The Last Druid

by Colleen Montague

  He started pacing around her, leaving her to tremble in fear while he looked her over. She was beautiful, her body perfectly slender with just the right curves. The entire time he studied her she didn’t move a muscle, keeping as still as she could. Dranl felt himself smile. A creature he had heard of only in legend, a woman so fair she could have come straight from his dreams—regardless of whether she fit into the prophecy or not, he suddenly wanted her. Badly.

  “Such beauty,” he said softly; she flinched just from hearing two words. “Strange creatures come through here rarely, yet out of them all I have never seen one such as you.” He reached up with one pale hand to stroke her hair. “I heard once that the Elven lines still ran strong, but thought it to be just a rumor, something from ancient legend. It seems I have not paid as much attention to old folklore as I should have.” He brushed his fingers along her cheek.

  The girl shied away from his touch. He smirked and started walking away from her back towards his throne. He didn’t look at her again until he turned to sit down. He watched her face as he casually draped one leg over the arm of the chair. She was taking the time to notice her surroundings, trying hard but with difficulty not to look in his direction. He gave a small chuckle that went unheard by everyone else; he could have some fun with her.

  A loud growling interrupted his thoughts. His eyes flicked up to look—that one Brilken was staring hard at him, low snarls coming from its throat. He rolled his eyes at it in annoyance.

  “My lord, shall we resume our patrol?” it asked impatiently. Its fellows scraped at the floor impatiently with their claws.

  “You may return, but increase the watch. If any others like her turn up bring them to me alive; if there are any other Nymphs, kill them on sight. We don’t need those spies interfering any more than they are already.”

  For the entire exchange the girl just looked away from all of them. The command given, all three of the Brilken bowed and slowly backed out of the room. Dranl started playing with the onyx ring on his right hand as they left, still watching the girl out of the corner of his eye. Even with his Brilken soldiers gone, she seemed to shrink.

  Fear could be a useful tool at times. Perhaps he could use her for something.

  “That’s the problem with my Brilken soldiers,” he said loudly to bring her attention back to him. “They have no sense of proper manners when there is company around. The only thing they excel at is intimidation.” Lazily he snapped his fingers then went back to fiddling with his ring; the gesture would cause magic to release the cords that held the girl’s wrists. She slowly started to rub her fingers along the skin where the cords cut in.

  “Such a beautiful woman as you shouldn’t have to worry about such creatures,” he continued. “You should pay them no mind.”

  For the first time the girl looked straight at him, her light green eyes turned a golden hue from the harsh yellow light of the torches. “Those things killed Mai, without mercy.” she hissed. She was trying to sound strong, but the shaking of her voice betrayed the fear she truly felt.

  Dranl abruptly stopped playing with his ring, looking up at her hard. She had been on a first-name basis with that…thing? Was she about to say it was her friend? Ridiculous. What lies had it told her to convince her to follow? His thoughts drifted back to the prophecy the mystics kept repeating to him every few years: their enemy’s champion would be a Forest Child, the ancient title for the Elves. And now one stood before him in his own throne room, just as he was closing in on victory. Was she really the one to fulfill the prophecy? Would he be forced to battle such a gem to the death? What had that Nymph told her to convince her of such an idea?

  What did it matter in the end though? It wasn’t like he was just going to let her walk out; he had a few ideas that might enable him to hold on to her for at least a little longer, if not forever.

  Dranl continued to stare hard at her. “If you call that thing a friend then you have poor taste. It and its kind are deceptive, misleading everyone they encounter, focused on gaining more power for themselves. It would have led you to your death in the end.”

  She didn’t answer and just stared at him, her eyes wide and unblinking. The look on her face was difficult to read, though he could guess one thought in her mind: she didn’t believe one word he said. This was a problem. Oh well, he could still deal with this.

  He sighed and shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “A shame,” he said. “Rumored to be the favorite people created, and the one they call Elenia shuts the doors to the outside world on you, keeping you hidden. I don’t call that love.” He dug his fingernails into a carved groove on the arm of his chair. “So, do you have a name?”

  Even this far across the room he could see her biting down on the inside of her lower lip. She continued to glare at him while the muscles on her delicate frame tensed.

  He scowled. “If you value your continued existence, you will answer the question!” he barked.

  The girl took a small step back, still quiet. He straightened up and was about to draw his magic to him when she said one word: “Calla.”

  Dranl stopped with one hand raised, his magic woven about his fingers and starting to crackle in his hand. Eventually he eased back into his chair, drumming his fingers on the stone.

  Calla took a breath. “And who do I have the…pleasure…of speaking to?” She struggled to get that one word out, as though she might choke on it.

  He found both the question and the way she asked it amusing. He smoothed his black hair flat against his scalp with his hand. “I am Lord Dranl,” he said with a smirk; from the way she took another half a step backwards it must have made him look more intimidating. “This palace and all lands surrounding are mine, as are the people here. You would do well to behave and obey any…request I give you. And you will address me by name.” He stood up from the throne. “Come.”

