The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) (45 page)

Thorne came more sedately down the rope several minutes later, having had to wait for another patrol to pass. He dropped the last few feet and landed on a thorn bush. Drath and Rush both clamped their hands over the dwarf’s mouth, and Vaun heard muffled curses issuing from Thorne. He quieted a few seconds later, and after extricating himself from the “ice-blasted” bush they all turned toward the palace.

Rush and Dart had been able to follow Merdel into the palace earlier that day by sneaking over a portion of the wall about a hundred yards to their right. The prevalence of guards and servants had prevented them from going too far inside, but they had crept close enough to learn of the wizard’s capture. Subsequently, they knew of a possible way into the palace. However, the room they’d used earlier might now be occupied.

As Drath gathered up their ropes, Rush and Dart ran together toward a nearby balcony. When they stopped under it, Vaun saw Dart lower his head in concentration as he tried to hear inside the room above him. Vaun grimaced at the idea of having to climb again, and sighed in relief when Dart shook his head and moved on. That room was in use.

While Dart and Rush crept from under one balcony to another, the other three slid stealthily through the emperor’s gardens. Trees and large bushes provided ample hiding places from the patrols that passed by, and the deep snow masked their footsteps. Their breath steamed thickly in the cold air but dissipated quickly enough for them not to fear it would reveal their presence. The clouds began to break up, revealing a thin slice of the moon that shed scant light, aiding them more. Few night birds braved the cold to sing their songs, but those that did sang much louder, as if hoping the volume of their voices would drive some of the frigid air away.

After checking over half a dozen likely places, and nearly waking up two sleepers, the elves finally found a way into the castle. This consisted of a narrow window embedded in the wall some ten or twelve feet over their heads. Rush, who climbed up to check it, said it opened into a narrow staircase that ended in a hallway a few feet up. Vaun and Drath managed to keep their voices down while they protested the idea, but Thorne had to clench his teeth shut to keep from shouting in outrage. There was no way they could safely climb that frozen wall. But the elves insisted. Without wasting the rest of what little remained of the night searching some more, this held their only chance of entering the palace unseen. If they timed it right, they could all make it inside before a patrol passed. Resigned, the others waited while Rush climbed the wall for the second time, this time to unlock the window.

Small, elfin hands found easy purchase, and the blond elf rapidly scaled the wall, his body blending perfectly with the stone. Vaun developed a headache from looking at the elf’s chameleon form so much, and as he turned his head away he heard tiny scraping sounds as Rush released the catch on the window and slowly swung it open. Seconds later, the elf disappeared inside. A moment passed, making Vaun fear he’d been caught, until a rope flung itself out the window and hung a few inches above the youth’s head.

Thorne grunted something about always having to go first and stepped up to the wall, allowing Drath to boost him up so he could grasp the rope. The dwarf’s thick arms knotted, and he climbed confidently and squeezed through the narrow window and into the castle. Somehow, the dwarf had kept the hammer and other weapons he carried from scraping the wall or the window.

Drath climbed next, though as he ducked through the opening his scabbard caught on the sill with a harsh grating of metal on metal. All five of them flinched, and Dart hurriedly checked their surroundings. He didn’t detect any sounds signifying someone had heard, but the regular patrol approached rapidly. They needed to hurry.

Vaun planted one foot on the wall and lunged for the rope. Feeling the cord between his gloved palms, the Swordsman pulled himself up and managed, with Drath’s help, to creep through the window. Drath stood in the stairway, his feet planted two steps apart as he held the rope wrapped around his waist. Rush had crept down the curving stairs to check for occupants and to see where it led. Thorne had done the same in the other direction.

Vaun glanced out the side of the window as he removed his gloves and saw the shadow of the guards turning the corner. Leaning out the window to tell Dart to hurry, Vaun struck the elf’s head with his own and pain exploded down his spine. The impact of their skulls cracking together sounded unnaturally loud in his ears.

