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

by Michael J Sanford

  “It’s the only way past the bog,” Rozen explained as they walked. “Apparently Ouranos has made its wealth off tolls paid for safe crossing. Traders have no choice but to pay it, should they want to reach the north.”

  “Couldn’t they just go around?”

  Rozen shook her head. “The bog is far vaster than you realize and it is bordered by mountains at the east.”

  “And the west?”

  “Penyl said it’s mostly forest, but it’s inhabited by warring bands of trolls, bandits, and other violent beasts. No trader would dare take that route.”

  Wyatt knew Penyl to be Rozen’s chambermaid at the keep. The young maid had a loose tongue and was all too willing to talk of Ouranos. And she had little else to do as Rozen had threatened to drown her should she attempt to bathe the Draygan. So, the talkative girl would lean outside the bathroom and regale Rozen with various tales.

  “That’s pretty smart on the Astronians side,” Wyatt mused. “They don’t have to do any trading themselves-”

  Rozen reached out and pulled him sharply aside as a caravan thundered by. He could have sworn a pair of centaurs were pulling the cart, but it vanished into the crowd before he could be certain.

  “Here we are,” Rozen sang and tugged Wyatt by the arm, leading him into an unremarkable stone building.

  Apart from the vastly varying sizes, all the buildings in Ouranos looked the same. Every one was constructed of the same gray stone and none displayed any identifiable markings or signs to designate their purpose. However, as Rozen pulled him through the doorway a sharp aromatic force slapped him in the face and set his mouth drooling.

  The tavern was small and quaint, only a handful of wooden tables dotting the stone floor. A tall stone bar lined one wall and Rozen strode confidently up to it, alighting on a carved stone stool. Wyatt joined her, maneuvering to find a comfortable position. Why is everything in this city stone?

  The tavern keep was a tall, portly Astronian, colored blue and gold. The gold came in disjointed blotches across the pale blue. He wore an apron and giant grin.

  “Ah, the Master and his Draygan,” he said, spreading his arms out. “What can Grus get for you this fine morning in Ouranos, Heart of the Sodden Bog?”

  “I am not his,” Rozen said. “I am my own, and bring us whatever you see fit. We have had an exhausting morning of training.”

  Grus nodded. “My apologies and right away. I have just the thing for tired bodies and bruised bones.” Grus disappeared through a doorway cut into the back wall.

  Rozen picked up a rag from the bar and handed it the Wyatt. He looked at it quizzically for a moment, but then understood and wiped at the blood caked under his nose.

  “You didn’t have to hit me so hard, you know?” he said. “I think it’s busted again.”

  Rozen shrugged and smiled at him. “Battle scars, Wyatt. Battle scars.”

  Wyatt rolled his eyes at her and turned to survey the room. A vast majority of the ceiling was cut away, the vibrant red sun casting the tavern in light. It made the small building feel more open than it truly was. Only three of the seven tables were occupied, Astronians at each one. Some were spooning thick stews, others crunching large insects. None looked his way.

  The figure at the far end of the bar however, was watching Wyatt’s every move. Gloved hands wrapped around a stout tankard and a hood obscured the face, but Wyatt could feel the eyes, burrowing into his.

  Wyatt turned and nudged Rozen who was sipping on a mug of steaming tea Grus had brought. “That… I think they’re watching us.”

  He nodded subtly toward the end of the bar. Rozen leaned forward and looked that way. Then she yelled. “Hey, you with the hood. Care to join us? Or are you just enjoying the view?”

  Wyatt’s eyes went wide and he looked away as the hooded figure shifted and slid into the seat at Wyatt’s left.

  “My apologies,” said a deep voice. “Forgive my… awkwardness, Master, my Lady.”

  Wyatt turned slowly to look at the newcomer. He sat hunched over the bar, his entire form concealed in billowing white robes. He could not have been much taller than Wyatt and something about his voice seemed… old.

  “I think it’s the Master here who is awkward,” Rozen said with a wicked grin.

  “No, the fault is mine own,” said the voice. “I was hesitant to approach you directly, Master, and was merely trying to instill some courage in these old bones.”

