The Fly Guild

by Todd Shryock

  “We can get out of here, Teli. You can’t give up hope.”

  Teli looked up at Quinton with a hollow stare. “There is no hope here, only death.”

  “Death to the guild! Death to the flies!” came a cry from the end of the street. Quinton glanced over his shoulder as he and Teli limped through the battle back toward the corner. Gang members with red cloth tied around their arms had arrived and were tipping the battle in their favor.

  As Quinton reached the corner, Glitter emerged with twenty or so guild members, their faces stern and their clubs already dark with dried blood. Glitter’s eyes were beaming, and a brilliant blue cloak flowed out from behind her. A soldier’s spear was in her hand and she wore part of a chainmail coat, enough to cover only her torso. She looked over at Quinton and Teli.

  “Revolution has arrived and vengeance is ours. Let us rid the world of our oppressors,” she said, her voice stern but calm. She turned to the men behind her and raised her spear into the air. “Revolution!” she cried. They answered back with a mighty cheer and followed her as they charged down the street.

  “We’ve got to get away from here,” Quinton urged as he started pulling Teli along again.

  The sounds were starting to die down as they made it several blocks away from the fighting. Teli had gone silent and stared blankly ahead as Quinton guided him. He wasn’t sure where to go or where was safe anymore, so they just headed away from the noise.

  Quinton heard the horse before he saw it. The clopping of hooves on the hard stone echoed between the buildings, and an armored man on a large gray charger emerged from one of the alleys ahead, sword drawn. The horse was lathered and snorting as the man fought to control the beast’s fighting spirit. The man was armored in a solid breastplate of polished metal that gleamed in the early morning sun. Silver runes were overlaid with gold lines that twisted around each in its own intricate pattern. An orange crest adorned a helmet that had a faceplate that hid the rider’s face, but the faceplate was carved with wide eyes and a fanged mouth, giving the sense of a mounted demon.

  “It’s the prince! He’s alive,” cried an adoring woman who ran toward his horse, her hands outstretched so that she might touch him. He flicked his sword down and split the woman’s face in two, sending her to the ground in a heap.

  “No!” yelled Teli. He pulled away from Quinton’s grasp and began to run away down the street.

  “Teli, you can’t outrun him, just stay low so he can’t get you from the horse,” Quinton warned. Teli continued down the street in a sort of shambling run.

  The prince turned his horse and nudged it to a walk toward Quinton, who turned to run to catch Teli.

  After a few quick strides, he was even with the boy again. “Listen, head for the bridge, the one with the goblin heads carved on it. You know the one?” Teli nodded. “Good. I’ll distract him, you just get there and I’ll catch up to you later.” He gave Teli a shove and turned to face the horseman, drawing his sword as he did so.

  The prince did not even hesitate and kept coming at a slow walk toward Quinton. The boy knew the prince had the advantage in speed but would have a difficult time reaching him if he stayed low. But he also knew the horse could be just as dangerous. It was time to try to even the odds.

  There was a dead man lying in the gutter, his red armband a stark contrast to the dirty grey cobblestones. Quinton quickly ran over, tore the armband from the corpse, wrapped it around the end of his sword and tied a simple knot as the prince approached within a few steps. The horse was stepping high, waiting for a signal from its master as to how they would strike this pathetic creature before them. Quinton went into action. He began wildly waving his sword as close as he could get to the horse’s eyes while he dodged from side to side. The prince tried to control the large animal, attempting to spin him into Quinton, but the constant waving of the cloth so close to his eyes was confusing him. The horse snorted and growled in protest and began to take several steps backward, despite the prince’s attempts to urge him forward for the kill.

  Quinton jabbed the tip of his sword into the horse’s soft nose when it got too close. The horse took two quick steps back, howling in pain, and raised up on to two legs in quick succession, trying to throw the rider from its back. The prince swung his sword in a mad arc, hoping to catch the boy as he darted around his animal. Somewhere in the distance, a deep horn echoed through the city. The prince pulled his horse’s head away from the boy and began to trot down the street away from him. When he was twenty paces away, he stopped and turned the horse sideways. He pointed his sword directly at Quinton, as if to say, “I’ll get you later,” sheathed the blade, then spurred his horse into a canter, clattering down the street as he went, a heaving mass or armor and weaponry bouncing in the saddle.

