Eochaidh - Legend of the Horsemen (Book One) (15 page)

True to his word, Jepson accompanied Meaghan to the
entrance of the Old Woods on the side that bordered the estate.
 
He ventured in only a few yards, to be hidden
from seeking eyes and dismounted. “I will wait here,” he said. “Do not leave
the forest without me.”

She nodded. “I will be as quick as I can,” she said.
“Perhaps we can come up with a solution tonight.”

Shaking his head at her naiveté, he answered her
truthfully, “Do not expect quick solutions to age-old problems,” he said. “But
whatever you can find will be helpful.”

She started up the path, then stopped her horse and
turned in the saddle. “My parents, the others, are they safe?”

“Yes, the Gypsies have provided them with amulets for
their personal safety and wards around the walls of the estate,” he said. “No
one will be able to enter your home and bring harm to your parents.”

With a sigh of relief, she smiled at him. “Thank you,”
she said and kicked her horse softly to urge it on its way.

The narrow path was becoming familiar to both Meaghan
and her horse.
 
Carefully guiding her
horse around and over the obstacles she had noted earlier, she was able to
travel further on horseback than previously.
 
The afternoon sun was drifting lower in the sky, lighting the woods in
the opposite direction she had seen that morning.
 
Crisscrossed paths, larger than deer paths,
were now evident along her way and she wondered if those had been created by
the larger bodies of the Eochaidh, who, from all she had heard, were the size
of draft horses used by Knights of the Round Table.

Eager to finally see them, she urged her horse forward
toward the clearing she had used that morning, deep in the center of the woods.

Once dismounted, she tied her horse to a tree and
waited only a few moments before Tristan came out through a small break in the
brush. “Where are they?” she asked eagerly, hurrying to him.

“We have to travel a little ways,” he said, extending
his hand. “Will you walk with me?”

Slightly nervous, she stepped forward hesitantly and
then placed her hand in his.
 
A surge of
warmth rushed through her body and she wondered if he could feel the heat.
 
She snuck a glance sideways and was relieved
to see that he seemed too focused to notice. Although, she had to admit, she
was slightly annoyed that he didn’t seem as affected as she.

“I want to tell you a little bit about the Eochaidh,”
he said. “To explain who they were and how they came to be.”

She nodded, eager to hear anything that would take her
mind off the emotions swirling through her.
 
He began his story and Meaghan found herself picturing the experience in
her mind.

“
There
was a young knight, some would call brave, others foolish and headstrong.
 
Probably more cocky than
was good for him.
 
But, he was
beloved not only of his King, but also many of the other Knights of the Round
Table.
 
Although young, he was asked to be
a leader of men and he was loyal to his king and his country.

After the defeat of
Camelot by Morganna’s machinations, the King had become a shadow of his former
self. Drowning in self-recrimination and the wholly inefficient practice of
wishing things were not as there were. In this state he was of no use to those
who needed him most, the inhabitants of his land. And, while he drank himself
senseless on the wine of self-pity, Morganna had free reign to commit whatever
atrocities she desired.
 
For, you see,
power is a drug and, for most, a little is never enough. Morganna craved more.

How the young knight
learned of her plot is not important, but what is important is that he rode to
Merlin to request his help and advice. It was not an easy matter to convince
Merlin to help because the old wizard’s powers were limited and he feared a
confrontation with the younger and more powerful Morganna.
 
So, Merlin created a plan, but warned the
young knight that if he were caught he could do nothing to prevent Morganna
from casting a spell upon him and those who helped him.
 
The only thing Merlin could do is avert any
spell that caused death.”

“So, she could turn him into a toad, but couldn’t kill him?”
Meaghan asked.

Tristan nodded. “Precisely. It wasn’t much help at all.”

“So, what did he do?” Meaghan prompted.

“The young knight rode
to an inn beyond the borders of Camelot and sent messengers to contact his
faithful group of friends; Sir Rufus, Sir Garrett, Sir Andrew and Sir
Duncan.
 

Sir Rufus was a large
man, with an easy laugh and a heart of gold. He was the only one of the group
who had a family, a lovely wife and two little girls who all doted on their
giant of a father.

Sir Garrett had a
reputation as a dark and dangerous man.
 
It was rumored that he had killed more than one man over the love of a
woman, who eventually betrayed him.
 
He
was quiet and menacing, but those who knew him, knew him to be loyal and
brave.
 

Sir Andrew was the
youngest of the men.
 
A former squire,
recently knighted, he was ready to please and often not as discreet as would
warrant his position.
 
