Snakes and Daggers

I

Nawa citelian ac slaepuN neat

NAWA CITELIAN AC SLAEPUNG NEAT

(Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon)

It was a grim day and no one really wanted to be there. A long night's rain had left the ground little thicker than water and the trees around them dripped with ice cold dew. The clouds that banked against the horizon looked as though they were going to bring more storms and there was no real cover for miles around. The wind whipped round and shook a shiver into even the strongest of them as the two armies stood facing each other.

High on the hill, lines of men were holding position with sturdy wooden shields fixed closely against their bodies in a thick wall along the ridge. The tall crosses on each shield shone out like lights as what little sunshine picked them out, but behind the shields the armour and helmets of each man standing there was rusting and falling apart with the signs of a long journey. Behind the massed men were horses, each bearing a rider dressed in reds and blacks, they were continually changing position moving up and down the line to look for weaknesses and opportunities in the enemy ranks.

Down at the bottom of the hill was little more than a rabble, a collection of farmers and town militias that huddled together to try and close up the line. The more lucky ones were carrying round shields with what once would have been brightly coloured animals painted on them. Sparsely placed was the occasional man in chain mail. They stank of fear, not one of them looked confident at the odds in front of them, but sometimes you have to fight.

On the ridge, one rider broke away with a couple behind him. Every step the horses took splashed up mud that caked against the shields as they passed. One of the horsemen carried a banner, bright yellow with a white cross sewn into it; another had a short bow in one hand and a thickly packed quiver on his belt, they both had long, heavy swords slung on their waists. The rider at the front looked rich, he wore chain mail, over which the clean plates of his lamella glinted as his horse whinnied to a halt half way between the lines. He removed his helmet and shook out his hair, with a smile on his face he looked back at his lines then, turning forward again, called for a parley.

In the massed crowds at the bottom of the hill he could see a man in a grubby tunic knock two others on their arms then begin to lead them up the hill. They were not dressed in fine clothes, or in armour, and the banner that one of them carried looked tattered as it flicked in the breeze. The two behind the leader carried round shields, one of which had been so damaged in battle it was almost half the size of the other. The leader had no shield, but instead had two short swords sheaved on either side his waist.

"Why have you come here?" he asked the horseman.

"I think you know," the horseman replied. "These lands were promised to me by your household. I have every right to them and will claim them whether that be peacefully or by force!"

"You will kill every one of us just for mud and trees?" said the man on foot.

"It is only the land I am interested in, not any of you." The rider's horse whinnied again and nearly knocked over the other leader. "Now will you stand aside and let me have what is rightfully mine?"

"I will not give away the homes of my people; they are not mine to do so," he replied.

"Then force it is!" The rider turned to give the signal to charge.

"But," began the man on foot; the horseman turned with a curious expression on his face.

"Yes?" he asked, tilting his head to one side.

"I know you Angmar. You were once an honourable man, and you quote law with more precision than one who simply reads it. You believe in the laws of our fathers!"

"And what if I do? That just gives me more claim here than you!" Angmar smiled and leaned on his horse's neck.

"If you would quote the old ways then will you fight by them?" the man on foot inquired.

"What are you getting at, old man?"

"A battle of champions: my best sword against yours. If my man falls: then you may take these lands and do with us as you please, but if your man should lose..."

"...Then I will leave, and never bother you again?" Angmar sat up again. "Very well, fool, if you think any one of your men is up to the standard of mine, send him forward!" Angmar laughed and turned to his lines. He called out to one of his men who obediently came down the hill and stood beside him. "Here you go old man, if you have a soldier to face him send him out!"

The leader on foot turned to the man by his side and nodded. The soldier stepped forward, light glinting through the cracks on his worn shield. He drew his sword and looked straight into the eyes of his opponent. The horsemen and other soldiers withdrew as the two foes began to circle each other in the middle of the field.

Angmar's champion was dressed full in black, with darkened chain mail over his body and a tall kite shaped shield in one hand. On his head he wore a conical helmet with a bar that came down over his nose. Everything from his eyes down was covered by a thick dust mask.

Time stopped.

The two figures in the middle of the field were moving in the midst of a sea of motionless bodies. High above them a couple of birds hung in the air without as much as a flicker of movement. Beneath his mask, Angmar's champion began to laugh. The man with the round shield dropped it quickly, as well as his sword, and from his belt he drew a long stick of mahogany. The man in the mask did the same.

For a moment the two figures stood facing each other, wands crossed in front of them. Until slowly Angmar's champion lifted up his free hand and lowered the mask. He smiled. "Is this the only way I can find you, Godric?" he asked.

"Salazar?"