Dazed, Dart lost his grip on the rope. As he flailed for a hold, Drath released the rope to seize the back of the elf’s collar and haul him bodily through the window. The elf fell soundlessly inside and gasped, holding his head. Drath tried to grasp the rope before it fell but was too late. As he closed the window, he saw the rope had fallen in a pile behind some bushes close by, so it was unlikely the guards would see it. He watched them closely as they passed by, his face steaming up the glass, but they gave no sign they’d seen the rope and soon disappeared around the next corner.

A headache now deeply rooted in his skull, Vaun glanced dejectedly at his companions. Dart frowned at him and gestured vaguely with his hands. Vaun wondered if Dart was calling him names but didn’t see any reason to be mad because he knew he deserved it. Drath patted his young companion on the shoulder and helped Dart to rise. Once the elf could stand without wobbling, he headed off up the stairs and into the nearby hall.

Rush appeared beside him, and Vaun followed the blond elf as they all moved toward Thorne waiting impatiently at the far end of the hall. Seeing their numbers, Vaun again thought how great a risk they took with all of them coming, and he questioned their decision to do so.

The answer came as quickly as the question, as it had the other dozen times he’d asked it. Thorne refused to be left behind while the others rescued his closest friend, and only he knew the way to the dungeons. Drath was the only one large enough to carry Merdel if he couldn’t walk on his own. Vaun guarded everyone’s back, which made him extremely nervous. Rush and Dart held the tasks of guiding them safely through the castle and then “acquiring” the wand once they freed Merdel. It was risky but the only way.

Resigned again to his assignment, the Swordsman shifted the weapon on his back as he followed the others, moving deeper into the darkened, chilly hallways toward where Merdel waited in abject misery.

*
*
*

Misery was only one of the emotions that passed through Merdel as he sat chained to the wall in a very dark, very smelly, very cold dungeon. He shivered incessantly, the thin blanket the guards had given him making a mockery of the idea of providing warmth. Unable to sleep, he repeatedly went through a barrage of mental insults at himself, the least of which told him how repulsively stupid he really was.

To actually think he stood a chance of retrieving the wand by himself, openly and without challenge, was the worst folly imaginable. A blind, insane cripple would have done better crossing the Kalt Mountains than Merdel had at acquiring Gwyndar’s Wand. He wasn’t a wizard; he was an idiot pretending to be a fool who pretended to be a wizard. A child with no hands could feed itself better than he could think. And a man with no brain was smarter than this imbecile who only dreamed he was a mage. He was a wind-blinded fool.

Despite these and other insults at himself, though, Merdel still had hope. Hope that he might yet live through the night. Hope that, somehow, his friends would come to his rescue. Hope that he could still cast some sort of spell to aid himself, despite the manacles he wore, the manacles he’d invented.

Emperor Quiris had liked that bit of irony. The magic-dampening chains Merdel had invented while Court Wizard in order to hold mages prisoner now held him. This irked Merdel the most, especially since he knew he’d devised a way to disarm them, in case a situation arose. A situation exactly like this one. But he couldn’t remember his method.

Fire consume me! What
is
that command word?

Merdel wished he’d eaten that morning before leaving, since he’d refused the foul-smelling stuff they called food the guards had thrust at him earlier. It sat there on its tray, looking at him, and despite the rancid smell his stomach protested his fasting. But still the wizard would not eat. He knew what they gave to prisoners in Mahal’s dungeons. The cold, damp walls sapped even more of his strength, making his refusal to eat that much harder to endure. Grumbling at himself again, Merdel tried to figure out what had gone wrong.

He’d made it in all right. No one had recognized him, and when he’d told them he was a traveling mage who wanted a private conference with the Court Wizard the guards had hardly challenged him. Merdel had feared Pascor would remember him, even though he’d met the man only once before his exile. But, on hearing of Pascor’s death, Merdel thought his success guaranteed. Until that fool of a servant had shown up.

The man had been delivering a silly message about someone’s cold when he’d recognized Merdel. Merdel had recognized him, too, for he’d been his own private servant during his tenure as Court Wizard. How he’d managed to keep his job, or even his life, for so long was a mystery even the Great God couldn’t solve. The idiot had screamed then, sounding very much like a small child, and guards had materialized out of the walls, as they always managed to do when trouble arose in the palace.

