To make matters more 'interesting', the German wizard emanated a sort of magical presence, not like the one Dumbledore had always when he was present the Great Hall of Hogwarts, but more in Flitwick or McGonagall league.
But seeing Sturmwald look her directly in the eyes, Alexandra knew she was not so lucky.
"Yes it is, Sir." She agreed. "I pity their enemies."
The middle-aged German wizard emitted something between a bark and a laugh.
"You really have no idea what's going on, do you girlie?" Sturmwald told her. "The wards and the detectors my team put in the lower levels yesterday have reported an astonishing amount of dark magic forming in the mines under the lowest vaults. If you had any sense, you would have stay at your camp while the adults are busy dealing with the problem."
Alexandra grimaced internally, not liking at all being talked like that, especially when it was more or less the truth. On the other hand...
"With all due respect, Sir," She answered in a calm tone while the goblins stayed in their equivalent of military parade. "I just wanted to see what had happened to put the entire expeditionary force in a state of war. If there is a danger in the mountain, I will let the army and all your curse-breakers will be between it and myself."
The middle-aged wizard emitted a grunt which sounded like 'good answer', although with the man it was difficult to tell. It could also be 'your funeral' or something like that. Unlike the rest of the German wizards, the English group and the French one, Heinrich Sturmwald's expressions were hard to read. To say the truth, if Sturmwald said she had to go now, she would obey. Unlike the leaders of the French contingent Léon De La Rousseraie and Louis De Male Foi (which with his blonde hair was probably a male cousin of the Malfoy family ), the man had not the so familiar pure-blood arrogance and was obviously not passing a quarter of his day grooming his hair, his nails and spend a fortune in cosmetics.
Alexandra was at that state of her thoughts when Warfist, the commander-in-chief of the expedition himself, marched through the ranks of his warriors to reach the gates. One look at the massive goblin was enough to know why he was the commander and the rest were obeying him. Alexandra had grown in height this last year, but Warfist was still taller than her and had a musculature which would have shamed an Olympic athlete. His armor was silver and gold, with a lot of runes shining in the sun of the afternoon. In his right hand, lied a massive warhammer decorated in gold. From her position fifty meters away, Alexandra felt the power emanating from the tool of destruction. The runes and the red sparks at its surface affirmed loud and clear how badass (to use a word in Dudley's vocabulary) this hammer was.
"They call it the Judgement." Said Sturmwald on her right, having noticed the object of her attention.
"Lovely." The black-haired witch answered.
"In ancient times, the goblins used weapons like this one to defeat the ancient giants."
"And it worked?"
"There are no more ancient giants to say no." Replied in an amused tone her interlocutor.
BBBBBBBBBBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG!
The whispers ceased instantly, as one of the goblins following Warfist had stricken a massive gong in metal, in what was obviously a military signal.
As one man, pardon one goblin, the army in front of her eyes advanced one step and struck their armour with their right fist. The voice of Warfist then roared in the valley.
"WARRIORS! PROUD SONS OF GURGLAG!" The goblin general bellowed, a feat extraordinary there was no megaphone or anything to boost the sound of his voice. "THE SECULAR ENEMY SHOWS AGAIN ITS UGLY HEAD! LIKE A COWARD AND A TRAITOR, HE ACTS IN THE SHADOWS, UNWILLING TO FACE US ON THE BATTLEFIELD! NO MATTER! THIS NIGHT WE WILL DRINK OUR VODKAZOR IN HIS SKULL! TO ARMS MY WARRIORS!"
And in a furious roar which shook the mountain to its foundations the goblins shouted their defiance.
"RRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!"
Alexandra gulped at this manifestation of hate. Note to self, she thought, be far away when the goblins find the enemy. The French and English curse-breakers, who had by now taken position near the gates, seemed to share the same opinion, judging from their livid faces and shaking hands.
Then, having taken the exhortations of their leader to heart, the close formation of the goblin expeditionary force disappeared one rank after another in the entrails of their fortress. To war. Warfist was of course leading them.
"Follow me, girlie." The voice of Sturmwald stopped her to contemplate more this shining example of martial strength.
Walking besides the German wizard, Alexandra noticed all the humans were taking positions at regular intervals in the rear of the goblin force. First the French, then the Germans and finally the English. Thurgood and Selwyn watched her take her place next to Sturmwald with what looked to be hate on their face and in their eyes.
She didn't look at her compatriots more than an instant, however. Soon, every human was forced to enter the mountain and adapt to the implacable rhythm of march imposed by the small race of smiths and warriors.
On the inside, her first look at Brise-Roc gave her the picture of a magnificent citadel, one which the goblins had in all probability taken years to excavate when the time came to build the large pillars, columns and all the other stone gravures. It was like the goblins had read Tolkien and mixed Erebor and the Moria.
Alas, the silent citadel they were currently marching inside was also sharing the deadly silence of the imaginary dwarf mines and strongholds. In spite of the goblins singing something which was a funeral march by the tone of it, nothing could make her forget the lack of inhabitants. There were a lot of torches disposed in great halls the size of football stadiums (if not bigger), but the dark and the feeling of abandon was oppressing. The goblin army being unable to fill some of these places by its simple presence was also not boosting everyone's spirits.
