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

by Michael J Sanford

  The way the Gazarian spoke told Wyatt she was undoubtedly in control of the caravan and more educated than the rest. The decorated daggers at her belt, mere inches from her long, clawed fingers only served to support the idea.

  The Gazarians thrust the trio to the ground in front of the Hand and stepped back. “Who are you?” Wyatt demanded with a wince. The pain in his back was quickly returning in the temple’s heat.

  The Gazarian bowed. “I am Ozlodia, Hand of the High War Chief, Razgod.”

  Wyatt carefully sat back on his heels. “We have the same enemy.”

  Ozlodia tilted her head to the side. The tufts of fur atop her ears were as black as night, along with the thick stripe that topped her head. “A human fights against the Quze as well? How curious.”

  “The Quze? No. The Regency.”

  Ozlodia laughed, displaying raggedly pointed teeth. Her narrow eyes were pale blue. Wyatt wondered if she was considered beautiful among her race. “Why worry over the Regency when the Quze sit in their forest living as if they were the chosen. Their matriarch calls herself Mother. Blasphemous. No, we Vaipvef, as they slander us, will not stand idly by. We will take their precious forest and their lives, if they will not repent.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “But we could help each other. There are others that would join the cause as well.” At least I hope she will.

  Ozlodia laughed again, her face bright and lively. “And you will help us. You have been brought here for that very purpose. With your blood, we will march into battle stronger, faster, and deadlier than those wretched Quze.”

  “Our what?” shouted Athena.

  Maia merely moaned as if she understood all that was transpiring. Wyatt figured she did, but he was still in the dark. Ozlodia nodded sharply at him and two slavers seized his arms and dragged him toward the Mother’s Hand. He shouted in blind pain as he was spun and pinned against the round stone, his back screaming.

  It took a moment for his senses to recalibrate. When his eyes centered, Ozlodia was crouched before him with a long metal spike in her hand. It looked like a large chopstick and shone in the ambient light. He followed the sharp point as Ozlodia lowered it to his thigh. He was taken aback to realize his pants were torn apart, revealing his pale and meaty thigh. He shook his head, but there was nowhere to flee.

  “Prepare yourself,” the Gazarian leader said. “This is a great honor, for you will ride with us into battle. Well, a piece of you…”

  She thrust the metal spike deep into his thigh, but the pain along his back dwarfed any sensation. If he hadn’t been fixated on it, he would not have even realized it had happened. He heard Athena swear. It was quickly followed by the crack of whip.

  Ozlodia produced a leather water skin and at once Wyatt realized the spike jutting from his leg was hollow. It’s a spigot, his mind screamed. Blood poured into the skin with a disturbing peace. Wyatt could do nothing but stare wide-eyed as he was bled. When Ozlodia was satisfied the spike was pulled free. Wyatt let out a deep breath. The relief was short lived and his sigh transformed into a bloodcurdling cry as Ozlodia accepted a second metal spike from a nearby warrior, this one glowing red hot, and plunged it into the puncture wound. The blood spit and sizzled like a steak thrown on to a hot grill. Thin trails of smoke rose from his leg. The smell of burned flesh and the knowledge that it was his own twisted his stomach into a knot. He retched violently, expelling only air and revulsion.

  He must have blacked out for a moment, for the next thing he felt was a pair of friendly hands on his torn back. He blinked away the pain and saw it was Athena and Maia. He smiled weakly and wiped at his mouth.

  “You were ill-prepared, snow-skin,” Ozlodia said plainly. The water skin of blood hung from her shoulder. Wyatt’s nausea returned at the sight.

  He coughed. “Wyatt,” he managed to say. “My name is Wyatt.”

  “It matters not.”

  Wyatt stiffened and immediately regretted it. Pain race down his spine and radiated through his leg where it sat throbbing. “It should. You’re taking our blood.” He coughed again, violently, and shook his head, but when he did the world seemed a bit clearer and the pain receded marginally. “This is Athena and Maia. You should know their names, too.”

  Ozlodia smiled. “You have a strange courage, snow-skin. Some might call it foolishness.”

  “What do you call it?”