  Quinton let out a long breath and wiped the sweat from his brow. He pulled the armband from his sword, stuffed it into his shirt for later use if needed and headed for the bridge.

  The morning that had started off with bright sunshine had rapidly grown overcast. Long furrows of grey clouds covered the entire sky, as if some god were tilling the air itself, parting the sky with billowing lines of darkness. The wind began to pick up, swirling leaves and other debris in every corner. A storm was coming in off the ocean to clean up the mess the humans had made.

  When Quinton reached the bridge, Teli was in the middle of it, leaning against a low railing looking at the fast-flowing river below. The usual flotsam and jetsam were headed out on the tide, except this time, there were more bodies in it than usual.

  “It’s relatively quiet here,” Quinton remarked as he came up to the other boy.

  Teli just stared blankly at the water twenty feet below them, watching the current take out the city’s trash.

  “Come on, we need to get out of the city. The whole place is going to hell.”

  Teli didn’t move.

  “Come on, we need to go,” Quinton urged. Teli stood motionless.

  “There is no escape that way,” Teli said in a whisper. “You can’t get away. No one can.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m getting out of here. So is Kate. You can come with us.”

  “I don’t know who Kate is, but neither of you will make it.” His voice was flat and emotionless.

  “We’re crossing the swamp. Whatever is out there can’t be any worse than what’s in here.”

  Teli didn’t say anything for a few moments. Quinton looked around in both directions, but other than the odd citizen scurrying about looking for shelter or a few easy pickings from the dead, no one was about.

  “They killed him, you know,” Teli said.

  “Killed who?”

  “The little boy.”

  “What little boy?” Quinton was starting to think Teli was losing it, if he ever had it.

  “The little boy they brought into the guild. The one with the sandy brown hair and the bright blue eyes. He still knew how to smile.”

  There were so many boys in and out of the guild, Quinton wasn’t sure which one Teli was referring to. “Teli, we don’t have time for this. We can talk later. We have to keep moving. I have to get to Kate.”

  Teli continued talking. “He was walking down the street today and a man stepped out of an alley wearing a red armband. He said, ‘Are you a member of the Fly Guild, little boy?’ The stupid kid nodded. Then the man pulled out a knife and slit his throat right in the middle of the street. I should have stopped him. I knew what was going to happen. But I just ran.”

  Quinton wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew time was running out for both of them if they stayed on the bridge. “Teli, we have to go. It wasn’t your fault. Bad things happen here all the time. That’s why we’re leaving.”

  Teli began to nod. “You’re right. It’s time to go.” He turned to face Quinton, tears running down both cheeks. “I see the way out now. You can’t get through the swamp. You can’t get out on the ships. There’s only one way out.”

  Did Teli know of some other
route out of the city? Could he help them all get out? “What route are you talking about?”

  “You were always nice to me, Quinton. I’ll show you the way.” He forced a weak smile and gave one final nod. With that, he fell face first over the railing and dropped into the swirling river below with a splash

  “Teli!” Quinton yelled, looking for any sign of the boy below. The water quickly closed over the spot where the boy went in and moved on, happy to have another offering. There was no sign of a head or a hand. It was if the other boy hit the water and dissolved into it. Quinton looked for some sign of hope, but he knew the river ran swift and deep. Even a gifted swimmer would have trouble in those waters, and he doubted Teli could swim. After a few last hopeless moments, he turned to make his way across the bridge. And that’s when he saw them.

  Coming across the bridge was a pair of boys, one armed with a club and rusty knife, the other with an iron fire poker. At first the boys strode quickly toward the bridge, but when they recognized Quinton, they slowed and stopped.

  Quinton turned slowly toward them and walked to the middle of the bridge until he was ten paces from them. “Lacoris and Vergoth, what news of the guild?”

