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

by Michael J Sanford

  At first, he thought it was the Mother’s whisper that ran between his ears, but the words were far too clear. She’s dead, it said. His heart faltered and his breath froze in his chest, high and tight. He had thought it vanished, but in the quiet still of the night the taunting returned. She’s dead. She’s dead.

  His stomach turned uneasily, shifting the mountain of strange food within. He squirmed off the bed and went to the balcony, seeking distraction and fresh air. The fog was thick across the bog and the enormity of the day’s events quickly overwhelmed Wyatt. He slumped against the stone railing and wept. Tears flowed free down his cheeks and he took to loud sobbing, wrenching and guttural noises of despair. I’m just a fifteen-year-old kid with no family. I can’t do this. She’s dead. His body pitched and heaved with each desperate sob.

  “Are you crying?”

  The voice split the air and set Wyatt upright. He whirled around, but was greeted with only an empty room. “Oh, I am crazy,” he whispered aloud.

  He stood motionless, silently wiping at the phlegm running from his nose, waiting for the voice to call out again, but it didn’t. Only the sputtering of the torches and distant calling of the bog beasts invaded his sorrowful haze.

  He returned to the railing and leaned his head over the precipice. I could jump, he thought suddenly, staring at the jagged stone that lined the base of the keep two hundred feet below. Would it hurt? Would anyone miss me? Would I see her again?

  Something small and hard struck the top of his head. “Ow,” he shouted, rubbing at the spot and twisting his head skyward.

  “Stop your blubbering,” called the dark shape from high atop the keep, nestled between merlons, another hundred feet above Wyatt’s balcony. “You’re a mighty Druid. Act like it.”

  Another stone fell out of the night sky and caught Wyatt in the forehead, sending him to his knees.

  “Oho,” came another voice. “Don’t be denting the poor Master’s head. He might need it.”

  “Aye, how’s the young Druid to lead us with holes in his head? Tsk tsk.”

  Wyatt rubbed the lumps that were already forming and dashed from his room, his tears forgotten and the voice silent. He found the twisting staircase and took the steps two at a time. He was gasping for breath and slick with sweat when he emerged onto the roof.

  Rozen, Mareck, and Gareck all turned to face him, each with a giant smile plastered on their faces. A sharp chirp cut the night air and, to Wyatt’s surprise, Grenleck darted from behind Gareck’s thick legs and ran at him.

  “Gren,” Wyatt shouted as the imp leapt and scrambled to his shoulder perch. “Where have you been?”

  The imp chortled excitedly. “He just showed up in the lower keep,” Gareck said with a shrug. “Seems these Astronian fellows can understand some of what he says and they brought him to our quarters.”

  “Well, I sure am glad to see you, Gren,” Wyatt said as he crossed to his friends and leaned against the battlements. “I thought a toad might have swallowed you.” The imp chortled and slapped playfully at Wyatt’s temple. He brushed off the attack and turned to his party. My family.

  The Children were both shirtless, clad in matching green satin pants, but Rozen was covered head to toe in dark leather armor. She swung her legs around to face the inner roof.

  “Nice armor,” Wyatt said.

  Rozen grinned. “The Astronians left it for me in my room after the festival,” she said flexing her hands. Thick leather pads covered her legs and torso, and rigid plates garnered her forearms, stitched into thick, fingerless gloves that ran to her elbow. Her upper arms remained bare, the sinewy muscle showing brilliantly in the moonlight. Her hood was down and her braid ran free.

  “If you stare too long, your eyes will fall out,” Rozen said with a wicked grin and spun away from the group, dangling her long legs into the open air. As she turned, her flowing cloak caught the wind, twisted to the side and revealed six bone handled daggers lined in pairs against her lower back. Beautiful and deadly, Wyatt thought.

  “How come you guys are up here?” he said after composing himself.

  “Can’t sleep,” Gareck said.

  “Aye, something in the air tonight,” Mareck said. “Tsk tsk.”

  “They’re coming,” Rozen said without turning.

  “The Regency?” Wyatt asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, those ol’ four-armed beasties would have to bring a whole army to get at us here,” said Gareck.

