First of the Line: Book One of the Druid Dreams Saga

© 2011 Michael Paul Metzger. All rights reserved.

Official author’s website: www.michaelpaulmetzger.com

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Second Edition, published by AuthorHouse 7/26/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-3213-3 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-3214-0 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-3215-7 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011911928

Printed in the United States of America

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my beautiful wife Sandy.

The original princess of LindenWood, and my inspiration for

all of the pages that follow. Without your constant

encouragement and loving support,

none of this would be possible.

Contents

A Lesson Learned

Training Days

Graduation

Empty Praise

Cat and Mouse

Nature’s Ballet

At Whit’s End

A Birthday Surprise

Secrets Revealed

Shytown

An Impromptu Meal

Instructions for Lines

An Invitation

Rude awakening

A Calling

An Apprentice

On the Hunt

Bramble’s Briar’s and Thicket’s

A Friend in Need

Company

Darkness lights the way

A Path to Safety

A Companion for Dinner

Lost and Found

The Bells Toll

The Chennault

A Beautiful Discovery

A Few Choice Words

A Doorway to Adventure

A History Lesson

Rules of Engagement

Rattled and Caged

Small Triumph’s

A New Set of Classmates

Brave of Heart

A Lesson Learned

When she awoke, the gentle breeze of autumn filled Sannil’s senses as she slid from beneath the covers with a shrug. She didn’t mind the cold; it had always helped to wake her in those last few moments before daybreak, when every moment alone was a precious gift.

Dashing from her soft cushioned mattress to the window overlooking the forest, the princess made a stunning silhouette. With flowing blonde hair and sparkling bluish-green eyes that could melt an ice flow, it was little wonder that the kingdom adored her so.

What will it be today? she asked the wind with anticipation, eager to witness the wide array of woodland creatures that had gathered just out of sight. But after straining against the predawn darkness for what seemed like an eternity without witnessing the shadow of a single movement, the princess was forced to admit defeat. She would have to wait.

Relaxing her gaze, Sannil’s slender frame eased back inside the chamber and impatiently waited for daylight’s first embers to arrive, nearly exposing the milky-white skin beneath her loose-hanging sleeping robes as a sudden gust of wind buffeted her eyes. Sannil knew there was little chance of the guards catching a glimpse of her supple form within her sanctuary. This place was hers and hers alone.

Drawing a deep breath to fill her lungs and clear her mind, the princess couldn’t help but don a childish grin. It was still hard to believe that she had succeeded! Not even the king’s chamber could equal the images that danced just outside her raised parapet. The green carpeted grasses and dense sprawling woodlands that greeted her smiling face each morning were visible from only two locations: the city’s unmanned eastern walls, and her sanctuary within its tower. Princess Sannil loved this place.

It had taken nearly fourteen months to convince the king to allow her to take up residence within the massive spire.

The old tower stood at the far edge of the city. Though its unused gate had long since been closed, the sparsely populated buildings which surrounded it were still fairly well maintained and created an ideal place for those seeking a quiet, slow-paced existence, or just a place to hide. In this day and age very few travelers had need of the city’s long-forgotten unused resource, and most of those were fully content to utilize one of the other gates to the north or south.

Prior to the princess taking up residence, the east tower’s keep had essentially been an abandoned guard barracks, whose main purpose was to act as a command and control facility during times of war.

Long ago when the city was built, it had been divided into four main sections for defensive purposes, each fully capable of operating independent of the others. Essentially, the quadrants consisted of north, south, east and west. In peacetime only a small contingent of soldiers manned the remote battlements, and none lived outside the castle’s barracks, save for a few officers and senior enlisted men.

LindenWood Castle sat upon a large plateau on the western side of the city where its massive grounds and raised architecture drew awe-inspired gasps from allies and enemies alike. Rising into the air at a height of no less than fifty feet, its pillars seemed to dwarf the ancient city below, with shining spires that served as beacons for wayward travelers to follow both day and night. When fully staffed the stronghold could quarter 50,000 men in comfort, though less than a tenth of that number resided within its polished halls right now.

