The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) (54 page)

He sighed deeply. “Even though the feeling wasn’t as strong, I still felt it when I used that shortsword against the Mahals. I think that experience helped me realize how closely I’m Bonded to my Vaulka. When I practiced with that other sword, it felt dead in my grip. It was like I was only holding a piece of steel, a tool. Even the leather on the hilt didn’t feel warm to my hand. Only once or twice did I get a sense of what the sword felt, but it was hazy and confused and didn’t feel right to me. It felt almost…unclean.

“My Vaulka feels completely different. Even in this cold, the sword feels warm when I hold it, and I can hardly distinguish where my arm ends and the sword begins. I can feel it now on my back, waiting for me to draw it. I can feel its entire self almost all the time, though it’s fainter when I’m not holding it. But when I touch even one finger to it, its essence flows through me.

“Before I Bonded, I felt something similar, only it wasn’t very strong. Now, it’s stronger than anything I’ve felt before, and I love it.” Vaun’s eyes closed as a surge of sensation enveloped him. It smelled of battle sweat and victory, and tasted of conquest. He breathed it in deeply, reveling in its strength and beauty.

“What’s it like in combat, to feel everything?” Like Vaun, Drath squatted in the cold snow, keeping his eyes locked on the Swordsman’s face.

Vaun waited until the feelings coursing through him had faded. “You know I don’t like to kill people. I know it’s sometimes necessary, but I will never enjoy it.” He shivered. “My Vaulka allows me to feel what it’s like to cut flesh. When I cut someone, I feel the sensation of flesh parting, as if it was my hand doing the cutting instead of my sword. It’s like I feel what the sword would. But I believe it is capable of feeling it. It just takes the right kind of person to share its sensations.

“The shortsword was different here, too. I couldn’t feel the cuts I made with it. I kind of liked it,” he gazed into Drath’s sea-green eyes, “because you have no idea what it’s like to feel that. To actually feel yourself hurt someone. And not just from the outside. I feel it from their side, too.” Vaun rocked back onto his heels again. “But I also didn’t like it for the same reason. I wasn’t sure I’d hit any of them, so I couldn’t tell if I was going to survive or not. I did feel something, but it was nothing like what I feel when I use my Vaulka.

“Before I Bonded, the sensations my Vaulka gave me were weaker, but still much stronger than what the shortsword gave me. Even though the other sword kept me from feeling the deaths of my attackers, the worst feeling I can imagine, I found I missed it. I don’t enjoy what my Vaulka allows me to feel, but I do value it. It helps me feel more secure, more whole, when I do feel it. It’s like my body is the sword blade, and every touch it feels I feel.”

“I would imagine that has a rather positive effect on your fighting skill.” Merdel finally decided to stop eavesdropping and enter the conversation.

“Aye, tremendously.” Vaun wasn’t the slightest bit surprised at the wizard’s sudden appearance. “But I still had to learn basic techniques. If I hadn’t trained on my own, and if Drath hadn’t added to that, I probably wouldn’t be very good now.” Merdel raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to protest, but Vaun waved him silent. “Aye, an untrained Swordsman is still highly skilled, but in order for that skill to be properly used, some basic training is needed. It’s best if the training comes before Bonding; that way the skills are fused into the Swordsman and his sword. Later skills also blend with them, but not all at once.”

Merdel smiled wryly. “Well, so much for the theory that Swordsmen don’t need training.”

Vaun smiled back. “Aye. Several stories about the Swordsman have proven untrue since I Bonded.”

The wizard nodded. “What kind of connection do you have with your sword?”

“It’s hard to describe. It’s so close that the sword feels a part of me, but it’s also separated enough that I can tell myself from my sword. In combat it’s harder, though, because of the Song and the Rhythm.”

“The Song and the Rhythm?” Merdel had never heard of this before.

“The Song of Battle is the music combat makes, and the Rhythm of Battle is the flow of movement. All fights have a Song, and the Song is what describes, what defines, the fight. It comes from the sound of swords meeting, of warriors screaming and grunting, of all the wonderful noises created by fighting. As a Swordsman, I can hear the Song and allow it to guide me in the fight. But I also guide it, as I just learned when sparring Drath. You hear it, too, Drath, though you don’t realize it. And I also found I can influence the Song heard by my opponents. How greatly, though, I haven’t yet discovered.