The goblins and the humans passed three more huge halls (which would have made any king acceptable throne rooms), before engaging in narrower corridors. The space being not available, the goblins formed a narrower formation of three ranks large. The torches on the wall became scarcer, forcing her and several wizards to use Lumos (she supposed that the mountain was far off-range of the Ministry). They were descending, slowly but surely after an interminable amount of time. Her feet were in pain, but no pause was declared.
No one among the humans was talking. The goblins had ceased to sing too, and now there were only the noise of two species clashing their foot on the stone floor to hear. The profile of the travel then changed abruptly.
In a single file, hundreds of warriors began to descend by a long series of stairs carved in stone. By moment, ropes had to be used as they passed over large gaps and holes where trolls and Cerberus could have disappeared without a trace. It was progressively becoming hotter and more humid. Now positioned behind Heinrich Sturmwald but before Thurgood, Alexandra whispered a song she had learnt in the Lord of the Rings by heart when she was nine to give herself courage:
The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.
The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day.
A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone for ever fair and bright.
There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote;
There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built.
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in hoard.
Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
And at the gates the trumpets rang.
The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls;
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dum.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.
She had the time to repeat her song three times before their part of the army finally reached the lower levels of the stairs. The march came at that moment abruptly to an halt, as loud and big "CLANG!" and "CRASH!" were suddenly heard.
Everyone in the vicinity stopped whispering or singing. The "CLANG!" and "CRASH!"could be heard during half a minute or so, and then silence fell again in the depths of the mountain. One look towards the goblins that were nearby and the curse-breakers was enough to be sure that whatever noises these were, Alexandra guessed they had not been part of any scenario.
Turning in direction of Sturmwald, she whispered:
"What do you think it was, Sir?"
At the light of his wand, Heinrich's face looked glum.
"It was the platform elevator. I think." Replied the German curse-breaker in a hesitant tone that was out of character for him.
"You told us the wards protecting the elevator were perfectly safe!" Snarled a massive goblin warrior next to Stephen Selwyn. "Damn humans unable to work properly..." the rest of the sentence was said in another language, but Alexandra did not need to know it to know the goblin was agonising them of insults.
"Quiet." Said Sturmwald. "His face was ashen, and Alexandra's heart accelerated when she realised the man was afraid."If we were wrong about the elevator, then we may be wrong about the main doors too. And if we are..."
"Oh, no." Alexandra own voice sounded distant, even to her own ears. "They provoked an alert in the dark magic wards in order for us to descend here."
"Ridiculous!" The same goblin who had spoken earlier told them. "They should have known how we would react! And even if they did, we have an entire army here!"
"Much less as it pain me to admit it, the goblin's right!" Told Henry Thurgood in his best 'I'm a pureblood and so I'm superior to everyone else'. "Their little trap has no chance against the magical power we brought!"
"Imbecile!" Snarled Sturmwald. "How did you manage to get your curse-breaker license? Until we have found what's waiting for us, we have to assume that they have information about our procedures and formations!"
"Not that this little debate isn't interesting," Interjected Jeremiah Maestro. "But isn't the atmosphere a bit hot suddenly?"
The man's remark hit home. The goblins and the humans had walked for so long at such rapid pace they had missed the warmth which was suddenly engulfing the base of the stairs.
"It comes from the vault 13. I think." Told a goblin on the left.
"What was supposed to be there?" Asked Thurgood, in a tone which made limpid he had not liked at all being insulted in front of everyone.
"Don't know!" Grunted the goblin. "Do I look like the Senior Keeper of the Vaults?"
"You little..."
Henry Thurgood had not the time to finish what was undoubtedly a nasty insult to the goblin. A terrifying bestial noise resonated in the corridors and the stairs, half growl, half whistle. The sound was unnatural and stopped all debate for ten seconds.
"What was that?" Shouted Thurgood.
"Definitely coming from vault 13!" Affirmed the goblin which had just been speaking previously. "Follow me!"
In ten seconds, hundreds of goblins and three dozen humans began to run in a corridor on their right, which led them directly to the entrance of the vault in question. The war cry and the shouts in the nearby corridor told them the rest of the expeditionary force had followed the same reasoning.
At least, what should have been a vault. Alexandra had seen her personal trust vault at Gringotts, and it had been a massive door with runes, mechanisms and other inscriptions to ensure the security of the possessions inside. No door was quite the same at London, but the Potter Heiress imagined a steel door was a steel door, no matter the family who owned the vault.
What was at the end of the hallway in front of them was no door, that much she could tell. It looked like an oil-like substance was covering vertically the door. At the light of the torches and the wizards' wands, the black thing was moving and undulating, making the whistles which had been heard previously. But the detail which made the scene horrible was that the surface was agitated by slight moves, and even with the lack of light Alexandra and the rest of the army present could only watch with a morbid fascination the faces of hundreds of the missing goblins contracting in pain and agony behind this undulating veil.
