The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) (51 page)

The guard nodded gruffly, mumbling about stupid outsiders, and the Swordsman walked on, catching a glimpse of Dart not ten feet away. The elf wore a nervous smile, and Vaun expressed his relief with his own smile as they both marched on toward the stables.

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Quiris shouted orders barely heard in the noise of the panicked crowd. He would thrash Culvis himself for his weak disposition. If the mage had been here like he was supposed to be, Merdel’s spell weaving would not have caused the mayhem it had. Gradually, the people calmed and began to leave, but many still hung about wondering what had happened. Shoving another such babbling idiot out of his way, the emperor of Mahal realized most of his stupid guards hadn’t left the courtyard yet. They obviously thought their prisoner was going to wait around to be captured again. Shouting at his guards to head for the wharf, Quiris smiled wickedly. They would not escape.

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Vaun walked his horse as calmly as he could through the snow that now fell heavily about him. The wind picked up considerably in the open seafarer’s district, blowing the snow blindingly into his face. He lost sight of the others scattered amongst the crowd of people leaving or entering the city as snow blew under his hood. Wiping his face, he reached up under the blanket tied to his saddle and gripped his sword hilt reassuringly. The Vaulka warmed immediately to his touch, lending him its strength and confidence. The Song trilled a welcoming flourish before settling down to its normal, just-behind-his-thoughts tone. Soothed, the Swordsman forced himself to slow.

As they descended the long hill leading to the docks, the wind carried to them the shouts of what could only be Mahalian guardsmen. Pressed in amongst a large group of people who all hurried to catch the next ferry, Vaun glanced back periodically but saw nothing because of the snow and those around him. He hoped the same held true for the guards as well. Grateful he could vent some of the nervous energy built up inside, the Swordsman urged his horse a little faster with the crowd as the wharf came into view.

The hard wood of the docks resounded with the most beautiful sound of boots and hooves that Vaun Tarsus had ever heard. Never was he more happy to step onto a boat, and even Thorne managed to look less disgruntled. For once, his fear of sailing didn’t bother him. Unfortunately, they had to slow to a crawl as dozens of people pressed onto the craft.

Just as Vaun thought their plan a success, Dart was held up at the gate. The gatekeeper claimed there was no more room, refusing despite the elf’s tablet of reservation, and Dart stared helplessly at the others. Far up the hill behind them, Vaun could see the snow-shadowed shapes of at least a score of the town guard pushing and shoving their way through the seafarer’s district.

Everything seemed hopeless for the elf until a scream and a splash sounded beside the ferry. All eyes turned to see a man floundering in the river and watched as he swam desperately for the dock. The ferry sat too far out of the water for him to climb back onto it.

Nodding satisfactorily, the ferrymaster raised the gate as his assistant led off the man’s horse, then permitted Dart and his mount to board. Glancing back toward where the other man had stood, Vaun noticed that Thorne now occupied his place, trying to look nonchalant.

The whistle brayed harshly over the wind, and the ferry lurched into the river, driven by the strong arms of twenty rowers. When they were ten feet away from the dock, Vaun could see the beautiful gold and black uniforms of the pursuing guards. Thirty feet away, and he could see the anger on their faces. When they gathered in a large group at the edge, the ferry had sailed well out into the river, and despite their shouts it did not turn. Only Emperor Quiris himself could order a ferry to stop.

Vaun could imagine the frustration the guards felt as they wondered if their prisoner and his friends were on that boat or not. The guards hadn’t actually seen them board. Vaun nearly whooped in joy.

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That night, they camped about half a mile from the foothills of the Black Mountains. Finding shelter in a deep ravine, the six built a small fire hidden in a deep pit. They huddled together for extra warmth, but the cold and their exhaustion couldn’t dampen their excitement.

“That was close.” Vaun meticulously retied his bandages. He hadn’t felt any pain from his side during their escape, and now it felt as if he’d been stabbed again.

“That it was.” Merdel’s face was downcast. His eyes drifted to the fire and unfocused. “But we failed. We’re all alive, but we have no way of stopping Elak. And now there’s no chance of getting the wand. Lymon died for nothing.”

Rush grinned broadly, a wicked twinkle in his black eyes. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” He’d seemed excited all day.

