The Druid's Guise: The Complete Trilogy (The Druid's Guise Trilogy)

by Michael J Sanford

  He watched the city and listened to the jovial hum for another moment, took a deep breath and turned from the edge. He joined Mareck and Gareck at the table with a wide smile and a lightness in his step. Perhaps it’s not so bad the way the Children live, he thought.

  “What’s for breakfast, Mary?”

  Mareck frowned at him, “My name is Mareck, if you’d please, tsk tsk.”

  Wyatt smirked and shrugged. He stuck a finger in the pot over the fire and recoiled as it contacted the scorching liquid. He sucked on his finger and turned to hide the tears that had sprung to his eyes.

  “Just a bit of goat and leek stew,” Mareck continued as she tossed a handful of green leaves in the pot and stirred it with a flat wooden spoon.

  “You have goats here?” Wyatt said and turned, still shaking his burned finger.

  “Well, not here,” Gareck said from the other side of the table, a pile of chopped root before him. “Goats come from Krémnos, far to the north.”

  “You see, Master,” Mareck interjected, obviously sensing the lapse in Wyatt’s comprehension. “The Krémnoians bring goat meat to trade for our ore and other items from around the realm.”

  “Oh, you’re traders?”

  “Aye, and miners,” Gareck boasted. “Every race across the realms comes for our ore. Only place you can get it, and there be no better miners than the Children.”

  “Aye, Dear, no one can dig like a Child.”

  “Do you trade with the Regency too?” Wyatt asked.

  Gareck and Mareck shared a look. He couldn’t discern the emotions behind their blank eyes. Gareck cleared his throat, but it was Mareck who answered.

  “The Regency takes what they see fit, in exchange…” she hesitated, taking a long sip from the wooden spoon. “…for their protection.”

  “But, they-”

  “Aye,” bellowed Gareck. “Betrayed us.”

  Wyatt looked to the edge of the platform and watched Rozen’s chest rise and fall as she slept curled upon the pile of straw. They wanted her, he thought. Métra is the only source of metal for the world and a trading hub, and yet they attacked, killing hundreds… What makes Rozen so important to them? What did she do?

  “How come you took Rozen in? Why protect her?” He didn’t turn as he spoke, his eyes still resting on the slumbering dark warrior, the sleeping enigma.

  “We had to,” Mareck said.

  “Why?”

  “We were called to.”

  “The Mother?” Wyatt said, shocked he even said the word. Who or what was this Mother?

  “Aye.”

  “Don’t you wonder…?” He lost his thought in the vibrant trail of hair around Rozen’s neck.

  “No,” the Children answered together.

  Gareck walked to Wyatt’s side, casting his gaze in the same direction. His webbed hand reached up and found Wyatt’s shoulder. It squeezed gently, sending a wash of warmth over his chest. He sighed involuntarily.

  “We live only to serve,” Gareck said. “The Mother delivered the young Draygan to us, just as she has you, and we would be foolish to argue.”

  “Feels like there’s a lot of adventure in her, huh?” Wyatt said, smiling.

  Gareck laughed heartily. “Aye, Master Wyatt. That is the truth of it. Which reminds me, a number of seasons ago I came across a map from a Gnósis trader. Mayhap you can give it a look. It should help you plot our course. I’ve laid it out at the end of the table, there.”

  Wyatt stiffened and strode to the table, trying desperately to exude confidence and authority. The map was scrawled in an array of colors on thick parchment, unrolled and held in place by four stones. He leaned over it, trying to make some sense of the busyness. He picked out the Torrents right away, a bright blue snake coursing along the bottom of the map. He traced it to the right until it vanished into a dark brown circle. Métra was scrawled in a slanted script over the shape. From there he raked his eyes left and right as he scaled up the map. Green plains turned to gray mountains turned to blue lakes turned to light brown deserts. Every area was segmented, like pieces from separate puzzles jammed together, the same slanted script labeling each area; The Barren Plains, The Endless Sea, Krémnos, The Wastes, The Shadow Forest, Ouranos, Mesos, Peaks of Servitude.

