His mouth opened as he sucked in a sharp breath, his vision blurred by the hot-cold almost-pain. He fully expected to see both black smoke and white steam issuing from his mouth as he exhaled slowly.
Gradually, the sensation faded until his head felt almost normal, though it did feel somehow fuller. The area above his left ear felt as if it had been squeezed, and it was several long minutes before the pressure eased. Blinking water out of his eyes, he tried to focus on Merdel, who was panting as if from effort. “What’d you do to me?” He had the strangest sensation he had not spoken in English.
Merdel smiled. “You needed to be able to communicate in our world. I have solved that problem for you, much as I did for all of us.” He gestured to his companions behind him, including even the absent elves. “I have granted you the ability to speak our most commonly spoken language. You’ll have to learn any others on your own.”
Vaun nodded, struck again by the certainty that Merdel no longer spoke English, either. “Why can’t you cast a spell so I can understand other languages? I’d like to know what the elves are saying when they’re looking at me and grinning.”
The wizard grinned, himself. “I don’t think you really would. However, unless you want me to damage your brain, you don’t want me to use magic to enable you to speak other languages. The Great God has allowed magic to be used to grant knowledge of only one language without damage to the brain. Too much spell-casting, of any kind, can have a detrimental effect on whatever body part is being enspelled. If, for instance, I were to repeatedly enhance your strength, eventually your muscles would deteriorate. Just the same, your brain would be damaged were I to cast more spells granting you the knowledge of more languages.” Merdel smiled knowingly. “I believe it is His way of preventing us from being lazy.”
Vaun nodded again, a little disappointed he couldn’t instantly learn more languages but glad he wouldn’t suffer any brain damage. “So that’s how all of you could speak to me in my world. You cast the same spell on all of you.”
Merdel simply nodded. Tired from the spell-casting, the wizard groaned as he sat down and leaned back against a tree, resting his staff inside the crook of his left arm and muttering about being too old for such travel.
Drath and Vaun moved outside the copse and drew their swords.
“You’re coming along very well, Vaun.” The tall man leaned on his sword as he attempted to catch his breath after they had sparred for some time. “Obviously, your practicing and play-fighting taught you more than I thought.”
The youth nodded self-consciously, also breathing heavily. “You’re a good teacher, Drath.”
Drath bowed. “Thank you very much, my good friend.” He scrutinized the sky. “It’s getting a little dark, so we might as well stop for tonight.”
“Do we have to?” Vaun tried to sound like a small child complaining about being told it was time for bed, but he grinned too broadly for Drath to be convinced.
“I can barely see, and I know you don’t have the vision of an owl. And since when do you enjoy hard work like this? You complained about it not two days ago.” He slapped his slim waist. “Besides, I’m going to appease my rumbling belly and rest my feet. Would you like to do the same?”
Vaun shook his head. “No, you go ahead. I’m going to practice a little longer. I’ll be there in a little while.”
“Suit yourself.” Drath sheathed his sword and walked towards the camp, where a fire burned brightly.
Vaun watched Drath depart, then went back to practicing. He performed a series of swift feints and cuts, his curved sword flashing in the moonlight and weaving elaborate patterns in the air. In his mind, he fought deadly opponents, and his moves slew them all with ease. He knew this hardly compared to actual fighting, but he also knew that some preparation was better than none at all.
“Always remember, you needn’t always use your sword to keep your opponent’s blade from harming you.” Drath’s teaching echoed in his head as he ducked low under his imaginary opponent’s swing, his left foot widening his stance and his sword cutting horizontally from right to left. “Try to make your body and your sword move as one. Fluidly, like water.” He turned back to his right, his right foot stepping backwards, and rose with his sword slicing upward from left to right. He wished he could see himself, so he would know if he moved at all like he wanted. He didn’t think so, but calling up Drath’s hints and advice made him feel that maybe one day he would.
* * *
Drath and Merdel watched Vaun intently as the young man glided over the ground.
“How’s his progress?” The bearded wizard glanced at Drath.
Drath pursed his lips. “Not bad. He’s approaching true proficiency, and he has a solid understanding of the basics.”
“I wasn’t referring to his sword skills.”
Drath sighed. “I was afraid of that. I think he’s gained some confidence, but he’s still a harsh personal critic.”
“What are you two talking about?” Thorne approached, delicately balancing three roasted portions of the rabbits the two elves had caught. The two men thanked him as all moved to the fire and sat, Drath on the wizard’s right and the dwarf to his left.
“We are discussing whether or not Vaun Tarsus will ever believe he is anything other than a fool.” The wizard nodded toward the practicing youth. “What do you see in him, Thorne?”
“I see a lot of potential in him, and I like him. He seems honest and trustworthy, even without your Great God.” Thorne grinned satisfactorily and took a big bite of rabbit. “Just like me.”
Drath wiggled a brow. “Before you two get started again, let’s remember a couple of things. The dominant religion of Vaun’s homeland is quite similar to our own, and Merdel could be right that we are all creatures of the same Creator.” He held up a hand to forestall Thorne’s protest and Merdel’s satisfied remark. “However, he has professed no belief in anything, nor a lack of belief. I suggest we simply leave him alone.” He stared at both his companions. “If people like you two would do that more often, perhaps our world…all worlds would be better off.”
