Page 4

Chapter Four

A deafening, bone-rattling pounding slammed against the thick wooden and iron-clad door of the keep, each impact reverberating through the solid stone walls. Everything inside seemed to tremble with the force of the assault. Outside, guttural howls and piercing roars filled the night, a chilling cacophony of Meliot’s wolf sentinels rallying, anxious to come inside and do what they did best, tear into flesh with their razor-like fangs. The unholy army was ready. Ready to destroy anything or anyone in their path the moment the doors gave way.

“Get down!” Liam’s voice cut through the chaos an instant before an arrow shrieked past Padraig’s ear, so close he felt the unnatural heat of its flight. It struck with a violent thud into the wooden beam at the center of the keep’s great hall, quivering like a living thing.

Through the narrow slits of the windows, shadows moved with unsettling speed—Meliot’s archers. Their forms grotesque combinations of human torsos fused onto the bodies of beasts, their muscular flanks shifting with unnatural grace. They were fabled for their deadly accuracy, and somehow, impossibly, their arrows found paths through even the smallest openings.

Another arrow flew through the air. This time, Padraig wasn’t so lucky. An arrow raked his arm, slicing deep. Hot pain exploded. He hissed between his teeth, clutching the wound as warm blood seeped between his fingers.

“I told you to get down,” Liam barked, his tone sharp with exasperation. He flattened himself against the wall next to a narrow archer’s slot cut into the stones, his bowstring taut. Then, with a single, fluid motion, he slid sideways, loosed an arrow, and ducked back just as quickly. “Got one right between the eyes,” he announced, smug satisfaction in his tone.

Padraig cursed under his breath, tore a strip from the bottom of his tunic and bound the wound hastily, using his teeth to tighten the knot. “I hope you killed the bastard who got me.”

Another violent impact rocked the door. This time, the force sent dust sifting down from the rafters. Still, the iron-reinforced wood held, unyielding. Tristan, with the power of superhuman strength, and craftsman Niall, had crafted these defenses to withstand an army. Every hinge, every iron bar across the entry had been forged with a singular purpose—to keep monsters like Meliot’s forces out. But for how long?

Then, something shifted. A low, unnatural hum buzzed through the air, the kind that made a man’s bones feel brittle, the hairs on his arms prickle.

“My wards are completely gone,” Padraig muttered, a sick realization tightening his gut.

He pushed to his feet, snatching up his bow, ignoring the sharp pull in his wounded arm. Pressing his back against the wall, he braced himself before twisting and letting loose an arrow. It found its mark—a centaur-like beast snarled in agony as the shaft buried deep in its midsection before it crumpled.

But there were more. Too many.

Blowing out a breath, he turned to Liam. “There are at least fifty archers out there. We can’t keep this up.”

“Try the wards again!” Liam ducked as another arrow screamed past, embedding itself into the stone wall with a crack. He turned, eyes wide. “That one nearly took my head off.”

A sudden, earth-shaking impact sent them both stumbling. The walls shuddered violently, a rain of dust and splinters cascading from the rafters.

“What the hell was that?” Padraig dropped low, then risked a glance through the window. His blood ran cold.

“A bloody catapult,” he breathed, unable to suppress a flicker of awe—before dread overtook it. “That’s ... actually kind of impressive.”

“Not when it’s being used to reduce our keep to rubble!” Liam snapped. “The wards, Padraig! Now!”

Gritting his teeth, Padraig threw his hands up, and magic surged from his fingertips in a searing blue light, crackling like raw energy. He focused everything into fortifying the invisible barrier that surrounded them, but something was wrong. The power of the wards that had held strong for centuries was growing weaker. The dark magic pressing against them had changed—grown stronger, either that or his power was diminishing.

Sweat beaded along his temple. His breathing hitched as exhaustion threatened to drag him under. He was fighting against something vast, something relentless.

And he was losing.

Finally, the wards reformed, those at the door flew backward, the dark army stopped shooting arrows when they bounced back, injuring several. Padriag’s breath rasped in and out of his lungs, sweat trickling down his face.

Through the windows, both Liam and Padriag followed the enemies’ movements as they retreated and disappeared into the forest.

“How’s the arm?” Liam asked, his bright blue gaze locked on the crudely tied bandage.

“I’ll live,” Padriag replied, flinching. “I don’t know what they put on their arrowheads, but my skin is still burning.”

After boiling herbs and adding a splash of whiskey, Liam helped clean the wound. Then they sat in front of the fireplace contemplating what had occurred.

“You are aware that you cannot stay here alone,” Liam said. “They will return, over and over.”

Padriag drank the rest of the whiskey in his cup and poured another serving. “If I am to be the one left here, I want to live here, in our home. Besides, I have no idea how we’d get to Esland without our horses. Even then, do we know where exactly it is?”

