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

by Michael J Sanford

  “Three!” Ms. Abagail yelled.

  They heaved together. The door staunchly refused to yield. Wyatt braced his foot against the door frame. Ms. Abagail crouched as best as she could in the tight confines and prepared to try again.

  Lucy shrieked, and Wyatt felt her slam into his back, destroying his balance and sending him to the ground atop her. Something hot and bright flashed through the air where his head had been and sparked off the metal door. The scent of hot iron blossomed amid the rain-soaked air.

  Wyatt rolled to cover Lucy, looking up at the Draygan as he did. Luckily, the stairwell was narrow and the Draygans wide. They could only fit single file. Wyatt found little comfort in that fact, however, as he knew the first one would kill them with little effort.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Wyatt yelled. “We’re on the same side!”

  The Draygan snapped his head back, recalling his fire-braid. It sizzled in the rain and sent curls of steam rising from the Draygan’s arm as he wrapped a hand around it, preparing for another attack.

  “Me!” Ms. Abagail yelled, leaping to stand in front of Wyatt and Lucy. Standing on the landing while the Draygan occupied a higher step made the young woman appear even smaller. The Draygan loomed as a giant, the light from his braid creating sinister shadows everywhere Wyatt dared look.

  The Draygan didn’t speak or hesitate. He lashed out, sending his braid for Ms. Abagail. She ducked, falling out of the way with little grace but with enough speed to keep her head. Sparks exploded from the door, momentarily blinding Wyatt, and he hugged Lucy even tighter. Before his eyes could adjust, he felt Ms. Abagail pulling at his arm.

  “Go,” she hissed, dragging him backwards before his feet could assist in the movement.

  The Draygan’s fire-braid snapped back over their heads and Ms. Abagail pulled at the door. With a groan, it opened, the top half falling away, edges glowing red-hot and smoking. As Ms. Abagail pulled at Wyatt, he pulled at Lucy, and together they dove though the doorway just as another attack rendered a section of wall into smoldering rubble.

  “Keep going,” Ms. Abagail yelled.

  Knowing the door was thoroughly destroyed, Wyatt didn’t argue, and neither did Lucy as they both found their feet and starting running hand in hand into the abandoned upper levels of Greenwood Hospital.

  The first room they entered was black as sin, and Wyatt thought for a moment that his eyes were closed, but as he turned over his shoulder and saw the glow of fire coming ever closer, he snapped back to attention. Ms. Abagail cursed, and though she held his arm, Wyatt couldn’t see her face. Something fell against the floor and they halted their flight.

  “I can’t see, and there’s crap everywhere in here,” Ms. Abagail hissed.

  Wyatt didn’t need the light to know the truth of the statement. The upper levels of Greenwood hospital were, to put it bluntly, a disaster. Old furniture was crammed into every room, hallway, and closet. Dust lined every inch of the floor, turning it into a skating rink, and though he’d been through the area enough times, he wouldn’t be able to make sense of it in the dark.

  Orange light filtered in over Wyatt’s shoulder, giving everything a hazy glow. It was enough to see that a large wooden table blocked their path, and the heat on the back of Wyatt’s neck was enough for him to know they had little time.

  “Under,” he said, not wanting to waste time with words as he dove under the table, half guiding, half dragging Ms. Abagail and Lucy along.

  They plunged into the dust, each gulping on the stale air, and pawing for further sanctuary. On hands and knees, they resumed their flight as the table above was cut in two and engulfed in flame at the same moment.

  More fiery snaps lit up the space, and the stale scent of long-forgotten furniture was replaced by the acridity of wood smoke and magical flames. Ms. Abagail wiggled beneath a desk and waved for Lucy and Wyatt to follow, but Lucy grabbed Wyatt’s arm and pulled sharply in a different direction.

  “Come on,” Ms. Abagail pleaded.

  “No, this way,” Lucy said decisively, seeming to have forgotten her fright and tears.

  Wyatt grinned. “Follow Lucy,” he said, turning to do just that. “This is her world.”

  Wyatt didn’t bother to see if his words hit home, but as he crawled under another table, he could feel Ms. Abagail’s presence close behind.