"STAND TO BATLLE FORMATION! STAND TO BATTLE FORMATION!" The voice of Warfist thundered loud and clear, and thousands of warriors positioned themselves in front of the former vault 13, their spears lowered for battle and their shields locked with their counterparts, presenting a formidable wall of steel and death to anything having the temerity of sallying out the vault.
The great hallway they were currently regrouped in was not enough for the thousands of goblins to position themselves, but goblin archers and the human curse-breakers had already taken the higher ground. At Warfist signal, the first spells and arrows struck the black gate, whereas the rest of the army stood in defensive position.
It had no effect whatsoever on the black substance. Like a black maw, the liquid absorbed everything. The curse-breakers rained down an impressive array of hexes, incantations, jinxes and counter-enchantments, in vain. The arrow were swallowed without difficulty. The only visible effect was the progressive disappearance of the missing goblins face in the depths of whatever vault 13 had become.
"CEASE FIRE!" Shouted Warfist. "STOP SHOOTING! YOU AREN'T DOING...!"
The voice of the general stopped in the middle of the order. Every archer present was unable to shoot his arrows. The wizards' next spells never came.
The black surface which had been so resistant had turned transparent, unveiling what was lying behind it. At first, the wave of warmth and fire was so stunning, nobody managed to see on the other side.
Then a gigantic paw got through the liquid barrier and Alexandra perceived the true face of the enemy. The thing was big, fifteen feet high, maybe higher. It was looking like a salamander she had seen once in a documentary at the Dursleys, but here stopped the similarity. It was formed from flames and shadows. And it was coming straight at them.
The second paw of the salamander entity got through the gate, as did its head making the liquid collapse in a small black wave.
The thing then growled in triumph, opening its maw and showing large fangs which would have made a T-Rex envious and jealous. The temperature rose by several degrees and flames emerged from the interior of the salamander's mouth.
A Balrog. Alexandra thought. It's exactly like a Balrog. May the Valar...
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Screamed Warfist. "KILL IT!"
The moment of shock was over, and the goblins charged at the huge salamander with their halberds and their spears, while the wizards unleashed their most powerful spells with devastating accuracy. For a moment, Alexandra believed the entity of fire and shadows was doomed. Surely nothing could survive this combination of weapons and magic!
Apparently, her estimation was deadly wrong. After the first spear and axes strikes, the salamander skin toughened at an amazing speed, becoming so resistant the goblin steel broke against it. The same thing happened to the curses and offensive magic which was sent: each incantation striking was doing little damage, the entity was bleeding some flames and shadow and then the wound cauterised like the mutant Wolverine in Dudley's comics.
After thirty seconds, the salamander, no doubt bored to death by the ridiculous attempts to harm it, finally extracted itself completely from what had been once upon a time a Gringotts vault and counter-attacked.
A hurricane of flames came out the entity's mouth, engulfing the first ranks of the expeditionary force with a fire of near-lava consistence. The first goblins on the path of this devastation died without realising they were doomed. The others tried to evade the torrent of flames, but in a formation so compact, it was impossible. In an instant, the ten first ranks of the goblin army disappeared forever, carbonised.
The salamander growled in amusement, and then impossibly absorbed the magical fire by its mouth and every part of its skin. Of the hundred goblins which had been there previously, not even the bones and ashes remained.
Alexandra froze. She had faced death several times at Hogwarts this past year, but this... this was nothing her mind or magic could beat in a straight-up fight. Watching the salamander growl in defiance, she understood they were all going to die there. This fantastic beast did not seem to make a difference between human and goblins. No weapon they had could work against this thing.
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!"
The goblins roared to answer the salamander's challenge. In a growl which had nothing human in it, Warfist shouted "CHARGE!".
"TO WAR!" Bellowed the thousands of goblins. And the bloodthirsty warriors raced towards the abomination of flames and shadows without any fear, only rage and bloodlust in their hearts.
That was enough for Alexandra. If the goblins wanted to die, then it was their problem, not hers. As the salamander used its enflamed tail to smash a dozen of unfortunate goblins against a wall, she ran in one of the nearby corridors as fast as her tired legs allowed.
It was not the way her and the other humans had used to come to this infernal vault, but right now she didn't care. The only thing which mattered in her mind was putting the maximum of distance between her and that monstrous infernal salamander.
Behind her, she heard the screams of agony, the shouts of defiance, the loud orders of Warfist and his soldiers battling the abomination. Alexandra continued to run, the only light now provided by her wand and the Lumos spell. She passed several crossroads, mounted to volleys of stairs and then stopped, the previous march and the recent run having taken their toll. In the distance, a loud growl echoed, followed by dozens of screams.
Turning to nearby corridor which was mounting in the direction of the surface, the young witch started to breathe a bit more easily. The temperature, which had been so hot near the salamander it was downright hellish, had come back to more lukewarm levels. The pandemonium created by the roars, growls and the racket caused by the weapons and the spells was now low in the distance and decreasing even lower in intensity.
