The Druids' Legacy

by Trenna McMullin

  “I guess we’re even now,” he murmured, spinning them both sideways to avoid the enemy’s return fire. Sukylar looked over to dodge the next attack, but the soldier suddenly winced in pain, seeming to notice the wound in his shoulder for the first time.

  Norika scoffed and pulled away, heading after the fleeing soldier. Sukylar watched her thoughtfully for a moment before following. Just because the soldiers could feel pain now didn’t mean they’d go down without a fight. Injured or not, Norika would need him to watch her back.

  * * * * *

  Joran stared at the man he had spent his life hating, unsure of how to react to the news he'd just shared. "Keerason is...dead?"

  Iregh nodded, leaning back in his chair casually as though they were merely discussing the weather. Joran turned away, a confused welter of emotions boiling up inside him. It felt as though someone had knocked the breath from his lungs. At the same time, a small voice inside of him questioned the validity of anything Iregh said. He latched onto that small part of himself, clinging to the idea of revenge for a brief moment until reason intervened, and he had to let it go.

  Bitter disappointment filled him. Along with it, a deep irrational anger fought its way to the surface, clawing its way up through the skepticism and shock till it burned in his chest. It wasn't directed at anyone in particular—maybe that was part of the problem. He'd blamed Keerason for so long...but he was dead. Iregh had likely been involved too, but he was Lauryn's father...regardless of how she felt about him, she likely wouldn't condone Joran killing him. The revenge he'd dreamed of having someday suddenly felt impossible, and that loss made him irrationally furious.

  'Joran, are you alright?' Ky'ara's voice echoed in his thoughts, drawing him back a little from the haze of anger that had so easily consumed him. He remained silent, not sure how to reply. Ky'ara wouldn't approve of his desire for revenge anyways, so how could she possibly understand his anger at having it taken away?

  ‘Shouldn't you be happy? The man responsible for your parents’ deaths is no longer alive to hurt anyone else.”

  ‘By his own choice! To serve his master...if he was happy to die it doesn't exactly avenge them.’

  ‘If it's any consolation, his death was ultimately meaningless. I killed Ekzhad and there is no way he is coming back this time.’

  ‘Which leaves me with no way…’

  ‘Of getting revenge?’ Ky'ara finished softly when he trailed off. ‘Does it really matter so much to you? You never mention it...I thought you had made your peace with it a long time ago.’

  ‘I don't know...I guess deep down I always thought someday I'd get some sort of closure—now that can never happen.’

  "Marvelous!" Iregh said suddenly, "You two have a mental connection, don't you?"

  Calistra cut off what she was saying mid-sentence and looked at Ky'ara and Joran, startled. They both stared at the enemy mage, unsure whether to deny the supposition or not.

  "Why on earth would you think that?" Calistra asked, the first to recover.

  Iregh just continued to gaze studiously at Ky'ara and Joran. "However did you manage it? Links between mages and their Keepers are typically limited to emotional empathy and the subconscious danger-sense. Access to thoughts is incredibly rare."

  "Why do you care?" Ky'ara asked.

  Iregh shrugged. "Clearly I have a great deal of interest in magic, or I would not have accepted Il’esandra’s offer ten years ago.

  "That still doesn't answer—"

  "He cares because he and Keerason could do it!" Joran said suddenly. "Couldn't you?" This last part was directed towards the mage who finally looked perturbed to be where he was. "It all makes sense now—I don't know how I didn't see it as soon as Ky'ara and I linked. We always thought you two used some deep, secret magic to communicate because our mages never sensed a communications spell, but wherever he was, you'd start wreaking havoc shortly after."

  "We couldn't mindspeak." Iregh said simply, shaking his head.

  Joran snorted. "Yeah right, why do you look so upset then?"

  "We couldn't," Iregh insisted, "I never could figure out how to establish that concrete of a connection. Hence my interest in your own."

  "You didn't mindspeak, but you were linked," Ky'ara surmised.

  Iregh started to deny this, then nodded, looking tired. "Yes, for whatever her intended purpose, Il’esandra made certain we were linked shortly after I made my deal with her. We worked out an emotional signal if my interference was needed."

