The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) (46 page)

Drath’s eyes widened as a blur of black and white woven steel interposed itself between him and what he’d thought to be certain death. It took off the hand wielding the big sword, sending both skidding across the black marble floor. The guard screamed and clutched the stump of his left wrist as Vaun kicked him out of the way before flowing on to the next engagement.

Drath regarded his friend with new respect and mouthed a hasty thanks but realized Vaun barely saw him. He seemed enveloped in the fight in such a deep way that Drath feared to distract him, if that were even possible. The light in the Swordsman’s eyes told Drath that it might be too late before Vaun recognized a friend amongst a host of enemies. Then again, the razor edge of that Vaulka had found little trouble sweeping aside the guardsman’s sword without touching him, even though the thrust had been mere inches from Drath’s skin. Still, the tall man saved his thanks for later and launched himself at the man approaching from behind the friend who’d just saved his life.

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After seeing the dark-haired Ramener cut off his brother’s hand, Hadirin ignored everything else in order to make that insolent youth pay. He leapt at the slayer’s unprotected back, barely avoiding Drath’s attempt to stop him.

Vaun, however, listened to the itch in his side and whirled around. His sword licked out in time with his heartbeat, and the Swordsman felt flesh part.

Hadirin looked deep into his killer’s eyes as blood poured from the wound in his neck, finding an unforgiving light behind pale blue eyes. He suddenly regretted trying to slay the man but still hated him for what he’d done to his brother. All thoughts of hatred and vengeance left him as his skull cracked hollowly on the hard marble floor.

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Rush shoved Dart out of the way of an axe thrust, taking a deep gash in his left arm. Hissing in pain, the blond elf flung his left-hand dagger into the man’s eye. A horrible, high-pitched sound came from the guardsman’s open mouth as he fell to the ground clutching at the dagger in his skull.

The blond elf dived out of the way of another guard’s slice at his head and flipped over the body of the man he’d just killed, pulling his dagger free in the process. He whipped around, expecting to find a sword tip at his throat.

Dart, meanwhile, had recovered from his impact with the wall when his over-eager cousin had shoved him and stabbed Rush’s new attacker in the back. The man grunted as he fell forward with blood dribbling from between his lips. Winking at his kinsman as Dart yanked his weapon free, Rush tried again to reach the doors and open them.

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The sounds of steel striking steel and steel striking flesh heightened the music in the ears of Vaun Tarsus. He danced from one battle to another, letting the Song guide him to defeating one enemy while the Rhythm prepared him for confrontation with another. This was what defined a Swordsman. To have enemies all around, each one fighting to take his life, and the only thing between them and his death was his Bonded weapon.

The sensations of flesh parting, bone separating, and blood running down his sword blade remained remote and unimportant, except in how they aided his victory. All that mattered was the fight. And the Song and the Rhythm. Everything else could wait. Distantly, the young adventurer knew that when this battle ended, if he survived, he’d be horrified at the joy that coursed through him right now. He would hate and despise the eagerness with which he absorbed the information imparted to him by cutting his enemies down. He’d probably be sick for days. But that was later. For now, the fight was all.

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An opening finally came and the elves bolted for the doors. Rush had never picked a lock so fast in his life, and he and his cousin dashed through the doors and into the dungeon in two heartbeats. A dozen more guards met them in the stairwell, bellowing and leaping gleefully to the attack.

Thorne smashed yet another knee and dodged away from someone else’s slash. On the return, the dwarf slammed his hammer into his opponent’s weapon, shattering the blade. Roaring fiercely, Thorne charged the man and butted him in the stomach, knocking him breathless against the wall. Not hesitating, Thorne burst through the doors behind the elves and set about clearing a path down the stairs to Merdel’s cell.

Drath and Vaun fought side by side in front of the tall, iron-studded double doors leading into the dungeons. They needed to give Thorne and the elves time to free Merdel and return, yet the number of guards facing them made their task seem hopeless.