  Loud shouting cut off any answer Ozlodia may have given. All eyes went to the rear of the temple as two of the slavers stumbled in. They were shouting in the Old Tongue.

  Wyatt whirled back to Ozlodia to watch her reaction. It did not give him comfort. She shouted something and the slavers disappeared into the night again, quickly followed by the entirety of the warriors that occupied the temple. In a matter of moments, the occupancy had been reduced to four. Shouts of battle drifted in along the night air.

  Athena was the first to break the silence. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”

  Ozlodia glared at Wyatt. “Is this your doing, snow-skin?”

  He stared back. “I don’t even know what’s going on.”

  Again, commotion at the temple’s entrance cut off any response from the Gazarian, but as Wyatt turned he received his answer all the same.

  “Well, look what we have here,” said the first Regent. He held a massive war hammer with all four of his thick hands. The head of his hammer dripped crimson and Wyatt could see what looked like bits of fur stuck to the rounded maul.

  “Looks like these filthy Gazarians are performing a pagan ritual,” said the second. His weapon of choice was a claymore, seven feet long, double edged, and shining wet with blood. His eyes matched the blade, steel-gray and unflinching.

  Additional Regents forced their way into the temple, but remained facing the night, blocking the doorway, cutting off any possible escape or rescue.

  “Are those…” Athena’s voice trailed off.

  Wyatt gave her a quick glance and nodded. Her eyes went wide. Maia shimmied closer to the red-haired teen and they wrapped their arms around each other.

  “The Regency,” Ozlodia said with venom. She stepped past Wyatt, drawing a long, single-edged blade. It was shaped like a katana, but was far longer than Wyatt had ever seen one. He caught himself wondering where she had pulled it from.

  “By decree of the Lord Regent, the penalty for pagan worship is death,” said the hammer-wielder with mud-brown eyes. His jaw clenched as he readied his weapon.

  Ozlodia crouched, her blade at the ready, long tail whipping sharply behind her. Athena grabbed Wyatt’s shoulder and dragged him away from the impending battle. Along with Maia, they scrambled across the slate until their backs bumped into the giant stone of the Mother’s Hand.

  “I pray the Mother has mercy on your souls and forgives your transgression,” Ozlodia said, eyeing the approaching Regents, “for I will not.”

  Steel Eyes moved his sword just in time to avoid decapitation as Ozlodia lunged, her blade a whistling streak. Steel rang. Maia pressed tighter against Athena. She pulled her close and flashed Wyatt a look that he couldn’t read.

  Mud Eyes swung his hammer in a horizontal arc, but was well short of his target as Ozlodia spun nimbly away. The combatants were of a height, but the Gazarian was leaner and far quicker, her movements as effortless as a breath. Steel Eyes tried a vertical cut. Ozlodia spun in a tight pirouette and, as she did, her tail lashed out like a whip. It wrapped around one of Blue Eye’s arms and yanked it sharply. His hand was wrenched from the sword grip and the muscled man stumbled, his arm outstretched. Ozlodia blade whistled and the Regent’s hand vanished from his wrist.

  He hollowed in pain, falling away from the dancing Gazarian. She smiled wickedly and tossed the severed hand aside. Her tail flicked maliciously at her side, taunting like an ill-tempered serpent.

  “Oh fuck,” Athena yelled, pumping a fist.

  Wyatt gaped at her. “Enemy of our enemy, you know?” she replied.

  He nodded, but found he couldn’t rejoic
e in the bloodshed as she did. It still unnerved him and made his stomach queasy. Something told him that he was to blame for the Regency’s presence and he couldn’t shake the memory of his last confrontation with the four-armed rulers. How did they find me?

  “You’ll regret that, rat,” growled Mud Eyes. He turned to his comrade. “You still have more hands than she does, shake it off.”

  Steel Eyes grunted and let his injured arm fall limp at his side. His remaining three were plenty strong enough to wield the giant sword. Ozlodia grinned, crouched, and charged. The Regents did the same, weapons drawn back. Mud Eyes reached her first, howling behind his hammer. Ozlodia leapt, spinning in the air as she vaulted over the stunned Regent. Her tail flashed again, this time snaring the large creature’s neck. Ozlodia’s weight and the power behind her tail brought the Regent crashing backward, his head snapping off the cold slate with a wet smack. The leathery tail released only to be replaced by Ozlodia’s blade.

