The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) (22 page)

Dart’s prowess was mainly with the bow, which Vaun had little interest in learning, although he did attempt several times to deflect an arrow with his sword. He still had round bruises on his chest where he’d missed, and was glad Dart had refused to use real arrows. The dark-haired elf had shaken so badly with nervousness during the practice that Vaun had abandoned the hope of learning the skill. Perhaps if the elf used a real arrow, the Song would interpret that as a real threat, and maybe…then again, maybe not. His chest still hurt, and those had been blunt-tipped arrows.

He could practice by himself, but that was only so much fun and not as rewarding. The Song didn’t play nearly as loud, either, and the Rhythm thumped dully in the back of his mind. He wanted an opponent he could see and touch, one that would make the Song and the Rhythm sing to him.

He strolled along, his mind drifting into a nice daydream, when suddenly he heard the unmistakable clash of steel on steel. Concerned that something might be amiss, he jogged toward the sound, his body already preparing itself for battle. The Song even began a countermeasure to what he heard, and the Rhythm picked up the beat to better ensure victory.

He did not, however, need to draw his sword and attack, because as soon as he exited a large doorway he saw what made the sound. The royal guardsmen were practicing. Curious as to how well the king’s personal soldiers trained, Vaun moved a little closer to watch.

Men sparred in pairs over a large stretch of hard-packed earth in what Vaun guessed to be the southwest side of the castle. The royal home faced almost due north, which put the training ground and guards’ quarters in the back. A wide path led through many ornate gardens straight to the main courtyard, giving the guards easy and quick access to the front of the palace if they needed it.

The ground here was ideal for fighting and training, level and solid, with the large stones removed. Small rocks and pebbles remained, obviously to remind the men that their footing would not always be sure. Vaun saw a few forget this warning and stumble to their knees or even fall flat, giving their partners an easy victory. The Swordsman observed the soldiers’ movements closely, discovering a pattern to their slow and rhythmic drills. He also felt the Rhythm of their techniques and heard the music of their clashing swords, and he smiled. Yes, it
was
good to be a Swordsman.

He saw that almost all of the men sparring, who numbered just over a score, were new recruits because they each bore a cluster of three gold pine needles embroidered on the left breast of their blue tunics underneath the golden falcon of House Dobry. Their gold-colored breeches were tucked into shiny black boots, and none of them wore armor.

The officers stood around them, watching carefully and shouting occasional orders or comments. Vaun tried to see what ranks were present by the kind of leaf stitched on their tunics, but he couldn’t see any of them clearly enough to tell. He did see that some of the men had red or gold stripes, or both, down one or both sleeves, proclaiming the honors the man had won in service to his king.

The royal guard dressed in gold pants and blue shirts, the colors of the House of Dobry, and the city guard and army dressed in red and black. None wore cloaks today, despite the chilly air and brisk wind. A constant and sometimes bitter rivalry existed between the city and palace guard. The former thought the other contained no true men and that their uniforms were too pretty to get dirty in real combat, and the latter thought the city guards were all slow-witted and ill-mannered louts. They did, however, manage to forget their quarreling and pull together in times of trouble.

Each man here dressed the same, but was allowed to choose his own weapon. Most carried longswords, and Vaun had been told that all were trained to use one. The primary weapon, though, tended to vary greatly. Several men practiced today with sabres, while others used straight short swords. He saw a myriad other weapons, including a few large, two-handed swords. The youth wondered why anyone would want to fight with such a big, cumbersome weapon.

One of the officers, spying Vaun and recognizing him as the king’s honored guest, strode over to where the youth stood. “What say you, Vaun Tarsus? Are my men any good?”

He was an older, rough-looking man with stern features set off by black hair and a mustache, but his voice and demeanor were kind. He had three elm leaves on his breast, denoting him a captain of highest rank and commander of all the royal guard. Only the regular army had higher rankings.

Vaun nodded. “Aye. They seem capable. I like the Rhythm of their movements, and the music of it sings great skill. The repeated drills seem to be a good way to train, and help the men in feeling their movements, I would think. Was it your idea, Captain...?” The Swordsman had only met the man once and couldn’t recall his name.

