Page 18

Chapter Eighteen

T he men had finally sat down to a hearty meal of the roast boar Tristan and Gavin had killed, potatoes from the cabin’s overgrown garden and cheese they found stored in the larder. Padriag found it increasingly difficult to eat past the lump in his throat every time he looked around the table to the men with whom he’d eaten many a meal over the last centuries.

“I fortified the wards,” he finally said. “My magic is stronger since I returned.”

Niall cut off a chunk of cheese and placed it on his plate. “My healing powers seemed enhanced. I think we are all stronger in our gifts. It must be something conjured by our partners’ spells.”

Tristan who had the power of strength lifted his arms and flexed. “Stand behind me in battle lads. I will protect you.”

Everyone gave him a droll look, except for Liam who nodded as if agreeing. “We will need all of our strength for what comes ahead. I suggest that we spend the time eating and resting. The final test will come soon.”

“In your vision,” Padriag began, “do you see the battle here or elsewhere? Do you remember the surroundings?”

“I saw a stone wall behind us. I believe it is taller than this cottage,” Liam replied.

Niall spoke next. “Erin saw herself looking out of a window to us beneath. So I think it could be elsewhere. The keep perhaps?”

“That is what I was considering,” Padriag added. “Her description of the dreams brought the keep to mind. If it were Meliot’s castle, she would have mentioned the darkness and you Liam would have also felt it.”

But that made no sense. Why would they return to a vulnerable place that Meliot knew well? It had been their sanctuary for centuries and although Padriag wanted to return to where he considered home, it was much too risky.

“Let’s give it a few days,” Tristan said. “We need to practice swordplay. It has been long since I held one.”

The men opened bundles they’d brought from the modern world then changed into leather breeches and tunics they’d bought from someone in the village who made authentic costumes for a local Renaissance Fair held every year.

Gavin twisted at the waist, sword up at chest level. “These clothes are much more comfortable than the ones we wore in the sixteen hundreds.”

“Not the same without some sort of vermin crawling over them at night,” Padriag stated and held his sword up. “Stop delaying your defeat, Gavin.”

Just as the Scot raised his sword, his gaze flicked past Padriag, his grip tightening. “A woman comes,” he murmured, his voice edged with unease.

Padriag turned to see her—a tall, gaunt figure moving toward them. She wore a tattered black dress that trailed behind her like a shroud, the fabric dragging on the ground. Her gait was unnatural, her steps uneven yet deliberate, as if there was a planned destination in mind. She did not falter at the sight of five armed men.

Tristan stepped forward, his hand on his hilt. “Is someone following her?” His voice was wary. “Something is… wrong.”

Niall’s expression darkened as he took a step closer. “Could be a witch.”

The woman halted just feet away, her lips curling into a sneer. Her skin was pallid, mottled with patches of gray, death clinging to her. Sunken eyes—dark, unreadable—fixed on them. She was an unnatural contradiction of ageless yet ancient.

“Honorable men wouldst help a sick woman,” she rasped, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Or do you intend to harm me instead?”

A chill coiled around Padriag’s spine as her gaze locked onto him. A predator assessing prey. He exchanged a glance with Tristan, his fingers flexing at his side.

“I’ll ward myself and speak to her. Stay here.” He handed his sword to Niall but kept his daggers across his chest.

As Padriag stepped forward, the woman tilted her head, studying him as if peeling him apart with her stare.

“What is it you require?” he asked, keeping his voice steady.

Her eyes narrowed. She did not answer at once, her attention flicking past him to the others. Then, at last, she exhaled a slow breath. “I am quite hungry.”

The words had barely left her lips before her body convulsed. In an instant, her face contorted, her mouth stretching unnaturally wide, her jaw unhinging. Her torso elongated grotesquely, bones cracking as she grew taller, her limbs distorting into something monstrous. Dark gray scales broke through her skin. Her fingers lengthened into grotesque claws, wickedly curved talons gleaming in the sunlight.

Padriag stumbled back, cursing himself for not having his sword.

The men lunged into action, Niall tossing Padriag his sword. He caught it, pivoting into a defensive stance as they formed a semicircle, blades raised, muscles coiled for battle.

The creature reared onto its hind legs, throwing back its horned head. A screech tore from its gaping mouth, a piercing, bone-rattling cry that sent a tremor through the ground. When its gaze locked onto them once more, its mouth parted to reveal rows of serrated teeth, each one honed for the kill.

And then—it charged.

Snarls and screeches split the air, a cacophony of rage and menace that seemed to echo. The sound crawled into their bones, reverberating through the ground making it shift under their feet. But there was no room for hesitation.

The five men surged forward, swords gleaming under what was left of the suns’ light, their minds sharpened to one singular purpose—kill or be killed.

There was no doubt about the creature’s intent. It had been sent to destroy them, to strike before the prophecy could come to pass.

