Chapter 1

The opening chapter of my book. Two druid wardens are on a quest that is interrupted when they run into trouble on the road.

I

Drustan and Kellen rode side by side along the tamped down track of earth that served as the forest road.  The road cut through a wilderness that was brown and dead.  The trees were barren, their skeletal limbs a tangled web that crisscrossed the skyline.  The lingering snow had been washed away by spring rains, and the forest floor was a carpet of rotting leaves and brush.  The only signs of life were a few scattered evergreens and a blue jay that was perched in a distant maple.  There was no wind and no clouds, the gray April sky was a flat haze above them.

Drustan studied the blue jay.  The bird was not there by chance, at the moment it was a vassal of Kellen's, imbued with the power to track their fugitive.  Once the riders were close enough the bird would leave it's perch and fly in the direction of it's mark, thus leading them after him.  Over the past six days the men had followed the bird north, traveling hundreds of miles from their home Sanctuary in Chicago.  Yet despite the jay's help they were running out of time, and there was no way to be sure how far they were behind their quarry.  

Anxious and bored, Drustan lifted the wide-brimmed hat off his head and ran his fingers through his sandy hair.  He replaced the hat and unbuttoned his heavy deerskin jacket so that he could twist and stretch in the saddle.  The movement caused the pistol that hung on his left hip to shift a little at his waist.  As he ended his stretch the holster returned to it's usual position and the familiar weight became just another piece of his attire.  To Drustan wearing his gunbelt was no different than wearing his hat, his boots, or the medallion that marked him as a Druid Warden; it was part of who he was.  

His restlessness partially subdued, Drustan turned to look at his partner riding beside him.  Kellen had dark hair and a clean shaven face that stood in stark contrast to Drustan's blonde hair and short stubby beard.  As children at the Druid Academy they had been nearly identical in size, but as they had reached manhood Drustan had settled into an average build, while Kellen had grown both taller and thinner.  He had a large roman nose characterized by a crook in the middle from a long healed break, a permanent reminder of the duo's teenage misadventures.  And he had deep-set green eyes that were so dark they seemed black in some light.

At the moment Kellen's eyes were glazed over and distant, his brow furrowed in an uncomfortable expression.  Around Kellen's left thigh there was tied a thick cloth bandage, a dressing which Drustan knew was barely adequate to prevent the wound underneath from bleeding through.  Over the past two days Drustan had watched as the pallor of Kellen's face had grown whiter while the dark circles around his eyes had grown darker.  Drustan's sincere concern for his friend hung in the air between them unspoken.  Their relationship was not the kind that required constant checks and reminders, and Drustan was no the type of man to expound his feelings anyway.  It was as Drustan was ending the observations of his suffering friend and turning back to the dull calm of the road that the forest echoed with a gunshot.

The sound shocked Drustan into vigilance and reflexively his hand went to the grip of his pistol.    He halted the horse under him, straightened up in the saddle, and listened for any accompanying sounds in an effort to identify the direction that the shot had come from.  In a dense forest it's always hard to pinpoint the direction of a single gunshot, the echoes off the trees play tricks.  He waited breathlessly for another shot, holding his horse still, straining for any sound at all.  After several long minutes he let out his breath, and tried to control the adrenaline that had pumped into his veins.

“You know which direction it came from?”  Kellen asked from beside him, his voice was husky with disuse. 

“I think it came from up ahead.”  Drustan scanned the area one more time, looking for any evidence that his suspicions were correct.  “Hard to tell with only one shot.”

There was a long silence as the pair listened together.  Then came another loud sound, like the cry of a screech owl, followed by two more gunshots.  “That's down the road, less than a mile.”  Drustan said.  Without hesitation he nudged his horse with his heals and called out “Ya!” slapping the reins against it's flank.  The stallion perked up instantly and set off at an impressive speed.  Drustan didn't wait to consult with his partner, and Kellen didn't hesitate to follow him, such was their trust and understanding of one another.  Only once, after several minutes of hard riding, did Drustan check behind him to be sure that Kellen was there.  

Eventually the road came to a small hill.  The horses charged up the hill, the stallion's breath coming harder and more ragged with each thundering gallop towards the summit.  As they reached the top a view of the path ahead became clear.  Below them the road widened out, becoming large enough so that two wagons could pass each other at the base.  To the left of the widened section there was a fallen tree just off the road, there were four horses tied to it.  On the opposite side there was a boxy wooden wagon hitched to two big draft horses.  There was smoke coming from somewhere behind the wagon.

Drustan halted his horse and waited for his partner. A few seconds later Kellen was beside him, the mare he was riding snorted and stomped her feet, clearly excited by the surge of activity.  Kellen didn't look as happy.  He was grimacing and his face had gone even whiter than it was before.  The second the horse came to a stop Kellen's left hand shot down to his wounded leg.

“You okay?”  Drustan asked, real concern in his voice.

“Fine.”  Kellen responded through clenched teeth, pain unmistakable in his voice.  He was squeezing the injury.

Drustan watched him closely as he massaged the leg and took a few deep breaths.