  “Holy shit, that tail,” Athena bellowed. Maia let out a groan and nestled further into Athena’s chest.

  Steel Eyes looked to his headless comrade for only a moment, quickly reining in his emotions, and narrowly dodging Ozlodia’s next sword strike. The Gazarian moved like lightning, attacking with quick bursts of unbelievable speed and force. Her tail cracked against the stone floor, taunting the reeling Regent. He lunged forward and the song of steel filled the temple again. The Regent was slower, but his attacks stunned Ozlodia, sending visible tremors along her narrow blade. She grunted and twisted, sending out her tail. It snapped at the Regents arm, but he pulled out of range.

  “You’re a fool if you think to take another of my hands,” he said, snarling and gnashing the words like a rabid hound.

  “I don’t want your hand,” Ozlodia said. She lunged, quick as thought, dropping to a knee and raking the long blade at the Regent’s legs. “A foot will do,” she said as her blade cut into a thick ankle, biting through bone and tendons.

  The Regent grunted and fell forward, only to be knocked backward as Ozlodia shot upward, ramming her knee against his nose. His face exploded in red and he fell to the ground with a soft groan. He made a motion to rise, but Ozlodia forced him down again, and knelt on his chest. A jeweled dagger was in her hand.

  “Find your peace at the Mother’s foot,” she whispered, just loud enough for Wyatt to hear. The dagger slid between the Regent’s ribs as if his flesh were no more solid than a pail of water.

  “Fuck yeah!” Athena shouted and jumped to her feet, pumping a fist and grinning.

  Ozlodia stood slowly and faced the enthralled teen. The Gazarian smiled weakly and gave a short bow. Then she turned back to face the temple’s entrance and began backing toward the Mother’s Hand.

  “Oh shit,” Athena said as a dozen Regents stepped into the room.

  Having four arms, the crowd of Regents looked far more numerous than they actually were, but Wyatt knew that was of no comfort. Ozlodia arrived next to him, her sword lowered to her side.

  “We go to the Mother,” she said and dropped her sword. It clattered loudly off the silent temple.

  “Fuck. That,” Athena said. “I’m not giving up. Let’s get out of here.”

  “There is only one mouth to the temple of Gizeapfteeg. Our way out is in death. Pray the Mother finds mercy with our souls.”

  “Bullshit,” Athena shouted.

  Wyatt was staring at the advancing horde. It was difficult to count them, and they fanned out to form a solid wall of arms and steel. His mind fled to the stone, seeking out the Mother’s voice. It was strong, a thundering presence in the stone, but Wyatt knew it would not grow. There was no life here. Even the towering tree of the Mother’s Hand was black iron, he saw. It was silent to his requests. He grunted, silently cursing his weakness. What good was his power if he couldn’t use it?

  Athena wrenched Wyatt from his trance and dragged him away from the horde. Maia fled as well. There was nothing but solid stone walls, carved pillars and flickering torches beyond the garden. They huddled tightly together in the farthest point from death, packed into a corner, pinned between a pillar and solid stone. Ozlodia remained still and silent at the Mother’s Hand. The Regents were only steps away, slowly drawing to their kill.

  “Do somethin’, Wy’,” Athena pleaded. Her bloodlust was gone.

  “Please, Master,” Maia said, her voice a weak tremble, wet with fear.

  He looked at them and shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “You’re supposed to be magic,” Athena spit.

  He shook his head again. “It doesn’t work here.”

  “Well ain’t that fuckin’ ironic?”

  “It is the gift of growth that the Druids are called to wield,” Maia said, her voice a hairbreadth from cracking. “There is no life to give here.”

  Wyatt smiled weakly at Athena. “Fuck,” she said, pushing Wyatt into the wall. “What good are you, then?”

