“Jass, go get someone to find Clyde,” I said as I shuffled toward the edge of the camp. “Someone needs to organize the men and it’s not going to be me.”

Jass hesitated, looked at the dark forest, and nodded as he took off. Kan’on walked next me, shooting me annoyed looks at my slow pace, but I wasn’t convinced we should be getting involved. The Count wasn’t paying us anymore and as much as I liked a good fight, this was well within the capabilities of the Count’s hired help and I wouldn’t gain anything by getting involved.

As we shuffled closer, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, contrary to what the Flow showed me. Bright fireflies weaved in and out of the canopy of the trees which swayed back and forth in a light breeze. I shuffled a few steps closer, squinting as I tried to get a clearer view in the darkness. The fireflies blinked in and out, but didn’t move away from their positions, and that’s when I realized that they weren’t fireflies, but eyes. A few dozen eyes reflecting the firelight of our camps, looked at us over the expanse of grass that separated the road from the forest. The Carvers sat in the trees, silent and staring.

Jass returned, accompanied by the sound of guards trickling in from further up the line. They surprised me by bunching up into small groups, which was the best way to fight Carvers. Either they had been more prepared than I thought, or somebody had given them some tips. I shot Jass a look, before focusing my attention back on the trees. I strained my senses of the Flow, searching as far up and down the tree line as I could reach, looking for any other evidence of attack or ambush, but I came up empty.

“Where are they? Why haven’t they attacked yet?” one of the guards whispered.

“They’re watching us.” I pointed into the trees with the blinking eyes. “Look at their eyes.”

Silence spread as the realization sunk in.

“There aren’t very many in there, maybe five or six. Something’s off. By all rights they should be on us already.” Jass said.

Jass kept surprising me. His demeanor and actions over the last week had solidified the notion in my head that he wasn’t the mild-mannered driver that he appeared to be. Not unless he routinely drove his wagon through lands infested with creatures from the Labyrinth.

Turning my attention back to our watchers, I watched them watch us, waiting for a change, something to break the stalemate, but they just continued to observe.

“They’re definitely under the influence of something else. I’ve seen plenty of Carvers and what these are doing right now just isn’t in their nature,” I said. “I don’t sense anything else nearby though, so where is the controller?”

The Carver’s eerie silence and immobility finally got under my skin. I drew a rune at head height, investing the Flow with intent and willpower. Not confident in my aim at such a distance, I tapped Jass on the shoulder.

“How’s your throwing arm? You think you could hit those trees through this rune here with a rock?”

Jass hesitated, gauging the angle and distance, then nodded. He picked up a stone half the size of his fist and with a hopping-running start, he slung the stone side-armed through the rune. It flew true, striking the trees in the midst of the hanging Carvers.

A gigantic force, like the descending fist of a Deep God, crashed through the trees, splintering the thin trunks and sending chunks flying in all directions. High, thin screeching emerged from the wreckage as it collapsed to the ground in a mass of shattered wood and debris. Somehow, two of the creatures staggered out of the mess unscathed.

Each one supported itself on four legs tipped in chitinous spears, stabbing the ground wherever they tread. Their arms resembled a praying mantis, but with a vicious cutting edge. The slicing arms were dangerous, but what made my gorge rise was the proboscis protruding from their insectile faces, from which they sprayed an acid that would slowly melt you alive, which allowed them to suck up the dissolved meat juice as sustenance.

Jass, with an impressive show of skill, hurled his spear at the Carver on the left. The spear skewered the monstrosity straight through the head, pinning its already dead body to the grass.

Kan’on made a move to pursue the Carver on the right, but something in the Flow tickled my senses.

“Kan’on! Don’t kill it! Restrain it somehow!”

Rushing after the man, I tried to come up with a way to restrain it without killing it. I stopped and drew up the force rune again, but instead of the bludgeon I usually transformed it into, the intent I fed it whispered of soft, steady pressure. Satisfied, I pumped power into it and swiped my sword through it before chasing after Kan’on.

“Whatever you’re going to do, you better hurry!” The Carver attacked Kan’on as he approached and he seemed to have a hard time not hurting it, let alone restraining it, especially when its oversized meat slicers whizzed through the air.

Letting Kan’on distract it, I circled around to its back and signaled Kan’on to jump away. Before the damned thing could react, I booped it on the head with the stored power in my sword.