Built with its back atop a jagged set of horseshoe-shaped cliffs, the elevated pedestal fell nearly a thousand feet before meeting the Misty Creek River far below. Together they formed an impenetrable natural barrier that no one had ever breached. In that area, the only safe way to avoid the hand of the river’s deadly grip was via the broad wooden bridge to the south. That avenue would be dismantled long before an enemy force came near enough to cross.

How can my soldiers be expected to perform their duties with you and your wares under foot? the king had asked when she’d approached him.

While everyone knew that the possibility of war was highly unlikely, his statement was true nonetheless. So, instead of debating the validity of such overly dramatic logic, the princess answered her father with an equally undeniable set of facts.

In the event that such a thing does occur, Sannil began boldly, I would fully expect to be recalled to the safety of the castle immediately, in which case, our soldiers would be free to use my quarters however they saw fit, without fear of my reprisals or objections!

Yet as sensible as the content of her well-thought responses might have sounded to anyone else listening, her father failed to acknowledge the validity of her summations in the least bit.

Ours is a peaceful and prosperous age, she added in a final effort to sway him. Without the slightest hint of war or unrest. Not to mention the fact that the last time anything of importance from a military perspective happened inside our borders was at least twenty-five years ago.

The protection and well being of every man, woman, and child within the boundaries of our kingdom is my personal responsibility, bellowed the king in a stiff voice. It has been our family’s burden for the last seventeen generations, and I will not compromise the safety of even one of my subjects needlessly on my watch.

King Randolph rambled on for what seemed like hours; patiently and uncharacteristically, the little princess calmly waited. In and of itself, that act alone was a huge accomplishment. While the youngest member of the royal family possessed many virtues, patience was not one of them. Listening attentively as her father droned on about the responsibilities of a head of state to his loyal subjects, Sannil somehow managed to contain the barbs of wit that raced beneath her overactive tongue. But when the king finally stopped to draw a much-needed breath, she immediately set about the task of countering his claims in diplomatic fashion, one by one.

She’d heard it all before, as it was part of the education she received each day in the library from its elderly custodian, Elias.

Elias was a gentle old man who held the patience, wisdom, and insight befitting someone of his advanced years, which was an important prerequisite when dealing with Sannil. She herself had never had the pleasure of knowing her own grandparents, but Sannil felt certain that her grandfather would have been very much like him. On and on, Sannil countered her father’s statements with well-thought-out and meticulously crafted responses, but in the end it appeared that all her efforts were for naught. For what the young princess failed to recognize, was that while King Randolph had uttered a host of objections, he’d held back the one above all else that mattered most. He wasn’t quite ready to let her go.

The king enjoyed having his little girl close at hand, and made no secret of the fact that she was the favorite of all his children. Everyone inside the castle knew it without the words ever needing to be said. Everyone that is, except the princess.

The youngest of five siblings, her three sisters had left the castle long ago. Each married into a prominent family before being scattered about the free lands like leaves in the autumn wind. She was only five when Lyndas, the nearest one in age to her, had married a dashing young man named Sir McDavin from Innisfree. Apart from fleeting images of how beautiful she’d looked on the day of her betrothal, Sannil couldn’t remember much. It was only afterward that the gravity of the event began to take hold, as she slowly realized that Lyndas wouldn’t be coming back.

No matter how many times her father tried to explain the situation, Sannil couldn’t understand why her sisters felt compelled to leave. Castle LindenWood was an enormous place, with more than ample room for her sisters and their new life partners. As it was, Sannil could go an entire day and not cross paths with either of her parents with very little effort if she felt so inclined.

Though her sisters had tried to visit the castle as often as possible, it soon became painfully clear that the focus of their lives now remained elsewhere. That they seemed happy and accepting toward the rigors of their plight only served to further Sannil’s confusion, and each time they returned home to visit with their parents she began to feel less and less connected. Before long, the close-knit group of siblings had become familiar strangers who seemed to be changing before her very eyes. With each added encounter, they reflected more the persona of her mother than the sisters they had been, driving Sannil to avoid them like an unpleasant smell. Within a few years all three had provided her parents with a few grand children each, and thus had relieved Sannil from any immediate pressure of being married off, or so she had hoped.