A quick drag through the castle had led to Quiris’ throne room, where the monarch had sneeringly sentenced him to death, for the second time now. Ever since the guards had taken him to the dungeons, Quiris only mildly disappointed he couldn’t kill him right away, Merdel had sat morosely in the dark, awaiting the dawn and his death.

Then Merdel thought he heard the sounds of a fight.

Sitting up abruptly, the wizard concentrated, but the sounds had ceased. He started to sink back down, thinking himself a dreaming fanatic, when he heard the sounds again, this time clearly. Yes, that sounded definitely like steel striking steel, followed shortly by a gurgling cry. Someone, or several of them, had just killed somebody else—hopefully a guard—and they fought right outside the doors to the dungeon.

*
*
*

Guards seemed to materialize out of the walls, and Vaun was assaulted on all sides. His sword blade intercepted another slash at his midsection, the contact telling him the opposing sword had recently been polished.

The Vaulka’s tip flicked out and cut down the man trying to add to the attack on the youth, the feel of flesh parting barely penetrating through the music of the Song. The Rhythm flooded his veins, and Vaun danced around the falling guardsman to press his attack on his original opponent. As he did, he thought again how badly their plan had gone awry.

With the help of the highly skilled elves and their natural abilities, the five of them had crept unmolested throughout the castle. They’d had to stop and hide several times, but always they’d continued on without incident.

Thorne had remembered the hallways that led to the dungeons, despite the number of years that had passed since his imprisonment and the state he’d been in at the time. Their rescue seemed on the verge of success, Rush and Dart preparing to separate from the rest of the group, when a sleepless cook had turned a corner and run into Drath, knocking them both to the hard tile floor. The servant had taken one look at the five armed adventurers and begun screaming as loud as he possibly could. The fighting had started shortly after.

The guards had chased the companions down the last few halls leading to the entrance to the dungeon. The passageways had opened considerably once they sighted the doors, and half a score could fight comfortably inside the room whose opposite wall held those wide double doors. A couple of alcoves dotted the other three walls, and the statues inside them fortunately stood deep enough that they didn’t hinder movement in the hall. But that didn’t help much against the dozen or so guards battling to capture the five people invading the sanctity of their palace, and plenty of reinforcements waited to take the place of those who fell.

Vaun ducked low under a swipe meant to take off his head, hearing the music of it in the wind of its passage, and slashed his opponent’s knee. Cartilage had an odd feel to it, stronger than flesh but missing the solidity of bone. The man screamed and went down, providing a nice flourish into the next verse of this fight, and two others replaced him. The itch in his side had failed to warn him of the servant’s approach, and now it remained a dull, muted sensation, a stark contrast to the danger surrounding him. He guessed his Swordsman’s instincts knew he was aware of the danger, so felt he didn’t need to be reminded.

Vaun fought off their attacks as he tried to move closer to his companions, finding himself hard pressed. The Mahalian palace guards were good and could marginally sense the Song and the Rhythm. The youth began to suspect that highly skilled non-Swordsmen could feel the rhythm and harmony of battle, and he respected their ability to do so and adjusted his strategy accordingly. These particular guardsmen also took very good care of their swords.

The five had fought their way to the dungeon’s outer doors but could go no farther. Rush and Dart tried repeatedly to get to the doors and open them, but the number of guards assaulting them prevented it. Not even Rush’s chameleon ability could keep the soldiers at bay long enough for him to attempt an escape.

Thorne fought savagely, his natural hatred of Mahals mixing with his rage at Merdel’s capture to make him a roaring thunderstorm that brained and crippled all who stood in his way. The injuries he’d sustained thus far in the fighting barely slowed him and only served to enrage him more.

Drath fought just as fiercely, though he did feel the effects of his wounds. A deep gash in his arm slowed his movements enough that his opponent finally opened his weaving defenses. Grinning broadly, the Mahalian guard thrust his broadsword at the tall man’s chest, seeking to run him through.