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

by Michael J Sanford

  The scarred Regent approached slowly, his gray eyes narrowed, a snarl wrapped around his lips. Wyatt glanced at him only a moment for it was another Regent that caught his attention. Two Regents flanked the leader, each with a pair of menacing spears, but the fourth hung further back and lacked weapons. His top hands were joined together in front of his chest while his bottom arms were outstretched, palms turned skyward. His hair was pulled back into a pony tail, high and tight. His eyes were closed, but it was his skin that displayed the starkest contrast to that of his companions. Deep red scars ran over every inch of skin Wyatt could see, painting an intricate pattern of shapes and symbols. They plagued his face, tiny and detailed and flowed into a massive tapestry across his arms and torso. His pants were torn at mid-thigh and his legs were towers of twisted flesh, corrupted more than not. Shaman, Wyatt knew at once and his eyes flitted to the shadowy demons clutching at his arms. Now I know why Rozen was so scared…

  “A human Druid,” said the leader, his long scar twitching in disgust. “The Draygan travels with a Druid. A rare pet to keep. I thought we had… dealt with your kind long ago.”

  Wyatt locked eyes with the brute and pulled at his bonds to no avail. The whisper had left him. He felt powerless and weak, but he wasn’t about to let the Regent know that. Every other creature he had faced thus far cowered at his power. “That’s right! I am a Druid. Let me go and I might spare your lives.” The words came out cracking and desperate.

  The leader scowled and raised a spear. “Go on then, Druid. Call to your Mother and slay us where we stand. Show us your great power.”

  Wyatt’s eyes went to the spear tip and winced as the shadow creatures tightened their wispy grip and pulled tighter, crucifying Wyatt in the air. He struggled to breathe, managing only small gulps. He looked at the surrounding forest, silently begging the trees to ensnare the Regents. He looked to the ground and sought to drive forth a bramble of roots. His mind went to the air around him, remembering how easy it had been to conjure a gale. The forest remained silent to his requests.

  The leader tilted his head and frowned as Wyatt struggled against his bonds and stared intently around the forest. “Enough, Druid. Will you give us the Draygan you harbor?”

  Wyatt found the gray eyes again. “I… I…” Even speaking was difficult tethered the way he was. He could not force any air into his lungs. “No,” he said finally.

  It came as a whisper, but the Regent reared, the insolence striking like a punch. “Very well, Druid. We have slain thousands of your kind. What is one more?”

  Again, the spear point flashed in the orange light, its blade piercing the air behind the great power of the four-armed Regent. Wyatt didn’t close his eyes this time, not for lack of desire, but for fear. Why did I say ‘no’?

  The Regent grunted and dropped the spear just before it graced Wyatt’s chest. He stumbled to one knee, his four wide hands grasping at the blue feathered arrow protruding from his taut neck. The dark shaft stood stark against the pale skin, now running red. The arrow did not kill the Regent, its shaft was too narrow and the Regent too strong. The daggers, however, cleaved his gray irises neatly in two and sent the Regent to an eternal rest atop the soft blue moss.

  Rozen wrenched the black blades free in a spray of crimson and crouched, hissing at the remaining Regents, her back to Wyatt. Her long fingers wrapped strongly about the bone handles of her wickedly edged and curved daggers, each held in a different direction. She waved them slowly in front of her, daring the Regents to act.

  Their leader had fallen so quickly that they had little time to act, but now they shouted and raised their spears. The branded Shaman remained unfazed and the shadowy demons still clutched at Wyatt’s arms.

  “Uh, Rozen,” Wyatt said, gasping.

  The dark warrior turned her head enough to catch him with a single golden eye. Her hood lay slack and her fire braid trailed behind her. Wyatt managed a nod toward the Shaman. Rozen gave no response, but to whirl and charge at the Regent on the right.

  She spun, her vibrant braid trailing behind her as she narrowly avoided the first spear thrust. The second came and she fell to her knees. The spear grazed the top of her head and the Draygan shot her hand at it. The curved blade of her dagger was held along her forearm and split the spear shaft behind the tip, sending the metal blade twirling into the shadows.