Motherhood held no deep fascination for the princess and quite frankly was a chore that she could just as well do without. Sannil found little solace in being an aunt either, as more than one of her nieces and nephews was nearly her same age. She couldn’t imagine living life as they did, and was perfectly content with the prospect of living out the remainder of her days here inside the castle. All that she asked was the ability to travel from time to time, and to see the world at large.

Sannil loved to explore and go on adventures as she liked to call them, even though most of them up until this point had been inside the castle walls. She’d always hoped that her brother Falen would accompany her during those future journeys, and who knows, maybe he still would.

Falen was two years older than Sannil, a full head taller, and the sole male heir to the throne of LindenWood. Growing up, the pair had always fought like cats and dogs, but as the years passed by, the intensity of their confrontations dwindled, until they finally learned how to tolerate and accept each other’s differences. More or less.

As a child Falen had always been fascinated with the life of a soldier, and continually mimicked their movements and gestures, drawing his ceremonial rapier to do battle with who knows what for hours on end.

It was during one of these imaginary battles that her brother suffered the major misfortune of acting out his reckless ballet directly in front of the queen. He had nearly run Sannil through while attempting to execute a complex maneuver that was reserved for only the most seasoned of men. What are you doing? the queen had asked in a heated voice, startling the young boy into inaction. You could have hurt your little sister! What on earth were you thinking?

I was just… practicing.

Stunned into submission, Falen had frozen his sword in mid-thrust when his mother quickly closed the distance. Give me that thing this instance! she had hissed vehemently, snatching the blade from his grasp.

Give it back! he had demanded, but the queen held it high up in the air.

No. I never liked the idea of you wearing this overgrown letter opener anyway.

Disappointed to the point of despair, the small boy had dropped to the ground, and promptly began kicking and screaming like never before. Rolling from side to side, Falen had continued to throw such an ear rattling tantrum that eventually Queen Elyse was forced to call for the help of her husband.

Listening to the frazzled queen explain the situation over their son’s screeches, Sannil’s father’s hand rubbed against the base of his broad chin before suddenly donning a sly grin. By now, a large group of soldiers and staff members had been drawn in by the sounds of the ruckus, and with a small wave, the king motioned to a man standing in the background to come forward.

For a brief moment the two spoke in hushed whispers, before the newcomer issued a small nod of acceptance, ducked through a vacant archway, and quickly disappeared. Sannil knew the man well, as did everyone inside the castle. It was Rothgar.

Back then, Rothgar still held the post of Captain of the Guard inside Castle LindenWood, and was one of her father’s closest friends. The grizzled warrior had stood by his side when the king had battled the Dark Lord Shaltorayce. Reflecting on his stoic appearance, Sannil suddenly recalled the words her father had used to describe the man when he’d cursed him loudly on a hot afternoon.

Don’t be distracted by the sting of his words, little one, I assure you his heart is pure. I owe him a debt from a much darker time, and heaven willing, I’ll pay it off.

She had no idea what her father had been talking about. The words he’d used didn’t make any sense. How could the King of LindenWood owe anyone anything? Especially after all the good works he had done? They were a prosperous nation, and even the lowest of peasants lived comfortable, well-mannered lives both within and without the city walls.

Sannil was still contemplating what her father might possibly owe the man when Rothgar returned through the arched doorway with what appeared to be a small stick. As he approached Falen her eyes had grown wide with understanding, as she suddenly recognized the item for what it was. She’d seen the soldiers use similar things to hack away at one another in the yard as they practiced their deadly art: it was a wooden sword.

Turning the battered item around in his hands, the hardened veteran had presented the gift to a confused Falen, hilt first.

Rothgar was a middle-aged man, much shorter than her father, but his eyes seemed made of iron, and his face bore the scars from years of service. His hair was a deep charcoal-gray, cut flat across the top, and almost shaved on the sides. Together the odd style made his stout frame look even more like a box, while the back was braided into a long ponytail that resembled the fashion of a woodsman. His broad shoulders and muscled forearms were chiseled by years of training, and it was obvious that even at his advanced age Rothgar was not one to be trifled with.

