The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) (48 page)

Rebbuk sat on the edge of Vaun’s bed and unwrapped the bandages covering his midsection. “There’re plenty of people who want to kill you, so you don’t ’ave to try so hard to do it yourself.”

Vaun sank back down, unable to talk with the pain in his side.

“That’s what I thought. If you stay still, you’ll heal better, y’know?” Vaun knew this but didn’t care. He wanted to leave this place, his feeling of urgency returning, but so far no word of Rush had reached them.

Across from the Swordsman, Thorne sat in a deep chair with his bandage-wrapped leg propped on a stool. The dwarf drank steadily from the tankard clenched in his hand and stopped between drinks only long enough to refill his cup. Thorne heartily believed that ale dulled pain and sped healing. Rebbuk had scoffed at such an idea but had let the dwarf do what he wanted after the look Thorne had given him when he’d expressed his opinion.

The healer mumbled something about allowing his patients to do as they pleased, as long as they followed all of his instructions first. Thorne remained seated and kept his leg raised, so Rebbuk would permit him to make himself drunk if it would keep him in the chair.

The dwarf had been drinking quite a bit since they’d crossed the Borbollon, also believing the task would occupy him enough to keep him from attacking every Mahal he saw. Despite the amount he’d consumed, though, Vaun had never seen him the least bit affected by it. He sat quietly, and quite steadily, reading a book Rebbuk had loaned him that contained amusing tales of Mahalian nobility. Rebbuk, it seemed, had spent some time at sea, and had the sense of humor to prove it.

Merdel sat talking with Drath in another corner of the immaculately clean basement. Not much else occupied space other than the chairs and mattresses the party members used and the three or four lamps they needed for light. The dirt floor felt surprisingly dry considering the weather, but it still retained the cold. No one walked across it without first putting on boots. The wall shelves held mostly jars of preserved food and a few other items that Vaun didn’t bother to identify. The room was fairly large and allowed some room for those few who could to stretch their legs.

Drath lay on a mattress as ragged as Vaun’s but held himself up by his elbow as he conversed with the wizard. The tall man had half a dozen bandages on his arms, legs, and chest, as well as a nasty bruise under his right eye where a guard had caught him with his sword hilt. Vaun couldn’t see Dart anywhere, guessing the elf had ventured outside again to look for his cousin.

“Your friend’ll be back soon?” Rebbuk’s sudden question startled Vaun, for the Swordsman had forgotten he was there and had not heard a word of what the old man had been saying. The youth wasn’t sure if the healer had meant it as a question, or which of his friends he referred to, and felt too weak to answer anyway. “Don’t worry.” Rebbuk tied off the fresh bandages over the Swordsman’s wound. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Wouldn’t that make you feel better?” Although the healer tended Vaun’s wounds several times each day, he’d never once caused the Swordsman any pain.

Rebbuk rose. “Sweetums’ll be down in a few minutes to bring you some food. Be sure you eat all of it. You know how she gets when you don’t eat?” He scratched at his tangle of white hair as he headed back upstairs. Vaun realized suddenly that Rebbuk, like all Merdel’s friends, was probably very old, which made him wonder how old Merdel himself was. He knew Merdel well enough, however, not to seek to satisfy his curiosity.

Rebbuk’s wife came down a short time later bearing a tray of food. She, like her husband, was chubby and short, though she had a look about her that spoke of youthful beauty. She always bore a warm smile for Vaun and his companions and treated the dark-haired youth as if he was her son. Her long, dark hair fell across her face every time she bent over, and as she straightened, she tossed her head in a peculiar, repetitive fashion.

Looking down at Vaun, Rebbuk’s wife gestured to the food. In the five days since he arrived, the youth had never heard the woman speak, and Rebbuk never called her by name. He always used pet names for her, and he had a wide variety of them. She possessed Rebbuk’s gentle disposition, but when Vaun had refused to eat on the first night he’d spent in the basement she had looked at him in a way that had made him fairly leap off the mattress to put food into his mouth. Rebbuk had smiled knowingly at the time, apparently familiar with her temper.