“I'm fine.”  Kellen said again, his voice a little firmer now, a little less strained.

Drustan studied his friend for a few seconds more before turning back to the scene below.  He scanned it for a moment, taking in all that he could. “I count four horses.”  He sad in measured tones.  “Six if you include the two draft horses hitched to the wagon.”

“Same.”  Kellen confirmed, his voice a little less pained than before.

“I don't see any people.”  Drustan scanned the area again.  “This has to be where the gunshots came from.” 

“Agreed.”  Kellen said.  The word had a ring of finality to it.  

The two shared a look, understanding of what must to be done passing between them without a word.  Drustan nodded, almost imperceptibly, like he was agreeing with himself, and unholstered his pistol.  Beside him Kellen reached down and a pulled a coach gun from the scabbard attached to his saddle.  He set it across his lap, his right hand holding the grip.  Drustan looked from Kellen's face to the shotgun; saw that his partner was prepared, then held his pistol upright in a ready position and ticked at his horse, urging him down the hill towards the wagon.

The horses carried them down the hill slowly, both riders holding them to a steady, measured walk.  Each man sat alert; upright, their boots firm in the stirrups, their eyes searching for any sign of danger or damage.  The forest, which had been still and quiet all day, was now filled with the heavy breathing of the winded horses and the creak of saddle leather.  The road on the back side of the hill was not soft like it had been in the flats but hard and dry, causing the horses steps to make unmistakable clip-clop sounds as they moved down it.

When they reached the bottom of the hill and the road spread out, Drustan felt uncomfortably exposed.  He had grown so used to the closed-in forest that the open ground made him uneasy.  As they neared the wagon the smell of burning wood filled the air, mingled with the sharp odor of gunpowder.  Drustan was scanning the forest around the horses on his side of the road when Kellen let out a quiet hiss.  Drustan stopped his horse and looked over.  Kellen nodded his head toward the wagon.  Drustan followed the gesture and his gaze landed on a pair of feet sticking out past the wagon's wheel.

Drustan froze for a second, watching and listening for any signs of movement.  Next to him Kellen had moved the coach gun out of his lap and up to his shoulder, aimed at the back of the wagon.  Kellen had sustained an injury to his shoulder in addition to the one on his leg, the shoulder was mostly healed now, but Drustan knew that holding the heavy shotgun up like that must have hurt.   Despite the pain Kellen didn't falter, the shotgun centered on the figure hidden behind the wheel.  Drustan dismounted on the side of his horse opposite the wagon and as quickly and quietly as he could holstered his pistol and withdrew his rifle from its scabbard.  He cocked the rifle, and with the weapon held at the ready he moved slowly forward.  Step by anxious step he circled around the end of the wagon until the far side came into view.

The final two steps around the wagon were taken in a rush, with the hope that Drustan might catch any would-be ambush off guard.  He cleared the end with his muscles taught like a coiled snake, ready to shoot at the slightest sign of danger.  His weapon immediately came to rest on the body that was laid out on the ground, once he saw that it wasn't moving he took in the rest of the scene in breathless anticipation.  It took him several seconds of motionless searching before he felt secure enough to breath again.  He stepped closer to the body.  Standing over it he noted two bullet wounds in the man's chest, he nudged him with the toe of his boot to be sure he was dead and got no response.  He was still standing over the body when Kellen called out behind him.

“Drustan.”  His voice was anxious, but still a harsh whisper.

Drustan turned and followed his friends gaze.  On this side of the wagon there was a small clearing, mostly grass, it was obviously a spot that travelers had taken to using as a camp; although no tents or gear were set up there at the moment.  Instead, in the middle of the clearing, there was small cooking fire burning.  The fire, however wasn't what Kellen was pointing at; on the far side of the clearing, leaning against a large gray boulder, was another body.

Kellen, still on his horse, had crossed behind Drustan and was pointing the shotgun at the body.   Drustan stood up and brought his weapon to bear as well.  He stalked over.  Moving across the clearing and past the fire nervously.  This body was far more gruesome then the first.  The front of his shirt and jacket were drenched in blood.  There was a jagged wound on the man's neck where a chunk of skin had been ripped off, a part of his throat with it.  There was a pistol in his right hand.

“Toutatis have mercy.”  Drustan said uneasily.   

Drustan let the rifle drop from his shoulder to a more relaxed position in front of him.  

Kellen's horse took a few more steps before stopping behind him.  Kellen kept the shotgun up and ready at his shoulder until he seemed assured that the man by the rock was dead, then he too dropped his weapon down, a quiet groan escaping his lips as he did so.  “Do you think it was Maddox?”  Kellen asked, his voice was strained.

Drustan was knelt down next to the body to determine what had caused the injury.  After a few seconds inspection he turned back to his partner.  “It's not Maddox, the wound is too small.  He would have torn this man to pieces and ripped out the heart.” 

“Maybe something interrupted him.”

Drustan shrugged and turned back to the body.  