“Bah!” Merdel scoffed. “The Great God is always involved, whether you believe it or not.” He gestured with his knife. “Look around you. Do you really think this all came about by accident, as Thorne and his dwarven brethren believe? Or was made by a sundry collection of fallible gods who bicker among themselves more often than they pay attention to the actions of man, like the northerners profess? Look at your young student. How possible is it that this young man even exists, without the presence of an all-powerful, single Creator? He is too much like us to have been made by someone else.”
“Fire and ice, Merdel, you sound like a priest.”
“Priests have faith, Drath; wizards know.”
Drath rolled his eyes. He disliked these conversations with Merdel, since the tall man believed men should just leave each other alone and allow each individual to have his own beliefs. His father would be unhappy with such a statement, but Drath had seen too much the damage religious zealotry, or zealotry against religion, could do. Drath supposed he did trust that the Great God existed, but he didn’t think such a deity was overly concerned with His creations. The Great God seemed content to leave His creatures to their own devices, and Drath preferred it that way.
“Why are all of you frowning at each other?” Rush walked up and joined the others, his brown-haired cousin behind him. They sat side by side across the fire from the others and added twigs and small pieces of wood to the flames when they weren’t picking apart their rabbit portions with their delicate hands.
“Merdel’s been spouting off about his Great God again, this time in regards to Vaun, and Drath and I have told him to leave the lad alone.” Thorne picked up a small stick and switched at the elves’ hands to prevent them from stifling his fire, muttering about how Rush and his stone-brained cousin could smother a forest fire.
“Why? Everyone should have a chance to feel the love of the Great
God.” Rush said with a joyful smile.
Thorne groaned, obviously regretting mentioning a topic about which the elf, and all his ilk, felt strongly.
The blond elf glared at Thorne. “Just because you want to spend eternity in utter darkness and misery doesn’t mean the rest of us do.” He took a drink from his metal tankard to emphasize that was all that need be said. “I’d wager Vaun eventually does find a path that leads him to the Great God.” Rush glanced sidelong at his cousin, expecting a reaction, but Dart contentedly chewed the last of his meal.
Merdel thought it strange that Dart had not bet against Rush as he usually did, remembering how the two would bet on almost anything. He felt sure that they made up things to bet on if they couldn’t find anything on hand. He then turned to watch their young companion approach, carrying his scabbarded sword in his left hand.
“Why are all of you staring at me like that again?” Vaun joined them around the fire, accepting his meal and water from Thorne.
“No particular reason.” Rush waved his hand as if the subject were not important.
Drath knew Rush wanted to talk to their new companion about what all elves called the “wonder of the Great God,” though the tall man was glad he and Dart had expressed that it wasn’t the right time. He also obviously wanted to prove to Thorne that elves could restrain their religious enthusiasm, although Drath felt certain it wouldn’t stop the cousins from praying for Vaun…or Thorne for that matter.
“I’m sure.” Vaun took a generous bite of his cooked rabbit. It had been their standard dinner ever since the journey began five days ago, and he still apparently enjoyed the taste quite a bit, thanks mostly to the various spices Thorne added.
“How are you coming along?” Merdel deftly avoided the subject of the Great God, knowing, as Drath did, the harm pushing too hard for conversion could have.
Vaun swallowed. “I think you’ll have to ask my teacher that. I’m not a good judge of my own progress.”
When everyone turned to him, Drath hurriedly swallowed what he’d been lazily chewing. “I think he’s coming along quite well. He’s improving rapidly, and in a few days he should be ready for almost anything. He counters very well and moves smoothly from one stance to another.”
Vaun finished eating. “I learned that from the fights with my friends.” Wiping his hands on his pants, he drew his sword and took out a whetstone to hone the already keen edge of the blade. “They liked to gang up on me, so sometimes I was fighting six or seven at once.” He smiled, never once looking down to make sure the stone didn’t scrape anywhere but the edge of the blade. He let his hands be his eyes.
Drath turned back to the others. “Aye, I’d thought so. I think he’ll be able to handle himself fairly well in combat, but of course we’ll have to wait and see. Also, I…Vaun, why are you doing that?” He indicated the youth’s hands. “I’d doubt the sword needs it.”
“What?” Vaun looked down. “Oh! This? I don’t know. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. But it does need it a little. It doesn’t have quite the edge I’d like.”
They all stared at him speculatively, each attributing this strangeness to virtually the same thing.
Thorne broke the silence by leaning over the fire with his hands outstretched to where the youth sat directly across from him. “Let me see that.” Vaun handed him the sword, and the dwarf took it delicately into his hands and studied it.
Thorne inspected the sword’s edge closely. “Stones! He knows how to sharpen it, and I’ve no had a chance to teach him yet. And he’s right; it could have a better edge. But then only if you’re really picky or intend to shave with it.”
They all turned to Vaun expectantly, the same question written on each of their faces. To their knowledge, the youth had never even owned a metal sword, much less cared for one as if to use it.
