A servant entered, bearing a large goblet decorated with black gemstones on a silver tray. He walked up to him. “Sire,” the young man said, “the wine you—“
“OUT WITH YOU!” Dranl roared, swinging one arm towards him. The tray in the servant’s hands fell to the floor with a loud crash, wine spilling all across the floor and onto Dranl’s boots. Terrified, the servant hurriedly cleared the mess and ran out of the hall as fast as he could, not even stopping to stammer apologies. It made Dranl even more irritable.
Something felt off, but he just couldn’t figure out what it was.
He let out a frustrated breath. Maybe Calla could help him find out what was going on when she finally came back. He sat down heavily on the throne. Calla, his Calla—she had been gone for almost a week now. The palace felt colder and emptier in her absence. She became everything he wanted and needed, and more—even if he had cast a series of spells on her to maintain control of her. He propped his elbow on the arm of his chair and rested the side of his head on his hand.
Thinking about her usually made him feel better. Today it only made him feel worse.
“Where are you, Calla?” he asked aloud. Somewhere outside thunder started to rumble as if in reflection of his mood. He wanted her back badly.
—Then go find her yourself!—
Dranl jumped in his seat at the sound of the voice booming through his mind. “What the—“
—She is gone, forever since your overconfidence has led to your extreme carelessness.—
Dranl sat up straighter in his chair. That voice… “Impossible,” he snapped at the shadows, trying to ignore the sudden sense that those words were true. “The girl is mine forever!”
—She will not be returning to you. Deny it all you want, but I have sensed what has truly happened where you have not. The girl is no longer yours to control; another has found a way to break the hold you claimed to keep on her.—
He knew that voice, feeling the chill of fear that seeped through to his core. “That can’t be possible, Master,” he said loudly. “The spells were perfect, the demon well-controlled. My art was what put it there, and only my art can remove it again. No one else could possibly—“
—Young, blinded fool! Your personal desires have always been your undoing; every time you fail I must return to remind you of what you should be doing. I told you to kill the girl when you finally crossed paths with her, and your own selfishness has led to this latest failure.—
“She will not elude us forever. I will have her—“
—It seems you can no longer be entrusted with removing her. You decided to play a game by planting that demon in her, and you lost miserably. I cannot depend on you to stop her once and for all since you let yourself be easily distracted. Therefore I am sending someone else to you who will take over, while you continue your training. She, at least, can keep herself focused on the tasks I give her and push personal desires aside. I do not want that child learning of her full potential—I want her removed at all costs.—
There was another loud clap of thunder, and then everything fell silent again. Dranl sprang from his throne, cursing himself and every other living thing. His hold on Calla had been too strong for her to break away on her own. She had to have employed help somehow; or another Nymph had turned up to continue where the last one had left off.
Or someone else altogether, neither human nor enchanted creature, had stepped up to release her.
This last thought made him see red, as impossible and ridiculous as the idea sounded. Even a Nymph had little idea on how to break such spells, so how could some random person be able to do it?
An old memory faded in before his eyes. He could see a young boy with short white hair, not much older than himself, glaring at him with golden eyes as he received more and more new scars. Dranl had known that boy: he was a slave girl’s son, but somehow he was sensitive to magic. How many times had he been seen watching the mystics as they worked their spells of all kinds? He had been studying them carefully…
Dranl waved his hand in front of his eyes to clear it from his vision. That child died a long time ago in the wastes when his mother tried to escape with him in tow. There was no chance of him still being alive.
It was pointless asking questions he would never know the answers to. What mattered now was that he went and did something about it.
Only a few steps outside, he started barking orders to the captains standing around, human and Brilken alike. He didn’t care if they were doing other things at that moment. He wanted that girl found.
XVI
The Watcher
He placed two fingers on the side of Calla’s neck, holding his breath as he looked for some sign of life in her. He let out a sigh of relief when he felt the blood pulsing beneath her skin. From the way she had just dropped to the ground when he let go he thought she was gone forever, that the demon had managed to claim her life after all. Somehow she had been able to hold on.
He carefully lifted her up from the ground, cradling her against his chest as he straightened up. He tried not to lean over her as he carried her to one of the burnt-out buildings. He was still covered in blood from the monster that had been her mount—face, hair, everything—and didn’t want to have it dripping all over her. He would have to figure out how he was going to get it all off.
Calla was lucky to be alive. He had been lucky Dranl hadn’t sent anyone else, with or without her.
He set her down on the ground behind one blackened wall, pulling one of his shirts out of his bag and balling it up to cushion her head. He hissed through his teeth when he looked down at her clothes: a baggy rust-colored shirt and tight black leather pants with aged pieces of metal for armor. Without hesitation he started removing all of it, disgusted that Dranl would put her in something that was not just unattractive but also accentuated every curve in an unflattering way, especially around her chest.
That monster of a man lusted after her and didn’t care what scars his acts would leave on her.
