“They shouldn’t have stopped me,” she said to the forest, ignoring Wyatt. “They deserve to die. All of them.”
Wyatt watched her in silence a moment. Grenleck too had fallen silent, but remained next to the brooding Draygan, slowly swinging his pointed tail to and fro.
Wyatt waited for her breathing to slow and the hissing to cease before speaking again. “I think he broke my nose.” Wyatt gently poked at his nose and recoiled in pain.
Rozen turned and withdrew her hood, her face a mask of stone, rigid and cold. She stared at Wyatt as he winced and blinked away hot tears. Then slowly, like the tide, a smile crept over her face. At first it was just a smirk, but slowly it increased to a grin. Her eyes remained still and stalwart, but she let out a pained laugh.
“Your nose is nearly sideways,” she said, as if it brought her great joy.
Wyatt tried to frown at her, but a bolt of pain shot across his face. “It hurts way worse than a pinch,” he said.
Rozen cocked her head to the side. “I would think so, yes.”
“Well, can you do anything? I don’t suppose you have any pain killers in your belt.”
Rozen frowned and Grenleck chirped softly. It sounded like a laugh. The tall warrior fell to her knees in front of Wyatt and lifted a hand toward his face. Wyatt recoiled tightly against the shadow tree behind him, wincing.
“Are you not a mighty Druid?”
Wyatt scowled at that and immediately regretted the facial contortion. He shut his eyes instinctively and as he did Rozen seized the back of his head with one hand and pinched his broken nose between two knuckles of her other. Searing white light splashed across his vision, the pain too great to process. He thought he could hear someone screaming and thought it was his own voice, but he couldn’t be certain, though he couldn’t imagine Rozen yelling like that. He didn’t sense the movement, only the sudden crack and bolt of pain as Rozen twisted her hand, shifting the shattered bone beneath. He had never before felt such agony, but in a moment, it was gone.
He opened his eyes slowly, one at a time, his nose throbbing with muted pain. Rozen had returned to her perch and was staring into the distance as if nothing had occurred. Wyatt inhaled deeply through his nose and despite a faint whistle, it seemed none the worse for wear. His hand delicately prodded the area, running his fingers over the small hills of inflammation and across the crooked bridge of his nose. It felt reasonably straight, but a strange bony bulge protruded from the middle, a thick spine of shifted bone. Well, there goes my modeling career, he thought and laughed.
“I don’t see the humor,” Rozen said sternly.
Wyatt shrugged. “Thank you,” he said. Rozen nodded. “Oh, and thanks for… whatever you did back there.”
“It was your doing, Master.”
“Uh, of course, I… uh… what?”
Rozen looked at him strangely to which he responded with a smirk and shrug. “When you… left… the flash startled the cowards. They released me and allowed me access to my blades. The two at my sides fell first beneath the edge of my daggers. The leader recovered as they fell to the ground and he lunged at me with his crude sword, but my spear has a much longer reach. The others fled like the cowards they are.”
“Well, except for two,” Wyatt said, thinking of the blue feathers sticking from the pair of corpses.
Rozen nodded and smiled for a brief moment as if she were relishing the moment. She enjoys killing, Wyatt realized. “Mareck and Gareck seek to save their leader’s life, however, and bid me retreat from their side as they tend to him.” She spat to the side.
“Well, thanks, I mean… you’re welcome,” Wyatt said.
“You see their need to die, yes?”
Wyatt thought for a moment. It was a difficult question. Did anyone deserve to die? “I… don’t know,” he said at last.
“I have seen you slay Fallen with the Mother’s power and you sought to do the same to the human leader.”
“I didn’t mean to,” he said suddenly without realizing it. “I mean, yeah, I’m a Druid. That’s what we do.” But, is it? he wondered. Are Druids magic wielding killers? He had no more idea what he should be than his companions seemed to.
“The Children seek to help everyone,” Rozen said, reluctantly.
“Mareck helped kill a Fallen.”
“The Fallen are already dead, corrupted husks of their former selves, and would not have stopped until we were killed and consumed.”
“Oh,” Wyatt said. Grenleck chirped suddenly and ran off, his tiny feet silent on the carpet of moss. Wyatt watched him go, wondering what the imp was seeking. “Isn’t that good? They helped you, didn’t they?”
