Serpent's Bloodline: Legacy of the Basilisk

The village was burning.

The day had begun like every day since the end of the goblin wars. After the peace treaty Sal had left the goblins to wander again. Anastasius instead had opted to stay a little bit longer and Sal had let him be because he knew that Anastasius loved to work in the archives. Sal on the other side was planning to go abroad, but until now he hadn't decided where he wanted to go exactly. He was not really sure if he wanted to see China again or if he would like to travel south. Maybe Africa was an option…

But his plans were put on hold when he saw the dense smoke above the trees.

So instead of following his plans and going to the coast, he changed directions to where the smoke polluted the air - finding a burning village.

He stared at it, scrutinizing it with his eyes. He had learned long ago that storming into a situation without knowing what to deal with was not the brightest way of action. So he activated his Basilisk-vision - using it was magically draining, as every kind of Firbolg-magic he could utilize… and especially draining was to activate his heat-sight without opening his second eyelids. But he had to, he could not kill innocents just because he was unfortunately looking at them at the moment…

First he could see nothing but smoke, then figures materialized in the thick smoulder, running through it, crying, screaming and shouting.

Sal's Basilisk-vision showed that the most of the villagers seemed assembled in the middle - probably on the market place - of the village. Which was odd. Why should they assemble there while their huts were burning?

Sal crept nearer, entering the village while casting a silent Illusion and Fire-proof spell on himself. He followed his Basilisk-vision, which showed him the silhouettes of the villagers even if it was slightly hindered by the warmth of the fire itself, and went to the market place.

There he found the villagers, huddled together, with the crying children behind their parents' legs. The outer circle were solely men, behind them the women with fear in their eyes, but determined and then the children and wounded.

The men had reaping hooks, axes, and rakes in their hands. Weapons. The only weapons a common mundane had - and that they were. Mundanes. A mundane village, fighting for its life.

The opponents were big, burly fellows, armed with axes, swords and other, real weapons - nothing make-shift like the villager ones.

Sal knew the garbs the invaders were wearing.

He had worn some of these clothes a long time ago - even if that had been long before he had entered Britain again.

Vikings.

Vikings out for prey.

And the villagers had found themselves in their carefully knotted net, unable to flee.

Sal sighed.

He knew that this time he would not be able to just butt in and come out alive. Even if the Vikings might not have brought a magician - they rarely did when being on the prowl - they would not be as easily intimidated like the sorcerers he had crossed half a hundred years before.

Sal looked again at the villagers, this time finding a man on the front row holding a wooden stick in his hands.

A sorcerer.

The man had apparently a broken leg and a very bad looking head injury, maybe he also had some broken ribs or some internal injury - Sal could guess as much because of the carefully reduced movements he made.

Just analysing the man lead to Sal shaking his head in dismay.

"Reckless" Sal mused stiffing a sigh while deciding on a curse of action. "Absolutely reckless. Even Anastasius would have thought first - even just for a moment - before running head on in this kind of situation and, by wind and fire, this boy is the most reckless person I ever met in the last thousand years! Or he was. This man definitely looks as if he has gotten head-on in this fight without thinking and getting the worst of it…"

Then he put aside his thoughts and returned to the current situation.

He had a good idea how to frighten the Viking. The only problem would be the villagers. They also would be frightened by him - but with this absolutely fearless - and maybe a little idiotic - sorcerer in their front-row…

Sal stepped out of his hiding-place, lifting the Illusion-charm while doing so.

His long black cloak started to shimmer, flogging out in black fog. He had put up his hood, shadowing his face while enchanting his green eyes to glow out of the dark beneath his hood. His long staff, previously shrunk and in his staff-holster, now in his left hand, the old wood glowing with silver runes. His cloak was open in the front, showing gleaming daggers and knifes and the potions and poisons he carried on his silver belt, made out of dozens of silver leafs.

His tunic was also black, seamed and embroidered with emerald green, showing a hissing Basilisk, ready to strike.

