The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) (28 page)

Where could they be going? What place could be so secret that Merdel would use wizardry to hide their trail? The Dark Wizard could think of nowhere in the Southern Kingdoms that would aid them in their journey. Not even in Drath’s homeland of Celene would they find much help. Or would they?

They could have gone to Bordell, but why? The fat Overlord frequently fawned over Drath, but what possible assistance could he offer them? He had nothing that might threaten the wizard’s plans. Or did he? Perhaps it would be wise for Elak to send a few men to Bordell, just to be safe. He’d have to tell them to disguise themselves well, for the Overlord would surely execute them if he found them in his city. He had a strong dislike for Elak’s mercenaries.

“Lirix,” the wizard called.

“Yes, Your Grace?” Lirix appeared suddenly beside Elak, startling the wizard out of his thoughts. He’d been shadowing the magician as he always did and had used a title he knew Elak despised.

“Don’t call me that!” Elak scowled darkly at his bodyguard. He didn’t like being surprised. “Pick two good men from the closest outpost to Bordell and send them to the capital. Tell them to be very careful. They are to find out if Dobry has any unexpected or private guests. They are not to act if they find anything but are to report immediately. Tell them to take one of the mirrors. Tell them not to be stupid and disobey orders.”

“At once, Your Grace.” Lirix bowed with an impish grin. It wasn’t his fault Elak had decided to turn against his Great God and renounced his priestly vows. The bodyguard then turned to leave.

Elak called angrily after the retreating soldier, “And tell them to hurry.”

Lirix lifted a hand in acknowledgment, then disappeared around a corner.

“Sometimes I’d like to see how you’d react to the wrath of the Dacheen, you arrogant buffoon.” Whirling, his robes flying about him and making him resemble a bat honed in on its prey, the dark mage stalked off toward his private chambers.

He entered his rooms hurriedly, not glancing at the exotic tapestries or golden finery on top of the carven furniture. Exiting through a door behind one of the tapestries, he tramped down the 205 steps that led to the lowest level of his fortress. Using another secret door, he strode down a short hallway. He gestured impatiently to the two men guarding the doors to his Dacheen room and hurried through almost before they had opened them.

Elak descended the five steps and walked briskly around the black pool, disregarding it for once, and stepped directly into the third alcove from the left. It transported him to a chamber high above the main floor of his fortress. It was in a supposedly abandoned tower, too unstable to warrant placing guards or anything else in it, but Elak used it nonetheless. It was here that he kept one of the treasures he had sought all of his life. He valued it even more than the Dacheen living in the pool below.

The room at the top of the tower was empty save for a pedestal in the exact center. Upon it, covered by a heavy glass case, rested a small, ordinary looking grey stone with a thin but deep blue vein running through it. It seemed to have a point of light deep in its center, which grew slightly and pulsated as Elak approached it, his face lit with delighted malice.

The room’s only light came from the top of a half-covered window along the curved side of the tower opposite the portal the wizard had used. The other windows had been blackened with pitch then boarded up to conceal the prize the tower protected.

The light from the window slanted down and landed squarely on the pedestal, glaring off the glass case and illuminating the stone inside. Elak rubbed his hands together greedily as he stopped before the pedestal and gazed hungrily at the stone.

“Mine.” His voice was deadly. “It will all be mine. Every living thing will bow to my power or perish.
Every thing
.”

Still staring at the stone, the evil sorcerer began to chant. Softly at first, and then his voice rose as he felt the power flow through him in a torrent, familiar now. He had spent years memorizing the incantations but had faltered when he’d first felt that rush of power. It had nearly drowned him in magic, so strong it had been, but he had recovered and begun again. He had not faltered since.

Such vast power was open to this tiny stone and its brethren. He loved that power. He desired it. He coveted it. Every time he touched it, it took him to planes of ecstasy unreachable by any other means. He felt a thousand feet tall. He could see and hear for leagues, and nothing could escape him.

He adored power, and that which this stone, even by itself, could give him fed his avarice. But with the power of the other stones added to this one, he felt invincible. And yet it still wasn’t enough. He must have more. He must have it all.

