As these thoughts floated through his head, the Song rose in volume behind them. The harmony of the Rhythm pumped more violently through the Swordsman’s veins, causing him to double his efforts.
Vaun began to feel invincible as he slithered past strikes and deflected cuts with a feral grace that belied his injuries. He could sense his attackers’ movements almost minutes before they performed them. His mind’s eye could see the path of their swords even before the man who wielded it. Gasping as he allowed another cut to his arm, for even that became part of the Song, the Swordsman gritted his teeth and leapt into his foes’ midst, his battle cry echoing off the castle walls.
The doors behind Drath burst open, knocking the wind from him even as they flung him to the ground. He’d just deflected another thrust directed at his midsection and consequently his sword skewered the guard in front of him rather than the opposite. Stumbling over the dead man, Drath hit the ground, losing his weapon and uncertain if he could rise again.
For some reason, no further attack came and his arms still worked, though they ached mightily. Screams struck the tall man’s ears as he pushed himself off the floor, only to be knocked back down by another man falling on top of him. The man didn’t move, so Drath rolled him off and climbed unsteadily to his feet. As he picked up his sword, which seemed to have gained twenty pounds, he grinned at what he saw.
In its long history, Mahal had never experienced a prison break. That reputation alone kept many from trying, and those few who did never succeeded. The security was just too good, the guards too skilled. But now, on a cold night in the heart of winter, with snow falling heavily outside and the wind howling almost in celebration, one hundred of the great city’s prisoners ran headlong down the marble corridors seeking only one thing…freedom.
Drath peeked back at the doors to see Merdel and Thorne exit behind the elf cousins. Merdel had one arm draped across Thorne’s shoulders, while the dwarf’s unarmed hand clinched around the wizard’s waist. Both grinned like schoolboys. Around them, criminals darted and ran, knocking over guards and anything else in their path. They babbled incoherently in more than half a dozen languages at the idea of gaining their freedom, their voices drowning out the shouts of the guards who tried vainly to stop them, the battle with the companions apparently forgotten. Turning to find Vaun, Drath frowned and saw that their escape might not happen after all.
Two men walked calmly through the flood of half naked, frenzied bodies. Two men carrying identical longswords in tight fists. Two men with dark, grim expressions. Two men wearing all black.
The gold and black dressed guards of Mahal divided to let the two dark-haired men through. Despite their vast numbers, these two matched them all. From their hard leather boots to their snug shirts, these two men could defeat just about anyone. They belonged to the most elite, skilled fighting group in the world. Barring the Swordsmen, they were the best. They were Black Guard. They were also identical twins.
Vaun had encountered few sets of twins in his lifetime, but he’d never seen any as alike as these two. Both had the same fair skin, with freckles above their noses. They each had dark blue eyes and short black hair. They stood at the same height, one inch over six feet, and possessed the same muscular build. They walked at the same casual but determined pace and bore identical hard looks. Their eyes told the youth that they would personally see to it that the raiders of their castle perished as quickly and painfully as possible. Oddly, Vaun thought he could be one of their countrymen if they weren’t from totally different worlds.
Vaun Tarsus crouched in front of them, unaware of exactly what he faced but suspecting it boded ill. The Song had skipped a beat when he’d caught sight of these two, and then changed completely. It flowed melodically as usual, yet it contained a harsh undertone, almost as if it was nervous. The Rhythm had actually receded but still beat strongly every two heartbeats. It seemed his Swordsman instincts sensed a difficult battle ahead. Also, the itch in his side, which had diminished, sprang up with renewed vigor, making his side twitch uncontrollably.
Though no exchange had as yet taken place, the Swordsman could feel the skill and expertise radiating off the two men facing him. Perhaps this meant they, too, could feel the same Rhythm he felt, feel the harmony of the clashing of steel and hear the Song accompanying them into battle. From sparring the palace guard in Bordell and fighting those here in Mahal, Vaun’s suspicion that exceptional sword fighters could hear the Song of Battle and feel the Rhythm behind it had been given credence. Now, in sensing that same ability in these two guardsmen, he thought he’d finally gained definite proof. He wasn’t sure of it just yet, and he wasn’t going to let it bother him.
