Page 6 of An Enchanted Knight

Still it took a few moments before he could breathe normally, and Tristan opened his eyes. The healer maintained a close eye on him, his hand still gripping his shoulder.

Prior to entering the enchantment, a powerful enchantress gifted each knight with an amulet and a special power.

Niall, the knight who knelt beside Tristan, received the gift of healing, which came in handy. Especially after moving between worlds.

“My gratitude, Niall.” Tristan sat up, allowing his head to flop forward until his chin rested on his chest. He managed to lift his hand, and Niall pulled him to his feet.

“Ye were gone too long this time. Ye are vera weak.” The dark Irishman gave him a worried look. “Shall I carry ye? The others await us inside. We had a wee bit of trouble while ye were gone.”

That being the most he’d heard Niall say in a long time, Tristan didn’t question him further.

He shook his head, the action costing him when a dizzy spell hit. “No need to carry me, I can make it.”

Nail gave him a dubious look and walked away without another word.

Tristan followed him at a slower pace toward a large stone castle where they lived, most of the time, sometimes for years, without incident or challenges.

Both men continuously scanned the surrounding area. They knew better than to be at ease. Their captor didn’t allow for a peaceful existence.

“What kind of trouble, Niall?” Not able to restrain his curiosity, Tristan asked his friend when he caught up to him.

Niall motioned with his right hand for him to pick up the pace and they jogged toward the keep. The Irishman looked skyward and scanned the vast expanse.

Finally he pinned him with one of his usual annoyed looks.

Niall MacTavish, one of Scotland’s best lancers, had won many a joust in his lifetime. Back then, he seemed to live for the accolades of winning the many competitions but once off the field he reverted to his norm, a silent solitary man.

Already a quiet male, since coming to the alter-world, Niall had become even more sullen and withdrawn, rarely joining them for meals, even less for conversations.

“Liam will explain,” Niall finally replied, as they continued on into the keep.

A rumble from the purple-hued sky alerted them to the possibility of rain. In this realm, rain could be anything from water and ice to fire, so they hurried inside to the security afforded by the solid grey stone walls of their home.

As soon as Niall and Tristan were inside, hail began falling, pelting the roof, the sounds of it echoing throughout.

Used to it, Tristan ignored the noisy bangs. He trusted that the youngest knight, Padraig’s, magical wards were strong against the assault. Besides, the matter at hand seemed quite serious, by the stoic faces of the other men inside the main room.

The gloomy chamber, lit with magic torches and a vivid fire from the enormous fireplace, relieved Tristan’s chill.

Three men sat around a large plain wooden table where they took their meals. They’d kept certain habits such as sitting together and sharing meals, as a way of staying in touch with their humanity.

He and Niall joined the men at the table.

The four men had become his family since having been spellbound together for centuries.

Besides the morose Niall, there was Padraig Clarre, a young, brash, humorous Scottish warrior, the youth of the group who kept them entertained with his antics and magic tricks.

Then there was Tristan’s childhood friend, a Scottish laird, Gavin Campbell. His unrivaled beauty had always made it impossible for anyone that came upon him not to gawk. Thankfully, over the many years, he and the others in the room were immune to the man’s beauty. Gavin, who had the power of seduction, rarely had occasion to use his gift in the alter-world. A fact he repeatedly insisted was a gift in itself.

The fourth man was Liam Murray, an English knight, whom they’d come upon on the fate-filled day they’d been bound to the enchantment. Murray’s gift of foresight proved to be almost as valuable as Niall’s healing during their many travails.

The men had endured much during the years in the alter-world as they were constantly tested by different challenges. They’d been attacked by dragons, soulless warriors, and individually thrown into whatever surreal torment the evil mind of the wizard Meliot conjured.

As a result, the men had become closer than brothers. After so many trials and seeing each other at their worst, it was doubtful they could ever find any other person who could ever come close to breaching their bond.

Tristan met each of their gazes before sitting, reassured when not one of them averted their eyes.

Liam leaned forward from the head of the table. Lord Liam Murray was of Norse ancestry, evident by his piercing ice-blue eyes and almost white-blonde hair, which he kept short, barely past his nape. The knight looked around the room before speaking, as if measuring his words. “The day ye left we were attacked.”