Of course the most of the intimidation clothes were transfigured, but even a Viking magician would have trouble to undo Sal's spelling. The only disadvantage was that the spells Sal had used definitely belonged to the more draining ones, as they were born out of his mother tongue, Parseltonge…

Not, that Sal knew any other spells that could accomplish something like that. Sal's staff was not made to aid Sal in his every day spells and because of this his spells normally needed another magical backing. Parseltongue was one of those, runes another - but runes could not be used for something like transfiguration of clothes…

But at least a transfiguration in Parseltongue had the side effect, that it not only looked real but also intimidated a little without too much magical backing…

"Who…?" Sal whispered in a husky voice which was enchanted to carry his words far beyond the fire, echoing from every corner of the village. "Who has dared to wake me in my sleep?"

The scene in front of him froze. The Viking turned to Sal, looking him over with unsure eyes. Sal smirked inwardly.

"You…" he said, looking a one of the Viking while using a more ancient tongue of the North - still understandable for the Viking, but nevertheless foreign sounding. "Is it you?" And while saying this a single rune was send to the Viking who toppled over, suddenly covered in blood. Sal had not hurt him deeply - it were minor wounds - but hurting the Viking wasn't Sal's goal. Scaring them was.

"It isss you" he hissed in Norse, letting in his voice the sound of the Basilisk. "But it isssn't you alone…"

His blasting eyes looking at the Viking next to the wounded. This time he didn't hold back. Without hesitating he opened his second eyelids, killing the Viking on the spot. Draining for Sal, but absolutely terrifying for those that saw it…

"You trampled on my mother's grave" he hissed while sending a rune to the Viking on the other side of the wounded. This one screamed when his hands suddenly blistered as if he had held them in the flames dancing around Sal.

"You…" he said, looking at the screaming Viking, his clear eyelids in place and closed again. "You destroyed my brother's urn…"

Now panic broke lose in the rows of the Viking.

Sal knew what they saw. They had seen his power and without a magician on their own side they interpreted his actions the only way they could: as the actions of one of the jötnar, disrupted while having a life on the earth.

And the jötnar where monster when angered. They might not always be declared as evil in Norse mythology but they also weren't always the good guys.

And Sal played with their fears, standing up to his full high, letting his eyes blast with anger.

"I will not show mercy with those who have wronged me" he hissed, his voice rough and icy. "You will perish for your deeds."

His staff lit with light as bright as the sun, bathing the fire-stricken village in evil-looking shadows, showing ghostly non-existent creatures creeping through the flames, searching, hunting.

Another one of the Viking was felled by Sal's deadly green gaze and suddenly the Viking fled. Some of them even threw away his weapons just to get away even faster, others bowed to Sal and lay down their booty to sooth his wrath before also turning around fleeing.

Within minutes the village was empty of Vikings.

Sal said nothing, his gaze still lingering on the villagers. He saw them shiver, eyes still filled with fear. Even the sorcerer seemed affected by Sal's performance.

Sal sighed, then he stepped fully out of the flames. He looked at the still burning village. He knew they had to put out the fire. But he could not do it alone, so he turned back to the villagers while cancelling the charms he had put on his hood and eyes.

He felt a little bit light headed - using rune-based magic was definitely less draining then using magic without a real focus… it were times like that that let Sal wish for the wand he had once carried - even if it was a thousand years since he last had it in his hand…

Then he pushed his hood down, showing his human face.

"I will need help to put out the fire" he said casually.

The sorcerer stared at him, his eyes big as saucers. And then his barking laughter filled the air.

"You… you aren't a demon" he said, still laughing a little hysterically, with painful gasps sprinkled in his laughter.

Sal snorted.

"Of course not" he said. "But I somehow had to trick them to get them away. I am by no means strong enough to take them all on and come out alive."

The sorcerer laughed again, but his laughter had also another good thing. The villagers relaxed slightly.

"How?" The sorcerer asked.

"Later" Sal said. "The fire first."

