But then the Song had come. Even when he was falling, he’d struck out at the horseman and disabled his mount. Horse’s bones felt very different from human ones. Then he’d eliminated the guard, and the two who came after. All with the help of the Song. Why? Why had it only helped him after he’d nearly had his head knocked off?
He couldn’t answer that question, and it bothered him immensely. It made him think he’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe he wasn’t really a Swordsman. Maybe he only thought he heard the Song when he fought. Maybe he’d created the Song of Battle and the Rhythm of Battle to make his abilities with the sword make sense. Maybe this whole journey was just an illusion.
Vaun shook his head in an attempt to clear it and pushed to his feet. He needed to relieve himself, and maybe the cold air would clear his mind. Surely he was wrong about the Song. Wasn’t he? He shrugged, not knowing the answer, and decided to leave his treacherous blade where it lay by his bedroll.
* * *
The cold intensified the farther north they traveled. The bitter wind seemed to always blow directly into their faces, even when it came from behind. It peeled away their skin, leaving any exposed areas raw and dry. The group’s breath hung in the air longer, as well, making it seem as if it would freeze solid if the temperature dropped any lower.
The fires they built at night didn’t dance as much or drive off as much of the cold as they had before, as if the cold air had somehow managed to blunt the one weapon the party members had to fight it. After six days of this harsh northern winter, Vaun decided he’d rather march through a small army of sleeping Jaga, as long as the air was warmer. Anything would’ve been better than these cursed frozen woods.
The forest they had escaped into had only become thicker as they trudged steadily closer to the mountains. Snow-covered undergrowth caught at their ankles and cloaks, tearing holes in both clothing and skin. Branches dropped piles of snow onto them at the slightest provocation. Vaun thought for sure that the birds and other small animals laughed at the trouble he and his companions were having, or at least the noises they made sounded suspiciously like laughter.
The Swordsman had wanted to hunt down one particular bird that had caused what seemed a mountain of snow to fall on him as it laughingly alighted from a tree. His friends’ chuckles and jokes hadn’t helped cool his ire. He was never able to find the bird, however, so he was left having to imagine roasting the devilish little thing, and Rush with it, over a nice blazing inferno.
Thorne had told Vaun that these woods, which had no true name, ran along the slopes of the Kalt Mountains about two or three leagues and were notorious for swallowing travelers whole. Hundreds of adventurers had endeavored to explore this forest, but fewer than half ever returned to add truth to the tales of vast wealth secreted in its depths. Wolves were said to be responsible for most of the disappearances, as well as the occasional bear or exploring mountain cat. Bandits shunned the area as if it were the Tapisian Way, a road so well-patrolled that caravans carrying the most expensive goods could ride without its own escort of guards, and this despite undergrowth so thick an army could hide ten paces from the famous road without being seen.
Those few who did survive the mountain forest claimed it was riddled with demons and other unspeakable horrors, things that snatched away whole companies as easily as a single person, leaving neither sound nor trace. None of the gold and jewels that were supposed to be hidden here had ever been found. Even the Great God was said to have abandoned the place.
Because of the curse that seemed to be on the forest, no one had bothered to name it, or perhaps its name had been forgotten in an effort to make it go away. According to Thorne, people believed that to name it would have fully awakened its evil mind, allowing it to wreak yet more havoc.
Thorne related several stories of hauntings and mysterious deaths, apparently in an effort to frighten his young companion. Vaun let the dwarf ramble, trying desperately not to believe what he heard. Most of it he could discount, but the way the place seemed to watch him, as if it did have a kind of baleful intelligence, made him apprehensive when they approached deeply shadowed areas, and he slept with his Vaulka clenched in his hand.
It was six days after escaping the remaining Mahalian guardsmen, and still they hadn’t begun to climb the mountains. Their mission, which felt so close to its end after their recent successes, now stretched before them with no end in sight. The amount of snow blocking their path only added to the misery of the cold and malicious forest. Some places possessed such high drifts that Thorne and the two elves had to be carried to keep from being lost underneath.