Yet he was eager
as a young pup and would follow his companions through all kinds of miseries
without a word of complaint.

Sir Duncan was the
scholar.
 
Having been raised and educated
by monks, he was a man of great intelligence and careful reflection. Although
he could use a sword, he was not a warrior and really had no place in this
company, except for his great knowledge of the occult and spells. He was
willing to risk his life to help stop Morganna.

 
The knights arrived at the inn by nightfall.
They were told of Morganna’s plot and also warned they had little chance of
success.
 
The four loyal friends agreed
immediately to the quest.”

“They trusted the young knight,” Meaghan said. “They would
not have agreed had they not trusted him.”

Tristan nodded. “Yes, they did.”

“Was Morganna’s castle near Arthur’s court?” she asked.

“Morganna’s castle was
on an inlet that was only accessible during low tide. During the other times of
the day, the waves from the ocean made the fortress impenetrable. The next day
they waited, not only for low tide, but for the castle’s mistress to leave her
domicile on a trip she had planned to make.
 
A spy, probably the one who revealed the plot in the first place, let them
know the sorceress would be traveling to Avalon.

The wet sand of the
isthmus appeared from beneath the water, like a sea serpent rising from the
deep, and within minutes Morganna and her black carriage, pulled by six
powerful black horses, thundered across the narrow passage and through the
woods toward Avalon.
 
With not a moment
to spare, they urged their horses over the self-same path Morganna had ridden
just moments ago and galloped through the wet sand to the dark castle’s
courtyard.

At first they were
amazed to find she had left no guards to protect her lair. But then, they
reasoned, she undoubtedly didn’t think anyone would dare cross her.
 
Hurrying across the courtyard, they leapt
from their horses and climbed the stone steps that led to her chambers.

Morganna’s chambers
were filled with macabre trophies of her association with black magic.
 
Potions bubbled in small black cauldrons next
to shelves full of glass jars that held the grisly ingredients to her next philter.
 
Amulets and crystals hung from silver chains
and jangled discordantly in the wind.
 
Other shelves held leather-bound books with spells from all over the
world. In the corner of the room sat a large canopy with veiling reminiscent of
burial shrouds.

In an adjoining
chamber two large marble tables stood in the middle of the room.
 
A collection of caged animals howled and
yelped from the corners of the room. The room was used for divination, a cruel
and ghoulish practice where animals are dissected while still alive so their
entrails can be used to predict the future.”

Meaghan shuddered, but needed to hear more.

“The knights paused in
the doorway, nearly overcome by the evil atmosphere of the room. But Rufus
reminded them there was no time to waste. Urged on by his words, the knights
spread throughout the room and began carefully searching each shelf, drawer and
hidden panel they could find.

In the middle of the
room, a tall table stood with an ancient text upon it.
 
The young knight decided to start his search
there.
 
Bending to lift the book, he was
startled when a large hand grabbed his arm to stop it. It was Sir Garrett, who
had had his share of dealings with the black arts.
 
He told the knight that the book was the
Black Grimoire and held nearly as much evil within its pages as Morganna held
in her heart.

Taking his sword,
Garrett pushed the book to the side of the table, uncovering a small hinged
panel that opened into the middle of the tall table stand.
 
Unlocking it, the knight found several dozen
rolled scrolls, lying next to each other.
 
Garrett and the knight reached in, each grabbing a scroll and began the
task of reading each one to determine if it held the spell.

“Did they find it?” Meaghan asked. “Did they find the
spell?”

“Aye, they did, or at least they thought they did,” he said.
“For it soon became apparent they were betrayed.”

 
“Who? Who betrayed
them?” she asked.

Tristan stared out into the woods. “No one ever found out.
And now they seek to break the curse and return back to their time, return back
to stop Morganna.”

Suddenly the woods around them shook with a burst of wind so
strong that it caused the tops of the trees to sway almost to breaking.
 
Whipping around in a circular motion, the
trees bent and cracked, their branches breaking off and flying up into the sky.

“What’s happening?” she yelled.

“I don’t know, but we need to find out.”

Tristan pulled Meaghan off the path and into the woods, the
wind blasting against their faces.
 
Wrapping his arm around her, Tristan tried to shield Meaghan against the
worst buffetings, as they pushed against the power of the storm.
 
They stumbled uphill, over downed trees and
boulders until, finally, they reached the edge of the forest bordering the
valley into the village.

Tristan stopped at the tree line on the top of the hill and
he and Meaghan looked up at the sky and gasped.
 
