The Druid’s Guise
The Complete Trilogy
Michael J Sanford
Copyright © 2017 Michael J Sanford
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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BOOK ONE: THE MIGHTY
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
BOOK TWO: THE FORSAKEN
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
BOOK THREE: THE REMEMBERED
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
BOOK ONE: THE MIGHTY
Chapter One
THE BALL SENT up a puff of fine dust as it skipped past Wyatt and bounced off the chain-link backstop.
“Too fast,” he said, thumbing his glasses. “And too bouncy.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Craig shouted from the mound, his muscled arms held out in challenge.
“You’re supposed to roll it. It shouldn’t ever leave the ground,” Wyatt replied, scowling at the shaggy-haired teen. “You don’t know how to play.”
“Just kick it, Wyatt,” Mr. Alec said through the fence, his voice thick with impatience.
“Yeah,” Craig shouted after the ball had been tossed back to him. “Just kick it. Everyone else can.”
“Pitch it good and I will,” he shouted. “I could kick it a mile if you knew how to pitch.”
The ball sailed past Wyatt before he had time to set his feet. He scowled at Craig, who returned the look with a sneer. Wyatt grunted. He already hated him. He stunk of feigned superiority and Wyatt wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk from his face. Wyatt wasn’t sure he believed in love at first sight, but hate… That was a different matter entirely.
“Come on, chubs, kick the ball.” Craig’s lips curled as he tossed the rubber sphere from hand to hand. Similar calls poured in from the outfield and a few shouted at his back. His own team was against him.
Wyatt crouched, placing his weight firmly on his back foot, and glared at Craig. “Just pitch it good,” he said.
“Just let him kick it, Craig,” Mr. Alec shouted. “We don’t have all day.”
Had Wyatt not been so focused he would have turned to glare at the slight thirty-something man.
“Fine,” Craig said. “Here you go, newbie, try not to miss it.”
The ball moved so slowly it was nearly at a stop when it reached Wyatt. He swung wildly at it, but met only air. The momentum sent him to the dirt. Craig began a howl of merriment, but was quickly silenced as Wyatt’s untied sneaker caught him square in the jaw and sent him sprawling. Laughter erupted across the field and backstop. Even Mr. Alec’s deep throaty warble rang unrestrained.
“How’s that?” Wyatt bellowed through his wide grin, fighting to ignore the pulse of pain that coursed up his spine.
Craig reared from the dust like a whirling dervish and charged. Wyatt’s eyes went wide at the sight of the thundering behemoth of a teenager storming toward him. His green eyes sparked with anger and malice.
Wyatt popped upright. He felt unsteady in only one sneaker, but was not about to back down. He braced himself, just as he had before the pitch, but this time he sent forth a clawed hand. “Fireball!” he shouted with all the breath in his lungs.
Craig had nearly closed the gap when the shout arrested his advance. A crackling orb of flame exploded
against his chest in a shower of sparks. A hush fell over the group from Dorm B, residents and staff alike. Craig stood blinking. Wyatt twirled in place, kicked out a leg, and jutted out his left hand.
“Ice and thunder!” he bellowed. “Lightning!” His right hand hurled electricity from pudgy fingers and his left launched brilliant spears of ice from the palm.
“What the…” Craig said slowly, his eyes darting to the crowd at Wyatt’s back, looking for support.
He’ll need them to pick up the pieces when I’m done.
Wyatt spun again and slowly circled around his stunned foe. He cast another fireball and followed it up with a slap of gale force wind. The stout teen absorbed all attacks, but remained motionless, watching in mute stupor as Wyatt spun, chanted, and hurled magical attacks.
“Is he serious?” Craig said to the group.
Mr. Alec was laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Wyatt, what are you doing?”
Wyatt never took his eyes from Craig and didn’t stop strafing around the rooted teen. “I’m smothering him with flame and ice. He will fall before my magic! I cast you down, evil creature! You will know my name.” He called down a flaming phoenix with a wave of his hands. It would be his crescendo. “Wyatt the Mighty!”
