The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm)

by Brian C. Hager

  “By the way, your shirt is wrinkled, and your boots need to be shined.”

  Cecil suppressed a nervous laugh at Master Elak’s sudden attention to dress. It meant the wizard was much angrier than he sounded. “Someone must pay for this failure, and I assure you the two survivors will not be the only ones to pay.” Cecil caught the meaning in Elak’s words but could not turn and run because his master’s voice held him. He prayed to whatever gods that might listen to aid him. Was it too late to prostrate himself before this supposed Great God?

  Elak smiled almost sadly. “Now, Captain, you have served me long and well and been rewarded for your service. But you have failed me of late, and failure has its rewards, too. I’m sorry, Captain Murdock. I’d had good hopes for you.” Elak turned his back on the quivering soldier and walked to one of the alcoves behind him.

  Cecil Murdock now feared for his life. Suddenly released from the wizard’s voice, he turned toward the door to flee. He took no more than two steps before he heard a deep, rumbling growl from behind him. Horrified, he swiveled to see a huge black hand reaching out of the dark pool. The six-fingered hand seemed formed of the substance of the pool itself, and it grasped unhesitatingly toward him.

  Screaming in fear, Cecil tried to draw his sword to defend himself, but the hand grabbed him in a crushing grip, pinning his arms to his sides. Kicking his legs and wriggling uselessly, Captain Cecil Murdock continued to scream as he was dragged down into the black pool.

  * * *

  A small ripple and a few bubbles disturbed the surface only briefly after Captain Murdock disappeared. The pool then went still again, and Elak turned from the alcove.

  “That was useful,” said an arrogant voice to the wizard’s left. “Don’t you think you could’ve done something besides kill him?”

  Elak sneered. “No, Lirix. He failed me twice, and I don’t like failure. The men need to learn to dislike it just as much as I do, and lessons like this will help them.”

  “But he was a good soldier.” The man now stood beside the wizard and gazed into the pool as if he thought he could see the captain in it.

  Elak refused to look at Lirix and his annoying grin. “I don’t care.”

  The bodyguard was a fairly tall, lean man dressed in plain trousers, shirt, and calf-high boots. Though he was a soldier, he wore no chain mail. He didn’t need it. Instead of a longsword he bore a rapier at his left side with a golden, swept hilt and split-leather grip that was dark with the sweat of much use. He also wore a tattered cloak a slightly darker brown than the rest of his similarly tattered clothing. He had a plain, intelligent face with no outstanding features besides his hawk-like, dark grey eyes. His hair was light brown and long, falling just past his shoulders. He stood in a contemptuously arrogant stance, arms crossed, knowing Elak would never do such a thing to him.

  Elak turned a disgusted frown on his bodyguard. “See that those two men who returned are killed. I will not tolerate failure or cowards. Also, send scouts to Landsby and surrounding areas. Find Merdel and his companions, or I might decide you’re not that valuable.”

  “Yes, My Lord.” Lirix smiled and bowed mockingly, turning to leave even as he straightened. Elak was in a decidedly bad mood.

  Elak did not watch Lirix go. The wizard knew he would carry out his orders, but he would also do it in the lazy, arrogant way he did everything. But Elak did not truly mind. His personal bodyguard was almost beyond reproach. Almost. His skills with the rapier were too good to waste, but if he stepped over the line too much the wizard might have to carry out one of his threats.

  The mage dismissed Lirix from his mind and focused his thoughts toward the problem at hand. He had to find Merdel. Merdel and his companions were the only ones who threatened his plans, the only ones who even knew about them. And now they had brought some youth from that other world to help them. He couldn’t be too special, no matter what those foolish soldiers might say. Even if he was, Elak had to find a way to dispose of him because he endangered his plans. They all must die.

  Elak turned to the dark pool and began waving his arms in circles and chanting. The pool shimmered, then changed. It became as clear as a shallow pool of water but revealed no bottom and didn’t reflect the ceiling. Instead, it showed the town of Landsby from a great height, as from a bird’s view. The scenes shifted as if that bird flew over the land in search of something.

