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

by Michael J Sanford

  A screech cut the calm air and hit him harder than Gareck liked to slap his back. He whirled at the noise and fought to slow his thundering heart. Mareck, Gareck, Zuel, and Zendel were perched along the cart’s side and were passing a bundle back and forth, each taking some of its contents and greedily eating. They seemed unperturbed by the noise and made no indication of noticing it as it split the air again. A metallic rattle rang out soon after the cry and movement at the back of the Gelfans’ cart caught Wyatt’s attention.

  He cautiously approached the back of the cart, eager to decipher the noise, but wary of the Glefans. Neither stirred from their meal, nor turned their pointed ears away from Gareck’s story. The cart was filled with all sorts of odd items, many of which Wyatt could not identify. But, it was the shaking cage that held his focus. It was no larger than a typical hamster cage, set atop a larger crate, its sides obscured by a thin fabric curtain. Wyatt could not see into it from the ground, but found he could reach the base if he leaned against the back of the cart and stretched with all he was worth. He grasped the cage and it shrieked again. Wyatt froze and carefully leaned to the side, looking to see if any had noticed his activity. None of the creatures stirred. Good thing Gareck is a great storyteller.

  Slowly, Wyatt slid the small cage toward him, freeing it from its perch. He stumbled backward as it left the crate and met only air and his pudgy hands, but he steadied himself and set it down in the soft grass behind the cart. He gave another cautionary look to his companions, went to his knees and slowly peered into the cage. The dim glow of the forest wisps and the curtains shrouded the contents, but Wyatt could distinguish a dark shape moving about, twisting and turning within the tight confines. He squinted for a moment, then lowered his head to the grass and slid aside the piece of fabric. His fingers brushed against the crude iron bars and something clicked softly as his fingers passed. In an instant, the cage door flung open, tossing both the curtain and Wyatt’s head aside. He didn’t have time to react before a shrieking creature burst forth and flew at his face. He saw teeth and claws, but little else.

  Chapter Eighteen

  WYATT LET OUT a shrill shriek and rolled onto his back, pawing feebly at the unknown creature attached to his face. Tiny claws pressed at the back of his head and rough, dry scales rubbed against his nose and eyes, obscuring his sight. He rolled back and forth wrenching at the tiny creature, but was unable to remove it. He continued to belt out muffled screams and set to kicking erratically against the ground with his heels.

  Though the creature left him blind and his own screams left him deaf, he could sense the commotion had caught his party’s attention, but friendly hands did not swoop in to help him. It was laughter that Wyatt heard when his own screams faded; the dry hoarse rasp of the Glefans and the hearty guffaw of the Children. They’re laughing at me. He thought for a moment how he must look rolling on the ground in an ill-fitting robe and a creature attached to his head. He indeed saw the humor in it, but quickly his mind went back to the imminent danger he faced. Would Athena and Rozen still love me without a face? With one last desperate gasp he found purchase against the scaly hide around his head and yanked it free. It released with a shriek and Wyatt flung it aside and hastily scrambled to his feet.

  He wiped at his face and stared at the creature that crouched in the grass, staring back with beady black eyes. It sauntered slowly forward, moving like a small chimpanzee. Its head was round and split by a wide mouth crowded with razor sharp teeth. It seemed to be smiling, but Wyatt wasn’t sure if it was a friend or a meal that made it grin. A looping and pointed tail swished from side to side as it approached and tiny clawed fingers flexed in each hand. Its rough scales were a mural of browns, greens, and blues, creating an eerie mirage in the grass as it stalked Wyatt.

  Not more than a few paces away the lizard monkey crouched on its hare-like legs and sprang forward with lightning quickness. Wyatt had hardly the time to scream and no time to flee before the shrieking creature cleared the gap and latched tightly to his leg. Wyatt floundered against the air and descended roughly onto his back. He shook his leg and screamed bloody murder.

  “Ah, help, help,” he bellowed. “It’s a lizard monkey! Get it off, oh, it’s eating me. Ah!”

  He had squeezed his eyes shut, but further laughter from his compatriots forced them open. Four heads stared down at him, all split with smiles and clad in mirthful tears. Wyatt slowed his kicking and frowned at his friends.

  “I think he likes you,” Zuel said.

