Author: Kathryn A Pantaleo

Rating: FRM

Disclaimers: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, and whomever else he shares them with! I can only dream!!

It would be dawn soon. The expectant hush that fell over the land as it awaited the birth of a new day hung over Sunnydale The Summers home was quiet. Xander and Anya had gone off someplace for a little privacy. Buffy was upstairs with Dawn and Joyce, supposedly preparing for the coming battle, but in reality, simply spending some all-too-rare time alone together. Willow and Tara were in the kitchen. Rupert Giles sat on the couch gazing out the window, part of his mind wrestling hopelessly with the problems that beset his extended family at this time. The other part, bemused by the quiet and the night, was wandering reflectively on the path that had brought him here.

A voice brought him back from his reverie. "Giles? Giles?" Willow called him quietly.

"Ummm? Oh, Willow!" he turned and saw the slight, red headed young woman standing next to him, Tara, as ever, trailed behind.

"We made you some tea." she said brightly. "Not, you know, maybe the English way and all, but, we thought maybe…"

"Oh, right. Yes", he said, "Thank you, both…That’s smashing." Willow carefully handed the hot cup to him, then started to turn to go.

"No, Willow, wait a moment, please. I need to talk to you both." Giles, wincing slightly, sat upright and put his feet on the floor. Willow sank down, Indian style on the floor before him with the limber ease of the young. Tara slipped onto the couch beside him. Both listened attentively to the battered Watcher.

"I’m afraid I’m going to need to ask something of you two." he began seriously.

"Well, anything, Giles. You know that." Willow said. Tara, who never said much, simply nodded her assent.

"Right…Well," he said, sipping the hot tea, then setting down the cup on the table. "None of us knows what will happen tonight. Under ordinary circumstances, I would think that Buffy could defeat this Knight Marshall without too much trouble. Yet, there is something about him that is not right,"

"Well, yeah," Willow burst in, "Like he enjoys torturing people! Big "not right" sign in MY book!"

"Yes, well, be that as it may. If the issue of the challenge gets resolved, we still have the issue of Dawn to deal with. If Buffy wins the combat, they will have to acknowledge a debt to me, and I intend to try and get them to leave Buffy, and the key, alone. That issue will all depend on if they still honor their oath, or if this is all an elaborate trap."

"You want us to back you up?" asked Willow.

"In a matter of speaking, yes." Giles answered. "But, not in the way you think. If Buffy…" he hesitated just a moment, his eyes dropping. "falls.:" he finished softly. "You and Tara are the only ones left who can do anything to protect Dawn from Glory." He met Willows eyes, which had gone wide at his words. "If Buffy and I are not back by noon, then we are not coming back."

"Giles, no, you...we."

He held up a hand to forestall her protest. "Please, Willow, there’s no time. " He continued. "If that happens, I want you to take Dawn and Joyce, immediately, to Wesley in Los Angeles. Tell him all that has happened. Even injured, he is your best chance of help." He pulled a small, flat, brass key out of his jacket pocket. It was strung on the cord from the hooded jacket. He held it up. "This is the key to safe deposit box #825, at the Towers Plaza office of First Union Bank." He pressed it into Willows hands. "In there you will find some cash, and some papers…Most importantly, the deed to a house." his eyes went far away again "It’s a lovely little cottage near Dover, overlooking the sea. You will be safe there. And it would be a good place to rest, and to…heal."

"Is it your home, Giles?" Willow asked in a small voice.

Giles paused for a long moment, picking up the teacup again, and gazing at it before he answered softly. "No…not any more. My place is here now." He met her eyes again. "But it was a good home once…and, I think, it would welcome you. And keep you safe." He looked at the two wiccans, serious again.. "Will you promise me, that you will do this?"

The two lovers met each others eyes for a moment, then nodded solemnly. Willow moved closer to her friend, put an arm around his neck and hugged him for a moment, tears in her eyes.

There was a sound from the doorway, and Buffy stood there. "Time to go.:" she said. Giles returned the hug, kissed the slender girl on the head, and moved to his Slayers side. Buffy looked around for just a moment. She slipped an arm around Giles for both comfort and support. She walked with him out into the fading night. Xander disentangled himself from Anya and followed.

In a moment, they were gone.

The red sports car came to a stop before the warehouse on the wharf. Xander came around the car and helped Giles to his feet as Buffy hopped out of the back, pulling a sheathed sword out after her. There was an open door before them, flanked by mail-clad Knights. Giles noted absently that one knight wore a red armband, and one did not. Different troops, he supposed.

"You’re sure about this, Giles?" Buffy asked him.

"I really think it’s the only way, Buffy," he answered. He put his uninjured hand on her shoulder. "I want you to be careful, but you need to win this duel, and you need to win decisively. A great deal is riding on convincing them that you are a capable protector of the key."