"Nice to see you again," Salazar reached out his hand.

* * * * *

The world changed. Visions passed round both men as the colours around them seemed to drip down and form one big blur. Suddenly they came into quick focus again as they found themselves under a group of trees overlooking the battle.

Around them time started up again. It felt strange, like sobering up only with a worse head ache afterwards. Far away cries came up from the two armies and it wasn't long until the sound of steel on steel began to echo through the valley.

"What the hell have you done?" Godric shouted as he stared in disbelief at the distant events.

"By my reckoning, I've saved you," said Salazar, slipping the Portkey back into his pouch.

"Saved me!?" Godric turned on the spot. "You just doomed about five hundred people. I could have saved them!"

"Could you?" Salazar looked straight at Godric. "I overheard the Northmen's leader talking last night. He wasn't going to play along with anything. If you'd have lost he would have won the lands and if you'd won he would have told his men to charge. Both ways you would have died."

"Well at least I would have been helping!" Godric drew a knife from his belt and held it at Salazar's throat.

"Helping!?" Salazar's eyes opened wide in disbelief. "When are you going to learn? Muggle tribes have been fighting each other for centuries, millennia possibly! If they haven't found peace in that time what good are you doing for them? All you are doing is giving them false hope in a stranger of a champion. That isn't help."

Godric dropped the knife and turned on his heels. He sat down on a tree stump and dropped his head into his hands. Salazar picked up the knife and inspected it carefully. It was a fine blade, better than any Muggle smith could forge but then again the fires that made this were probably hotter than flint and tinder could make. At the top of the blade was an inverted U made with straight lines and in the hilt was set a small amethyst. Salazar sighed to himself, allowing superstition was one thing but giving in to it was inexcusable.

"The rune of power and the stone of strength?" Salazar began walking over to Godric. "I didn't think you were one for superstition."

"It was a gift, actually," Godric said without getting up. He lowered his hands and looked out at the horizon. "I helped a tribe out in Denmark. Afterwards the chief told me my dagger was too plain for such a great warrior. So he had a stone set into it and engraved it for me. It took every weaponsmith they had to work it; apparently they had never seen metal that strong."

"I'm sure it did..." Salazar began but as he did Godric stood up sharply and took the knife from his hands.

"Why have you come back anyway?" He asked sharply. "Last thing I heard you'd gone off to study in Italy." He sheathed the knife on his belt.

"I came back, there's only so much you can learn. The rest is down to practice." Salazar smiled and cocked his head to one side. "Besides, wars are nowhere near as impressive over there. Do you know they actually have things like treaties in Italy?" he added sarcastically.

"Now, that's what I don't get! You never liked it here when we were growing up, and when you were offered an apprenticeship in Milan none of us thought you'd ever want to come back. It seems we were right, at least about wanting to, so why are you here?" Godric started walking down the side of the hill, away from the battle. Salazar took one last look at the fighting in the valley and then followed. "Did you even learn anything over there? Or did you just want to forget about home?"

"Actually I learnt quite a lot," Salazar began in a sing song tone. "Master Gaius is a strong wizard. He is also a lot more civilized than most of the people around here." Salazar almost walked straight into Godric as he stopped in mid step and turned to face him again.

"And there it is again. Why have you come back?" Godric stared straight into Salazar's eyes.

"I needed to see you," Salazar said without flinching.

"Oh yes? And what was so important that you had to come and abduct me to tell me it?!" Godric advanced on Salazar, pushing him back. "What was so important you had to come all the way back to this place? Away from your precious master!" Salazar tripped backwards on a stone and fell on his back. Godric once again drew the wand from his belt and pointed it straight at Salazar. Sparks began to fizz off the end as the blood rushed to his face. "Well, what!?"

Salazar's eyes narrowed and he focused carefully, keeping his tone level and his manner controlled. He drew himself up onto his elbows and took a deep breathe.

"It's Sara," Salazar said slowly. Godric lowered his wand and moved in closer.

"What about her?" he asked.

"She's dead," Salazar replied.

"What?"

* * * * *

They had been walking for some time now. The trees around them were thick and little light came in through the canopy above. The rain had stopped and the winds had slowed down to a gentle breeze, meaning that the now damp soil steamed in the mid day heat. Around them were scurrying animals and thick ground level plants but Godric moved with little effort. He was a well built man and didn't seem to feel the brambles as they brushed past him. Salazar on the other hand walked a short way behind with his wand outstretched so that as he moved, plants, and even the occasional animal, were flung aside to clear a path.

"You know there are easier ways to get around, Godric," Salazar remarked as a poor misguided squirrel made the mistake of getting in his way. "Even a horse would be better."

