The Forked Path

by T. R. Thompson

  ‘Take him alive.’

  Let them. We need to work out what we’re going to do. What we have done. We can always escape later.

  Okay. As long as you’re sure.

  I’m not. But unless you have any better ideas …

  Wilt raised his arms in surrender as the guards moved in. A moment later the world exploded into stars as the nearest guard swung the hilt of his sword into the base of his skull.

  38

  Lodan sat alone in his study, a single private room tucked away on the second floor of the abandoned warehouse the Grey Guild had claimed as its own months before. A week’s worth of reports were scattered across his desk, and he flipped idly through them, unable to dredge up the focus required to read them properly. They would all tell him the same thing. Business was bad, the flow of trade into Greystone had slowed to a trickle. Reports of trouble to the south were increasing. Times were hard.

  Times have been hard before, lad. They will be again. That’s why organisations such as ours exist. That’s what the Hand would have told him, were he still alive.

  Lodan tossed the report he was holding onto the desk and leaned back in his seat, running the same stream of thoughts through his mind that he did every night. Would the Hand have done anything different? Was he doing enough for the men under his command? Was he missing anything, even the smallest task that would make their lives easier in these dark times?

  His eyes wandered along the walls, past the sputtering torch burning by the door, to rest on the shining medallion hanging beside it, flashing glints of silver and gold light. The flagball prize they’d won at the last harvest festival. Almost a year ago now. So much had changed since then. Most for the worst.

  The sight of the medallion brought back more painful memories—the guard attacking Wilt, the presentation, and the way the medal glowed bright blue as it was placed over Wilt’s head. The two prefects stepping forward to take him away, never to be seen again.

  Lodan shook his head to clear the memory and stood up. Wilt was long gone now, taken to Redmondis according to reports they’d had back. Higgs too, his younger friend. Two of the best young thieves he’d come across simply scooped up and carried away.

  You have other problems, more pressing worries. Other guild members who need your help.

  A scuffled step at the door announced his visitor a moment before it swung open.

  ‘Lodan. Uh, sir.’ The boy caught himself and bowed awkwardly. He was panting heavily.

  ‘What is it?’ Reave, that was his name.

  ‘There’s trouble at the wall. The guard have disappeared, no sign of them anywhere. There’s something wrong.’

  Lodan watched the boy struggling to arrange his words and realised he was absolutely terrified. ‘Calm yourself, Reave. What exactly did you see?’

  The boy gulped and tried to catch his breath. He couldn’t have been much more than ten years old, the rags falling off him marking him as one of the street rats the guild kept housed and fed in return for information.

  ‘I didn’t see nothing—uh, anything, sir. Wendel, my mate, he says he saw a guard fall. I hurried to take a look, but there was nothing. Just …’

  ‘Yes? Spit it out, lad.’

  ‘Just a shadow. Strange like. Like the night was coming alive and moving across the top of the wall. Gave me the shivers.’

  ‘And Wendel and you came straight here to report?’

  ‘Yes sir. They said I should tell you straight away. They said it’s an emergency.’

  ‘You’ve done well, Reave. Sit down. There’s bread and water on the sideboard—it’s yours. Take some to Wendel as well, then hide yourselves away somewhere safe and secret. Keep out of sight and tell any of the others you know to do the same.’

  Reave nodded, wide eyed, unable to shift his gaze from the half loaf of fresh bread Lodan had indicated.

  Lodan stepped outside, leaving the boy inching toward the treasure, and closed the door behind him. ‘Griggs!’

  ‘Here, Lodan.’

  Griggs was standing at the foot of the staircase that led up to Lodan’s study. The aged winger from the guild flagball team was doing his best to stand at attention, cracked leather armour draping his thin frame, a battered old short sword hanging from his hip.

  Lodan would have smiled at the sight if it weren’t so serious. ‘You know how to use that?’ He pointed at the sword.

  ‘Well enough.’

  ‘Must be important.’