“That is an apothecary wagon.”  Kellen said, he was still mounted, his horse now centered so that it was facing into the middle of the clearing, he was clearly taking in the entire scene, looking in all directions anxiously.

Drustan turned his gaze from the dead man in front of him to the wagon and immediately came to the same conclusion.  “What in the name of the Gods happened here?”

The man against the rock stunk, not just from his injuries, but something deeper; a foul unclean smell that only comes from weeks or months without bathing.  His hair was long and unkempt and his clothes were dirty.  There was a least a week of stubble on his face, and dirt was smudged on his cheeks and forehead.  In the sockets above those dirty cheeks his eyes were wide with fright, his expression one of complete surprise.  

“Maybe they killed each other.”  Kellen volunteered.

Drustan considered that for a second, then reached over and pulled the pistol from the man's grip.  He broke the pistol open and dumped the rounds out into his hand.  All six bullets were in tact.  “No spent shells.”  He said shaking his head; he held up his hand with the bullets as proof.

He stood and crossed back over to the wagon.  The wagon was an oddly built thing, shaped more like a hearse than a traditional cart.  The wheels were small and sat below the body of the carriage.  The wagon itself was an oblong box with doors all along the side.  One of those doors was open and a drop down secretary was hanging out with several small bottles of green liquid sitting on it, like a display.  Above that there were several rows of shelves, each filled with bottles of different shapes, sizes and colors.  Each one was clearly labeled and ready for sale.  

Drustan crouched down to examine the dead man beside the wagon.  His cheeks were clean shaven, he had a well waxed theatrical mustache and combed hair.  He was wearing a white linen shirt that appeared to have been cleaned very recently.  His pants were tailored and recently pressed and his jacket matched them.  He wore nice shoes.  Nearby lay a black top hat.  This man was surely dressed like an apothecary.  The bullet wounds were in the center of the chest.  The man looked like he taken a few punches to the face before he'd been shot.  As he was stepping away from the body Drustan noticed something shiny under the wheel of the wagon.  He reached down and picked it up, it was a nickle-plated two shot derringer.  He broke it open, one of the chambers had been fired.

He was holding up the derringer to show it to Kellen when the sound came; the same screech they had heard before, except it was much closer this time.  It was a piercing screech, sharper than the cry of a hawk and much more intense.  It hit Drustan fiercely, caused his legs to wobble.  It was like a hot poker in his skull, his brain seared with pain.  The sound caused Drustan to drop the Derringer and hold his empty left hand to his forehead, trying to somehow cushion the pain.  He was close to dropping to his knees when the screech abruptly cut off, like a phonograph with the needle removed.

It took several long seconds for Drustan to gather himself.  He stood back upright, using the wagon for support.  His legs were unsteady and his head was ringing.  He noticed that the blue jay they had been following was effected by the sound as well.  It had landed in the grass near the cooking fire, it was wobbling around in circles.  After a few seconds the bird seamed to regain it's bearings, it straightened and flew off into the distance, no sign of stopping or turning back.  

In his state of disorientation it took Drustan a moment to realize that there was shouting now coming from somewhere in the forest near the clearing.  Drustan looked over to Kellen, he was bent over on his horse and retching off to the side.  Already weakened by his injuries, Drustan figured the sound must have hit him harder.

“Kellen!” he called out to get his partner's attention.  His voice sounded more unsteady than he would have liked.  

Kellen looked over at him, a sight of complete misery.

“Listen!”  More shouts in the distance, now louder, at least three people.

“Go!”  Kellen blurted out before retching again.

Drustan didn't wait.  He rushed into the woods with his rifle out in front of him, batting the barren tree limbs out of his way as he went.  A dozen yards into the forest he identified a ridge in the distance, there were fir trees lining the slope which made it impossible to see the other side from the road.  Drustan turned in that direction, if he wanted to hide something from the road, that's where he would go.  The ground was damp in the forest, and it muffled the sound of his movement, even so Drustan slowed himself as he neared the ridge; picking his way through the brush as carefully as he could.  Nearly to the base of the slope he recognized the sound of a brook on the other side.  As he moved up the incline of the ridge he heard a man speak.

“Make sure the gag is on tight this time!”  The voice was gruff and angry.  “And tie her hands behind her back.”

“Gag was tight before! If you hadn't let her get away from you...”  A second voice whined.

“Just do it!”

A third voice chimed in, softer than the others and with a desperate tint to his voice.  “We should put a bullet in her head and get out of here before we get spotted.”

“Shut your whiny mouth Caleb.”  Said the first one.

“But any traveler passing by can see we was here.  Our horses are on the road, and we left two dead bodies...!”

“I said shut your mouth Caleb, or I'll shut if for you! She's gonna get what she deserves.  She killed Perth; ripped his f*****g throat out with her dirty Nyxie teeth!  No account apothecary and his Nyxie b***h!  We stop to sample his wears and he gets a little offended at the price we offer for his woman.

“She's not a w***e Whallach.  Cain had no right.”

“I told you to shut your f*****g mouth Caleb!”  The vicious hostility in the man's voice rose up to a thundering roar. “You open it again and I'll leave you here with her when we're done.”   After that came a long silence.  