  “Where are you?” Elak muttered to the pool. “I will find you, old friend. You cannot hide from me.”

  The dark wizard studied the scenes flashing by in the pool but did not see the enemies he sought. After covering perhaps three hundred miles in widening circles around Landsby with no sign of Merdel or his companions, Elak dropped his arms to his sides and the scenes in the pool vanished. Slowly, the pool turned from clear back to its deep black, and Elak slumped, tired from his exertions. Thoughts of what he could do to counter Merdel’s obvious blocking spell, and what he’d do to them when he found them, made Elak grin evilly. “I will find you.” His voice was quiet, deadly. “Count on it.”

  * * *

  The glow beckoned to him over the horizon. Its power unmistakable, he could in no way identify it. It seemed to hide its true nature while at the same time giving itself away. It also seemed somehow familiar, but he couldn’t think why, though he felt he should be able to. He stood frustrated, torn between watching the beauty of its growth and the desire to rush down to the Dacheen pool to try and identify it. Transfixed in wonderment by the glow, he could not bring himself to take his eyes from it.

  Elak stood on the top of the tallest tower of his fortress, watching the glow strengthen. The guard standing next to him saw nothing, though the mage knew he questioned the sanity of his master who stared intently at the horizon and muttered under his breath. Elak didn’t care what the guard thought, so long as he did as he was told by his superior.

  The aura, for it could only be that, began to grow again. It soon flared so bright that Elak squinted, the displayed power again striking him as familiar, though he still couldn’t remember why. The guard turned toward the horizon, as if wondering at the faint flash of light he had seen coming from that direction, but shrugged as if doubting he had seen one at all.

  As abruptly as it had strengthened, however, the glow faded. Seconds later, Elak’s magic-sensitive eyes could detect nothing unusual in the place where the aura had been…almost as if it had never existed. Swearing, the dark mage stalked from the tower and all but ran toward the Dacheen and its pool.

  When he’d reached the dark, circular pool at the bottom of his fortress and had again sought to scry in it, Elak could find no evidence of what might have caused that aura. He suspected Merdel must have had something to do with it, for the glow had come from the south. Elak scratched at his chin as he wondered at the implications of his suspicions, trying vainly to figure out why that aura had looked so familiar.

  Lirix entered the room and reported that the scouts expected to reach the area to be searched in a day or two. Elak dismissed such a useless report with a wave of his hand and went back to his brooding.

  * * *

  Lirix paced, knowing the wizard would shortly think of something for him to do, and he so hated being summoned. He walked idly about the pool’s edge, unafraid of what had come out of it so recently to dispose of the good Captain Murdock and, most recently, the other two ill-fated soldiers.

  Lirix regretted the death of the captain. He’d been a capable man, for a northerner. In fact, he’d been one of the best in Elak’s army of mercenaries, and Lirix wished the mage had found a more useful form of punishment than death. After all, the soldiers’ failure was not entirely his fault, though a captain is always responsible for the actions of his men. Oh, well, so much for keeping a competent soldier about.

  Elak turned abruptly toward his bodyguard, his features emphatic and his black eyes glowing. “Send a message to the scouts immediately. Tell them to investigate possibly magical occurrences near the southwestern bor
der of the Midlands. Tell them not to fail. Tell them the price of failure. And tell them now.”

  Lirix bowed low to conceal his smirk at the dramatic emphasis Elak always placed on his orders and threats, knowing neither could harm him, and left.

  When he’d gone, Elak turned back to the pool, which again depicted the moving landscapes he’d been searching. Now it passed over the kingdom of Bordell. Dismissing that area as irrelevant, for not even the Overlord would dare help to oppose him, Elak ceased the enchantment on his pool and watched as it changed color, his thoughts turning as black as the pool.

  9

  KING DOBRY WAS A RATHER PORTLY MAN SOMEWHERE IN HIS SIXTIES. Vaun couldn’t determine exactly where, since the man acted sometimes as if he was the same age as the visiting youth. He had a very plump, kind face that lit up whenever he smiled. As he’d been described, King Dobry was a jovial fellow with a great capacity to rule and a strong aura of authority when he projected it that deceived few into thinking him an incapable ruler.

