Vaun decided not to argue a point he believed he could not win. The elf’s explanation seemed a little contrived, but Vaun had no idea how to contradict him. His knowledge of religious matters was far too inadequate. “Drath, tell me about this king.”
“Ah, King Dobry. He is one of the greatest kings of our time; perhaps even all time. He’s Overlord of the Southern Kingdoms, though he’s not fond of the title.”
That sounded strange to Vaun. “Why not?”
“He thinks it gives him more trouble than it’s worth and that he had enough when he was just another king. He more than fills the position, though.”
“How did he become Overlord?”
Thorne leaned forward. “Many years ago, the six Southern Kingdoms joined together to fight off an invasion of the Northern and Western armies. King Dobry suggested a full alliance between the Southern Kingdoms, and he led the combined forces against this Third Great Alliance.
“After the Alliance was defeated, the southern kings decided that the only way to defend against further invasions was to remain united under one ruler. They signed the Great Pact, officially uniting the Southern Kingdoms and making King Dobry and his heirs Overlord. The other kings retain their lands and power, but they are all subject to the will of the Overlord. King Dobry was unwilling to take on such a vast responsibility, but accepted it to prevent bickering and possible bloodshed among the other kings.”
Thorne emptied his tankard and poured himself another full draught. Vaun was struck at how the dwarf’s manner of speech frequently changed when talking history. “The Southern Kingdoms are the only ones that are united in this manner, because the westerners and northerners fight themselves and each other almost as much as they do anyone else. There have been internal rebellions among the Southern Kingdoms and other, smaller wars with outsiders since the Great Pact, but overall King Dobry is liked and his Overlordship has never been openly challenged. In the forty years since this happened, he has earned great respect from both friends and enemies.”
“In any event,” Drath jumped back into the conversation with an annoyed look at Thorne, “he knew of our past exploits, so he commissioned us to make this journey. It’s not officially recognized, but he supports us fully. If we were too open about it, our enemy would know our purpose.”
“It appears he already does.” Merdel shifted umcomfortably. “He sent those men after us, I’m sure of it. He can detect when someone uses a portal, and I know he could’ve identified me easily. We have an old grudge between us, and he knows of my efforts to oppose him, so I’m sure those men were sent to kill us. I’m not completely certain, though. They could’ve been some of his soldiers wandering about looking for a fight, but I doubt it. I don’t like the idea of him knowing about us, but I figured he’d find out eventually.
“He can’t locate us anymore because I set up a spell to block scrying, but he can guess our destination. Hopefully, he doesn’t know about King Dobry’s support; otherwise His Majesty would have trouble. We’ll find out soon enough, for it will only take us about two or three more days to reach his castle on horses, especially Landsby horses.”
“What’s so special about the horses from here?” Vaun’s voice echoed from inside his ale cup.
Drath shifted in his seat and took a drink of his ale. “The Landsbyans have made a culture out of horse breeding. To them, a horse is their way of life. They make quite a fortune from their horses, for people come from all over the world, even from across the Sea of Marin, to buy their horses. They treat the animals almost better than they do each other, and train them especially for speed and long travel.”
Vaun now understood why the corral was so large. He had no idea where this Sea of Marin was but guessed it was far away from the way Drath said the name. He belched quietly, wondering why the faces around him were becoming blurred. He hadn’t drunk that much, for his tankard was still half full. Shrugging, he took a deep drink and asked for more information about their enemy. He didn’t notice Drath pour him more ale from the pitcher.
Merdel answered this next question. “The worst thing about Elak is that he’s power hungry. I remember him mumbling in his sleep about holding all the magic of the world in his hands. He’s also extremely dangerous and unpredictable. We advanced at about the same rate during our apprenticeships, but I’m certain he surpasses me in magical strength now. He probably surpasses most magicians.
“Every man’s capacity for magical energy reaches its peak, which prevents any one mage from becoming overly powerful. It’s a sort of constraint put in place by the Great God. With what Elak’s doing, though, he’s gone beyond every limit I know of. I doubt I could stand against him alone, but I’d do it anyway because he threatens existence itself.”
Vaun absorbed this new information. In an attempt to change from such a gloomy subject, for Merdel sat morosely silent, he asked Drath again about King Dobry, wanting to know how he’d heard of Drath and the others and what they’d done in the past. He swallowed another large mouthful of ale, fuzzily wondering how it was still half full.
“We really haven’t done anything all that spectacular.” The others, from their looks and sharp intakes of breath, appeared to disagree with him. “We’ve had our times when we, usually unknowingly, performed some great deed. But we’ve never been driven by such a noble cause as now. We merely seek the thrill of adventure, and when you keep coming back alive, people begin to talk. Dobry probably heard about us from a number of sources and assumed we were the best qualified to take on the burden.” Drath laughed. “And he guessed we were the only ones crazy enough to accept it in the first place. We were, after all, the ones who told him about it.