A vibrant cascade of orange, red, and blue sparked from his fingertips and assaulted Craig. The phoenix tore through the boy with a screech and sharp sizzle of searing heat. It was an awe-inspiring sight to behold, but each bolt of lightning and ball of fire bounced harmlessly off Craig’s broad shoulders. The violent torrent of wind displaced not a single blond hair, and his flesh remained uncooked. He must have anti-magic protection, Wyatt realized. Or are my spells not strong enough?
“You’re lucky I’m weak from my journey,” Wyatt said, pulling the elements back into his palms. The phoenix dissipated with a puff of smoke. “Otherwise, you’d be real sorry.”
“Really?” Craig said, a wicked grin plastered on his tan face.
“Alright, Wyatt,” Mr. Alec called. “Knock it off. Let’s get back to the game. We’ve only got five more minutes.”
Wyatt ignored him. If my magic won’t work against this brute… Wyatt lunged at Craig and shot a stiff palm out, zeroed in on his sharp nose. Craig leaned to the side, slapping his attack aside with all the effort of swatting an errant fly. His opposing hand flashed briefly into view before Wyatt felt it crush against his ribs. His back slammed into the ground a moment later, tearing the breath from his lungs.
“That’s enough,” Mr. Alec shouted. “Line it up, boys.”
Voices of protest reached Wyatt’s ear as he sat up in the dust, unsure of what had occurred. He is impervious to both magic and physical attacks, he thought, bewildered. I will have to remain wary of that one…
“Craig, that means you! Line it up.”
“Freak,” Craig said with a smirk before turning to join the group.
Mr. Alec led the train of seven boys across the parking lot, leaving Wyatt alone with his thoughts. He watched them for a moment, shaking the cobwebs from his head. How had he been beaten? I must practice even more.
A hand shot into view, nails painted black, and fingers crowded with thick metal rings. He took it and was pulled upright.
“Walk with me,” she said. “You get to help me pick up lunch at the cafeteria.”
Wyatt squinted against the afternoon sun. The swinging I.D. badge around her neck caught his attention and he leaned close to inspect it, thumbing his glasses as he did.
“Abagail Miller,” he said, and nudged his glasses again.
“Ms.” She laughed warmly. “Or Miss. And you can call me Abby if you’d like.”
“Oh,” he said, taking a step back to examine her. “I thought you were a kid, Abby.”
“Miss Abby.” She smiled, her teeth shining just as brightly as her fair skin. “And I’ll take that as a compliment, but I am staff.” She pointed a ringed finger at him. “Don’t you forget it. Grab the lunch cart and let’s go. Oh, and get your shoe.”
The lunch cart was a rickety contraption of stained gray plastic atop which a large cooler was attached. It continually veered to the left as Wyatt pushed it along the uneven asphalt.
“That was quite a way to begin your first day,” Ms. Abagail said, brushing her hair out of her face. Shoulder length and straight, it was dark as night aside from the neon pink stripe that hung from her left temple. She could have been a monochrome painting if not for the solitary outburst of color.
“He started it,” Wyatt protested. “Not my fault he can’t pitch.”
“And what was all that fireball stuff?”
Wyatt winced. He hadn’t intended to unveil his spell-casting so soon. And it shamed him deeply that his efforts had been so futile, not that he would admit it.
“You’re a strange one, aren’t ya?” she said when he didn’t answer right away.
“You’re the strange one, not me,” he quipped.
“I won’t argue with that,” she said with a laugh. “But, it’s not a good idea to start fights, especially on your first day. And not with Craig.”
“I didn’t start it.”
“Either way, it’s only going to get your privileges suspended. And you don’t have a whole lot to start with, being new and all.”
Wyatt shrugged. “I don’t care. He started it.” If that cocky oaf of a boy could have pitched correctly he wouldn’t have needed to reveal his magic. He got lucky this time. Once I rest and regain my energy…
Ms. Abagail sighed.
The back entrance of the cafeteria was shrouded in shadows and bracketed by towering metal freezers that hummed loudly. A hunched woman with a sour face loaded the bottom of the plastic cart with a box of bread and tray of limp salad. A metal trough of steaming brown stew slid into the cooler. Wyatt tried to engage the cafeteria worker in conversation, but she only smiled weakly and turned away every time he spoke.
