The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) (3 page)

Stretching and stretching, they quivered in anticipation of what lay at the bottom of the pit a full ten leagues below the rim. Pausing over the point of light, the hands hovered, waiting for word from their master. They could sense the vast power held by the object beneath them, and they feared it. Yet they also coveted that power just as deeply as the mage above them. In helpless rage, they knew they couldn’t claim that power without the wizard’s aid, so had to suffer themselves to be slaves for a while longer.

Reluctantly, the ethereal hands condensed and gathered power, becoming more solid. With a clipped word of command from the wizard above, who himself feared to touch such a strong magical power, they reached down, covering the light with their darkness. Yet the light still managed to show faintly through them, as if refusing to be taken from its resting place. A force almost as strong as the hands themselves stopped them from taking hold of the light.

The mage squatting on the rim of the chasm concentrated, fighting back the spells that protected his prize. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, and his hands shook with effort. He coughed out words as he pulled forth more of his strained powers. Just as points of light danced before his exhausted eyes, the pressure hindering him eased suddenly. Swaying slightly, he managed a tiny grin of satisfaction as he commanded the hands to catch up his prize. He didn’t worry about his control over the hands, for he believed them to be his mindless servants.

The point of light was lifted and carried to the exhausted wizard waiting at the mouth of the shaft. Rising to the top, the sinister black hands dropped the light into his open palms and then vanished, planning their rebellion for another time. The light stopped inches above his skin, held by the wizard’s magic. For mortal men to touch it meant death.

The mage shook with anticipation, almost losing his spell and subsequently his life. He blinked several times as a wave of dizziness threatened to break his focus and swallowed hard to keep from retching. His hands shaking, he took a black handkerchief out of his sleeve and wiped away the sweat that dotted his face. Holding onto his spell with just one hand, even for the instant it took to wipe the moisture from his face, proved a difficult task, testimony to the strength of the wards that had protected the coveted object. Ordinarily, he could’ve held the stone with a mere thought. When his vision finally returned and the ground stopped lurching under his feet, the wizard thought that at last his plans could be put into motion.

His laughter echoing hollowly off the dark walls, he turned and began the long ascent back to the surface, clutching the light in his hands. Time seemed to rush by as he approached the opening of the cave. He scrabbled desperately over the rocks as his mind replayed the schemes that would give him mastery over all things.

Gasping with effort and squinting in the dying sunlight, he emerged half-running from the mouth of the cavern and headed toward his horse.

*
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*

A man in a tattered brown cloak waited impatiently beside two horses. He nervously scanned the forest around him but saw nothing that might threaten him. He sighed, thinking once again how much he hated to wait, especially in a place he hated even more than waiting. Forests and empty hill country were for ignorant fools who didn’t mind being eaten by some unseen beast.

Looking up through the tops of the trees, he saw that the sun was about to descend and hoped he could leave before the forest became dark. Sighing again, he turned as he heard someone moving hurriedly towards him, his hand drifting casually to the hilt of his rapier.

*
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*

The wizard ran faster, ignoring everything but the prize he carried. He did not see the armed man moving fluidly towards him, so intent was he on the inner workings of his mind. He stumbled suddenly, but his bodyguard’s strong hands saved his skull from being split on the rocky ground.

“Easy now, or you won’t live long enough to celebrate your victory.” The man pulled his tattered cloak aside as he helped his incautious master to mount his horse. “Did you get it?”

“Yes!” The wizard could barely control his glee. He would not unclasp his hands, knowing if he did the spell would break and he would drop what he had struggled so long to find.

The bodyguard mounted his own horse and sheathed his sword. “Good! Now we can leave this accursed place. I don’t like it.” His hand flashed to his sword hilt. But, seeing no movement amongst the dark trees, he relaxed with another frustrated sigh. He thought for sure he’d seen something this time.

The Dark Wizard laughed. “You always were a city man.” He glanced around disdainfully at the empty forest. “Let’s return home, for I have much to do with this.” Opening his hands, he revealed a small stone. It rested almost comfortably just above his palms, still containing that tiny, inner point of light. Otherwise, it appeared like any other ordinary stone: about the size of his thumb and slightly grey with a thin but deep blue vein running through it.

