The Forked Path

by T. R. Thompson

  Vargul turned and strode away down the corridor, confident in the power he held over his prisoner. Sure enough Wilt’s feet responded, complying with the command that impelled them to hobble forward.

  His mind split, an animal part of him responding to what it was ordered to do while another, deeper part sat in a private space of its own, looking out through his eyes.

  Now you know something of how I feel. It’s okay, Wilt. Try not to panic. He can’t find us here, we’re far too deep for his weld to reach.

  Wilt tried to respond, but it was desperately hard to form the thoughts required. His mind was a mass of treacle.

  What are you doing, Higgs? Why did you let him in?

  He needs to be convinced of his power over us. Let him think you no longer a threat. When the time comes, we can shake free of his bonds easily enough.

  But the shackles. The strange iron.

  Yes, interesting stuff, that. Try to let the iron touch your skin, I want to feel it. Crafter work, surely.

  With a supreme effort Wilt raised his arms higher in the air and shrugged his cloak back so the cold iron rested against the skin of his wrists.

  Ah. Very interesting. Clever.

  Can you free us?

  Maybe. Give me some time. Vargul was right, this is from Redmondis. There may be something we can do.

  Higgs retreated even further into the hidden depths of Wilt’s mind, and Wilt’s animal consciousness rose back up to overwhelm him. He became nothing more than a mindless slave, a bound hostage struggling along a dark corridor at the beck and call of his master.

  ‘The assassin, your highness. As requested.’

  A part of Wilt rose out of dark, still waters and floated back to consciousness. His vision cleared as he swayed on his feet. He was standing on decorated marble tiles, their swirling pattern adding to the numbing dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.

  ‘Assassin, Vargul?’ The voice was old and weak, the words slurring into one another as though the speaker was drugged.

  ‘Yes, your highness. As reported to you this morning. The queen, she—’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. Silly of me.’

  Wilt tried to raise his head to see who was speaking, but his neck refused to obey the feeble command his mind sent.

  ‘From Redmondis, you say? Not dangerous, is he?’

  ‘Not anymore, my king. He is under my command.’

  ‘Good, good. Can’t be too careful with those types. Always telling Catherine that, but she never listens.’

  ‘The queen could be stubborn at times, your highness.’

  ‘Ha! Yes, she can be at that. You say she suffered an accident?’

  ‘She was murdered, my king. By this assassin. Sent from Redmondis.’

  ‘Of course. Redmondis. Never did like the sound of that place. Catherine is always trying to—’

  ‘My king? We must present the prisoner to the court. Have the king’s justice handed down.’

  ‘What? Oh yes. Yes, of course, as you say. Very good, Vargul.’

  There was a pause and Wilt could feel the growing frustration build in the weld that held his animal mind in thrall.

  ‘You must pronounce judgment, my king.’

  ‘Yes. Judgment. Yes.’ The voice was fading again, as though the speaker was drifting into a heavy sleep.

  ‘At your command we will call for an assembly of the court in the morning, at which time the prisoner will be sentenced and your judgment made. Have I understood your command correctly, my king?’

  ‘Hmph?’ The voice was barely above a whisper now.

  ‘Let it be noted, scribe.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ A new voice, younger, more deferential. Obviously a servant.

  ‘Come now, let us leave the king to his rest. Ensure no one disturbs him until the morning.’

  A surge of power pulsed across the weld holding Wilt’s mind, and darkness rose around him again.

  Careful now, come back down here with me.

  Higgs?

  I know it’s confusing. I’m sorry, you just have to trust me. We had to give Vargul control of some part of your mind. It’ll leave you feeling a bit strange.

  How … how are you doing this?

  We. We’re doing it together. Wielder and ward, remember? We’ve shared each other’s minds before. When the Sisters sought you out in Redmondis and you had to flee, you came into me.

  And when Red Charley … when you—

  When he killed me.

  Then you came into me.