“Stolar. No, it wasn’t my idea. This method was used long before I was even a recruit.” The captain smiled, but Vaun saw puzzlement in his strong brown eyes. Perhaps he thought that Rameners had strange opinions of sword fighting. “So tell me, do you serve in Ramen’s army?”

The king, as well as Merdel and Drath, had suggested they keep Vaun’s true origin a secret. It would keep anyone from distrusting him or spreading a rumor about him that could possibly leak out of the city and reach their enemy’s ears. It was an easy cover, for Vaun looked as if he might actually be from Ramen, they being a dark-haired people.

Vaun nodded again. “I did for a short time, but I had to quit in order to serve King Dobry.” Vaun had been the only one formally welcomed by the king. The others were somewhat familiar to the citizens of Bordell, so their presence would hardly be noticed. A black-haired youth carrying a Vaulka on his back, however, was another matter. The journey they were on they said to be an errand personally ordered by the Overlord of the Southern Kingdoms, something not uncommon.

“I see.” Stolar scratched thoughtfully at his mustache. “You look a little too young, but from your dress I thought perhaps you were a Black Guardsman.”

They had considered including Vaun in this elite organization to better conceal his astonishing sword skills, but had decided the group was too exclusive to risk naming him as one of them without arousing too much suspicion. The Black Guard was a group of only the best swordsmen who were the personal bodyguards of Ramen’s king. They could also be hired by anyone capable of paying their outrageous price. They had recently begun wearing their swords on their backs, to further proclaim their prowess, which would serve to further conceal the Swordsman’s identity.

“When you first arrived,” Captain Stolar continued, “I thought King Dobry had finally come to his senses and accepted King Jolar’s offer.” The Ramen king had been offering a pair of Black Guard to King Dobry for many years now, since he was Overlord, but the blond king had always staunchly refused, to the dismay of everyone around him.

Vaun shook his head. “No. I think I was to be initiated one day soon, though, but this service has put that off for now. I hope to join them when I’ve finished.” Vaun was surprised at how easily he could tell the concocted story, and it even made sense to him.

“Well, I certainly wish you the best of luck on making it. I hear it’s very difficult. But I was wondering how our men compared to yours. I know Ramen has the best swordsmen in the south, so I thought you might be able to give us a little help with our new men.”

Vaun considered the question a moment, watching the men train and breathing in the harmony of their drills. Fortunately, Thorne had told him quite a bit about where he was supposed to be from, so he thought he had a pretty good idea of the actual comparison. “Why do you use real swords to spar? Most people use wooden weapons to avoid serious injury.”

Stolar grunted in amusement. “Many would say we’re crazy, but we train like this with real weapons so the men become accustomed to the weight and feel of the weapon they’re going to be using. Even the most well-made wooden swords cannot fully duplicate a metal one. But we do use wooden swords for actual sparring.” He pointed, and Vaun saw a rack of wooden weapons of all types at the far end of the training ground. “If you’ll notice, the men are only working through established drills and not using full speed or power. There is no attempt at making contact.”

Vaun nodded, thinking the method a good one.

Stolar glanced back over at Vaun after several minutes of watching the men. “What do you think? Are we at least half as good as you Rameners?”

“Well, Captain Stolar.” Vaun drew his sword. “There’s really only one sure way to tell.” He stopped from where he’d begun advancing toward the line of men and turned around. “If it’s all right?”

The captain nodded. “Of course. Be my guest.” His smile was ironic, obviously thinking Vaun, even if he was from Ramen, a little too young for his men, even though a few looked to be about his age.

Vaun strode casually over to the recruits, who had now stopped to watch him approach, sword in hand. They had probably either seen or heard of King Dobry’s Ramen guest and seemed anxious to find out if the stories of swordsmen from that land were true. That, and they appeared to want a break from the same old drills.

“Our good visitor from Ramen is going to test a few of you,” the captain called from behind Vaun. “So please don’t embarrass our king or your officers.” He paused as if considering. “And I suppose you may use your real swords, provided no one needs to visit the healer afterwards.”