“By using my own style and techniques, I added to the Song of our spar, which is inherently connected to the Song of Battle. I hear not only the Song of the fight I’m in, but the Song of all sword fights, the Song of Battle itself. It is the Song that leads me through each engagement.”

Vaun shifted his stance and caressed his sword hilt. “The Rhythm also helps, but in a different way. Through the Rhythm, I feel the movements of my opponent, just like they were my own. I also feel his sword through my own. When our weapons meet, it’s not like being hit, for there is no pain. Instead, there is only the sensation of contact. Through that, I can tell how best to counterattack. I can feel the air blowing over the surface of the steel. I can feel the sweet sting of my opponent’s blade sliding down mine. I can feel how dedicated my opponent is to his sword, for I feel what his weapon feels, whether it is neglected or well cared for.” He turned to Drath. “You, by the way, take very good care of your sword, almost like a Swordsman.” Drath smiled at the compliment, while Vaun pivoted back toward Merdel. “I can also feel the inside of the scabbard when my sword is at rest.

“The Rhythm helps me feel my opponent, too. I can feel his every move, hear his every breath, and taste the sweat of his fear and exertion. This allows me to know where he plans to strike next. Every person adds to the Rhythm, just as he adds to the Song, and it is the Rhythm that lets me feel an opponent’s injuries, strengths, weaknesses…everything. I can tell when he gets tired, angry, frustrated, scared. I feel his movements and I feel my own, and they both create the Rhythm of that fight. But, like the individual Song, that Rhythm is only a piece of the Rhythm of Battle itself.

“Embedded in all combat is the Song of Battle, and underlying that Song is the Rhythm of Battle. They are always there, whether someone feels them or not. I guess only a Swordsman, or at least someone highly skilled like the Black Guard or even Drath, can feel the Song and the Rhythm, and it is this ability that makes the Swordsman what he is. But it’s not just his ability to feel it, but to manipulate it that makes him nearly invincible.

“I think I might one day be able to influence how my opponent hears the Song and the Rhythm and be able to destroy his concentration, making him easier to defeat. Then again, my influence may not run so deep, but I plan to find out.”

Merdel grunted in satisfaction. “It seems the Great God works even more mysteriously than I thought. That is an amazing gift.”

Vaun nodded. “Even when a sword scrapes rock it makes a kind of harmony. To mistreat my sword would be to mistreat myself. And to spoil the harmony of combat, either real or in spar, is to destroy an almost sacred act.” This last he added to chastise Drath, and both the tall man and Merdel laughed.

Drath tried to look apologetic while smiling. “I understand. And I apologize profusely. Please, feel free to show me what an uncoordinated buffoon I am some more.” So saying, he leapt from his crouch and lunged for Vaun’s head.

Not even rising or rolling out of the way, Vaun drew his sword with an almost casual motion, making it a blur of black and white steel, and swept the tall man’s strike aside. He then slapped the flat of his blade three times against Drath’s head as he sailed by, once on the left cheek and twice on the back of the head. Even during Drath’s flight Vaun could feel the blows resonate through his friend’s skull. He winced, knowing Drath would have a headache in the morning.

Rising, Vaun laughed and moved to help Drath up. As the youth came within a step of the prone man, Drath rolled over and slashed at his knees.

The Swordsman jumped up and swatted Drath’s longsword aside, then paused momentarily in admiration as Drath rose swiftly and effortlessly to his feet. Every time the tall man fought, he revealed himself to be a much better fighter than he’d let on. Drath apparently counted on faking incompetence to put his opponents off their guard.

As Vaun turned his amazement into an attack, he decided to never underestimate anyone again. That strike had nearly removed his kneecaps.

Drath riposted with a finesse the Swordsman had as yet not seen, and the fight continued in earnest.

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Three days later, the Kalt Mountains came into view far on the horizon behind the veil of falling snow. Thorne repeated that this was the largest range of their world and was nearly impassable. He told his young companion again that no one who’d tried to cross them had ever returned, yet many of the early settlers were said to have come from that unknown place beyond the Kalt Mountains.

An intense blizzard had delayed the group the day before. They’d barely found time to locate a shallow cave before the snow became a flood of falling white, the wind gusting mightily and flinging snow everywhere. It had sounded as if demons were torturing thousands of hapless victims outside, and all of them had shuddered at the noise. Dart had been forced to cover his ears with the edges of his blanket, though he’d still looked as if he heard the sounds clearly.