  Wyatt felt his ego slowly inflating. “Well, a Druid hasn’t been seen in generations,” he said. “It’s not surprising you’re nervous around me.”

  Rozen groaned at his back and he knew she was rolling her eyes.

  “Oh, it is not that, Master. I have known you were coming and have been anxiously waiting for this day to come.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Oh, goodness,” the man exclaimed. “You must forgive me once again. I am an old fool. Let me introduce myself. I am Mathias, your humble servant, Brother and Keeper of the Mother’s temple in Ouranos.” The gloved hands lifted the hood and let it fall back as he spoke.

  The old man looking back was assuredly human to Wyatt’s surprise. Deep wrinkles creased the pale and weathered skin. Folds of loose skin clung to his jaw and hung from his sharp chin. His nose was rounded, veined, and bulbous. Not a wisp of hair graced his spotted scalp or his face. Wide strips of stained gauze wrapped around the old man’s head, fully obscuring his eyes.

  “You’re blind,” Wyatt shouted without thinking.

  Mathias let out a dry chuckle. “You need not eyes to follow the Mother’s will, young Druid. She requires only faith of her followers and so that is all we give.”

  “Why were you watching us? Oh… You can’t watch. Sorry.”

  Before the Blind Seer could answer, a disheveled Astronian stumbled into the tavern, wide eyed and heaving, the thick folds of his neck expanding and falling in a frantic fashion. He tried to speak, but only coughed and had to lean against the wall to steady himself.

  Grus appeared from the kitchen and leaned against the bar. “Pavo, what in the Mother’s name are you so riled up about?”

  Pavo took a couple of deep breaths and swallowed. “Regency,” he panted. “A full host. Outside the gates. They… They call for you.” He pointed a long finger at the bar.

  For a moment Wyatt thought the gesture aimed at him, but soon realized he was mistaken as Rozen reared from her stool and hissed. She looked at Wyatt and ran into the street. Wyatt hastily followed after, brushing past Pavo who still swayed uneasily near the door.

  The wide, battered street of Ouranos was in upheaval. Astronians and traders alike shouted and ran in a myriad of directions. Rozen stood among the swirling tempest of bodies, looking one way and then the other. Wyatt fought to her side.

  “Where are they?” she said.

  A hand on Wyatt’s back forced him to turn. “This way, Master, you must flee to the temple.”

  Mathias had drawn his white hood again and shuffled down the street, weaving amongst the crowd which was seeking shelter in the surrounding stone buildings. Wyatt grabbed Rozen roughly by the cloak and ran after the hunched priest. Rozen gave no protest and followed at his heels.

  * * *

  The Temple of the Mother in Ouranos was a massive domed building of polished white stone, brilliant and radiant amongst the drab grays of the city. Long, twisting vines crept up the lower half of the giant building, making it seem as if the white stone had sprouted from the very ground. And for all Wyatt knew, it had.

  A long line of stone steps, flanked by thick pillars, led to a wide set of carved wooden doors. One door was layered in an intricate depiction of a forest, a dense mash of towering trees; the other showed a jagged mountain range, its peaks clad in snow.

  Mathias placed one palm on each door and whispered something Wyatt could not hear. The doors swung inward, on silent hinges. The priest ushered Wyatt and Rozen in as the street outside swayed in panicked confusion.

  The inter
ior of the temple was awash in brilliant colors. Wonderful mosaics and murals covered every inch of the tall stone walls, curving to either side. Everywhere Wyatt looked he saw images of the Mother; forests and lakes, mountains and moons, calm streams and arid dunes. For a moment, he was lost in the grandeur of it all, but Rozen jolted him from his trance with a stiff elbow.

  “What now?” she said, her golden eyes betraying her fear.

  She was looking to Wyatt, but it was Mathias that answered. “This is all I was called to do; deliver you to the temple. I trust the Mother will do the rest.”

  “I, uh…” Wyatt stammered as he turned his mind to the whisper. The Mother’s voice was strong here, thundering in his head and tingling along his limbs, but still her message was the same. “We wait,” he said at last.