The Song played strongly in his ears now, seeming almost to take him over. Vaun shuddered inwardly at the thought but retained enough of the Song’s guiding music to keep up his defense. He gracefully deflected a vicious cut toward his abdomen with an almost casual flick of his wrist and kicked his opponent’s companion in the groin. The man squealed and clutched himself, dropping his sword with a clatter and falling down next to it.

Drath fought off a rather large man wielding an equally massive sword, revealing himself to be a far better fighter than he’d originally let on. The wound in his shoulder seemed to affect him only a little, but the Song told Vaun his companion would soon weaken.

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In the dungeon, Thorne stumbled backward and swore as a dying guard sank a dagger in his thigh. The dwarf smashed the man’s face with his hammer, then limped down the last of the steps after shoving the body out of his way. Rush and Dart had already turned the corner.

Thanks in part to the late hour, the three of them had managed to kill or cripple the still-sleepy guards inside the dungeon. They’d taken their share of wounds, though, and knew the hardest part of their fight still lay ahead.

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Merdel jumped to his feet as a key rattled in the door to his cell. He cried out joyfully as Thorne’s gruff face appeared from around the door, then noticed with chagrin that his friend limped heavily. But he knew the dwarf was lucky to have survived at all and clapped him on the shoulder as he released the manacles on his wrists. A great weight immediately lifted from his shoulders as his powers returned. Placing an arm around each other to both give and receive support, the two friends left the cell and joined the elves waiting nervously in the hall.

The dungeon was a series of long hallways with cells on either side of the wide passages. Some large cells housed up to ten prisoners, while smaller ones held only one. Only two cells stood empty, and those were in the very back. The entire place reeked of damp, cold, and dark.

Very few torches lit the dungeons, and at this hour only the first and last on each hall had been left burning. Because of this, the dark disoriented the companions just as much as the noise hammering at the main doors, heightening their desperate search to escape. They knew Vaun and Drath couldn’t hold out much longer, but an easy solution refused to present itself. If they all tried to simply fight their way clear, none of them would survive.

Suddenly, Merdel brightened and looked around. “I’ve an idea.” Grabbing the ring of keys from Rush’s tired hands, the wizard set about opening as many cells as he could, the energy of desperation overcoming his weakness.

At first, none of the prisoners moved, not believing that their cells had actually been opened, as well as not wanting to find out what was causing all the racket coming from outside. So Merdel cast a spell that caused a bright flash of white light at the back of each cell, followed by a loud clap of thunder. That drove the wretched men from their prisons in near-blind, deafened fear. Once a few had escaped, the rest followed. In a flood, they hurled themselves at the outer doors.

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Drath and Vaun both nearly fainted from exhaustion. Blood covered each of them, not all of which belonged to their enemies. The Swordsman felt as if he’d fought every guard in Mahal’s garrison, and his sword seemed to have gained ten pounds. The Song and the Rhythm, though, still pounded in his head and fed his tired body, lending him extra energy. He had to fight for Drath almost as much as he did for himself, for the tall man could barely stay upright. They both knew for sure that death closed in, and something had to save them or they would surely die.

“It’s been nice knowing you, Vaun.” Drath mumbled the words after he slashed another guard across the chest, receiving a cut on his leg in return.

A voice intruded into the Song but didn’t prevent the Swordsman from fluidly dodging around one guard’s strike and blocking another’s. He waited until after his sword had flicked twice, ending the guards’ lives in a flourish from the Song of Battle, before responding to his friend’s statement. “At least we tried.” His grin was more like a snarl. “But it’s not over yet.”

Strangely, Vaun felt only an odd satisfaction at the thought of dying here, so far from his home. He believed he had given his best and only regretted that he had not succeeded in his quest. But a Swordsman should go down like this, in the midst of his enemies with his Bonded sword soaked in their blood and the Song of Battle singing him to his death. Hopefully, some of his companions would survive because of his efforts and be able to carry on and complete their mission. It didn’t matter that he would die. It only mattered that the Song and the Rhythm carry him to his fate.

As these thoughts floated through his head, the Song rose in volume behind them. The harmony of the Rhythm pumped more violently through the Swordsman’s veins, causing him to double his efforts.

