The Best Minds of My Generation

While winter had brought a stop to the raiding from the north, it did not halt the upheaval in the kingdom. Just as Lent approached, news filtered into London that a band of goblins was wreaking havoc in the Valley of the White Horse. Local nobles could not contain the goblins, and the king deputised Hengist to deal with the situation.

'Of course Hengist would send me to deal with goblins,' Godric grumbled, 'while Ulric cries off with a cold!'

'He has the pox,' Salazar reminded him. 'He's near death.'

'He's not near death, he's got a scratchy throat,' Godric insisted. 'I suppose you're going to cry off as well, something about fasting and preparing your immortal soul?'

Salazar hesitated. 'I would sincerely like to.'

'Too bad,' Godric said, grinning. 'You know, with the pox in London, the best place for you is in the countryside. Clean air, clean living...'

'Murderous hoards of angry goblins running amok?'

'Exactly,' Godric said. 'A little mayhem does a man good. Gets the juices flowing, if you know what I mean,' he continued, waggling his eyebrows.

'Godric, you do realise I understand your little jokes just fine. You don't have to look ridiculous for my benefit.'

'It will be a long journey if you keep that attitude.'

Salazar sighed. 'Why can't you take someone else?'

'I don't want to,' Godric replied, leaving it at that. In truth, if he had to be out of the city, he'd rather Salazar join him than anyone else. In fact, he was quite pleased Ulric had chosen that week to fall desperately ill with a scratchy throat. 'Have you managed to Apparate without mutilating yourself?'

'Not yet,' Salazar said, blushing slightly.

It was beginning to become a joke. Certainly, not every wizard could Apparate, not even the powerful ones- it had taken Hengist years to master the skill after it had been brought over by travelling wizards- but it amused everyone that Salazar, who was so quick at mastering other spells and magic, could not manage it.

As it turned out, Salazar was worse on a horse than he was at Apparition. 'We are not walking to the valley, Salazar, no matter how much your backside aches,' Godric said sternly on their third day of travel.

'You know,' Salazar said slyly, sitting delicately onto a log, 'walking long distances in an act of pilgrimage is recommended for heathen converts to Christianity. Perhaps we could find a Holy shrine and a priest to baptise you.'

'And how long before your feet begin to ache?' Godric asked.

'Doing the Lord's work is never comfortable, Godric,' he said piously, 'but we bear the pain so that we may better know our place in His design.'

'Well, it's a very tempting offer,' Godric said, 'but I've already been baptised.'

Salazar sat up straight. 'What?'

'Norman mother, Salazar,' he laughed. 'Of course I'm Christian.'

'But you...' Salazar looked completely baffled. 'You're Danish. And, frankly, sacrilegious at every opportunity.'

'I never said I was good at it, for Cliodna's sake,' he said, trying not to smile.

'See! Sacrilegious at every opportunity,' Salazar accused him.

'Well, not my fault that the priest thinks what I do comes from the Devil while Jesus is showing his divinity by doing the same things.'

Salazar goggled at him. 'Are you saying you're the son of God?'

'Don't be stupid!' Godric laughed. 'I'm saying I'm a wizard. I bet if you'd stayed a monk you'd have performed many miracles over your life, Salazar. They might have even made you a saint.'

Salazar gave him a look of outrage. 'A miracle is not magic, Godric! It is the expression of the Lord's divine grace.'

'Didn't you get chased from your monastery because of your magic?'

'No, I was forced to leave because Father Hugh did not understand that my gift comes from God, the father of our saviour, who was not simply a wizard, Godric.'

Salazar wouldn't speak to him for the rest of the day, until finally Godric enchanted the fish they had caught for dinner to get the man out of his mood.

'See, they're dancing, Salazar,' Godric said. 'The fish are dancing!'

'Does that get a man's juices flowing as well? Should I waggle my eyebrows?'

By the time they had finally reached the valley, the destruction wrought by the goblins was obvious. Fields, prepared for the spring planting, lay in ruins, small hamlets were emptied of people, their cottages and hovels burnt to the ground, animals wandering about untended. In one such place, the carcasses of several sheep lay in the middle of the path, having been torn apart and the flesh ripped from the bones, uncooked. Godric dismounted and placed his hand over one sheep's bladder. It was not warm, but not cool enough for the goblins to be far.

'Why are we trotting into this?' Salazar asked, looking at the destruction.

'Because I'm a fearless hero and you're my trusted sidekick. We discussed this two days ago, remember?'

'It's still all right if I hide behind you, right? We discussed that, as well.'

Godric stood, wiping his hands as he turned towards Salazar. He eyes widened. 'You had better do it fast.'

'Actually, I think I'll stay on this side of you, thanks,' Salazar said, nodding to something behind Godric's back.

Forty goblins had appeared through the trees on their flank. Some had small little swords, like the ones Godric had played with as a child, but most had tools or knives that they held, clenched in their strong hands.

Not one of them said a word, which made Godric's mouth go dry.

He swiped his tongue around his mouth and cleared his throat. 'I am Godric, son of Ulf, and my companion is Salazar Slytherin. We come on behalf of the king of the English, who bids you to lay down your weapons and end your harassment of his people,' he shouted, so that all the goblins could hear him.