Stronger now, the energy continued to course through Elak’s gaunt form. He little knew how much it ate away his body every time he touched it. Neither did he know of the dark power that lurked behind it, pouring a little more of its essence into the wizard each time he used it. That presence sought to consume him as much as he sought to consume the stone’s power, and he’d called it to only help him. Alone, he could never have used even one of the stones without killing himself. He wasn’t strong enough. With help, though, he was, but he didn’t know quite what he had called upon for aid.

And if he had known, he might not have cared. He only knew this power promised to give him everything he wanted, so was worth any price.

The stone itself had risen from the pedestal and hovered in the air in the middle of the glass case. The light within it had grown to a blinding white star, its points shooting in all directions and reaching out to its brothers, which also glowed as it did in their hiding places far away. That light would have rendered instantly sightless anyone who had the magical ability to see it. Except for Elak. To him, it was the most beautiful sight he could ever imagine. It was the light of pure power.

The light grew brighter, if that were possible, as the wizard called upon more and more of its power.

Feeding on the energy, Elak began to cast it forth, the way the books had taught him. Ever so slowly, he could feel the barriers of the world weaken. He could feel his triumph coming closer with each wave of energy he sent forth. His voice rose until he shouted louder than he possibly could have without magical aid. If his words had traveled beyond the confines of the room, they would be heard all the way to the far shores of the Endless Ocean. Their complexity and evil would have driven mad any who heard. As it was, not a whisper traveled even outside the tower door, which was bolted shut and magically sealed, as was the door at the bottom of the long, winding, unsteady staircase beyond.

Gasping for breath now, the Dark Wizard continued the spell, knowing he must end it soon or it would kill him. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to remain in the power’s embrace and feel it course through his body as his blood, feel it enter his very soul. He wanted his victory now, not having the patience to wait. He’d tried to destroy the barriers completely the first time he sought to weaken them and had been in a coma for almost a month afterwards. There was too much power involved. Still he desired that power.

The dark presence aiding the wizard urged him to it anyway, not caring what happened to him. Elak realized the danger he was in but thought it was his own desires that drove him. Surely the help he’d acquired wouldn’t seek to do that; it was fully under his control. Shaking, he released the energy and ceased the spell.

The light in the stone receded until its points were contained within the confines of the glass case. As the stone lowered back onto the pedestal, the light continued to dim until it pulsed once as the stone settled into place. Then only that small, ever-present point of light deep in its center remained.

Elak lowered his arms and mouthed the last two words of the spell. Abruptly, the vast power he had touched left him, as if washed away by a flood. The dark presence left him, too, though some of its essence stayed inside. Elak felt empty and weak. With spots dancing before his eyes, he pulled a black handkerchief out of his sleeve and mopped his sweat-soaked brow. His shoulders hunched, he walked wearily into the portal behind him.

As he came out into his Dacheen room, the spots were gone, but his vision was blurry. Vaguely, he could see Lirix standing arrogantly on the opposite side of the pool. Nodding to his bodyguard in greeting, Elak shuffled around the pool, the handkerchief constantly wiping at his face and hands. The mage felt near to death with exhaustion, yet he loved the sensation.

“How was it?” Lirix approached the wizard slowly. He knew what Elak had been doing, for only one thing could tire him out so and still leave him smiling.

“Exquisite.” Elak’s whisper was barely audible, and he allowed Lirix to assist him up the stairs. He was too tired to comment on his bodyguard’s wrinkled clothing. It wouldn’t do any good, anyway; the man was insubordinate and slovenly at best.

Soon, very soon, the wizard knew, he would need no one’s aid, not even the Dacheen’s. For the strength of the world itself, even that of the Great God Himself, would be in him, and his to control.

12

The two elf cousins ran swiftly
over the rocky, sparsely grassed terrain. They’d left the road some time ago, using the cover of the surrounding hills and trees to avoid being followed. They’d ditched the pursuers from Bordell while still within sight of the city, which was only yesterday, yet they’d already crossed into Darim. Glancing up at the sky, Rush noted that it was darkening, with clouds swirling and bringing an early sunset, a sullen herald of the approaching rain. He hoped they could reach the city before it started, because it became difficult to sneak about undetected through someone’s house when you were dripping wet.

