The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) (49 page)

“Thorne, it’s the only way. Everyone else likes it.”

“So? Why can’t I take Vaun’s place? His wound still gives him trouble, and that might hinder your escape.”

Merdel knew what concerned the dwarf. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. Vaun isn’t in as much pain as he likes us to think, and if there is fighting he’s the only one who can hold off the Mahalian palace guard. You know that as well as I. Besides, we need your knowledge of the city where it will be most useful.”

Thorne growled and limped over to his chair. He snatched up his ale jug, not bothering with the cup. Upturning the vessel, he drank off perhaps half of the bitter drink before lowering it. Wiping foam from his mouth did not erase his displeased frown.

“What exactly do you mean I’m not in as much pain as I make out?” Vaun turned from where he stood across the room. He’d been lightly practicing, and the mage’s words had only just registered.

Merdel turned to his companion. “You act as if you can barely move so Rebbuk’s wife will keep stuffing food into you. If we were to stay here a few more days, you might actually fill out that sack of bones you call a body.”

“I beg your pardon.” With a look of mock indignation on his face, he sheathed the shortsword Rebbuk had purchased for him the day before. Merdel had insisted he leave his Vaulka behind and use a smaller blade during the rescue, something which bothered the Swordsman terribly. “Listen here, you worthless hunk of old age, I could whip you blindfolded with no arms and holding a toothpick between my teeth.” The sniggering that had begun with the wizard’s remark grew to outright laughter as Vaun, usually not responding to Merdel’s dry wit, fought back with a skill they hadn’t known he possessed.

Merdel stood abruptly, trying to force his face into a scowl but succeeding only in shrinking his smile a hair’s breadth. “I’ll have you know, I have many more years left to me.” He raised one finger menacingly, his voice broken by occasional chuckles. “Provided they aren’t cut short by a…a fuddle-brained boy who thinks he knows how to swing a sword. Just because you can kill over a dozen Mahalian palace guards and survive an attack by two Black Guardsmen does not mean you have the right to insult me, you watery-eyed buffoon.”

Vaun tried to return with his own caustic remarks but collapsed in helpless laughter instead. He grimaced at the pain laughing caused in his side, which only make him laugh more. Half in amusement, half in agony, the Swordsman sank to his knees convulsing, both arms wrapped around his middle.

When the laughter finally died, Thorne went back to his rant, though only half-heartedly. He tried to suggest any one of several options, but the wizard and Drath found flaws in all of his ideas.

Looking up through tear-filled eyes, a wide grin still stretching his face, Vaun pushed himself to his feet and addressed the group. “Merdel’s right. Forgive me for saying so, but his idea is the best. Thorne, your part isn’t as useless as you think. You and Drath have to make sure the path is clear and all our gear is ready when the rest of us come running with Rush. You have to keep guards out of the way; otherwise we’ll never make it to the docks in time. You and he are the only ones available to reserve places for us on the ferry. I might be recognized, and it wouldn’t be fair to leave Dart out of the rescue of his cousin. Besides, we need his bow. I know you don’t like it, but it’s the only way.”

Thorne sighed, obviously displeased but recognizing the logic of his friend’s argument. He pointed at Vaun’s side. “You’re bleeding again.”

Vaun looked down, then set about removing his shirt and trying to halt the slow trickle of blood that soaked into his bandages. He didn’t want to call Rebbuk to look at it because he couldn’t endure another lecture on the reasons to obey one’s healer.

Thorne was right, though. If his wound didn’t heal faster, it could be a serious hindrance. And, despite how skilled he’d become with the shortsword after only a day of practice, he would never be able to fight as well as with his Vaulka. Rebbuk had said the wound would only tear open if Vaun moved too roughly, so it might not be too bad after all. Then again, sword fighting involved moving very roughly indeed.

Merdel regarded his companions with raised eyebrows. “Is it settled, then? Do we go with my plan?”

The wizard eyed Thorne after receiving a nod from the others, and the dwarf merely stared back. After a hesitant moment, Thorne nodded once, gruffly, and turned away, muttering under his breath.