A huge black cloud, thick and lethal, was rotating in the air above the
valley, the lightening embedded within streaking across the sky.
 
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Meaghan
said.

“That’s because it’s not natural,” he replied. “It’s created
with magic.”

He scanned the landscape before them and suddenly stopped,
his eyes closing for a moment. “It is too late,” he whispered.

Meaghan sought the area he was watching.
 
There, just ahead of them on the crest of the
hill, a woman stood; her arms in the air and her black gown whipping around
her.
 
Although the woman’s back was to
them, Meaghan knew she looked familiar. She focused on the figure.
 
“Lady Strathmore,” she whispered.

At that same moment, Tristan murmured another, more alarming
name, “Morganna.”

Meaghan turned and stared at him in shock and then looked
out to the hill.
 
Lady Strathmore was
less than twenty yards away, if she ran, she could stop her. She leaped
forward, but instantly was caught up in Tristan’s arms.

“No,” he yelled into the wind. “You can’t stop her.
 
You’re not prepared, you’re not protected.
She will kill you.”

Meaghan fought him, twisting back and forth, trying to break
his hold. “I have to try,” she yelled.

He pulled her closer and stepped back into the protection of
the woods. “All it will do is get you killed,” he said.

“No,” she yelled, tears streaming down her face. “You have
to let me go.”

Suddenly there was a tremendous flash of lightning with a
horrendous explosion immediately following. Meaghan wrenched herself free of
Tristan, ran to the edge of the woods and looked down at the estate.
 
“No,” she screamed, the wind whipping the
sound back into the trees. “No.”

Tears flowing, she looked down upon the burning rubble that
used to be her home.

“No,” she cried, dropping to the ground and sobbing in
shock.

She felt Tristan’s arms around her and nearly gave in to the
need for comfort, but another, more urgent question burned in her mind.
 
Her face streaked with tears, she met his
eyes and with her breath hitching, she demanded, “Tell me the name of the young
knight.”

From the look on his face, she knew.
 
“Tell me,” she screamed. “Tell me.”

“Tristan,” he replied regretfully. “His name… my name, is
Tristan.”

In a blur of tears and shock, Meaghan urged her horse
forward through the woods, uncaring of the branches that whipped against her
face, leaving welts and scratches.
 
All
she could think of was getting home to her family.
 
They had to be alive.
 
They had to be sheltered in the root cellar
or the stables.
 
They had to be safe.

Unseeing, her grief so great, she thundered past Jepson,
nearly knocking him over as he stepped into the path at the edge of the
woods.
 
But the expert horseman, he
jumped lithely to the side and then grabbed the horse’s reins, bringing it to a
stop.

“Let me go,” Meaghan cried. “You don’t understand. I need to
go to them.”

Jepson walked over to the side of the horse and looked up to
her. “I do understand,” he said, his voice hoarse with pain.

Sobbing freely, she slid from her saddle into his arms.
“They can’t be dead,” she cried into his chest. “They have to be safe.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he held her tightly. “
Shhhh
,
draguta
,” he murmured,
trying to calm her. “We can go down and see as soon as it is night.”

Taking a deep shuddering breath she looked up at him.
“Why?
 
Why do we have to wait? Why can’t
we go now?”

He tenderly wiped her hair from her face and blotted the
tears on her face. “Because Morganna now thinks you are dead,” he said. “We do
not want her to learn otherwise.”

Nodding, she stepped away from him and took another deep
breath. “It was Lady Strathmore,” she said. “Lady Strathmore is Morganna.”

“You saw her?”

Meaghan nodded. “I saw her conjure the storm and cast the
lightning at the estate,” she said, concentrating on keeping her voice level.
“I tried to stop her…” her voice broke and she inhaled sharply. “But Tristan
held me back.”

“Although you don’t want to hear this, it was wise that he
held you,” Jepson said. “She would have killed you and, if your parents are
still alive, your death would destroy them. You owe him your gratitude.”

“I owe him nothing,” she snapped. “He lied to me.
 
He brought me here on the promise of truth,
but what he offered was deceit. The Eochaidh deserve what they get.”

“So you did not meet them, the fabled horsemen?” he asked.

“I met their leader,” she said. “And I feel no allegiance or
obligation to their cause.
 
If the rest
are anything like their leader, they are no longer the noble knights they used
to be, they are self-serving frauds.”

Jepson placed his arm around her shoulder. “Come, we will
walk the horses back along the woods and behind the estate. By the time we get
close, the sun will have set and we will be able to discover what has
happened.”