Godric remained silent but began to pick up speed.

"I mean, it's not as if it's all that far to the nearest town. We could pick up a couple there." Salazar had got changed since their first meeting. He was no longer undercover and so was now dressed in finely coloured silks that came down to his neatly polished boots. Over all of which he wore a long coat that billowed behind him as he moved. Godric on the other hand was still dressed in a muddy brown tunic that made it hard to tell where his hair stopped and the fabric began.

"So tell me what happened then," Godric said without slowing down.

"What? ..." Salazar began.

"What happened to her, and how do you know about it?" Godric asked again.

"She was helping people, just like you do. Only she started to use magic to help them too." Salazar tripped on a bramble then scurried to catch up. "She began by making up potions to help the sick, which was fine until she managed to bring someone back from the dead, and then the locals ran her out of town. She managed to cover it up but later on she was seen using her wand by another group and they caught her. When she was asked to explain herself, and couldn't, she was accused of being fey. So they killed her to try and stop any others entering their lands. The Council of Wizardry didn't find out until it was too late. So they sent me to find you and tell you."

Godric was quiet again; he seemed to be thinking to himself. The breeze picked up and blew some leaves and twigs around the forest floor. Little whirlpools of wind formed and collapsed on themselves as the two men continued on their way.

"I'm sorry for shouting at you back there, Salazar," Godric began, "I just thought I could do something, and I had no idea why you had to do what you did."

Salazar had the decency to not say anything. He sped up to catch up with Godric then drew up to his side. The two of them slowed down to a gentle pace and continued for a while in silence.

"I reckon by nightfall we can be at Hastings. We can either get a boat along the coast or pick up a couple of horses to take us that way. Either way we aren't going to get to Cornwall for several days, unless of course you want to fly there?" Salazar said keeping close to Godric's side.

"No, we'll do it the old fashioned way," Godric began. "I like the sea. We can find a boat on the coast heading west. I need a few days to think about things anyway."

The boat was big even by the standards of the time. The captain had clearly spent time effort and, above all, money making a ship that could, not only cross the channel in any weather, but that would be pretty impossible for pirates to take control of. It bobbed up and down in the star lit water giving the impression that the figurehead should be seasick just from mooring. All over it crew members were busily running from post to post getting it ready to leave. The captain himself, on the other hand, was sitting on the edge next to the shore, occasionally barking out orders to the crew between goes of trying to convince passers by that they really did want to travel with him.

Along the coast lights were coming up for miles along, creating the effect of a coastal landing strip big enough for a spaceship to set down in. Candle lights flickered in the darkness, casting greater shadows into the night that stretched out over the vast expanse of the channel and pinpointed the occasional fish that was misguided enough to come near to the surface. It was the time of night when the seas were full of fishermen, and the hustle and bustle of the sea front had not so much stopped for the night as changed for a few hours. Big boats couldn't leave for a few hours, and by then the markets would be opening up to sell their fresh catches.

From the darkness of the streets a man approached the ship dressed all in silks. He was wearing a face mask and an extravagant hat. The Captain wasn't sure what to make of him, clearly a rich man, but also there was something disconcerting about him, as if trying to remember him was becoming difficult.

"Good evening, Captain," the man said.

A short while later Godric reached the docks. He looked around for a few moments then heard a call coming from the ships.

"Over here, Godric," Salazar called from the deck. Godric went and joined him.

"So how much is he charging to go to Cornwall?" Godric asked, walking up to Salazar.

"Nothing apparently," Salazar replied.

"Really?" Godric seemed surprised.

"Apparently he was going that way anyway, so we could ride for free," Salazar smiled an innocent smile. Yet somehow it felt intentionally innocent.

* * * * *

The sun glinted off the still waters of the coast and picked patterns of light and dark on the splashes that came up as the ship moved on westward towards Cornwall. In the sky there was not a single cloud to be seen and the air was gentle and little more than breeze enough to carry the boat along. Godric stood at the bow and stared out at the ever changing cliff faces as they went past. Sometimes the weather had no idea of sympathy. It should have been raining; there should have been a storm as he returned after all this time. With the news that had brought him there should have been something.

Men moved around Godric, darting from post to post on the ship, seeming to be moving boxes, sacks and ropes in a never ending chain for little more visible reason than to pass the time on the journey. As Godric turned though, he saw a circle of the busy deck with no such activity. Crewmen seemed to be purposefully moving away from it as, in the centre, Salazar sat reading a scroll of parchment.

Behind Salazar, on a high perch, a large owl stood perfectly still, staring at anyone and anything that made the mistake of passing its line of sight. Unlike its more common kin this owl stood several inches taller with an impressively sharp beak and, when it had occasion to show it, a very large wingspan.