"And then the wounded - even you, Mr Reckless-Dunderhead-Sorcerer" Sal thought, but said nothing more.

"Of course" The sorcerer said, turning to the cottages and started to water them.

Sal let him be. He himself bent down to his knees, writing runes in the earth. He intellectually knew that using a ritual for putting out the fire would use up more of his rapidly decreasing magical resources - but it was rune work and because of that not as draining as the other things Sal had done before.

"Next time give me a thousand stasis-runes" Sal grumbled to himself soundlessly "but not something like that again. I am sure I would feel better with them then now!" Not that using runes did not eat on his magical reserves…

The villagers, still wary of him, also turned to help with the fire. But some of them stayed near Sal, watching him, protecting the wounded and toddlers who couldn't help.

One of the eldest even crept near Sal and looked down on his work.

Finally he asked.

"What are you doing… lad?" Stopping slightly before using 'lad' to address Sal. "Shouldn't you also help putting out the fire?"

"I do" Sal said calmly. "I am… a sorcerer… like… well… him…" He gestured to the other sorcerer, slightly unsure how they called sorcerers these days.

"You mean a Lord, gifted by the gods?" The old man asked.

"Yes" Sal smiled slightly at the description the old man used for the other sorcerer.

"You have no wand to channel your gift" The old man said.

"I don't" Sal said, not bothering to say that his staff and the wand the sorcerer was using were basically the same. Not that they worked the same - his staff could not aid him in charms or transfigurations, but was solely there for rituals and rune-drawings… still, it was the same somehow…

"I am a gifted Lord, but my kind is called a druid."

Sal wasn't sure if the mundane still had this term. They were starting to be Christianised after all. Maybe a druid was now a demon - Sal couldn't know. He had been too engaged in the war between sorcerers and goblin to have to do much with mundane.

"A druid?" The old man asked. "One of the old, all mighty healers?"

Almighty. Well at least he wasn't a demon…

"Yes, even if I am not almighty" He finally said. "And because I am different then him…" He nodded to where the sorcerer was putting out the fire. "… I have to do things differently."

"So you aren't one of the true druids" The old man concluded after Sal denied the 'almighty'.

"My father was a druid" Sal said, taking a different approach. "He died a long time ago. All I know about the way of the druids I know from him."

When he said that, the old man nodded knowingly.

"You were too young when he died, so you are now a druid, but aren't almighty, because you could not learn all of the druids' way."

Well, at least the man had accepted Sal as a druid who wasn't almighty…

"Something like that" Sal said and stood up. Then he picked up his staff to send magic through the drawn runes on the ground. They lit up with golden sparkles and vanished, building ritual-circles around the still burning houses.

Sal powered them with his magic and blue shields suddenly surrounded the fires, putting it out by stealing it the oxygen.

"Impressive" the sorcerer rasped, coming over to were Sal was standing. He had conjured himself a walking stick on which he was leaning himself heavily.

Sal snorted.

"It is more impressive that you can still walk" He answered in return. "Everyone else with your injuries would be lying flat - or even dead on the ground."

The other sorcerer shrugged.

"I don't think you know enough about injuries to diagnose that." He answered nonchalant while taking breaths that were filled with his pain.

At that Sal raised an eyebrow.

"Reckless dunderhead" he thought. "Definitely worse then Anastasius - far worse then Anastasius…"

"I am a Healer, Master Sorcerer" he said with a still raised eyebrow. "I am sure I am able to distinguish between a lethal wound and a minor injury."

The other one stared at him, surprise clearly visible on his face.

"Does that mean, that by all people who could have helped me, a Healer did - someone who could not battle even for his life?!"

Sal snorted at this, but decided not to protest. He had other things to do now.

"Lie down" he said sternly. "You can sulk later. After I healed you."

"But…" the other one started.

Sal made a rough gesture with his hand and the suborn sorcerer found himself toppling over when his cane suddenly vanished. Sal caught him before he fell and helped him to lie down.

"There we go" he said lightly as if nothing happened. "I knew you were clever enough to follow my advice."

