Forfeit

I jolted awake into darkness. Gasping, panting, flailing desperately. I scrabbled for a weapon, but there was none at my hip. I pushed out with my mind, but nothing happened. I reached for the weave, the leylines of the worlds, the gateways between the realms, but all were hidden from me. Instead, I was bombarded with sensations I had not known for a long, long time. Coldness. Heaviness. Tiredness. Fear. Ignorance. Forgetfulness.

My limbs were small. Devoid of magic.

Weak.

Fragile.



A dreadful chorus of voices rang out. Voices of all ages and presentations, speaking every language in unison: ~Your power is forfeit.~

I flinched as they spoke. My sword arm tensed.

~Your influence is forfeit. Your worth is forfeit. Your mind is forfeit.~

With each statement, I felt cords pulling tight inside me. Binding my essence to this place.

“Who are you?” I demanded. To my horror, my voice was weak and puny, stripped of magic and authority. Its power dissipated as soon as it came from my lips. Worse still, the words came out not in classical, courtly Sylvan, but in a foul, primitive language. Not low Sylvan. Not even in silly, base Elvish. But the dullest, saddest, most lifeless language of them all: Common.

~We are the ties that bind you.~ Cords tightening through my throat, my chest. ~Your tongue is forfeit.~

“No!” I searched for a Sylvan insult… but nothing came. I could not even remember the language. “How dare you! You can’t do this to me!”

~It is too late,~ the voices echoed. ~It is done. Your name is forfeit.~

With a pang of dread, I realised I could remember nothing. My true name, my title, my birthright – whatever it might have been – locked away by this invocation. A painfully short-lived, all-too-mortal heart hammered in my puny little ribcage. But I snarled as angrily as I could. “Give it back this instant!”

~These bonds cannot be unmade, except by the one who made them.~

“Then I’ll find them and I’ll make them unmake you, so help me!”

~Your body is forfeit.~

I reeled in shock as the last vestiges of myself were bound down and pulled from me.

~And so the bonds are tied.~

The voices diminished, the echo lasting a lifetime before evaporating into a terrifying silence. The darkness somehow became darker, as if the smouldering wick of an extinguished candle had been pinched out.



I panted heavily, fearfully, and I staggered back. “What am I, now? What is left of me?”

The voices returned, but now the damage was done, they spoke casually, almost conversationally. ~You inhabit the body of the last creature you destroyed.~

“But that could be anything…” Numb and blind, I could not tell what body I possessed. Terrified, I wracked my brain for answers. There was a dead dragon not so long ago, a treant, and – please, no, let it not be a human, of all things. But every memory seemed to dissolve as soon as I touched it. So I did not even know what low creature I would become. “For how long?”

~Until such a time as you earn the unbinding. Work your way back and what was yours may be returned to you.~

“Earn? Work? Outrageous,” I spat. “I’ll tear the Feywild asunder to find you! I’ll behead you and I’ll gouge what is mine out of your skull myself.”

~Yet you no longer know who put you here,~ the voices replied.

My heart sank, betrayed by a new sensation of ignorance. “Well, who are you? I DEMAND to know!” I bellowed. I struggled against the darkness, until I realised that I was merely thrashing my puny limbs about. “I’m coming for you, whoever you are. You’ll pay for this!”

Laughter rippled through the darkness. ~This you cannot do. You are subject to many limitations now. Hunger. Thirst. Tiredness. Pain. Vulnerabilities. Bodily functions.~

“You expect me to survive? With nothing to defend myself?”

There was a pause, then the voices returned with an amused tone. ~Very well. You shall be granted one boon. A single thing of your choice.~

“Ha-hah! Then I choose to be released from this bondage and returned to my original self.”

I felt a powerful surge of discomfort jolting through my bones. I gasped in what I could only assume was a mortal’s pain. It hurt more than I could describe, and I collapsed into a twitching heap.

~Once tied, the bonds shall not be severed. There shall be only one way to unbind your forfeits, and that is through deeds, not words. You shall not trick your way out of this. You shall live or die upon your mortal capabilities. And with but one of these…~

A huge tree stump materialised in front of me. Upon it, a selection of powerful items – swords, armour, wands, ancient tomes, bejewelled goblets, a crystal ball, sumptuous robes, arcane gemstones – as well as more mundane items – a desiccated mushroom, an ornate cushion, gold dragon scales, a chipped mug, a phoenix feather, the head of a wolf, an umbrella, a golden birch twig, and more. They all seemed strangely familiar.