  Griggs nodded, his face cold. ‘You’ve heard the stories as well as I. There’re too many similarities. Dark shadows, guards disappearing. You know what comes next.’

  Lodan strode past him toward the chest that held his weapons and reached for his long sword.

  ‘Well then, let’s find out if these wild tales we’ve been hearing have any truth to them.

  Wilt shook his head, fighting against what the dream was showing him, pushing back against the surge of strange memories that flooded his consciousness. Part of his mind was trying to alter what the visions showed him, but he couldn’t fight against the force of the past. He rolled over, his cheek resting on the cold stone bench of his cell, and the dream washed him away again.

  He stood at the corner, his cheek resting against the rough-cut stone on the wall, watching his townsfolk die.

  There was nothing he could do.

  The creatures moved impossibly fast, too fast to even get a solid idea of their shape, or what they were. They seemed to be composed of shadows, a blur of black limbs and snapping claws jerking out suddenly to rip into soft flesh before moving on to the next victim, claiming them before the previous body sank to the ground. Even when a lucky strike caught them, it did no harm. Lodan saw two guards strike down together on one of the creatures, their heavy pikes that would bring down a cart horse glancing off the creature’s body. The guards both fell almost as soon as their blows had, and the creature moved on.

  Some enterprising young thieves had thought to take the high ground, launching flaming bottles of oil down into the fray, but the flames sputtered out as soon as they landed, their heat and light seemingly consumed by the creatures, the acrid smell of burnt hair the only sign they had caused any damage at all. Finally Lodan had got the message to them to flee, that there was no use fighting these things. Not with any weapon they possessed.

  That was his focus now, organising what was left of the guild to give the townsfolk as much time as they could to escape, diverting the creatures away from the town gates to allow as many as possible to get away with their lives intact. That meant sacrificing good men by throwing them into the fray, all knowing they had no chance of survival. Still, they followed his orders, making what stands they could and dying in the blink of an eye.

  ‘Griggs!’ he called over his shoulder, determined not to look away from the grisly scene.

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Fall back to Tanners alley. Take ten men with you, try to hold them. I’ll join you there as soon as I can.’

  The last man fell and Lodan finally looked away, turning to meet Griggs’s eyes.

  Griggs returned his gaze and gave a single nod, then hurried off, calling names as he went.

  Another man he’d sent to his death. Another friend.

  He pushed the thought down and climbed the wall he’d been leaning against, pulling himself up to the rooftop and hurrying from the fighting, heading toward the south gate. He risked one final glance back as he ran. Greystone would not survive the night, that much was obvious. The entire northern side of the city was ablaze; silhouetted against the flames, dark shapes poured over the walls like a wave, a tide of darkness that had come to wash Greystone away.

  Lodan slowed his step as he watched it, mesmerised by the sheer hopelessness of what he saw. An explosion erupted as the flames reached a storehouse in the village, and Lodan turned his head to run, blinded by the flash.

  ‘Wakey wakey, Princess.’

  Wilt felt the heat and light of a torch push close to his fac
e and reared back from the bars of his cell.

  ‘Leave him be, Deg. They say he’s dangerous. Don’t bother him. We’ll have time enough later.’

  The light pulled away from Wilt’s closed eyes and stars flashed and burst against his eyelids as he sank back into the dream.

  He was standing at the edge of the roof, looking down at another skirmish that was reaching its inevitable conclusion.

  A single creature had killed eight men, surging back and forth between them faster than thought. One man was left standing, his sword held hopelessly out in front of him, trying to hold his courage in what he knew were his final moments of life. It was Griggs.

  Lodan watched, knowing he could do nothing but determined to bear witness.

  The monster slowed, its shape still somehow dancing between forms as it moved toward its final victim.

  —No.—

  The creature stopped, aware of another voice.

  —No more. Not one man more.—

  Lodan stepped off the lip of the roof to land on the street below. He drew his sword and pointed it directly at the creature. ‘Face me.’