Buffy nodded. "I get it, Giles… Xander, stay close to him?"

"Don’t worry, Buf…I’ve got your back." Xander replied. He moved to Giles side, and the tall Englishman put his hand on his friend’s shoulder for support. Then, together, they went into the warehouse.

For all his courage and resolve, Giles faltered when they reached the all-too familiar center of the warehouse. The entire floor was ringed with Knights. There had to be 50 of them. At one end of the ring there was a dais, on which the Preceptor of the order sat. By chance or fate, it was exactly where he had hung while the Knight Marshall had tormented him. Several steps led down from the Preceptors’ raised throne and before it sat another chair of ancient design.

Knight Marshall Victor stood to one side, his hands resting on his sword hilt. Xander could feel a shudder pass through the Watcher.

"Are you ok, Giles?" he whispered. Giles gave him a tight nod, and they went forward.

Buffy had eyes only for her opponent. They were not friendly eyes. A slow rage was building inside her. This was the man that had brutalized Giles, terrorized Dawn. She ground her teeth on her rage, barely able to hold herself in check.

The Preceptor stood as they approached. He bowed to them, and they returned the bow, Giles grimacing in discomfort. The Preceptor then spoke.

"A charge has been leveled, a challenge accepted. Trial of right by arms to the death has been agreed upon. Is it your intent to continue, Mr. Giles?"

"It is, Your Grace." Giles replied, using the ancient form of address. "I do swear that I overhead that man consorting to seize the key of power, for his own ends. I also swear that his did order an attack upon an innocent young girl, and upon myself, and that he tortured me, for pleasure and hope of personal gain. This I swear upon my honor, to be tried before this brotherhood and before God. My Champion will stand for me, may the Infantite guide her hand. Courage and honor to the just!"

"Whoa!" Xander said under his breath. "I’m going to have to give that Shakespeare guy another shot!"

"Do shut up, Xander!"

"Right, shutting up! Good!"

The Preceptor turned to the Knight Marshall. There was something very close to active dislike on his face. "The charge is leveled, Sir Victor. What say you?"

"This man is a Sorcerer and a liar. He consorts with demons and witches and other unclean beings, as does his Slayer, with his blessing. They are unworthy of this Brotherhoods’ consideration. I will, however, prove myself on the field of honor. Courage and honor to the just!"

"Miss Summers, do you still intend to stand as champion to Mr. Giles, and prove with your hand the truth and merit of his words?"

"Giles always tells the truth," she replied, "and his words always have plenty in the "merit" department. But I’ll stand for him. We’re a team. It’s what we do." She shot a look of pure poison at the Knight Marshall. "And our witches are plenty clean! You should take some lessons in hygiene from them. "

The Preceptor carefully hid a smile.

Then he indicated the chair at the foot of the dais. "In consideration of your injuries, Mr. Giles, I will break from tradition, and allow you to sit."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Giles replied with genuine feeling, and he sank into the chair. "Let the contest begin! Victory to the Just!"

Buffy flicked the sheath off her sword, and she and the Knight Marshall circled each other. Then she attacked. A furious battle ensued. Buffy pressed the Knight Marshall hard, unleashing a hailstorm of blows upon him. He fought with a great deal of skill. Mostly she had him on the defensive, but a few times he managed to force her back, using his greater height and reach to advantage.

Giles watched in increasing concern. He knew how strong Buffy was. He trained her, and he had the bruises to show for it. He knew that she always held back when training with him, pulling her punches and kicks, less she injure him seriously. The only one who had ever trained full out with had been Angel. But the Knight Marshall was taking the best that she could dish out.

Something was happening, though. The strange shifting under the Knight Marshall’s’ skin showed itself again. Growing more pronounced as Buffy pressed him harder, forcing him to give ground. He could tell that she could see it, and that the Preceptor was noticing it as well. He heard him mutter

"What in the name of God?" It almost seemed that there was something inside, struggling to get out. A suspicion began to grow on Giles. An idea, a plan, was forming in his mind. A terribly rash plan. Exactly the sort of reckless use of magic that he was constantly warning Willow about.

It was, nonetheless, a very GOOD plan. But he was afraid that, because of his injuries, he wouldn’t have the strength to pull it off. He began to run through the spell in his head. It was a simple spell, really. A small magic, one of the first that one learned. Even without spell components for provide the energy for the spell, under normal circumstances, it would not be dangerous for him simply to cast it, and have his own energy and strength fuel the casting. But these were not normal circumstances, and he had precious little energy and strength to spare….

Buffy pressed home the attack again. The Knight Marshall was STRONG! His blows to her sword left her hands and arms ringing. She had thrown all she had at him, and although battered and wounded several times, she could not get a distinct advantage over him. Something was wrong! A normal man should not be able to take the sort of punishment she had dealt out. And then the shifting under his skin started. She didn’t know what the was, but she was sure it wasn’t good. Time to end it, she thought.

