Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

T ristan looked across the clearing at Gavin Campbell. The Scot’s nod barely perceptible, letting him know the target had moved into place. Tristan tested the line in his hand and waited for Campbell’s hand signal.

At the gesture, he yanked on the snare, smiling in grim satisfaction at the large hog they’d caught. The pig’s squeals echoed into the forest, so they hurried knowing it would be a matter of minutes before Meliot’s scouts were upon them. In one swift motion, Gavin stilled the pig, slicing its throat open, silencing the animal.

Tristan released the snare, allowing the animal to land with a thud. Once the pig was tied, they slid a thin log through its feet and lifted it. Each with an end of the log on his shoulder the men raced back to the keep.

Putting their life in danger for a meal was very reckless, but were it not for taking risks, they’d all be bored to death.

Besides, hunting helped keep their skills honed and movements sharp.

The unmistakable whistle of an approaching arrow caused them to run in a zigzag pattern.

Padraig’s shield spell surrounded them, so they weren’t too concerned, but why press their luck? Using his extra strength, Tristan grabbed the pig from Gavin, giving the Scot freedom of movement to draw his sword. They raced toward the keep, rounding a gigantic tree only to have their path blocked by three horsemen.

With a war cry, the horsemen attacked.

Tristan dropped the pig, pulled his sword, and rushed forward towards the first rider that reached him. The horseman’s sword clashed with his, the horse’s side knocking Tristan down.

He rolled and leaped away just as another swing of his opponent’s sword descended. He blocked it with ease and dared a glance to Gavin. The Scot held his own, against the other horseman. The one remaining horseman stayed back, surveying the scene.

It was as if the horseman’s body was made of air because when Tristan’s sword slashed across his mid-section, slicing the creature in two, there was no scream nor blood.

An instant later, the horseman vanished, and Gavin’s opponent vanished as well. Both of them held their swords in front of them, turning to face off against the solitary man, who remained atop his horse.

Silently, his black gaze followed their movements, then he held his hands up as a sign that he was not a threat. Nonetheless, they did not relax their stance. The man dismounted and stood before them still not speaking. Then he removed his helmet.

There was no mistaking who stood before them. Meliot’s soulless eyes flashed over them, and they braced for a bolt of whatever energy he was about to fire at them.

Instead, the wizard pursed his lips giving them a lazy look.

He looked to the carcass and shook his head. “Why do you hunt? You have no need for nourishment. A gift from me.”

When they did not reply, he shrugged. “No gratitude required. Time for another challenge gentlemen,” he told them stepping away from his horse.

The wizard stood, a tall, gray-haired man with strong sharp features. His nose was long, his cheeks prominent. He wore a beard, but it was always trimmed so one could note the slender jawline. Other than his hair, not much changed in his appearance over the years, his face remained unlined, and his posture erect. He looked every bit the seventeenth-century wizard, except for his way of dress. Meliot did not wear robes, but a tunic and hose like them.

With his hands behind his back, the man paced.

Tristan and Gavin remained on alert even though Meliot did not need a sword to fling them into another place or situation.

“What is it this time, Wizard?” Tristan asked, keeping his sights on the wizard’s hands.

Gavin didn’t give him time to speak. “Must be an exceptional challenge that you would deliver the missive in person.”

Meliot’s lips curved, addressing Gavin with a wave of his hand. “Not necessarily.”

He lifted his hands; Tristan and Gavin braced and then charged forward. Meliot and his horse vanished, only the sound of his voice remaining.

“Enjoy,” a voice called out, as they were flung into darkness.

They landed in a clearing in the forest. Before they could gather their bearings, Padraig, Liam and Niall, appeared at the same time.

A horse for each of them stood nearby.

“We must go and fast,” Liam warned.

Immediately the five men mounted and barely took a moment to grab the reins before taking off at full speed.

The thunder of the horses’ hooves that gave chase echoed Tristan’s heartbeats as they raced through the dense woods.

He turned to look. About twenty warriors chased them. Horsemen wearing helmets so he could not discern who they were. Not that it mattered; most of the time, the beings in that world were fabricated by Meliot.

Coming to a fork in the path, Liam motioned that they should take different paths, and they split off. During times like these, they communicated with hand signals to keep whoever challenged as unaware of their plans as possible.

Niall, Padraig and Liam went in the opposite direction from the one Tristan and Gavin took. Tristan’s power of extraordinary strength made up for an extra man, so they were evenly divided.

As expected, their pursuers split evenly behind them.

Gavin whistled and gave a quick hand signal telling him to prepare for attack. Once they reached a clearing, they stopped and turned to face the riders coming at them.

Before lowering the face guard of his helmet, Tristan met Gavin’s amused gaze, the man actually enjoying the prospect of the fight. Gavin Campbell lived for two things, battle and tournaments. Being that tournaments were non-existent in the alter-world, he was primed for the impending contest. Letting out a blood curdling battle cry, the huge Scot charged toward their enemies. Tristan almost laughed, noting that the enemy actually faltered at the sight.