It had taken the six of them half a day to dig themselves out of the cave, and when they finally stepped onto open ground they saw that the storm had obliterated everything. Trees lay all about, their limbs scattered for miles, and cold, moist snow covered all the land. In some places, drifts had piled higher than Drath sitting on his horse. Birds sang sparingly, as if apprehensive the storm would return, and small animals darted nervously about, looking ready to bolt for cover if the wind picked up again.

Though Merdel had said almost a week earlier that their immunity was built up enough, he had nevertheless given them all, even the horses, a generous helping of his foul sickness remedy that night. He even drank some himself, and no one had complained, although Vaun thought his steed would kick him as he forced the drink down its throat. He had felt some satisfaction on seeing Merdel’s expression when he’d tasted his own medicine. The mage hadn’t commented on the obviously nasty taste, but Vaun had awakened late in the night and seen Merdel sorting through his herbs and muttering to himself about flavoring the drink without destroying its potency. The youth had smiled then and gone back to sleep.

Vaun shivered anew at the memory of that frigid night, all of them huddled together with the horses making a warm circle around them. They hadn’t had room or fuel for a fire, and despite heroic efforts at conversation, very little had been said. They were all too interested in just staying alive. The Swordsman suppressed another shiver as he remembered how close to death he’d felt and how powerless he was to stop it. A man, or even several of them, charging with sword raised and blood in his eyes the Swordsman could handle, but hours of howling wind and driving snow he had no defense against. It had bothered him, especially as he’d newly come into his self-confidence, but he’d reconciled it a little with the knowledge that no one else could prevent it, either.

Once the mountains came into view, Vaun knew their journey neared its end. Just another day or two to get them to the foothills, and Merdel had said it would take less than a day to find the passes leading to Elak’s fortress. From there, it was simply a matter of sneaking into the place, destroying the Stones of Tholar, and killing the Dark Wizard. Simple.

Only a few more days, he thought, and this exquisite madness would all be over. He hated the idea of it, but he loved it at the same time. Though he might die in the process of achieving his goal, he at least would have lived his dream for a short time. Yes, only a few more days. That was, until the soldiers appeared.

About two score of them rode over a nearby hill, resembling ghosts behind the white downfall. The snow had masked their approach, even Dart not hearing them, so the companions were taken mostly by surprise. At first, they all thought it was the Mahalian guard finally caught up to them, or more of Elak’s mercenaries; but as the men drew closer, their identities became more obvious. They were Nordens.

The country of Norden was the chief land of the north, and its capital city of the same name produced fine cavalry. While not entirely friendly people, the Nordens couldn’t be called hostile, either. Even knowing this, and the nonthreatening demeanor of the soldiers riding toward them, the companions found themselves growing a trifle apprehensive.

As he fingered the ball set into the pommel of the sword resting at his left knee, Vaun counted thirty-five guardsmen and three cavalry officers. The Song remained just behind his thoughts, and he kept his gloves on. His side didn’t itch, and that more than anything else allowed him to remain calm.

The cavalrymen stood out from their fellows on their larger, stronger steeds and elaborate dress. Plumes decorated their horses’ bridles, and their straight backs spoke of rigid discipline. All of the soldiers approaching the six wore primarily blue, with surcoats covering the fronts of the cavalry officers’ plate armor. The guardsmen had brown or black cloaks, while the cavalry wore blue.

The Swordsman noted the longswords or broadswords carried by the men, as well as the maces and flails that supplemented the cavalry’s weaponry. He wasn’t sure what to expect, for Thorne had said northerners were for the most part hospitable, but that they also possessed fairly violent tempers. The dwarf claimed this came from the long winters.

As the horsemen approached, Drath, as always, rode ahead to meet them, Merdel several paces behind. The best at diplomacy, the tall man trusted only Merdel’s slowness to anger for support in dealing with these strangers. Rush and Dart kept trying to maneuver behind each other, as if afraid one of the soldiers would recognize them. Thorne merely sighed and looked around, having no patience for the convoluted talk of politics. Vaun watched the proceedings carefully, wanting to learn as much as possible about traveling protocol. He let the Song come over him just a little, so that it would more effectively warn him of approaching danger.