Rozen looked at him, studying his bruised and swollen face, but said nothing. She only nodded ever so slightly and returned her gaze to the forest.
“Where did you come from, anyway?” Wyatt said.
“Draygans are from Purorus, you have been told this.”
“Uh huh, but where are you from?”
Rozen stared into the distance in silence, slowly massaging her wrists. Is she hurt or just nervous? Wyatt thought to Athena’s plethora of tangled bracelets. They seemed mirror images of each other, one with colorful twists of yarn, and the other with bloodied bits of linen.
“Did your dad kill your puppy?” Wyatt said after a long silence.
“My father is a great warrior,” Rozen said at once.
“Well, where is he?”
She didn’t answer.
“Your mom?”
Rozen shifted and turned her face to the side, but Wyatt could swear he saw a tear slide down her rigid face. “She was passed into the arms of the Mother.”
“Oh,” Wyatt said reflexively, suddenly feeling foolish from broaching the subject. “I’m sorry. What happened to her?”
Wyatt didn’t expect an answer or at least nothing more than a hiss. “She grew too old and was offered to the gods.”
“Gods? I thought the Mother was god?” He wrinkled his face and winced at the pain.
“Yes, the Mother is supreme, but the Regency hold other idols.”
“Regency? The bad guys? They killed your mom? No wonder you hate them. Were you there too? With the Regency?”
This time he received only a quiet grunt before Rozen snapped to her feet, drew up her spear and bow, and strode off into the forest, her long strides quickly taking her from view. Wyatt thought to call after her, but knew she was not likely to return or even heed his voice. He sat for a moment staring at the spot where she had vanished and a heavy feeling descended on his chest. He clutched his torso and fought to take a deep breath, but still the feeling was there. Is this sadness? Or pity?
“Are you alright, Master Wyatt?”
Wyatt didn’t turn to face the voice that had silently stolen up behind him nor did he startle at the sudden sound. His spirit was heavy and sodden with some foreign feeling that filled his mind and heart with lead.
“Where did she come from?” he said without turning.
Mareck and Gareck leaned against the large gnarled root in unison, both sets of eerie white eyes following Wyatt’s gaze into the trees.
“Not sure,” Mareck said. “She never says.”
“Just so.”
“Not sure if she don’t remember or just won’t say where she came from. Tsk tsk.”
“But, the Regency is after her?” Wyatt said, turning to face the pair of round faces. Their hands were coated in a film of blood and dirt streaked their pale faces.
“Aye, and who knows what else,” Gareck said.
“Always looking over her shoulder, that one. Tsk tsk.”
They stared in silence a moment, each with their own private thoughts.
“Did the man… is he?” Wyatt said at last, shaking his head from his previous thoughts. They troubled him too deeply to dwell on.
“Aye, dead,” Mareck said.
“But, not before tellin’ us that Mesos is swarming with Regents. So, it may be best if we break off from the
road soon and avoid the city.”
“And I was looking forward to some candied ham and pickled hearts, tsk tsk.” Mareck said, shaking her head.
Wyatt pushed the dark Draygan from his mind and climbed to his feet. “What’s Mesos?”
Gareck reached to the ground and drew up the rolled map and unfurled it along the thick root. Wyatt’s hand went to his belt, as if expecting to find the very map that Gareck had produced. I must have dropped it, he scolded himself. Mareck helped hold down the curling edges as Gareck stabbed a thick clawed finger at a center of the map. Small geometric shapes sat around an intersection of roadway. Mesos was scrawled in script, faint, but still legible if you looked closely, as Wyatt did.
“Well, we’re still in the Shadow Forest,” he said and pointed to the dark mass near the bottom of the map. “And we need to go here.” His second index finger found the muddy swatch of color labeled Ouranos at the upper left-hand corner of the scroll. Wyatt drew his finger from the Shadow Forest to Ouranos in a straight line. It drew an imaginary path well south and west of the city, cutting across largely unmarked territory, painted green and brown. “We can just cut across here; a straight path would be faster anyway.”
The Children nodded slowly. Was it doubt they showed or disappointment in having to avoid whatever goods they sought in Mesos?