He stopped for a moment to get some control over his bubbling anger; losing his temper over what had already happened wouldn’t do anyone any good now. He struggled to remove each plate—so many straps and buckles held them in place. Once he cast aside all the metal he carefully tugged off the shirt and cast it aside as well, leaving her in just a fitted, sleeveless shirt also of leather, the leather pants, and boots. But with the cold winds that blew through this area constantly she would be left chilled. He rummaged about through his bag until he found one of his spare long-sleeved shirts and quickly put it on her; the fabric wasn’t particularly heavy, but it would be just enough to keep her warm out here. He let his breath out slowly as he straightened up, running his fingers along her hair.
He stopped when he saw her neck. The skin had already turned purple from where he choked the demon out of her. It would take her a long time to heal from that if at all, time they didn’t have. He reached out his hands, holding them an inch away from the skin. He concentrated, reaching his energy out to the damaged flesh and using it to quicken her body’s healing process; the harder he focused the faster the bruising would heal. As he watched the mark on her skin rapidly changed colors, fading from purple to dull brown to just a light discoloration on her skin; the muscle beneath would be repairing itself at the same time.
After another minute he pulled his energy back and sat back on his heels. He couldn’t use any more of his power to repair the rest of the damage he had caused while trying to save her—he would eventually put too much of a strain on her body and could possibly do more harm than good. From here going forward she would have to heal on her own at a slower, more natural pace. He had done all he could.
He stared at her for another moment before he got up and headed back to the main road.
He went about among the other buildings gathering up whatever he could find that wasn’t too badly burnt or decayed to use as fuel, throwing it all in a pile in the middle of the road. As he worked he thought
over how he had managed to finally lure her out so he could get her, how he had targeted several key outposts along the border just to get Dranl’s attention. He knew the fool’s resources were stretched almost to breaking even without his efforts, which made the timing even better.
But was it too late for them all already?
He quickly lit the pile of broken beams and watched as the fire grew. He let it burn on its own for a few minutes before he went to collect the first segment of the demon horse’s remains. Its body had been virtually split into two more pieces where it had landed on the rock, so he grabbed the front half of it by its legs and dragged it along the ground towards the bonfire; it took a lot of effort to pick the thing up and toss it into the flames where it instantly ignited, its blood making the flames flare out towards him. He paused to catch his breath, then went for the next section and gave it the same treatment. By now the air had begun to stink from the burning flesh, so powerful it almost made him gag. He wrinkled his nose as he walked over to where the monster’s head lay on the other side of the lane, heaving it through the air and onto the blaze as well with a loud yell.
With a little more luck, no one coming after them would find much in the way of evidence that Calla had ever been there.
The flames crackled loudly as they slowly devoured wood and dark flesh. Yet over them he thought he heard movement in the dead grass. He tilted his head slightly to one side to listen. It lasted for only a moment before being drowned out again by the sound of the fire. He shrugged it off, thinking it to be nothing; in these lifeless plains it was easy to hear things that weren’t really there.
Something hit wood hard somewhere behind him. He spun around. A figure stood between two burnt buildings behind him: Calla was awake, staring at him with wide eyes. He caught sight of the glimmer of fear in them before she turned and ran from him as hard as she could.
He was quick to pursue. Even though she had been possessed by a soul-demon she still could have seen and heard everything that went on around her; the chances were that she was scared of him because of how he had gone about removing said demon.
She may not understand that he was there to help her, not harm her further.
In little time he caught up to her, reaching out with both hands when he was close enough. He grabbed her by the shoulders and used his full weight to bring her down to the ground. Once she hit the gravelly surface she lay there dazed for only a moment before struggling to break free of his hold. He was barely able to keep her pinned to the ground; he had used most of his strength to kill the two monsters and even more energy trying to put her back together, and he was exhausted. She left him no choice but to knock her unconscious again, for her safety as well as his own.
He shifted more of his weight onto her, planting one arm into her upper back to keep her down. While she continued to squirm he held out the first two fingers of his free hand and placed them against her forehead, focusing on extending a wave of calm into her. At first nothing happened and she fought even harder to get him off. But as the minutes slowly passed her strength started to wane, each attempt to shake him off growing feebler. She was gasping for breath, until finally her eyes closed and she fell silent. He waited another minute before finally getting up off of her, uncertain as to whether his trick had actually worked. He gently turned her over.
She lay sound asleep in his lap. He let out a low sigh of relief.
With the gray ceiling of clouds growing slightly brighter to show it was noon, he went to collect what supplies he had left back in the ruins before taking her up again in his arms and walking south across the dead plain. As he walked he glanced down occasionally at Calla’s face; she looked so serene as she slept. Her weight was nothing in his arms. Now that he could see her up close he thought she was even prettier than at a distance. The hours passed by without him really noticing, his focus switching back and forth from where he was going to the girl in his arms.
