Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

1625, SCOTLAND

T he dust from the horses’ hooves gave the road before him a hazy appearance. Tristan pulled his cowl up to cover his face, blinking rapidly. His eyes stung from the combination of dirt and sweat. For days, he and the three of the King James’s knights, Niall MacTavish, Padraig Clarre, and Gavin Campbell, kept up the hard pace, stopping only to sleep for a couple of hours, catching what they could to eat, and then riding again.

The instructions were clear, the missive instructing them to present themselves before the council of knights by midday on the last day of the fasting.

Although the founder of the council had been dead for many years, the knight’s order remained. He and the three men, after numerous threats from the Norse, were more than ready to pledge their swords and those of their respective clans to join forces against the tyranny of the Vikings. It was imperative that they arrive in time to make their pledge before the hearings ended.

The clouds of smoke were the first signs of something amiss, followed by the sounds of women’s screams and children’s cries. Tristan pulled his horse to a stop and waited for the others to catch up to him.

“We can’t stop,” Padraig told them, his usually jovial facade gone. “Those poor people are going to have to fend for themselves.”

“And turn our backs on them?” The Campbell, ever the crusader, replied astonished. “I cannot do that.”

“Even if we keep our current pace, we are still dangerously close to missing the council before they separate after their last hearing. We have been delayed by obstacle after obstacle and cannot afford to be delayed again.” Niall MacTavish’s gaze pinned to the Campbell’s. “Our clans’ lives are at stake.”

“What say you McRainey?” Campbell turned his horse to face Tristan. “Do we walk away?”

Just then a woman stumbled into the road, bloody and ashen, she held up her child to them. As MacTavish reached to steady her, she fell dead, an arrow protruding from her back. The child wailed. Without thought, Tristan spurned his horse towards the village, he and Campbell riding as fast as they could urge their horses forward.

When he looked over his shoulder, Niall followed. Padraig was further back; he had dismounted and was securing the child against a tree. The child would be safe until someone came for it.

To say the scene was bloody would be the ultimate understatement; rivers of red flowed from every hut in the village. Only a handful of men remained, barely able to fight.

Young women were being thrown into cages on carts. They screamed as a few of the surviving males fought the losing battle against huge, chainmail-clad horsemen.

When the four knights burst into the village, there was a momentary stillness as everyone looked to see what occurred.

Catching the horsemen by surprise, Tristan and Gavin were able to cut several of them down. The advantage was soon gone, and by the time Niall and Padraig entered the fray, they were met with strong opposition.

The battle between the knights and the horsemen became brutal. The horsemen fought with no fear, not seeming to care if they were injured. They were like no opponent he’d ever faced.

Tristan, bleeding from a wound to his side, finally felled an opponent only to face another. He slid a glance to check on the others. Gavin who fought two men. The huge Scot seemed to be holding his own, but he had to be tiring. Niall felled his opponent, sinking his sword into the fallen man, as if to insure he stayed down.

After managing to beat the man he fought, Tristan rushed forward to help Gavin. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of Padraig unlatching the cages, releasing the trapped women.

As they ran for safety, a horsemen attacked them. Tristan was astounded at their lack of humanity when he saw two young maidens fall dead from the horseman’s sword. Before he could cut down a third, a blond man on horseback broke into the fray.

The man’s sword skills were impressive, his defense not allowing for any strikes as he defended the women, cutting down his opponent and swiftly moved to the next. After a moment, he and Gavin could attempt to catch their breath, as the newcomer dispatched one opponent after another.

The few attackers who could mount fled, not seeming to care that they left their comrades behind.

The aftermath of the fight could only be described as dreamlike. The people of the small village scrambled about, most of them crying and desperately looking for survivors. The injured were carried indoors to be cared for, the dead surrounded by their loved ones.

The knights assisted with moving the injured and setting up makeshift pallets for them to lie upon.

When all that could be done was done, they knew it was too late to arrive in time to be meet with the Knights’ Council, who’d surely disbanded by now.

Refusing food and shelter from the already shattered villagers, the men prepared a camp nearby to rest before heading back to their perspective clans.

They invited the newcomer, Liam Murray, to join them. He turned out to be an English knight who also planned to meet with the council.

Although Tristan was glad to have rescued the villagers from a horrible fate, he was disheartened that he’d not accomplished what needed to be done for his clan’s people. They too could face death and injury if the Norse continued to move inland in their attacks.

“We should sleep in shifts,” Niall informed them. “The attackers were not normal. I do nae doubt they can come back and attack us.”

Whilst the other three lay on bedrolls around a fire, Tristan and Padraig took the first shift of guard duty. Grim in the knowledge that they’d return to their clans without good news, they didn’t bother with conversation, but instead patrolled the perimeter of their area in silence.

The full moon gave them enough light to see as they walked, the eerie silence of the surroundings almost engulfing them. Suddenly, an unnatural howl filled the air.

Tristan and Padraig rushed into the camp finding the others already on their feet, swords in hand.

The air was still, the surroundings once again plunged into silence as they turned in circles scanning the surroundings. The flames from the fire rose, swaying in the nonexistent breeze. The flames swirled and twisted until taking form. The flames became a torso, arms, a head, and face, all waving in unison, as the creature faced them.

“Ye killed my men. Ye foiled my plans. Ye will pay dearly.” The creature, which resembled an old man, lanced fire at them making them jump backward to avoid being burnt.

Holding up his shield, Tristan advanced.

“Ye sent them to kill and trap innocent people.”

“Silence.” The creature spat blue flames at him, causing him to shift sideways. “The maidens were to become the mothers of my children, the next generation of great power.”

The entity had to be bound by a time restraint, else it wouldn’t be so angry. Tristan narrowed his eyes. “Return to where ye come from. Ye have no place here.”

The creature seemed to laugh because cackles erupted, making Tristan’s skin crawl. “I do have some boundaries I can nae cross. That does nay stop me from bringing punishment.”

The campfire returned to normal. The sounds of crickets and other night noises returned shortly after.

Not sure if the creature was gone or just giving them a temporary respite, the men remained alert.

A huge tongue of flames burst from the fire licking toward Tristan’s feet. When the fire recoiled, a rolled parchment remained on the ground. He lifted it and read it aloud.

The trek back to their lands was done with as much haste as they’d begun. The missive from the Wizard in the flames claimed that they had three days before they’d be trapped in an enchantment.

The being had cast a curse upon them to be imprisoned in a different world unless freed by an enchantress that could break each of their specific spells.

If not saved, they’d be trapped in the alter-world forever.

Deep in thought, the men contemplated arrangements to make, goodbyes to say, and how to find someone who could save them from such a horrible fate.

Upon their arrival, they plunged into desperate, frantic searches for magicians, spellcasters, and witches—anyone who could save them from the dreadful fate looming over them. Panic gripped their every step, as they clung to the last thread of hope against the nightmare that awaited.