“Well, I…. I’ve read books on the care of swords, and I’ve imagined how it’s done. It’s really not all that difficult. But I’m planning to shave with something a little smaller.”
The dwarf snorted. “Sharpenin’ this sword ’tis very difficult. How’d you figure it out?”
“It’s just like any other curved sword.” Vaun shrugged.
“Nay. ’Tis not.”
“What’s so different about it?”
“You no remember what I told you of its forgin’?” Thorne seemed almost offended.
Vaun nodded. “Of course. But how does that affect how it’s sharpened?”
“’Tis the forgin’ of the first Vaulka that determined how all are to be sharpened. As I told you, dwarves are born resistant to fire and heat, and all elves be hatched with their own special gift. Every now and then, one breaks out o’ his shell with this same gift. And it is these gifts which allow a Vaulka to be made.”
Rush and Dart looked ready to protest Thorne’s gibe, but the twinkle in the dwarf’s eye convinced them he was merely making sport.
“Dwarven ’n elven steels be lighter and stronger than that of humans, and be mined in places known only to the two races who use them. The different colors depend on which metals the smith uses to make his alloy of steel. ’Gainst all reasonin’, the two metals will no blend together as an alloy, so they must be joined by ’nother means, ’n the method the first Vaulka swordsmiths invented is what is called Weaving. To do this, they had to heat the steel so much that, if you were to go into the forge while they were doin’ it, your skin’d melt before you took two steps.
“The smiths then played cards to see who would be the Weaver and who would be the Watcher. The Weaver would weave the steel, and the Watcher would preserve the shape of the sword made from the two opposin’ metals. While doin’ this, he sang ancient songs of joinin’ and strength. It is believed these songs are magical, and that they aided in the forgin’ of the first of these fantastic swords.
“Once this’d been done, they hammered the new blade flat, and each took a different side. They both sang words of unity and might while hammerin’, and it was these words that finally joined the two different steels. But they were far from bein’ done. They had to finish shapin’ the blade, and a great argument resulted as to whether ’twould be curved or straight. Elves prefer curved blades, while dwarves rightly choose straight ones. After the elf cheated at dice, they made it curved. This curve they protected durin’ the Weavin’ and forgin’, and ’twas the shape of the first Vaulka, which is a combination of a dwarven and elven word that means one weapon from two blades.
“They shaped and worked the weapon ’til it was finished. Then they sharpened it to perfection and polished it so that it shone. It was here they discovered the effect their Weaving technique had on the care of the Vaulka, for they almost ruined it. I’m no swordsmith, so I can’t say for sure, but somethin’ ’bout the weave of the two steels makes it impossible to sharpen up the blade, as you can with any other sword. It usually no matters which direction you sharpen, but the Vaulka must only be sharpened down the blade, with the stone rotated as it slides over the steel.
“Despite this, or perhaps because of it, Vaulka be the finest made swords in the world. To protect their value, the dwarven and elven peoples decreed that each pair of smiths can only forge two such weapons. The dwarven smith who forged your sword is called Oren, and his elven partner is known as Leaf. They worked on this sword for six months, and their skill and pride show in ev’ry inch of it. This is the last Vaulka they will be allowed to forge, ’n I believe ’tis the better of the two.
“The black portion of the blade is dwarven steel; the pale white is elven. The designs on the hilt are a special gift to you. The dwarven woodsmith who carved the bone portion is named Homlin, and his elf partner for the ivory is Amoril.”
Thorne laid a thick finger on the tip of the blade. “Your sword is unique, ev’n for a Vaulka. The back edge has ne’er been sharpened before on any curved Vaulka. Leaf had the idea of sharpenin’ the back side, and Oren decided how much of it to sharpen. They liked the result, and I think you’ll agre
e it adds a kind of attitude t’ the weapon. Oddly ’nough, they had to sharpen it only up the edge, opposite to the normal Vaulka technique, though you seem to have figured that out, too.”
* * *
Vaun knew the dwarf expected some kind of response to his last statement but couldn’t think of what to say. The truth would only make him sound insane.
Shrugging, Thorne handed the sword back to his young companion. Vaun Tarsus laid the magnificent weapon on his lap, lightly running his fingertips up and down the blade as if he could feel all the effort and skill that went into its creation. That strange noise sprang up again in his mind, yet this time it didn’t frighten him. That, in itself, should have terrified him.
* * *
“And how do you feel about yourself tonight?” Vaun heard Drath ask awhile later from behind him.
The youth didn’t turn but only shrugged. “I’m not sure. I keep wondering why Thorne thought it was so strange that I could sharpen my own sword. It seemed to me like I just knew. I’ve always been fond of curved swords, so they were the only kind I studied how to take care of. I could tell this one was different, and something told me to go down the blade instead of up.” The youth didn’t say that the something had been the sword. Drath would surely think him crazy if he said that.
Drath sat beside his young friend. In the distance, an owl hooted as it searched for food, and the chirp of hundreds of insects accompanied the bird’s hunt.
“I’m glad for once you’re not dwelling on how dumb you are.” Drath chuckled good-naturedly but said nothing else as he gazed at the starry night sky, listening to the warm crackle of the fire and the soft snores of their sleeping companions.
The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) Page 6