  Ahead, Lucy was cutting a ferocious pace through the clutter, skittering along on all fours like she was meant to move in such a manner. It took everything Wyatt had to keep sight of her as she ducked beneath tables and chairs, slid beneath sheets, and slithered over boxes.

  Behind them, the Draygans were cutting a far blunter and more direct path to their goal. Wyatt could hear some of the warriors using their braids to slice through furniture, while others hurled smaller pieces aside. Something heavy landed a hairbreadth from his shoulder, decimating a cardboard box and sending up a cloud of packing peanuts.

  “Keep going,” Ms. Abagail shouted, urging him onward with her shoulder.

  Wyatt pushed aside smaller clutter as he tried to keep low. He lost sight of Lucy for a moment, but then a Draygan landed at the spot he had last seen her, followed by a whirlwind of flame. Before Wyatt had time to call out, the slight girl with dirty blonde hair came hurrying back to him. Another crash was followed by a swirl of heat, and flames exploded on Wyatt’s right. Then his left.

  “They’re surrounding us,” Wyatt said as Lucy reached him.

  Together, Wyatt, Lucy, and Ms. Abagail huddled beneath an oversized office desk. Lucy wrapped her arms around Wyatt and Ms. Abagail encapsulated both of them with hers.

  “What do we do?” Ms. Abagail whispered in Wyatt’s ear.

  “We can’t fight them,” he said.

  “Don’t you have magic powers or something? You’ve fought these things before, right?”

  “No,” Lucy said before Wyatt could respond. “He gave his powers away, remember? That’s why this is happening. It’s his fault.”

  Ms. Abagail groaned and pulled Wyatt and Lucy closer. Even without looking out from their crude shelter, Wyatt knew the Draygan warriors were slowly closing in on them. They were cutting and burning a path that would eventually lead to the trio’s death.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Ms. Abagail said. “We’re together and it’s all going to be all right.”

  Wyatt felt a new warmth sweep over his body. It wasn’t from the Draygans, though they were transforming the room into a veritable inferno, but from something internal. He tried to come up with something equally as awe-inspiring to say when the floor shook violently. Everything in the room shifted, and Wyatt heard the Draygans call out in surprise. The assault stopped for a moment and all that could be heard was the crackle of flame and the rage of the thunderstorm beyond the room.

  Lightning flashed, bathing the room in blinding light. Thunder roared and the windows imploded. Though already under cover, Wyatt ducked his head against Lucy, hoping to shield her as Ms. Abagail did the same to him.

  Glass rained down on the room, and the floor shifted abruptly beneath them. Wyatt reached a hand to feel at the tile, finding instead a deep crack, wide enough to stuff his fingers into.

  “Uh oh,” he said.

  Lucy shrieked and dropped, suddenly falling into empty air. Wyatt pulled at her as the floor broke around them.

  “Hold on, Lucy!” Wyatt yelled over the storm.

  Ms. Abagail held Wyatt’s shoulders, and he could feel her pulling back on him, keeping Lucy from falling.

  “The floor’s gone,” Lucy screamed.

  “Just hold on,” Wyatt shouted. He wiggled back, but they were still under the desk, and there was little space to maneuver.

  “Wyatt…” Ms. Abagail said.

  “Just hold on to me,” he said, without looking back at her.

  Ms. Abagail screamed and Wyatt felt the pull on his shoulders intensify, wrenching him backwards. He hit the ground on his back. Luckily, his grip on Lucy held, and she was launch
ed upward to land on his chest.

  “Wyatt!” Ms. Abagail yelled from just behind and below him. Her fingers dug into Wyatt’s shoulders, and he didn’t dare move lest she should fall into whatever abyss had opened beneath her.

  “You have to help pull her up,” he said to Lucy.

  Lucy was trembling, but she nodded and crawled toward Wyatt’s head. He twisted his face to the side as she lay on his head, pinching her knees into his hips as he wrapped her arms around hers.

  “I got her arms, but I can’t pull her up,” Lucy said.

  “Just hold on,” Wyatt said.

  “I am,” Lucy protested.

  “So, Wyatt,” Ms. Abagail called out. “What now?”

  Wyatt couldn’t move. He couldn’t think.

  The floor trembled beneath him and completely gave way, sending Wyatt and his newfound family into the unknown.