The other sorcerer growled. Sal smiled at him and flicked his staff.

The colourful net that expanded over the injured sorcerer, told Sal everything he needed to know. Normal sorcerers were unable to understand the swirling patterns and colourful clusters that spread in a cupola over the body of the injured sorcerer but Sal had invented the cupola, so he knew exactly what he saw. He did not like what the cupola had to say about his patient.

Said sorcerer looked at the net with curious eyes.

"What is that?" he asked.

"A spell to show me where you are injured." Sal replied while reading the runes and hieroglyphs that flowed along the colourful lines.

"You can read that?" the other sorcerer asked impressed.

"It is my spell, of course I can" Sal answered, rolling his eyes. "And you are in a very sorry shape. I am impressed that you have managed not to bleed to death until now."

And he really was. A normal person would not have stood up after receiving such injuries. The other sorcerer had a heavy concussion, several cracked ribs, one of them even puncturing the lung, internal bleeding from several other wounds, a knife-wound in the stomach and the predicted broken leg. Every normal person just would have laid down and died.

How the hell had this dunderhead managed to stand until now - not even talking about doing magic or walking?!

"So… is it bad?" The sorcerer asked.

"When you wouldn't still talk I'd say you're dead." Sal answered dryly. "As you are still talking: How about saying good-bye?"

The other sorcerer stayed for a moment silent after that.

"So there is nothing you can do for me anymore?" he finally asked.

Sal snorted.

"I will try" he answered, rolling his eyes again, "Just don't ask for a miracle. You might survive - but I will not predict in what state you will be afterward."

"Sure, try your worst" the sorcerer answered. "Nothing lost when you don't succeed, is there? I am dying anyway."

"And I am here again to try to do a miracle. Why is it just always me?!" Sal groaned inwardly. That seemed exactly like the last time. The only difference was that the injured one was an adult sorcerer and his injuries were even grave than the goblin-boy's. It was just Salvazsahar's luck that had brought him here…

Sal sighed, then he scribbled new runes in the earth and conjured a stone-bed.

"How bad are the other villagers injured?" he asked the old man.

"Except of the dead, it seems nothing grave." The man answered. "And the more injured ones are treated by our healer."

Sal looked back to the wounded. De facto there was an old woman there, treating them. Sal decided that that would have to be enough for now and returned to his runic circle.

"What is this?" The old man asked, looking at the carvings etched in the ground.

"A runic circle" Sal said. "I need it for my healing."

"Our healer doesn't need something like that" the old man said sceptically.

"Your healer isn't trying to beg death to leave a man alive." Sal answered while flowing the now ashen-faced sorcerer on the stone-bed.

"He does not look like he is dying." The old man said.

"He is wearing his clothes over his fatal injuries." Sal answered. "He may not look like it, but I can see death lingering in his shadows."

Sal knew he was playing with superstition, but he was not interested to fully explain the injuries the sorcerer had got - especially after it seemed now like said man had stopped living on adrenaline alone and was succumbing to his lethal wounds.

"I hate healing dunderheads like him" Sal muttered, but entered the circle.

"Don't enter. You will be at death's mercy if you do." He told the man.

"I will not" the man hastily assured. "And I will stop anyone else from entering, too."

"That would be appreciated." Sal answered. Of course he had erected a runic shield to prevent anyone from entering, but it would save his energy if no-one would even try. And energy he would need. Putting out the fire had been tiresome as he had depleted his magic severely beforehand just to create the illusions and transfigurations without having a focus like the wand he once used to have - healing these injuries would deplete his magic to the very basics. He would not really be able to stomach more.

Of course, nothing had to be simple with the sorcerer he was healing now.

After Sal had closed the circle and started the stasis, the vanished the sorcerer's clothes - just to get alert a minute later that the heart of the sorcerer decided to stop.

"So much for stasis" Sal cursed in Parseltongue. "You just had to go and give me even more work!"

Of course the sorcerer didn't answer.