The sound of swords clashing, grunts, and horses’ whinnying filled the air, echoed from the trees. Not able to take the time to keep an eye on Gavin while defending himself, Tristan hoped for the best and blocked a sword’s decent meant to cut him down.

As often with Meliot’s challenges, there were clues in every obstacle. This meant that perhaps one of the horsemen had a clue to winning this challenge. They could not kill any of them until they could figure out which one. It proved a hard task. Incapacitating them meant they could rise and strike again.

His current opponent’s soulless black eyes didn’t register pain when Tristan relieved him of his sword arm. Instead, he picked up his sword with the other hand to strike at him again.

They continued, fighting, maiming only for their soulless opponents to rise and attack again. Sweat flowed down his brow making it hard to see. Not able to resist, Tristan swung wide slicing across two opponents’ midsections. They crumpled to the ground and remained there.

Jumping back to avoid a hammer’s blow to his own midsection, Tristan stabbed behind him and heard a grunt. He’d hit his mark. With a groan, the male fell from his horse. A hammer-wielding warrior crooked his head to the side, studying him. That’s when he noticed the red dragon emblem on the right shoulder.

The clue.

He ventured a glance toward Gavin, and gave two quick whistles, letting Gavin know he’d found the clue. That was all the Scot needed. Within moments four bodies lay at his feet.

Tristan circled, not quite sure how to handle the dragon warrior. He didn’t want to kill him, in case the clue was a verbal one, yet it wasn’t like he would come with them voluntarily. The decision was taken away from him when the giant crumpled to his knees and then face forward into the dirt. Gavin gave him a shrug when Tristan glared at him.

“He’s not dead. Just out for a bit,” Gavin explained, then seeing one of the downed moved, he drove his sword into the offender’s chest. “Stay dead,” Gavin commanded the body.

Gavin Campbell was a total and complete contradiction in terms. The beauty of the man a stark contrast to the bloodthirsty warrior he became in battle.

Back when they lived a normal existence, Campbell was perpetually annoyed. Each time he entered any room or approached people, his ravishing good looks caused both men and women to take pause and notice.

One almost felt sorry for him, although it was hard to. Campbell, a large man, a head over six feet, with an expansive muscular chest and bulging arms, wore his blond hair long, just to his shoulders, and constantly sported a beard-shadowed jaw line. His heavily lashed amber eyes were large, his nose straight. The man’s looks were impossible to describe. It could only be said that, in Gavin’s case, seeing definitely was believing.

Tristan did not envy Campbell his attractiveness—all the attention had made it hard for the man to move unnoticed.

And yet, he wasn’t perfect. His one flaw: outside the battlefield, Gavin was clumsy as an ox.

When his childhood friend first approached Tristan, offering his sword to his service, Tristan was dubious as to why a leader of one of Scotland’s most powerful clans would do such a thing. The Scot offered no explanation other than stating he’d left his clan in the hands of a capable younger brother until his return.

Many speculated that The Campbell was a warrior, and could never be content to remain behind while his fellow clansmen fought. The Campbell clan, one of the strongest, rarely needed to defend its lands from other clan attacks. Tristan suspected the reason for Campbell leaving his clan was more of a personal one.

Now he was thankful for it, because through the years of their enchantment, after knowing each other for so long, they were suited to hunting and warring together.

Just as Tristan and Gavin finished securing their “clue,” the other knights arrived. They dismounted and came over to study the prisoner.

“Any idea what we’re looking to get from him?” Liam asked, his foot tapping the dragon emblem on the man’s shoulder. “He say anything?”

“No more than grunts so far,” Tristan replied. “Perhaps we need to figure out what the red dragon signifies.”

They studied it. A red dragon crouched, his front paw curled around a lightning bolt. His tail circled a sphere, on the sphere the emblem of a lion. The same lion as the one on the amulet Tristan wore.

Suddenly Liam held both hands out for silence and his eyes shut. “The mountain of lightning houses a dragon.”

Then he opened his eyes and looked at them, shrugging. “Whatever that means, I am not sure. I say we are to go forth and convince him to share his toys with us.” Liam motioned toward snowcapped mountains to their right.

A disgusted look on his face, Gavin pulled out his dirk and cut the dragon emblem from the prisoner’s breastplate, while the downed man didn’t stir but watched through cold, flat eyes.

He held the emblem up studying it. “Is this a foresight, Murray? Or are ye just making up shit?”

Liam’s jaw visibly tensed, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he turned away and looked up at the cloudless sky and raised his arms, palms up, as he often did when seeking foresight. A grunt from their prisoner the only sound as they waited.

Tristan kneeled down to the warrior and pulled his helmet off. Other than cloudy eyes, the soulless creature didn’t project any emotion. “What is your purpose?” Tristan asked him.

No answer.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t end your miserable life right now.”

The creature seemed to consider his answer before speaking. “I know where the dragon’s lair is.” The voice a mixture of many.

“So do I.” Tristan pulled out his dirk, about to cut the cursed thing’s throat, when Liam’s curt order stopped him.

“He must accompany us. The reason will become clear.”