“Very good, Master. Shall we depart? The sun is soon to rise,” Gareck said as he rolled up the map and handed it to Wyatt.
Wyatt thrust it firmly into his belt and pulled the rope tighter around his middle. “Yes, but where’s Rozen and Grenleck?”
“They’ll find us, have no fear, Master.”
Wyatt thought of his previous conversation with the dark Draygan and felt the strange heaviness return to his chest and stomach. “Are you mad at her? For what she did to the bandits? I mean, they were going to hurt us. She saved us. Maybe you should thank her.”
Gareck let out a soft chuckle and slapped Wyatt on the back, firmly dislodging any tightness. “Fear not, Master. We are not angered at Rozen. And it was the two of you that saved us.”
“But, she said you told her to leave and then you tried to save the man who punched me.”
Gareck laughed again. “Aye, we did. When the blood lust is upon her, Rozen is relentless. The fight was over, the enemy had fled. The threat was gone and we Children never allow death when we may give life.”
Mareck nodded. “Aye.”
Wyatt looked between the two smiling round faces. He wanted to ask them why. Why weren’t they mad? Did they have no emotions? They seldom did more than laugh. And Rozen did little more than sulk and hiss. Am I to balance these two extremes? he wondered, but the thought quickly vanished from his mind as Grenleck came streaking into view chirping and shrieking excitedly. Rozen crashed through close behind the imp, concern plastered on her sharp face. Grenleck jumped up and down beside the warrior as she sought to catch her breath.
“Regency scouts,” she said with a gasp. Grenleck screeched and nodded. “Four, well-armed, marching down the road, one’s a Shaman, I believe.” Grenleck chortled in agreement and scrambled to Wyatt’s shoulder where he sat tight against his head.
“Master, perhaps it is time we made haste from here,” Gareck said and shouldered a pack.
“Aye,” agreed Mareck.
Wyatt looked between the concerned faces and fixed on Rozen’s golden eyes. He could never tell what lay behind them, but he thought it looked like something approaching fear. Her hands trembled as she drew up the pack Gareck handed her. The Children shouldered their large hammers and the trio looked to Wyatt, awaiting command.
“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
In the distance he heard a shout, muffled by the thick trees and dense moss. The party froze and looked toward the noise; even Grenleck fell silent and shivered against Wyatt’s ear. Four Regents? Surely, we could defeat only four. He looked again to Rozen, who had so easily killed five bandits and likely would have slew more if given the opportunity. Her eyes were wide and shining beneath her hood, glittering gold stones amid the shadows. What she was feeling was unclear to Wyatt, but it was clear she had no desire to fight the approaching scouts.
Another shout rippled through the forest. It sounded closer, but it was difficult to tell. Rozen glanced around and bolted from the sound. Mareck and Gareck noiselessly followed with Wyatt close at their heels. He wanted to protest. He was their guide and leader, but another shout at his back quickly suppressed the thought. It was certainly closer now. He ran after Mareck, leaping over roots and spinning around wide dark trunks, his heavy plodding footsteps falling silent on the blue moss. Grenleck clung tightly to the side of his head and emitted short chirps with each step.
He had only the round, brown shape of Mareck to follow; Rozen and Gareck had disappeared from view, zigzagging among the sentinels of the forest. Grenleck let out a loud shriek that made Wyatt crane around and look to the rear. He caught sight of the approaching figures just as his knee caught a thick knot of root and sent him spinning to the soft forest floor. Grenleck rolled off, narrowly avoiding being crushed. Wyatt landed with a grunt of surprise and immediately scrambled to his feet. He wanted to run, knew he had to run, but as the towering Regents came into view, he found his legs unwilling to obey.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE FOUR-ARMED creatures slowed to a walk as they approached Wyatt’s stunned form. Grenleck clung tight to the back of Wyatt’s calf, anxiously peering at the towering creatures. They stood over seven feet tall and wore naught but red linen pants. Their torsos were bare, clad in sinewy muscle and tight pale skin. Veins webbed across each of their four arms and pulsed beneath the tight skin of their thick necks. Wyatt gripped his wooden bludgeon until his knuckles turned white and numb.
