Chương 44: Chapter 29: The Druid of Fallowspire – Part II

The forest closes around me gradually as I leave the orchards behind. The farther I travel, the more obvious the Tuskers' passage becomes. Massive hoofprints press deep into softened earth while broken branches mark the path of creatures too large to navigate the undergrowth delicately. Smaller tracks weave between them at irregular intervals. I continue deeper into the woods. Fresh gouges score tree trunks. Patches of earth lie overturned where the Tuskers had rooted briefly before moving on again.

They had fed where they could, but never for long. Something had kept them moving. The uneasy sensation lingering at the edge of my awareness strengthens. I stop beside a narrow stream winding through the forest floor. Fortunately, the water remains clear. No signs of corruption linger within it. Nearby, the Tusker trail splinters across the muddy banks in overlapping layers of confusion and urgency. Then I notice another set of tracks, large paws, retractable claws, feline and dangerous. I crouch beside them.

There are too many. The impressions overlap repeatedly, moving in the same direction. During my years in Elarion, I had encountered enough wildlife to know that predators of this size rarely hunted cooperatively. Territorial instincts discouraged it. Unless something had disrupted those instincts. I rise. The forest has fallen unnaturally quiet, no birdsong, no rustling movement through the undergrowth. Even the insects seem reluctant to disturb the stillness hanging beneath the forest canopy. I quicken my pace.

The trail begins climbing steadily uphill before leveling near the crest of a ridge. Cautiously, I step forward and peer through the foliage below. My breath catches. Briarthorn Tuskers fill the clearing beneath me. Far more than I had anticipated. The massive beasts stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, each one large enough to rival a wagon in size. Thick coats of coarse earth-brown bristles covered powerful frames built for endurance rather than speed.

Curving ivory tusks protruded from elongated snouts, some no longer than a man's forearm while others rivaled short spears in length. Old scars marked many of the adults, pale lines hidden beneath dense fur that spoke of seasons survived and battles endured. The sow at the center of the herd dwarfed even the others surrounding her. Muscles shifted visibly beneath her hide with every movement while a pair of broad tusks framed her scarred muzzle.

Several piglets remained pressed tightly against her flanks, no larger than hunting dogs despite the formidable creatures they would eventually become. Adults form a broad defensive perimeter around the herd while juveniles cluster toward the center. The sow nearest the middle dwarfs even the others surrounding her. Several piglets remain pressed tightly against her flanks while older juveniles huddle nearby. There must be thirty tuskers here, perhaps even more.

A deep rumbling passes through the herd, uneasy and alert. I realize something. The splinter group near the orchards had never been the threat. They had been separated from this herd. Movement erupts along the opposite edge of the clearing. Dark shapes explode from the undergrowth, Duskrenders. The first launches itself toward the defensive line with terrifying speed. Sleek muscle ripples beneath dark fur while crimson veins pulse unnaturally beneath its skin. Another follows immediately after it, then another.

The attack comes too coordinated, too aggressive and too wrong. An adult tusker charges to intercept. The nearest Duskrender twists aside with unnatural precision before raking elongated claws across the Tusker's shoulder. A second predator immediately tries exploits the opening. The herd, however, responds instantly. Adults' close ranks; piglets vanish deeper into the protective formation and the clearing descends into chaos. Tuskers bellow, Duskrenders shriek.

A young Tusker stumbles as another predator slips through the defensive line. I move without thinking. Vael's staff slams against the earth as mana surges and the forest answers with it. Roots erupt upward from beneath the clearing floor, twisting together into a massive thorn-covered tendril thicker than a man's torso. It crashes sideways into the charging Duskrender with enough force to lift the creature from the ground entirely before hurling it through the surrounding brush.

Young trees splinter beneath the impact and then brief silence follows Every head turns toward me. Tuskers, Duskrenders even the piglets. For a single suspended heartbeat, the entire clearing simply stares. Then one of the Duskrenders lowers itself into a crouch. Corruption burns within its eyes. The creature begins to snarl and others join it. Their attention shifts away from the herd and toward me. I tighten my grip upon Vael's staff.

Around me, mana continues flowing freely through pathways I had once believed lost forever. The exhilaration almost makes me reckless. The remaining pack of five Duskrenders begin spreading outward, attempting to encircle me. I instinctively reach for the same working again and the attempt falters. The pathways within me protest, the lingering strain of the previous casting still too fresh to ignore. Excitement had made me careless.