His friend shrugged. “I am sure we’ll eventually find our way to Esland.” He pondered further. “Meliot thinks there are two of us left. Still furious about the others being rescued, he probably wants to take us prisoner so we cannot escape.”

What his friend said was what he’d been thinking. “Promise me that if they ever do get through, you will immediately dematerialize and return to Scotland. I want a vow from you that you will go.” Padriag met Liam’s eyes. “Promise me.”

Liam looked away, his gaze on the fire. “I will not leave you at his mercy. I am no fool, I will disappear, but I will return to rescue you. Know that. All I will vow is to leave, but only so that I can return and help you.”

“I guess that will have to do,” Padriag replied. “This is nice whiskey. I think we should open another bottle and get totally and absolutely pissed.”

“Sounds like a great idea.” Liam stood. “I’ll get it.”

For over a week, there had been no sign of Meliot’s dark forces. Despite it, when Liam left to go to Scotland, Padriag fortified his wards and remained inside, ensuring every window shutter stayed closed and bolted.

One morning just after Liam had returned the night before, loud knocks on the front door startled Padriag awake. He’d been sitting in front of the fireplace contemplating how to get to the land where Prince Sterling ruled and must have fallen asleep.

By the time he stood, Liam came down the stairs and headed for the door.

“Wait!” Padriag called out. “We don’t just open doors here. We do not have friendly neighbors coming over to borrow a cup of sugar. Our neighbors are assholes that want to eat us.”

Liam gave him a droll look. “I foresaw this visitor. He is safe.” With that, he removed the crossbar and opened the door to a tall, muscular man dressed in leathers.

The pale skinned, silver-haired visitor had the bearing and build of a warrior. Ice-blue eyes moved from Liam to Padriag. “I am called Veylen, I am here to escort you to Esland.”

“How are we to travel?” Padriag asked. “I didn’t hear the dragon.”

“Mounts await for us in the forest. I assume you can dematerialize from here.” Not waiting for a reply, Veylen turned back to the door. “We must go at once, the veil you’ve cast that is keeping your enemies away will not last much longer.”

“That’s rude,” Padriag said. “My wards are pretty strong.”

Veylen turned to look at him. “Then how did I get to your doorway?”

Padriag narrowed his eyes, to see the woven pattern of his magical barrier. It looked to be intact except for an opening directly in front of the door. “Good question.”

It didn’t take long for Liam and Padriag to strap on daggers and swords and grab the sacks they’d already packed. As one the three of them dematerialized following Veylen’s trail until materializing in a forest.

“What in the four-legged hell are those?” Padriag pointed at enormous saddled beasts, unable to keep his mouth from falling open.

The strange animals pawed at the earth, their colossal hooves striking the ground with a deep, resonant thud. Their hulking bodies of thick, dark gray hide were twice the size of a Clydesdale yet bore the unmistakable power and bulk of a bull rather than the sleek frame of a horse. Towering antlers arched skyward, their points razor-sharp, elongated snouts with tusks gave them a fierce, boar-like visage. A strange, iridescent sheen glazed their eyes—a trait that, perhaps, allowed them to see in darkness.

“Aurochs,” Veylen snapped, his impatience evident as he seized the reins and hoisted himself onto the back of one of the creatures. “Mount, we must hurry.”

Padriag and Liam exchanged brief glances before following suit, slinging their sacks onto the wide saddles before climbing up. The moment Padriag settled atop the beast, he felt an unexpected sense of security. The sheer height, the immense power beneath him was unlike riding any horse.

As they surged forward, the aurochs galloped with a breathtaking blend of power and grace, their massive frames defying expectation. Their long, muscular strides devoured the rugged terrain with effortless precision, hooves striking the earth in a steady, rhythmic cadence. Despite their imposing size, their movements were remarkably fluid, each motion rolling seamlessly into the next, as if the land itself bowed beneath their weight. Perched atop the broad back, Padriag felt little more than a smooth, swaying motion—no harsh jolts or bone-rattling shocks, only the sensation of gliding forward with an unstoppable force.

After about half a day of travel they arrived at the edge of Atlandia. to a land neither Liam nor Padriag had ever been. It was Sterling’s realm, which, according to rumors they’d heard, was a forbidden place for anyone not from there.

It struck Padriag as strange, since Sterling was brother to the rulers of Atlandia. But then again, sibling rivalry and all that. Perhaps in the past there had been some sort of disagreement between them bringing about the set boundaries.

Veylen looked over to them, brows lowered, and lips pressed together in a stern way. It was as if he was unsure they were worthy of entering his homeland.

“We are entering Esland, once in our realm, departing is against our laws,” he called out.