Drustan followed the ridge's treeline to where it ended at the forest floor.  He was trying desperately to slow his breathing, to remain as quiet as he could.  The sound of the brook was very close now, and Drustan felt fortunate that the noise was masking his movement.

“There.”  Said the second voice.  “She's tied up good now.”

“Fine.”  Said the angry one.  “You step aside.  You two can do what you want with her once I'm done, but I'm going first.”  

Drustan hid behind the fir tree at the base of the ridge.  He took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the rifle in front of him and held it at the ready.  He looked back into the forest behind him hoping that he might see Kellen heading this way, but the forest was empty and still.  Whatever happened next, he would have to do it on his own.  

Drustan heard a commotion on the other side of the tree, followed by the muffled wail of a woman. The woman's desperate cry touched a nerve in him, set something off.  He had felt anger begin to build in him since the men started speaking, but in truth it had been lingering there for days; since Kellen had been shot, since that awful moment on the bridge, maybe even since they were given the assignment in the first place.   All the frustration, fear, and anxiety, of the past weeks had built up inside of him.  The woman's futile struggles and urgent cries added an urgency to these pent up feelings and as he stepped out from behind the trees, Drustan let them go.

The ridge he had been following lead down to a brook on the other side.  Next to the water were two big pine trees, tall and angular, their bulbous branches reaching up to the gray sky.  The ground below the trees was flat and bare, covered with a blanket of dried brown pine needles.  Drustan came around the trees at the far end of the ridge, closest to the brook.  He knew from listening to the men speak that at least one of them would be on his left somewhere along the ridge, so he had his rifle trained in that direction.  As he stepped out into the clearing a branch snapped under his feet and it alerted the other men.  One called out and Drustan spotted him, higher up on the ridge than he had expected, but still at the end of his barrel.  Drustan saw the man reaching for a rifle against a tree next to him.  Drustan took aim and fired, cycled the lever on his carbine, and fired again.  The first shot was more a reflex than anything, it went wide.  The second shot hit the man in the center of the chest, and he fell backwards onto the hill.  

One man down, Drustan moved; cycling the lever on his rifle as he sidestepped into the clearing.  A return shot whizzed by him, close on his left, no doubt passing through the lingering gunsmoke that had marked his position only a second before.  More shots followed in rapid succession, none as accurate as the first.  Drustan kept moving.  He didn't duck, didn't lower his weapon, he followed the sound of the shots up the ridge and saw a man hiding behind a big maple tree, his arm stretched out around the trunk firing a pistol wildly.  Drustan stopped and opened fire, shot after shot thundering from his rifle.  Bullet casings flew out around him as he cycled the lever between each shot.   Most of the bullets hit the trunk of the tree but one or two, he was sure, found it's target.  It was as he cycled the lever to fire again for the seventh or eighth time that he was tackled.  

With Drustan's attention concentrated on the ridge above the third man, Whallach, had rushed from the cover where he had taken the woman.  Drustan spotted the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his shoulder into the hit just before he was rammed.  The man was large, and the weight and speed of his massive frame hit Drustan with bone-shattering force.  Drustan's rifle and hat were sent flying in opposite directions as the man knocked him to the ground with a crunch.  He was instantly dazed and nearly blacked out, a circumstance that was only avoided because he had spotted the man coming.

The weight of Whallach crushed down on him as Drustan tried to come to his senses, but before he could gather himself he was under assault by hard blows to the face and head from the man's huge meaty hands.  Spit flew from the assailant's mouth and down his ragged beard as he growled in anger.  All Drustan could do was hold his arms up and try to protect himself as he was pummeled again and again. The assault seamed to go on for a long time, although it couldn't have lasted for more than half a minute.  Then with a roar the man grabbed Drustan by the front of his jacket and lifted him up off the ground.  With bearlike strength he carried him up over his chest until they reached the brook and flung him down, back first, into the cold cold water. 

The brook wasn't that wide and standing up the water wouldn't have reach Drustan's thigh, but forced down onto his back it may as well have been an ocean.  He gasped and grasped, trying to get purchase of anything that would allow him to breath.  A lucky blow against the attacker's grip on his jacket bought him a few precious seconds above the surface, but almost instantly the man was back on top of him; pushing him down. The coldness of the water, the strength and size of the man above him,  the lack of air; Drustan was fading.  He stopped trying to break the man's grip and instead pushed off against him with his left hand, he slipped his right down to the pistol on his left hip.  He cocked it before the weapon had even cleared the surface and jabbed it hard into meat of the man's stomach.  He pulled the trigger with the desperate knowledge that it might not fire.

He felt the kick of the shot in his hand more than he heard it, with his head underwater the sound was just a dull thud to him.  Fortunately he had the wherewithal to c**k the pistol and pull the trigger again, then again.  It was the third shot that finally backed the man away.  Drustan broke the surface of the water in a gasp, his vision dim around the edges.  With exhausted desperation he rolled onto his stomach and crawled towards the edge of the brook.  The round stones and loose dirt that made up the bottom of the stream fought him with every movement.  Finally he was on the shore, gasping and coughing up swallowed water as he collapsed into wet pine needles.  Still coughing and trying to catch his breath Drustan looked over to see Whallach, sitting only a few meters away, his hand holding the wounds in his bloody stomach.  