Merdel narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Rush had always enjoyed surprises, but no one felt up to one right now.

“Mahalian guards are good.” Rush admired the skills that had led to his capture, for no one had succeeded before. “Very good. But not quite good enough. Just before they questioned me,” here he grimaced at remembered pain, “they searched me. But they didn’t look everywhere.”

The elf turned to Thorne. “I now understand why you hate Mahals, and I, too, have developed a strong distaste for that race of scum.” Merdel scoffed, but only half-heartedly. “Except for one or two I can think of.” Rush winked at Merdel.

Drath sighed impatiently. “That’s very nice, Rush, but what are you trying to tell us? Quit building up to it and just say it.” He looked as weary as they all did, and didn’t seem in the mood for the elf’s dramatic frame of mind.

Rush frowned, though still undaunted by the tall man’s remarks. His frown changed to a broad smile as he rolled onto his back and kicked his legs up in the air. He didn’t quite suppress a groan of pain as rocks dug into the bruises and raw whelps on his back, but he still managed a mischievous grin. Bringing one foot to his chest, he fiddled with the sole of his right boot.

Watching closely, Vaun heard the distinct releasing of a latch. Rush then grabbed the bottom of his boot and slid it off, revealing a hollow space inside. It also led from the heel up into the leg of the boot. Something hidden there gleamed darkly in the firelight.

Pulling the thing free, Rush rolled forward into a sitting position after replacing the sole of his boot and tossed a long, slender object at Merdel. The wizard’s hands shot up reflexively and caught the flung object. He looked down, and his saddened eyes widened and his jaw dropped open.

Nestled in his cold hands, firelight playing over its smoothly polished surface, lay a rod that appeared to be made of some dark wood. It was fairly heavy, for the wizard’s hands had dropped to his crossed legs when he’d caught it. Now he raised it so he could inspect it more closely, and as wind howled in the trees above them and down the ravine, Merdel gazed up at Rush in stunned admiration. “How?”

Grinning like a well-fed cat, Rush shrugged. “No trouble, really. It was right where you said it’d be.”

Merdel harrumphed, and looked again at what he held. Somehow, some way, Rush had acquired what they’d sought. Lymon had indeed given his life for something after all. Merdel grew quiet as he rubbed the smooth surface of Gwyndar’s Wand.

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Vaun discovered that no matter how vividly he created an image of a large, roaring fire in his head, he still shivered violently. It seemed as if he wore no cloak, or anything else, because the wind and snow and cold bit deeply into his body. The only satisfaction he received from the harsh cold and heavy snowfall was that he could see his companions shivering just as savagely. If he had to suffer, everyone else should as well.

Again he imagined a nice, cheery fire burning in front of him. The flames licked greedily at the air and poured forth their warmth into his frigid bones. Just as it seemed he could actually hear the crackle and hiss of wood burning and feel the heat of the fire, a strong gust of wind blew a thick wad of snow under his hood, smacking him wetly in the face. The Swordsman swore and shook the snow off his head, only to discover that some of the devious whiteness had snuck down his shirt, both of them.

Wriggling fiercely as the snow melted against his body, Vaun muttered an oath. Thorne, riding just ahead of him, turned to see what troubled his companion so, only to break into laughter at the spectacle Vaun made of himself. On hearing the dwarf laugh, Vaun scooped a handful of the infuriating stuff off his mount and threw it at Thorne. The dwarf ducked easily under the snowball, refusing the reenact the fight that had left them all wet and breathless, though laughing, the day before, and chuckled some more.

“What’s the matter, lad, you no like winter?” Thorne’s whole body shook with mirth. “Don’t you have snow in your stone-blasted world?”

Vaun had lost the snowball fight after having instigated it, mostly because the others had ganged up on him.

“Aye, we get snow.” The Swordsman did sound as if he was still bitter about what he’d said was foul play. They’d claimed they’d done it because they’d wanted to see if his Swordsman’s skills would aid him in a snowball fight, but Vaun knew for sure they’d done it because he was the youngest of their party. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it when that’s all it does. By the Fires of Tarquon, you have more snow in one week than we do in three months.” Vaun emphasized his point by angrily brushing more snow out of his face as the wind picked up again.