  He traced a pudgy finger over each name, trying to derive some greater understanding of the terrain, trying to feel where to direct his party. He read each name twice, but could not find Purorus, Rozen’s homeland, nor any indication of where the Regency called home. He placed his palms against the map and shut his eyes. What am I supposed to do? Suddenly he smelled smoke. Not the rich fragrance from the stew, but an acrid, scorching scent. He shuddered, but remained still. Then he saw it again, the looming shadow from his dream, the wide mouth and pressing terror. He gasped, eyes wide, and fell backwards onto the ground, dragging the aged map with him, the stones scattering.

  “Master Wyatt,” called Gareck. “Are you alright?”

  Wyatt whirled and shot to his feet, arms swirling to get control of the large map. He slapped it sharply onto the table. He could see it now, so clearly.

  “Are there any giant frogs in Hagion?” he said, eyes flitting over the map.

  “Giant frogs?” Gareck asked, confused.

  “Aye, Dear.” Mareck flanked Wyatt and stabbed her long wooden spoon in the middle of the brown and green swirl of Ouranos. A thick drop of brown stew pooled across the wide swatch of depicted terrain. “There’s said to be giant toads in the bog, large enough to swallow a Child, or even a human. The city and the bog guard the way to the northern realms. Surely you can’t mean to venture there.”

  “Yep,” Wyatt responded, his eyes glued to the murky land. He had never been so sure of anything. He could not hear the whisper, but he knew it was there, and Ouranos was where it called him.

  “If that’s what you think is best,” said Mareck with a short bow.

  “Have you ever been to Ouranos?” Gareck tossed a handful of chopped roots into the pot and stared at Wyatt.

  “I, uh-”

  “No, I have no knowledge of that area.” Rozen’s voice was firm and unyielding, a whisper from Wyatt’s neck.

  “Ah,” he yelled reflexively. “How long have you been standing there?”

  Rozen leaned over the map and didn’t answer, her golden eyes raking over the colorful shapes and old script. She had removed her hood and cloak. Her braid ran down the middle of her back. Six daggers were sheathed against the small of her back, blades black and razor sharp.

  “I couldn’t find Purorus,” he said after having slowed his thundering heart.

  Rozen turned, fixed her eyes on him and opened her mouth slightly, but said nothing and turned back to surveying the map. Her leather vest ended at the shoulders, leaving her upper arms exposed. The striations of her muscles flexed and shifted as she leaned one way and then the other. Her shoulder was a corded mass of raw strength. Wyatt found himself both intimidated and aroused at the same time. The things she could do…

  “We should leave soon.” She stood and brushed Wyatt aside, walking to the bedding and donning her hood and cloak. “The Regency may return.” She tied the cloak around her neck and picked up her bow, slinging it over her shoulder.

  “Always business with that one,” Gareck said. “But, she is right. It may not be wise to linger in one place. You never know if a Regency Wight is nearby.”

  “A Wight?” Wyatt said. “Like a ghost?”

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Mareck chided. “Tsk tsk.”

  Rozen had crossed the platform and was spooning stew into a wooden mug. She downed the steaming contents with one toss of her head and refilled the crude container.

  “Wights,” she said, a trail of steam curling up from her lips. “Are the seekers of the Regency, conjured spirits that can come and go as they wish, passing through walls and hiding from sight should they wish to.”

  “It’s said they can conjure a creature’s worst fears,” Mareck said as she downe
d a gulp of steaming stew.

  “Just so, Darling. They can paralyze you with just a touch.”

  Wyatt looked around him, expecting to see a specter rise from the shadows and slap him. “Who you gonna call?” he said, smiling at his companions. They looked at each other, brows raised.

  “Master Wyatt,” Gareck interrupted. “Perhaps you should take your breakfast, so we can be on our way.”

  Wyatt grinned and shot a finger to the air. “Ah, yes. An adventure awaits us. A quest. A journey. Yes, bring me some stew and let us embark on our adventure!”