The men laughed and spread out, making a rough circle and debating amongst themselves who would be the first to test the grey-clad youth. Vaun stood in their midst, reminded suddenly of the way his friends at home argued over who was going to try to beat him. Though they each had known he invariably won, they had enjoyed the challenge and hoped to one day surprise him. These thoughts made Vaun wonder if perhaps he wasn’t becoming conceited. He knew he appeared that way now, but figured it was the best way to get a good workout. And practicing alone was getting a little boring. He knew he should never exploit his gifts or take advantage of the king’s men, for he had too much respect for the king and his new abilities to do that, but still he worried that vanity had seeped into his bones along with his Bonding. He hoped not, for he remained convinced someone would eventually beat him.

He smiled indulgently to himself as he heard “barely more than a boy,” “Ramen swordsmen,” “Vaulka,” and “looks like a Black Guardsman” coming from the soldiers’ discussion of him. Finally, a blond man of medium build stepped up to be the first to test the Swordsman. He stood a few inches taller than Vaun, and had good, strong arms with which to wield his longsword. He had two clusters of pine needles sewn into his shirt, proclaiming him of higher rank than the others.

He bowed his head slightly to Vaun in acceptance of the challenge, then set himself, his sword out before him. He had a slight smile, as if thinking it amusing that he was to fight someone so young.

Vaun bowed in return, then leapt at the soldier before he had fully raised his head, his Vaulka reaching out toward the man. It was such a swift, graceful move that several men around the pair gasped in surprise. Vaun’s opponent barely avoided being skewered by dodging to his left and slapping Vaun’s sword away with a powerful swipe of his own sword. He then swung his sword overhead and sliced at Vaun’s back as the youth flew past him.

Vaun felt the hard surface of his opponent’s sword as it struck his own, shockwaves moving all the way up his arm. In that instant of contact, he found he could tell that the other sword needed sharpening. But this man, at least, cared for his weapon on a regular basis.

He let the force of the man’s block aid in carrying his blade behind his left shoulder to keep the guard’s weapon from slicing into his back. The swords met with a loud clashing of steel, and Vaun reveled in the sound and the feel of combat, the Song already singing of triumph and the Rhythm pounding a steady cadence. He spun, letting his sword strike at what it knew to be his foe’s neck. The Song of Battle filled his every pore now, and the Rhythm seeped into his blood.

Surprised the youth had managed to block his attack and retaliate, the soldier nevertheless deflected Vaun’s return slash. His face still held that peculiar smile as their swords crashed together.

The Swordsman felt the wind caress his blade as he sliced low at the man’s right leg. The guardsman countered with another vertical block, this one almost a second too late. “Fire and ice, this Ramener is fast.” “Did you see that? He wasn’t even looking when he blocked.”

Vaun barely heard the comments as he swung again at the man’s right side, this time toward his upper body. He knew the guard would block his strike, and he didn’t mind. The Song had already shown him the path to victory, and the Rhythm guided him on.

The soldier deflected Vaun’s cut with a hard flick of his wrist, giving the block a little extra push in an effort to take Vaun’s sword out of play. He followed his block by slashing swiftly at Vaun’s head, thinking he’d won.

Vaun, listening to the Song and feeling the Rhythm, ducked low and sidestepped, his point rising and coming to rest on the soldier’s ribcage. He could feel the fabric of the man’s tunic under his sword tip, as well as the two ribs quivering at the contact of the steel. Faintly, he could feel the pounding of the man’s heart and sense his disappointment, admiration, and slight uneasiness at being beaten by the youth so handily. Vaun also felt a strange itch receding from his left side but didn’t take time to scratch it away.

Scattered applause and a few whistles acknowledged that Vaun had won, coupled with murmurs admiring the skill and speed displayed. The entire exchange had taken slightly less than half a minute. All were impressed.

The blond soldier appeared a little chagrined at being defeated, though he still had that smirk.

Vaun smiled back. “You’re very good. You have a lot of speed and power that will improve with more training and use.” Vaun grinned inwardly as he thought of a similar lesson Drath had taught him, his left knee tingling at the memory. “One thing you should remember, though, is that your sword need not always be used to avoid your opponent’s weapon. Your body can do that, too. By the way, I am Vaun Tarsus.”