Twice now over the last week they’d been caught in a blizzard, and the second one had nearly claimed Dart. Had Rush not been standing so close to him, and had that tree not stopped the wind from blowing him away, the elven archer would’ve become another victim of the forest that adventurers the world over had nicknamed Traveler’s Bane. Vaun glanced over and saw through the snowfall, light for once, that Dart still looked pained by his impact with the tree, and that had been three days ago. The little elf, usually a quick healer, winced every other step, his face pinched with pain. Obviously, he hadn’t yet recovered from that hammer’s blow, either.
He had lain unmoving on the ground after hitting the tree, just letting the snow bury him. The others had swiftly backtracked the thirty yards he’d flown over after hearing him cry out, but already he’d been nearly covered. Only the tip of his longbow poking above the surface of wind-driven snow had allowed Rush to find his cousin. Vaun had never seen anyone as relieved as Rush had been when Dart was dug up and pronounced alive but unconscious. A hastily erected shelter next to the infamous tree had made sure the rest of them remained alive, too.
Vaun’s attention came back to his surroundings as a branch slapped him in the face. He doubled over, clutching his stinging cheeks and nose. His whole head felt as if it’d been split in two by a dull axe, and he was sure those were his eyeballs throbbing in the back of his skull. His recently healed head wound hurt anew, as well.
“Sorry, Vaun.” Drath’s muffled voice rose over the pain in his head. “I told you to look out.”
Vaun nodded wordlessly, thinking that if he tried to speak, his face would crack and fall apart. It had felt like that the last time he’d answered somebody’s question in this cold, and the sting of the branch only intensified the feeling. After several minutes, with Drath patting him on the back and apologizing repeatedly, Vaun at last trusted his face to remain intact and removed his hands.
He straightened and saw the world as a blurry, nondescript image. Drath was a fuzzy something beside him, and the forest and falling snow were detectable only by sound and feel. It took the youth a moment to realize his tears had frozen over his eyes. Brushing the ice away, Vaun found he could see clearly, if a little painfully.
His eyes scratched in their sockets as they rolled over to look at the tall man. “It’s okay. I should’ve been paying better attention. I’m lucky this is the only thing that happened.”
Vaun looked into his friend’s sea-green eyes, wondering why he saw fear behind the concern in the tall man’s voice. Glancing at his other companions, he could see they, too, worried over how he would react to what had happened. Did they think that, because he was a Swordsman, he would grow angry at the slightest provocation? Did they think he was going to accuse Drath of doing it on purpose, and therefore seek revenge? It bothered Vaun that his friends might think of him in this manner, and he almost began to feel insulted by it. For them to think he would actually attack his own friends….
He was beginning to grow angry just thinking about it. Then he remembered how he’d reacted when he’d seen the remains of that last Mahalian guard he’d killed. He was reassured that violence still bothered him, yet he was still capable of so much of it. Perhaps their concern, then, was a little justified. He would have to be careful not to give them a real reason to be afraid. He didn’t know if he could stomach that thought.
> Vaun’s eyes returned to his friends in time to notice that they all grinned, yet tried not to show it. Only Drath succeeded in keeping his amusement to a minimum. Thorne, however, looked ready to explode, and after an inquiring look from Vaun, he did.
“Stones, lad! It looks like Tara got a hold of you again. What’d she do this time? Hit you with a switch instead of her hand?”
The dwarf broke into laughter along with everyone else, although Drath tried not to. He hadn’t mentioned the red slash bisecting his companion’s face, since he was the one responsible for it. The others felt no such restriction, as they continued to chide the youth good-naturedly on his appearance and what one particular young lady, whose name they hadn’t mentioned for several days now, would think about it if she saw him.
Vaun smilingly endured everyone’s humor, even though the wind made any expression unbearable. The mark on his face stung even worse now that the wind had picked back up, but the Swordsman didn’t want anyone to know how much pain he was in. That would only encourage more jokes.