  The blade helped. It merged me into the weld, Wilt, just as I had used it to merge into my form when changing into a cat. I don’t really understand how, I just know it worked. Try to think less like a wielder and more like a crafter. As long as it does what is needed, who cares how?

  The blade. Vargul must have it.

  I think he does. I can feel it, almost hear it. I don’t think he knows just what he’s got there.

  We have to get it back.

  That’s way down the list of things we have to do, but yes, we’ll get it back. I think we’ve almost reached the limit of what Vargul can teach us.

  The weld, I can feel part of his mind through it. He’s like Cortis, though not as far gone. I don’t think he realises the danger he’s in.

  He seeks power, and obviously has it now that the queen is out of the way. I wonder how long he waited for one such as you to come along. Someone he could conveniently lay the blame on.

  The king, he sounds—

  Gone. Too far gone to recover, I suspect. More than simply drugged. The queen mentioned she had him under her power—Vargul and others have probably had their hooks in him for years as well.

  But why? To take control? To gain power?

  Perhaps. Perhaps Vargul serves his master without fully realising it. Weakening Sontair, surrendering the towns and cities that surround it. Ensuring there is no resistance.

  I’m tired, Higgs. My thoughts just seem to race round and round without stopping. I can’t get them to focus.

  Rest. We’ll need all our strength tomorrow. Try to let your thoughts go, a circle of stones falling in order—you remember. I’ll wake you when needed. I’ve got some other things to work on anyway, like these shackles. Sleep.

  Wilt was already down, floating in a sea of darkness.

  40

  ‘There’s something … different.’

  Heather stared out across the milling crowds in the courtyard, but her gaze was elsewhere, her eyes unfocused and troubled.

  Frankle nodded. ‘It’s the crowd. It’s bigger, somehow. Maybe there was a disturbance on the far side of the courtyard we can’t see and a mass of people just moved this way all at once.’

  ‘No, it’s …’ Heather shook her head to clear an unwanted thought. ‘It’s not just that. There was something familiar.’ Her hand fell down to the small pack resting on her hip and her eyes widened. ‘Frankle, I need a moment. Can you go see what Daemi’s plan is for us?’

  Frankle nodded quickly and strode over to where Daemi and Lodan were chatting with another soldier.

  As soon as he was gone Heather dropped to her knees and rummaged frantically inside her pack. Finally she found what she was looking for and pulled out a small bowl and a jewelled necklace that glinted sharply in the sunlight. With a furtive glance around to make sure she was alone she placed the necklace inside the sounding bowl and waited.

  Sure enough, a moment later a strange music filled the air. Heather snatched the necklace out of the bowl before anyone else could hear it and stuffed the bowl back inside her pack. She held the necklace up in front of her, staring at the strangely cut stone as it spun.

  ‘What’s that?’ Frankle said as he walked back over.

  ‘Nothing. Just something I made.’ Heather pulled the chain over her head and tucked the jewel away under her shirt.

  Frankle nodded and waited, expecting more of an explanation.

  ‘Silly of me, I suppose, with all of this.’ Heather waved at
the crowd, wanting to change the subject. ‘What did Daemi have to say?’

  ‘We’re staying with Lodan tonight—he’s got a few feelers out trying to find out more about Wilt and where he might be. He said if Wilt’s still in the city they’ll know about it by morning.’

  ‘He is.’

  Frankle raised one quizzical eyebrow and Heather hurried to cut off any questions.

  ‘I mean … he must be, right? After all of this.’ She smiled suddenly at Frankle, the strange distant look from earlier now completely gone. ‘Come on. Let’s get moving. I’d like to get away from this crowd.’

  Lodan led them to their room for the night, an empty storeroom with three plain bunks lining one wall. It was basic at best, but it was warm and dry and all any of them needed after their travels.

  ‘You know, you remind me of him,’ Lodan said to Daemi he ushered them inside. ‘The way you hold yourself, perhaps.’

  ‘Who, Wilt?’

  ‘Yes. I thought it was something else at first, but now it’s clear.’