  "So you felt him die," Joran said it almost hungrily.

  Iregh gave him an amused look. “You’re a bit vicious for someone supposedly on the ‘good’ side. Yes, despite him blocking me out for months beforehand, I knew the moment he died. Yet another thing I didn’t sign up for…”

  “You cared for him,” Ky’ara said, hearing it in his voice.

  Iregh shrugged, clearly not comfortable with emotion. “We were linked for nine years. He was like a brother to me...an annoying younger brother who always tattled to Mommy, maybe, but a brother just the same.”

  Calistra opened her mouth to speak.

  “Does it...affect you in any other way? Having the Link broken?” Ky’ara asked, suddenly realizing that here was her chance to find out what Taren could expect. Calistra threw her hands up in the air in exasperation and stepped back. Apparently her questions would have to wait.

  Iregh gave Ky’ara a long look, and for a moment she was afraid maybe she’d given too much away. His gaze shifted past her, to the tent walls, and finally he answered.

  “Not in any real sense, no. I hear it’s worse for the other person though—the non-mage in a Link partnership gains significantly more from the connection, so I imagine the loss is worse if his mage dies.”

  Ky’ara nodded, stepping back. Joran was still brooding over the discovery of Keerason’s death. Calistra looked up. “Is it my turn, finally?”

  “Feeling left out, your ladyship?” Iregh asked snidely.

  Joran scowled. “Watch it old man. I’m about this close to—”

  “Joran!” Calistra looked at him exasperatedly and then indicated the door with a jerk of her head. He grumbled a bit, but took the hint. Ky’ara followed him out and then headed to the stabling area to ensure that Angallia was being cared for. Joran watched her for a moment, then turned the other way and went to find something to eat.

  * * * * *

  Lauryn sat in a corner of the medical tent, trying to get a handle on all the emotions that were wreaking havoc on her body. Her chest felt tight, tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks, and it felt like someone was wielding a sledgehammer against her skull right behind her eyes. Her father was alive, and he was the Destroyer’s right hand man. Worse, he was a mage. A powerful one.

  She'd always felt like Myrnai was disappointed in her lack of magical ability, but she'd cared for her anyways...had her father been equally disappointed? Was that why he'd left? Because she didn't share his talent? Without magic she was useless to him, just like she was useless to everybody else. She stood up suddenly and shook her head. This was ridiculous. She was not going to turn into a quivering ball of self-pity and hate.

  Lauryn forced herself to get up. The healers had already ordered her to go rest, so she couldn’t occupy herself with helping, but “resting” left her too much time to think. When was the last time she’d eaten? Wagons had been delivering provisions from the main camp all morning, there should be food. Even if she didn’t have much of an appetite, the supply tent probably needed help preparing and distributing meals to all the soldiers.

  Unsurprisingly, Joran had also found his way to the supply-station-turned-mess-hall. Lauryn gave him a nod hello, feeling a little tickle of anxiety in the back of her throat. She wasn’t ready for all the questions he’d probably ask. To her relief, he merely handed her a bag of flatbread and moved over so she could join the line of people assembling platters of food to take to the medical tent. After a few minutes of silence, she finally si
ghed and reached out to touch his hand. “Thanks for not asking more about...you know.” He nodded, giving her a little half-smile and turning back to the food. She frowned, feeling a little confused by his response.

  “Are...are you okay?” she asked quietly.

  Joran nodded, then stopped and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Lauryn felt her sense of dread creeping back. “What did He say?”

  Joran looked around, then pulled her away from the crowd of people. He didn’t stop till they were behind the next tent, out of eyesight and earshot of the others.

  “Joran? What did...my father...say in there? What did he do?” She forced herself to acknowledge the relationship, though the word felt foreign on her tongue.

  Joran looked at the ground, still holding her hand. “Keerason is dead.”

  Lauryn thought for a second, puzzled. “The man who came for your sister the day your parents died?”