  Lacoris spat in his direction, which Quinton expected. “The news of the guild is that you are going to be the shortest-lived master ever known.” The other boy greedily eyed Quinton’s sword.

  “It is forbidden for maggots to assault a master,” Quinton stated. He could tell by the look in their eyes that they didn’t care much for rules.

  “Fist told us that it’d be a real shame if somethin’ happened to you in all this chaos,” Lacoris said, a wry grin on his face. “He told us both that if we found your body and returned the sword and boots he had loaned you, we would be amply rewarded. He would make us both masters and give us treasure beyond our wildest dreams.” Vergoth nodded in agreement the whole time, apparently incapable of an independent thought of his own.

  Quinton looked at both boys, looking for a sign of a lie. But he believed what Lacoris was saying was true. Fist had sold him out in an attempt to get the sword. He wondered how many other guild members would happily stab him in the back for some reward or another.

  “The guild is done,” Quinton warned. “Fist will give you nothing. His reign is over.”

  Lacoris laughed. “The guild may be done, that much is true. But Fist ain’t. He’s a survivor, like me. No matter what happens, he’ll come out of this. And he’ll reward his most trusted lieutenants as we rebuild things, the right way this time. And the new guild won’t include you.”

  Quinton nodded. “Finally, something we can agree on.”

  Lacoris sneered. “Besides, even if Fist were dead and the guild long gone, I would still kill you, because I don’t like you.” Vergoth nodded in agreement again.

  “I don’t like you, either,” Quinton stated. “Now it’s time for you to be punished for being disrespectful to a master of the guild.” He drew his sword and the battered dagger to face both boys.

  Lacoris and Vergoth smiled. “There’s only one person being punished, and that’s you.”

  Quinton had hoped they would both rush him at once from the front, but both boys went into a slight crouch. Years of street fighting had taught them well. Vergoth moved out around Quinton’s right side, staying well out of striking distance. He was aiming to get behind him. They had no intention of making this a fair fight.

  Quinton slowly backed up, trying to keep both boys in front of him, but Vergoth kept moving out wider, forcing Quinton’s back to the railing. This at least eliminated half of their advantage, because now they couldn’t get behind him. Judging Vergoth the weaker of the two, and also being on his swordside, Quinton waited until he moved a little too close, then swung into action. He took several quick steps, dropped to the ground and rolled once, popping back up onto his feet within striking distance, just as the iron poker swung harmlessly over his head. The boy may have had years of street fighting experience, but Quinton had been trained by an ancient master. With several choreographed steps, the boy stepped into Vergoth, slashing with his dagger in a wide arc, cutting him open across the chest while spinning and cutting low with his sword, the blade biting deep into the other boy’s thigh.

  Vergoth screamed, falling to the ground, trying to clutch his slashed chest and his leg, which was already bleeding heavily, at the same time. Tears began to flow down his cheeks. “Mommy,” he cried out. “Mommy.” He lay down on the bridge, slightly rocking back and forth on his side as the lifeblood drained out of him.

  Quinton moved back to the middle of the bridge. He was pretty sure Vergoth was out of the fight, and most likely out of his life forever, but he didn’t want to take the chance that his injuries were a ruse.

  Lacoris seemed unimpressed by the whole display but did look disgustedly at Vergoth as he lay whimpering on the ground. He waved his club and dagger in a mesmerizing pattern as he approached Quinton to attack. Quinton noticed the end of Lacoris’ club was hollowed out. It was still plenty thick, but he wondered what purpose that hole served. He soon found out.

  With a flick of his forearm, the club swung and a snake flew out of the hole onto Quinton’s shoulder. He raised him sword instinctively to protect himself, but the flying snake got by. He recognized the yellow stripes on it immediately as a swamp worm, and he knew if it bit him, he’d be dead in seconds. Fortunately, the snake seemed more interested in getting out of the vicinity and launched itself off of his shoulder and slithered through one of the drainage holes on the bridge to the water below. Unfortunately, Lacoris used the distraction to strike with surprise.