Mana flowed through me more freely than it had in years and, somewhere between the Silverwood's restoration and the simple joy of wielding druidic magic without pain, I had forgotten an important truth. Restored did not mean limitless. Some workings demanded time before they could be shaped again. The first Duskrender lunges and I meet it head-on. The first Duskrender reaches me in a blur of dark fur and crimson-veined muscle. I pivot sideways. Claws slice through empty air where my throat had been moments earlier.

Vael's staff sweeps upward in response, the reinforced wood crashing into the creature's ribs with enough force to drive it sideways. It lands lightly despite the impact, circling immediately. The remaining four spread outward, one moves left; two angle toward my flanks; the last one lingers near the Tuskers, waiting for opportunities to break through the defensive line protecting the piglets.

I retreat a single step before driving the butt of Vael's staff into the earth, this time mana answers as I direct it through different channels. Roots burst upward beneath the leading Duskrender, twisting around its forelegs. The creature tears free almost immediately, but the momentary hesitation is enough. I move forward, Vael's staff cracks against the side of its skull. The Duskrender collapses. Four remain. Seeing the dwindled numbers of duskrenders, the Tuskers surge.

A massive boar slams into a predator with enough force to send both creatures tumbling through the undergrowth. Nearby, a younger Tusker takes position beside the enormous sow while several adults tighten the protective ring around the piglets. The Duskrenders adapt quickly as well. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. One darts toward me, other circles behind. The third remains just beyond reach, searching for weakness. I abandon the staff for now.

The transition happens instinctively; staff slips into my left hand as my right draws the familiar weight of steel. The second sword leaves its sheath in a fluid motion. The Duskrender lunges and the blade catches descending claws before sliding aside to open the creature's guard. Vael's staff follows immediately, striking across the Duskrender's exposed shoulder. Bone gives way beneath the impact and the creature stumbles. I bring down my sword, giving it no time to recover.

The blade cuts cleanly through its neck, ending it. Three remain. Movement flashes behind me and I twist. Claws rake across my shoulder instead of my spine. Pain blooms immediately. The Duskrender presses the advantage, but this time I am prepared. Steel meets fang, staff intercepts claws. The creature's unnatural coordination allows it to recover almost as quickly as I force openings, almost. I hook the staff beneath one foreleg and pull. The Duskrender loses its footing.

I immediately follow by driving my sword downwards. Two remain. The Tuskers bellow in panic. One of the remaining predators has slipped past the defensive perimeter. Piglets scatter as the sow charges. The Duskrender twists away from her tusks before continuing toward the vulnerable young. I react instantly. I slam the ground once more using the staff. Mana surges this time and roots answer immediately.

Thorn-covered vines erupt beneath the charging predator before coiling around its limbs and slamming it violently into the forest floor. When the vine finally let go, the corrupted Duskrender collapse on the ground, battered, broken and unmoving. The final Duskrender hesitates and the Tuskers notice. Deep rumbles pass through the herd as the adults advance together. The predator desperately lunges towards an opening that no longer exists, the corruption overriding its instinct to survive.

The sow meets it head-on this time. Tusks pierce corrupted flesh and the Duskrender falls. Silence settles briefly across the clearing. I tighten my grip upon the sword. Then slowly release the tension in my shoulders. Wounded adults lean heavily against one another while piglets emerge cautiously from beneath the shelter of their elders. The sow turns toward me. It really is massive and wary. I wipe the Duskrender's blood from my blade before returning it to its sheath.

Vael's staff remains planted against the earth beside me. Slowly, I lower myself into a crouch.

"You were protecting them," I say quietly. The sow snorts. Several piglets press themselves against her legs. I extend my awareness carefully. No hostility greets me, only exhaustion, protectiveness and relief. Then something else slowly creeps in, absence. The impression arrives fragmented and incomplete but clear enough. The feeling of separation and my attention immediately drifts towards the smaller group near the orchards. I open my eyes.

"The others are safe," I say. The sow remains motionless.

"I think they've been waiting for you." The Briarthorn Tusker takes a single step forward, then another. The clearing remains silent as the herd watches me. Slowly, I rise to my feet and retrieve Vael's staff.

"We should go," I murmur.