  Chapter Two

  WYATT LANDED ON something soft and warm. It cushioned his fall somewhat, but he still found the air lacking as he attempted to shout for Lucy and Ms. Abagail. He couldn’t manage the words, so he merely pointed at the crumbling ceiling and flame-braided Draygans that dropped gracefully through the schism of whatever room Wyatt had fallen into. He was still going to die.

  Three Draygans made it into the room before the ceiling trembled and, in a blink, appeared whole. As the stone quivered back into place, the distant rumble of the storm broke off. In its place echoed the sizzle of magical fire-braids and a chorus of murmurs, like the mumbling of a stream.

  Wyatt eyed the enemy, wondering why they weren’t coming further, instead hovering halfway between Wyatt and the high, vaulted ceiling.

  He heard Ms. Abagail curse and shift at his side. Wyatt turned and sat up in the same motion, and found himself staring at a room filled with dozens of men and women seated along heavy wooden tables piled high with food and drink. What had cushioned Wyatt’s fall had been, in fact, a roast of some kind, a turkey, perhaps. He could no longer tell.

  All eyes were fixed on Wyatt and his companions. Then they slowly shifted upward, toward the still-hovering Draygans. Without command, weapons seemed to magically appear in every hand. Swords jabbed at the air, arrows nocked and stretched back on bowstrings. Armored men came from somewhere else, brandishing pikes and spears.

  The Draygans looked at each other uneasily, but still their braids burned, wrapped around their muscular arms.

  “Hold!” bellowed a deep voice from the head of the table Wyatt sat atop.

  Lucy grabbed at Wyatt’s arm and Ms. Abagail scrambled toward them, scattering dishes and spilling goblets. “What is this?” she hissed, eyes painted wide and unblinking.

  Wyatt glanced around the room. “I think we fell through worlds,” he whispered.

  “This is…” Ms. Abagail lost the words and paled—which for her was saying something.

  “How have you come here, foul creatures?” bellowed the heavily mustachioed man at the head of the table. He stood as he spoke, jabbing a finger at the Draygans. “What cursed magic is this to have brought you into our hall?”

  The Draygans stirred, but didn’t respond.

  “You will answer me!” the man continued, pounding a fist on the table.

  The Draygans darted quick looks at the many blades and arrowheads aimed in their direction.

  Wyatt cleared his throat and shakily stood atop whatever fine dish he had destroyed by falling on it. The full attention of the room, and its many weapons, turned to Wyatt. Ms. Abagail tugged at the hem of his hospital gown. “What are you doing?”

  He waved off her plea and then held out his hands in greeting. “I can explain,” he said.

  He waited for some response, received none, and so continued, “You see, my name is Wyatt the—just Wyatt. I used to have the power of a Druid. And this,” he said, pointing at Lucy, “is my sister. She made this world.”

  He received a response to that. Laughter. It rippled through the room and brought a fire to his cheeks.

  Lucy stood up next to him and shrilly shouted, “It’s true!”

  That silenced the room once more.

  Wyatt made a show of smoothing out his hospital gown, which was more filth than not, and turned back to the man with the mustache wider than his face. “I know it makes no sense, but if you let me explain—”

  “What I want explained, boy,” the man said, “is how you and your attack dogs infiltrated this place.”

  Wyatt looked up at the Draygans, having momentarily forgotten they were there. “Oh, them? No, they’re trying to kill us. We all know Draygans only serve the Regency, anyway. I’ve only got two arms, see? We were running for our lives when we…well, dropped in.”

  The man narrowed his eyes at Wyatt. Then he turned to an older woman at his side and whispered into her ear. The woman eyed Wyatt as she listened to what Wyatt couldn’t hear. The man pulled back and climbed atop his chair, rising above the armed crowd. He held up an open palm.

  “These three humans,” he said loudly, nodding at them. “Shall we allow them to speak of their mysterious journey here and be given, for now, the benefit of our good faith, and shown our hospitality?”

  Hands jutted into the air at once, most open-palmed like the man’s, though Wyatt saw a smattering of closed fists.

  “Very well,” the man said. “It is decided. Their story shall be heard. Now, the Draygans…”

  Eyes and weapons turned to accost the hovering warriors with braids of flame. Suddenly, the creatures didn’t look as menacing as they once had.