  “Aye, Dear, have you ever seen such a fortress?”

  “Certainly not, Darling. And they are so many warriors here as well.” Gareck turned to Rozen. “You’re not worried are you, Rozen? The Master here will watch over us.”

  Rozen didn’t turn, but Wyatt could see the sharp edges of her profile. “Will you, Master Wyatt? Keep us safe?”

  “Uh, well, of course,” he said. Liar, you can’t protect them, spat the voice. She’s dead.

  Rozen turned and locked eyes with him, hers blazing brilliant and golden, his dull and pooled in doubt. “Will you protect me, Wyatt? Do you promise?”

  Her tone was stone serious and rigid. It made Wyatt nervous, but he said, “Yes. Don’t you trust me?”

  Rozen held his gaze and raised a hand to her shoulder. Wyatt knew she was fingering the knot of roots that grew underneath her armor. “Yes,” she said without flinching.

  “Oh, Dear,” Mareck said suddenly. “What was that?”

  Grenleck shrieked and shifted on Wyatt’s shoulder. Another rumble split the calm air.

  “Can’t be thunder,” Mareck said, turning to the sky. “The season has not yet shifted.”

  “Oh, Darling… I believe that was my stomach,” Gareck said with an apologetic shrug.

  Mareck grinned. “Aye, mine is a tad unsettled as well. Perhaps we can wander down to the kitchens and find something to… settle it.”

  “Just so, Darling.” Gareck turned to Wyatt and gave a shallow bow. “Pardon us, Master. We shall see you on the morrow.”

  Wyatt shrugged, but the two round Children had already waddled off and quickly disappeared into the stairwell. Grenleck chirped excitedly from Wyatt’s shoulder and pointed after the Children. Wyatt sighed and rolled his eyes.

  “Go ahead, Gren.”

  Grenleck chortled and raced after the Children, his slender tail snaking behind him. His excited chirps echoed from the stairwell for several moments after the imp had vanished from sight.

  “Do you want to practice?” Wyatt said, leaning against the crenel at Rozen’s side.

  “They are coming. And they always will.”

  “I’m not worried,” he said and jumped to sit beside her. He kept his legs facing the inner keep, his face opposing hers.

  “You lie,” she said without turning.

  She knows. “I’m not scared… I just… I’m not sure what to do.”

  “The Mother has led you here.”

  “Yeah, but now I don’t know. I thought we’d gather a huge army. Why won’t anyone help us? The Children just want to sit in their hole, even after the Regency killed hundreds of them. And the Astronians seem perfectly content to live in their giant castle and pay homage to the Regency whenever asked. I don’t get it. Why won’t anyone fight? I don’t think I can do it on my own. I thought I was… special. But-”

  “You are special, that is for certain. But, you must understand. The Children are deeply spiritual, as are the Astronians. They do nothing without the Mother’s guidance.”

  “I thought only Druids could hear the Mother?”

  Rozen turned and arched her eyebrows. “And that’s the problem. They all wait for words that never come and so they bow to the Regency, paying in crops, riches, and women.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  “We?”

  “Aren’t we a team?”

  Rozen smiled. “Yes, I suppose we are. Do you hear the Mother’s voice here?”

  Wyatt thought for a moment and ran his hands over the cool gray stone of the
keep. “I think so. It’s quieter than usual, but it’s still there.”

  “What does she tell you?”

  “I… I can’t hear her words, I told you. It’s like I have to feel them and I…”

  “What do you feel?”

  Wyatt closed his eyes and turned his mind to the gentle whisper, softer than any breeze. “I feel… nothing… I mean… Yeah, I don’t feel anything.” He opened his eyes and found her watching him intently. “I think she wants us to wait.”

  “Then wait we will.”

  They sat in silence for a while, each facing opposite directions as the pale moons drifted slowly apart in the night sky. Wyatt turned his thoughts to the dancing voice in his head. It twisted and magnified. She’s dead, it shouted suddenly.

  Strong hands braced his back and pulled him upright. “What is the matter, Wyatt?”

  Wyatt whirled around and caught a glance of the precipice over which he had nearly fallen. He shook his head. She’s dead. She’s dead. He pressed his hands to his temples and tried to force it away.