The wizard’s bodyguard shrugged. “Doesn’t look like much to me.”

“Fool!” The magician shot his protector a withering look. “Do not curse this stone with your ignorance! And wipe off that fire-burned grin! You know how it annoys me.” Using his knees, for he was too tired for a spell, the wizard edged his horse toward the other man and glared menacingly. “When I have placed this stone in line with its lost brothers, it will give me enough power to rule this world and all others. I will be master of all things, and every creature shall submit to my will.” He smirked wickedly. “Or they shall perish.”

2

Drath leaned back against the oak tree
and studied Sean’s technique as he practiced. He could tell the young man possessed a great deal of raw talent, although a little formal training would greatly help him refine his techniques. His easy defeat of the few others who had joined him on the university quadrangle over the last several days showed him to be a natural with a sword. He utilized the whole surface of his blade and foiled his opponents with any available obstacles and with each other. Most of these college kids, though, seemed to think Sean a bit out of touch with reality, which was precisely what drew Drath and his friends to him.

After about fifteen minutes of hard practice, Sean slowed down. It took a moment for Drath to realize it was not from weariness, but rather the youth concentrated on his footwork. From his sidesteps to his rapid spins, Sean displayed a fluidity that greatly surprised the tall man, for ordinarily only trained swordsmen possessed such skill.

*
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*

Sean stepped with what he hoped was smoothness over the uneven ground and barely heard the swish of his legs through the grass. He listened more to the sounds of his swinging sword, searching for a way to make his movements more graceful. He knew his techniques lacked the quality he wanted and probably always would. He saw himself as too uncoordinated to unlock that secret. It was as elusive as that strange noise he sometimes heard.

On thinking of it, he heard it again. It was as faint as always, but he was convinced it was there. It wasn’t just his imagination. That sound came from somewhere, and as he continued his workout, he realized it even seemed to guide his sword hand.

Startled, Sean stumbled in his movements, tripped over a hidden rock, and fell flat on his face, only then realizing he had closed his eyes. His sword slid a few feet away, and as he sat up, rubbing bruised fingers, he noticed a man walking towards him across the field. The same man who’d been standing over by that oak tree all day.

*
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*

Drath stopped midstep, his face going slack with astonishment. At the same time, a bearded man leaned around another tree with his mouth hanging open. Both stared at the way Sean had begun to move when the youth closed his eyes. It had been almost like watching him dance, so agile and smooth had his techniques become. Drath had been surprised an untrained teenager could move so well and felt assured he and his friends had chosen the right person.

When Sean shook his head, eyes flying open, and tripped, however, Drath smiled and reminded himself the young man still needed training. He was good, but enough of a beginner to make clumsy mistakes. Chuckling softly, Drath continued towards his future student, hearing his companion beside the tree mumble as he settled back with a thoughtful expression on his bearded face. Perhaps prophecies weren’t nonsense after all....

*
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*

Sean picked himself up off the ground after digging the offending rock out of the earth. He examined the palm-sized stone, telling himself that even the greatest warrior can trip. His tennis shoes hadn’t helped him at all, and that made him mourn again the loss of his boots. Throwing the mischievous little rock as far from his practice ground as he could, Sean then turned to locate his sword, only to find the man from the oak tree now standing not five feet away holding the wooden weapon in his hands.

The rather tall man eyed the sword and then Sean, seeming to assess him instantly. Sean suddenly feared he appeared not only foolish but childish. He lowered his head in shame, not understanding why he wanted this stranger to think him better than he was, and was struck by the man’s plain brown boots. They looked well-worn but not ragged and ended just below his knees. They seemed almost medieval, as did the wide leather belt that held up his dark brown pants. To Sean’s mind, the belt missed something, and it took a minute before he realized that something was a sword.

The stranger smiled, relaxing Sean a little. “Nice weapon. Its maker should be proud.”