Climbing massive stone stairs which looked like they had been taken recently by a goblin army, or at least the eleven-year old witch hoped so, Alexandra tried to hurry her pace. Despite the admirable and suicidal courage of the goblin warriors, the expeditionary force had more likely than not no chance against this kind of hybrid Balrog-salamander.
With hindsight, she supposed fleeing cowardly in the dark without firing a spell in the enemy's direction was not a glorious thing she would trumpet in the Great Hall of Hogwarts at dinner, but for now staying alive was more important. If curse-breakers with decades of experience at the job of dealing with lethal threats and battle-hardened goblins could not stand against the entity, then she, a non-magical-raised witch with barely nine months of magical education was not going to change the odds. Warfist, Sturmwald and the others potential candidates for Gryffindor could try their best. Alexandra was looking for the exit.
Soon the stairs she took ended and she arrived into corridors growing increasingly larger. The great halls they had passed on their one-way ticket to hell were close, or at least she hoped. The mustering had come too suddenly for her to bring more supplies than a bottle of water and a chocolate bar in her pockets, both of which had been respectively emptied and eaten what seemed to be hours ago. Alexandra had never visited the citadel before, and she totally ignored if there were plans for exceptional visitors. The torches were becoming more frequent, though, which allowed her to stop casting the Lumos.
Finally, the long and large corridors ended and the great halls she had believed to be dwarf-built hours ago started to appear before her tired eyes. The raven-haired witch pressed her walk, almost running now to escape this place which had become a jail in which there was an entity of darkness. Turning a pillar, she began to run with her last forces and...
"No! No!" Alexandra knew there was no one to hear her, but in that particular moment she didn't care. The huge steel gates of Brise-Roc, the last thing separated her from salvation, were closed.
As she approached from the doors, tendrils of black energy became evident, implying that whoever had brought the salamander had also barricaded the doors.
Gathering all her power, Alexandra Potter took her wand, pointed it at the closed gates and shouted "BOMBARDA!"
The Bombardment Charm struck the gate, creating a respectable explosion. She was forced to immediately take cover behind a pillar, however, as one blade of shadow stabbed the place she had occupied seconds before. A grid of darkness materialised in front of the young witch, coating the gates in a darkness-like substance. Looking again, she noticed there was not even a dent on her target.
"I am so screwed..." The green-eyed witch sighed.
Alexandra was alone, the entire expeditionary force was likely dead, and she was trapped inside a fortress with a thing which made the Balrog Gandalf fought in the Moria a minor problem. The Potter Heiress supposed the situation could be worse. In fact no, it couldn't. Being in the position of Sam in the tunnels of Cirith Ungol was not something which could be described as 'good'.
Somehow, she was going to find a solution. Somehow. Amazing at how little these thoughts cheered her up.
12 July 1992, Ministère de la Magie, Paris, France
A loud, shrieking alarm resonated in the corridor the French Ministry reserved to the use of its employees working for the French Goblin Liaison Office.
By treaty, this sound was supposed to inform the wizards and witches working here that one Gringotts fortress located on the French national territory faced a serious attack. In theory, in less than ten minutes the corps of the French Chasseurs de ténèbres, counterparts of the British Aurors, should have been alerted and wizards apparating to defend the citadel wherever the attack was taking place.
Alas, the building in question was empty. All the workers were currently celebrating the birth of the first daughter of one of their members in a bar of Magical Paris. The employees working the week-end, who should have been here to alert the Ministry in case any urgency manifested itself, had falsified their reports to go drinking with his friends, courtesy of a large bribery by a mysterious wizard who happened to be a member of the Exchequer. The replacement was currently in holidays in French Polynesia, drinking coconut juice, the result of a lottery he had won also thanks to a member of the Exchequer.
The alarm sounded for hours, in vain. After the Great Goblin Rebellion of 1791, the wizards had completely isolated this branch of the French Ministère de la Magie in order not to be perturbed by the loud roars and guttural speeches the goblin race was so fond to use in presence of wizards. The other alarms directly linking Brise-Roc to the other goblin citadels under the French territories had already been disconnected of course before the grand plan went into effect.
As it was a Sunday and only minimal work was done (which did not include the Goblin Liaison Office), nobody would know of the alarm before Monday, the thirteenth of July.
No one was aware of the massacre happening in the entrails of Brise-Roc. No help would come. Not in time anyway.
The Exchequer had decided to eliminate the maximum of goblins possible to erase evidence of their activities, and so far the plan was working without a hitch.
12 July 1992, Brise-Roc Fortress, France
The noise of foot running on a stone surface awoke her from dark nightmares where she was pursued by the salamander.
Thankfully it was the noise of foots, not the small earthquakes preceding the monster she had truly feared.
Alexandra opened her eyes. Of course, as only a small ray of light came through the massive close doors allowing access to Brise-Roc, her vision took a long time to deal with the lack of light.