Liam and Padriag exchanged droll looks. “Dramatic,” Padriag murmured under his breath. Obviously Veylen heard it because he turned and glared at him.

They crossed through what looked to be a thick mist that made it impossible to see anything past their noses. Obviously, the aurochs were unaffected as they continued forward at the same fast speed.

Slowly, mists dissipated as aurochs continued forward, but at a slower pace, giving Padriag an opportunity to observe the startling new surroundings. This was a land like nothing he could even imagine.

Plush hills and valleys covered in lush vegetation resembling moss, as far as the eye could see. Trees of every size reached toward the vibrant yellow skies that reminded him of sunset although the suns were still high, partly hiding behind effervescent pinkish clouds. On several hillsides, a sort of drizzle fell, that caused a myriad of rainbows. Colorful birdlike creatures with long tails soared from the treetops, through the rainbows circling, wings outstretched.

The vast valley was split by a road on which they traveled, that was flanked on both sides by deep ravines with no visible bottom. Padriag ensured a strong hold on the reins and leaned to the right to peer over the edge. Other than trees and moss, he couldn’t see how deep the chasm was.

“Falling would suck,” he murmured. Liam glanced over to him with a look of agreement and motioned to the hillside with his eyes.

Spaced out on both sides of the ravine, men with long hair and muscular builds watched them from astride more aurochs. By the wicked, wide-bladed weapons strapped to their backs, it was obvious they were warriors. Probably part of Sterling’s army. Every kingdom needed an army, and in Padriag’s opinion, he doubted any enemies would make it far into this one.

Moments later, the symphony of cascading water swallowed the lilting calls of the birds. As they crested a towering hill, its slopes thick with moss-laden trees, a breathtaking sight unfurled before them. Rising from the cliffside like ancient sentinels stood a collection of castle-like structures. The sand-hued stone walls should have been a stark contrast to the beautiful landscape, and yet, with tangles of vines growing down the sides, they melded into the surroundings.

Beneath the structures, waterfalls, luminous in the sunlight, tumbled from the heights, spilling over the rocky ledges and plunging into the vast lake below. Mist curled from the churning waters, weaving an ethereal veil around the majestic strongholds. It was as if the very air whispered of the beautiful surroundings.

“Wow,” Padriag said, looking at Liam, who seemed as awestruck as he was. “I won’t be surprised if dancing plates and forks greet us inside.”

Veylen frowned at Padriag, obviously not understanding what he implied.

Mounted guards patrolled across the entrance to a bridge over the water, another set at the gates. “The bridge to the village is heavily guarded. Never attempt to leave on your own. You will not make it across it alive.”

“That’s welcoming,” Liam said, his tone dry.

“If that’s a village, what does the actual castle look like?” Padriag muttered under his breath.

Genuinely curious, he scratched his head. “What is the harm in us wishing to explore out here?”

There was silence for a few minutes before Veylen replied. “Our people rarely travel outside the villages. Most of the vegetation is poisonous or carnivorous. Deadly predators roam freely. Only our warriors or citizens who are expertly trained, are safe outside the walls.”

“You convinced me,” Padriag stated. “Inside the village it is.”

Liam wasn’t as trusting. “These beasts seem at ease while traversing the land. Why is that?”

“They are native to Esland. Impervious to the poison plants and because of their speed and size, only one predator would be bold enough to attack them.”

Silence followed until Padriag couldn’t take it. “Okay, I’ll bite. What predator is that?”

When Veylen slid a look in his direction, he could swear there was a twinkle of humor in his eyes. “Dragons of course.”

“Duh,” Padriag said, slapping the side of his head.

“So there are other dragons here besides Sterling’s?” Liam asked, looking up to the sky.

“Aye, there are more.” Veylen’s answer was vague, perhaps the number of dragons in Esland was a secret.

Once they crossed the bridge, they entered what Veylen called the villages. Paved roads flanked by stairs crisscrossed endlessly, leading to different doorways. They continued past a marketplace, lines of tents under which people sold wares and what looked to be public buildings, like shops and gathering halls. A short distance away, Padriag noticed what looked to be a recreational area, where people strolled about.

The villagers, both men and women were all of a pale complexion with silver hair. All wore long, tunic style clothes that stopped just above the ankles. The women seemed to favor more colorful fabrics accentuated with beaded necklaces and bracelets. The men wore muted colored tunics, sandals, and round boxy hats.

Whenever they passed, the people stopped and stared at them with open curiosity. Some greeted Veylen warmly, others seemed more reserved, only bowing their heads in acknowledgement.

Finally, they came to a broad road where he spotted what had to be the castle, since there were huge guards mounted on aurochs flanking the gates.

Groups of people moved along the sides of the road walking to and from the large structure. Others drove ladened carts pulled by creatures resembling mules, except for lack of ears and shorter snouts.