  The club hit Quinton just above his left elbow and sent a shockwave of pain through his arm. He spun out of the way and narrowly missed being stabbed in the heart by Lacoris’ rusty dagger. The other boy came at him again, trying to take advantage of his early hit. He parried the next swing of the club with his sword and Lacoris stepped back to regroup. Both boys stood in a low crouch, warily circling each other like two wild animals intent on the kill. Quinton could feel a lump forming on his arm, and it was starting to stiffen up from the swelling.

  He moved in to attack, slashing and stabbing with his blade while ducking the club and spinning away from the dagger. After the brief exchange, both backed off again, looking for an opening. Sweat was already forming on Quinton’s brow.

  “Tired?” Lacoris taunted.

  “Tired of your mouth,” Quinton replied.

  This time it was Lacoris who initiated contact. He came in with a head-high swing and a slash of the dagger, hoping to catch Quinton while ducking, but Quinton’s training had taught him to spin out the other way to avoid such a maneuver. Lacoris was thrown slightly off balance by the arc of the swing, and Quinton jabbed in with his sword, sending the tip into Lacoris’ right shoulder by an inch.

  Lacoris cried out in pain. He turned to face Quinton. His eyes were wide and his breathing was heavy. With a wild flourish, Lacoris screamed a death yell and charged in, a whirling mass of swinging weapons. Quinton was forced to back away, step by step, under the brute force of the attack. Lacoris was bigger than he was and was winning the positioning battle because of it. As he continued to back up, fending off one attack after another, he could sense the low railing behind him.

  Quinton saw a slight opening and lunged his sword forward, the tip once again biting flesh, this time just under the other boy’s rib cage. Lacoris stopped his attack for a moment to regroup, blood running down the front of his shirt. He fell to his knee for a moment, then staggered back up. He looked at Quinton, his eyes now bloodshot and beyond reason.

  “You are finished,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “I will show you who is the true master.”

  Lacoris rushed forward. Quinton took a step back, turned to the side and hopped up on the railing. Lacoris never hesitated. He had his right arm cocked back with the club and had the dagger in his left hand pointed at Quinton’s heart. One of the boys was going to die in th
is flourish.

  As Lacoris got to within two steps, Quinton lifted his legs high in quick succession. The boots carried him several feet into the air. It was the last thing Lacoris expected. His momentum carried him forward into the rail, his right arm still flailing the club forward in a vain attempt to connect with Quinton, even as the rest of his body hurtled over the railing and plunged into the river below.

  Quinton quickly pointed the boots down and dropped back onto the bridge before the wind could blow him too far away. He looked over the railing and saw Lacoris flailing about in the water as the current carried him away. He was screaming something, but the words were unintelligible. His head bobbed in and out of the water, his arms searching for something to grab hold of before he disappeared under the muddy flow forever. Quinton never saw the boy finally go under, but his odds of survival were very low. He drifted out of sight, still coughing and screaming the whole way.

  The pain now arced through his left arm. He sheathed his sword and used his right hand to carefully place his knife back into the folds of his shirt. Vergoth was still lying in the street on his side, moaning softly, blood running out of his leg wound into a slow, narrow stream between cobblestones. Quinton walked over and kicked him in the stomach as hard as he could. The lump of flesh hardly moved but coughed a few times. “That was for Teli, you worthless rat.”

  Things in the city were rapidly falling apart. He needed to make his way back to Kate and get their escape plan in motion. Without her food store, they would have little chance. And he couldn’t think of leaving the city without her.

  Chapter 9

  The way back to the Pink Lady was a trip through carnage and chaos. There were random bodies lying in the street. Some houses had been sacked, doors kicked open and windows broken, while those around them were untouched. There was little sign of fighting, as apparently both sides had had enough blood for one day and retreated back to their strongholds to regroup.

  That didn’t mean that there still wasn’t danger about. Quinton dodged several patrols of men. He wasn’t sure whose side they were on but figured it was best not to chance it. By the time he worked his way through every alley and empty rooftop he could find, it was nearly dark, but the Pink Lady was now just across the street.