Page 21

Chapter Twenty-One

E xhaustion weighed heavily on the five knights, their breath coming in ragged gasps as they exchanged grim looks. Blood, dirt, and sweat streaked their faces, but Padraig still managed a sharp grin. “Time to use what we have left and kick some ass.”

Liam’s quiver lay empty, his daggers long spent. Only two spears and his sword remained. Niall gripped his last two daggers, his knuckles white, his sword hanging at his side. The rest had nothing but their blades, their hands blistered and bleeding from the endless fighting.

Padraig’s arms ached from keeping the shields of protection in place, the shimmering barriers flickering, growing weaker with every passing second. Gavin, though he still summoned energy blasts, swayed slightly, his huge body betraying his exhaustion.

Only Tristan, with his supernatural strength, stood steady, his stance unwavering. But even he could not defend them alone.

Then came the sound that froze the blood in their veins.

A thunderousboomshattered the air and seconds later, the front of the keep exploded inward. The only redeeming factor was when the boulders they’d set on the roof’s edge tumbled from above, smashing into the enemy below with bone-crushing force. A final set of boulders dislodged from the roof, flattening those unlucky enough to be caught beneath them. But the brief satisfaction of taking down a portion of the enemy force faded instantly.

Through the gaping hole, the full horror of their situation came into view.

Lines of Meliot’s mounted warriors stretched as far as the eye could see, their dark-armored forms gleaming under the suns’ light. Interspersed among them, centaurs stood at attention, muscles rippling, bows at the ready. Their presence alone sent a fresh wave of dread crashing over Padraig.

Then, as one, the warriors parted. A figure moved through the ranks with measured, deliberate steps. Meliot.

The warlock’s robes billowed around him, his black eyes gleaming with triumph. A slow, mocking smile curled his lips.

“I must commend you,” he said, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “An entertaining fight, indeed. But surely, you see there is no victory for you.” He gestured to the waiting army behind him. The sheer number of them overwhelming.

His smirk widened. “Surrender, and I promise you a quick, painless death.” His gaze roamed over each of them, lingering on their grimy faces. “Your curse is nearly at an end.” He tilted his chin toward the heavens. “Three moons will shine down in mere moments. And then—you will be mortal.”

“You have not won yet,” Tristan called out, defiant. “We will die in battle before we let you take pleasure in our surrender.”

Meliot chuckled, a hollow, chilling sound. “Quick death or die fighting—it matters little to me.” He lifted his arm. “Once I give the signal, all will be over for you.” His grin stretched, grotesque in the flickering torchlight. “Thank you for the centuries of ... keeping me entertained ...”

Womp. Womp. Womp.

The deep, rhythmic beating of wings rumbled overhead.

Meliot’s grin faltered. He turned his gaze upward, confusion flickering across his features. Then, a shriek tore through the sky. His dragon—his own beast—appeared, an orange glow along its blue-black scales … and then, in an instant, it was engulfed in flames.

A roar of agony split the air as the massive creature plummeted, its body consumed in a raging inferno before slamming into the earth with a deafening thud.

Meliot spun in a circle, searching the heavens with wild eyes. His army hesitated, awaiting his command.

Padraig felt it then—a surge of power, like an electric charge crackling beneath his skin. He flicked a glance at Gavin, who met his gaze with a barely perceptible nod.

Raising his hands, Padraig summoned the last of his energy. Strips of fire and light wove together, curling and twisting like snakes.

As one, they struck.

The energy wrapped around Meliot, tightening like chains of steel. The warlock let out an angry scream unable to do more than struggle with his arms pinned to his sides.

“Get them, you fools!” he shouted at his minions.

The enemy surged forward—only to be met by a wall of flame.

Beautiful dragons with scales of green, blue, and lavender,burst into view, their sinuous bodies twisting in the sky. They roared in unison, their calls sending a tremor through the battlefield. With graceful, deadly precision, they rained down fire, incinerating everything beneath them.

Centaurs fired arrows skyward, but they fell short. Nothing could touch the winged giants.

“Where did they come from?” Gavin asked, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

Padraig laughed as the ground rumbled beneath them. “Esland.” His grin widened. “The Eslanders have arrived.”

Hell itself broke loose.

Eslander warriors charged into battle atop massiveaurochs, their colossal mounts moving with terrifying speed. The great beasts plowed through Meliot’s forces, crushing everything in their path. Swords shattered against their thick hides, arrows bouncing harmlessly away.