  Mareck filled a mug and handed it to Wyatt. He took it, lifted it high and exclaimed, “To Ouranos!” He thrust the mug in punctuation, spilling some of the steaming concoction onto his hand. He let out a yelp and dropped the mug. It hit the edge of the table and splattered brown broth and bits of meat and uncooked roots across the table.

  “Ow, that’s hot!” He danced about clutching his seared hand. The tight wrappings saved most of his hand, but the fingers were still exposed and were already turning bright red. He sucked on them. It did little to soothe the burning, but the taste was delicious.

  “Perhaps the Master would have a bit of dried goat and a biscuit? Something not so… hot.” Mareck rummaged into a rucksack and handed Wyatt a chunk of salted meat and a small biscuit.

  He took the items with a lopsided smile and a shrug. He gnawed at the food as the others milled about him, gathering the last of their provisions. Rozen tied on her quiver and shouldered a bulging pack opposite her bow. Mareck and Gareck kicked dirt into the fire, quickly smothering it and hollered to a nearby platform informing its inhabitants that there was leftover stew to be had. They each took a loaded pack and braced their large hammers over a shoulder.

  “Be sure to grab the map, young Master,” Gareck directed. “You’re our guide.”

  Wyatt licked the last of the salt from his fingers and popped the last bite of biscuit into his mouth. He wiped his hands across his chest and rolled up the large piece of parchment, stew bits and all. He tucked the scroll into the rope belt around his middle. When he turned around he found the platform empty. If I’m our guide why am I always being left behind? He sighed and hastened to catch up.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE CORPSES WERE gone. As Wyatt climbed into the valley he had prepared himself to witness the carnage his group had left, but there was naught but honey scented grass. He looked to all sides thinking he had forgotten where the battle had occurred. It should have been impossible to miss. Wyatt had driven thick timber spikes from the ground to spear the Fallen, but none of it remained.

  “Where to, Master?” Gareck said with a short bow as Wyatt approached, still searching for the evidence he had previously sought to avoid.

  Wyatt looked to Mareck and Rozen, searching their expressions. Mareck’s eyes were blank as they always were and Rozen was examining her spear. He gave one last look at the unblemished valley and shrugged.

  He unfurled the map in front of him and surveyed the surroundings. He noted the sun’s position and turned to place the giant red orb on his right side. Far to his left and behind him he could see the dark outline of the Shadow Forest. In front and to his right, the valley stretched for miles and then disappeared against the flawless sky.

  “This way,” he called, rolling up the map and waving on his companions as he strode confidently across the valley. “To Ouranos… and adventure!”

  He had taken a dozen steps before he sensed his solitude and turned to see his party rooted in place, staring after him. He turned and held out his hands. “Come on,” he shouted. Ungrateful and insubordinate!

  Mareck and Gareck looked at each other, but it was Rozen who spoke. “Ouranos and the bog are to the north by west,” she shouted.

  Wyatt stared back in silence a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. He looked to the sky, found the sun, and readjusted his position. The sun rises in the east, so put the sun at my right hand and I’ll be facing north… He spun, but ended up at his previous facing. He surveyed the landscape briefly before turning back to his stubborn party.

  “This way is north,” he shouted and waved the rolled map in his hand, as if it provided proof of his navigation skills.

  Rozen laughed and twirled her spear deftly between her hands. She had drawn her hood, but Wyatt could sense her expression. It wasn’t appreciation or admiration. Gareck cleared his throat.

  “Uh, Master Wyatt,” he said. “Don’t mean to tell you your way, but you’re headed south.”

  “Aye, my Dear is right,” Mareck chimed in. “Ain’t nothin’ but desert, sand snakes, and death that way.”

  Wyatt frowned, surveyed his surroundings, reaffirmed his own beliefs and stomped back to his party.

  “I know how to find north,” he said haughtily. “I am a genius. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, so you-”

  “Whoa, slow down,” Gareck interrupted. “The sun don’t rise in the east.”