  Joran nodded, loosening his grip on her hand. Lauryn didn’t quite know what to say.

  “We’re both really messed up, aren’t we?” She said finally. Joran nodded, looking simultaneously troubled and amused. She linked her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder. Joran turned suddenly, and before she knew it he was kissing her, deeply. His arms wrapped around her waist, drinking her in as though she was the only thing in the world that mattered. She felt some of the tension inside her melt away, replaced by an altogether different feeling. He pulled away, his hand sliding down her arm till he gripped her hand again, and he looked at her anxiously, suddenly vulnerable.

  “Well that was...unexpected,” she said breathlessly. It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed, but somehow this felt...different.

  Joran laughed nervously. “Sorry. I guess I just wanted to remind myself…”

  “Remind yourself?” Lauryn interrupted, cocking an eyebrow dangerously.

  “That none of it matters,” Joran continued swiftly, “Our parents, I mean. To me, this, us. Ummm…”

  Ordinarily she may have laughed at the desperately awkward expression on his face, but something about the word “us” had taken the shifting pieces of her world and lined them up just right, giving her something solid to stand on. She smiled instead, and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Good.”

  “Should we, um, go back now, do ya think?” Joran said after a moment.

  Lauryn nodded, slipping her hand back into his.

  * * * * *

  Ky'ara anxiously watched the town that afternoon, waiting for some sign that the army was returning. Calistra had strongly advised her against going into the town alone again, having already chastised her for putting herself in danger the first time. Joran didn’t seem to be in any state to accompany her. His emotions were all over the place and the last thing she needed was for him to get himself hurt trying to prove something. Finally, after what seemed like the millionth time, Ky'ara heard a commotion and rushed to the edge of the camp. She breathed a sigh of relief. A large group of soldiers was returning.

  She searched their ranks, looking for Taren's dark horse or his tell-tale silhouette—none of the rebel soldiers carried a large broadsword across their backs like he did. When her eyes had passed beyond the last soldier, she started to feel anxious again.

  "Excuse me," she asked one of the men, "Is this the advance unit? Did anyone stay behind?"

  "Aye, it is, and the second. The third unit is taking care of cleanup—diggin graves and the like."

  Ky'ara thanked him and continued her hunt through the ranks, determined not to think the worst until she was certain he wasn't here. A string of riderless horses was being led at the back of the group, and with a sinking heart Ky'ara realized that the one in the lead was Taren's mount. That meant he must've been injured too badly to ride. Or worse. She pushed the thought away. He was NOT dead. He couldn't be.

  'You ok Ky'ara?' Joran's voice entered her mind as she struggled to push down the panic rising inside her chest.

  'I'm fine.'

  Joran responded with a mental snort of unbelief. Ky'ara sighed, she appreciated his concern, but sometimes it still felt so weird sharing her feelings with a fifteen year old boy. 'It's just...Taren's not back yet. The rest of his unit is here and I'm starting to feel a bit concerned.'

  'That's an understatement...don't worry about it so much, it's Taren. He's probably just helping bring the injured back or something.’

  'You're probably right,' Ky'ara replied. She headed to the medical tent anyways, hoping she'd find him with only a minor leg wound or some other perfectly reasonable explanation for why his horse was riderless.

  The medical tent was in chaos. Healers rushed this way and that. Soldiers were seated three to a bed if they didn't need to be lying down. Ky'ara snagged a healer she recognized from her time helping in the camp.

  "I don't think I've seen him, sorry," the middle-aged woman replied, "We could really use an extra pair of hands here though. If you want to ask some of the soldiers about it you may as well do triage at the same time."

  Ky'ara hesitated. She didn't want to waste time here—what if Taren was still out there, injured and in need of help? The people in here need help too, what makes their lives any less precious? her inner voice argued.

  Finally, she nodded her agreement and donned one of the aprons reserved for assistant healers, then set to work sanitizing, sealing, and bandaging wounds. On her ninth patient, she finally found someone who remembered seeing Taren.

  "I rode out with him from the camp...thought he looked awfully serious, even for someone going into battle. Never seen a fellow with such intense eyes..."