  “Master?”

  “She’s dead,” he blurted. The voice subsided and fell to a taunting whisper.

  “Who has died?”

  Wyatt looked to her a moment. “My grandmother. Not here, on Earth. She’s dead.”

  “I am grieved for your loss. She was your only family, yes?”

  Wyatt nodded.

  “How is it that she died?”

  “She… She…” Wyatt’s stomach was churning and his mouth had gone dry, but Rozen’s piercing eyes were gentle and reassuring, however minutely. “She… she killed herself. And I… I forgot.”

  A heavy weight lifted from him as he said the words, but he hated himself all the same. Rozen said nothing, but nodded knowingly as if it was no secret to her and he supposed it wasn’t. If anyone knew pain, it was the Draygan. Suddenly, he felt ashamed. Surely his heartache was nothing compared to hers.

  “Sometimes I think that I will wake and see my mother and father. I forget they are gone and when I realize… it hurts all over again. Then I think of what they gave for me. My mother refused to leave the Prince’s service, knowing I was to replace her, and my father taught me to fight… and he paid his life for it. It would be shameful to cower after they gave so much.”

  Wyatt’s face relaxed and he massaged his jaw. “I guess you’re right.” The advice was sound, but the implementation would take some practice. He forced a smile. “Thanks.”

  Rozen returned the smile, her pointed teeth dazzling in the moonlight. “Your nose looks better,” she said.

  Wyatt laughed. She had changed the subject. Thank you. “Yeah, it doesn’t hurt much, but now I have this awful bump.” His fingers went to the bony ridge on the bridge of his broken nose and he suddenly had the urge to hide from her.

  Rozen pulled his hand away. “It makes you look… battle hardened. Your body shows of the wars you have fought.”

  What battles does your body show? He looked at her intently. Her strong features had softened somewhere along their journey.

  Something stirred within him. It was not a whisper or a voice, but some new urge. It forced him to lean toward her. He felt little power over the motion, but knew he wanted none. His eyes found hers for a moment before they closed and his lips pursed. I wonder what she tastes like, he wondered.

  Her lips were far colder and more rigid than he had expected, but he pressed into them nonetheless. They pressed into his, hard and metallic. That’s not right, he thought at once. He opened his eyes and found he was kissing the flat of a darkened blade. He leaned slowly back and the tip presented itself and pressed against his lower lip.

  “Druid or no,” Rozen said. “I will bleed you should you… do that again.”

  Wyatt shrugged and flashed his lopsided grin, trying to decide how much blood he was willing to spill.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “BALLS OF YOUR feet, Master. Yes, like that. Now pivot and thrust. Good. Now step and bring a quick downward strike.”

  Wyatt did as he was directed, but his feeble attack fell well short of the dancing Draygan. She spun and clubbed him on the shoulder with the wooden training blade. He turned and lunged forward, thrusting his blade at her belly. Wood struck wood and Rozen deftly disarmed him and spun, shooting a foot at his chest. His ribs collapsed and he was sent sprawling to the dust. He rose, defeated, but Rozen came at him again, a flash of dark armor and blade. The low sweeping cut took him in the back of the knees and sent him to the ground again.

  “Hey, no fair,” he shouted as he rolled and leapt to his feet. “I don’t have a sword.”

  “Tell that to the next Regent who seeks to taste your flesh.” Rozen sneered and circled, feigning another attack.

  Wyatt stumbled away, holding up his hands in surrender. Her lightning quick attack took him in the ribs. He doubled over, gasping for air.

  “Come, Master. Will you die so easily?”

  A small crowd had gathered along the edges of the training ring, sweating soldiers and passing Lords and Ladies. They packed tightly together, a rainbow of skin patterns and colors, giant eyes locked to the beating Rozen was handing Wyatt the Mighty.

  “No fair, you’re cheating,” he protested.

  “There is no fair or unfair in battle,” Rozen shouted. “It is life and death. Nothing else.”

  Wyatt crouched and faced his adversary, his fists held in front of him. He watched her circle, taunting, and saw more Astronians fill the crowd. A wall of eager spectators jostled for position. Some shouted encouragement to one side or the other and it looked as though some were taking wagers.