Thorne laughed again but refused to dispute the Swordsman. The party had been in light spirits since their escape from Mahal over four days ago, but the cold and wet was wearing them down again. Despite Thorne’s joking, Vaun did have a point. It did snow quite a bit, especially this far north, but this year seemed unusually heavy. Ordinarily, the snow halted for a few hours every day. But now, it snowed constantly, with no break in the downpour of white. None of them wanted to discuss what could be causing this change. As if that wasn’t enough, the cold made their injuries ache and their bodies weak. Fortunately, with the supplies given them by Rebbuk, they didn’t have to worry about infection, which allowed Vaun to recover more quickly, but they all battled body weariness. They pressed on relentlessly, however, determined more than ever to reach their goal.

Once the snow under his clothes had dried and he could see again, Vaun scanned his surroundings. His side only barely hurt him now, thanks to Rebbuk’s professional care and the healing herbs he’d given them. Thoughts of his wound had made him ask Drath how Mahal came to have Black Guard, since they were all from Ramen. The tall man had told him that King Jolar allowed anyone to hire them as bodyguards, provided they pay the extremely high fee. And the Black Guard swore staunch neutrality when in other kingdoms, taking neither their employer’s side in disputes nor their native land’s. Their only job was to protect their charge, and their Oath never brought their loyalty into question. Their lives were forfeit if they violated their vows.

The six traveled through deep snow that reached almost to their horses’ chests. Several times the high drifts forced the adventurers to dismount to allow their steeds to plow through unhindered. Whiteness covered the countryside completely, so Vaun couldn’t tell exactly what kind of terrain they traveled. He knew they were foothills at least, for the dark, forbidding slopes of the Black Mountains hulked behind the falling snow to his right. Trees, mostly evergreens, abounded in this area, though they hardly made up a forest. They rode a good day’s journey from the actual beginnings of the mountains, but their presence still weighed heavily on Vaun’s mind.

Home of the Jaga, the Black Mountains existed as a place to be shunned by all wise travelers. No one lived within five days’ ride of even the treacherous foothills, for they were considered cursed. This made Vaun shiver at how close they actually were to the place, even though his companions assured him they were well out of danger.

Thorne had told Vaun that a small community of dwarves lived halfway up one of the peaks at either end of the range, making the youth doubt for the first time the accuracy of the dwarf’s knowledge. Surely no one would be foolish enough to live in such a place.

Glancing warily at the shadowed heights, Vaun again wondered what kind of dwarves those were that lived there. He couldn’t find an easy answer, for his one encounter with a Jaga made him doubt that anything could live near them. Yet Thorne had said his fellow dwarves prospered there, claiming they had a rich and varied mine. Their only flaw, he said, was that they were an odd bunch. He wouldn’t elaborate on that statement, no matter how hard pressed, so Vaun was left to his imagination to satisfy his curiosity.

Vaun didn’t know what to believe, except that every look at those mountains reminded him of the attack in the Overlord’s library. And each time he had to lean down to tend to the itch in his shins.

They had camped in the foothills of the notorious mountains every night since leaving Mahal. The range curved sharply east at one point, which would allow the companions to travel on a straighter course toward their goal and leave the mountains behind. The location spell Merdel had cast on Elak’s handkerchiefs and mirror suggested the Dark Wizard’s fortress was situated right behind the first peaks of the Kalt Mountains almost due north of the northern capital of Norden, and going around the backside of the smaller range was much faster than the alternative, though more dangerous.

Supposedly, the Jaga rarely ventured out of their mountain homes to hunt, except on those rare occasions when someone sent them, or they sought more exciting game. Since the foothills to the rear of the range were fairly steep and therefore hard to travel, they made excellent hunting ground. The companions had encountered no Jaga so far on their trip, though Vaun had heard their eerie hissing and screeching as the creatures hunted at night. He didn’t like being this close to them but knew they could actually help their journey. For the Mahalian pursuit slowly gained on them, and they, too, would be slowed by the treacherous foothills and possibly by the vile creatures that lived nearby. Hopefully, the Jaga would pass their party up in favor of the larger one. Despite that, the youth urged his horse to more speed, but to no avail. At their current pace, which was the fastest anyone could travel in this weather, they still had at least two more nights to spend in the arms of the Black Mountains.