The Fly Guild (23 page)

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
this 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.