Sal conjured a bowl and filled it with water - which he sterilized and heated with a spell - from his water bottle, spelled his hands clean and disinfected and then called his thunderbird power. A lightning shot from his palm which was lying on the chest of the sorcerer - a lightning based on magic Sal had not want to spend. Like phoenix tears and the heat-sight of the basilisk without opening his eyelids it was one of his Family Magicks - and utterly draining… Electricity flowed through the body of the injured, letting him twist - not that he noticed, unconscious as he was - and made his heart beat once more. Then it stopped again and Sal cursed. With his left hand he called the coloured net again.

"Great" he thought. "He has lost too much blood."

Putting down the rucksack he was carrying beneath his cloak, he opened it and took out his potion kit. Without trying to look through it manually he summoned a blood-replacing potion and some others. One to let his patience for a few hours fall into a magical coma and the other to stabilize the functions of the internal organs.

With his other hand he carefully extracted one of his knifes. Letting it go mid-air so that it flew with magic alone he conjured a flame and sterilized it. Then he coaxed the unconscious sorcerer to drink the potions and after that shocked the heart again.

It stuttered, stuttered, stuttered and then started to beat regularly again.

"First crisis prevented" Sal muttered and righted his knife on the chest of the sorcerer.

Sal took a deep breath, activated some concealing runes and checked the sterilizing ones. Then he cut, opened the torso of the sorcerer and carefully looked at the wounds he found.

He felt himself getting sick.

Until now he had seldom opened the chest of another being to treat its injuries manually. It was his last resort, but he knew he was unable to treat this time what he did not see. He could miss something grave when doing it blindly.

"Memo to myself: find a spell to look in a body without having to open it" Salvazsahar murmured silently in Cymráeg while starting to clean the open chest from blood. He looked at the injuries the sorcerer and fetched two of his herbs, letting them absentminded fall into the hot water bowl he had conjured before.

Then he spelled his hands wordlessly clean again and started to touch the single organs. The net over the sorcerer changed, so that it showed him the injuries of the touched organ instead the injuries of the whole body.

With careful fingers he drew runes and hieroglyphs on the single organs, let drops of potion fall and mended them with spells. It was a tiring work and Salvazsahar hated it - even more today, because he was starting to feel the effects of his previous spells now.

He shut out the pain, when his body began to ache, after he had drawn runes on the ankles, wrists and forehead of the sorcerer.

Then he cut his own wrists to use his blood for drawing other runes on the body of the sorcerer. The runes glowed and faded. They would help the sorcerer to heal as soon as Sal finished the ritual.

Now came the next critical part.

He took the bowl of herb-tea and washed the organs in the healing lotion until they were healed again.

Then he mended the broken rips. The lung however was something no potion or spell in the world could mend.

There was just one thing Sal could do.

He cried.

His tears were dropping on the lung, mending it like every phoenix tears in the world would do. He felt his magic draining, when he healed with his tears. Even if his abilities were inherited, it was still his magic that had to support them…

"I will hunt you down in afterlife if you even think of dying" Sal threatened. "I hate depleting my magic like that. If it is for nothing you will forever regret dying!"

He knew he was uttering an empty threat, but he did it anyway. Somehow he had to let out his frustration with this lucky, idiot sorcerer.

He checked on the whole body again and sighed. The worst was mended. There was no sign of a deadly injury any more. The concussion was getting better thanks to the blood-runes Sal had painted with his own blood on the sorcerer's forehead and even if his leg was still broken, the first signs of infection it had previously vanished.

Now he just had to close the torso again…

Sal mended the sternum he had to break to be able to treat the lungs. After that he looked his work over again. Nothing was out of place, all was healed.

He carefully mended the layers of muscles until he felt his magic acting up. After that he simply conjured a needle and disinfected it before stitching the rest of the open skin - the skin he had cut himself and the skin the other knife had cut. Luckily the other knife hadn't been poisoned. Sal wasn't sure if he would have been able to rescue the life of the sorcerer if it had been…

Finally he corrected the positions of the leg-bones and stabilized it with a simple wood-bandage construction. He would later mend it, as soon as he had enough magic to do it…

Sal swayed, feeling absolutely exhausted.