'The King of the English bids us, does he?' one goblin returned, stepping forward. 'I am Ock, son of Earnuk, and I bid you to leave this place to the goblins!' He was some distance away. Drying blood marred his pointed face, but his dark eyes held Godric's steadily. Ock turned towards the other goblins, completely ignoring Godric and Salazar, and started speaking loudly in the goblin language.

'What's he saying, do you think?' Salazar asked.

'He's mocking the two pathetic messengers of the king, thinking they can overcome the strength of their numbers. Now he's denouncing the arrogance of the humans, thinking the goblins are so easily defeated,' Godric said, keeping a wary eye on all the pointy metal on display.

'You speak their language?' Salazar asked, amazed.

'No, I've been in enough battles to know the pattern, though. In a moment they'll start cheering and waving their weapons at us. Don't flinch.' Salazar nodded, but when the assembled goblins began screaming and cheering, jabbing their weapons at them, Salazar flinched. 'You flinched!'

'I'm lucky I didn't piss myself!'

'Well, now I have to do this,' Godric said, drawing his sword. The ring of metal drew all attention back to the wizards. 'Yes, we're still here!'

'Why do you want to remind them?' Salazar demanded, peering behind him where the land dipped into open pasture. Then he sighed and pulled out his wand.

'Let me do this bit, would you?' Godric growled impatiently. He focused on the leader of the rabble. 'I can probably fit five of you on this thing,' he said as if just now considering the possibility.

Ock's eyes narrowed. 'You would kill goblins with our own weapons?' he sneered.

'I reckon those look like human-made weapons,' Godric said, nodding at the sickles some of the goblins were wielding. 'What do you think, Salazar?'

'Would you leave me out of this? You were going to do this bit, remember?'

'So,' Godric continued, 'what did the humans do this time?'

'Humans are always treacherous to goblins,' the leader said. 'The humans have humiliated and cheated us for the last time!' he shouted. Behind him, the goblins began shouting again.

'Well, you can't kill all the humans, so I think we should discuss this rationally,' Godric suggested. 'If goblins can discuss anything rationally, that is.'

'I hate you, Godric,' Salazar hissed.

Ock shouted something in goblin language and they all began to charge at them. Godric held his sword in both hands and crouched, ready for battle.

'Godric, perhaps-'

'Not now, Salazar! We're being attacked. Just stay out of my way, all right?'

The goblin horde was drawing closer as their little legs pumped, and Godric was counting silently as the first one neared his reach. He shifted his weight and-

Salazar shouted a jinx at them, his voice ringing through the clearing as he waved his wand in a circle above his head.

The horde of goblins, just a moment ago charging towards them with their weapons drawn, fell forward, their legs bound together by magic. Two managed to remain on their feet, but Godric was not quite so impressed by their continued hopping assault.

'You are joking, I hope?' Godric asked merrily, his laughter booming through the destroyed hamlet. They both fell over, shaking their weapons, shouting out angrily. He turned to Salazar. 'They really hate it when we use magic against them.'

'So, they prefer it when you insult and massacre them?'

Godric frowned. 'Probably not.'

'Godric, take this kindly, but you are no longer the designated leader of this negotiation,' Salazar said, stepping forward.

Godric blinked. 'What?'

'Really good job to this point, but I'll take it from here,' Salazar said, clapping him on the shoulder. He turned to the assembled, prostrate goblins. 'I do apologise for that, but violence is never the answer... especially not when it's directed at me.'

Godric wasn't sure but he thought Ock laughed.

'Nah,' he muttered to himself, keeping his sword drawn because he knew the second Salazar countered the jinx it would be his turn to negotiate again.

That evening, at the goblin camp, Godric glared at Salazar. 'You're just bloody perfect, aren't you?' he asked, as Ock himself brought a platter of lamb roasted just for Salazar. 'You do grovel nicely, though. I thought you were going to offer them the crown of England.'

'Well, admit it, Godric,' Salazar said after thanking Ock for his hospitality. 'You weren't doing a very good job, and hiding behind you didn't seem like a safe option. I had to do something.'

Ock laughed. 'If any other wand-bearer did that, we would slit his throat with our last breath,' the goblin said, giving Godric a menacing glare. 'But we like you! You know how to barter.'

'But you agree to the terms?'

'Oh, yes,' Ock said. 'We will go to the nobles with our complaints first, before we start killing the humans.'

'Instead of killing the humans, Ock,' Salazar corrected. 'You'll never manage to kill all the humans. There's just too many of us. The nobles will try to settle the matter fairly,' Salazar said.

'And if they don't, then we'll start killing the humans,' Ock said, firmly.

Godric noticed Salazar didn't bother to correct Ock this time.

The next morning, as they rode off toward London, Godric turned to Salazar. 'You know the nobles will never take the goblins' side, right?'

'They will, from time to time, if they're shrewd,' Salazar said with a shrug. 'It'd be easier if the goblins could just realise that our ways are different, but they don't. The nobles don't have to agree with the goblins every time, just often enough for the goblins to think they might be treated fairly.'