Looking over at Dart, the blond elf could see that his cousin, like himself, tired rapidly. Dart peered back at him, and Rush signed that they would stop at the next copse of trees. Dart nodded and signed that was acceptable, using a language of hand gestures the two had developed many years ago.

They came to the top of a hill and saw a suitable place to camp not too far ahead. Pushing on, they reached the trees right as the sun, presumably, sank below the horizon. They couldn’t actually see it descend, but from its last visible position and the darkness of the clouds they judged that night had come at last.

Gratefully entering the trees, the two sank to the ground. It was Rush’s turn to ask the Great God to bless their meal and their journey, so he said a short, breathless prayer as Dart rummaged through their provisions. After catching their breath, they ate a cold meal of dried meat and cheese, not wanting to risk revealing themselves with a fire.

Rush nudged his cousin. “We should reach Darim early tomorrow.” Dart nodded but said nothing. He gazed at the branches above them and pointed meaningfully, and Rush nodded. “Aye. We’ll sleep in the trees tonight.”

After finishing their meal, the two elves climbed wearily into the high branches, Rush taking a position that faced toward Darim, and Dart looking back the way they’d come. They slept lightly, wanting as much sleep as possible without exhausting themselves more by exchanging turns at watch, yet also not wanting to be surprised. They most likely had nothing to fear, but they were always cautious. Both fell asleep to the chirping of scores of night insects.

The cousins rested until just before daylight, rising and eating a hurried breakfast before continuing their journey. Several hours before noon, they came within sight of the large seacoast city of Darim and, like everyone else who saw Darim from a distance, were awestruck at its unexpected beauty. The buildings had obviously been carefully constructed to please the eye and were nearly immaculate in cleanliness. That’s what surprised visitors the most.

Typically the dirtiest of places, Darim was the exception among coastal towns. The inhabitants of the city took an almost obsessive pride in their devotion to neatness, and the straight, even walls surrounding the city and the almost perfect squares and rectangles of the dwellings only emphasized their diligence. Nearly all the buildings were whitewashed and plain, the citizens having discovered that the sea air made it difficult to keep decorations clean and neat. Tall masts of ships bobbed along the docks, the wind stirring up the waves and blowing salt-scented air into the cousins’ nostrils. Dart commented he could probably smell every sailor and every fish on the docks. The two slowed their pace and joined a large caravan winding its way into the city, using the crowd as cover.

Once they passed within the city gates and entered the wide main street, the cousins broke from the caravan and headed into the smaller side streets. With little or no trash strewn on the ground, the streets were as clean as dirt could be and still be called dirt. The elves turned frequently and irregularly and even doubled back once. They didn’t think their pursuers had made it this far, but they took no chances.

Just after midday, with the clouds still rolling in and looking ready to empty themselves on the helpless city below, Rush and Dart stopped at a tavern frequented more by people of their own race than any others. Traslandar, the owner, was himself an elf, hailing from Rush’s own Darquin Forest.

On the rare occasions that elves ventured out of their forest homes, they usually enjoyed visiting the human towns, the seacoast ones being the most popular. The sea fascinated elves the world over. An extremely unique elf, Traslandar had decided to live among humans for the rest of his life, so he opened a tavern in one of the elves’ favorite coastal towns to provide a comfortable place for other traveling elves to gather. This was mainly because the people of Darim treasured neatness almost as much as elves did.

A small building, the Wandering Elf had tables neatly spaced about, providing room for a little more than a score of patrons. About half of it was full, and only a few of those present were not elves. No dwarves occupied the common room, though despite the hostility between the two races they would’ve hardly been unwelcome. Elves and dwarves who traveled tended to realize how ridiculous interracial bickering was. Vaun had called it
prejudice,
a word unfamiliar to Dart, but once the youth had explained it he understood it was essentially the same thing. It seemed some people in Vaun’s world tended to act just as silly as some in theirs.