  The Regent grunted, dropped the broken spear and sent Rozen sprawling with a front kick. She grunted at the strike, tumbled and rose into a crouch. The second Regent joined his comrade and they slowly fanned out, trying to surround the crouching warrior. A spear flashed at her, but she spun deftly around a trunk, appearing on the other side, daggers flashing in each hand. One of the Regents recoiled and clutched at his upper arm. A wide swatch of blood ran from a deep cut. He snarled and twisted, sending a spear point after the Draygan, but Rozen danced nimbly away, circling around another tree.

  She flashed in and out of sight as the Regents, with their long spears, sought to impale her. Rozen kept a dark tree between her and the Regents, spinning in circles and lashing out in blinding flashes of speed. In a matter of moments, the Regents were shroud in blood, recoiling from Rozen’s attacks. One held a single spear and the other had naught but a broken shaft. They cursed and spat as the Draygan continued to dance among the trunks.

  The Regents pressed against each other, their eyes darting anxiously from trunk to trunk. The Shaman remained away from the battle, entombed in whatever wicked ceremony had conjured the shadow beasts at Wyatt’s arms. His limbs had long gone numb and each breath brought less air than the last.

  The Regents pulled back their attack and awaited Rozen’s advance. She danced about the trees, but soon gave them what they expected. She charged straight at the pair of bleeding titans, teeth bared and blades flashing. She feigned to the right, narrowly avoiding a spear tip, and lunged at the Regent who clutched the empty shaft. Her speed and weight drove him off his feet and her dagger found his throat before they met the ground. The Regent gargled noisily as Rozen rolled to the side. She nearly made it upright, but a spear point found her cloak, pinning her to the ground. She pulled sharply, brandishing her daggers, but a kick sent them flying from her hands. Another caught her beneath the chin and sent her into the thick trunk of a nearby tree, her cloak ripping as her lean body flew through the air. The Regent freed his spear and thrust again just as Rozen was rising. She hissed in fury as the blade pierced her upper chest, just below the collar bone and pinned her to the tree.

  Wyatt shouted, or tried to; nothing came but a hoarse gasp. Madness filled him as he watched a thin line of red run along the spear’s shaft. He strained and shook against the shadow creatures.

  Rozen snapped her teeth angrily, but her face was awash in pain. The Regent twisted the spear as he leaned in, grasping Rozen around the throat with a meaty hand while his others leaned against the trunk. Rozen wriggled, but winced at the pain. The spear point held her torso and the Regent held her head. She had no choice but to look into his blue eyes.

  “The Lord Regent has been looking for you, Prince Slayer, and he cares not whether I bring all of you back or just your head.” He grinned wickedly and ran his nose along Rozen’s cheek, breathing deeply.

  The Regent tightened his grip and Wyatt watched as Rozen’s mouth shot open in a pained gasp and her eyes went wide in horror. He wanted to close his eyes, wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

  Rozen’s eyes began to roll up in her head and she thrashed her arms and legs, clawing at the Regents muscled arm, but did little to loosen his grip. She’s going to die, Wyatt thought. My dark angel, she’s going to die.

  Deep in the forest a flash of movement caught Wyatt’s attention. He jerked his eyes away from Rozen and studied the shadows. Again, a flash of movement, silent, but there all the same. Could it be?

  The soft moss muffled their footfalls and the shadows disguised their hulking forms, but as Mareck swung her heavy hammer she and her counterpart let out a blood curd
ling shout that shook the forest and seemed to dispel even the shadows.

  “DDDDDDIIIIIIIIIIIIIGGG.”

  Mareck’s digger impacted the side of the Shaman’s knee with such force that bone fragments burst from the opposite side, closely trailed by a spray of red. The Shaman collapsed upon the broken limb, steadying his fall with his four arms, but before he could move again Gareck’s hammer fell upon the crown of his head, spike first. It split the golden clad scalp like a watermelon and sent bits of brain, bone, and blood in all directions. The heavy spike didn’t stop until it had plunged deep into the Shaman’s neck.

  The shadow creatures faded and were carried away on the breeze. Wyatt fell with a startled yell, falling to his hands and knees upon the forest’s carpet, his hand finding his cudgel. Immediately the strange whisper returned, boiling within him, raging for release. The Regent holding Rozen looked first at the Children, covered in blood and bits of bone and brain, and then to Wyatt who was already charging at him.