  He treated everyone kindly and respectfully and expected to be treated the same. His hair, despite his age, remained a youthfully thick and wavy blond, which added to his bright blue eyes to make him appear much younger than he was. He liked everyone, and everyone liked him. He appreciated a good joke, he informed the Swordsman, and even told a few himself. He was also highly intelligent.

  The king had greeted Vaun Tarsus the morning after they arrived with much formality in the Great Audience Hall, welcoming him to his kingdom and offering his hospitality. After the ceremony, he bid the young Swordsman and his companions join him in his private audience chamber, and once there he treated Vaun as an old acquaintance. The king had changed his formal, royal demeanor and became the Dobry everyone knew and loved. He insisted Vaun and his companions not stand in his presence, saying it made him nervous when he was the only one seated, unless he was on his throne, which was elevated. They had talked little of why the party had come to Bordell, saving that discussion for when Drath could join them.

  The king and the Swordsman met several times the first day or two they were there, during which time King Dobry had Vaun tell him as much of his home world’s history as he knew. The youth was surprised to find he remembered quite a bit of what he’d learned in school and was glad to have the opportunity to share his knowledge. His childhood friend, David, had loved history almost more than Vaun loved to read, and had kept him up late many nights telling of things that had happened long ago. Not until now was Vaun glad his friend had tortured him so.

  King Dobry also took some time to tell Vaun some of the history of his land and how he came to be Overlord. He seemed hesitant to give himself that title, emphasizing repeatedly how his fellow monarchs had insisted he take the position. He told Vaun many details of the last Great Alliance war that Thorne had left out. He said it had been the strong hearts of his men, not necessarily his leadership, that had won the war for the south. He concluded his assessment of the war with the statement that it had been the presence and guidance of the Great God that had secured ultimate victory and given him and his men the courage and ability to maintain their freedom. The king sounded very similar to the Christians of Vaun’s home world, and Vaun wondered if perhaps Merdel’s comparisons might be true. His newfound acceptance of the existence of this Great God, however, was not yet enough to convince the Swordsman that the deities were one and the same.

  Though humble, the king never put himself down and showed pride in what he had accomplished, claiming he always had good men to follow him. In this way, the Overlord taught Vaun that one could be humble without being self-abasing and proud without being vain. From these short meetings, Dobry stirred in Vaun Tarsus the desire to serve the king willingly, mostly because in telling him his opinions of the world he taught Vaun much about himself. When he left his last private audience with His Majesty, Vaun was prepared to swear his life and his sword in service to the man, whom he almost dared to call friend, for all time.

  Now, two days later, as he walked casually through the palace, Vaun considered what to do next. King Dobry would be busy with state business for the next few days, which left Vaun to his own devices. The youth felt an overwhelming desire to practice a little swordplay, having just finished his third book borrowed from the king’s library, but Drath was still confined to bed after his encounter with the Chattul. The poison from its claws had not yet left his system, and because of that he had even missed the first audiences with the king.

  Vaun had not suffered the effects of the poison even though he, too, had been wounded by the creature. The power that had rushed into him during his Bonding had burned it out of his blood and had cauterized the gashes in his skin. Moderate healing from Merdel on their way to Bordell had brought his strength back up to normal, and he retained three deep scars across his left side. The Chattul had bruised four of his ribs, even cracking two with its thick tail, but the king’s healers had eased the worst of the damage. Though he had been in considerable pain, he hadn’t once cried or even complained. He had to admit he was proud of himself for that.

  Merdel and the dwarf had wandered off together while Vaun explored the castle after his talk with the king. Vaun had decided against accompanying Merdel and Thorne into the city, for he’d seen it the day before and could take only so much of Thorne’s lengthy explanations for everything they saw. Vaun had discovered a deep friendship existed between the wizard and Thorne, and he felt at times that he didn’t fit in with them. Most of their comments went over his head, anyway.