The moment of adaptation over, she could see shadows running between the pillars of the main hall. For the first time in several hours, Alexandra smiled. The infernal salamander had not managed to kill every member of the expeditionary force after all. With a bit of luck, some of the survivors might even be able to lift the nasty curse on the gates which barred them from outside.
Deciding it might be prudent to avoid a fight in the dark with potential allies, Alexandra shouted "Survivor over here!" and then shouted "Lumos!".
Alexandra had expected movements to seize the weapons, shouts of anger or surprise. She had not thought to hear several of the unknown sobbing in relief.
One look at the arriving group when they came into the range of her Lumos spell after a whole minute was enough to see why.
There were a dozen goblins in front of her, all looking like the salamander had used them as toys and then discarded when they were damaged enough. Behind them, came two makeshift stretchers improvised with goblin halberds, spears and canvas used on tents or elsewhere carried by four more goblins looking less crippled than the others. On the stretchers, were Warfist and another goblin Alexandra couldn't remember the name.
The latter had lost one arm, one leg and was burnt to a high degree over all his body. Warfist had not lost any limb, but the shape of his right leg suggested it was broken and there were severe marks of burnings on his head, arms and legs, giving him the appearance of a lobster more than a goblin. Both were unconscious.
Finally came behind them Louis De Male Foi, one of the French cursed-breakers. The wizard had two dirty scars on his face, his blond hair were a mess, he was walking with difficulty and one of his arm was immobilised with a sort of magical plaster. Moreover, his usual arrogance was completely absent and he was looking like a man who had been revealed all the nightmares under his bed were true.
That was all. She counted nineteen goblins and a single human facing her. A very small contingent, when hours before the expeditionary force had counted thousands of the former and several dozens of the latter.
"Where...where is the rest? Where is the army?" Asked Alexandra hesitantly.
"We are the army, human." Rasped one of the goblins. "We are all what is left of the expeditionary force." And to stress the point, he collapsed to the ground, having evidently no forces left.
"How did you manage to survive when so many of our best warriors perished?" Asked another goblin, looking at her in anger.
"I fled." She replied.
"Typical of your back-stabbing and cowardly race!" Sneered a goblin who had been carried the stretcher of his commander. "Our race doesn't flee! We fight! We..." This effort had been too much, and the goblin fell unconscious, only caught up in time by one of his nearby companions.
"I suppose the gates are closed?" Asked a goblin who was less wounded than the rest of the survivors.
"Locked and trapped." Confirmed Alexandra. " Does here anyone has a sort of pass or magical command to open the gates?"
"Warfist had one." Answered the goblin, clearly uncomfortable. "He left it with Burklurk when the fight began. And Burklurk is..." The goblin shivered and wasn't able to finish this sentence. Whatever had happened to Burklurk, it had not been a pleasant end.
After this, most goblins sat in a circle on the ground and engaged in a long conversation in their own language, Gobbledegook, that sounded like a lot of grunts, growls and rasps. The rest were already sleeping or unconscious. The salamander had really done a number on them.
Seeing her presence was not wanted, Alexandra returned to her former position against the pillar. She could have cancelled the Lumos spell but she had sufficiently slept in the last break, and the presence of these goblins a few meters away scared her. Not because she felt they were going to kill her. Given the injuries they had, it was likely she could take them single-handily without her wand or any magic. But if the goblin army was all dead, it meant the flame demon was free to pursue the survivors. And if it was...
"What exactly did you do to the doors, girl?"
Alexandra was brutally interrupted in her thoughts by the voice of someone. Looking up, she looked straight at the eyes of a furious French wizard.
"I shot a Bombardment Charm at the door, Sir." She replied in her best ironic tone and insisting mockingly on the "Sir". "Was there anything else?"
The shoulders of Louis De Male Foi went down at that declaration. "Ce n'est pas normal!" She heard him whisper. "Elle aurait du déclencher l'alarme..."
As it was in French, Alexandra did not understand a word of what the man had said but it didn't look good. Turning her head, she saw Male Foi limping towards the group of goblins, kneeling one of the most muscled one and telling him a few words in his pointed ear.
Whatever was told had the merit to brutally stop all the goblin mutterings.
The muscled goblin debited a court and loud speech in Gobbledegook, which made several of the sentinel goblins moan. Not good news, then.
"RALLY!" Shouted after long seconds the goblin who looked to be the new commander. "RALLY!"
Alexandra groaned and stood slowly on her foot. Everywhere, the sleeping goblins woke up, emitting loud groans or protests.
"We have a problem!" Continued the goblin once the group of nineteen goblins and two humans had gathered around him.
ROOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
In the distance, everyone saw a brief eruption of blame and light. The temperature in the hall, which had been rather cold compared to the warm summer outside, rose up by several degrees.
"The Summon found us!" Shouted Male Foi.
"Summon?" Asked Alexandra.
The last piece clicked in her head. Knight Summoner. That was the name found in Devkins papers by Hermione. Now, Alexandra knew why.
"Called it like you want." Replied the French wizard. "Demon. Being of another plane. Summon."