  The dark thing didn’t turn exactly, but what might have been its face appeared on its back, as though it had morphed its shape. Twin clawed arms reached out from a central point, an opening that ripped wide to form something like a mouth.

  Lodan stared at it, determined not to let the fear that welled up inside him rob him of all fight.

  Then it was on him, snapping claws reaching for him, and Lodan felt his blade move in reaction, dancing back and forth impossibly quickly to parry each thrust. His mind felt separated from his body, his sword moving in unfamiliar sweeps and forms, his body seeming to follow rather than direct the blade. Incredibly, the creature seemed to slow, its movements faltering as the blade switched from defence to attack, nipping in to sink into the soft flesh behind its armoured shell. With a final otherworldly screech the creature leaped at him, and Lodan twisted his body backward, one hand holding himself up from the ground, the other thrusting his sword into the centre of the creature’s mouth. The screech choked off into a strained yawl and the creature seemed to wrap itself around his sword, shrinking as it spun in place until nothing was left but a small pile of black dirt and an evil, smoky stench in the air.

  ‘You … you killed it.’

  Lodan looked up to see Griggs staring at him, his mouth gaping. He stood up and brushed himself off, a heavy sweat breaking out all over his body as it reacted to its sudden exertions. He felt like he was walking in a dream.

  ‘I guess I did.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anyone move that fast.’

  Lodan stared down at his sword, at the hand that grasped its hilt, struggling to recognise his own flesh. Finally he shook his head. ‘Follow me. There are too many of them to fight. We need to get the townsfolk clear.’ He trotted out of the alley, Griggs following, leaving the smoking pile of black ash behind

  ‘Something happened then, when the creature attacked me. Something I still don’t understand.’

  Lodan continued to stare out across the crowded courtyard in Sontair, his eyes unfocused, staring back into the past. ‘Have you—’ He turned to Daemi, seemingly shaking the memories away. ‘Have you ever felt … guided? Controlled, almost. Like there was something else leading your hand? I don’t mean in some mystical way like the priests would tell us. I mean really feeling yourself as a vessel for something … other?’

  Daemi returned his gaze, not sure how to answer. ‘In battle sometimes, my training has taken control. My body acts without my mind getting in the way.’

  Lodan shook his head and turned back to the tented village. ‘That’s not what I mean. Besides, I was never that good with a sword. Never spent much time training as a fighter. This was something else.’

  Daemi stepped closer to him, aware suddenly of a silence that seemed to have dropped over them both. ‘There was one time. With Wilt, actually.’ It was Daemi’s turn to gaze into the past. ‘We were heading to Redmondis. Wilt was one of the new conscripts the cantors—prefects, you call them—had rounded up. There was something different about him though, even I could see that. We … got into a fight.’

  Lodan raised his eyebrows but held his tongue.

  ‘I can’t even remember why. But I was angry, angrier than I’d ever been before. Angrier than reason. I wanted to kill him. I would have too, but he used his wielder powers on me. Took over my body. It was like my mind was disconnected, like someone else had stepped in to take the controls and I was just a viewer. My hands were around his throat, and suddenly they just dropped away.’

  Daemi shivered at the memory. ‘It’s part of what wielders can do, the strong ones at least. They can take over your mind.’

  Lodan nodded and stared back out at the crowd. It seemed to have grown somehow as they’d been talking, even more bodies cramming into the limited space of the courtyard.

  From out of the throng a familiar face appeared, and for a moment his mind reeled in confusion, split between two conflicting memories. Then Griggs raised his hand and waved to him, and the warped feeling faded into his unconscious.

  ‘Ho there, Lodan!’

  Lodan waved in return. ‘Griggs! Come over here. These are friends. Friends of Wilt’s.’

  Griggs smiled as he approached. ‘Now there’s a name I’ve not heard in a good while. It’s good to know he’s still alive, at least. How is our star winger?’