Bleeding from several wounds, not all of them superficial, and only just now catching his breath, he relaxed his stance, the Song intensifying. When they attacked, the music poured itself into his soul.
As one, the Black Guard lunged. These two had trained almost three decades to fight in perfect unison, to match each other’s movements as equally as their faces. They had developed and honed the method of tandem fighting until it became almost an art. Now they used that art to halt the escape of Mahal’s prisoners.
Astonished at their skill, Vaun Tarsus backstepped rapidly and circled his sword in a desperately graceful block. The impact jarred his arm harshly, a stark contrast to the normal rhythmic feel the contact usually had. He’d moved well away from the bodies of the fallen palace guard and those few prisoners who’d met with the wrath of their captors but found that the extra space didn’t help much against these two. Real fear seeped into his bones, interrupting the Rhythm and blocking out the Song. For the first time since his Bonding, the Song faltered, and the Swordsman frantically cast about for a way to escape.
As Vaun slashed at the Black Guard on his right, the one on his left blocked his strike, allowing the closer one to attack freely. Dodging out of the way of that one’s thrust, hearing music that screeched in fear, the Swordsman found the other guard’s sword inches from his face.
Ducking and blocking swiftly, he felt the razor sharpness of his opponent’s blade as it scraped down his own, his arm jarred painfully yet again by the contact. The Rhythm attempted a counterattack, but the brothers quickly turned it aside. Vaun feared being a Swordsman might not be enough against these two. Maybe if he were fresh and not bone-tired and extremely hot in his extra layers of clothing, he would stand a better chance of surviving. Even then, the young man knew he’d be hard pressed to defeat the twins.
The way they fought, each blocking for the other and attacking just behind the other’s strikes, not to mention their identical faces, made it seem as if he faced one person with two swords—except that this person could attack from two different places at the same instant. Though they were but ordinary men and could sense the Song of Battle only faintly, they could feel it better than anyone else but a Swordsman. Vaun could hear it in them as he repeatedly slapped their blades aside or dodged around them, and what he heard scared him.
The youth couldn’t do anything but defend now as the Black Guard sent a barrage of dual attacks at him. Even the Song and the Rhythm seemed incapable of keeping pace with this new onslaught. Slowly, the Swordsman began to panic.
Both guards cut horizontally at Vaun’s chest. The power of the itch in Vaun’s side told him his life could very well end right here. Desperately, he obeyed the Song, barely feeling the cold steel as one of the two swords met his, followed immediately by the other. Vaun opened his eyes only after he realized he still lived.
Steel met woven steel and met steel again in a cacophony of sound, and those watching cringed at the violent scraping noises. Only to the combatants did it sound like the sweetest music. To those around, it hurt at the same time that it mystified. For somehow, one lone, young warrior evaded two of the most talented sword fighters in Mahal’s guard, made even more deadly by their tandem style of combat.
* * *
Drath was frantic. He’d forgotten Quiris had rece
ntly hired two of the famous Ramen Black Guard as his personal bodyguards. Even the Swordsman’s remarkable skill couldn’t hold out against these two, especially in his weakened state. Desperate for a solution, he looked to his companions for aid.
The elves and Thorne stared awestruck at the violent beauty of the battle before them, but a wicked twinkle sparkled deep in Merdel’s black eyes. Like everyone else in the room, even the prisoners, the wizard had stopped trying to flee and merely observed as the Swordsman and the Black Guard danced around the room and flicked strikes at one another like afterthoughts. None seemed fully aware of what they were doing, knowing only that they fought for their lives. The fight was beautiful in its deadly intensity, and all knew no one but the three involved in it could survive in its midst. Anyone foolhardy enough to venture too close to the combatants found himself bleeding his life out on the floor, as in the case with a prisoner who was just too curious. The left-handed twin didn’t even seem to notice or care that he’d decapitated the man, though he did step carefully around the corpse in order to avoid tripping over it. Otherwise, nothing else existed for them.