  He walked over to one side of the room towards a large door of wood and metal; it was hardly visible in the dim light. He heard no footsteps behind him. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder—the girl, Calla, was still standing in the middle of the hall where he had left her. He scowled at her, not fully realizing it. She only continued to hold her ground.

  He scowled at her. “You are supposed to follow,” he growled. “NOW!”

  She jumped at the ferocity in his voice, but even then she still didn’t move. Growling in frustration he called on his power to pull her towards him, wrapping the threads of energy around her wrists and legs. The look of surprise on her face was unmistakable as she was slowly dragged across the room towards him, trying to use her weight to pull back against him. He didn’t let up until she finally stood next to him, her eyes wide. He released the spell and was surprised when she didn’t try to run away from him again. He could almost hear the frantic beating of her heart over the silence around them—she was afraid of him, to some degree. Puzzled, he turned away and waved his hand in front of the door; it slowly opened with a loud groan. He walked through before it had completely opened, glancing back at the girl. Calla hesitated for only a moment before leaping through after him.

  Dranl was uneasy. Intimidation and fear, it seemed, didn’t hold as much sway over her as he previously thought; he planned on taking advantage of that to bring her under his control, but now he was less than sure.

  The balcony they walked onto was quite similar to the throne room in construction: the floor was made of dark cracked stone with large pieces of metal and the occasional piece of dark glass placed here and there. The space itself was quite small—it probably could have held half a dozen people comfortably at most—ending abruptly on one side in a short stone wall with metal spikes protruding from the top edge. It was only a little brighter out here, not a single ray of sunlight breaking through the thick gray clouds overhead. Dranl preferred it this way. That kind of light could be far too harsh at times.

  He watched the girl as she cautiously approached the rail, trying not to lean on the metal spik
es as she looked down. She still looked scared, but at the same time her expression was…calculating.

  Dranl frowned. Trouble tended to follow a look like that.

  Pushing the concern aside he moved to stand right next to her, deliberately pressing up against her; he felt her stiffen at the proximity. “Look out over this land,” he said. One of his hands strayed to her lower back, warm beneath his fingers; he felt her shudder and try to step away, but he simply clamped his hand around the other side of her waist to hold her there. “From here as far as you can see is called Tailte Marbh by outsiders, especially those lying tree spirits and their followers. I consider this land to be in a temporary state. The palace here and the city below are called Cloch an Tsolais, Stone of Light. For ten years I have used my art to help all grow and thrive; I even created my Brilken soldiers from nothing more than sheer force of will. Just imagine what I could achieve in other parts of the world.”

  For a moment he saw a glimmer of what could have been hate in her eyes, but it quickly disappeared. “So you’re a king?” Calla asked, a flat edge to her voice; she didn’t ask out of any real interest.

  “In a sense,” he said. He slid his hand down to her thigh; she tried swatting it away but he ignored it. “Can you feel it? Can you see what I can do with it?”

  Her knuckles were white as she gripped the narrow rail. “No—I see nothing but land that’s too dead and gray to be considered even slightly alive.”

  “I like to think of it as a blank canvas to be molded as I see fit later on,” he said disapprovingly. “Imagine the possibilities of what I could create on it.”

  She shot a sidelong glance at him. “I would prefer not,” she said coldly.

  Dranl just stared at her. He thought that most women were attracted to the promise of power if it was offered to them. Yet she wasn’t; she seemed more…disgusted by it. With every word he said she seemed to grow more and more defiant—a dangerous move for someone in her position.

  Persuasion, then, would not work on her. He would have to try something else.

  “Of course,” he said simply. Pretending to shrug it all off he looked at the city below them, leaning with his free arm against the rail while he discreetly probed the energy waves of her soul with his thoughts. Something about her felt out of place. He felt a strange kind of…warmth coming from her, more than should come from any living thing, especially in the middle of his realm; he would know, he had creatures from the outside lands brought to him all the time to experiment on and not once did they exhibit this kind of energy. It was almost oppressive for him to feel, more noticeable now in the open air than back in the main hall.

  He could almost hear the voices of his mages chanting the words of the prophecy in his head, and he was filled with dread.

  He moved behind her, out of her line of vision. He let his fingers play along her jaw, feeling the shudder that rippled through her. He waited for her to respond, playing with her hair and then letting his fingers creep down from there along the bones of her spine.

  Calla’s head snapped around sharply. She fixed one light green eye on him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked in a hostile tone.

  He didn’t answer her and just pressed himself up as close to her body as he could, ignoring her attempt to elbow him in the stomach to keep him off her. He could feel that the contact was discomforting to her but didn’t care; she was pushing his patience to its final limits, and he wanted to remind her of her position. All the while the energy coming off from her blazed even stronger, causing him more irritation. If he wanted to keep her he would have to do something about it—contain it, remove it completely, something, as long as it didn’t destroy the rest of her.