She launched a furious attack, driving the Knight Marshall back, and back. Then suddenly, finally, he made a mistake, and dropped his guard, just a little. With a quick slap, she beat his blade aside, and ran him smoothly through. He stiffened, and she released the blade.

He didn’t fall. The shifting under his skin was more pronounced, and then he reached forward, and pulled the sword from his body, casting it aside. A look of unholy glee crossed his face. "BEHOLD! A SIGN FROM GOD, THAT I AM THE CHOSEN ONE! THE TIME IS NOW, MY BROTHERS! FOLLOW ME, RISE UP AND FIGHT!" He swung a two handed blow at Buffy, and she dove away, and rolled to her feet, the discarded sword in her hand. Her eyes were huge, frightened, as she tried to figure out just how she was going to kill this whatever-the-hell- he was.

Pandemonium broke out, as Knights with red armbands tore out their swords, and attacked the Preceptors’ men. Giles saw a sword coming for his head. Timing his movements carefully, he pushed back against his chair, and flipped it over backwards. The sword whistled through the air where his head had been moments before. It was a very clever defensive move. It got him out of the way of an attack, gave him room to maneuver. It was supposed to give him momentum to roll to his feet and counter-attack. A most excellent move, indeed…and one completely unsuitable for someone with a concussion, broken ribs, and one useless arm in a sling that was held together with stitches and bandages. He flopped over, rather than flipped, landing on his knees as small pinpricks of light danced in front of his eyes. He saw another sword whistling for his head, and then saw the blow blocked as someone lunged between him and his attacker.

The Preceptor beat back his attacker, as Xander grabbed Giles from behind and pulled him in back of a line of defenders forming up around the Preceptor.

Giles’ eyes found Buffy, hard pressed by the Knight Marshall in the middle of the melee, surrounded by fanatical looking knights in the midst, it seemed, of an epiphany. He knew then that he was out of options. His Slayer was doomed, unless she, and the Knights around her, could see what they truly faced.

He drew himself up straight, took a deep breath, and began to chant.

"Giles, what are you doing?" Xander screamed at him.

The Preceptor turned, a perplexed look on his face. "Truth spell?" he asked "But, what?"

Giles released the spell, and saw the Knight Marshall stagger a step as it struck him. Then the magical backlash hit the Watcher, like the concussion from an explosion that only he could feel. A white-hot explosion of pain went off in his head, and magic, like crackling electricity wrapped him in bands of agony. With a cry he fell backwards, convulsing, Xander caught him as he fell, and tried to hold him as he thrashed and writhed in spasms of pain.

Buffy saw her enemy stagger a step, dropping his sword. With a cry of pain, he clapped his hands over his face. The strange shifting under his skin went into over-drive. The fight about her slowed, and then stopped. With a roar of triumph, the demon inside him broke loose. His head shot upward, growing, expanding, head, neck and torso merging into one. His face seemed to shred away, and a gaping, tooth filled maw, topped with a single, multifaceted eye appeared. Arms burst from the torso, eight in all, with multi-clawed hands at the ends. It grew to over 12 feet.

Buffy’s eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped. "WHOA!" she said, "UGLY!"

The demon began to slash around it, and Knights, regardless of their allegiance, began to fall. Buffy charged in, chopping and hacking her way past waiving clawed arms.

The Preceptor saw finally that his worst fears about the Knight Marshall were more than realized. His political motivations to gain control of the Knights were now academic. "DEMON!!" He roared. "FALL BACK! V-FORMATION!" The Knights leapt to obey the order of command, all factions forgotten. The Preceptor ran to the point of the V. "CHARGE!!!" His attack slammed into the demon from the side. Forcing it back

Buffy found herself free of the battle for a moment. She stepped back to assess. The creature was not impervious to attack. She had chopped off two arms, and the wounds the Knights were inflicting bled a black ichor.

It was mauling the Knights. It had to be stopped.

She turned, looking for a weapon. She picked up a spear lying on the floor nearby. She snapped the haft, so that she held a nasty-looking broad blade at the end of a three-foot shank. A quick jump onto some old crates, and a flip onto a catwalk overhead, and she was ready.

Gripping the spear with both hands, she raced the length of the catwalk and plunged off the end. She slammed into the monster, her spear imbedding itself in the creature’s multi-faceted eye. The demon staggered back.

"I’M the Chosen One!" Buffy grated. She held on to the spear with one hand, while clinging to the creature by a fist full of hair with the other. She grimly twisted the shaft back and forth, causing the maximum amount of damage possible.

With a final shriek, the creature plunged backward through a wall of glass windows, and off the end of the wharf, dragging several Knights entangled in it’s arms, and the slight form of the Slayer with it.