He destroyed the ritual circle and saw how the lines and finally the stone-bed vanished, leaving the sorcerer lying on the floor.

Then he simply toppled over and lost conscious.

When Sal woke up again, he was still lying on the ground, but now a blanket was on top of him.

"How are you?" a voice asked and Sal's gaze shifted to look at the person who had spoken. It was the sorcerer he had been tending.

The sorcerer was sitting next to him, also a blanket over his knees.

"You did not move around?" Sal asked anxious.

"The healer forbid" the sorcerer answered grumbling. "She said that if I even dare to leave this place she would bind me like a dog with a lash."

Sal sighed relieved.

"You could have made my work undone if you did" he sighed and suddenly the sorcerer looked guilty.

"Oh…" he said, stuttering, "I thought… since you used magic to heal me… or that's what the others told me… I… well, I…"

"Even magic cannot heal fatal injuries like yours without time" Sal answered, feeling still exhausted.

The sorcerer looked at him with an unreadable expression.

"You still look like a ghost." He finally commented.

"Healing people with a ritual like I did is extremely exhausting" Sal answered. "I had to depend solely on my own magic with it. Normally a sorcerer can use some outer magic to help his own - like the magic your wand contains - but in a ritual like that it's just your magic, your soul and your blood. You can uses herbs and potions and spells - but they all depend on your own magic. They can support it, but it's nothing like using a wand…"

He said nothing about the drain his magic had suffered long before he even started healing. It would not do any good to tell a man who still could turn out to be a foe about his weaknesses…

"Ritual…" the sorcerer uttered.

"So it was Dark Magic that rescued my life?" He did sound like he didn't know how to feel about that.

"No" Sal answered. "Dark Magic is something totally different."

"You said you used your blood - that is Dark Magic for me."

"I also used my tears and my hands" Sal said, rolling with his eyes, "they are also part of my body. Is using them also Dark Magic?"

"Blood contains the very essence of our magic. It is line-theft to even try to use another sorcerer ones… or when you change it…"

"Your own blood did not change when I used my blood on you" Sal said tiredly. "Your body might contain a little bit of my magic for the next few weeks, but after that it's all back to normal. There is no constant harm done."

"But rituals…"

"It was a healing ritual" Sal interrupted grumpily. "I am a druid. I never learned much wand-waving. I cannot use a wand to heal - rituals are the only way I know."

"Stop!" the sorcerer said astonished. "What do you mean: rituals are the only way you know?! Did your parents never teach you to use a wand - did they never teach you that reading the old ritual-text and trying to use them will lead you on the path of evil?!"

"On the path of evil?" Sal asked confused.

"Everyone knows!" The sorcerer answered, eyes big like saucers. "When you try to do the old rituals you will lose your mind!"

And suddenly the puzzle in Sal's mind solved itself.

"You have still texts of the druids?" he asked.

"Of course" the sorcerer answered. "But no-one is allowed to use them…"

"… because no-one has the protection anymore to use them correctly" Sal filled in absentminded.

"Protection?" the sorcerer sounded confused.

"The first thing a druid does, is learning his protection." Sal answered. "Without the protection a druid is unable to control the magic of the ritual and finally loses his mind."

"Protection…" the sorcerer said again, now astonished. "There is a protection before using a ritual?!"

"There is" Sal answered. "It's a constant protection every druid has for his whole life. A druid does start on it as soon as his magic has matured the first time. He must have at least the second layer until he matures the second time. When he doesn't he will never be able to be a druid."

"Protection…" This time the sorcerer shook his head. "How come you know of something like that when everyone else doesn't?!"

Sal shrugged.

"My father taught me." He answered. "I finished my full protection when I turned eighteen - still before I matured the second time, so using a ritual for me is save. I will not lose my mind - and I will not turn dark except I do it voluntarily."