  The man hadn’t even posed a question to be decided, but at once, the air filled with closed fists.

  The man nodded again. “Draygans! Servants of our sworn enemy, I ask now that you surrender and prepare yourselves to give forth every bit of information you have as to your arrival here as well as any questions that may be posed as to your masters.”

  One of the Draygans twitched and bolted for a window. Another snarled and lashed out with his braid, cutting clean through a nearby sword blade in the blink of an eye. In another moment, both Draygans were struck with too many arrows to count and fell weightily to the floor, where they were set upon by blade and foot.

  “Enough!” the man atop the chair bellowed. The crowd stopped at once, returning to prepared positions, regarding the remaining Draygan with cruel intent. “You must be the wise one,” he said to the Draygan. “Release your fire magic and surrender. It will not be offered a second time. As much as you are hated, it is known you are slaves as once we were. We would rather not offer death, but instead hope. But you must choose which you desire this day.”

  The fire from the Draygan’s braid evaporated with a hiss of smoke, and the warrior slowly descended into the crowd. Dozens of hands grabbed at the towering half-man, half-dragon and dragged him away through a set of thick wooden doors. Numerous other men and women followed with the slain Draygans being dragged behind them.

  “Ah, it’s settled, then. The Representatives will hear your story and the People will decide an appropriate course of action.” The mustachioed man stepped down from the chair and sat on it. He picked up a drumstick, brought it halfway to his mouth, and then looked up at Wyatt again. “And do climb down off our dinner, if you would.”

  Ms. Abagail was the first to move, sliding off the table and brushing off her soaked clothing. “We’re very s-sorry,” she stammered. “Like Wyatt said, there is a rational explanation for all of this. I hope.” She looked at Wyatt as he and Lucy dropped off the table.

  “And just so you know,” Lucy said loudly, no longer holding on to Wyatt, but standing tall and defiant on her own, “it’s all Wyatt’s fault.”

  “Hey!” Wyatt exclaimed. “It most certainly is not.”

  “Well, actually—” Ms. Abagail said.

  “Enough!” the man at the head of the table said over a mouthful of food. “If you would so kindly wait in the Observatory, where you will be farthest from us, it would do us all well.” He pointed at a small door in the f
ar corner of the room. “We will join you shortly, as it would seem you cannot hold your tongues for very long, and I do wish to hear your story, as unbelievable as I imagine it will be.” The man smiled for a brief moment before returning to his meal.

  Wyatt looked around and saw that all in the dining hall had resumed their meals, oblivious to Wyatt, Lucy, and Ms. Abagail standing disheveled in their midst, and seemingly ignorant of the thin streaks of Draygan blood that trailed down the center aisle.

  Wyatt shrugged and set off for the small door in the corner, waving on his companions. “Well, let’s go, gang.”

  Wyatt reached the door, but turned back before opening it. “Hey, where are we, anyway?”

  The mustachioed man didn’t bother turning to face Wyatt; he simply looked to the ceiling and shouted, “Sanctuary is where you’ve found yourself, stranger. Welcome! For now.”

  Dozens of fists struck the tables at once and the mass of dining humans replied in unison, “Sanctuary! Forever and always. Sanctuary!”

  “Oh,” Wyatt said, not finding an answer he could do anything with.

  Beyond the door was a short hallway that led into spiral stone steps that wound upward. As they began to climb, Ms. Abagail asked, “Do either of you know where we are?”

  “Nope,” Wyatt said.

  “Lucy?”

  “Sanctuary,” she said simply.

  “Well, yeah,” Ms. Abagail said. “I heard that part. Where’s that?”

  “Dunno,” Wyatt said.

  “She was talking to me,” Lucy retorted, pushing Wyatt in the back and nearly causing him to slip on a step. “It’s the safe place,” Lucy continued. “In a hidden place. No one will find us here. I told you.”

  “Hmmm,” Wyatt mused. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Did you forget about Athena?” Ms. Abagail asked.

  “Oh, right. How far away is Gazaria from here, Lucy? It’s where I saw her last.”

  “I don’t know,” Lucy replied.

  “This is your world. Shouldn’t you know where everything is?” Wyatt asked.