Thus Falls the Shadow

by Martin Swinford

  "Don't go!"

  Marius looked at Luan and then walked towards him. He reached out and put his hand on Luan’s shoulder.

  "I chose this path a long time ago Luan," he said. "I chose duty and honour that day, and I cannot turn aside now." Marius took a step back and drew the long sword from over his shoulder. He placed it point down between them, knelt and beckoned Luan forward.

  "Come here."

  Luan stepped forward, aware that something important was happening. Marius reached out and took Luan’s hands in his own. He placed one on the hilt of the sword and the other on the crosspiece.

  "This is how I took the oath to follow the path of swords, wherever it would lead me. One day you will kneel as I did and make your choice.

  I know that you will bring our family honour."

  Luan never saw Marius again. Four weeks later a trader brought news of a huge battle to the south. The Imperial Legions halted and pushed back. A victory but at huge cost, and a name, Banduan. Three weeks after that, Marius' sword was delivered to the hall.

  IT WAS COOL THE MORNING that Luan began his journey. They stood at the top of the hill, the sky just starting to shade to blue above them. To the east the horizon was tinged with red as behind the wisps of cloud the sun began its ascent. Luan looked down at his mother standing in front of the hall, Ban, tall and close to manhood, by her side, wreaths of mist about their feet. He looked back to his father standing in front of him, holding the sword that was all that he had left of his brother.

  "Luan, you need to know that I will always be proud of you. No matter what choice you make, you will always be my son."

  Luan returned his gaze. Now he was at the point of choosing, his doubts had fled.

  "Thank you, father, but I have made my choice. I will follow my uncle."

  "And he will be proud of you, as he watches from the lands of the dead." With a swift motion he drew the sword and plunged the tip into the ground between them.

  “The time has come!” he said.

  Luan knelt and grasped the hilt and crosspiece just as his uncle had shown him three years earlier. His father placed his hand on Luan’s head and spoke formally.

  "Luan ap Garioch, second son of the house of Artran, this is the day of choosing. How do you choose?"

  "I choose the path of swords," intoned Luan

  "Do you then give up your claim to the lands of your birth?"

  "I do."

  "Do you swear to be honourable and just, to follow the path without delay and never stepping aside?”

  "I do so swear."

  "Then stand second son and receive your birthright."

  Luan stood and as he did his father lifted the sword high, then sheathed it and held it out, balanced on the palms of both hands. Luan took the sword. It felt heavy but somehow right. Almost he could feel the presence of Marius beside him.

  "Go well my son."

  Luan met his father eyes. He had no words left. He slung the sword over his shoulder, turned and set off down the hill.

  IT WAS LATER THAT DAY that he saw the walkers for the first time. He wasn't sure what he noticed first. Was it the dust of their feet? Or was it the low hum that seemed to accompany them as they travelled the rough track that dropped down out of the hills to meet the path he had chosen. Reaching the crossroads first, he stopped and waited; now recognising the low hum as some kind of chant, the words indistinguishable.

  When they reached him they stopped and fell silent. There were nine of them; each dressed in long grey cloaks, their faces and heads covered in hoods through which only their eyes were visible. Their gaze was penetrating and Luan suddenly felt afraid.

  “Where do you walk to?” he asked.

  The leader of the group stared at him. Close to, Luan could see that stitched to the fabric of his grey cloak was a seemingly random collection of metal objects: coins, buckles, bits of harness, and old nails among things unidentifiable.

  A few seconds passed, then the leader broke his silence.

  “Where do we walk?” he called.

  “We walk the paths!” The answer, spoken in unison by the group had the feeling of ritual.

  “How long shall we walk?” intoned the leader.

  “Until the land is free!”

  The leader turned his gaze to Luan.

  “We walk the paths,” he said. “Do you follow?”

  Luan was filled with a desire to go with them. Fleeting visions of strange lands filled his eyes. For a moment the answer “I will follow!” took form in his mouth but then the weight of the sword on his back dragged him back to reality. He stared at the strange figure before him. “I take the path of swords,” he replied, the words coming unbidden.

  The leader looked him in the eye, his gaze unwavering.

  “Follow or stand aside.”

  Luan stepped to one side. The strange, low chanting started again as the walkers set off. He stood and watched as they vanished into the distance, never once looking back.

  About the Author

  Martin Swinford writes, paints, reads, and walks the dog, but not necessarily all at once. He lives in Lincolnshire, England with his family who work tirelessly to keep him from getting too weird. In the time that’s left he teaches Psychology and Mathematics. His biggest fear is getting bored. Martin is the author of The Song Of Amhar Series, consisting of The Path of Swords, The Guild Of Warriors and The Arena of Lost Souls and is currently working on an untitled fourth book. He has recently completed a Science Fiction novel, Thus Falls the Shadow, which is due to be released in December 2018.