  “Not all the time anyway,” Mareck agreed. “And certainly not today it don’t. Tsk tsk.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mareck and Gareck shared another look before Gareck continued. “Well, in Hagion the sun rises and sets where it pleases. Sometimes it’s from east to west like you say, but other times it’s from west to east, or north to south. Sometimes it only covers part of the sky, rising in the north and setting in the east. It always tracks a bit different, dancing at the Mother’s request. Can’t tell direction by its position.”

  “Oh,” Wyatt said slowly, frowning. “I don’t suppose you have a compass then?”

  “Compass?” Mareck said. “I’ve no idea what you mean. Tsk tsk.”

  “It points to magnetic north, oh, never mind. Then how do we know which way’s north?”

  Before Mareck could answer, Rozen brushed in between them, fixed Wyatt with a stare from deep within the shadows of her hood, bent and tore a fistful of grass from the ground and tossed it high into the air. The blades spread and caught the wind. They sailed over her head in a straight line toward what Wyatt thought to be south. Rozen abruptly turned and began walking in the direction of the flitting blades.

  “The wind?” Wyatt asked, his gaze following not the blades of grass, but the shadowy Draygan. His skin tingled.

  “Just so, the wind always blows straight to the north,” Gareck said.

  “Aye,” agreed Mareck. “Firm and true is the Mother’s breath. She’ll guide us.”

  “Weird,” Wyatt said. “It’s the opposite in my world.”

  “Hmmm, strange that would be, don’t you think, Darling?”

  “Aye, Dear. How confusing. Tsk tsk.”

  “Fear not, young Master. The Mother has called us to guide you.” Gareck said with a jovial laugh. “And that’s what we’ll do.”

  Wyatt frowned. “I’m the Druid here, and the guide.”

  Gareck and Mareck both bowed slightly, but their faces were contorted in mirth, not deep respect. Wyatt huffed and chased after Rozen, with the Children following close behind.

  He skipped clumsily around the many man-sized holes in the valley floor, wary of tumbling into their gaping maws. The valley smelled of honey and Métra sent forth a myriad of tempting scents from deep below. Each hole produced a column of fragrant smoke, and he felt his mouth water at each pass, welcoming him to jump. His stomach growled. The biscuit and goat had done little to quell his ever-present hunger. This is not the life for a fat kid, he thought, but quickly clutched at his pendant, begging it not to send him back. Not yet.

  Wyatt was breathing heavily and drenched in sweat by the time they reached the edge of the valley. A foul smell rose from his soaked robes and it didn’t make Wyatt’s mouth water or stomach grumble. His hunger had been left behind, replaced by fatigue.

  Rozen leaned against a broad trunk, twirling a dagger in her hand. Wyatt stumbled to a tree of his own and slumped against it. The red sun had grown increasingly brutal with each step across the valley and beat ag
ainst his brow without mercy or restraint. The shade was a welcome reprieve.

  “Tired already?” Rozen crooned.

  Wyatt smiled at her and wiggled against the trunk, rising to his feet. “Of course not. I just thought this looked like a good place to catch our breath.”

  “Whatever the Master commands,” Rozen said. It sounded sarcastic, but Wyatt couldn’t be certain. She could have been merely flirting with him. That’s more likely, he thought with a lopsided grin.

  They couldn’t have journeyed more than an hour or two across the wide valley to the northern edge, but his legs were shaky and slick with sweat. He could feel the painful rash reforming along the inside of his bare thighs. He unrolled the map in an effort to buy some time to rest.

  “Only one path through the forest, Master,” Gareck said.

  Wyatt flicked a piece of stewed goat from the map and saw that Gareck was right. A single road cut through the forest, due north, straighter than one of Rozen’s arrows. He nodded and slowly rolled the map again, and tucked it into his rope belt. He had been so exhausted that he hadn’t noticed that they stood at the edge of the forest road already. It wasn’t so much a path or a road, but an absence of trees. Wyatt guessed the path to be about twenty feet wide. The dark trunks and blue moss formed a perfect border, leaving a soft grassy path through the shadows. Wyatt thought back to his first meeting with Rozen. She had said the trees grew where they pleased. Did the forest create this path? It was far too perfect to have been created by man or creature, but his mind still struggled with the idea of mobile trees.