As the stinging in his face receded, Vaun discovered they at last moved uphill. The snowfall had almost stopped, and Vaun could see that the trees thinned not too far ahead. Sighing thankfully, he attempted to hasten toward open ground, but the knee-deep snow made anything faster than a crawl almost impossible.
Though stepping onto more solid ground would be wonderful, leaving the forest would be better. Luckily, they hadn’t met any of the supernatural creatures that supposedly inhabited Travelers’ Bane, despite the number of weird noises they’d heard at night. The few wolves or cats they’d encountered along the way had been easily avoided or killed. So it seemed this forest had been named by those too timid to get close to it, at least to Vaun’s way of thinking.
A wall of snow at least seven feet high marked the edge of the forest. Snow from the sides of the mountain had slid down the steep upper slopes and gathered to form a rather effective barrier where the trees began. After trekking perhaps one hundred yards to either side, the adventurers could find no easy way to traverse the wall.
Thorne finally grew impatient and strode directly into the thick pile of snow. His stout body pushed a tunnel through all the way to the other side, though it left him covered in white from head to toe. While the others carefully maneuvered through the passage the belligerent dwarf had made, Thorne set about shaking and brushing off the cold, wet snow, chuckling satisfactorily to himself all the while.
The sun seemed unnaturally bright as it slowly descended behind the mountains to their left, mostly because they’d spent so long in the dimness of the forest. The dark shadow of Travelers’ Bane sat behind the group as they paused to check themselves and their equipment before continuing on. Once they began climbing and drew near to the Dark Wizard’s fortress, there’d be no time to spare for a weapon that needed sharpening or a loose boot strap.
Almost all of the party members found scrapes and other minor abrasions made by the close underbrush of the forest. Snow served to clean everyone’s wounds and staunch any errant trickle of blood. Vaun found a hole the size of his palm in the side of his shirt but couldn’t guess when it had happened. He was mainly glad that whatever had done the job had missed his skin, and when he tucked his shirt in properly his pants covered the hole enough that it didn’t let in too much cold air. Hopefully, his clothing contained no other, larger holes.
It was still bitingly cold and would grow worse as night came. They still felt warmed, however, by at last leaving the dark, forbidding woods. Although they’d met no strange creatures, they retained an odd feeling that they’d been spared, as if the forest and its denizens had known the importance of their mission. The elves were quick to point out the grace extended to them by the Great God in providing them safe passage, something even Drath couldn’t argue against. As the bird and other animal calls drifted eerily from between the dark trees, the group felt sure the forest told them it wouldn’t be quite as nice the next time.
Vaun found that the odd urgency, dulled by the forest, sprang violently to life when he reached open ground. His skin tingled as he put a finer edge to his Vaulka, and he could feel every inch of the weapon more acutely than he ever had before. It seemed his Purpose as a Swordsman finally drew nigh, and the youth became impatient to accomplish it.
Breathing deeply of the crisp air in an effort to calm himself, Vaun tightened his belts as he waited for the others to make themselves ready. His last few practices had been soaked in the music of the Song. Perhaps it had decided not to leave him again.
Dart oiled his longbow and checked the feathers and heads of the crude arrows he’d made in the forest. He also sharpened his curved shortsword and dagger before pronouncing himself able to continue. Rush echoed with his cousin once he’d made sure all of his own daggers—and he had an abundance of them hidden in various places all over his body—could split hair.
Drath checked his longsword, removed a stone from his left boot along with a thick wad of snow, and tightened the straps of the backpack holding what little remained of their provisions. Merdel took out the black handkerchiefs he’d collected throughout their journey and ceremonially burned them, calling Elak, once one of his closest friends, a vast array of unflattering names. He also took out Elak’s communication mirror he’d confiscated from the prisoner in Bordell and smashed it on the rocks at his feet. It had already provided them the information they needed to locate their enemy. Then the wizard and the elf cousins mumbled prayers to the Great God for a safe and successful conclusion to their quest, with Drath listening and nodding but not joining in.