  Griggs finally reached the edge of the courtyard and Lodan clapped him on the shoulder. ‘That’s what I was hoping you could help us find out.’

  39

  Wilt felt the world form around him as he floated back up into the present, away from the seething confusion of the past. He kept his eyes closed, the universe an empty slate, waiting to be filled. First came a sound, a drip, a metronomic beat. Then a distant cry for help, the voice far away, muffled by walls of solid rock, the words garbled but the meaning painfully clear. Then a much closer sound, a clink of iron chains and a shuffling, heavy step.

  The guards.

  Wilt opened his eyes and sat up. In the dim light of the cell he could just make out the far wall, water dripping steadily down from an open shackle hanging from it. The weight on his wrists told him similar shackles bound his hands. He hefted them up in front of his face to study them in the gloom. They seemed heavy, far too heavy for their size. He let his mind sink quickly into the depths to change briefly into his wraith form, to slip from the shackles and free himself, but something resisted, pushing back, holding him up toward the surface and unable to access the depths.

  The guards were carrying a torch, and the cell lit up as they approached. Wilt dropped his hands and arranged his features into a blank, open stare.

  They know you have power. Be cautious.

  As soon as Higgs said the words, Wilt felt the first scratchings at his mind. A fumbling, over-eager clamour that was all too simple to repel. For a moment he considered grasping it, sinking into it to trace it back to its source and attack the foolish wielder who sent it.

  Leave it be. Just keep it out.

  The shuffling steps had arranged themselves into two distinct gaits as they approached the door of his cell, and Wilt looked up to see two very different characters peering in at him through the thick bars of his cage. Holding the torch that lit the room was a short, immensely fat man, loops of iron hanging across his shoulders and a large keyring swinging from his other hand. The jailer. Next to him was the thin, stooped figure of Vargul.

  ‘Open the door, Deg,’ Vargul commanded, and the jailer rummaged through his keys. As he searched, Vargul stared at Wilt, studying him. ‘You have found your new accommodation satisfactory, I take it?’

  Wilt kept his mouth shut.

  ‘Not tried any of your wielder tricks to escape?’ Vargul leaned forward and ran a skeletal hand up and down one of the thick iron bars of the cell.

  ‘The queen—the late queen, I should say—had these cells specially formed many
years ago for ones such as you. Iron infused with special stone from Redmondis itself, so they say. Living rock that repels welds. I’m sure you know of it from your time there. Glows green in the darkness. Took the crafters an age to figure out how to get rid of that glow.’

  The jailer finally found the correct key and the heavy lock shot back with a thunk.

  ‘Thank you, Deg. You may continue your rounds. Our guest has most likely already discovered these shackles are not so easy to shake free.’

  Vargul peered down at the thick iron loops still binding Wilt’s hands and flashed a taunting smile.

  Wilt stayed silent and blank, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

  ‘Stand up.’

  Wilt was jerked to his feet by his arms, the shackles seeming to respond to Vargul’s command. Similar weights clamped around his ankles, joined by another heavy chain to the shackles that bound his wrists.

  Vargul’s smile grew wider as he saw the growing understanding on Wilt’s face. ‘Oh yes. We made sure to bind your hands and feet. Can never be too sure, you know, with you Redmondis trained wielders. Had to be quite harsh with some in the past. Count yourself fortunate a collar has not yet been deemed necessary.’

  The scrabbling in Wilt’s mind intensified, the claws digging in against its protective membrane pushing harder, trying to break through into his thoughts.

  He knows you have power, just not how much. Let’s keep it that way.

  Suddenly the skin holding the foreign weld back broke and Wilt was invaded.

  Try not to panic. I’m hiding what’s important. Just let him think he’s broken you.

  Wilt found he didn’t need to pretend. He fell to his knees with a cry as a sudden rush of power surged over his mind, a black stain spreading through him, blurring his thoughts and blanking out entire sections of his consciousness.

  ‘You see? Not such a threat after all. Come now. Follow me.’