Since the couple acted so much alike, Vaun suspected the healer assumed the same attitude when a patient disobeyed his instructions. The youth hadn’t yet felt inclined to test his theory. Vaun nodded at her offer, feeling hunger gnaw at his stomach despite the pain in his side, and allowed the woman to spoon the warm stew into his mouth. He smiled back at her as he took his first bite, for she was an excellent cook.

Just as Vaun finished eating, Dart limped back into the basement and slumped morosely into his corner. New blood darkened the bandages on his left shin and thigh, but the elf’s current mood had deterred Rebbuk from trying to change them. The wraps on his arms, though, were still clean. The elf refused to say what had caused the wounds to start bleeding again.

About once every hour or so since they’d been hiding the elf would go upstairs and onto the roof to search for his cousin. Walking the streets remained too dangerous. They’d heard of the arrest of several elves and dwarves on suspicion of attacking the castle. Also, from the roof, Dart’s incredible vision could spot his blond kinsman if he happened to pass within two hundred yards of the building.

Vaun’s severe injury had caused them to alter the escape route Rush and Dart had worked out, which had been planned according to Rush’s attempt to steal the wand by himself. The elves had apparently discussed this alternative when it became apparent they weren’t going to be able to stick to their original plan, which disturbed the others only as much as being upset over not having a say and the risk Rush put on himself. At the time, though, they didn’t have the opportunity to express their opinions, and now the argument was useless. What mattered was finding Rush and leaving the city swiftly.

Now Dart feared Rush might have already gained the wand and waited at the alternate meeting place outside the city. Unfortunately, he couldn’t risk leaving just yet because his cousin might yet be in the city, or he could be caught himself. After five days of searching, though, Dart had seen only an unfriendly, unknown mass of people, none of whom even remotely resembled Rush.

Dart refused the food Rebbuk’s wife offered, so she turned to Thorne. The dwarf gratefully accepted, telling her again what a fine chef she was. He had apparently amended his view that Merdel was the only worthwhile Mahal. The woman smiled and offered the rest of the meal to Merdel and Drath.

For once, Merdel didn’t take anything. He’d eaten almost constantly for the last few days in an effort to restore strength to his starved body after his imprisonment. His prolific use of magic in the escape had greatly affected him as well. His cheeks had looked sunken and his face pale, and his hair had acquired a little more grey. He looked much better now, though. Drath, however, welcomed the food, and after he’d cleaned the tray Rebbuk’s wife left. Alone once more, the companions glanced at each other in tense silence, each trying to read the others’ thoughts.

Merdel finally cleared his throat to break the quiet. “Any sign of him?”

Dart shook his head, his eyes on the floor. “No. Not even the whistle got an answer. Or at least not one from him.” The elf possessed a whistle that he and his cousin used for long-distance signaling. Their elven ears allowed them to hear at a level just above that of humans and just below that of dogs, and Dart had crafted the whistle to reach that level. He’d blown it for what seemed years now with no luck, other than the occasional curious elf, and he began to despair for his cousin’s life.

Thorne grunted. “He must’ve been captured.”

Dart nodded as if agreeing but clearly didn’t want to admit it. Rush never got caught.

“Could he have been…killed?” Vaun voiced a question they’d all been pondering. None wanted to face the possibility of continuing on without one of their number, but they all knew they might have no other choice.

Dart leapt out of his chair. “No! He can’t be dead! We have a wager about who’s to die first, and I always lose. Always. Always.” His voice drifted to a dull mumble as the brown-haired elf repeated the phrase over and over, tears wellling in his eyes. He sat back down and curled up in his chair, his grey eyes staring at nothing. He’d stay like that sometimes for more than an hour, muttering incoherently to himself, and the others were seriously concerned. If Dart didn’t recover, they’d have to go on without him, too, and none of them liked that idea.

Three hours passed. Dart left twice to scan the city and blow the whistle, but turned up nothing. They all began to lose hope and wonder how they could persuade Dart to leave the question about his cousin unanswered for now, when Rebbuk stumped triumphantly down into the basement. He’d just returned from his craft as one of the city’s many healers, and that familiar warm smile coated his face. The party members sat up expectantly, even Vaun managing to push himself up on one elbow and Dart to look hopeful.