The clouds were starting to darken when she started coming around again. He stopped, looking on as Calla’s eyes fluttered open. Their gazes locked for a moment, the girl apparently unaware of what she was really seeing. She blinked, and slowly started trying to climb out of his arms.
He stopped in his tracks as she tried shifting positions, uncertain of what he should do. There was still a strong chance that she would try to run from him, something that would create more danger for them both: she had no knowledge of this place to even hope to survive on her own, and he couldn’t let her go off by herself when so many in these lands wanted to completely obliterate her altogether. He would have to find a way to keep her calm enough for him to reason with her.
He had hoped he wouldn’t need to use it, but he did have something other than his power that might work.
Carefully he set her feet back on the ground but kept one arm wrapped securely around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides and holding her tightly against him. With his free hand he began rummaging through the pouch tied at waist, until finally he pulled out a small vial of pale green liquid.
Calla took one look at it and immediately panicked, twisting around in his arms, kicking at him—anything to get him off of her. He didn’t waste any time. He grabbed the stopper and pulled it out with his teeth and poured the vial’s contents into her mouth; tossing the vial aside, he clamped his hand over her mouth and tilted her head back to keep her from spitting out the liquid, forcing her to swallow it. She coughed hard when she finally got the stuff down. Still he didn’t let her go, continuing to gently but firmly hold on to her, looking on her with concern. All the while she continued to struggle, the potion not yet taking effect. It took several minutes before she finally started to weaken, the fight slowly being drained out of her. He could see the will to keep it up was still in her eyes, but her strength was waning bit by bit, the effect of the potion. She gave one last feeble push against him and finally gave up, completely exhausted, sinking back against his chest and breathing hard. The potion neutralized all the adrenaline in her system.
He let go of her, stroking her cheek with his fingers. He felt a shudder course through her—she wasn’t comfortable with the touch.
He touched the inside of her wrist. “You have a strong will, young one,” he said softly. “It is good thing to see after an ordeal such as yours.”
Startled she just looked at him with wide eyes, speechless, even as he helped her back to her feet. She just kept looking him up and down, over and over again as though seeing him for the first time, her mouth hanging open.
He raised an eyebrow as he looked at her. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “Your jaw has fallen to the ground.”
Taken back by the remark, Calla closed her mouth with a snap. He smiled at her; that reaction was almost a little funny. He walked around her until he was behind her, where he carefully pulled her long hair away from her neck, laying it over one of her shoulders. He pressed his fingers against the back of her neck, running them up and down along the bones there. He noted the line of scarred skin that marked where Dranl had put the demon in her. “No lasting damage, then,” he said quietly.
Calla swallowed as she turned her head to look at him. “Um, who are you?”
He was about to answer when a faint sound caught his attention. He stopped and stared off towards the north, his scalp prickling. He felt Calla stiffen under his hand, and she sounded like she might be holding her breath. As a gentle, cold breeze blew across their faces he heard it: howling, a long and deep voice that continued on its own after the wind died down again. It was joined by another voice, then another, until he could hear a faint chorus of them out in the distance. He knew what the voices belonged to.
Calla could hear it too. “What is that?” she asked in a frightened whisper.
“Trouble.” Without another word he grabbed her by the arm and slung her over his back, and was immediately running with a little help from magic—the same kind of trick Mai had used to come to Calla, but his was weaker. His access to magic was mo
re limited than the Nymph’s, and he could only handle a few small spells and tricks like that. He didn’t care if the spell drained him even more, just as long as he could increase the distance between them and their pursuers. Only a minute or two in he started feeling exhausted; when he felt he could barely stay up he let go of the magic, staggering through a patch of dead brush before he finally stopped. He dropped Calla back to the ground without realizing he let her go; he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her back up, looking at her apologetically.
“I am sorry about that,” he said wearily as he held her at arm’s length, afraid she might try to hit him. “I was honestly not expecting that to happen.”
“Expecting what?” Calla asked, turning to face him.
“The pursuit sent by your jailor. I should have known he would be keeping such a close watch over you. But I did not think we would have to worry about anyone following us so quickly. His other servants are much faster than I thought.”
From the look that formed on her face, he guessed she didn’t like that bit of information.
“I should not say he was watching you, exactly,” he continued, “it was more of he was watching the creature he put in you.”
“The Kultav?”
“Do not speak its name!” He started looking around them, almost expecting a tear to form in the middle of the plain to let another demon cross over from another realm of existence. “Never call it by its name! You may end up summoning another one just like it or much worse in response.” It was a basic spell of dark magic; from living in an area cut off from all kinds of magic, Calla probably wouldn’t know any of this.
“Sorry,” she said quickly; she seemed to think back a little on what he had just said and suddenly stopped, looking back at him sharply. “Hold on, if that—thing—is really gone, how come I’m still alive? What happened to it?”
The Last Druid Page 9