  “WYYYY-AHHHHHHH,” he bellowed with all the rage he could summon.

  The Regent loosened his grip around Rozen’s neck and turned to face the charging Druid. Wyatt swung his weapon with all his muster, slamming the thick knot of wood against the Regent’s thick ribs. The towering creature didn’t flinch. Wyatt growled and gathered himself for another strike when the Regent lashed out, backhanding him across the face. His nose exploded in pain and he tasted blood as he fell to the ground.

  The Regent turned from Rozen and took a step toward Wyatt who was scrambling to his feet and readying for another attack. A thin sneer split the Regents face and a sinister look of hatred flashed across blue eyes, but he said nothing. He stepped into a kick, forcing Wyatt to stumble away, just narrowly missing the attack. He fell, rolled and climbed to one knee.

  “Let her go,” he said through clenched teeth. He could feel his heart thundering in his ears, but the whisper was there too, chanting.

  The Regent laughed. “I know not from where you came, Druid, but give my regards to the Mother.”

  Wyatt dove to avoid the Regent’s stomp, stumbled, fell, and bounced to his feet, rising a few strides away. The Regent grunted and advanced again. Wyatt braced his body and let his mind wander to the whisper. The words were ever shrouded, but the power was there, the energy, the life. He seized it, instinctively speaking to it. The whisper flowed through him like a peaceful stream, then like the raging Torrents. He sent it into the diminutive cudgel as the Regent charged.

  His hands remained iron-like as the wood split and shifted. The thick knot twisted and blossomed into a thick nest of wicked thorns. The shaft stretched and split into a tight tangle of dark vines. They pressed against one another as they grew into a sharp point. Small green leaves and yellow blossoms sprouted from the gnarled length. It pulsed with energy and yearned for blood. As the Regent stumbled to a stop Wyatt sprang.

  The sharp tip of the staff tore into flesh and muscle as if it were passing through smoke. The Regent doubled over and seized the staff with all four thick hands, his eyes jumping with anger and something else… Wyatt leaned into the staff, driving it deeper into the snarling Regent.

  “I. Said. Leave. Her. Alone.” Wyatt punctuated the statement by twisting the staff and growling like a caged beast.

  The Regent reared back, tearing the staff from Wyatt’s hand and bearing down on it with vicious strength. Sinew and muscle bulged beneath pale skin as the towering giant shattered the staff with a deep howl. Wyatt fell back and watched as the Regent tossed the broken thorn staff to the ground. The tip was still lodged deep in his belly, but the creature seemed only enraged by the assault, not broken.

  “I will take her,” he said, spitting blood. “And I will take your head as well, Druid. Mighty, mighty Druid,” the Regent sang, his chin awash in blood. “And I think I’ll let you watch.”

  Wyatt clambered to his knees. “No,” he shouted. “Leave her alone!”

  A wicked smile crossed beneath cold blue eyes. “I’ll let you watch as I take her… and as I kill her.”

  Wyatt’s eyes jumped from the Regent to Rozen’s silent form, fixed to a shadow tree, suspended by a giant spear. At once the whisper returned, but it was no longer whispering. It was shouting. And so was Wyatt. From deep in his lungs he shouted, grasping at the blue moss with both hands as his eyes went to gnarled staff tip.

  The Regent turned toward Rozen, a hand at his groin, but was stopped as the wooden tip shifted and moved within his flesh. Four meaty hands grabbed at his stomach as Wyatt yelled louder, tears springing to his eyes. His entire body was twitching and convulsing, but his eyes never wavered and neither did the whisper.

  The Regent clawed at the piece of timber, a growing sense of panic showing on his face. It shifted and shook at first, then began to swell. Long tendrils of dark green slid from the bleeding wound, clawing at pale flesh. The Regent howled in horror and tore at the offending vines, but for every one he severed two more took its place. In a matter of moments, his entire torso was wrapped in sinewy green vines. They coiled around his thick legs and snapped at his hands, seizing them with otherworldly strength. Thick shoots erupted from the creature’s groin and Wyatt drove them deep into the ground, rooting him in place. All four of the Regent’s arms were lashed to his chest and still the vines crept, twisting, contorting, shifting from green to brown as they grew rigid.