"I didn't realise civilised cultures used anything as savage as an eagle owl," Godric said pulling up a crate and sitting down to face the open sea. Salazar didn't look up from the scroll. He seemed to be captivated by the message.

"I find it useful actually," Salazar replied, rolling the scroll up in one swift movement and looking straight at Godric. "It means no one can intercept my messages." He turned on his seat to face the ocean as well. "Mind you, Master Gaius has complained about the occasional loss of his fingertips since he and I started writing to each other."

"Was it anything interesting?" Godric said without thinking. His eyes hooked on the image in front of him.

"Not really. When I left I asked to be kept up to date on the Council's activities. They don't seem all that bothered with the north so much." Salazar smiled and looked at Godric. "Apparently they think everyone up here is barbaric."

At the other end of the ship the captain was dealing with a number of strange emotions. He was a captain. He shouldn't be scared of anyone on his ship; it's his ship. He had commanded it long enough to know that even a king on board isn't a threat. A king is only a king when he's on land. At sea he's just a rich guy wearing too much jewellery to stop you pushing him off the side if needs be, but this man unsettled him. He seemed invulnerable, but not that you couldn't hurt him, more that he wouldn't let you get the chance.

The captain gathered his wits and composed himself. He approached the passengers and in a slightly sheepish voice said, "Excuse me, sir," then coughed.

"Yes?" said Godric, looking up sharply.

"We'll be reaching the port soon," the captain continued. Godric stared at him for a while.

"Good," he replied and looked back at the ocean.

The captain shuffled away and tried to pretend he was dreaming.

The ship pulled in to the wooden docks. It rocked gently in the water of the port as the sails were dropped and ropes were thrown off to the men on the shore. It was not a busy place. It was obvious to anyone that this place saw very little trade and the only apparent reason for the number of workers there was that they had come out to see this rare occurrence.

As the two men prepared to leave the ship Salazar quickly tied a roll of parchment to the leg of his owl, which obediently waited to be set free before packing at everything around it.

They began to make their way up towards the town. Godric wasn't speaking; he just paced forwards as fast as he could. He had to see if it was true. It wouldn't seem fully real until he saw it. The road seemed to stretch on forever though. Salazar tried hard to keep up, occasionally having to stop for moment to get his breathe and then run as fast as he could to catch up with his friend.

In the distance they could make out the rising smoke of a town. Small houses marked the horizon as they could begin to see small figures moving around from hut to hut.

The town was small, made up of a gathering of huts and a meeting hall. The people there looked the two strangers up and down as they approached. While Godric, in his brown tunic and trousers, was not really any different to the inhabitants of the town; it was clear that Salazar's choice of colourful silks was cause for interest.

"Where would they have taken her?" Salazar asked, trying to ignore the eyes staring at him. Godric continued through the town without stopping. He knew his way, he had been here before.

"One of two places," Godric replied. Something in his voice suggested he was getting worried. "And I haven't seen her in the first one," he added.

They moved on to the edge of the town. There was a crossroads here, where the road leaving the town met and intercepted one that passed it. It was a well kept place. Yhe trees appeared to have been regularly cut back to make sure they wouldn't disrupt passing carts. The roads themselves were little more than mud tracks, however a wooden frame had been given to them to stop nearby roots from moving in.

All in all it was a well kept area, pretty and calm. Yet as Godric got to the centre he fell to his knees, a tear began to fall down his face. It dropped and made a splash in the mud beneath. Even the gallows had been looked after.

Salazar put one hand to his belt and gripped a small wooden cross that hung there. With his other hand he crossed himself. In front of the two men was a woman, hung from the gallows, with every sign of having been there for some time.

Behind them came a voice. A group of townspeople had followed them up here, most likely out of curiosity. The man at the front seemed to be dressed better than the rest, or at least the day so far had left him cleaner.

"So what," he said. "She was a fey. We saw it. Did you really come here to see that?"

Salazar tensed at the sight of Godric. The man wasn't moving except for one hand that gripped the dagger on the side of his belt.

"Yeah," said another member of the group. "We saw it, she had unnatural powers."

Godric took a deep breath and with one last tear he whispered, "Mother."

"Exactly," the first man started up again. "She was evil."

That was enough; Godric closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. In one swift move he stood up and turned round throwing the dagger. It landed firmly in the neck of the man at the front who slumped to his knees, wheezing, and then fell to the ground.

"If she was evil then so am I!" Godric shouted.

Salazar dropped his head and sighed. He put one hand over his eyes and waited for the moment to pass. Even through his hand though, he could see the light.