  The two elf cousins had bolted the minute the first audience with King Dobry had ended, and no one had seen them except when they stumbled into their rooms in the middle of the night. Vaun didn’t mind, for he found their company, while pleasant enough, somewhat irritating at times. Their fighting styles were so different from his own that he found he learned a good bit from them, but he couldn’t adapt their styles too easily to his own, especially Rush, who was a better in-fighter than his old friend Will. The Song did, however, show the youth some remarkable counters to Rush’s techniques.

  Dart’s prowess was mainly with the bow, which Vaun had little interest in learning, although he did attempt several times to deflect an arrow with his sword. He still had round bruises on his chest where he’d missed, and was glad Dart had refused to use real arrows. The dark-haired elf had shaken so badly with nervousness during the practice that Vaun had abandoned the hope of learning the skill. Perhaps if the elf used a real arrow, the Song would interpret that as a real threat, and maybe…then again, maybe not. His chest still hurt, and those had been blunt-tipped arrows.

  He could practice by himself, but that was only so much fun and not as rewarding. The Song didn’t play nearly as loud, either, and the Rhythm thumped dully in the back of his mind. He wanted an opponent he could see and touch, one that would make the Song and the Rhythm sing to him.

  He strolled along, his mind drifting into a nice daydream, when suddenly he heard the unmistakable clash of steel on steel. Concerned that something might be amiss, he jogged toward the sound, his body already preparing itself for battle. The Song even began a countermeasure to what he heard, and the Rhythm picked up the beat to better ensure victory.

  He did not, however, need to draw his sword and attack, because as soon as he exited a large doorway he saw what made the sound. The royal guardsmen were practicing. Curious as to how well the king’s personal soldiers trained, Vaun moved a little closer to watch.

  Men sparred in pairs over a large stretch of hard-packed earth in what Vaun guessed to be the southwest side of the castle. The royal home faced almost due north, which put the training ground and guards’ quarters in the back. A wide path led through many ornate gardens straight to the main courtyard, giving the guards easy and quick access to the front of the palace if they needed it.

  The ground here was ideal for fighting and training, level and solid, with the large stones removed. Small rocks and pebbles remained, obviously to remind
the men that their footing would not always be sure. Vaun saw a few forget this warning and stumble to their knees or even fall flat, giving their partners an easy victory. The Swordsman observed the soldiers’ movements closely, discovering a pattern to their slow and rhythmic drills. He also felt the Rhythm of their techniques and heard the music of their clashing swords, and he smiled. Yes, it was good to be a Swordsman.

  He saw that almost all of the men sparring, who numbered just over a score, were new recruits because they each bore a cluster of three gold pine needles embroidered on the left breast of their blue tunics underneath the golden falcon of House Dobry. Their gold-colored breeches were tucked into shiny black boots, and none of them wore armor.

  The officers stood around them, watching carefully and shouting occasional orders or comments. Vaun tried to see what ranks were present by the kind of leaf stitched on their tunics, but he couldn’t see any of them clearly enough to tell. He did see that some of the men had red or gold stripes, or both, down one or both sleeves, proclaiming the honors the man had won in service to his king.

  The royal guard dressed in gold pants and blue shirts, the colors of the House of Dobry, and the city guard and army dressed in red and black. None wore cloaks today, despite the chilly air and brisk wind. A constant and sometimes bitter rivalry existed between the city and palace guard. The former thought the other contained no true men and that their uniforms were too pretty to get dirty in real combat, and the latter thought the city guards were all slow-witted and ill-mannered louts. They did, however, manage to forget their quarreling and pull together in times of trouble.

  Each man here dressed the same, but was allowed to choose his own weapon. Most carried longswords, and Vaun had been told that all were trained to use one. The primary weapon, though, tended to vary greatly. Several men practiced today with sabres, while others used straight short swords. He saw a myriad other weapons, including a few large, two-handed swords. The youth wondered why anyone would want to fight with such a big, cumbersome weapon.