  “Wy-Ahhh,” he bellowed as he ran at the Draygan.

  Her wooden sword came crashing down on his forearm well before his punched touched flesh. He twisted and kicked haphazardly. Her leg rose to meet his and lifted it far higher than his flexibility allowed. He landed on his back with a sharp cry of pain, but managed to roll aside just as the blade came at his head. She’s trying to kill me, he thought. And with a wooden blade it was certain to be a slow and painful demise.

  Rozen had ceased giving advice, her face set in stone, her eyes unwavering and deadly. Wyatt scrambled to his feet and backed away. He tried to remember all the moonlit lessons they had shared. Keep your feet soft, your knees bent. Study your opponent’s movements, discover their tendencies and decipher their weaknesses. Find the opening and strike with purpose.

  Rozen held the blunted long sword in both hands, slashing at him with short and powerful strokes. He flailed and narrowly dodged a crosscut. Her two-handed grip restricts her range of movement and reach, he thought as he bounded away from her. Find the opening. It has to be there.

  Rozen came at him with an overhead strike. He lurched to the side, the blade clipping his shoulder. Her momentum forced her further ahead and Wyatt saw his opening. He stepped at her, close enough to remove the threat of the blade and struck out with his left palm. He felt the tough leather of her chest for a fleeting moment before she brought her arm up to meet his. She dropped the sword, he realized. Both hands now free, her left flashed in the morning light as the palm smashed against his mouth and nose.

  Pain and brilliant light blossomed from the strike and sent Wyatt to the ground in a puff of dust. Some in the crowd groaned while others let out victorious cheers. Wyatt rolled to his stomach and labored to his knees. His mouth spewed blood and he could feel his nose bleeding as well. He spat and glared at Rozen. The dark Draygan had danced a few strides away and fixed him with a firm stare. She held her hands out to her sides.

  “Do you yield, Master?” she taunted.

  “No,” he shouted through a mouthful of blood.

  His palms were in the dirt and he turned his mind to it as well. The crowd turned dumb as the ground trembled and a shoot of green burst forth at Wyatt’s side. It snaked skyward, twisting, thickening and darkening. Rozen’s eyes narrowed as Wyatt rose to his feet and grasped the staff he had called from the dust. He pulled it free
and brandished it, smiling wickedly. The wood continued to shift and stiffen, strong points forming at either end.

  Rozen crouched, at the ready, but made no move. Wyatt spat again and charged. Time to end this, he thought. He wasn’t certain of what occurred next. He thought to crush her skull, but he lost his newly conjured staff and found the crowd standing above him, looking down, some grinning, others shaking their heads. Wyatt shook his head and sat up. He looked around, dizzy and confused.

  Slowly the crowd dispersed and only Rozen was left, crouching before him, his staff laid across her thighs. He stared at her, but couldn’t formulate a coherent thought. She smiled wickedly and extended a hand. He took it and was jerked to his feet.

  “Remind me never to try and kiss you again,” he said.

  “I just did,” she said, tossing the staff aside and grinning.

  Wyatt nodded and tried to swallow his pride. “You know I could have turned you into a tree.”

  “I know,” Rozen said as they walked away from the training grounds.

  Wyatt rubbed his head and followed. He wasn’t sure if her words were genuine or not. I could have, he thought.

  The pair traipsed through the open keep doors to the lower city. Rozen’s steps were light and springy, while Wyatt was struggling amid the plethora of new aches and pains. I need another bath, he thought.

  The center street of Ouranos was bustling with activity beneath the red sun. Some were Astronians, but many others were strange creatures, journeying the road, traders most likely. Some trundled along with laden packs while others drew large carts and wagons. Some were pulled by humans, much as Zuel and Zendel’s had been, but others used strange pack beasts Wyatt could never have imagined.

  Some were distinctly reptilian in nature while others seemed little more than massive mounds of fur and hair. He was nearly bowled over as a team of horned horses shot by, dragging an overflowing wooden wagon, atop which sat a short creature with pointed ears and even taller spiked hair. He yelled something unintelligible as he shot past in a cloud of dust.