"So… you simply can use all the rituals in the books?" the sorcerer asked.

"Uh… I don't know" Sal finally answered. "I have some books from my father and mother - but the most rituals I know I have never written down - and I also don't think father has ever thought of it."

"So… these rituals just exist in your head?" the sorcerer asked astonished.

"Well, I can hardly check the books every time I need to use them - sometimes there are life-threatening situations like yours. You would have died if I would have had to check books first." Sal answered not sure what was so unbelievable.

"Uh… but some of the rituals are really complicated - how can you remember all that?"

Now it was Sal staring at him.

"How would you know that?"

"Uh… I have some texts at Gringoods" he answered finally. "They are family-heirlooms but my sister and I decided to put them away so that no-one would consider using them."

Now Sal was really interested.

"You have a vault at Gringoods?" he asked. He knew that the goblin-bank did not deal with sorcerers so how…

"Uh… yes… uh… something to do with family" the sorcerer answered nervously, cautiously. "I know, sorcerers normally doesn't but… well, my family is the only one allowed… something to do with… uh… how did the goblins put it after we aided them and got permission for a vault? Uh… our clan-leader?"

"Clan-leader?" Of course Sal knew what a clan-leader was. It was the leader of a goblin-family, similar to the lord and Head of House in sorcerer families. But normally a Head of House was not accepted as a Clan-leader by the goblins. And sorcerers did not get vaults unless…

"You're a LeFay" Sal said, understanding. He was the clan-leader of the LeFay-family in the eyes of the goblins. He himself had a vault and of course no goblin would make a fuss when a family-member of a clan-leader also wanted one.

"Uh… yes" the sorcerer answered. "Godric LeFay at your and your family's service. Also even if I don't understand what my last name has to do with a Gringoods-vault."

"Everything" Sal answered. "You're a member of Morganaadth's family - as such you belong to the Clans. And all members of the clans are allowed to have a vault in Gringoods."

"A member of Morganaadth's family?" Godric asked. "Who, by Myrddin, is Morganaadth?!"

Sal stared at Godric.

By Myrddin?!

They were using his father's name to swear?!

It was odd, absolutely odd. Of course, Sal also once had said "by Merlin", but that was long ago. Hearing it again, even if his father's name was still 'Myrddin', was definitely strange for him.

"Uh… well…" Sal did not really know what he should answer to Godric's question. Should he simply say 'I am Morganaadth'?!

"Uh… Morganaadth, that's the goblin name of your clan-leader." He finally said.

"Hu? But isn't the clan-leader something like a Head of the House?" Godric asked.

"Yes."

"So shouldn't the Head of the House be the clan-leader?"

"Well… that's complicated" Sal finally said. "He… he is Morgana's heir, but he isn't yet the Head of the House."

"Oh… I know that" Godric answered and showed Sal a ring he had just once seen before. "Look, I am the Head of the House, so there is no way he could be."

Sal stared at the ring.

"So you are not only a member of the family, you're the Head" he stated, still looking at the ring.

So this was one of his ancestors…

"Yes" Godric said and his death-green eyes met Sal's. "But you still haven't said who you are."

Sal blushed.

"Forgive me" he said, fighting the blush. "I was just stunned, that you're a LeFay - and I forgot. I am Salvazsahar Emrys, at your service."

"Salazar Emrys? As in Myrddin Emrys?!" Godric asked astonished and now eying Sal critically.

"Uh… yes…" Sal finally said. "He is my…" He stopped. He could not say 'father' because Godric would not believe him, but he also could not say 'ancestor' because it simply felt wrong.

"I… I mean he was a relative" he finally changed his sentence.

"Relative?" Godric asked grinning. "The right word would be 'ancestor', my friend."

"When you think so" Sal answered shrugging. "And my name is Salvazsahar, not 'Salazar'."

Godric just waved at the correction.

In that moment the old healer reached them.

