Vaun patted his stomach. “All that fighting made me hungry. I’m going to the kitchen to see if I can find something to eat.”
Merdel nodded. “I’d like to check on Drath before I start reading again, so I’ll meet up with you later.”
“I’ll follow you, Merdel.” Thorne stumped noisily on behind the wizard.
Vaun bid them farewell, telling them he’d come as soon as he was able, and Thorne made him promise he’d bring a flagon of wine when he did. Vaun grinned at the dwarf’s insistence and hurried off in the direction of the kitchen. The Swordsman couldn’t stomach seeing Drath too much in the condition the tall man was in. It bothered him to see his friend so unwell.
Where is the kitchen? The place was so huge that he could easily become lost and never find where he was going. He hoped his sense of direction would hold out or a servant would pass by so he could ask directions before he starved to death.
He had a pretty good idea of where he wanted to go, but he and his two friends had wandered into a part of the castle he didn’t recognize, even after all the tours given him by the king and Thorne. Now, as he walked further, he saw the walls here were not as fine, and the decorations were old and worn. The floor was stone rather than marble or wood, and there were no turnoffs that would allow him to change direction. He could go either forward or back through the thick stone door that had taken him into this passage.
He stopped momentarily to decide which would be best, then figured it was always better to go forward than backward. With this decision, the young Swordsman marched deeper into the older portion of King Dobry’s castle.
Not long after this, he came to an intersection, with hallways branching off both right and left. Again, he was unsure how to proceed. He hadn’t seen any other passages or doorways since the first one, and the dust on the floor had almost no tracks in it. His instincts told him the way he wanted to go was left, but something pulled him to the right, so he stood, weighing which was best to follow. In the silence of his thoughts, a strange sound came from the hallway to his right. Curious, he walked quietly toward the sound.
His boots made little noise as he crept slowly down the passageway, his footsteps marked by the imprint of his boots in the dust. It was darker in this part of the castle, with the torches spaced farther apart and the absence of any windows. He noticed that many of the torches were out but didn’t think that seemed too suspicious. This part seemed infrequently traveled anyway. He kept his hands out before him, one feeling along the rough stone wall and the other probing the gloom directly in front of him. He moved on, trying to decipher the mysterious sound.
The hallway curved sharply left up ahead, and the Swordsman backed against the wall. He moved slower now, trying desperately to identify the strange noise. He could swear he’d heard it or something like it before, but he couldn’t place it. It was a shuffling kind of sound, but it also dragged a little at irregular intervals. Even more curious, and with an itch building in his side that he refused to acknowledge at a time like this, Vaun Tarsus crept on.
He soon reached the end of the curve and stopped to peer around the corner. He squatted low to avoid being seen, a strange action considering where he was but that still seemed appropriate. When he stuck his head cautiously around the curve, what he saw froze the blood in his veins. As his side itched furiously and the Song and the Rhythm built in his head, he realized suddenly where in the castle he was. This hallway ran directly behind King Dobry’s personal chambers.
* * *
Merdel peered down at Drath’s sleeping form. Thorne stood on the opposite side of the bed, looking a little worried. Drath slept deeply, almost unconsciously, and had ever since the Chattul had raked its poisonous claws across his flesh over five days ago. It had taken them two more days to reach the castle after the attack, riding hard all the while, and they had arrived late at night. Vaun’s official welcome had come the next morning, Drath remaining unconscious and bedridden through it all. The tall man had been in worse shape before, but the wizard was concerned he had not yet awakened.
The surgeon had told the mage and Thorne as they entered not to disturb Drath too much, and that his condition had not changed. At least he’s not worse. Merdel gazed with concern at his friend.
Drath’s wounds had been cleaned and dressed several times, and the poison had been all but eradicated from his body with potions and spells. The physician, a purist who believed ailments should be cured by natural means, had not been too excited about the use of magic, but Merdel had insisted, and the man was not going to argue with a wizard. Wishing he had studied more healing spells, and thinking that despite the doctor’s fears spell casting was quite natural, Merdel tried to feel into Drath’s body to make sure all was well.