  Wyatt drove them upward, grasping for the Regent’s neck. His eyes found the blue ones, wide, but unapologetic, and with a howl, sent sharp spikes through them. A sickening pop split the air as the thick vines grew and twisted within the Regent’s skull, tearing it asunder and growing ever skyward. When the whisper finally left Wyatt and the forest fell silent, all that was left of the once mighty Regent was a trail of crimson flowing over the rough bark of a stunted shadow tree. He fell exhausted to the soft moss, sucking at the cool air and forcing his heart to beat again. His body was failing, but his mind was alive with one thought. Rozen!

  Gareck and Mareck were already at her side and were freeing the giant spear from her shoulder. They laid her down at the base of the tree, her head propped up against its moss-covered trunk. Wyatt stumbled and fell at her side, grasping for her hand. He expected her to resist, but his trembling hand found hers, slender and weak. Blood poured from the gaping wound and her eyes flickered erratically. Mareck pulled free a clump of moss and thrust it into the wound. Rozen shut her eyes and turned away.

  “Is she going to be OK?” Wyatt said with a panicked gasp. His free hand wiped nervously at his brow. His face was slick with blood.

  Gareck pressed tightly against Rozen’s shoulder, but blood had already seeped through the moss and was flowing from beneath his webbed hands. Gareck looked to Wyatt, but said nothing. For once Wyatt had no difficulty in deciphering his meaning. She’s dying.

  Wyatt sat back on his heels and began to pant loudly. Panic and fear clouded his mind and he rocked back and forth, never pulling his eyes from her. No, she can’t die. Not like this. She saved me. She saved me. His mind raced for a moment, but then slowly spun to a halt. I have to save her, he thought and pushed in front of Gareck. The large Child resisted, but Wyatt shot him a glance that forced him back. The ragged wound pulsed as Gareck’s wide hands left it. The mottled moss could not staunch the flow.

  Wyatt pulled free another handful of the blue moss and placed it over the wound. Then he whispered. He could feel his lips tremble as his thoughts went to the moss and then to Rozen. He placed both hands over the moss and the wound, gently caressing the soft moss and sinewy warrior beneath. He whispered to the moss, tugging at each fiber with his thoughts, guided only by the tempest of emotion swirling within. He sought out each strand and pulled it down into Rozen’s tattered chest. He spoke softly to her body, seeking out her muscle, veins, and bone. He could sense every inch of her body and spoke to each part in turn. The blue moss rippled beneath his hands and began to grow, not outward toward the sky, but inward, creeping into the wound. Wyatt whispered an
d directed each and every strand. They stood out vibrantly in his mind and he guided them around muscle and bone with sick desperation and eerie instinct.

  Rozen twitched and her back arched as Wyatt urged the moss deeper. He pulled at the ground and the very tree against which she lay. He whispered to the wood and the soil, drawing them into her. The tree let out a groan, a deep creak, and shifted. Roots burrowed into the wound at Rozen’s back, seeking the soft moss on the other side. Wyatt could see it all in his mind and he played at each piece with his desire. Rozen groaned as the wood and moss snaked within her, pulling at her flesh and fusing to her bone. The void left by the spearhead soon filled with a twisting mass of the world, completing the dark warrior. Wyatt let his mind fall silent. It is done, he thought as the world faded to black.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  THEY TRAVELED WITHOUT ceasing, in the shadows, near the wide grassy path, but did not allow their feet to flatten a single blade. Twice a noisy caravan approached and the group would stop and huddle in strained silence until it passed. No one dared even breathe in those moments.

  Leaving the Shadow Forest, they traveled west, seeking to put as much distance between themselves and the roadway as possible. The terrain turned rocky and uneven, making progress slow. They took turns carrying the crude stretcher, but the weight, combined with the terrain, began to wear on shoulders and weaken grips. Wyatt hardly noticed, his mind swam and his eyes seldom left Rozen’s still form, sandwiched between their packs and weapons. Grenleck ran excitedly ahead of them, chirping wildly and dancing up the stunted trees that sprouted from stone and soil. They were dwarfs to the mighty shadow trees they had left behind. The stone trees could offer no shelter or protection and the red sun beat their brows during the day while the cold wind chilled their bones at night.