"So you are awake" she said to Sal. Sal nodded and said. "It was tiresome to rescue him" while he pointed at Godric.

"So I believe" the old woman answered, looking Sal over critically.

"When I was young I once saw a young man just like you. He rescued my sister after she was wounded by a bear. It was by chance that he came by to rescue her. He came from a battlefield, his clothes ripped, he himself bloody and tired. But as soon as he found my sister he did all he could to rescue her." She told them.

"Did he do it?" Godric asked interested.

"Yes" the old woman said. "And he was the first who taught me about healing." And with that she looked back at Sal who blushed again. He could remember the incident, even if he would have never combined the old healer with the scared little girl from that time.

When he blushed, she smiled and Sal knew he was busted.

He shook his head and glanced at Godric. She also glanced at him and nodded shortly.

"I was never able to thank him for rescuing her, though" she continued, still staring at Sal. He smiled.

"I am sure he knows how you feel" he answered. "And I am sure he appreciates what you are doing for me."

"I did nothing for you" the old woman said still smiling.

"Oh, you did." Sal answered. "You stopped a dunderhead from standing up while I was unconscious. That's definitely help enough."

"Well, I remembered, that he did not let my sister stand up for another day - and the wounds of my sister were less life-threatening then Godric's." And with that she stared Godric down who got as red as a tomato.

"You know I was on my way to my sister and my fiancée" he said with puppy dog eyes. "I promised them to reach them this week. I had not planned to get to be Viking-prey on the way there."

"You were not 'Viking-prey' as you put it" the old woman said fondly. "You had left us already when the Viking arrived. You just returned here to help us."

"And let me guess - he ran straight in the battle" Sal said raising an eyebrow.

"That he did" the old woman answered smiling. "There is a reason why everyone calls him Gryffindor."

Sal nearly chocked on the air.

"Excuse me?!" he asked, staring at Godric. The other sorcerer shrugged.

"You know… Gryffindor - like 'gift of the griffin'. They named me that after I… well… trickled a dragon…" he answered Sal.

Sal just stared.

"How gets one called 'gift of the griffin' after trickling a dragon? And how come anyone gets the idea to even trickle a dragon?!"

"Well… that's a long story" Godric said. "The short version is, that I had a bet with my sister's fiancé Peverell Grim - even if he wasn't her fiancé at that time. So I went to trickle the dragon… well… and when the dragon woke… I uh… I would have been dead if there hadn't been this griffin… and… it… I think it wanted the gold of the dragon for itself or something like that… uh and… the result is that I got away and also brought some treasures with me. Since then all villagers around here call me 'Gryffindor' - because the griffin gave me the gift to live a little bit longer…"

"Aha…" Sal said and then shook his head. "Alright… You have just proven me that you are definitely mentally ill."

"I told you it was a bet!" Godric said sulking. "And I was eleven winters old! I was young, stupid and reckless."

"Well, congratulation! Yet you are just stupid and reckless - you have improved!" Sal snorted and the old woman laughed.

"Godric is a good lad" she said. "But you are right, stranger. He is reckless."

"His name is Salazar, Aunty" Godric piped in. "I am sure you are allowed calling him that."

Sal wanted to insist, that his name was not Salazar but after he corrected Godric three days in a row he just gave up. It was like Godric did not want to listen.

Finally, a week later, Godric was well enough to travel. He was grumpy and insisted that his sister and his betrothed would kill him for coming to late, but Sal was firm and so Godric stayed until his wounds had healed.

"So… where are you going now, Salazar?" Godric asked while packing his stuff. Sal just shrugged.

"I don't know" he answered. "I hadn't decided when I stopped by to rescue you."

"So you have nowhere to go?"

Sal just shrugged again.

"I don't." he answered.

"What's with your family? Aren't they gonna miss you?"

"I don't have family anymore."

"Well, then how about travelling with me until you know where you want to go?"

Sal just hesitated one moment, then he said.

"It would be better. Who knows what you would do next when left alone."

And it was this decision that would fix his coming way for the next decades.