Three halted and allowed the fourth to step forward. A thick scar ran across his face, splitting the smooth skin in two, but still Wyatt could see how handsome the man was. He doesn’t look dead, Wyatt thought. Not like the Fallen. Golden hair ran down to his broad shoulders, stark straight and smooth as the breeze. His jaw was strong and his teeth were straight and flashed blindingly white as he spoke in a smooth monotonous tone.
“Kneel, human, before the Regency.” He held two spears at his side, thick and fitted with jagged tips that closer resembled sword blades than spear points, wide and flat, a razor-sharp edge along each side.
Wyatt swallowed hard, but couldn’t move and found his tongue paralyzed as well. The Regent thrust a spear at him, reining in the tip a hairbreadth from Wyatt’s bloodied nose. Wyatt was too stunned to flinch.
“Bend your knee, slave,” he bellowed. “And tell us where the Draygan is.”
The sharp edge of the spear shone in the eerie orange light, coming to an unbelievably sharp edge. Wyatt had no doubt it could flay him in seconds without even a whisper of pain. I may be thankful for that in a moment.
A second towering Regent stepped forward to his leader’s side. His hair matched that of the others, long, straight, and blond, silhouetting a slightly rounder face that lacked scars. His eyes flashed a brighter blue than Wyatt thought possible.
“Kill the slave and be done with it. It is the Draygan we seek,” the baby-faced Regent said, nodding sharply in Wyatt’s direction.
Wyatt swallowed again, searching his mind for a solution. He anxiously looked behind him, but saw his companions had vanished. The forest lay still at his back and his front was clouded with the giant four-armed Regents. Absently his hand went to the tiny pendant tucked beneath his habit. If ever I needed to escape, it’s now, he thought, but the green stone remained still.
The Regent grunted and drew back his spear. Wyatt forced a sigh of relief, but saw the Regent was not releasing him. Arms tucked tight to his side, he stepped forward, the edge of his spear sparkling in the light as it raced for Wyatt’s throat. He shut his eyes and braced for his imminent demise. What does death feel like? The morbid thought flitted through his mind for only a moment before a fam
iliar whisper floated in, carried along by a forceful wind. Energy, power, and fluid clarity filled his mind and his eyes snapped open as his thoughts and intentions went to the shadowy trees at his sides.
A web of gnarled roots and branches exploded from the trees, sending him sprawling backwards onto the soft moss. A peal of thunder rang through the forest and the air filled with a thick cloud of dust. Splinters rained down and the deafening crack left his ears ringing and vision hazy. Did I do that?
Surprised shouts rang out from the Regents, but they did not flee. He could see their towering shapes moving behind the cloud of dust and debris. Time to go. He spun and scrambled to his feet. His limbs were shaking with a mix of fear and tangible energy and power. He wasn’t sure he was breathing, but there would be time for that later.
He didn’t wait to see if the Regents were following, he couldn’t take that chance. He ran, his toes tearing at the moss and his arms raking the air. He clutched tight to his cudgel, trying to distill some confidence from the diminutive weapon. Grenleck shrieked and vanished up the trunk of the nearest tree, his tiny claws taking him to safety. I wish I had claws, he thought as he leapt over an exposed root and continued to run.
Something flashed before him, forcing him to a stumbling stop. He leaned against a thick trunk and scanned the shadows. He whirled to the left in time to see a shadowy form disappear around a shadow tree. Did the Regents get in front of me? Another shape glided between trunks at his right and a gust of wind buffeted his back, sending a chill down his spine. He stood rigid, a cruel realization blossoming in his mind. The wind doesn’t change direction…
He turned slowly and screamed as a twisting shadow lashed at his body. He twisted, tried to run, but his feet were no longer on the ground. Dark shadowy shapes had seized both his arms with ghostly talons. Wyatt screamed again and shook his arms violently, seeking to free himself. He kicked his legs feebly, but they met only air. The creatures at his sides had no shape or form. They were little more than twisting, pulsing, things. In one moment Wyatt could see wings, or a shadowy beak, then flashing talons, but the shapes continued to shift and swirl as if they were made of naught but shadows and smoke.
The Druid's Guise: The Complete Trilogy (The Druid's Guise Trilogy) Page 19