  “You can shape this world, you know,” he said in Calla’s ear, a final attempt at persuasion. “I would let you have a say about the future: you can guide its course. You can fill it with anything and everything your imagination can conceive. Share the power I wield, and there is nothing that you could not do.”

  He saw doubt cross her fair face; it was the first time during the whole exchange that she did not look so sure of herself. “Anything…” Her voice trailed off.

  Dranl put both of his thin hands on her shoulders, noting how much darker her skin looked next to his almost white fingers. He felt his breath catch; somehow he had managed to tempt her. “All you have to do,” he said, “is agree to stay here. With me.”

  Calla didn’t say anything for some time. She just stared out across the gray landscape, biting her lower lip, lost in thought.

  He started to push her again. “So come on. What do you say?”

  She blinked. “That simple, eh?” she finally asked

  He touched the corner of her jaw with his index finger. All sound around them vanished. He thought he could feel his fingers shaking in anticipation of her answer. “Your answer?”

  The muscles in her shoulders tensed. “But for every action,” she said, “no matter how small, there is always some price that must be paid. All the earth and everything in it—those I love and those I don’t know—will die if I yield to you.”

  “No, it will—”

  Calla turned her head to cut him off with a glare. “I refuse to let my heart be darkened as the price.”

  He would have commented that she was being absurd if she hadn’t spun around and driven one hand hard into the center of his chest. She hit with such a force that the next thing he knew he was staring at the sky as he slid on his back across the flat stones that lined the balcony; he stopped just a few inches away from the wall of the building. She had struck with more force than any earthly creature could muster. Dazed for a moment he slowly got back to his feet.

  He glared at her as he straightened up again to his full height. “That was a grave mistake,” he said, his voice cold.

  She didn’t care—Dranl could see in her eyes that she didn’t care. She was almost surging with some kind of power. She tensed, ready to fight with all she had. He couldn’t let her go now, not after such an insult.

  And he had no intention of letting her escape.

  He called on his magic again, driving all of it into her mind—a torture spell he had used so many times on so many other prisoners. Taken back she gasped, both hand immediately holding her head. He knew the pain she felt would be excruciating; he had managed to kill people this way. However strong she was, she could not last long against it.

  As if to prove his point, she dropped to the ground after a minute, unconscious.

  He left her there, sending a summons to the mystics that lived close to his palace. It didn’t take them long to arrive, and it took them even less time to inspect her. They proved his suspicions true, to his distress: everything pointed to her being the Forest Child spoken of in the prophecy.

  Dranl sneered. If he let her go she would destroy the hope for the new world he and his master would create, but he didn’t want to kill her right then and there as everyone around him advised. He had a better idea, one that would keep her alive and still deprive their enemy of their chance at victory. He had just the thing to control her.

  It was a darker spell than he usually used on prisoners, but having a demon possess her to keep her under his control sounded like the perfect plan.

  XIII

  The Watcher

  Some distance away from the city on the gray plains, he creature crouched among a small but thick clump of dead bushes. With his sharp eyes he had seen the confrontation even from this far away. His heart sunk—the girl was in trouble for sure, now more than ever; he knew the man, who would undoubtedly try to control her in whatever way he could.

  And knowing Dranl, that way would not be pleasant.

  Just thinking about Dranl made his blood boil. This group of humans, the Brac, had allowed themselves to be led down such a dark path; now they wanted the whole world to be like them. But of all the creatures who called the Dead Lands home, their leader was the true monster of the lot. His trick of filling people with se
lf-doubt was the most destructive, resulting in many of his victims killing themselves just to end the torment; those who didn’t die grew miserable and ended up his slaves.

  Entha, he thought sadly, it almost happened to you with Nishtan.

  He pushed himself away from the thought. He couldn’t afford to get emotional now—there was no time for it. He had to focus on finding a way to get the girl away from Dranl and bring her to Elenia. It was easier said than done—he wouldn’t be able to get in without being spotted. He would have to wait for her to come out, but that would take time and so much patience. It had to happen at some point: if Dranl’s victims didn’t fall to self-doubt, he brought them into his service with the help of the demons he used to control them; he was especially fond of using spirit demons for his own designs.

  But whatever happened, he knew he could not let himself fail to save the girl. Not only would the world die if he did, but he would never be able to live with himself for the failure.

  XIV

  Calla

  Calla was trapped in a living nightmare. When she first came around everything seemed the same—in terms of the gloom, stone and metal around her—apart from feeling like her head had been fried, but it seemed different to her at the same time. It became clearer when she tried to move and found she couldn’t—not of her own accord anyway, for when she finally got up something else was in control.