Thorne, muttering snide comments about superstitious nonsense, managed to remove all the snow from his body and out of his clothes, though it left him soaking wet. After he’d made sure his hammer could still crush rocks, which he said were about as hard as his head, the six adventurers started up the mountain.
* * *
“Are you sure it’s the only way in?” Merdel asked Rush for the third time. He wanted the elf to be very sure before they took the route he suggested.
The blond elf nodded. “Aye.” He didn’t look the least bit perturbed at hearing the same question over and over, not blaming Merdel for being hesitant. “I’m positive. There’s no other way in. All the other entrances and exits are too well-guarded. You should know that after what happened yesterday.”
“All right. If you say so. This certainly isn’t going to be any fun.” Nodding grimly to Rush to lead the way, the bearded mage allowed the elf to guide him and the others into the Dark Wizard’s fortress.
As the word passed down, each party member heaped his own bad names on Elak and his domain. They insulted Rush nearly as vehemently, almost accusing him of conspiring with the evil wizard to make their lives as miserable as possible. Despite their complaints, though, the adventurers did succumb to necessity and agreed to use Rush’s entrance, especially after the disaster of the previous day.
A day and a half of climbing steadily upward had brought the companions within sight of their goal. A little over halfway down the opposite wall of a deep chasm sat the fortress Elak had claimed as his own. The roads leading up to it had all but disappeared under centuries of earthquakes, landslides, and the like. One occupying army had obliterated all but two roads into and out of the place, and these could barely be called a game trail. Still, they had led the six to the fortress.
Sculpted out of the living rock, Elak’s mountain stronghold both impressed and intimidated Vaun Tarsus, more so than any other structure the youth had ever seen. Towers, walls, and even the main keep appeared to have been painstakingly carved out of the mountain walls, making them look as solid and powerful as the mountains themselves. Stories told that dwarves had built it long, long ago, but the sheer size of it made Vaun suspect the tales of giant architects might be closer to the truth. Thorne wouldn’t comment on which of the tales was more true, remarking that who built it didn’t matter so long as they left a way for the group to sneak in.
From a distance, the fortress appeared to be suspended in mid-air a few hundred feet down a deep shaft running between two massive walls of stone. After climbing down, the adventurers discovered that the buildings and walls of the keep hid the foundation of rock it sat on, giving it its illusion of floating. The mountains rising on all sides gave the fortress a strongly forbidding aspect, and the thick battlements and strategically placed towers made it seem far less than inviting. First and foremost a mountain stronghold, the fortress still bore castle-like aspects like its immense size. The structure emanated impenetrability and made the Comarch Garrison seem a child’s toy.
The group had come upon the fortress rather suddenly. They had doggedly climbed the mountain opposite the one that held the building when of a sudden they found themselves on the summit. The top of the mountain they stood on was flat, as if some titan had become angry at it and lopped off its head with a gigantic axe. So surprised had the adventurers been that, once they saw the open terrain around them, they all immediately flattened themselves to the ground. When no alarm could be heard, they decided they hadn’t been seen and moved to where they could observe the fortress in concealment.
The drawbridge, which was up, connected the fortress to their side of the canyon, but other than that the two sides never met. The only way in seemed to be the decrepit road leading up to the drawbridge, and from their vantage of several hundred yards they didn’t need Dart’s enhanced vision to see the heavy guard at that entrance. Sunlight glinted off so many swords and suits of armor in that area the bridge seemed made of steel instead of wood. This setback had led them to descend the chasm and climb the other side to find another way in. And that had also almost gotten them all killed.
Rush and Vaun were in the vanguard of their group as they explored a few hundred yards to the southwest of the fortress, which itself faced due south, when they had come upon a possible way in. When Vaun had descended alone to investigate, he’d discovered instead a hidden patrol of Elak’s mercenaries. Actually, the youth had tripped and begun stumbling downhill at an alarmingly rapid pace until he’d finally collided with a large boulder. The Swordsman had bruised two ribs and his left shoulder on impact but was glad he hadn’t fallen another ten feet. The rock path dropped off into the void of the cavern after that.
The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) Page 45