'And if they don't, then they kill the humans?'

Salazar shrugged. 'At least we're still alive.'

Godric just shook his head. 'I'm telling everyone you nearly pissed yourself.'

'Just so long as I get to call you my sidekick.'

*

Helga scrambled over the rocky terrain of the mountainside, trying to keep the panic from clogging her throat. Her legs burned as she hit level ground and began to sprint through the mist.

Close behind her, she could hear the shouts of her attackers, the howling of their dogs. In front of her was salvation, the forest in its looming and haunting grandeur. There she could disappear so completely the savage men chasing her would wonder if she wasn't just a spirit that had led them on a chase. And then they would hear howling of a different sort and realise she had led them to their doom.

An arrow whipped passed her head, nearly hitting its mark. Somehow, she willed herself to run faster as she leapt over and ducked under obstacles nature had created. More arrows followed the first just as she collapsed into the darkness of the forest. She did not pause, even as she stumbled over the roots of ancient trees, or scrapped herself against their trunks. What lay behind her was more chilling.

Finally she heard the run of water and, leaping as far as she could from the bank she was on, jumped into the river that ran through the forest, landing on both feet through some miracle. She ran deeper and deeper through the forest, the stones of the riverbed hobbling her as the frigid water numbed her feet. She thought maybe she had missed the place in her panic but then the hair on her neck began to prickle, feeling the ancient magic as she drew closer.

Hopping from boulder to fallen tree as softly as she could to mask her path, she dove into the foliage at the base of a tree trunk and was instantly covered by a thick blanket of magic. As if sensing her panic, the heavy roots of the tree overhead came together, blocking most of the dimming light but hiding her even more fully. The mysterious spot had been discovered by her brothers and had always been a place used for childish games, for hiding from their parents when they were in trouble. Inexplicable in its origin, she was thankful for it now as it covered her in its safe cocoon that neither metal nor magic could penetrate.

The warm scent of the earth filled her nose, and she panted, rubbing her palms into the roots to scrap her sister's blood from her hands and wrists. She listened, waiting for the foreign men to rush passed, trying as they would to find her path on the edges of the riverbank. Their dogs howled and growled, but it was not Helga's scent that drove them to frenzy.

Through the mist they hurried along the river, looking for any trace of a woman's path. They would find nothing helpful, and soon Helga would continue her race to the village to warn the others.

She held her breath as the five men passed, splashing through the water and muttering softly amongst themselves. The dogs had begun to whimper as they went further into the twisting trees. Helga couldn't understand the men's words, but she knew what they were saying. The Dark Forest was a frightening place to find oneself, especially in the growing dusk when mist gathered at your feet and animals began to rustle in the trees just beyond sight.

She waited for the men to return, retracing their steps in the faltering light. Their voices were harsh and angry now and Helga felt her eyes narrow and her hand clench her wand as the tantalizing idea of revenge overtook her. She could... but no. She let them pass her by, knowing that they would never make it to the edge of the forest alive, knowing she had drawn them too far in, that their arrows were just playthings to the magical creatures who lived in the trees.

She crawled out of her hiding spot as the wind picked up, pushing at her back, helping her race through the foliage and overturned logs. The forest stretched on and on and the forest creatures were awakening, beginning their nightly hunts. Helga knew she had very little time to burst out through the other edge of the forest and escape before the moon rose.

Faster and faster and faster she ran, her legs burning with pain, her chest heaving with raw gasps and she knew she would soon collapse and be lost to the howling that had just broken out behind her. With one great leap, she cleared the wooden cross that magically guarded the village from the things in the Dark Forest, and fell on to the craggy knoll, unable to breathe, unable to do more than roll on the ground and suck air through the grass that filled her face. Dirt and rocks scraped against her skin, but she was safe...

She heard movement beside her, but didn't have the strength to stand and run again. Helga cried out in pain as something hit her hard in the side, and again as her arms were twisted behind her body and she was pulled to her knees. A hand searched her, grasping and twisting into her body until it found her wand. She heard the snap over the pounding of her heart and the distance screaming of men who had fallen victim to the evil in the forest.

The wind whipped though her hair, blinding and enlightening her at will. The storm that had been brewing all evening broke suddenly in a clash of lightening and thunder, illuminating a face so fierce Helga cried out in terror.

The man in front of her was haggard and broken-looking, bearing the tattoos of an elder of her village but he was an outcast, a man who had been turned out years ago when she'd been only a child. She remembered him, remembered his warning....

The wind shifted and all Helga could smell was smoke, but the wind was gusting in the direction of the forest, coming in from the village.

With strength she thought she had lost, Helga exploded in rage and tore herself from the men surrounding her and ran toward the cliff edge, staggering to a stop as she saw the glow reflected in the lake. Flames tore wickedly over the bluff where the village should sit. She could see shapes forming out of the flames, terrible magic, but no movement on the ground, no one running away from the flames.

She was pulled back by callused hands and pushed to the ground, but she didn't struggle any longer.

'All dead,' the tattooed man laughed. 'All dead. As promised,' he continued, twirling a wand in his hands. 'Except for you, sweet Helga. You were always my favourite. I can get good gold for you.'