The man sneered when he saw Drustan looking at him, a hideous, evil sight.  The blood in his mouth framed his yellow teeth in a menacing, unearthly way.  “You better pray you've got another bullet.”  He spoke in a such a slow, deadpan manner that it chilled Drustan more than than the water had.  Whallach struggled to his feet and came at Drustan with death in his eyes.  

Drustan could barely think, it was only by habit that his pistol had managed to stay in his hand.  He leaned back, his left arm holding him up against the ground, managed to aim the pistol at Whallach's head and pulled the trigger... misfire.  Still slowed by the cold and shock it took Drustan a second to realize what had happened, and the man was getting closer.  He cocked the weapon again, aimed... misfire.  Unsure how many shots he had fired up to this point Drustan cocked the pistol one last time.  Whallach was nearly on top of him as he aimed and pulled the trigger...  The bullet struck just above the right eye.  The man took one more lumbering step forward then fell face first into the bed of pine needles.

Drustan fell back against the ground.  He was still gasping for air and coughing.  His lungs were burning, his body was covered with the lingering pain from dozens of blows, and he was freezing.  If he could have summoned the strength to do it Drustan probably would have curled into a ball.

He was still lying on his back, breathing hard, shivering, when one of the men came down the hill in a rush.  He was young, not more than twenty, his hair was cut short.  There was a bloody bullet wound showing through his gray wool jacket, high on his right arm just below shoulder.  He was holding a pistol in the other hand.  It was the second man from the hill, the one that had hid behind the tree.  He wasn't running, but moving at a swift walk, the gun held out in front of him, pointed down towards Drustan on the ground.

There were no more bullets in Drustan's pistol, he was sure.  His rifle had been knocked away when Whallach had tackled him and Drustan had no idea where it had landed.  His knife was probably still on his belt, but he was on the ground and not likely to get close enough to use it.  He knew he was finished.  He picked his head up to look at the man.  He was coming at him from a little to his left, so Drustan leaned a bit onto that side.  His mind quickly reviewed the conversation he had overheard... this one must be Caleb.  Drustan's mind raced, hoping to think of anything that might buy him the time or opportunity he needed to turn things around.  

The man was almost to him, two more steps and he would be in point blank range.  “You son of a b***h!”  He shouted.  There was an animal tone in his voice, a ferocity nearly identical to Wallach's.  The gun was aimed at Drustan's face.  In that second Drustan realized he had no cards left to play.  He would not beg this would-be rapist for his life.  He felt one final burst of adrenaline surge through his body.  His muscles locked up, waiting for impact.   Despite his best efforts Drustan flinched as a shot went off.  Accompanying the sound of the shot Caleb's head exploded.

Brain, skull, and blood cascaded through the air, the remnants of the man's cranium splayed out onto the floor of pine needles and into the brook beyond.  The lifeless body was knocked to its left, it flopped down into a limp heap next to his dead companion.  Drustan let out a series of heavy breaths so intense they were almost a sob.  He looked up the ridge where the shot must have come from and there standing between two fir trees, was Kellen.  He had his shotgun broken open and was expertly reloading the barrels; he finished and flipped the breach closed.  Drustan gasped a couple more times, nodded at his partner, swallowed hard, and let himself drop back to the ground.

Drustan put his faith in Kellen.  He let the concern for anything around him fade away and closed his eyes.  The respite could not have lasted more than a minute or two, but when Drustan opened his eyes again he felt much better.  He sat up and saw that Kellen had moved across the ridge and was now examining something halfway up the slope.  Drustan realized it must be the body of the first man he had shot.

Drustan forced himself to stand, his legs were the tiniest bit wobbly underneath him.  Was it from the adrenaline or from the hit's he had taken?  He couldn't decide. A survey of the area around him brought into focus the sum of his efforts:  two bodies, one nearly headless, and the forest floor painted in blood.  From on the ground where he had been lying he picked up his revolver.  He broke it open to reveal the cylinder, emptied out the shell casings into his hand, and mechanically began reloading it from his gunbelt.   As he was doing so Kellen, who had finished inspecting the body on the hill, came down to join him.  

“Man on the hill took one in the heart.”  Kellen said as he reached the base of the slope.  He was limping, his voice strained with pain; the bandage around his left leg was now soaked with blood.

Drustan looked up, considered his partner's condition.  He finished reloading and seated the pistol back into it's soggy holster.  As he released the weapon he realized that the rounds from his gunbelt had gotten just as wet as the ones that had misfired, they were just as likely to fail.  At the moment he had no other alternative, so he set the thought aside and turned his attention to his partner.

“He's the one that spotted me first.”  Drustan's mind was still jumbled from the conflict and it was the best explanation he could think of.  He noticed his hat lying on the ground a few steps away and he walked over to where it was, snatched it off the ground, and seated it back on his head.