Surprisingly, although majestic with its flag-topped turrets and guards, the castle was not unlike the other buildings in the city.

The aurochs their party had ridden from their distant keep seemed to be anticipating a meal and rest. They picked up speed and within a pair of minutes they passed through a set of massive open gates.

Inside the castle walls, there was activity, people milling about and guards patrolling in pairs.

Without prodding the well-trained aurochs stopped in front of a doorway and lowered to their knees making it easy for the riders to dismount.

Padriag untied his sack of belongings and jumped down, landing softly on booted feet as Liam did the same.

Standing in the doorway, Sterling motioned for them to join him, and they went up the steps and into the cool interior of the castle.

Just then two women, one with the same coloring as Veylen and Sterling—pale skin, almost luminescent and silver hair—neared and took their sacks. Sterling said something to them in a language Padriag had not heard before. The women stole glances toward him and Liam before hurrying away.

“They will prepare your chambers and ensure you have anything needed to make your stay comfortable,” the prince informed them.

“Come inside, tell me what is happening in the other realms.” He walked to a table and sank into a comfortable chair.

They told Sterling about the attacks at the keep and Padriag revealed that it was becoming harder to travel between the worlds. At speaking the words out loud, a lump seemed to lodge in his throat. He covered it up by clearing it, hoping the men didn’t notice.

Admittedly, Esland was beautiful, but it wasn’t where he expected to live out the rest of his life. At the end of three hundred years from the day they’d been thrown into this alter-world, he would become mortal and begin aging at a normal human rate until finally dying. And that deadline was soon approaching.

After such a long life, Padriag welcomed the idea of becoming mortal. And yet, it hurt to think that he would never set his eyes on his friends again, not touch his native Scotland, breath the mossy air, see the craggy mountains overgrown with heather. A vise tightened around his chest making it impossible to breathe. He bent at the waist, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Something gripped his shoulders, pulling him upward to stand straight. “Padriag,” Liam calm voice broke through panic that overtook as he felt himself begin to lose the fight to live. Why was air refusing to enter his body? Desperate, Padriag gripped Liam’s tunic.

“You can breathe, draw it in, slowly.” Liam inhaled deeply making Padriag want to punch him.

“Ah-ah, I-I c-cannot,” he gasped as the edges of his vision blurred. “H-help m-me.”

“You can. Do it now slowly ... inhale, blow it out.”

Lungs screamed for air until it finally flowed into him, and he gulped in a breath and then another. He collapsed against Liam, embarrassed over what had occurred in Sterling’s presence. It was the first time he’d ever had such a reaction.

“Panic attack.” Sterling expression remained stoic, emotionless as always. “Perhaps you would prefer to rest in your bedchamber. Someone will come fetch you at mealtime.”

“I’d prefer a walk to clear my head,” Padriag said, pushing away from Liam, his legs still not quite steady.

His breathing was harsh, but thankfully the pounding heartbeats were slowing. Without looking at either man, he stalked from the room before realizing he had no idea if there were any private gardens or such.

A skinny young boy of about ten, came up to him and smiled. He said something in the strange language motioning for him to follow. Once outside, the lanky boy hurried away from the courtyard calling out something to other children who looked to Padriag and then to the boy with admiration. Obviously, the job of guiding the newcomer was a position of honor.

They arrived at a path and the boy pointed to it, then made walking motions with his hand and led Padriag to a walking path.

Padriag bowed his head in gratitude as he’d seen others do and the boy’s face brightened, a wide grin stretching across his face before turning and running off.

The pathway led into a labyrinth of sorts, winding between purple trimmed hedges and flowering bushes of a lavender hue. Here and there benches were scattered, but he didn’t see another soul whilst making his way through. There was no clear path, but because the hedges were only about five feet tall, he could easily spot the castle and figure out which direction to head when he was ready to leave.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” he repeated. His mind whirled. He lowered himself to a bench, bending forward and holding his head. This was not at all what the rest of his life was supposed to be. If he lived to be eighty, he would be here for almost sixty years.

Rumbling roars sounded in the distance and Padriag searched the empty sky. Moments later the unmistakable whomp, whomp, whomp of huge wings vibrated from above. Moments later, the roars, like those of angry lions or elephants, accompanied the sound of wings as they became louder. Four huge dragons flew into view, their colossal bodies inspiring awe and fear as they continued calling out, perhaps communicating with each other. The beasts were beautiful, of different coloring, some a luminescent green, others light hues of blues and purples. The sunlight seemed to reflect off of them while they flew in circles as if patrolling the land below.

Padriag watched them, his gloom forgotten for the moment, becoming lost in the unbelievable magnificence of the creatures flying above.