“Good.” Merdel headed up the steps to tell Rebbuk they’d be leaving soon. He needed to walk about the town and set a few “traps” in strategic places to aid their escape. Though unwilling to help directly, Rebbuk had suggested several alternatives during the laying out of Merdel’s plan, and his advice had usually been worthwhile. Merdel said Rebbuk had always had a mind for strategy.

When the wizard left, the others moved slowly about the basement. They had all been locked up in the place for over a week now, and despite the room’s generous size they were growing restless with the confinement, especially now that they had a plan of action. Drath assisted Vaun in the retying of his bandages and shared a few words of friendly advice while Dart prepared the items he’d need during the morrow’s events.

Thorne paced sourly around the room, muttering about not wanting to leave Merdel’s side and about his desire to kill a few more Mahals. He also fussed about how right everyone else was. Before growing quiet, Vaun heard the dwarf softly vow to himself that he would do whatever it took to ensure the others arrived at the dock and boarded the ferry in time.

*
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*

Snow fell from the sky, whipped about harshly by the strong wind. The swirling flakes made the snowfall appear far more heavy than it was. It did, however, make walking more difficult, not to mention seeing. Huddled in a large, thick cloak, Vaun reminded himself that, while the snow made his actions more troublesome, it did the same to the Mahalian guard.

The young man stood in a large crowd that shuffled anxiously forward, each person trying to get a clear view of the scaffold dominating the courtyard. The structure stood in the middle of one of the city’s largest squares. Nearly eight hundred people could fit fairly easily in this square, and half again that number now pushed together on the cobblestones.

Buildings and stalls marked the edges of the square, and there were a few interspersed throughout the open mainway. Instead of the fountain or statue that the other squares held, this one had a scaffold in its center, and it seemed to Vaun that this made it more popular.

Snow lay on everything and everyone, but no one appeared to notice it as they waited for the day’s execution. The youth squirmed between two large men, trying to move into position. He still had a while yet, but with the number of people that also jostled for position he figured it would take him some time to reach his destination.

Drums pounded by strong hands wielding mallets sprang to life, causing Vaun to jerk his head up.
They’re starting early!
The hanging wasn’t supposed to occur until noon, and that was almost an hour away. It took him a panic-stricken moment to realize the drums only heralded the approach of the executioner.

The black-hooded, thickly muscled man slowly mounted the gallows and checked the noose and trapdoor, the crowd giving a brief cheer as the door fell open. Resetting the door and finding all else working properly, he descended and disappeared among the cordon of guards on the opposite side. That was where the emperor and the condemned would come from, and the black and gold dressed guards kept the way clear.

Vaun sighed and went limp, discovering he had been taut as a bowstring. He shifted the shortsword under his cloak to a better position, wishing he had his Bonded sword. Merdel had told him repeatedly that his Vaulka would only be a hindrance, as he’d be fighting in a tight space. Besides, a weapon like that would be recognized easily. Gripping the sword’s hilt with his left hand, he thought about how much he hated this part of the plan, and about how right the wizard had been, again. He was without his Bonded sword, and he discovered its absence made him feel empty and hollow, as if an essential part of himself was missing. The shortsword at his hip felt cold and lifeless, totally opposite to the warm, vibrant feel of his Vaulka. When practicing with the smaller, and to his mind inferior, weapon, he found the Song didn’t come as easily, and the Rhythm continually faded in and out, ruining his flow. That bothered him tremendously. It made him feel as if he was not a Swordsman.

*
*
*

Thorne and Drath had taken the Vaulka along with the rest of their gear to the stables. The two had left Rebbuk’s house separately, and met only at the entrance to the large, rectangular building housing their mounts. They then had to wait for the arrival of the others, which was a considerably long time.

They appeared like every other traveler reclaiming steeds in preparation to leave Mahal, so their actions and burdens went relatively unnoticed. As long as they didn’t try to steal someone else’s horse, they would be fine. Fortunately, enough space remained on the ferry they needed for Drath to reserve places for them.

