The Fly Guild (13 page)

The man seemed pleased as his body
posture resumed the more advanced technique he was teaching, though he never
said a word.

As the day waned, Quinton felt he
was rapidly picking up the use of the sword. He was able to parry a series of
attacks and thrust back at the arms master without exposing himself. Every time
he did so, the man complimented him on his technique with a simple “good.” Late
in the day, he was surprised at how energetic he was after all the training.
They hadn’t even stopped for lunch.

“Aren’t you tired, master?” he
asked his trainer.

The man stopped the parrying
technique he was demonstrating and tilted his head to one side, saying nothing
for several moments. “I cannot get tired,” he said.

“Why not?”

He tilted his head to the other
side. “Because I am dead. Resume.” The man brought his sword up in a
threatening position, forcing Quinton to mimic the parry move he had shown a
few moments before, not giving him time to think about the answer.

“Good,” the trainer said in
response to his pose. “You have completed the expert course.”

Quinton paused, thoroughly confused
by the man’s answers. “Wait, I started the basic course, though. And did you
say you were dead?”

“The basic course was completed two
weeks ago. Yes, I said I was dead.”

Quinton didn’t know what to say.
Nothing made sense.

“Show your face,” he demanded.

The trainer dipped his head
slightly in acknowledgment, then flipped up the visor covering his face. When
he flipped it up, the helmet was empty. Quinton heard a familiar voice laughing
behind him. He turned and saw Sands leaning against one of the stones.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” he said.

Quinton turned back to look at the
trainer, but the circle was empty. All that was there were the large stones
covered in vines.

“You are now trained in the use of
the short sword, maggot,” said Sands. “Not that we’ll let you have one – or
that we have one to give you -- but if the need arises, you’ll be ready. You
can also use the same motions to effectively wield a nice solid club against
someone with a sword.”

Quinton was suddenly feeling very
tired. “But I just started today.”

Sands smiled. “You started four
weeks ago. Time among those stones barely moves,” he said, motioning to the
large obelisks around him. “You neither ate nor drank in that time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to. Come over here
and eat something. Tomorrow you start training on the bow.”

Quinton shook his head but moved
toward Sands, noticing the cooking fire he had going beyond the stones and the
lure of food it promised.

“Did the guild build this?”

Sands shook his head. “If the guild
was powerful enough to build this, Lord Wren would not rule the city and we
wouldn’t be starving half the time. No, these were raised by an ancient
civilization far more powerful than anything we could ever muster. We were just
fortunate enough to find the training stones. The ancients used them to train
their warriors for battles in a fraction of the time it would normally take.
The civilization that built them is long gone, but the trainer remains, always
ready for his next student. You did well in there, from what I saw.”

“So you watched for four weeks,
master?”

“Hardly. I saw part of the first
day and part of the last. The rest of the time I was back in the city.”

Quinton nodded. “Why are you
teaching me this?”

“Too many questions for today. Eat
and then sleep. You’ll need your rest for the next month’s worth of training.”
He handed the boy some bread and a bowl of stew that smelled delicious. It
looked like it had real chunks of meat in it. Quinton gulped it down and looked
longingly at the pot over the fire. “Go ahead, have another,” said Sands.
“You’ll need it.”

***

Quinton entered the stones the next
day and followed the same procedure, but this time selected a small bow as his
weapon of choice. The same master showed him the proper stance and method of
firing, and had him practice shooting targets for some time. The only thing the
man said was the occasional “good” after he had mastered a task, but nothing
more. It appeared to be around noon when Quinton got the same dizzy feeling he
had before and once again found Sands standing before him.

“Come, we must go. You have learned
enough for now.” His mood was more somber than the last time he had spoken and
his eyes stared blankly into the distance. Quinton started to speak but instead
just nodded and stepped out of ring of stones.

“We need to get back to the city,
but there are still other things you need to know,” he said, turning to follow
the trail that led back into the heart of the swamp. “Listen carefully, because
there may not be time for me to teach them again.” Quinton wondered what was
going on that there may be only one chance for Sands to teach him whatever it
was he was talking about. Was Sands going someplace?

As they worked their way through
the tall clumps of swamp grass and the occasional portion of the trail that had
been swallowed up by the swamp, Sands started to recite the lesson. His voice
was somber but methodical.

“There are certain rules that you
must abide by in the guild,” said Sands. “As a maggot, the general rule is that
you don’t do anything without asking first, and that’s easy enough to follow.
But as you advance from maggot status, you have to do a lot more thinking for
yourself. You have to follow the rules of the guild, because any violation can
result in being put to death. Fist is a dangerous man, so never cross him. But
that being said, you can work the rules in your favor when possible. Doing so
is the only way you can get anything for yourself.” Sands said the last
sentence with a sigh that had a slight sense of hopelessness.

“There are seven laws that bind us
all. Not even Fist dares break them, because all men, no matter how wild, need
some sort of accepted norms to maintain order. Even barbarians have laws.”
Quinton wondered if Sands had ever known any barbarians, but he didn’t have a
chance to ask. “The first law is that you can only challenge your master directly.
This means that once you are no longer a maggot and you want to run the guild,
you cannot assassinate or poison Fist. The master of the guild should be free
to run the guild without worrying about getting a knife in the back or poison
in his wine. If you want to challenge him, you meet him face to face and the
survivor is in charge, no questions asked.

“The second law of the guild is,
once in, never out. This one you already know. Once you have entered the guild,
you are always a member, whether you want to be or not.” Sands paused to let a
large red and orange snake slither across the trail. “Poisonous,” he
interjected. “Try not to step on those. They don’t like that.” He started down
the trail once the snake was safely across. “Where was I? Oh, right. If you
should try to flee, you had better have everything planned out, because the
guild will come after you and kill you. All guild members are obligated to kill
an escapee if they find one. Death is the only thing that removes your debt to
the guild family.”