Thorne now wandered around the lavish room where Drath lay. He tried sitting down on one of the many plush chairs but soon became agitated and began pacing again. His fingertips ran over the crystal goblets and bottles—all hopelessly empty—and other finery that lay on the carved wooden furniture around the room. He finally ended up standing by the window and looking worriedly out onto the royal gardens below, thinking that Drath had never been unconscious this long before.
“Thorne.” Merdel’s voice was soft from where he stood over Drath. “He’s waking.”
The dwarf turned from the window and hurried over to the bed. Drath had at last opened his eyes. The tall man’s face looked drawn and worn, for he’d lost several pounds, but his eyes were strong and knowing, though a little bloodshot.
“Well now, I see you two are again worrying over me like my mother does,” Drath’s voice croaked from between dry lips.
Merdel looked seriously at his friend. “You were very ill, Drath.”
“I’m still alive, so it can’t be all that bad.” He scanned the room. “Where’s Vaun?” No sooner had the words left his mouth than they heard a scream that seemed torn from the very depths of the underworld echo throughout the castle. Merdel and his companions exchanged brief glances before he and the dwarf hurried from the room and followed the running palace guard in the unmistakable direction of King Dobry’s private chambers.
* * *
What Vaun saw was called a Jaga. He did not know this, but even if he did he would not have cared. To him, all this hideous black creature represented was a threat to King Dobry’s life. The shuffling sound had been its peculiar walk, for its three-toed, clawed feet never completely left the ground.
The creature had greasy looking skin as black as his own hair and walked hunched over and appeared a little deformed, making Vaun think it was slow and unintelligent. A tail dragged behind it, and its bones were prominent all over its slick body. This made it appear gaunt and weak, but when Vaun saw what made the dragging sound he changed his mind on that.
The Jaga dragged the lifeless body of a guard, the man’s head turned completely around. The guard’s face had been shredded and was unrecognizable, and his throat appeared to have been bitten out. One of the Jaga’s four-fingered, clawed hands was clenched in the dead guard’s hair as it dragged the rather large man down the hall. Vaun didn’t know where the creature had come from, and he didn’t care. He just knew he had to stop it before it reached King Dobry.
The Swordsman didn’t know that these creatures were primarily hunters. They hunted anything and everything, and their favorite prey was man. Sometimes they hunted men for their own sport, but other times, if one had the will and the magic to accomplish it, they were brought down from their home high up in the Black Mountains and sent to kill someone.
Vaun was unaware that these things were coveted as assassins, for they possessed an intelligence, stealth, and skill far above that of most humans hired for such work. He didn’t know that this one had been sent on just such an errand. He didn’t know Jaga were swift and deadly killers.
He would learn all of this later, but for now all he was certain of was that this thing did not belong here. And he also knew that nothing would deter him from prot
ecting his king.
The Jaga finally decided the guard was out of its way and dropped him. The body fell with a lifeless thump, and the creature turned back to the door hidden in the wall that would take it to its victim. Vaun saw its long, apelike face and the fangs visible through its parted lips, and heard its ragged, almost wheezing, breathing. It had large slanted eyes that were completely white, and long pointed ears twitched slightly as it listened for movement.
It looked directly at the crouching Swordsman but did not see him. Jaga were blind but could sense attackers and victims alike in more ways than anyone had bothered to count.
Apparently thinking it was alone, the Jaga shuffled back to a door propped open by the dead man’s sword, and Vaun followed as soon as he started breathing again and relaxed his muscles. Vaun didn’t think he’d have much trouble disposing of it since it was so slow.
The youth heard the creature slide the door open further and kick the sword away and followed as quickly as he dared. When he reached the opening, Vaun saw the thing had entered the study and searched for something. Or someone. It moved as slowly as it had before, its hands out before it, as if feeling the air, and its ears twitching.
Vaun was just tensing to spring at the creature when suddenly it stopped, and both the Swordsman and the Jaga heard King Dobry snort softly from where he dozed on a large divan. Turning toward the sound, the Jaga moved in to kill its prey.