The way back to dorm was more difficult as the cart was laden with food and the snaking asphalt path pitched upward. Wyatt nearly tipped the cart as its small wheel caught a crack and leaned precariously to one side. Ms. Abagail steadied it and helped pull from the front after that.
“So, what kind of things are you into?” she said once a decent pace had been achieved.
“Uh, I like to read,” he said. “And draw.” And practice magic, he thought. And sword-fighting and martial arts…
“Oh, cool cool. Well, if you keep fighting, you’ll have plenty of time to read, stuck in your room.” She turned and flashed a friendly smile.
Wyatt shrugged. “Fine with me. I won’t be here very long anyway.”
“Oh?” Ms. Abagail said. Something ran across her face, but Wyatt couldn’t decipher it.
“When my grandma gets better I’m going back home,” he said.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Didn’t you read my file?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Then you know I’m leaving soon.”
Ms. Abagail smiled softly, but said nothing.
Chapter Two
MR. GERALD WAS just as tall as he was wide. The collar of his purple dress shirt pinched a thick fold of skin toward his chin, nearly obscuring it. It pulsed and vibrated erratically as he spoke. Wyatt thought a man of his stature would’ve had a deeper voice, but Mr. Gerald’s came out as a nasally whine.
“This is your room, you’ll have it to yourself for now,” the giant man said, mopping at his forehead with a limp tissue. “Lunch will be in about ten minutes, Mr. Alec will call you when it’s your turn to wash up. Until then, you can get settled.”
Wyatt nodded, but Mr. Gerald’s voice was little more than background noise. He was far too busy examining his new surroundings to pay the words any heed.
The corner room on Dorm B was spacious and smelled sweetly of lemon furniture polish and window cleaner. It contained one bed, one dresser, one desk, one chair, and one wall locker; all wooden and all bolted to the hardwood floor. The floor was scratched an
d scuffed so as not to reflect a single ray of light. Not that much light came through the quarter inch of safety glass that wrapped around one corner. The windows were equally as tarnished, scratched to a milky white. They didn’t open.
“How many other kids are here?” Wyatt asked as he craned around the wide man and peered down the long hallway. It was lined with numerous doorways, presumably bedrooms, some open, others shut.
“Ah, well, with you, that makes thirteen,” Mr. Gerald wheezed. The I.D. badge hanging from his thick neck showed a far thinner man, smiling. “During the week anyway, less on the weekend. You met half the group on the fields when you got here.”
“Wrong. I met more than half on the fields,” Wyatt said. “There are seven others on dorm right now, six would be half. And thirteen is bad luck.”
Mr. Gerald scowled, but said nothing. His bald head shone with sweat and rivulets ran from his temples. Wyatt grinned lopsidedly at the towering man and adjusted his thick framed glasses. They hung for a moment, then slid back into a seemingly impossible angle.
Mr. Gerald forced a smile and teetered from the room, his worn tennis shoes protesting each step with a loud squeak.
Wyatt shrugged at the interaction. He couldn’t blame the man for being in a poor mood. Wyatt could feel his own mood sour with each passing moment. The sterility of the dorm was oppressive. He turned to survey the room again. Sterile and suffocating.
A single garbage bag sat atop the bed, marking the entirety of Wyatt’s worldly possessions. He tore into it and fished out a slim wooden stick the length of his forearm. He whirled in place, brandishing the crude wand in one hand, and snapped it at an enemy.
“Fireball!” he yelled. He spun to his right and shot out a socked foot in a disjointed high kick. “Wy-Ahh!” was his battle cry.
Lightning crackled from the end of his wand and tore a neat hole in an advancing goblin’s chest. Smoke trailed from the ragged orifice as it collapsed with a groan. Wyatt let out a cackle and leapt atop the bed. He whirled in all directions, daring his enemies to challenge the great wizard, Wyatt the Mighty!
He faced the advancing horde of snarling goblins. There was no end to their numbers. His wand crackled and snapped as he spun a tight circle atop his hill, sending forth bolts of lightning and orbs of fire. He laughed as the goblins howled in pain and dismay. One reached for him, but a swift kick sent the green-skinned monster sprawling. A lightning bolt turned it to ash.
The Druid's Guise: The Complete Trilogy (The Druid's Guise Trilogy) Page 1