  Daemi considered Lodan’s words for a few moments. ‘You thought it was something else?’

  Lodan smiled quickly and turned away. ‘There’s only this one room, I’m afraid. Space is at a bit of a premium right now.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you,’ Heather interrupted, and Lodan looked at her as though surprised to find someone else in the room with them.

  ‘Yes. Well, rest for now. In the morning I’ll find someone to take you up the hill to the castle. The court gathers there each morning. Though I warn you, I don’t think finding Wilt will be as easy as just asking around.’

  ‘It never is,’ Frankle grunted and dropped his pack on the ground with a sigh.

  ‘Sleep well.’ Lodan bowed his head quickly and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Something else?’ Daemi was still considering his words, a troubled expression on her face.

  ‘Oh, you really are hopeless, aren’t you?’ Heather laughed, claiming the bed closest to the door. ‘He likes you.’

  Daemi stared back at her, her face flushing red. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s obvious. He’s been staring at you like a daft cow since we met, can’t take his eyes off you. He’s quite good looking, don’t you think? The dark, mysterious type.’ Heather arranged herself on her bed, and Frankle hurried to the far side of the room, eager to stay out of things.

  Daemi swallowed and took a deep breath, her face positively glowing now. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Heather gave a mischievous grin as she watched Daemi slump down onto her bed. ‘Actually, I might have something here that could help. I used to be quite well-known among the other crafters for my love charms.’ She rummaged in her pack, pulling out various pieces of jewellery and arranging them across her bed.

  Daemi watched with growing horror, then finally sprang to her feet and marched out of the room. ‘I’m going for some air. Make sure you rest, you’re obviously over-tired.’

  She slammed the door behind her as Heather broke into a fit of giggles.

  ‘That really wasn’t very nice,’ Frankle admonished her.

  ‘Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud. Besides, it will be good for her. You know how she’s been.’

  Frankle was about to reply, then thought better of it. He’d only really known Daemi since Cortis’s invasion, but even after that had all settled down it was obvious Daemi was damaged in some way. Distant. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  He rolled over and closed his eyes. They’d had a long few days, and he was exhausted, his tiredness welling over him to unravel all thought in the dark tide of sleep.

  Daemi stood outside the room, breathing deeply, trying to control the rush of heat that had burned up over her face.

  Lodan. Ridiculous.

  The passageway was mercifully dark, a single torch burning on the far wall at the top of the staircase. She finally got her breathing under control and crept toward it, suddenly curious to see if she could peer down into the room below. No one else could have heard Heather’s ridiculous assertion, could they? The walls didn’t look that thin.

  She swallowed and inched toward the stairs, half her mind on her task and the other half reeling in circles.

  Lodan. He’s not thinking like that at all. It’s Wilt, something to do with their connection, their link. Something waking up now he’s so close.

  She stopped and held her breath as a board creaked under her foot.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  Daemi looked up to see Lodan standing at the top of the stairs. ‘Oh. Yes. Just wanted to … get some air.’ Her voice faded as the excuse dribbled over her lips.

  ‘Some air.’ Lodan leaned back and crossed his arms, his face arranging itself to hide the smile that threatened to break out. ‘Not much hope of that with these crowds, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Yes.’ Daemi drew herself up, trying to regain her composure. ‘Yes. Silly of me.’

  ‘That’s okay, you’ve had a long journey. We all have, to find ourselves here.’

  Lodan approached her, and Daemi pulled back against the wall, suddenly terrified he was about to—

  To what?

  Her mind immediately supplied multiple detailed possibilities, and she felt her face burning again.

  Lodan stepped around her, continuing on past their room to another door at the far end. ‘Time for me to get some rest. You should too, Daemi. I expect tomorrow will be a long day.’

  He opened the door and stepped inside, leaving her alone in the dim light. As soon as his door closed she let out her breath in a whoosh.