  Rozen looked crestfallen, but did not argue. She brushed past Wyatt and went to a narrow window carved in the wall, overlooking the street. Wyatt flanked her, peering out a window at her right, the slit only wide enough to allow sight through a single eye. The street quickly emptied as every creature huddled within the many stone walls of Ouranos. Only the odd pack beast wandered the barren street.

  The air had grown oddly still and quiet. “Why is everyone hiding?” Wyatt said, his voice seeming far louder in the calm.

  “It is not a fight for Ouranos,” Mathias said.

  “Won’t they fight if the Regency attacks?”

  “Ouranos will defend herself, yes, if it comes to that.”

  Suddenly Wyatt felt a surge of panic. “Mareck! Gareck!” he shouted. “And where’s Grenleck?”

  “Fear not, Master. Your companions were cared for.” The priest turned and shouted, “Henrick, lead the Children out here, please.”

  Henrick? Wyatt whirled as a freckled boy with sandy hair disappeared through a doorway only to return moments later with the Children and a chirping imp. The Children ran as best they could, skirting around the lush garden that marked the temple’s center and seized Wyatt in a fierce embrace.

  “It would seem our Draygan friend here was right, Master,” Gareck said, his blank eyes no more illustrative than the pale stone of the temple.

  “Aye, it would seem the Regency has found us again, tsk tsk.”

  Grenleck merely chirped.

  “How’d you get here?” Wyatt said, dumbfounded.

  “Oh, why, the good brother here sent for us this morning,” Gareck exclaimed, gesturing to Mathias.

  “Aye, we’ve been here most of the morn, dining on figs and reading old texts. It’s a wonderful place, this temple. Sure beats bowing in the dirt,” Mareck said with a smile.

  “What is the plan, Master?” Gareck said as he waddled to a window slit and pressed his round face to the gap.

  “We wait,” said Rozen.

  “Wait?” said Mareck. “Aye, very well. Though, I should wish for my digger if we are to be attacked again.”

  “There will be no need for weapons or violence. Not here, in a place of worship,” Mathias said.

  “And when they come?” Rozen said, not turning from the window slit. “Your thick doors and stone walls will not stop them.”

  “Oh, I think they may,” Mathis said mischievously. “The boundaries of the Temple have been sealed with a protective prayer, known only to the trusted brothers of the order.”

  “What sort of prayer?” Wyatt said, his interest piqued.

  “The kind that cannot be broken. Do not fret, Master. You will find safety within these walls.”

  Wyatt turned back to survey the barren streets through the narrow stone slit. “See anything, Rozen?”

  The Draygan hissed. “No, but they will come. They always come.” She said as she walked away.

  Was that a tear? Wyatt watched her settle onto a stone bench amongst the shroud of greenery at the temple’s center. Half a dozen white robed brethren huddled against the far side of the temple, turned in hushed conversation. The white robes clung to very different body types, betraying the nonhuman forms beneath. He thought for half a moment to ask Mathias about his brothers, but found his eyes looking to Rozen instead.

  “Poor thing,” said Mareck. “Always on the run that one. Tsk tsk.”

  “Perhaps we should comfort her, Darling.”

  “No, Gareck,” Wyatt said. “I got it.”

  The sun hung high, directly above the temple, bright rays forming a perfect cone of light, bathing the garden in warmth. Wide ferns and twisting vines climbed over a central stone. It towered over Wyatt and was shaped like a giant egg. Stone benches and a symmetrical pathway occupied any spot not overtaken by green life.

  He wanted to comfort her, to say something witty and heartfelt that would break a smile across her dark face. But, as he settled in beside her he felt his tongue grow heavy and his mind quiet.

  “I can’t go back,” she said. She was wrapping her braid tightly around her neck. Her hood was down, her eyes cast vacantly ahead. “I’d sooner die. Don’t let me go back.”

  “OK,” Wyatt said.

  She turned, her eyes unwavering. “Promise me, Wyatt.”

  “I… I promise,” he stammered, unsure of any other response.

  “When they come for me, and they will… if we cannot win and cannot escape…”

  “We will, Rozen,” he said, trying to sound strong, but her tenor had him unnerved.

  “If we do not, Wyatt. Promise me you will not let them take me.”

  “I… I… what are you saying?”

  “I cannot go back. I will not go back.” She hissed. “Not alive. Promise me.”