  "Do you know what happened to him after you engaged the enemy?" Ky'ara pressed him for more information. To her disappointment, the soldier shook his head. "He fought like a dragon, I remember that much. But in all the confusion I don't rightly know where he ended up. Didn't see him with all the injured afterward...might've missed 'im though."

  "You lookin' for someone?" One of the female soldiers nearby asked.

  Ky'ara nodded. "His name is Taren...he rode out with the advance unit."

  "He's the tall fellow with too many swords," her patient chimed in.

  "I know who he is," The woman said, making a face at the other soldier, "Taren's been on guard duty during my shift for the last week....he's a bit quiet for my taste, but he seems like a decent guy...I remember seeing him take off after the bald man we thought might be their mage. I assumed he caught up with the bastard and dealt with him—seemed like only a little after that the King's troops stopped fighting like madmen."

  Ky'ara leapt to her feet, startling her patient and the others around her. She called a hasty apology as she rushed out of the tent.

  * * * * *

  Calistra sat across from the enemy mage, a few feet away so she was out of reach, but close enough to read his expressions. Questioning him without giving away information was proving difficult. Part of her wondered if he'd engineered his own capture to get into camp and spy on them...but he couldn't have known Lauryn would show up, and from the sounds of things he'd fought pretty convincingly. But still, her instincts had told her to tread carefully. This man was dangerous.

  Ky'ara burst into the room, startling them both. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!?!"

  Calistra leapt to her feet. "Ky'ara, what in the blazes—?"

  Ky'ara stepped toward the mage, her hands balled into fists by her sides.

  "What. Did. You. Do. With. Taren?" she said through clenched teeth.

  "I don't know what you're..."

  "Don't even try to deny it. When you tried to fool me you looked exactly like him. Not like he looked at the battle of Ainon Caseia, or during our travels this spring...what he looked like yesterday. Which means you saw him, up close. If you value your life you will tell me where he is. Now.”

  Iregh leaned back in his chair as nonchalantly as he could with his hands still tied behind his back. "I suppose I might be persuaded to share that information,
but it's going to cost you."

  "Whatever happened to being cooperative?" Joran said dryly, having just entered the tent. Clearly he'd sensed Ky’ara’s emotional distress and come to find the cause.

  Iregh shrugged. "I never said I'd give you everything for free. I've got to have something to barter with, don't I?"

  "Where is he?" Ky'ara asked again, barely keeping the panic out of her voice.

  "What makes you think he isn't just dead?" Iregh asked evasively.

  Ky'ara slapped him, hitting him hard enough that his chair almost tipped sideways. Joran caught her arm as she pulled back to hit him again. "He's tied up, Ky'ara, hurting him isn't going to..."

  "I don't care! He did something to Taren and he's being deliberately obtuse about it now!"

  "If I were you I'd start talking," Calistra told Iregh rather dryly, feeling a shameful amount of satisfaction at the painful looking weal that spread across his cheek.

  The mage took a moment to compose himself, then eyed Ky'ara warily. "My master wanted to incapacitate you emotionally, so she sent me here to capture him and take his place. I sent him back with a group of my own personal soldiers before I came to find you."

  Ky'ara rushed to leave, but found Joran blocking her way. "He's long gone, Ky'ara. Chasing after them isn't going to do you any good. They've got a half-day's head start and the retreating army is between you and them. You'll just get yourself killed."

  "I don't care. Get out of my way," Ky'ara said tersely.

  "He's right, you'll never catch them," Iregh said, sounding bored, "I sent them on a shadow path...by now they're halfway to the capitol."

  "A shadow path?" Calistra asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

  "It's a trick I learned from studying that idiot necromancer," Iregh replied, "Creates a path through the shadow realm as a shortcut between two points...requires an awful lot of deaths to power it, but then again I was in the middle of a battle so I figured, why not?"

  Joran looked at the man with disgust. Ky'ara stopped trying to leave and turned back to face the mage, her face vacillating between anger and grief. "Why him? How in the Light did Il’esandra know to take him?”