Vaun began to feel invincible as he slithered past strikes and deflected cuts with a feral grace that belied his injuries. He could sense his attackers’ movements almost minutes before they performed them. His mind’s eye could see the path of their swords even before the man who wielded it. Gasping as he allowed another cut to his arm, for even that became part of the Song, the Swordsman gritted his teeth and leapt into his foes’ midst, his battle cry echoing off the castle walls.

The doors behind Drath burst open, knocking the wind from him even as they flung him to the ground. He’d just deflected another thrust directed at his midsection and consequently his sword skewered the guard in front of him rather than the opposite. Stumbling over the dead man, Drath hit the ground, losing his weapon and uncertain if he could rise again.

For some reason, no further attack came and his arms still worked, though they ached mightily. Screams struck the tall man’s ears as he pushed himself off the floor, only to be knocked back down by another man falling on top of him. The man didn’t move, so Drath rolled him off and climbed unsteadily to his feet. As he picked up his sword, which seemed to have gained twenty pounds, he grinned at what he saw.

In its long history, Mahal had never experienced a prison break. That reputation alone kept many from trying, and those few who did never succeeded. The security was just too good, the guards too skilled. But now, on a cold night in the heart of winter, with snow falling heavily outside and the wind howling almost in celebration, one hundred of the great city’s prisoners ran headlong down the marble corridors seeking only one thing…freedom.

Drath peeked back at the doors to see Merdel and Thorne exit behind the elf cousins. Merdel had one arm draped across Thorne’s shoulders, while the dwarf’s unarmed hand clinched around the wizard’s waist. Both grinned like schoolboys. Around them, criminals darted and ran, knocking over guards and anything else in their path. They babbled incoherently in more than half a dozen languages at the idea of gaining their freedom, their voices drowning out the shouts of the guards who tried vainly to stop them, the battle with the companions apparently forgotten. Turning to find Vaun, Drath frowned and saw that their escape might not happen after all.

Two men walked calmly through the flood of half naked, frenzied bodies. Two men carrying identical longswords in tight fists. Two men with dark, grim expressions. Two men wearing all black.

The gold and black dressed guards of Mahal divided to let the two dark-haired men through. Despite their vast numbers, these two matched them all. From their hard leather boots to their snug shirts, these two men could defeat just about anyone. They belonged to the most elite, skilled fighting group in the world. Barring the Swordsmen, they were the best. They were Black Guard. They were also identical twins.

Vaun had encountered few sets of twins in his lifetime, but he’d never seen any as alike as these two. Both had the same fair skin, with freckles above their noses. They each had dark blue eyes and short black hair. They stood at the same height, one inch over six feet, and possessed the same muscular build. They walked at the same casual but determined pace and bore identical hard looks. Their eyes told the youth that they would personally see to it that the raiders of their castle perished as quickly and painfully as possible. Oddly, Vaun thought he could be one of their countrymen if they weren’t from totally different worlds.

Vaun Tarsus crouched in front of them, unaware of exactly what he faced but suspecting it boded ill. The Song had skipped a beat when he’d caught sight of these two, and then changed completely. It flowed melodically as usual, yet it contained a harsh undertone, almost as if it was nervous. The Rhythm had actually receded but still beat strongly every two heartbeats. It seemed his Swordsman instincts sensed a difficult battle ahead. Also, the itch in his side, which had diminished, sprang up with renewed vigor, making his side twitch uncontrollably.

Though no exchange had as yet taken place, the Swordsman could feel the skill and expertise radiating off the two men facing him. Perhaps this meant they, too, could feel the same Rhythm he felt, feel the harmony of the clashing of steel and hear the Song accompanying them into battle. From sparring the palace guard in Bordell and fighting those here in Mahal, Vaun’s suspicion that exceptional sword fighters could hear the Song of Battle and feel the Rhythm behind it had been given credence. Now, in sensing that same ability in these two guardsmen, he thought he’d finally gained definite proof. He wasn’t sure of it just yet, and he wasn’t going to let it bother him.