In a low voice that only Falen was meant to hear, the weathered captain had let out a short grunt. New recruits have to practice long and hard, sometimes years before they’re allowed to wield a real blade. Then raising his voice so that the rest of his audience could hear, the captain threw back his shoulders with pride and continued. Recruits must first master the wood, before they are permitted to wield steel, Leaning in so close that their noses might have touched. This rule applies to princes too.

Slowly, the weathered man had eased away between heated breaths, while holding the boys gaze all the while. Do you wish to become a recruit? he had asked loudly while cocking his head slightly to one side, and without hearing the sound of her brother’s voice Sannil had known the answer. Of course he did.

Training Days

After that day her brother was much more careful about using his rapier, even if it was only a piece of wood. Rothgar stopped by every so often, just to see how Falen was advancing; though his new recruit tried as hard as he could, the old soldier always seemed to make some snide remark about his progress. Bursting through a vacant archway, the Captain would always bring a wooden sword of his own, and in no time at all, the two would start exchanging blows in order to better illustrate the subtle intricacies of a particular move. It was obvious to Sannil that Rothgar enjoyed bruising Falen with the back of his stick, and try as she might, she couldn’t fathom a reason why her brother bothered to continue. The man was not nice.

Normally she would take her leave before the beating was finished, but one day the princess inadvertently arrived at the end of their session, just in time to hear Rothgar cursing in a way that would have made her mother furious.

You still don’t get it! he had screamed in a berating tone of voice. You’re as worthless as teats on a gnat’s ass!

The strange insult nearly caused Sannil to burst out laughing from her recessed vantage point in the large courtyard, but she knew well enough not to. Rothgar was a cantankerous old man for sure, but if there was a sense of humor hidden beneath his rough exterior, so far he had failed to show it.

Striding toward the exit and the safety of Sannil’s observation area, the old sod paused long enough to heave the wooden sword he’d been using into her outstretched hands. He needs practice, Rothgar had added in a gruff voice. Why don’t you see if you can help him?

A sword? She didn’t want to learn how to use a sword. That was Falen’s idea of having fun. Sannil wasn’t the slightest bit interested in becoming her older brother’s practice dummy, but after observing the menacing glare that emanated from Rothgar’s eyes, she quickly decided it might not be the right time to voice that opinion. The old man scared her.

It was obvious by Rothgar’s demeanor that he was a man of action, not of words, and if Sannil refused his orders at that particular moment, she was pretty certain what those actions might be. So without uttering the slightest hint of an objection, the princess had accepted the old warrior’s offering, and promptly tucked the battered item away.

You can’t make use of a weapon that’s not drawn, girl! the old sod had grumbled roughly, and with a grip that felt like iron, proceeded to stuff the wooden appendage into its proper place.

At first the weapon felt foreign in her hands, but after he’d given her some basic instruction on how to hold, block, and strike, Sannil was forced to admit the experience wasn’t half bad.

From the start, it was obvious that Falen had hoped to implant some of the bruises he’d received upon his new opponent, but to his dismay, Sannil proved to be far too quick a study for that. During the days that followed the two siblings practiced the subtle nuances of the maneuvers Rothgar had shown them, and the young princess found herself amazed at how easily she was able to master the rudimentary techniques. Sometimes the old man would watch as the child combatants practiced in the center of the courtyard, but more often than not he would pay Falen a visit when she wasn’t around.

It was after one such private session that Sannil arrived just in time to find the straining image of her brother’s battered body, still struggling to regain his footing long after the dear old captain had gone. Why do you let him humiliate you so? Sannil asked in a bewildered voice, but to her amazement Falen only grinned.

He’s not, he replied happily. He’s teaching me.

Teaching you? Beating your brains in is more like it. Look at the bruises down length of your back!