Padriag fought to keep the bindings around the wizard strong, but he was tiring.

Veylen, the leader of the Esland army burst through the fray, his ice-blue piercing gaze locking onto Padraig. “I brought you a gift.”

Three aurochs were brought forward by Esland warriors. Tristan, Gavin and Niall mounted whilst Liam went to fetch the two in the stables.

With renewed hope, the knights atop the great beasts stormed into the fray.

The hold on Meliot burst and the wizard disappeared.

“Meliot,” Padriag said to Gavin.

“He is weakened and won’t go far,” the Scot replied.

Atop the auroch, Padriag searched among the fighters for the wizard.

The battlefield was a frenzy of clashing steel, screams, and the thunderous pounding of hooves.

But Padraig barely noticed. His focus was on one man.

Meliot.

He turned and looked toward the keep. If the wizard was truly weakened, then he could have sought refuge.

His pulse spiked.

“I’m going after Meliot,” he told Liam.

Liam’s jaw tightened. “Be careful. His magic is still strong.”

Sword in hand, Padraig urged his mount away from the battle to the front of the keep and leapt from the saddle, his feet sure on the scorched ground. He barely paused before striding inside, sword at the ready, his heart hammering.

He spotted Meliot near the remnants of the hearth, his hands raised, lips moving in a frantic whisper. A spell.

“You will never be free.” The wizard called out.

Padraig stepped fully into view, his grip tightening on his sword. “You’re weakened. You can’t flee, can you?”

The warlock’s sneer deepened, his black eyes narrowed. “I remain more powerful than you will ever be.”

With a flick of his wrist, Meliot sent a blast of energy crashing into Padraig, sending him sprawling.

Pain ignited through his ribs, but Padraig fought through it, rolling to his feet. He shot a disc of fire in retaliation. Meliot staggered.

“You’re not so sure anymore, are you?” Padraig taunted.

The warlock’s face twisted in fury. With a sharp motion, Padraig’s sword was yanked from his grasp. It hovered midair—then turned, its deadly tip aimed at him.

Padraig barely had time to curse before the blade shot forward. He dove, hitting the stone floor hard as the sword embedded itself on the wall behind where he’d just stood.

Another blast sent him slamming into the wall. He gasped for breath, struggling to rise.

As the wizard walked closer, Padriag struggled to all fours.

Meliot yanked the sword from the wall and stared down at Padriag. “I won’t grant you last words.” He brought up the sword, but then abruptly stopped. “What do you want?”

His stomach tightened, as Gunther appeared. Was the guard there to help Meliot?

Gunter walked in with purposeful steps. “Our forces are failing. You must leave before they overcome us.”

Taking advantage of Meliot’s distraction, Padriag scrambled to stand. The guard’s gaze barely flicked to him, but he didn’t warn the wizard. “You must leave, my lord.”

“I have something to see to first. Then we leave.” Meliot turned to face Padriag a satisfied look on his face. “Are you prepared for death?”

A flash of gold caught Padriag’s attention, the guard tossed something to him. Padriag caught it mid-air. It was a golden dagger.

Meliot glanced over his shoulder to his warrior.

Time seemed to still, every movement in slow motion. The dust in the air flowed at a meandering pace. Silence enveloped them.

First quiet, then louder, Erin’s voice echoed in his ears, it was as if she stood there in the room, it was so clear.

“By love unbroken, by bond unshaken,

I summon the heart that fate has taken.

By moon’s soft glow and sun’s first light,

Break these chains, undo the night.

Through endless time, through veil and mist,

Let not our bond be lost, dismissed.

By whispered vow and promise sworn,

Return, this knight, from where he was torn.

From shadows deep and silent grave,

Rise once more, be strong and brave.

By fate’s design and heart’s decree,

The knight’s return will come to be.”

In an instant, the silence shattered—the sounds of battle crashing back into the world.

Meliot spun, hands raised, fingers curled like claws, and with a terrifying screech he lunged at Padriag only to gasp his black eyes widening.

The golden dagger was buried deep in his chest.

The warlock staggered, his trembling hands reached for the dagger's hilt. “Wh-where did you g-get it?” His voice was weak, breathless.

“My fairy Dutch mother.”

Meliot’s body swayed—then collapsed. His lifeless eyes open. As malevolent magic left him and floated in the air, it surrounded Gunther, who stood stock still. After a moment, the mist dissipated and both men let out a breath.

“Thank you,” Padriag managed.

The guard gave Padriag a nod, glanced at the dead warlock and walked out.