"Your race has forbidden any use of this magic and destroyed the knowledge as best as it could." Said the muscled goblin. "Summoning an entity from another place is punishable by death since the Fall of Atlantis."
"The last person to use them was Morgana Le Fay at Camlann." Said Male Foi in a sinister and grim tone. "At the time they caused untold devastation in the ranks of the Knights of the Round Table."
"I'm sure we are all happy to know this now Steelfang!" Snarled the injured goblin who had previously treated Alexandra of coward." Does someone know a means to get rid of this thing?"
"The Hammer of Judgement did not work against the Summon." The goblin named Steelfist sent a glare to his injured soldier that made him retreat from three steps. "In fact, the temperature around this thing is simply too hot for the Judgement to unleash its power!"
"Then extinguish his flames."
All the goblins turned their head towards Alexandra, who realised after a moment of silence she had just blurted her thoughts out loud.
"We tried to douse it with Aguamenti spells, young girl." Sighed Male Foi, looking with fear in the distance at the flame signalling the presence of the salamander of darkness. "Nothing worked. These flames are something on the level of Fiendfyre."
"Surely a large fortress of ours like Brise-Roc has large reserves of waters somewhere." Protested a goblin on Male Foi's right.
"It might be the best plan at our disposition." Said Steelfang. "At least it should give us a chance to weaken enough this Summon and strike the killing blow with the Judgement."
"And what do you make of the link this thing has with another plane of existence?" Asked weakly Male Foi. "If it's not cut, the Summon will regenerate endlessly, no matter what kind of damage you do!"
"That might be a problem." Admitted Steelfang, polishing absently the handle of his axe.
"Let's divide into two groups then." Proposed a goblin who looked more roasted than alive. "One will attract the monster in the reservoir. The other will try to find and close the breach by which the Summon came."
"Closing the breach implies going back into the lower vaults!" Protested Male Foi. "That and nobody here know how to stop a Summoning. Let's admit you find the breach. What are you going to do?"
"Improvise." Said Alexandra, having decided in the mean time everything was better than to play the bait with the demon which made a Balrog inoffensive.
"I will need a goblin to guide me and open the vaults." She said to Steelfang.
"I will go with you, human." Affirmed the warrior goblin. "I am the only one here alive to have seen the plans of the fortress in its entirety."
"Gurblak!" Barked Steelfang. "Delay the Summon until we comes back! Keep Warfist alive and the Judgement intact. If you don't, I will rip your throat out myself!"
The soldier goblin half-opened his mouth in protest at the impossible order but at the angered expression of his chief thought better of it and nodded in resigned acceptation.
Turning towards Alexandra, the goblin snarled: "Run human!"
The young witch didn't need to be told a second time. The Summon was at the other extremity of the gigantic wall by now, and it looked bigger than at the time of the fight in the depths of the mountain. Maybe sixteen or seventeen feet in height. Steelfang ran. Alexandra ran behind him. All the while behind them, the roars of challenge of the fire salamander resonated and the survivors of the expeditionary force fled to save their lives.
13 July 1992, Ministère de la Magie, Paris, France
"If a high-level incident has happened to our expeditionary force, I can assure you there will be repercussions!" Shouted the goblin representative of Gringotts Paris, storming in fury out of the Minister office.
René De Ségur, Minister of Magical France, exhaled a loud breath and tried to resist the temptation of putting his head in his hands. One day before France's fête nationale, the last thing France and the wizarding population needed was a Goblin Rebellion.
"Tell Directeur Delacour to come here immediately. And alert all our military forces. We have a Level 1 alert." He said to his secretary who had just accompanied the irate goblin out of his office.
"Oui, Monsieur."
13 July 1992, Brise-Roc Fortress, France
"Are you sure we are not a bit lost?" Asked Alexandra to the disgruntled goblin.
Steelfang didn't answer.
"I was just asking, you know."
"And your questions have been ignored, human." Grumbled the goblin, who walked away in the dark corridor, forcing Alexandra to quicken her pace to follow him.
Their march led them to another vault, which looked indistinguishable from the dozens others they had taken before. Hopefully, this was the one which had been used to summon the huge Salamander.
Of course, she had thought the same thing for the twenty or so vaults they had already opened. So far, each time had been met by a failure. Or at least she supposed there had been failures. Any attempt to communicate with the goblin who was her guide had been answered by sarcastic comments, vague remarks and mutterings in goblin language.
The door of the new vault opened in an atrocious, strident noise, letting the now usual green smoke indicating the protections of Gringotts had held for this particular part of the fortress. One more failure, then. But as the smoke dissipated in a matter of seconds, what appeared before her eyes was far from a portal leading to another dimension or piles of gold and silver coins.
From top to bottom, this gigantic vault was bristling with weapons. Thousands of weapons. Axes, halberds, swords and spears. Bows, crossbows and arbalests. Armours of different eras, sizes and materials. Jewels shining from vast and dangerous magical power. Hammer and flags decorated with mysterious runes but generating strong winds of magic from their current location. This was anything but a normal vault. This was a war arsenal. And it had the size of a football stadium.