Sands stared out across the murky
water for several minutes before continuing. Quinton followed closely behind,
keeping a watch out for any logs that might prove to be a legarto.

“The third law of the guild is,
your interests are the family’s interests. It’s a complicated way of saying,
‘Pay up.’ You steal on the streets, and it all goes to the family, where it
gets redistributed. The higher up you are, the bigger your share.”

And the maggot’s share was zero,
Quinton thought to himself. We do all the work, and someone else gets all the
goods.

“The fourth law is very simple. Do
as you are ordered. When someone tells you to do something, you do it. Don’t
ask why, just find a way and get it done.” Sands paused because the trail
disappeared into the water for about ten feet before reappearing on higher
ground. He studied the water in between and looked around for any sign of
danger. Once he was satisfied it was safe, he entered the water, which only was
about ankle deep, and quickly made his way to the other side. “Not as deep as
it looked.

“The fifth law is you never hurt
your brothers without permission. You cannot hurt or kill any fellow maggot, or
master, if you get that far, for any reason. No matter what they’ve done to
you, you cannot do anything to them without the permission of Fist or whoever
is running the guild.”

He paused again to gently lift some
thorny branches that were hanging over the trail. After holding them up for
Quinton to pass, he spun away from them and took a couple of quick strides to
retake the lead and continued his conversation. “The sixth law is, only crimes
that pay are okay. If we aren’t making any money off of it, then don’t do it.
There’s no point in getting arrested and hung for a crime that had no chance of
profit. I will also tell you that assassination might pay, but it’s frowned
upon. There are guilds in other parts of the world that deal in murder on a
daily basis, but we are not one of them. So the general rule is, if there’s
money to be made, then you are in the clear.”

Sands paused again to scan a
particularly deep-looking section of the swamp that bordered the next portion
of the trail. Satisfied there was no imminent danger other than the small
swarms of black insects that kept flying about them, he pressed on. “The
seventh law is the best law, at least as far as I’m concerned. It’s simply
referred to as, opportunity is yours for the taking. What this means is that if
you are assigned a task, your only obligation is to complete that task.
Anything else you do is yours. So let’s say Fist sends you to steal a jailor’s
keys. If, along the way, you manage to steal the jailor’s money, then that
money is yours to keep. As a maggot, your only task has been to steal food and
money every day, so there’s no chance to pick up anything else. When you are
made master, or if Fist or Red eye send you out after something specific, be
sure to take advantage of this law. Sometimes it’s the only way to keep from
starving. The food and little bit of money you can pick up for yourself can
make all the difference, especially when you need it for ... ” his voice
trailed off.

“Need it for what?” Quinton asked,
swatting at the insects trying to fly into his eyes.

Sands didn’t respond. He was lost
in thought. After several seconds, he simply said, “Never mind. You’ll need it
to survive.”

The two walked for several hours,
winding through the marsh and patches of scrub trees and dense underbrush. The
trail was mostly a narrow strip of ground that was only slightly drier than the
muck on either side of it. Various animal tracks were visible, some newer than
others. Sands pointed out the occasional track, including the common deer and
raccoon tracks, but there were a few others that he looked at and simply
shrugged. “There are a lot of creatures in this world that I don’t recognize,”
he said after looking at a particularly large claw mark. “Always travel the
wilds with caution.”

As they were making their way toward a
large copse of trees, Sands motioned for him to stop. “Wait here, count to 100,
then follow.” He didn’t explain any further, and Quinton, by this time, knew
better than to ask. After all, law four was to do as you were told. Sands
disappeared into the shadows of the wood. When Quinton finished counting, he
warily stepped forward, only to have his right foot sink several inches into
the mud. After freeing himself, he started toward the wood once again.

As he entered the deep shadows, his eyes
strained to adjust to the difference in brightness. Branches reached in every
direction and leaves of every shape and size hung down around the trail. There
were several open areas in the wood that he could see from the trail, places
where the shadows of the larger swamp oaks and cedars devoured almost all the
light. The bark of the big trees bore deep ridges, like an old man squinting to
see who came calling at such an odd out-of-the-way place. Quinton could clearly
see the trail where it wound through the old trees and across their gnarled
roots, dodging small saplings that could only support a handful of leaves in a
sliver of light that came to ground when the slow breeze pushed limbs aside.

He looked around but saw no sign of
Sands. With a last glance, he slowly walked down the trail into the heart of
the wood. Strange insects ceased their shrill buzzes and shrieks as he
approached, never giving a clue as to their whereabouts. Shadows fell long on
the ground, and a squirrel scurried through the fallen leaves to regain the
safety of the old trees. After a few minutes, he could see the bright doorway
exiting the wood a stone’s throw away, its frame made of brambles and scrub
trees reaching up to touch the lowest limbs of the old giants that held their
hands low to spread their leaves to grab every ray of sun. When he got to
within a few feet of the doorway, a voice to his left suddenly called out.

“Maggot!”

Quinton instinctively jumped to his
right, raising his left arm in defense before he realized it was Sands standing
just a few feet off the trail next to a small sapling that had more branches
than leaves.

He looked at the boy with a blank
expression. “Lesson learned,” he said. “There are three things to know when it
comes to hiding. First, the human eye discerns movement. This also applies to
most other creatures of the world, but not all. If you don’t move, the eye has
no reason to notice you, as things that don’t move usually pose little threat.
The brain is looking for danger and easily glosses over nonmoving objects. So
if you don’t want to be seen, don’t move, even if you are standing in the open.
If you can find even basic cover, all the better, and the deeper the shadow,
the more likely you can remain unseen.