The Carver struggled to stay standing, all four legs shaking with effort as it resisted the invisible hand pushing it into the ground. It screeched and flailed its bladed arms, finding no resistance. Inch by inch it gave ground, until there was no ground to give, only the ground itself.

I dropped to my knees, closed my eyes, and concentrated on the Flow. Something tickled my senses, perceivable only as a hint in the currents that extended from the Carver, so I submerged my senses and let myself drift. There, an unfamiliar presence snapped into my awareness in the form of a tiny thread plunging into the Carver’s head.

I reached out and touched it, seeking. Agony pierced my mind, the powerful feedback ravaging my consciousness, and I screamed. Just before I fully lost it, shock echoed back through the connection. An alien mind looked back at me, weighing me, before the connection snapped and I fell limp to the ground.

It took a few moments to regain control of my limbs, but I managed to lever myself into a sitting position. A few more moments and my head stopped swimming enough to let me reach through the flow into the nowhere space that I called my cubby, and I withdrew a flask. Taking a few big gulps, I sighed as the liquid burned its way into me.

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“Shit,” I croaked out. “Kill the damned thing, hurry.”

Kan’on drew his blade as he stepped up to the Carver and ran his sword through the brittle chitin of its head, and returned to crouch next to me, waiting patiently.

Jass loped off to retrieve his spear and rest of the guards ran to the collapsed tree line, poking and prodding the remains looking for surviving Carvers. They spread up and down the barrier of vegetation, expanding their search as they called out to each other. In the meantime, I tried to make sense of what I’d seen. Getting to my feet, I picked up my sword and dusted myself off, almost stumbling.

“We’ve got a problem. By the Deep Ones, we’ve got a problem. That wasn’t a Siren or a Dominator. Whatever it is, it’s big. Not like, ‘big’ big,” I said, making had waving motions at my body, “but like ‘Big’ big.” I pointed at my head, trying to get my message across.

Kan’on didn’t push me for more detail, letting me regain my composure, but approaching horses interrupted my attempt to elaborate further. I snorted softly, even the sound of the clod’s horse was cloddish. Sure enough, His Gaudyness Clyde pulled his horse to a stop right next to us, kicking up dirt all over the place.

“What happened, I heard a loud crash. Are we under attack?” He glanced down at the Carver’s corpse at our feet. “I thought the Count told you that you were a passenger. You shouldn’t be out here fighting.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him but chose to ignore him.

“Listen Clyde, this whole situation just went from an annoying inconvenience to serious business in the blink of an eye.”

“They’re scouting.” Jass returned and stepped into the conversation. I pointed at him and nodded my head.

“Who, the Carvers? That’s ridiculous. Everybody knows that Carvers are practically mindless. Scouting…” He laughed, not even trying to hide his disbelief.

“Listen you ignorant pissant, the Carvers are being controlled. I felt it, and whatever it is, it squashed me as easily as I squashed this creature at our feet.”

“Controlled? Bah, mind control is impossible, everybody knows that. You’d remember that if you weren’t drunk day and night.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to dredge up a measure of patience. Of all the times for Clyde to get his back up… Nope, screw it.

I circulated power throughout my body and planted myself next to his horse. Reaching up, I grabbed his belt and yanked him off, letting him tumble to the ground in a heap. The breath left him in a great woosh and I thought I heard a few bones creak in protest, but I ignored him and mounted his horse in his place.

“Kan’on, get ready to leave first thing in the morning. I didn’t sign up to fight whatever this is. Jass, I don’t know what your deal is, but you’re more than welcome to accompany us. I’ll be back in a bit. I’m going to go have a chat with Count Orleander.”

###

Most of the camps along the way were abandoned. The drivers had probably taken shelter in their wagons at the first sign of trouble and the guards had made their way either to the Carvers or to the Count’s camp.

It didn’t take me long to arrive at the pavilion and I handed off the clod’s horse to a random guard and walked straight in. Orleander reclined alone by candlelight in a comfortable pile of pillows, surrounded by paperwork and what smelled like wine.Looks like I wasn’t the only one with contraband alcohol in the caravan, Clyde would be scandalized. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Ms. Black lurking in the corner, up to who knew what.

“I assume something happened then, otherwise you wouldn’t be rushing in here at this hour. Something to do with the attack, I presume.”