"Your family has waited long enough." The Briarthorn Tusker studies me for several long moments then, slowly, the great sow lowers her head. The shift is subtle. More like a release of tension rather than submission. Around her, the rest of the herd remains wary. Several adults continue scanning the surrounding forest while others inspect the wounded. The piglets, however, seem considerably less concerned with maintaining dignity.

One of them wanders several steps away from the protective cluster before another adult nudges it firmly back into place. I suppress the urge to smile, children are children after all, no matter the species.

"They're nearby," I say quietly.

"The smaller group. They never stopped trying to protect them." The sow snorts. I do not pretend to understand the exact meaning behind the sound. I merely turn toward the direction from which I had come. The herd follows me. The sow takes the first step. Another Tusker falls into place beside her, then another. Thirty Briarthorn Tuskers begin moving through the forest. I find myself walking at the front of the procession with Vael's staff resting against one shoulder.

The forest parts around the herd with surprising ease. Branches sway overhead while startled wildlife retreats from the advancing mass of muscle and tusk. The piglets prove considerably less intimidating. They dart between adults with reckless enthusiasm, frequently ignoring the increasingly exasperated grunts of their elders. One attempts to investigate my boots. The sow immediately redirects it elsewhere. Several minutes later, another piglet attempts the same thing.

Apparently, curiosity outweighs survival instincts at this stage of development. The return journey passes without further incident. Eventually, the scent of cultivated orchards drifts through the air once more. The Tuskers notice immediately and the herd slows. Nervous energy spreads through the adults nearest the front. They are nearing human settlements and this time of their own accord. I extend my awareness gently. The anticipation comes in waves.

The first orchard workers spot us before we reach the damaged fencing and someone screams. Several people abandon baskets and sprint toward the storage buildings. Others simply freeze. I cannot entirely blame them. Thirty Briarthorn Tuskers emerging from the forest is not an everyday occurrence. Ronan appears moments later. His expression cycles rapidly through confusion, disbelief and what I suspect is profound regret regarding the decision to trust me.

"Kaelen..." he begins. I lift one hand, "Please remain calm." Ronan stares at the approaching herd, "I feel as though you're asking rather a lot." Fair. The separated group emerges from deeper within the orchard. Six adult Tuskers immediately freeze. The piglets notice them first. Excited squeals erupt throughout the clearing. The adults follow moments later. All of the protective formations dissolve. The smaller group surges forward while the larger herd responds in kind.

Piglets weave recklessly between enormous legs while adults exchange deep rumbling vocalizations that vibrate through the ground itself. The sow releases a long exhale. This time I know exactly what it means. The sound carries an unmistakable note of relief. Around me, the orchard workers remain completely silent. Ronan eventually clears his throat, "I thought you said they weren't dangerous."

"They aren't." A Briarthorn Tusker larger than a carriage walks past us close enough for me to count the scars marking its flank. Ronan watches it disappear into the reunited herd.

"I believe," he says carefully, "that you and I possess very different definitions of dangerous." The Tuskers linger only briefly. Once the reunion concludes, the herd begins moving deeper into the forest beyond the orchards. The sow pauses near the tree line. For several moments, she simply watches me. Then she lowers her head. The gesture lasts only an instant before she turns away. The herd disappears gradually among the trees. Piglets remain the final casualties of discipline.

Several require persistent encouragement from increasingly patient adults. Eventually, even they vanish into the forest. Silence settles across the orchard. Broken fences remain broken. Damaged trees still bear the marks of recent upheaval. Yet for the first time since my arrival, no fear lingers beneath the evening air. Ronan releases a slow breath.

"So..." he says.

"How exactly am I supposed to explain this?" I consider the question, "Truthfully?" He gives me a skeptical look.

"You led thirty Briarthorn Tuskers out of the forest, reunited them with another herd and then sent them on their way." Ronan stares at me, "That sounds absurd." I consider for a moment and then a small smile escapes my lips, "It does." The orchard workers exchange uncertain glances. Then, slowly, laughter begins spreading through the group. Soft at first, disbelieving, relieved. I look toward the forest one final time. The contract had begun with reports of aggression and most likely promised bloodshed.

Instead, it had ended with a family returning home. Perhaps Darran had been right. The best question had never been how to kill the beast. Only why it had behaved the way it did. Adjusting Vael's staff against my shoulder, I turn back toward Fallowspire. There is still a completed contract to be reported.