“What happened?”  Kellen asked.  He looked even paler than he had earlier in the day, his expression one of extreme discomfort.

“When I reached the ridge here,” Drustan pointed, “I overheard them talking about how they killed the man back by the road and they were gonna take it out on the woman.”

“What woman?”  Kellen said looking around.

In his shock and disorientation Drustan had forgotten about the woman.  Blood rushed back into him at the realization.  He brushed past Kellen and headed along the brook.  He moved in the direction that the big man, Whallach, must have come from when he charged him.  A dozen yards down the water he found another pine tree.  This one had big drooping branches that created a hollow underneath them.  Inside the hollow he could see the silhouette of two legs.  He took a step closer to bring the hollow full into view, and there she was. 

The legs were fair, that was the first thing he noticed, and without shoes. Her feet were dirty.  She had been wearing a yellow dress, but that along with whatever undergarments she had been wearing, was now cut and ripped apart.  She was gagged with a cord of thick rope that had been wound around her head several times.  She had been left exposed: all that covered her were a few a bits of yellow fabric round her shoulders and a strand of lace that had made up the bottom hem of her dress.  She was on her back, her arms bound beneath her, and she was unconscious.  

Drustan's first instinct was to stop and go back to the horses and gather a blanket from his bedroll to cover her.  But the horses were over a hundred yards away through thick forest, and he was feeling too beat up to make that trip more than once.  He looked back towards the clearing behind him, trying to remember if he had seen anything there that might be suitable, but he could conceive of nothing.  Instead he took off his hat and set it on the ground, then crawled under the tree next to her.

The hollow under the tree was larger than it had appeared from above, and the pine needles on the ground made it soft under his knees.  Not knowing exactly how to proceed Drustan reached around the woman's head to untie the gag.  He found that there was a length of cord running from the back of the gag to her hands behind her back, almost like a roped steer.  He rolled the woman on her side, exposing the rope behind her, and unsheathed the knife at his waste to cut her free.  The rope sliced clean under the razor sharp blade, and in seconds he had unbound her wrists.  With her no longer constrained Drustan did his best to pull the dress back up and around her body; an awkward uneven gap formed along the front where it had been cut away.  Finally he unwound the gag from her head.  

“Is she alive?”  Kellen asked, the lingering pain in his voice dripping with concern.

“She's alive.”  Drustan said.

With the gag off of her, Drustan was able to get his first real look at the woman's face.  Her mouth was covered in dried blood that was all over her chin and down to the top of her chest.  Her face was beaten up.  She had a fat lip on the left side of her mouth with a matching purple bruise on that side of her jaw, and she had a black eye.  Despite the large amount of blood on her face she didn't appear to be cut anywhere.  

“Help me drag her out of here so I can pick her up.”  Drustan behested his friend.  With Kellen holding her legs and Drustan holding up her head and shoulders they pulled her out into the gray daylight.  

Despite the fact that it wasn't a sunny day, the increased light made it clear that what Drustan had heard the men say was true, this woman was a Nyx.  Her skin had a greenish tint to it, probably not noticeable to most people, but to a Warden it was plain as day.  Also the color of her hair was strange, what had looked like dark brown hair in the shadows had a hint of purple in the daylight.  The shape of her face was unusual too, long and thin, with delicate features; they shone through despite the swelling and bruises.  Also, she had unusually large ears.

“She's a Nyx.”  Drustan informed his partner.  “The sound we heard before was her defensive scream.”  

“A Nyx?”  Kellen said with disbelief.  He had been keeping his distance and averting his eyes out of respect, but now he took a step closer and examined her properly.  After a few seconds he appeared to come to the same conclusion.  “What should we do?  She must have killed the man at the road.”

“From what the men here were saying the guy she killed tried to take advantage of her.”  Drustan said.  He did not further the explanation, leaving Kellen's imagination to work out the details.  “Anyway, he got what he had coming.”  He said with disgust.  “So did the rest of these b******s.”  

A few seconds of silence passed as the two inspected the woman, neither one sure how exactly to proceed.  Finally Drustan said, “Get some water from the river would you, lets wipe some of this blood off her face.”  

Drustan pulled a handkerchief from a pocket inside his jacket.  Like the rest of his clothes it was already wet, so he started cleaning the woman's face.  Kellen was able to splash a little more on her, and Drustan did manage to get her pretty clean.  It was as Kellen splashed a second handful of water onto her that the woman's eyes began to flutter.  Drustan sat up a bit, he didn't want to intimidate the woman by being too close when she opened her eyes, but he remained seated on his knees next to her.  

When the woman's eyes finally did open there was a bit of a haze over them, like they had trouble focusing, she groaned a little.  Drustan saw Kellen, who had leaned his shotgun against a tree while he was fetching water, limp over and pick the weapon back up.  He held it loosely in front of him, the barrel pointed at the ground.  Despite his attempt to appear casual Drustan knew that Kellen was observing the woman with the utmost intensity and vigil.  If she made a move to harm Drustan he had no doubt what would happen.