Thorne checked and rechecked the equipment he’d tied onto the steeds, urging the sun faster to the top of the sky. His breath billowed out before his face in large plumes with each frustrated breath he took. He couldn’t keep his hands still, and straightening his clothes over and over again wasn’t enough. He hated waiting and hated not being able to do anything about it. He wanted to act but couldn’t. Retying the blankets to better conceal Vaun’s sword, the dwarf moved on impatiently to another horse. He hated Merdel for making him wait, too.

*
*
*

Dart vigorously rubbed his longbow with a thick rag to keep it warm, for the cold and snow would surely freeze and crack it if he wasn’t careful. After pulling his bowstring through his closed palm to warm it as well, he turned to the half dozen arrows lying nearby, particularly the one with the odd-shaped head and extra feathers. Testing its edge, he took out a small whetstone and honed it to better sharpness. Satisfied, he leaned back against the wall behind him and waited, breathing deeply of the crisp winter air to keep himself calm. Fortunately, the cold masked the smell of the city and its people, making the wait easier. It wasn’t much longer now.

*
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*

Pushed to and fro in the crowd, Merdel tried to find Vaun. Covered as the young warrior was in a thick cloak, though, the mage doubted he’d find him. He simply hoped Vaun would get into position in time and that his own knowledge of the gallows was still accurate. Thinking of the structure, the wizard studied it along with the rest of the multitude.

It was a large complex of wooden beams erected over a square platform. Merdel had seen a full score of prisoners executed atop it at once. Built as a permanent place of execution, the Mahalian Gallows differed from other such devices around the world. This one had an enclosed area under it where the implements used to dispose of prisoners were stored. Ropes, axes, swords, even a guillotine, rested in the space below the platform. The trapdoor on which Rush would stand opened into this area, and a clever bed of spikes waited on the ground below it in case the rope snapped. This occupied the wizard’s mind most, and he hoped Vaun would reach it in time. Provided the door still stood in the same place.

*
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*

Drath sat quietly on a bench outside the stables, hardly listening to the crowd milling about him. He sat a good mile or so from the place of execution, but he heard people talking about the upcoming death of his friend as if it was something important to see. The pleasure Mahals took from seeing the death of others disgusted him, as it did all the party members. Vaun had looked ready to vomit when Merdel had told him how many people would be at the event and why. Drath heard only a constant murmur as the city-goers went about their business, but he knew they all discussed the same thing. Today, an enemy of the emperor, and hence of all Mahal, would die.

*
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*

Vaun tensed as the drums began again, this time signaling the approach of Emperor Quiris and the condemned. Parting as if by magic, the guards and the crowd moved aside as their ruler advanced upon the scaffold. Regally mounting the steps, his black and gold embroidered robes flying in the wind which made the red crow on the breast seem to be in flight, Quiris stepped to the edge and addressed the throng before him.

“Good people of Mahal!” The crowd hushed, allowing the emperor’s lilting voice to carry easily. “Today, our kingdom will again be victorious over those who threaten us and break our laws. This criminal...this
elf,”
the word brought a gasp from the onlookers, for no one had known the condemned was an elf, “dared to enter our fair city and invade its castle. After foully murdering several of our loyal guardsmen, wrecking our beautiful palace, and freeing several criminals, he was caught, as all criminals in Mahal are caught.

“Despite thorough questioning, he refused to divulge the names and whereabouts of his evil accomplices. One can only imagine the dark oath this man swore to his fellows to keep silent. Such devotion is to be admired, but only in those who obey the law. Now this black-hearted elf shall no longer disgrace us, as he is to die for his arrogance and cruelty. Let this example remind all those who dare to oppose Mahal of the fate that awaits them.”

When the emperor finished, he raised his arms and embraced the crowd’s cheers. Mahals never particularly liked their rulers, but they adored executions. And this one was an elf. This was indeed a day to be remembered.

Quiris left the platform and placed himself amongst his guardsmen, the two Black Guard moving up protectively behind him. He watched proudly as two guards half dragged, half carried Rush up the steps to the noose waiting for him. In response to the tenseness that arose in the crowd, the drummers began a low, steady roll.