Vaun stepped onto the fine, dark rug on the floor of the king’s study, moving hurriedly around the carved oak desk to where the Jaga crossed through an archway into the next room. Another archway led directly in front of the Swordsman into the king’s private audience chamber. A closed door set into the wall to his right opened, presumably, into the king’s bedchamber.
Vaun did not see the beautiful tapestries on the walls nor the expensive writing materials and letters of state on the king’s desk. He had eyes only for the Jaga. The Swordsman dared not draw his sword yet, for the scraping of metal would surely catch the thing’s attention and prompt it to act before he was close enough to stop it.
Vaun peered through the archway into the library and saw the creature standing behind the blue divan on which the king lay. He could see one royal hand reaching beyond the head of the divan with gold rings on two of its fingers. The raised falcon of the king’s signet ring stood out starkly to the Swordsman’s heightened senses. Bookcases weighted with large and small volumes lined the walls. A voracious reader, much like Vaun himself, the king had a very extensive library, surpassed only by the Royal Archives of Mahal. Merdel had thought the Bordellan library would help him find out how Elak had weakened the barriers and how he might be stopped. So far, though, he hadn’t found an answer.
Several candelabra and lanterns stood on tables around the room to provide reading light, but none were lit. The only light came from small lamps hanging from ornate hooks in the four corners of the room. Two dark red chairs sat facing the divan, whose back was toward the entrance, and two other, patterned wingback chairs stood in the corners next to the archway. The Swordsman heard the king snort again as the Jaga lifted one black, clawed hand and prepared to shred the king’s face as it had the guard’s.
Too far away to leap at it, a good fifteen paces at least, Vaun reached down to his right boot and drew his throwing dagger. His father, a knife-throwing enthusiast, had taught Vaun how to properly throw a knife. In one swift, smooth motion the young warrior drew the dagger, flipped it and caught the flat of the blade at the tip, and threw it as hard as he could at the creature.
The dagger flew end over end, sinking its point deep into the Jaga’s right shoulder. Screaming a high-pitched keening that froze the blood in the young man’s veins and chilled his bones, the Jaga whirled on the Swordsman. That scream also made Vaun’s left side itch so terribly a muscle spasm shot up his right arm. Its dead white eyes blazing with fury, and ignoring the distance between them, the Jaga leapt at the Swordsman. King Dobry awakened at the noise and toppled in a heap onto the floor.
Astonished at how swiftly the creature moved, Vaun barely avoided being raked by its claws as he dropped and rolled to his left. His sword came into his hand as he rose behind one of the wingback chairs, and he noticed distractedly that the itch in his side receded. The Song roared into his head, and the Rhythm pounded faster than his heartbeat.
The Jaga skidded to a halt and circled, the woven rug providing excellent traction and its slow movements from before seeming not to have even existed. It moved agilely and with assurance now, as if it could see the chairs and low tables scattered around the room.
Vaun tried to block the thing’s path to the king by moving to his left, but the Jaga followed. It moved behind one wingback chair and hissed at Vaun, then planted one foot in the seat and vaulted over it and the table beside it, knocking both over with a crash as it flew straight at the Swordsman, screaming shrilly again.
Vaun dodged aside to his left into the middle of the room and sliced at the creature as it passed him. The feel of the thing’s skin peeling back from under his sword blade repulsed him, but the Song pushed the feeling away and concentrated on victory.
The Jaga screeched that bone-chilling scream again, whirled, and charged the Swordsman, both claws reaching out. Its speed and agility were such that even to Vaun its movements were almost a blur.
Vaun avoided the creature’s rush by diving over the divan the king had been lying on only a moment before, knocking over the table between the two chairs as he rose. He planted himself solidly between the Jaga and King Dobry, who’d risen and moved to the fireplace and armed himself with a poker. His royal sword, unfortunately, lay in the other room.