By the time they reached the estate, the sun was down and
only the glow from the still burning fire lit the dark sky.
 
The air was thick with smoke and the acrid
smell of burning.
 
A small group of
people were nearby, carrying buckets of water from the well to try and stop the
flames.

Meaghan looked at what remained of her home.
 
The house had crumbled to its foundation and
stood like an ancient ruin before her. Pieces of the household were strewn
across the lawn for yards, as if a bomb, rather than a bolt of lightning had
caused the destruction.
 
Something
crunched under her foot and she bent down to discover a small framed watercolor
portrait of her parents, the glass shattered and the frame broken.
 
Pulling the portrait from the frame, she
slipped it underneath her shirt, and wiping the tears away from her face,
slowly moved forward.

She moved closer and could make out the faces of some of
those in the crowd.
 
There was the young
groomsman who had helped her that morning.
 
His face was caked with soot and his clothing was riddled with holes, as
if he had been hit with fallout, but he was still pouring water on the flames.
There were some of the people from nearby farms, rushing back and forth,
gathering water with whatever container they had and tossing it on the house.
And there were more, who because of the coating of soot were not recognizable.

She began to move even closer when Jepson placed his hand on
her shoulder and shook his head. “We dare not go closer,” he whispered.
“Someone might recognize you.”

Mutely, she nodded. She had no will to fight, no energy to
go on.
 
She knew no one in the house had
been saved.
 
The explosion was too
devastating, the fire too hot.
 
She knew
everyone she loved, save Jepson, was gone.

Stumbling to a large oak tree on the lawn, she dropped down
and buried her face in her hands.
 
Her
body shook as her sorrow wracked her frame. Jepson knelt down next to her. “I
am so sorry, Miss Meaghan,” he whispered. “So very sorry.”

“I should have been home,” she whispered. “I should have
died with them.”

She wiped her sleeve over her face once again and inhaled a
deep shuddering breath. “I did die with them,” she said softly.

“No, my lady, you did not,” Jepson said firmly. “And while
you must grieve, you must also live. It is what your father and mother would
have wanted.”

“They would have wanted to live,” she replied, staring out
at the flames before her. “They should have lived.”

The sound of a carriage arriving on the scene halted their
conversation. Meaghan started to stand, but Jepson’s hand on her shoulder kept
her in place.

“Montgomery,” came the sharp cry from the open carriage
door. “You must come home.”

“Lady Strathmore,” Meaghan hissed.

“You must wait,” Jepson warned. “Now is not the time.”

“Mother, go away.”

Meaghan looked over to see a figure emerge from a pile of
rubble toward the back of the house.
 
His
clothing was filthy and torn, and his face covered with ashes.

“You must come home now,” she demanded. “There are people
who can see to this.”

“People, Mother? People?” his voice broke. “I just carried
the broken and charred bodies of Lord and Lady Dunower back to the undertaker’s
carriage. Do you know they were holding hands when I found them?”

“Really, Montgomery, you don’t have to be so maudlin,” she
replied.

“Maudlin? I can’t believe you,” he shot back angrily. “These
were my friends. My family. And now they are gone. I carried Meaghan…”

He lowered his head and Meaghan could hear his tears as he
wept for her. Finally, wiping his eyes on his shirt, he once again faced his
mother. “I carried my friend’s charred remains too.
 
I couldn’t even tell it was her.
 
The only thing that identified her was her
rose-colored dress.” His voice broke again. “She loved that dress.”

“You are the earl now,” his mother insisted. “It is beneath
your station to do such menial tasks.”

He shook his head wearily. “Mother, go away,” he said, and
turned and walked back into the darkness of the ruin.

The carriage door slammed with force and moments later it
charged from the grounds toward the open road. “I pity the boy to have a mother
like that,” Jepson said.

Meaghan looked from the carriage back to the last place
Monty had stood. “She can’t be his mother,” she said. “She’s Morganna.
 
She’s not Lady Strathmore.
 
She’s not his mother.”

“There are more people coming from the village,” Jepson
said, interrupting her. “I need to get some things from the stable and then we
must leave.”

She shook her head. “Where can we go?”

“We’ll go to the Gypsy camp,” he said. “They will help us
until we can make other plans.”

Nodding, she stared back into the flames. “Father was always
kind to the Gypsies.”

“I will be back in a few minutes,” Jepson said. “Don’t go
anywhere.”

“Where would I go?” she asked sadly, her eyes reflecting the
orange flicker of the fire.