It took a few more seconds for the woman's eyes to sharpen and focus.  She saw the two men above her, and with that sight must have come the memory of her recent ordeal, because her face contorted with fear.  In a panic she held up her arms across her chest defensively and did her best to push herself back down into the ground and away from the strangers.  She let out a little cry, not a scream exactly but a sharp fearful birdlike sound.  The last thing Drustan wanted was for her to cry out as she had before so he rushed to calm her.

“Miss!  It's okay Miss, your safe.”  

The woman started to cry in a gasping terrified way, like a child might after hurting itself.  She was holding her hands up over her face, her eyes closed.

Drustan tried again.  “You're safe miss, those men are gone.”  He reached down and put his left hand on her right shoulder, making sure to only touch the fabric of her shattered dress.  He continued speaking in the least threatening manner possible. “They're gone miss.  We took care of them.”

Drustan wasn't sure if it was his touch or his words that got through to the woman, but her breathing eased up and her cries seemed to soften.  

“They're gone miss.  You're safe.”

It was then the Drustan could tell the woman was really listening to him.  She moved her hands away from her face and looked straight at him.  With her full attention he looked her in the eyes and said “You're safe.” one more time.  

The woman dropped her hands, no longer trying to protect herself from him, and instead she gave in to her tears.  She rolled over onto her side and began to sob. 

Drustan looked back over his shoulder at Kellen.  He still held the shotgun, but it was no longer in a position to be brought to bear.  He had one of the saddest looks on his face that Drustan had ever seen him wear.  Drustan had known his friend was wounded and weak, but he hadn't realized just how vulnerable he had become.

Drustan wanted to get up and moving immediately, but didn't want to rush the woman more than he should.  To fill the time he stood, picked his hat up off the ground, and put it back on his head.  Finally he walked back over to her and leaned over with his hands on his knees.  The thought occurred to him that with the beating he had just taken, his face might not look as inviting as it otherwise would.

“Look Miss, we need to get you back to the road.  My friend is injured and I need to get him to a healer, do you understand?”  This wasn't the full truth, but it was enough to gather the woman's attention.  She looked over to him again, then to Kellen.  Her eyes went down to the bloody bandage on Kellen's leg, then she gave the slightest nod.  

“I'm just gonna carry you back.”  Drustan said quickly.  Without waiting to further explain himself Drustan reached out and picked the woman up.  She was small and light and it took very little effort before Drustan was standing with her head on his left shoulder.  The heat of her body pressed down on the cold damp of his clothes and chilled him, but there was nothing to be done about that.  With Kellen behind him he followed the brook back to the pine clearing.  As they crossed the clearing to the ridge the woman picked her head up and looked around, her gaze landed on the two dead bodies as Drustan walked by them.  When she saw the blood she closed her eyes again and buried her face into Drustan's collar.  

As he reached the edge of the clearing a thought occurred to Drustan and he called back “Grab my rifle.”  He didn't say please, but his voice was kind.  As he crossed over the ridge he looked back to see Kellen searching the clearing for his carbine, Drustan had no doubt he would find it.

Once over the ridge the trek across the forest was relatively flat.  The ground was soft so he had to watch his footing, especially with the woman's extra weight, but he was able to move relatively unimpeded.  With her pressed against him Drustan couldn't help but hear her breathing calm and her body relax with each step.  There were a couple moments when Drustan nearly stumbled where she tensed up and held her breath, but after each one she relaxed again.  When they reached the road she seemed to have gotten herself under control.

He set the woman on her feet in the small grassy clearing next to the wagon.  The ragged flap of her torn dress floated out around her for a second before the woman had time to gather it and hold it in front of her like a robe.  “Do you have a change of clothes in your wagon?”  Drustan asked.

The woman looked from him to the wagon and back.  Her mind still a little thick from shock.  Finally she said “Yes.” in something just above a whisper.

“Change your clothes then.”  Drustan said.  He didn't wait for her to respond, instead he walked over to where his horse was standing.  With the excitement and exertion of everything that had come before Drustan had been able to fight off the cold, but now stripped of those efforts the damp chill of his wet clothes hit him hard.  His hands were shaking as he pulled a clean shirt and pants from his saddlebag.  The shaking graduated to a violent shiver as he stripped off what he was wearing and pulled on dry things.  He was strapping his gunbelt on when Kellen cleared the treeline.  

Kellen's held out the rifle towards him as he came near and said “Damn thing was hidden under some brush.”  His limp seemed to be a little worse, the blood on his leg had started to saturate his pants.

Drustan took the rifle and stored it in the scabbard attached to his saddle.  His hands were still shaking, he did his best to steady their flutter.  

“Where's the girl?”  Kellen asked.  

Drustan looked around sharply, and for the briefest of seconds the idea came to him that the woman would be gone, run off into the forest never to be seen again.  But his searching found her head crowning over top of the wagon where she had gone to change on the other side.  He nodded in that direction.  “Changing.”