  Wyatt stared into the stalwart gold eyes and felt his heart flutter. She wants me to kill her. If I can’t protect her, she wants me to kill her. “Do you trust me?”

  Her eyes remained still, never flinching. “Yes,” she said.

  “Then I promise I will protect you. And Gareck and Mareck. And Grenleck. And any other man, woman, or creature that the Regency would threaten. I am a Druid, after all.”

  Rozen nodded slowly, her eyes wrapped in tears. She turned and leaned onto her knees, staring at the ground. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The sun peaked and began to fall without incident, the street empty and quiet. Mathias had fruit and hard cheeses brought out and the small band gathered around the vibrant center garden to share in the diminutive meal while they awaited an unknown fate.

  “How did you know to bring us here?” Wyatt asked between mouthfuls of dried strawberries.

  Though he could not see, Mathias turned when addressed. “The Mother impressed on my heart my duty. Surely, you know what that is like, Master, for I am certain the Mother speaks to you in a similar manner.”

  “I don’t hear the words, but I feel them.”

  “It is so. The Mother offers guidance more than direction.”

  “So, how’d you learn such fancy prayers, Brother, if I may ask?” Gareck said. “I thought it was only the Druids that had such fancy magic. Well, them and those who fall into darkness, Shamans and the like. You’re not a Fallen, are you?”

  Mathias laughed dryly. “There are no spells here, Child, but simple prayers and requests to the Mother. It is her power that shields us and it is her will that guides the Brothers of this temple. Though, we are not so different than you, stout believers. It is the Druids that truly have the Mother’s voice and sit at her side and act with her intentions. I am but a simple servant. I would find no entry to the Guise.”

  Wyatt recalled the High Keeper saying the same thing. “I’ve never been to the Guise,” he blurted, spitting a crumb of cheese into the ferns as he did.

  Mathias turned and fixed Wyatt with his bandaged gaze. Though his eyes were shielded, Wyatt could see the surprise on the Blind Seer’s face. “You are a Druid. Were you not born from her womb, suckled at her breast and raised in her glory?”

  Gareck laughed. “Master Wyatt? No, sir. He’s from this other world. What was it, Darling? Arth?”

  “Earth, Dear.”

  “Aye, Earth. And
he’s a young one, but stronger than you might think. Don’t you worry about our Druid. He’s as real as they come. Now tell me more about this prayer thing. Can you teach me?”

  Wyatt stole a glance at Rozen who sat alone on the other side of the stone path. Her eyes rolled and a smile flitted across her lips for just a moment.

  “Well, ah,” Mathias stammered. “It is possible, yes, it is only a simple prayer, but only Brothers of the faith are permitted the words. And it is at the Mother’s will as to fulfill the prayer or not. So, no.”

  Gareck frowned. Wyatt laughed at the disgruntled Child, looking much like a child of Earth. He playfully tossed a berry into the air and attempted to catch it in his mouth. To the amusement of the group it bounced off his forehead.

  “How wasteful,” Gareck shouted.

  Wyatt grinned and spun around the bench. “Five second rule,” he yelled as he scooped the fallen berry from the dirt.

  Movement at the back of the temple caught his gaze as he sat up, dusting off the soiled berry. Henrick waved frantically from a small doorway, his face in the shadows. Wyatt looked at his companions, but they were engrossed in their food and Gareck was berating the brother for secret prayers and spells. Wyatt looked back at Henrick and the young boy continued to wave urgently for Wyatt to join him.

  “Uh, I’ve got to, well, relieve myself,” he said, getting up and walking briskly to the back of the temple.

  “Ah, the privy is at the top of the stairs, first door you’ll see, Master,” Mathias called after him.

  Henrick led Wyatt down twisting stone steps, holding a torch to ward away the pressing darkness. The young boy was moving erratically, shaking and jerking, quite the opposite of his behavior in the keep. Wyatt’s tenuous nerves jumped with each step.

  “Hey, I thought you worked in the keep?” Wyatt said as he hastened to keep pace with the slender boy.

  “I don’t have time to explain. You need to see this.” His voice was strained and impatient. When he turned to speak Wyatt could see his face was bathed in sweat.