Turning to admire the fresh wounds from his latest battle in the mirror, Falen winced with pain as his fingers pressed against a rather large spot on the upper portion of his hip. It comes with the territory, little sis, he said smiling, causing Sannil to turn away in a huff.

Well that’s a bit of territory that I would just assume leave uncharted, thank you very much!

With a wink, the prince pulled on his shirt with a grimace, and promptly disappeared toward the small doorway that had started their ordeal so many days ago. Sannil knew where he was going without asking.

With any luck, they’ll still be sparring when I get there! the prince shouted over his shoulder, and before Sannil could respond, he was gone.

Falen had a knack for disappearing into the woodwork, and often did so in order to eavesdrop on the guards. He loved to listen as they recounted tales of battle or encounters with exotic creatures, even if they were just embellished versions of stories that he’d heard long ago. The stories of false bravado fascinated the young prince, and by the age of thirteen Falen knew more about the army’s troop movements than most of its officers did.

As the years of their childhood slowly droned by, Rothgar continued to administer the benefit of his vast tutelage upon her brother’s person, even though Falen never came close to making it a contest. Though the old sod constantly reprimanded the young boy for wasting his time, on each second and fifth day of the week, the captain of the guard would return like clockwork. Both royal siblings had improved dramatically since the day they first began, but neither was proficient enough with a blade for a fight. And try as Falen may to dominate his sister, the princess still managed to breech his defenses, though not near as often as she’d like.

Initially her mother had been livid when she found out that her daughter was learning the art of combat, but the king assured her the exercise was both safe and necessary. Yet if her mother had thought that Sannil’s training had been a bad idea, what Falen did next was sure to send her over the edge, though in truth, the announcement itself should have come as no surprise.

At the ripe old age of fifteen, her brother decided to enlist in the army. Sannil could still feel the taught expression on her face from when he had revealed the extent of what he intended to do. Have you gone mad? Sannil had shouted with disbelief, using her best imitation of Rothgar to drive the point home. Mother will never allow it: you know that don’t you?

She’ll have to.

It’s never gonna happen, she added adamantly.

We’ll see, sis. I’ve made my decision, and that’s what I’m going to do.

Letting loose a short laugh, her brother smiled as if the situation didn’t require further discussion, but somehow Sannil didn’t think her mother would feel the same way. If Falen thought for one moment that their mother’s will would bend to his way of thinking, he was in for a rude awakening. The queen didn’t get used to things; she changed them to suit her needs, and this reeked of a thing that needed changing in the worst way.

It was several days later before her brother made good on his threats and approached their parents in private, and to her amazement, their parents had somehow accepted the idea. The king had even offered to help speed his assent through the ranks into a position that better reflected his standing among the common men, but Falen had declined. It appeared that her brother had developed his own ideas on that subject, and misguided as they were, they didn’t include acceptance of his father’s assistance in any way.

I’ll start out like any other soldier, Father, without the benefit of recommendation or standing, he stated proudly, willing to work his way up the ranks or not on merit alone.

It was an honorable idea, but not necessarily one she would have expected Falen to come to on his own. Yet once her father was certain that his son would not waver on the subject, he’d dropped the matter completely.

Queen Elyse, however, was nowhere near of the same mind as her husband. All that she could see was an increased risk of injury, or worse. Her son was the crown prince, and would someday ascend the throne as LindenWood’s next king; he should be leading men, not following them. She had pleaded with King Randolph to use his influence behind the scenes, but for the first time that Sannil could remember, her father had refused.

Let him be, woman! It’s his choice, and he’s made it. Why, I joined the service myself when I was about his age, and I turned out alright. Besides, he’ll need to know what it’s like to receive an order, if he ever intends to give one.

His mother knew that Falen was becoming a man, but she desperately wished to change it, for in her eyes, he was still a child. The golden child, or at least that was what his sisters had named him, and the queen had always treated him as if the sun rose and set on his hind end. Though some of the praise she heaped upon his shoulders was well founded, some of it was not, but that didn’t dissuade the queen from uttering it in the least. During the course of his studies, Falen had excelled in every mental exercise that had ever been set before him. So much so in fact, that even the elves were impressed with his academic prowess.