  The stone was rough and cold to Wyatt’s cheek, but he could hear it. He thrust his palms against the wall and closed his eyes. The Mother’s voice. It was there. He could see and feel it. He spoke gently to the stone, breathing into the wall. Nothing happened. It can’t be given life, he thought. And then something Omman had said came to mind. If I can’t give life…He turned once more to the whisper of the stone. He pulled at it, not giving voice to the stone, but taking from it, inhaling like a sharp breath. The wall trembled and shook, but Wyatt held firm. A hunger grew within him and he pulled at the whisper even more, taking from the stone its firmness and vitality. A small section crumbled to dust, clouding the air for a moment before the wind whistling into the temple carried it away.

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Athena shouted, slapping Wyatt on the shoulder.

  He smiled at her and looked at Maia. The young spriteling forced a smile, but her eyes held something else...

  Athena looked out into the open night, crouched toward the small crevice, and then turned back. “Ozlodia!” she bellowed.

  The Regents were nearly upon the Gazarian, crowding around the Mother’s Hand. They were toying with the warrior. Ozlodia turned at Athena’s beckoning.

  “Let’s go,” Athena shouted. “Fuck death. It’s time to run.”

  Ozlodia never blinked. She spun and leapt atop the round monument and was running toward to the fallen corner before the Regents could react. Gazarian and slaves both dove through the opening in the wall and rose, churning at the coarse dirt outside the temple. Wyatt didn’t think the Regents could maneuver through the narrow opening, but he was not about to wait and find out.

  The slave line was alight, burning brightly along with the ring of fire towers. The air was thick with black smoke and the smell of burning flesh. Wyatt’s leg had sent of a similar scent when Ozlodia had cauterized it. This, however, made Wyatt far sicker.

  The song of steel and blood rang from the front of the temple. Both Regents and Gazarians bellowed beneath the moonless sky, fighting as enemies, but dying as brothers and sisters.

  They didn’t stop running until they reached the ring of towers. The rear of the temple was silent and it was unlikely they would be spotted behind the flaming tower.

  “What the fuck is she doin’?” Athena cried.

  Wyatt turned and watched as the shadowy form of Ozlodia charged along the side of the temple, destined for the violent uproar near the front.

  “The tribe is her family,” Maia said softly.

  Athena nodded slowly. “Shit,” she said.

  Wyatt grunted. He couldn’t argue with the sentiment. The temple of Gizeapfteeg was awash in pain and death. Corpses lined the dry soil, painting it dark with blood, and though he could not see beyond the towering temple, Wyatt knew it was more of the same. Shadows and death. Death and shadows.

  “What now?” Athena said after a long silence. “There ain’t gonna be anythin’ left here.”

  She was right, he knew. “We keep going.”

  “Wait. You mean the way they
were takin’ us?”

  Wyatt nodded. “We need to find the rest of Ozlodia’s tribe. They can help us. I just know it.”

  “And if they don’t? They did try to bleed us dry just a minute ago. And I thought you wanted to find your princess?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “Her tribe should know what happened here. And Rozen’s not a princess. I say we go to Gazaria. I know that’s where we’re supposed to go.” And I hope I mean it this time. Not like Ouranos.

  Athena sighed. “Shit. All right, fuck it. Let’s go to…”

  “Gazaria,” Maia finished.

  Athena sighed again and began fussing with the leather and chain around Maia’s torso. “No reason we have to travel all chained up,” she said.

  The chains and strap fell away, revealing Maia’s nude torso. The spriteling sighed deeply, smiled, and shook. Wyatt gasped as giant wings unfolded. They were shaped like a butterfly’s, elegantly curved, yet they stretched out nearly ten feet to either side. Athena stumbled back, giving room for Maia to fully stretch. They had the structure of a bat’s, long spindly fingers visible through tight pink skin. It was the only area on the spriteling that wasn’t covered in freckles, Wyatt saw, to his embarrassment.

  Maia giggled and flapped. The sudden gust of wind stifled Wyatt’s breathing. With three strong beats, the spriteling was airborne, rising only a foot off the ground, where she hovered with slow beats.

  “Holy…”

  Wyatt looked at Athena, scowled, then shrugged.

  “…fuck,” she finished.

  Wyatt tore his eyes way from the spriteling to take one last glance at the temple and the carnage that slept with the night. It didn’t seem to matter where he was; death always followed. “All right,” he said. “Now, let’s go.”

  Chapter Eleven