  Zendel wiped away a stream of tears with the back of his veined hand. “About time the little beastie took to someone.”

  “Don’t fret, Master,” Mareck said. “He won’t eat you. He wants to be friends.”

  Gareck was laughing too hard to offer his interpretation of the event. Wyatt frowned again and sat upright. He eyed the creature coiled around his left calf. It wasn’t biting or rending his flesh with sharp claws like he thought. It was… hugging him. The lizard monkey’s head twisted and looked up at Wyatt. Beady eyes shimmered and a crude smile bled beneath flat nostrils. It let out a shrill chirp, loosely resembling a dove’s coo, and squeezed tighter against Wyatt’s leg.

  “What is it and why is it humping my leg?” he said, not daring to take his eyes off the strange creature.

  “That, young Master,” said Zendel, “is a bog imp.”

  “A bog… imp?”

  “Yes, a bog imp,” Zuel said with a raspy chuckle. “And a particularly incorrigible one at that. We’re taking the nasty little beastie to the Dunes. They have great value in the sands, seeking out water as they do, but this one’s been a right pain in the arse ever since we left the bog. Refuses to take any commands. Seems to have taken to you, however.”

  “Uh, how do I make it get off me?” Wyatt stammered and gave his leg a loose shake. The imp clung tighter and chirped again. Its head was remarkably round. Wyatt could not distinguish ears, only a small hole at each temple.

  “Well, the imps are intelligent little creatures. They understand most every language, though how is beyond me. Some say it’s not the words themselves they hear, but their meaning, some sort of intuition, if you will. But, this particular bogger isn’t too keen on listening at all. Hence the small cage, only thing that can keep it in place.”

  “Maybe, it would listen to you, young Master,” Mareck offered encouragingly.

  “Uh, me?”

  “Sure, give it a try, Master,” Zuel said. “If it doesn’t respond to a Druid, then there is little value to the snarky thing anyway. I am afraid I won’t get naught but a single scorpion for it.”

  “A shame,” Zendel agreed.

  Wyatt stared down at the imp. He tried to rein in his throbbing heart and panicked breath, for the strange creature certainly did not seem to be interested in devouring him anymore than it wanted to let go. It clung tightly and continued to emit its odd cooing chirps. Even its tail was curled about Wyatt’s ankle, the scales cool and rough against his sweaty skin where his linen wraps didn’t cover.

  “What’s its name?”

  Wyatt could see Zuel shrug from the corner of his eye. “It’s an imp. It doesn’t have a name. I’m partial to calling it dumb beastie, but call it as you like, Master.”

  Wyatt thought a moment, rummaging through names and words, twisting, fracturing, and rejoining them in his mind, all while watching the imp hug his leg. What a strange creature, he thought, and then he had it.

  He stared intently at the imp’s beady black eyes as he spoke. He wanted to ensure it knew he was addressing it. “Uh, Mr. Bog Imp, um, I, uh… name you Grenleck, Gren for short. He’s my favorite character in my favorite comic. A wizard and uh…” The imp cocked its head to side. “Now, Gren, can you please get off my leg?”

  Grenleck cocked his round head to the other side and remained still a moment as if pondering the request. At last, it slowly released its arms, legs, and tail from Wyatt’s leg and stepped back into the grass, still grinning at Wyatt. It was a terrifyi
ngly creepy expression, something of Halloween and horror movies, but Wyatt returned the smile. He leapt victoriously to his feet.

  “He listened to me,” he shouted and thrust a fist into the air and gave a short jump. Grenleck shrieked and did the same, a tiny balled fist raised above his scaly head. Wyatt turned to Zuel and beamed. “I guess it takes a Druid to do a Glefan’s job.”

  Zuel gave a curt bow and clasped his spindly hands together. “Very good, young Master. It is not just wind that you command, but the incorrigible beasts of the bog. Very good.”

  Zendel placed a hand of Zuel’s shoulder, his blue eyes radiating in the dim orange glow. “Perhaps, we can offload our burden. You said yourself we would get naught for the insipid creature and it would only serve to drive us mad on our long journey.”