* * *
Merdel smiled at the faint aura of power pulsing around Vaun, though it grew weaker as the battle progressed. The mage knew that eventually they would defeat Vaun, unless something or someone intervened. That thought released him, and he stepped from Thorne’s support and told the dwarf to stand ready. Interpreting the wizard’s intent, Thorne edged himself and the elves toward the nearest passageway.
Merdel didn’t have the strength for a killing spell. Those were hard enough to cast even when at his full power, and the bearded mage was far from that. The last time he’d cast one, he’d nearly passed out. So he concentrated instead on distracting the Black Guard long enough so Vaun and the rest of them could escape. Shouting to Drath, Merdel brought to life a whirlwind between the two Black Guard.
Their strikes knocked askew by the strong wind that sprang up suddenly between them, the twins were flung to either side.
* * *
Vaun was dumbfounded by what happened, the Song ending abruptly on a harsh note, though he did manage to nick one of the guards ever so slightly on the wrist. He had no other chance to question the strange phenomenon, for Drath grabbed him and hurled him after the fleeing comrades. The tall man had to practically carry him, both because he was so weak and injured and also because he was in shock at the sudden loss of the Song and the Rhythm.
To aid their escape, Merdel created a pool of oil that covered the floor from one side of the hall to the other. As guards slipped and fell in the slick stuff, he cast a spark from his fingertips onto the black fluid.
* * *
Fire erupted in the hallway, followed by frantic screams. Beyond the flames, Emperor Quiris watched Merdel and his friends flee his castle. It seemed that ice-cursed mage would escape him again.
The emperor was a short, thin man with a narrow, shrewd face. He had a long nose that twitched with the smell of burning flesh. A look of deep hatred and grudging respect etched his features, for barely half the prisoners the wizard had freed were apprehended, and he knew only a handful more would be caught. For now, the emperor merely stood idly stroking his black goatee and watched as five of his best guardsmen burned to death.
When the two Black Guard came to stand next to him, Emperor Quiris smiled in spite of the disaster he had just experienced, the orange flames illuminating his dark eyes. He appreciated skill in anyone, even his enemies.
* * *
Pounding into the cold night, the companions ran as fast as their battered, exhausted bodies could carry them. They stumbled down alley after alley, hearing the searching cries of the guards and the screams of the prisoners as they were caught or gained freedom.
Clutching his side, Vaun Tarsus allowed Drath to half drag him down the street, the tall man too weak to carry him. His mind still dazed from the abrupt end of the Song, the Swordsman worried at the feeling that he’d left something unfinished, something important. But he knew that if Merdel had not come to his rescue he wouldn’t be worrying about anything right now, for he’d be dead. He gave his own support to his tired friend as best he could, but he was virtually helpless.
Thorne limped raggedly beside him, upheld by the suddenly invigorated wizard. Dart led them toward their horses and their escape route, and it was only then that Vaun discovered Rush was not with them.
* * *
Hidden deep in an alcove, his body matching the shadows and stonework around him, Rush waited while the clean-up progressed. The oil slowly burned itself out, and then servants and guards set about the grim task of removing those who’d perished in its midst. The smell almost made the elf gag.
Quiris walked briskly about, running his hands repeatedly through his oiled dark hair and grimacing at what had happened, while at the same time admiring it. He said nothing, and the guards did everything they could to stay out of his way. The emperor was maddest when quiet.
The twin Black Guard never left his side, and one of them had a crude bandage around his right wrist. They both looked equally tired and stunned that Vaun had managed to fight them and live. Rush himself could hardly believe it and wouldn’t if he hadn’t actually seen it. Still, that wasn’t important right now. Shifting cramping muscles, the elf settled down to wait, knowing everyone would leave soon.