  Lodan. For a second there—

  ‘Enough,’ Daemi said aloud to herself, in her best tone of command. She pulled her shoulders back and banished all such thoughts from her mind.

  She marched back to their room and threw the door open, ready to snap back at any nonsense Heather might come up with, but she and Frankle were fast asleep.

  Daemi closed the door quietly and sat down on her bed to remove her boots.

  Lodan.

  Ridiculous.

  41

  The circle of stone faces fell one by one, a never-ending wave of movement. Wilt into Higgs. Higgs into Petron. Petron into Daemi. Daemi into Lodan. Lodan into—

  —Wake up.—

  Wilt opened his eyes and immediately closed them again, squeezing them shut against the bright light that burned through them. He blinked tears away, twisting his face from the source of the light, but even the stone floor was too intense a white to focus on.

  ‘My king, as you have commanded, we present the accused to the court.’

  A hand on Wilt’s shoulder spun him around and a mailed fist held his chin up to the sun. He screwed his eyes closed as tightly as he could, tears now flowing freely down his cheeks. The sound of a crowd gasping and exclaiming in surprise rose from somewhere below him, and a breeze blew across his face, cooling the hot tears.

  His thoughts ground slowly into motion. He was outside. In front of the court. Vargul. Vargul was going to have him killed.

  Sorry about this. I was hoping to have things sorted out by now.

  Higgs? Where are we? Why do I feel so … numb?

  If you would open your eyes we’d both be able to see, but we’re outside, in the sunlight. You’ve been kept in the dark for too long. Your eyes will need time to adjust.

  How long have I been—

  It’s morning. Vargul wanted to hold you longer, but he had no luck penetrating your mind. I think we convinced him he broke you somehow when he took control. Wiped you. All he sees is a blank slate.

  But he hasn’t—

  Relax, Wilt. I’ve kept you safe.

  ‘Two days ago, our queen was murdered. Her life cut short by a Redmondis assassin. This assassin!’

  Wilt’s hands were wrenched above his head and he winced as the heavy shackles cut into his wrists.

  The shackles.

  Still in place, I’m afrai
d. I’ve been trying to figure out how to break them, but some very clever crafters were involved in their making.

  So I’m stuck here?

  I didn’t say that. Just trust me.

  ‘The queen’s guard caught this spy, this killer, red-handed, standing over her broken body.’

  Wilt’s hands were shaken roughly back and forth, and the scores of people responded, a massed, angry roar breaking from them. Wilt tried to open his eyes again, but the sunlight was too bright, forcing him to duck away from it, making it look as though he were shying away from the crowd.

  The sunlight. Now why didn’t I think of that earlier?

  ‘Now we present him to the king for justice to be decided.’

  Wilt was spun in place, his face turned away from the baying crowd.

  ‘My king.’ Vargul’s voice was lower now, gentle, as though talking to a young child.

  Wilt, the sunlight. Try to keep the shackles in it.

  What?

  Just do it. Get as much light on them as possible.

  With a grunt of effort, Wilt reached his hands forward, holding them out as if in supplication to the king. His sleeves were pulled back by the movement, and the heavy shackles were fully exposed to the light.

  Remember the stone in Redmondis—the stone these were forged from? It glowed green in the darkness. I don’t think it was ever meant to be used in the light. I think the sunlight might cause a reaction.

  Sure enough, as soon as the sunlight warmed his wrists, Wilt could feel something change, some part of his mind wakened as the shackles loosened ever so slightly.

  Vargul called out loudly again, performing for the crowd. ‘Look at him, this pathetic creature. Even now he begs for mercy from our king. And he will receive it! The king’s mercy!’

  The mob responded with another roar and Wilt’s hands were slapped down.

  There was a muttered noise from the space in front of him and Wilt squinted his eyes open in time to see the aged king slumped across his throne, its high arms holding him upright. Someone’s hand waved vaguely back and forth in front of him, but his eyes were blank and staring at something no one else could see. He was trying to say something, but his weak whisper was too soft to be heard.