~Touch one and it shall be yours for the duration.~

Greedily, I eyed up the shiniest sword. Oh, how I longed to disembowel whoever had done this to me! Then I noticed the largest, most arcane-looking book. It too seemed deliciously powerful, as did one of the wands. I held my hand out to feel their aura and assess their power… but even my ability to identify such artifacts had waned.

“You could at least tell me what they are!” I yelled.

Again I heard a chuckle. ~They were yours. Yet now, all but one are forfeit.~

“You’re thoroughly enjoying this, aren’t you? Don’t you worry, I’ll break out of this. I’ll find a way! Then I’ll return and make you pay.”

~Enough.~ The voices suddenly became bored. ~You shall not return here except when you are summoned, or when you have earned your unbinding. What has been written shall not be unwritten.~

“I swear, there will be consequences! Whoever has done this to me, you’ll pay for this! I’LL MAKE YOU SUFFER!”

~Choose quickly, for your fate approaches.~

I glanced up and saw a speck of light looming. It grew larger and became a landscape, rushing toward me at terrifying speed.

My knees buckled. I threw out my arms to protect me. I lost my footing and fell against the array of objects. I snatched at a hilt and grabbed something desperately.

The ground roared down at me and I crashed into it painfully. The impact knocked the wind out of me. The surface bent inward, like a sheet of rubber, slowing my fall. It flexed back into place and I tumbled into a heap on the ground, bruised and dazed.




I lay on a bed of mud. Cold and wet. Instinctively, I snapped my fingers, but no teleportation happened. No sword appeared. No castle was summoned. No army of servants arrived. All I got was a tiny rumble of noise. A mere squib. That was the extent of my magic. I shook my head. Picked myself up and looked around. A grey landscape, with miserable, withered plants. Drained of colour and vitality. Ugly, drab, lifeless.

What hellscape was this?

A cold drizzle was falling. I shivered. The damp, the dark, the sheer silence of this grim place. This was too much to bear! I sank to my knees in despair, weeping bitterly. The rain lashed against me.

A clattering sound approached. I leapt to my feet, afraid like I had never felt before.

To my relief, it was just a filthy, rain-sodden cart. It trundled up past me along a rough track.

“You there! Stop!” I demanded. “What is this place?”

The driver yanked on his reins and pulled the cart to a halt. The mule whinnied in protest and kicked up a puddle. Mud splashed into my face. An old halfling leaned over the edge of the cart, peering down his substantial nose at me discerningly. “Where’s yer clothes?”

“What?”

“You ain’t wearin’ any clothes.”

“Yes, I know,” I snapped at him. My goodness, Common was a hideous language. I shuddered to hear myself speak it. “Take me to the nearest tailor at once.”

He startled at my demand, and scowled to himself for a moment, muttering curses. Then he shrugged. He turned back to me with a look of pity.

He pointed a stubby finger at a dark shape on the horizon. “They gots a tailor up there, I think. One or two of ‘em. But maybe” – he looked me up and down – “they’s kinda pricey, and you don’t look like you gotta copper penny to your name, if you don’t mind me sayin’. I ain’t got much meself, but here. Take me cloak…”

He reached back and threw me a bundle of material. More of a rag than a robe. I watched it sail toward me and hit me in the chest. It sank to the ground in a puddle.

My feet were cold. I stepped onto the bundle to dry them.

The halfling cussed and shook his head, disgruntled. “Whatcha even doin’ out here?”

“Never you mind about that. What place is that?” I gestured down the road to the looming shape on the horizon.

“That? Why, that’s Daring Heights.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Well, they probably don’t care about that either way. And neither do I. But that’s the name of the place.”

“Under whose domain does it fall?”

“Uh… under whose what?”

“Which Court, you ignoramus! Summer, Winter, Witching…”

“Umm, it’s the Daring Heights Council, I think. Say…” the halfling squinted at me sarcastically. “You gonna use that or what?

“What?”

“It’s pissin’ down. What’re you doing holding that thing, if not to use it?”

Cold rain trickled through my matted hair and down my face. I blinked in confusion, then followed his eyeline down to my hand.

My heart sank. I hadn’t grabbed the sword, the book or the wand.

I had been condemned to hell. Naked. Shivering on a sodden bundle of rags in the mud. Outside a shithole called Daring Heights.

Holding nothing but an umbrella.