He was a much better student than Sannil would ever be, and though she knew it to be true, that fact didn’t bother the princess in the least. She was much more interested in hearing about the goblin wars, or the gnome insurrections, than that of the history behind Castle LindenWood’s unique architectural structures, or the advantages in agricultural yields due to the cross germination of seeds from various plants.

After his departure, the king had tried to console the queen repeatedly regarding the temporary loss of her mother’s primary target of affection, but in the end the monarch’s efforts were fruitless and she still cried for weeks on end, even though her son was only on the castle’s far northern side.

With Falen’s departure, Sannil assumed that her days of combat had been placed far behind her, and discarded the wooden weapon at her earliest opportunity amongst a box of sticks and branches that fed one of the castles many fireplaces. That act, however, didn’t sit well with Rothgar in the least.

As was his custom, the old man showed up promptly and unannounced on the second day of the week, demanding that she leave at once and retrieve the battered piece of kindling. At first, Sannil assumed that his agitation was nothing more than a guise of formality, and that Rothgar wanted the weapon back, but it seemed strange that the captain of the guard would come to collect the porous item in person; after all, it was just a wooden sword.

The princess was just about to fulfill his request and retrieve the splintered weapon from its hiding place when she noticed what was hanging from the old man’s waist. May I ask why? Sannil had asked cautiously, not sure how far she was prepared to go while testing the limits of the old sod’s resolve.

Absolutely, he’d said while grinning menacingly. How ’bout because I say so! Now get it!

Sannil wasn’t sure whether Rothgar would harm her or not, but she wasn’t ready to find out just yet either. Without delay, she headed off toward the vacant fireplace to retrieved the item, and after a few tense minutes of searching, returned to the courtyard cradling the object as if it were nothing more than a piece of dried firewood.

No sooner had the old man’s gaze registered her arrival, than the length of his muscled arm raised high above her head, bringing his own wooden sword to bear. Blocking his attack just in the nick of time, the loosely gripped weapon bounced back sharply, striking the princess squarely in the forehead.

What in the world do you think you’re doing! she shouted angrily, and while lowering her guard in pain, Sannil began rubbing the affected area vigorously. Again the old man came, striking mercilessly at her side with a series of well placed strokes.

What does it look like, girl? he had asked through baited breath. I’m teaching you.

The news was almost more than she could take. Wait! she pleaded while lifting her hand in confusion. What do you mean teaching me? You were teaching my brother, not me. And now that he’s gone, you and I are finished.

With a wink, the old man glared down at the princess over the bridge of his nose. Well that may be, my little monkey, but I’m still gonna train you, like it or not!

Sannil was furious at the depths of the old man’s insubordination. Just who does he think he was talking to? We’ll see about that! she’d growled in a low roar, and attempted to retreat to the safety of her room. But no sooner had her backside become fully exposed, than Rothgar brought his sword down squarely upon her bottom.

Rule number one, never turn your back on an enemy, ‘cause you won’t live long enough to regret it!

Infuriated, Sannil wheeled around and began swinging her sword in a series of quick downward strokes, but her teacher parried the attacks effortlessly with the precision of a well oiled machine. Finally, when all of her energy had been spent, he countered gracefully and landed the rough wooden timber squarely against the exposed skin of her rib cage.

Doubled over with pain, he brought the tip of his wooden weapon to bear and placed it deftly underneath the princess’s chin. Rule number two, anger is a useful tool in battle, but it can also be your greatest enemy. Do not let it rule you, monkey. Sneering tauntingly, the princess was nearly moved to tears. She hated him.

Wait until the king hears of this, she said, but the grizzled warrior glared back unaffected.

He already knows, little one, Rothgar replied, leaving the young girl wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

He already knows? What is he talking about? she’d wondered, feeling as though nothing in the world at that moment made much sense.

I asked if I might continue your training, and your father agreed to let me, he said with a large sweep of his blade, nearly landing another precision blow against the side of her face.

The question why? remained on her lips unspoken for quite some time, as