Turning her head to the goblin who had taken place to her left, Alexandra could not stop herself to ask:
"Remind me what we are searching again?"
"A means to destroy the abomination in our citadel, of course." Replied the goblin, for once in an honest tone and without detour.
"I thought we were supposed to..."
"Find the place from where the Summon came and destroy the source of its power?" Finished Steelfang with a small rumble which was the equivalent for the goblin of a laugh. "And how do you want to proceed, human?"
Alexandra opened her mouth... and closed it. The warrior goblin had a point, damn him. She didn't know anything about the magical entity, its weaknesses or how to banish it from the fortress. For all she knew, cutting the salamander from its place of summon would make it stronger, which of course assumed they managed this minor exploit in the first place. Speaking of which...
"Let's say you're right." Alexandra told Steelfang. "Have you got a plan of replacement? Because unless my memory is wrong, the other survivors of the group are just making a diversion at this moment and they're going to die if we do nothing!"
"The others are already condemned." Said the strong goblin advancing in the vault towards a series of magical axes emanating an odour of ozone. "All we can do is ensuring their sacrifice is not in vain. Welcome to the secret armoury of our fortress, the one we only open in a time of great peril."
"And losing several hours to find an armoury which is filled with weapons entirely useless against this creature of flames and shadows is supposed to help us?" Asked Alexandra in a sceptical voice. "By the Valar, you couldn't even slow this monster in the first fight and you had an entire army at your side!"
At this, Steelfang stopped his examination of a huge silver spear to turn around and face her in the eyes.
"Goblins do not run, human. Goblins do not surrender. If this Summon wants a fight, then by the Fist of Ragnok the First I will give it one." And the light in his eyes gave a pretty good indication this was not a subject of discussion.
"Fine." The young witch emitted a loud breath. Arguing would lead her nowhere. It was clear the goblin had decided to die in a futile and useless assault against the demon. Who knows, maybe he and his friends had just decided in the Great Hall of the fortress in which order they were going to search the monster and challenge it in duel? Anyway, a great remainder that the being in front of her was definitely not a human, and never will be one.
"Any idea what sort of weapon should I choose?" Her eyes wandered about the uncountable number of sharp objects disposed in front of her in neat lines.
"Take a dagger or a short sword, human." Said the goblin in a calmer tone and pointing with his right hand a section of the vault.
Alexandra turned her head to watch, only to realise what she had taken for a helpful comment was exactly the opposite. This section of the vault, which could have absorbed the Dursley's house without any difficulty, was the deposit of thousands of daggers, knifes and short-ranged weapons.
"How am I supposed to make a choice in this pile of sharp things?" The Potter Heiress muttered, taking great care of not being heard by the warrior goblin.
One look behind told her she might have shouted her comment, Steelfang was completely absorbed by a choice between two great axes and looked to have forgotten Alexandra's presence. Rolling her shoulders, Alexandra started to explore the vault.
To the Ravenclaw witch's great annoyance, the task itself revealed extremely difficult. If at the front of the vault the goblins (or whoever they had used to clean the area) had been relatively organised, placing the weapons in neat lines with great alleys for a normal human to walk and objects of the same type together. But the furthest away the green-eyed girl walked from the door, the impression was the persons charged to organise had decided to abandon their duty and just throw the swords and spears everywhere without care. Axes covered by dozen of daggers. Hammers mixed with swords.
Having passed this area, she walked fifty meters or so, marvelling how vast the vault was. A spell must have been used to make it greater in the inside than the outside. It was the only logical explanation.
Anything like order was abandoned in this place. The common point between the objects gathered in great piles, heaps and clusters was that there were objects of destruction. There were non-magical guns. Wizards and witches wands, some so old there was dust everywhere when she tried to touch one. Enormous staffs. Rifles of several centuries. Large halberds. Explosives (she stayed far away from the box labelled in large red letters TNT). Potion vials containing liquids she had no idea what use they could be given the derelict state of their glass container. Hundreds of muskets, old-style cannons, runic circles were everywhere.
"I didn't find the alchemy notes I was looking for," she said aloud, "but if I had the capacity to take these weapons, I would have the capacity to arm a very respectable army."
Giving a last glance to an axe which had certainly been the personal weapon of a giant (because who else would have handled a six feet-tall axe?), Alexandra's attention was attracted by a flash of silver on her right.
Advancing towards it, she came face to face with a stone sculpture of a beautiful woman. No, not a woman. The sculpture of an angel. With closed eyes and great large wings, the realisation was breathtaking. The being who had created it had been so successful one could believe the angel was instants away to open its eyes and came to life.
In its hands, the sculpture held a platter of silver colour. Upon which there was a magnificent one-handed sword.
Alexandra had never pretended to be an expert, but this weapon was really of a price defying imagination. The pommel was gold and had a shining emerald incrusted in it with two dragons, one silver, one gold, circling around the jewel. The hilt was also decorated with two silver dragons. The blade itself was reflecting her image like a mirror. Its edge was so sharp her eyes had difficulties seeing where the sword ended.