Kellen looked over to where Drustan nodded.  Then after a few seconds said “What do you want to do now?  Should we make camp?  Stay the night here?”

Drustan scanned the area one more time, looking up and down the earthen road with consideration.  “I think we should continue north.  That traveler we met yesterday said the town was about thirty miles.  Can't be but ten more left.”  Drustan waited for a look of agreement from Kellen before continuing.  “Ten more miles means we can find you a healer before that wound festers, and sleep in a warm bed tonight.”  Drustan studied his friend's expression, not sure if he agreed.  “Plus I don't know what kind of shape I'm going to be in tomorrow.”  The last point was said with unguarded sincerity; a quiver against the cold entering his voice as he spoke.

Kellen studied Drustan for a moment, then seemed to come around to his reasoning.

While the men had been speaking the woman had moved from her spot on the other side of the wagon and around the opposite end, past the massive draft horses and over to the other side.  She stopped next to the body of the man that had been shot and knelt down beside him.  

She was now wearing a sky blue dress with a white collar and a dark blue topcoat that came past her knees.  From where Drustan was standing it was clear that the purple was gone from the woman's hair and her skin had none of the green in it that he had noticed before.  She had no doubt been able to re-establish the glamour that made her appear human.  A shared glance between himself and his partner assured him that Kellen saw it too.  

The woman reached out her hand to close the man's eyes, then put her hand flat on his chest and wept.  After waiting as long as he could bear Drustan stepped over to the woman.  He took his hat off out of respect and held it in front of him before he spoke.  “My condolences, ma'am.”  

When he had first spoke to the woman before he had called her miss.  At the time she had seemed small and vulnerable, but now with her properly dressed and back on her feet, she seemed stronger, and older.  Drustan turned to calling her ma'am without even realizing it.  She looked up at him, tears wet upon her cheeks, but didn't speak.  Beside him Kellen also took his hat off and mumbled “Condolences.”

The woman glanced over to Kellen, then up at Drustan.  Despite Drustan's best efforts he was shivering, and when the woman noticed this a look of concern formed on her face.  She stood wordlessly and walked over to the open door on the side of the wagon.  She surveyed the shelves there.  From one of the shelves she pulled a small amber bottle, round like a ball, with a cork stopper.  She walked back over to Drustan and handed it to him.  “Drink this.”  She commanded him softly.

Drustan took the bottle and examined it.  He looked from the bottle, to the woman, to Kellen and back again.  “What is it?”  There was a quiver in his voice as he spoke.

“Frostbane.”  Her voice was a little louder.  “You might know it as 'Woodsman's Friend'.”

Drustan looked at the bottle again.  He had of course heard of Frostbane at the academy, but he had never seen it used.  It was a potion meant to keep you warm even on the coldest night, it was hard to make, and therefore rare.  “I don't know if I should.”  Drustan said.  He didn't want to waste something so rare and valuable on himself.

Kellen limped towards Drustan to look at the bottle, then turned to him and said.  “Take it Drustan.”  In a firm voice.  Then in a softer one, with concern in his eyes he added, “You're lips are blue.”

Drustan looked down at the bottle for a second, considered what his friend had said, then nodded.  He unstoppered the bottle, the cork coming out with a squeak, and brought it to his lips.  The smell coming from the bottle was pungent, but not altogether unpleasant, in reminded him of mushrooms and damp soil.  The size of the bottle indicated that it was meant to be drank in a single gulp, so that's what Drustan did.  

To say that the fluid burned as it went down would be an understatement, it was like swallowing a fire.  Drustan felt the movement of the liquid as it blazed through his mouth, down his throat and into his stomach.  The heat settled in his stomach for a moment, building, then it began to spread.  Fire radiated from the center of his body out into each of his limbs until even the tips of his toes began to burn.  For a moment his felt like his entire body was on fire.  It wasn't painful exactly, but a feeling of heat unlike anything he had ever known.  The sensation was so intense he was afraid it would cook him to death.  For a moment he thought maybe the woman had poisoned him, maybe it was some kind of foul play, but then the heat began to soften and calm; it turned from a burning fire to a delicious satisfying warmth.  He ceased shivering, his hands stilled, and the cold weariness that had been weighing him down was lifted.

The woman had observed him clinically through the whole process and when she saw him relax she nodded to herself approvingly.  She reached out and took the bottle back from his hands, and placed it back onto the shelf from where it had come.  Afterword she turned her glance to Kellen.  “We need to change that bandage.”  She said to Kellen.

Drustan, who was rarely caught by surprise, was a bit dumbstruck.  He watched the woman tidy the shelves she had been standing at, close them, move to another set of doors on the wagon, reach in and pull out a rolled up bandage.  She moved with a confidence and authority that he had rarely seen before.  “What is your name ma'am?”  He asked.

The woman took the rolled bandage and moved over to where Kellen was standing, without asking she began to unfasten the old dressing.  “Coralee.”  The way she said it the name had a musical quality, like the sound of a sad songbird.  “What's yours?”

“Drustan.”  He said, taking his hat off as he did so.  “Drustan Collins.”