Towering and monstrous, the beast was a walking terror. Every inch of it bristled with death, from the jagged fangs lining its grotesquely stretched mouth to the talons curving like sickles from its gnarled hands. Its tail, long and wickedly spiked, lashed across the ground with lethal precision that promised a gruesome end to any man who miscalculated his step.

But Padriag and the others were no strangers to seemingly undefeatable threats. This was not the first abomination they had faced—though it was among the most formidable. They had survived before. They would persevere again.

A surge of energy flooded through Padriag, a strange, tingling sensation crawling beneath his skin like spiders weaving a web through his muscles. His body tensed, readying itself for the battle to come. He rolled his shoulders, drawing that strange power inward, harnessing it as he steadied his grip on his sword.

The moment the five men clashed with the beast, their blades moved with deadly precision. Metal sang as it sliced through the air, each man executing swift, precise strikes meant to cripple or kill.

Battle cries tore from their throats, echoing through the trees, with the ancient war calls of their clans, defiant and unyielding. They fought, not as separate warriors but as one, their movements synchronized from years of battle, an unspoken brotherhood forged in blood.

The creature lunged, its spiked tail whipping toward them like a barbed whip. Padriag barely had time to react, leaping over the deadly appendage as it slashed across the ground, carving deep furrows in the dirt. He twisted midair, thrusting his sword downward, aiming for the beast’s flank.

The blade struck true but bounced off the armored scales, skidding uselessly as though striking stone.

A curse hissed through his teeth. Their weapons were all but useless against its thick hide. Their strongest blows left nothing but shallow chips, as if they were trying to fell an ancient oak with a rusted dagger.

Then a breakthrough.

Tristan lunged, his sword slipping beneath the edge of a scale, burying deep into the beast’s side. The creature let out a bone-rattling yowl, its massive claw swiping blindly. The force of the strike sent Tristan hurtling backward, his body crashing into the earth with a sickening thud.

“Under the scales!” Gavin bellowed, driving his own blade into the creature’s other side before leaping clear of the retaliatory swipe.

Razor-sharp talons raked across the warriors, tearing through fabric, biting into flesh. Blood slicked the ground, but still they fought. They had no choice but to endure.

The beast shrieked, a piercing, mind-numbing sound, and spun in a violent circle. Its tail lashed out, this time striking high, level with their chests.

Padriag had no time to react. The brutal impact sent him flying sideways, his body slamming into a tree with a force that shook the branches. He crumpled to the ground with a groan of pain.

But there was no surrender in him.

Fueled by fury, he forced himself upright, shaking off the pain. His vision sharpened, his breath steadying. With a raw, guttural battle cry, he surged forward once more, his sword raised, his sights locked onto the beast.

This fight was far from over.

The fight against the creature became harder when it took to the air and dove down over their heads, its talons outstretched as they swung their blades in what seemed a fruitless effort to defend themselves.

Padriag rushed to Tristan. “I have an idea.” Leaning closer, he pointed to the cottage and explained.

Giving a nod, Tristan raced toward the building as the rest of them distracted the beast. Moments later, he and Tristan climbed onto the roof. Padriag nodded toward Tristan and his friend crouched down.

“Hey ugly, over here!” Padriag called out getting the creature’s attention. Immediately, it changed course flying directly toward him.

Padriag stood at the ready, his gaze locked on the beast. They had to time it perfectly, their plan would only work if Tristan was precise.

They had only one chance.

Its great wings flapping, front and hind legs outstretched the creature prepared to grab Padriag, its intent clear. It would fly high and drop him to his death.

It drew closer and closer until Padriag felt the wind generated by its wings. Yet he stood still, waiting, keeping his breathing steady.

As the claws lowered, Padriag threaded his fingers together as Tristan rushed forward and used them as a springboard. Using every ounce of his power of strength, Tristan thrust his broadsword upward, cutting through the softer underbelly, slicing it open. Both men fell backward, landing on their backs.

The beast let out a monstrous screech circling over as its guts spilled over them. Then it plummeted through the air and skidded across the ground, leaving a trench of black blood.

Those on the ground cheered, and Padriag looked down on the bloodstained trio in torn clothes and couldn’t help the swell of pride that blossomed in his chest. They’d conquered so much since being thrust into this world, had lived through unimaginable torture, survived and mourned the passing of their families. Through it all with one common goal, to one day break the curse and if at all possible, destroy Meliot. And now, here they were in these final hours, fortified by the enhancement of their power and the strength that came from knowing there were people on the other side that were not only waiting for them but also providing help in whatever way they could.

Tristan lay on his back, his gaze pinned on the darkening violet sky. “You know what Padriag?”

“Hmm?”

“I fucking hate purple.”

Padriag chuckled. “Come on, let’s get down. We need to ensure the beast is truly dead.”