  Wyatt didn’t let Zuel answer. “Oh, yes! Let me keep him. Oh, he’d make a great little pet. It’s not quite the same as a dog or a cat, but just look how… how cute he is!” Wyatt’s face hurt from the wide grin plastered there and he turned to look at Grenleck who chirped excitedly in response and began to bounce in place. He was an eerily adorable creature and Wyatt found himself radically attached to the obviously mischievous thing now that he knew he was not likely to carve off a piece of Wyatt’s face.

  “Very well,” Zuel said with a laugh. “But, I cannot give the imp away freely. That makes for bad business, regardless of how little value the little miscreant may hold. It is surely more than naught.”

  “But, I don’t have any scorpions to give,” Wyatt said, his mood deflating slightly.

  “Ah, don’t you worry,” Gareck interjected and shouldered in between the two. “I am certain we can work something out. We brought along plenty of trade goods because you never know who you might meet.”

  “Aye, Dear,” Mareck chimed in. “Perhaps some fresh grub cakes or a bit of raw crystal.”

  Wyatt looked eagerly from Zuel to the Children and down to Grenleck who wandered to Wyatt’s side and placed a tiny clawed hand against his knee.

  Zuel smiled and nodded sharply. “Certainly, dear friends, some acceptable exchange can be made. Master, the imp is yours.”

  “Good luck,” Zendel added with a soft laugh.

  Wyatt beamed and nearly fell over as Grenleck seized his leg and scaled his body in the span of a heartbeat, coming to rest on his shoulder. A slim arm slid around the back of Wyatt’s head and the imp sat upon his backside, swishing his tail against Wyatt’s back.

  The group returned to their crates and Wyatt alighted on the ground. Zuel passed the small bundle they had been sharing. The sticky substance reminded him of tree sap and tasted of flowers and grass. It was pleasant, but Wyatt quickly passed it on. Grenleck seized his wrist and hungrily licked the sticky substance off his fingers with a long, rough tongue, smacking his wide lips noisily with each draw. Wyatt giggled at the tiny creature seemingly gnawing at his fingers. In a matter of moments his hand was entirely clean. He smiled and patted Grenleck on the head. Grenleck cooed and returned to Wyatt’s shoulder.

  The Glefans and Children were exchanging various pieces of news from around the realms. It was clear that the Children dealt not only in goods, but also in gossip, but little of it made any sense to Wyatt. Harvest counts and slave numbers meant nothing to him and he didn’t much care who Fairut the baker had bedded, nor did it matter to him that the value of carrots had risen due to drought across the sea. A young Glefan had been slain by Gazarian hunters along some border, but that did little to pique his interest either.

  Soon he grew bored and returned to pacing the wood line with Grenleck happily clinging to the side of his head. At first, he sought to catch a glimpse of the missing Draygan, but quickly found himself searching the outskirts of the forest for a proper weapon instead. Rozen had her bow, daggers, and spear. The Children had their mighty diggers, and he had seen vicious leather whips attached to the belt of each Glefan, razor sharp blades at each tip. He needed something to defend himself as well. Sure, he was a Druid, a mighty Druid even, but he couldn’t count on his mysterious power to always manifest at the right time. He had no idea how he had summoned the roots or the wind. It had just happened. Besides, every good adventurer carried a trusted weapon.

  The forest floor was remarkably clean and clear of any fallen limbs. Only the dark blue carpet of moss was to be seen and it crept up every trunk of every tree. He couldn’t even locate a loose stone or rotted stick.

  “I really want a wand,” he said. “Or maybe a staff. Yeah, that’s what I need, a Druid’s staff.”

  Grenleck chirped.

  “I don’t see any sticks either, Gren,” Wyatt said, inferring meaning from the imp’s strange speech. “Zuel said you’re good at finding water. How about finding a good staff for me to fight with?”

  The bog imp chirped and leapt to the ground, racing away from Wyatt on all fours, much as a rabbit escapes a fox. The small creature leapt into the back of the Glefans’ cart, amid the assorted piles of goods. Wyatt excitedly hurried to follow the diminutive beast.

  “Hey,” shouted Zuel. “What are you and that wretched thing doing in my cart?”

  “Gren’s going to find me a fighting staff,” Wyatt spewed in delight.

  Before Zuel could offer a response, the imp sprung from the bowels of the cart, scattering goods in all directions and dragging a short wooden stick behind him. He shrieked and chirped sharply as he pulled the stick over crates and bundles and slid it over the edge.

  “You incorrigible bogger!”