Sean peered up from underneath his eyebrows. “Thank you. And I
am
proud of it. It took me an entire day to make it.”

The man nodded. “The care you took shows.” He offered the sword hilt-first.

Sean was impressed the man knew the proper way to hand someone a sword, even a simple wooden one. Most people just stuck out whichever end happened to be pointed away from them, including those on the fencing team. As his hand closed over the hilt, his arm tingled all the way up to his shoulder. Sean scrutinized the stranger before him, wondering if he hadn’t done something to him, and noticed he was being studied in turn. He hoped his eyes conveyed the same expression of quick assessment he’d received.

This newcomer stood close to six and half feet tall, and his straight dark brown hair fell to his shoulders. His nose was a little crooked and his clean-shaven jaw rather sharp, but his sea-green eyes sparkled warmly. Suddenly he grinned and shook himself, as if remembering something important. “I’m sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Drath, of Celene.” He extended a callused hand toward Sean.

Sean took it, hoping for some odd reason that his grip felt as much like a swordsman’s as did Drath’s. “I’m Vaun...Sean. Sean Matthews.” He hoped Drath hadn’t noticed his slip.
Where is Celene?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you...Sean Matthews.” Drath glanced around. “Can we talk?”

Sean gazed up at the sky, which was beginning to darken toward sunset, then shrugged. “Sure. I got nothin’ else to do.”

“This won’t take long.” Gesturing to the ground, Drath waited until Sean had seated himself before squatting down before him and beginning his tale.

“What I am about to tell you will sound pretty strange. You will likely not believe a word of it. All I ask is that you listen, and that you remember I am telling you the truth.” Drath paused, as if waiting for some kind of answer.

Sean considered the tall man’s words, thinking them an odd way to begin. Whatever the story, Sean could tell that Drath wanted him to believe it. Yet admitting that it would be difficult to do so told him it might be true. Most people didn’t want you to even entertain the thought of disbelieving them. The sincerity in Drath’s eyes also encouraged Sean to keep an open mind. Sean found his curiosity was piqued, but he reminded himself that not everyone who acted like a friend could be considered one.

Sean finally met Drath’s eyes, his face sober. “I think I can do that.”

Drath sighed as if he’d won the most difficult battle. “This world in which you live is not the only one that exists. It is not the only one which was created. My friend, Merdel, says there are dozens of different worlds, all made by the same Creator with different rules and inhabitants, but I only know of this one and my own.” He chuckled. “To be honest, I didn’t even know about this one until just recently, and I doubted it until I came here. Merdel said I was a fool for being so stubborn, but so do most wizards when they encounter someone who doubts their superior knowledge.” Drath smirked and rose, shaking his legs to relax them as he began to pace. “You read a lot of books, correct?”

Sean nodded, thinking it an odd change of subject.

“And the ones you read the most are about what you call fantasy worlds? Worlds filled with swords and magic and vile creatures?”

Sean nodded again, wondering where this was leading.

“And your one greatest desire is to visit, even live in, a world like the ones you read about.”

Though it wasn’t a question, Sean nodded anyway, his eyes wide. This man seemed to know a lot about him, and that freaked him out. Still, he found himself more eager to hear the rest of the story.

Drath swiveled to face the youth sitting on the ground. “We need your help, Sean. We’ve come here to recruit you…hopefully…for a quest in our world. At least one person from your world should know of the danger, and our search led us to you.” Drath paused, his sea-green eyes intense. “Will you help us?”

Sean suspected Drath had been leading up to this but hadn’t dared to hope it was true until he heard it. Now that he had, he suddenly felt so scared he almost jumped up and ran away.

But he didn’t. Dumbfounded, he simply kept his seat on the ground. What Drath had told him pulled at his imagination like nothing else ever had. He had no proof that what this man told him was true, but he believed it anyway. The way Drath told the story, the sincerity in his voice and eyes, and the simple fact that he was here, signified to Sean that he heard the truth. He was honest enough with himself to admit that he probably only believed it because he wanted to, but right now he didn’t care. Some part of himself deep inside told him this was real, this was true, and for once he trusted it.