Upon reflection, the last point was definitely weird. Looking in the vicinity, all the objects looked to be hundreds of years old, with the dust and the lack of maintenance which went with it. So why did this sword was looking like it had just been forged? And why did the figure of the angel looked so familiar? She was sure to have seen it somewhere, but where?
RRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!
"It found us so soon?" Alexandra supposed her question would be classified by future historians as one of the most useless in human history, but at that moment, she didn't care.
The salamander had found them while they were inside the vault, and if the defences of the vault didn't hold her life expectancy would be measured in minutes. Rushing towards the stone angel, Alexandra took the silver sword and ran in the direction she had just come from.
Alexandra had taken more or less half an hour to reach the location of the stone angel in her exploration of the vault. By her reckoning, less than five minutes were necessary to come back to the entrance.
Unfortunately, it did not look like her speed was going to make the difference. Rushing along an alley of swords, she arrived just in time to see Steelfang charge straight at the opened maw of the salamander with one axe in each of his hands. The left axe was shining of an ice corona. The right one was launching bright lightning.
The war cry of the goblin warrior, while fairly loud, did not seem to faze the salamander one bit. The Summon erupted an inferno of dark flames from every part of its body, which consumed the goblin in one instant. Alexandra had two full alleys between her and the flames, and even then she felt the terrible warmth propagated by this unnatural fire.
Then the salamander posed its demonic eyes on her. Despite every experience she had endured at Hogwarts in one year, Alexandra recoiled under what she saw in the eyes of the entity. Death. Death, an eternity or torment and chaos. The Summon was not simply a being from another plane. It was a force of evil, older than the time humans were sticking stones together to get fire. It was a true monster, the reason why the humans fear adventuring alone in the darkness. The kind of force there was no prayer to protect against.
"Well, if I have to die..." Alexandra shouted in defiance. "You will have to do it properly. I am not going to do the work for you. I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn!"
Deep in her heart Alexandra knew she had no chance. An entire army had failed to stop this evil. But with no safety exits, the salamander was going to find and kill her. If she had to die as the last member of House Potter, she would face her death weapon in hands, not in a hole trying to crawl away.
The big demon of flames and shadows roared in defiance, emitting a shockwave of fire which missed her by inches. The reality shimmered and vacillated. Powerful wards and magical defences ruptured and shattered as the colossal entity poured its wrath in the flames.
Unsheathing her wand and her new sword, Alexandra screamed "Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass!"
And the world exploded in flames.
13 July 1992, Approaches of Brise-Roc Fortress, France
"The gates of Brise-Roc are completely closed, Monsieur." Said the young employee of the French Ministry. "The ward-masters and curse-breakers are confident they will be able to break the dark protections which are sealing the fortress from the outside world, but it's going to take hours!"
"Merde!" Shouted Armand Delacour. The Directeur of the French Chasseurs de ténèbres was usually a jovial man, who was widely appreciated by his subordinates and the different institutions ruling Magical France. However, even he had his bad days. And in that case, it was better to be far away.
"We don't have days! Half of the goblins on our soil want scapegoats for this complete disaster and the rest are sharpening the pikes for our heads! We need to move NOW!"
"But Monsieur..." The poor employee did not know any spell to make himself invisible, but under the murderous look of his boss, he was quite ready to learn. "The first estimations of our team are that the cursed wards which were activated after the expeditionary force entered the citadel are of a power and a complexity they have never seen in their life! In fact they believe some of the goblins were still outside the fortress when the trap started, and that they were destroyed by this dark magic."
"Very well," Sighed Armand Delacour, calming a bit at the explanations delivered in a frantic voice. "Still, we have to..."
Whatever the Directeur had been about to say, his subordinate would never know.
A piercing noise, horrible and shivering, resonated loudly in the valley, forcing every living being in the area to cover its ears in pain. And then, as if the noise had been only a prelude, the mountain itself exploded in an inferno of flames and molten rocks, burning the valley in a spectacular firework no human artist would have been able to create.
"APPARATE AWAY! NOW!" Shouted Armand Delacour.
The other French wizards had no need to be encouraged by their superior. Facing a flamboyant death if they stayed at their post, most of them had already escaped.
Hours later as the sun sets, the phenomena was deemed enough stabilised for Delacour and more than four hundred wizards to come again, obliviate any Muggle in the vicinity who had noticed the huge eruption and extinguish any fires with dozen of overpowered Aguamenti and other water-based incantations.
But for the fortress of Brise-Roc, there was nothing the French elite wizards could do. Where had once been a citadel making the pride of the goblin race, now there was only a smoking crater and a crumbling mountain.
"Massive breach of the Statute of Secrecy and a potential Goblin Revolt. In one incident. This is going to be one of those weeks at work..." Whispered Armand Delacour.
The End?
Here Book 1 of The Odds were never in my favour, Alexandra Potter and the Exchequer's Shadow, ends.
The story will continue in Book 2, Alexandra Potter and the Blood of Slytherin.