“I have good news.” Rebbuk rubbed his hands together and shivered, for it was dreadfully cold outside. He brushed snow off his coat. “Your friend is alive. But…” His face grew saddened. He’d been shocked when Merdel had told him what had happened to them but had agreed to help them despite the danger to his life if he was found out. Merdel was too good a friend to turn over to the hands of anybody, even his rightful king. He’d also come to like Merdel’s comrades, the young Ramener in particular.

“But…?” Merdel urged him. Whatever it was, they had to know.

Rebbuk sighed, sharing the pain his friends were about to feel. “He’s been captured. They’ve had him for a day ’n a half now, and are trying to get him to talk about why he was in the castle.” Everyone in the room winced at that, especially Thorne. They all knew the manner in which Mahals questioned prisoners, and none of them liked the look on the healer’s face.

“So far, he’s refused to say anything. Must be pretty tough? As I heard it, the emperor tires of him, and ’as scheduled him for execution in a few days.”

Incomprehension marked the faces of all in the room.
Rush? Captured? How?
Vaun couldn’t conceive how that had been accomplished.
Scheduled for execution?
That idea terrified him.

“How did you find this out?” Merdel had said rumormongers abounded in the city, letting people overhear things no one was supposed to know. Almost all of them were employed by the emperor.

“One of the nobleswomen’s got a sick dog, and she gossips horribly. I had to listen to an hour of nonsense afore she got around to the part about your friend. At least you know he’s alive. That is good?”

“For the next day or two, yes. What are they accusing him of?”

“Oh, the usual. Being in the palace without permission. Hitting a guard who tried to lawfully throttle him. Conspiracy to free prisoners of the crown—one of the guards recognized him. Then they charged him with killing several royal guardsmen. Spitting on His Majesty, Emperor Quiris.”

This brought laughter from everyone in the room, while Rebbuk only smiled. Vaun was impressed with the amount of defiance resting in the elf’s small body.

“What about theft?” Merdel wore a broad smile. “Surely they caught him in the treasury.”

“Apparently not.” Rebbuk paced about the room, which he had a habit of doing when he talked. “It seems he was caught sneaking about the gardens. It looked like he was trying to find a way out, so the guards thought he was an escaped prisoner. Once they saw who he was, though, they took him to the throne room. That was when he spit on Emperor Quiris. Funny, eh?”

Fresh laughter flowed around the room, and everyone sighed with relief. If Rush was alive enough to spit on a monarch, then he was just fine. For now, at least. In a few days, however, he might not be very fine at all.

“Well, that settles it.” Merdel stood. “We have to rescue him.”

Vaun raised his hands in exasperation. “How?” The last time they’d done this they’d nearly all gotten themselves killed.

“It doesn’t matter.” Dart leapt to his feet and stalked over to the youth. “We have to free him.” He looked at Vaun with eyes the color of stone, his face close. Vaun thought he saw a hardness in those eyes that matched their color.
Rush
will
be rescued
, those eyes told him.

Drath shifted on the couch. “Calm down, Dart. We’re going to rescue Rush, but we have to have a plan first. Getting ourselves killed won’t do him any good.” He turned to Rebbuk. “How many days until he’s executed?”

Rebbuk scratched his white hair. “Three, I think. Maybe four?” He looked uncomfortable at this talk of rebellion, though he had no love for his emperor. He may be harboring and healing fugitives, but only because one of them was an old, dear friend who had saved his Beloved’s life and almost died doing so. He stated he wouldn’t take part in the rescue attempt, adding that his Cupcake would be angry with him even for telling them what he had. He then left the group to work out their strategy on their own.

Merdel nodded in understanding of Rebbuk’s words, then turned to his companions to discuss plans for another rescue attempt.

*
*
*

“You’re mad, wizard.” Thorne stumped angrily around the room, still limping slightly on his wounded leg, his arms waving as he repeatedly told Merdel how stupid he was. “That ice-cursed dungeon took not only your strength but what few wind-blown wits you have. Your plan will ne’er work.”

Merdel sat with his arms crossed, patiently enduring the dwarf’s tirade. The dwarf had done this same thing several times since their discussion of the wizard’s plan began two and a half days ago. The mage believed it was a good idea, and the others tended to agree. Thorne, however, hated it, mostly because it involved his absence in the thick of it. Heavy fighting might occur during the plan’s execution, and the dwarf refused to be left out of it.