* * *
“Where is he, Dart?” Merdel was the only one strong enough to express his indignation, and he did it loud enough for them all. Like the others, he’d been stunned when Vaun suddenly cried out that the blond elf was missing. Of them all, though, Dart acted the least surprised.
The dark-haired elf remained quiet, shifting from foot to foot nervously under the wizard’s baleful glare. He obviously knew where his cousin was, but he remained quiet.
“Answer me, you stone-brained elf.” Merdel’s voice strained through clenched teeth. “Where...is...Rush?” Dart still refused to answer, which made Merdel even more angry.
Grabbing the elf by the collar, the mage yanked him off his feet to eye level. “Answer me, Dart, or I’ll send you to visit the Great God. Where is Rush?” The wizard spoke quietly, making his threat much more believable.
Dart visibly shook but managed to keep quiet.
Thorne cracked his knuckles, the sound harsh in the silence following the wizard’s final question. Dart cringed and swallowed audibly, knowing what that meant.
Unable to hold him any longer, Merdel dropped the elf. Dart fell to one knee, only to be jerked to his feet by Thorne, who’d apparently forgotten his injuries.
The dwarf had one gnarled fist cocked back behind his ear. “Well?” His blue eyes looked as hard and unforgiving as stone, and the one syllable rumbled from deep within his chest. That was enough.
“He’s getting the wand.” Fear made the elf’s already high voice almost shrill. “He said leaving without it would be pointless. We’d only have to return to get it. He said our quest was useless without it. He said he’d get it and get out without anyone knowing. He said he could do it. I believed him.”
Thorne, swearing mightily, released Dart. The elf fell to the cobblestones, fear weakening his knees. He gasped heavily, apparently so terrified he’d been holding his breath.
Merdel shook his head. If anyone could get that wand, it’d be Rush. But now? After what had just happened? Even Rush’s chameleon skin might not be enough. Merdel sighed heavily. “Curse you, you fire-brained elf. May the Great God protect all idiots who pretend to be thieves.”
17
AFTER A SUBSTANTIAL AMOUNT OF SEARCHING, THEY FOUND A PLACE TO HIDE. As the sun rose and the snow slackened a little, Merdel remembered a long-time friend who might still live in the city. None of them wanted to imagine what they would do if this man was gone, for they were in desperate need. They’d staggered about for hours, the cold and their injuries making movement that much more difficult, and the guards had nearly caught them twice. Vaun’s breathing had gradually become more
labored, and his face turned deathly pale.
They considered it unwise to stay in their inns, since guardsmen would surely swarm over all such places tomorrow. Of course, with the number of inns in Mahal, it could take as long as two weeks to investigate them all, even with the number of soldiers in the city. But they didn’t want to take the chance considering Vaun’s injury, and no one knew how long Rush would take with his foolish decision to remain in the castle.
They did come to the conclusion that they needed a place to rest and heal for a few days, and that decision sparked Merdel’s memory about his friend. He said the man was something of a healer, and he also had a basement. He would help them for sure. If, that is, he still lived.
The man’s house was dark despite the noise of escaping prisoners and pursuing guards in the streets. The five of them stumbled up to the door, and Merdel pounded on it repeatedly while calling his friend’s name. After what seemed an eternity, during which Vaun passed out twice, a bent old man cracked the door open a finger’s width and demanded to know who had disturbed his sleep. His one visible eye widened when he recognized Merdel, and he gasped when he saw the wizard’s ragged companions. He let them in immediately, and he and his wife set about caring for them and hiding them as best they could.
That had been five days ago. Now, as Vaun tried once again to rise off the crude mattress he lay on, Rebbuk shuffled into the room. The old healer held his tray of medicinal tools above his generous belly but didn’t bother to look at the stairs he clumped down. He muttered quietly to himself, as usual, and Vaun could hear the slight inflection of his voice as he ended his conversation with himself in a question, just as he did when talking to anyone else. He placed his tray on a nearby table and scratched at his white hair with small, gentle hands, then proceeded to push Vaun back onto the makeshift bed, fussing at him for trying to get up.
The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) Page 36