  Grenleck stood tall and chirped at Zuel as if to say ‘Na-na na-na-na.’

  Wyatt picked up the mottled piece of wood up and examined it. It was little more than a thick cane, waist high, with a knob on one end.

  “Well, it’s not much of a staff, but it may just do.”

  He grasped the base in one hand and placed his other in the middle, transforming it into a cudgel. He spun and struck out at phantom figures, testing the weight and feel. Grenleck jumped excitedly and clapped his clawed hands together. Zuel was less amused. He rose and placed his face level with the imp, who was perched on the low cart wall.

  “You listen here, imp, you can’t be going in my-”

  Grenleck cut the Glefan off with a quick slap to the face. The tiny claws raked thin scratches across Zuel’s pale skin and lodged his words firmly in his throat. He reared back, a wicked scowl across his face, and raised a clenched fist, but stopped as raucous laughter poured from his companions. It started with Gareck, as it often did, and quickly rippled to the others until the entire group was baying like a pack of tickled mules. Grenleck cackled and jumped up and down, very pleased with himself. Zuel fixed the group with his red eyes, but soon relinquished his anger and let slip a muddled laugh. He shook a finger at Grenleck and another at Wyatt, but said nothing; he merely smiled and returned to his seat, rubbing his cheek.

  “Bested by a bog imp,” Gareck crowed.

  “Laugh now, if you like, Gareck, but that beast travels with you.”

  Gareck shrugged. “Aye, we like a bit of adventure, what’s a bit more?”

  “Aye, Dear, the more the merrier,” Mareck remarked.

  “For your sake, I hope you’re right.” Zuel looked up and studied the canopy a moment. “Well, we best be on our way, we had hoped to make Métra by nightfall, and it’s well past midday now, best pack it up, Zendel.”

  Wyatt continued to twirl about with his new weapon and Grenleck took to dancing around with him as the Glefans set their cart back in order and the Children said their farewells. Gareck and Mareck handed over a jar of molasses and a chunk of raw amethyst as payment for Grenleck and a small bundle of raspberry biscuits for the cudgel. The round Children seized the slender Glefans in tight hugs and waved as the overladen cart trundled away, dragged by the four human slaves.

  “We best be on our way as well, don’t you think, Master Wyatt?” Gareck said when the cart had faded into the distant shadows.

  Wyatt scrunched his face and stared i
nto the canopy, searching for some glimpse of the sky beyond the veil. Zuel had remarked that it was past midday, but Wyatt found that curious. It can’t be past noon already. Even time is strange here, he thought.

  “What are you looking for?”

  The words split the air and sent Wyatt reeling. Rozen stood at his side, grinning, hood against the back of her shoulders and vibrant fire braid running between her shoulder blades. Her eyes flicked over Wyatt as he fought for composure.

  “Where have you been? You’re like a shadow. Warn a guy why don’t ya?” he said as he nervously twirled his weapon.

  Rozen shrugged and shifted the pack slung over her shoulder. “What are you expecting to fight with that thing?” she said and pointed her spear tip at Wyatt’s cudgel.

  Wyatt frowned, adopted a crouch and brandished the short club. Rozen laughed and brushed past him, resuming her solitary march along the shadowy forest path.

  “That imp would make a better weapon, perhaps you should fasten him to the end of your stick,” she called over her shoulder.

  Wyatt examined the wooden cudgel and looked after the heavily armed Draygan. Grenleck chirped at his side and pointed after Rozen.

  “Don’t worry, Gren. I wouldn’t do that. Though we do have to do something about this. A mighty Druid needs a mighty weapon,” he said as he walked after the dark warrior. Grenleck chirped and scaled his back to perch on his shoulder.

  Mareck and Gareck shouldered their packs and followed closely behind Wyatt and his new friend. The group marched in loose formation, each in their own conversations; Gareck with Mareck, Wyatt with Grenleck, and Rozen with the shadows. Every step was the same as the last. The Shadow Forest looked the same no matter where Wyatt turned and at times he felt as if he were traveling on a slowly turning treadmill, expending energy, but gaining little ground. Time continued to twist and warp before him. He couldn’t grasp how long they had walked, but at some point, Rozen stopped ahead of the group. Her brilliant eyes could not hide her fatigue and weariness.