I plopped myself down in his little pillow pit, tempted to reach for the wine, but I took my own flask out instead, not even bothering to hide my hand as it disappeared into my cubby.

Orleander’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead, his shock tickling me a little. I’d pay for it later, no doubt. I drained the flask and tossed it aside, holding my breath to suppress the rebellion my stomach tried to foment.

“Listen Orleander, shit just went sideways. The Carvers… they’re being controlled… and not in the way we thought. I felt it, whatever is out there, and I’ve never felt anything like it. Whatever it is, it makes a Siren or a Dominator look like a child waving a toy sword around.”

“I had received a report, but I am still not sure what you’re saying. Can you give me more detail please.”

I told him of the odd behavior and the details about what it had felt like to encounter the consciousness on the other side of the link. Every time I tried to envision the being, pain shot through my head like it was being prodded by hot pokers.

“They’re being used as scouts. Used! Even Dominators and Sirens can only trick and mislead others into doing their bidding, not outright control them,” I said, as I massaged my aching head

“It appears to be quite powerful, and I myself have no particular knowledge of the lore of the Labyrinth. Do you have no guess or clues about what this is, none at all?”

Instead of answering, I sat back into the cushions and scoured my memory for the particulars of what I knew about the Labyrinth. Other than the top three levels and the common creatures that inhabited them, there wasn’t a lot to go on. Below the third level, my knowledge was dicey because there weren’t a lot of adventurers or mercenaries who bothered to go that deep, not least of which because it was unlikely they would ever return.

The thread used to control the Carver did remind me of some old stories. One of the nastier stories that came from the Ilfid described beings who collected slaves and controlled them like a puppeteer, there was even a disturbing nursery rhyme that went with it about snipping strings. The Ilfid called the story ‘The Collectors’, but it was supposed to be about a race of Deep Ones, those civilizations that lived deep within the Labyrinth and rarely, if ever, came to the surface.

At the thought of Deep Ones, a memory clicked into place and I sat up straight

“Shit. I think I know what it is. The Ilfid have a story about a race called ‘The Collectors’, but that’s just a nickname for a race called the Inculid. They’re slavers, and the stories say they ‘collect’ their slaves with strings, like a puppeteer.”

“Are you trying to tell me that Deep Ones are attacking?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. By all accounts, the Inculid are mind controllers. I’ve obviously never seen one, I don’t think anyone having lived in the last few generations has seen one, but the stories are clear on one thing: they come up from the deep killing or enslaving everything they encounter. The point here is this town is screwed. I’m leaving first thing in the morning, and you should too, unless you want to get caught up in whatever is coming.”

“Leaving… you would just leave this town to death or enslavement? This Barony is part of the kingdom, and you would just abandon it?”

“Damn right. And you should too.” As I said it, the buzzing of the curse in the back of my mind burst into a crescendo of pain, and I cringed, waiting for it to pass. Yeah, yeah, I hear you damn it. Time to leave.

I marched out of the tent, snagging a bag of candied nuts on the way. The Count didn’t say a word at my departure, or even try to stop me, which I found odd. He’d been willing to use my reputation as a threat in whatever games he played in Dormar, but did he not give any credence to how and why the reputation was earned in the first place? Irked, I left behind the gross display of wealth of the Count’s camp.

As I walked back to Jass and Kan’on, I munched and pondered my next move. I still needed to get to Dormar, but I needed an alternate route. There were always the plains but trekking through endless grasslands didn’t appeal. That left the mountains, but that carried its own set of problems, namely cold weather gear. Either way, a trip through town in the morning to grab up supplies looked to be on the agenda.

I passed Clyde on the way back. Seeing the look I gave him, he steered well clear of me and crossed to the other side of the road. The cursed pain flared up again, fuzzing out my mind and making it difficult to concentrate and think. Based on past experience, it would only recede when I left and traveled for an extended period. I sighed and reached into my cubby for another flask. At least I could drown the pain in booze.

I returned to see the guardsmen still stabbing their way through the pile of shattered trees, picking out Carver bodies. A few men spotted me and threw me concerned looks, which set my teeth on edge. The rumor of my presence would probably spread even faster, now. My name was already out there, it was only a matter of time before people started making the connection, and that was never a good time.

I plopped down next to the fire, organizing my gear, getting ready to brood on recent events all night long because the Deep Ones knew I wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep.