The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) (35 page)

“Ye be trav’lers, do ye not?” The craggy voice startled Vaun. The Swordsman turned to find a bent old man standing next to him. Vaun didn’t recall seeing him earlier or hearing the door open.

His skin was rough and seamed, stretched taut over his old bones. He walked hunched over a cane as crooked as himself, and regarded the party sharply from deep-sunk, glittering black eyes. Vaun thought they looked like the eyes of a madman. He was dirty and unkempt, and his face showed at least three days’ growth. He’d walked up to their table seemingly from out of the floorboards and smelled like it, too.

“Aye, old man.” Thorne sounded unusually irritable and hostile. “We are. What business is it of yours?”

The old man cackled and pulled up a chair in between Vaun and Thorne. He didn’t seem the least bit affected by Thorne’s harsh words, nor by the cold stares everyone at the table but Vaun gave him. He sat looking at them with his head turned slightly to the right. Vaun noticed the man’s right eye was clouded, though it still managed to gleam strangely, but his left was clear.

He studied each of them. “Which one of ye be him not of this world?” They all stiffened and glanced around nervously, but no one seemed to have been paying attention. The man chuckled again. “Worry not, brave trav’lers. I be not an enemy. I’m come merely to tell ye what I’ve foreseen.”

At this, Merdel sighed heavily. “I see. Well, thank you very much, but we won’t be needing any advice. We’ll do just fine on our own.” Despite the wizard’s dismissive gestures, the old man didn’t move.

Vaun wondered why everyone so obviously disliked the man, when the only problem he had with him was how he’d managed to come upon them unseen. “How do you know who we are?” His side didn’t itch, but he wasn’t sure if that meant anything.

“I have seen ye in a vision.” The man stared at the youth beside him. He then leaned in close and studied Vaun a moment with his one good eye.

Vaun nearly retched from the closeness of his reeking flesh and had to suppress a grimace at the man’s sour breath.

“You are he, ain’t ye?”

Vaun said nothing, his queasiness replaced by apprehension.

“I know it. I know it. I have seen yer face in my dreams, and I’m come to tell ye of danger.”

Merdel sighed. “Thank you, old man. But we know of our danger.” He seemed intent on chasing the man away.

The old seer would not budge. “Tell me, lad. What be yer name?”

“Vaun. Vaun Tarsus.”

“Aye, I knew it.” The old man clapped his hands and chortled with glee. “Ye are the one I’ve seen. I’m come to tell ye, Vaun Tarsus from another world, that ye go to face great danger. Danger in the midst of total blackness. And that blackness be covered in evil. Ye are in peril from yer enemies as well as yerself. Ye doubt yourself, do ye not, Vaun Tarsus?”

Vaun neither nodded nor said a word, but his breathing had stopped.

“Ye do, ye do, I know it. But fear not, Vaun Tarsus, for there is hope for ye. Ye have a good, strong heart. Ne’er forget that. E’en in the shadow of evil ye will stand and fight, and that is to be praised. Remember, Vaun Tarsus, hold on to yerself and what ye are, for only ye can decide yer fate. My vision reveals not yer fate, but only what will happen if ye lose hope. And for all our sakes ye must not lose hope.

“Ye must also face yer brethren, and that is perhaps the worst of all. But despair not, Vaun Tarsus, for ye can succeed. Fight the evil inside ye, and fight that which surrounds ye, and ye will triumph. Trust in yer companions, for they will fight with ye to the very end.

“Heed my words, Vaun Tarsus the Swordsman, for if ye do not ye’ll surely perish. Then so shall the rest of us perish.” On saying this, the old man cackled again and rose, shuffling away and moving out into the rainy night.

Vaun sat shivering from more than the blast of frigid air that followed the opening of the door. He didn’t know what to do or think. He wanted to go after the old seer and ask him more about what he’d said, but his friends’ faces held him. They glared disdainfully at the door, as if pushing the old man and his words away. Vaun wondered at their behavior, unable to make sense of it.

Standing face to face with evil
. Vaun Tarsus shook his head in confusion.
What could
that
mean? Elak? Something else? And what’s this about brethren?
He couldn’t puzzle any of it out.

Merdel broke in. “Don’t worry about what the old fool said, Vaun. He was just rambling.”

“Are you sure?” Drath looked over at Merdel. “This is Galesia, and Galesians are the best seers.”

“They’re also the best assassins, Drath, so you can take it or you can leave it. I’m going to leave it.”

Vaun shook himself out of his thoughts long enough to look over at Merdel. “Why do you distrust him so much? You look like he told you something you already know. What is it, Merdel?”

The wizard sighed. “I shouldn’t tell you this, because it will probably only confuse you more. But I’ve read about what the old man said he saw. I came across a prophecy in one of the older texts. I even found another passage about it in King Dobry’s library. I’ve never put much faith in prophecy, so I passed it off. But now maybe that can’t be so easily done. Basically, this one told of the coming of a warrior from another world who would save ours and his own in their time of need, provided he do a few things first. It didn’t give specifics about him, only that he’d be unique in his fighting skills.”

Drath gestured toward his young friend beside him. “Like Vaun.” The tall man was the only one who seemed inclined to believe the old seer, even though he was typically the most level-headed of the group. Vaun guessed this was most likely because it gave him a chance to disagree with Merdel.

The wizard shook his head. “Not necessarily. As I said, it was very obscure, as all prophecies are. Fire-burn them all! It didn’t say anything about this person being a Swordsman, though that
is
fairly unique. It might mean you, Vaun, because of that and because you Bonded a Vaulka, which has never happened before. But then again, it might not. How he knew you were a Swordsman, I don’t know. Maybe he assumed you were because you wear your sword on your back. Or maybe he read a different prophecy.”

Merdel gestured toward the closed door. “I don’t trust that old man or any prophecy. The Great God’s enemies regularly use prophecies as a tool, so that’s why I say this is nonsense. Most prophecies are, anyway. Which, I believe, I have said before.”

“What else did it say?” The tall man would not relent.

Merdel was clearly annoyed that his companions wanted to continue this discussion. “It told of the danger we all face. It described Vaun, or someone, standing surrounded by an evil presence and also by some kind of man or creature that was kin to him. I know,” he added to Thorne’s snort of derision, “it makes no sense. It also said we all face dangers and that each of us must keep a hold on who and what we are. The prophecy stressed you especially, Vaun, about guarding against self-doubt. That was all.” The mage shook his head, displaying the contempt he held for prophecies.

Everyone besides Drath seemed to be of the same opinion.

Vaun nodded when the wizard finished, not sure what to believe. He did think it strange that the prophecy had warned against the very questions he’d asked about himself only a few days ago.

14

Merdel led them quickly through the rain.
He was intent on hurrying and kept telling them not to fall back. With the road turned into a muddy, slippery mire, though, it wasn’t all that easy to meet his demands. Still, the wizard insisted they move as quickly as possible if they wanted to find out how to succeed in their task, that earthquake yesterday giving him new life. Something had to be done, or this world and Vaun’s own were in danger of falling apart.

They were at the end of their sixth day since entering Galesia and had crossed into Ipek that morning. The rain had remained fairly slack the last few days, allowing them to travel a little faster. They had been forced to spend only one night out in the rain, for there were an abundance of villages and small towns in the land of Galesia. Despite the generous shelter they had erected that night, the rain had managed to dampen almost everything they carried. They’d had to discard a generous portion of their rations due to spoilage and had not yet been able to replenish their supplies. Hopefully, someone in Daggery had edible travel fare.

Also that night, Merdel had fed the others a double dose of his foul sickness remedy, which all of them still held against him. Consequently, they were none too eager to respond to the wizard’s current urgings, even though they all wanted to get out of the rain. That medicine he kept feeding them just didn’t make them jump to help him, no matter the threat to them all.

The force behind the wizard’s urgency was the man he planned to meet in this small village. He was also a mage, though he spent more of his time on research of historical magic than actually practicing it. It was for this reason Merdel sought him out. For if any man were to know how Elak might be destroying the barriers and what might stop him, it would be old Lymon.

Merdel had been frantic since leaving Bordell. King Dobry’s vast library had told him little he didn’t already know, and nothing he wanted to know. He had just finished reading the last of the two books he thought might help, which the Overlord had grudgingly allowed him to take, and they had been as unhelpful as all the others. He’d believed that the Bordellan library would aid him, but he’d been wrong. That accursed earthquake the day before, almost unheard of for Galesia, had spurred him even more. He’d awakened everyone earlier than usual this morning, insisting they get moving. He told them that the books had mentioned changes in the course of nature, but he’d hoped the barriers weren’t that badly damaged yet. Again, he’d been wrong. Now their last chance for information rested in a man who, though quite knowledgeable, was starting into senility.

The wizard sighed regretfully as they at last entered The Bronze Dagger. If he couldn’t find answers to his questions, their quest was useless. As he’d told Vaun a few days ago, killing Elak just would not be enough.

Merdel spotted Lymon instantly and led the others to where the man waited at a nearby table. Thankfully, he had received Merdel’s magically sent message two days ago. Those messages only sometimes went where they were supposed to.

Lymon seemed not to have changed much in the eight years since Merdel had last seen him. He’d lost even more of his white hair, and it stood out straight from his head in its familiar disarray. His skin sagged on his body, looking like it dripped off his old bones. Unlike Merdel, he was clean-shaven, or at least mostly, having discovered that facial hair sometimes interfered with the turning of pages if not cut short. And he hated trimming a beard more than shaving it.

He sat hunched over his table and glanced nervously about the room, his black eyes darting in all directions. When he saw Merdel and his companions making their way across the room, he rose hastily and hobbled toward them, leaning on a short walking stick. His left leg was lame.

The moment Merdel saw him, he knew something was wrong. Lymon never walked if he didn’t have to, and he never shook as violently as he did when he tottered up to them. It wasn’t the cold or age, even though Lymon’s clothing was ragged and showed layers of repair, because the old man was never bothered by the cold and even less by his years. Merdel immediately became nervous.

“You’re finally here.” Lymon eyed them impatiently when he reached them. He was almost a foot shorter than Drath, and even more so when he hunched over his cane. He glanced around apprehensively. “We can’t talk here. Too open. Not protected. Come. We need privacy.” He hurried past them, not heeding Merdel’s questions about his behavior, and barely glanced at his old friend’s companions.

The party hesitantly followed the old wizard out of The Bronze Dagger and back into the rain. Despite his leg, Lymon was already far down the street, seemingly oblivious to the rain falling on him. He waved at them over his shoulder and called for them to hurry. Confused by his strange behavior, and everyone but Merdel muttering darkly about the impatience of wizards, the companions followed after him, slipping in the slick mud.

*
*
*

Merdel’s friend took them down a few side streets and stopped at a ramshackle structure that looked ready to collapse at any moment. When thunder boomed over their heads, Vaun thought he saw the building shudder slightly, as if ready to fall down and hide itself from the storm. Eyeing the beams carefully, he ducked under the low doorway and entered the ancient wizard’s abode. Strangely, as he passed through it seemed he had to push through a wall of thick air. His side itched briefly, and he wondered if magic were being used right now.

The inside was as unkempt as the outside. Stacks of books and papers lay on everything, which made Vaun sigh happily despite the mess. Whatever his situation, he was glad to be surrounded by the comforting presence of things to read. However, from the look the old man shot them when they entered, Vaun guessed the wizard’s reading hadn’t been too cheerful.

Lamps, sometimes two or more, stood on every piece of furniture, most of which were low tables or footstools, and they were all lit. The heat felt wonderful after the cold of the outside, and their clothes and bodies began steaming almost immediately. There were only a few chairs scattered around the room, looking as rough as everything else, but the books sitting in them appeared comfortable. Remarkably, the roof did not leak.

Lymon hurried to the back of the building’s one room and busily sorted through an enormous pile of papers and tomes. Vaun wondered where the old man slept, seeing every piece of furniture covered with books, and there also seemed to be no kitchen. Figuring that the books hid the answers, the youth approached the table where Lymon stood.

Thorne moved over to the fire sputtering out in the hearth and stoked it back to life. Merdel told them to make themselves comfortable, for Lymon wasn’t much of a host. Grateful to be protected from the rain, however tentatively, they removed their wet cloaks and tried to find a place to hang them to dry. Not finding anything that might help, they threw them over the stacks of books. They then gathered around the fire, moving books out of chairs so they could sit down, all of them fighting for the closest spot to the flames despite the ambient warmth of the place. Lymon still rummaged through his house, gathering books and scrolls seemingly at random and talking to himself the whole time. Finally, the old wizard finished his search and hobbled over to them, his cane tucked under one arm. He had half a dozen or so books and scrolls clutched to his chest, and he still quivered as if afraid of something. Something very big.