Furious, the Jaga sprang up several feet onto the bookcase in front of it, using it as leverage as it changed direction in mid-flight, and leapt high over the couch, swiping at Vaun with one claw. Several books fell to the ground and the shelf cracked where the Jaga had planted its foot.
The Swordsman crouched low and sidestepped, and his Vaulka swept upward almost on its own as the creature passed over him. He felt its leg pull back from his blade even as it flew over him. Off-balance, the creature crashed bodily into a chair, destroying it completely. The Jaga rose and turned to face the Swordsman and the king, both of whom had backed toward the wall, Vaun slightly ahead of King Dobry.
“Please do not engage the creature directly, Your Majesty.” Vaun Tarsus turned his head slightly to speak over his shoulder to his king, his eyes never leaving the Jaga. The Song quieted while he talked to the monarch. “The kingdom would suffer greatly if it managed to injure you.” The Swordsman scratched idly at his left side as he stepped around a padded footstool, the itch returning suddenly.
“You don’t have to worry, Swordsman. I am no coward, but neither am I a fool. I know when I can be beaten, and that thing is more than a match for me at my present age. And even in my youth I doubt I could have taken it. I’ll leave it in your capable hands, and aid you if I can.”
Vaun nodded grimly as he and the king continued to circle, always keeping a piece of furniture between them and the Jaga. The youth thought he heard someone yelling and pounding on the door in the other room, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The Jaga, dazed from its collision with the chair and its wounds, hissed wickedly and bared its fangs. Still circling toward them to its left, it leapt suddenly at a spot just to the right of the one with the sharp sword and smelling of confidence.
Vaun jumped backward to the left and King Dobry dodged to the right, which placed the Jaga between them, just as it had planned. Ignoring Vaun now, the creature spun on King Dobry and charged him, its clawed hands reaching out and its mouth open in another high, shrill scream.
King Dobry tried to leap out of harm’s way, swinging his poker as he did, but he wasn’t as swift as he used to be. In a kind of odd fascination, he watched as one black claw swept toward his head.
Just before it removed his face, Vaun slammed into the creature from behind
, knocking its attack askew and tumbling it and himself to the floor. The impact tore the Vaulka from his hands, and it slid a few feet away. The Song receded almost completely away when the sword left his hand, and Vaun was momentarily stunned by the loss. In contrast, that itch returned with maddening strength.
The Jaga rolled easily and came to its feet almost before it even touched the ground, turning on the Swordsman who also rose, though not quite as swiftly.
It sprang at Vaun as he gained his feet, and he stumbled backward and tripped over a chair. The Jaga pounced on the fallen Swordsman, one claw already slashing toward his face.
King Dobry’s iron poker saved Vaun from being mauled. The king hit the Jaga on the back of its slick, bald head before it could shred Vaun’s face, knocking it off the Swordsman and driving it to the floor.
Not quite overcome by the blow, the Jaga swept its tail at the king’s feet, tripping him backward into his divan. The creature then crouched on all fours, growling deep in its throat, and turned in preparation to spring onto the fallen monarch.
Vaun had untangled himself from the wreckage of the chair and now rushed it. He kicked it solidly in the ribcage with his left foot, not really trying to hurt it as much as distract it. Then the youth dove over the creature and rolled up onto his feet, snatching up his sword as he did. Upon touching his precious Vaulka again, the Song sprang back into his head where it had left off, making the Swordsman feel much better and pushing away that persistent itch.
The Jaga screeched in pain and turned again on the Swordsman just as he came to his feet. It leapt directly at him, both claws reaching for his throat.
Vaun danced out of the way but didn’t account for the closeness of the back wall. He slammed into the hard marble, his senses reeling and his sword slipping from the hand he’d bruised on the wall. At the same time, the Song faded away again, jolted as much as Vaun by the impact of the wall. The Rhythm tried to recover the beat but couldn’t as the Swordsman lost contact with his Bonded weapon. Fortunately, the Jaga had not counted on Vaun moving, so it flew headfirst into the bookcase formerly at Vaun’s back.
The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) Page 18