“He entrusted us with the safety of two worlds and insisted we find someone from yours to help. I’m not sure why, though Merdel says it helps balance the forces that coexist between our world and yours.” At Merdel’s loud throat clearing, Drath sighed. “And he says the Great God wished it, as well.” The tall man rolled his eyes. “At any rate, Dobry will be happy to tell you his own reasons when we get to Bordell, because he wants to meet you. Merdel also says he needs to use the library for some research.”
Drath shrugged at Vaun’s inquiring look. “There’s no telling why Dobry wants to see you, but he’ll probably say something that’ll make you want to swear loyalty to him. He has a way of inspiring men to do anything, and his gentle personality makes him the most popular ruler in the Southern Kingdoms.”
Vaun grinned drunkenly. “You seem to know him pretty well.”
Drath smiled. “Well, I’ve met him once or twice. He also knows my family, which has served him in past troubles.”
Vaun considered that. Drath did have a kind of authoritative air, but Vaun doubted he had any real noble standing. After all, what would a noble, or a noble’s son, be doing wandering the world in search of danger? He’d be too valuable to lose in some crazy adventure. Most likely, his family was one of those that had always been important in the king’s army or as advisors, and the royal line still consulted its old friends in times of trouble. For everyone knows the best advice is given by a friend, not someone who is paid for it.
Vaun contemplated all he’d been told. His head throbbed faintly, and he told himself he needed to stop drinking. But every time he resolved to empty his tankard for the last time, more appeared in it. He was sure he’d finished his ale a few moments ago, but now his cup was almost full again. Shrugging, he continued to drink as his eyes roamed the now-filled tavern.
The place was packed, with several people standing in corners to eat their dinner. The noise from all the talk drowned out the minstrel who’d started playing some time ago. Looking toward one of the windows and seeing dark night outside, Vaun wondered what time it was. That brought to mind another question, and he asked Merdel about the time difference between his world and theirs.
“It’s not really all that different. Our seasons are a bit longer, and we are one ahead of you, as you probably noticed. As far as
day to day time goes, the difference is minimal. Our days are a bit longer by about an hour or two, I think.”
The bearded mage shrugged. “I’m not sure exactly. But like I said, the difference is minimal. The Great God set His creations up to be similar, if not exactly the same. Different peoples, different animals, different rules, but all made of a like essence. You won’t be returning home ten years from now, if that’s your concern. When you get back, it will seem as if you spent the time in your own world rather than another. Understand?”
“Aye.” The youth swayed drunkenly. “I had hoped it was something like that. How long are we going to be here in Landsby?”
“As long as it takes to purchase six good horses and more supplies.” Drath refilled his young friend’s tankard again. The tall man hid a smile at how intoxicated they were making Vaun. “Probably a day or two, maybe three. It all depends on how picky I get and the quality of the horses the sellers have left. The really good season for horses is about over.”
Vaun nodded, and thanked Drath for filling his cup. He’d finally emptied it, and he was still thirsty. That’s how he knew he hadn’t drunk very much. He then ran his eyes over the different faces in the room, surprised at how fuzzy they all were. Didn’t the people in this horse town shave at all? The noise had somehow quieted, and many patrons were embarrassingly drunk.
The minstrel raised his voice until he could barely be heard over the din, singing of adventures and battles Vaun had never heard of. He found the tales intriguing, though, and smiled at the way life seemed to flow together. It was almost as if he belonged here, and if he listened closely he would recognize the stories the bard sang as well as everyone else obviously did. When the scrawny fellow launched into a tale of a Swordsman of long ago, Vaun let his mind drift with the words.
Bonded to their swords, Swordsmen were virtually invincible. No one knew the origin of the Swordsman, and no one knew the details of the Bond with his weapon. Only the Great God, Who knew all things, knew that. Mortals only knew that a Swordsman glided into and out of battle, one with his sword. Wizards throughout history had denied any magical qualities to the Swordsman Bond, yet surely only the Great God Himself could have gifted a man with so much skill, though for what purpose remained a mystery.
Coming out of the song, and despite his blurry vision, Vaun did notice a rather odd group of travelers in the room. There were about five of them, and they sat at a table directly across the room from his own. What caught his eye was the patch one wore and the greasy hair of another. They didn’t seem to be very nice fellows, and they kept glancing at his table. Not thinking it overly suspicious, for Vaun realized he stared just as much, the youth let his eyes return to the rest of the tavern and his mind wander back into the bard’s tale.
Swordsmen had come and gone since the beginning of time. None had lived a quiet life. Some had fought for good, some for evil. All had left their mark on the world. Some had resisted their calling, seeing their skills as more curse than gift. Others had abused their power and sought only destruction. Some claimed this was why no sword had been Bonded in so many ages.
No two Swordsmen had ever lived at the same time, and a Swordsman only Bonded one sword. Still dangerous without it, a Swordsman was said to be “a legion unto himself” with his Bonded sword. A Swordsman knows his sword as one knows a lover, and dances with it as at a wedding feast.
When his gaze swept back to his immediate surroundings again, he noticed the tavern girl who’d been giving him looks all night walking over to his table again. Vaun found his throat dry and drank more ale.
“And would the Swordsman and his friends like anything else?” Her sweet smile made her hazel eyes sparkle warmly as she looked at Vaun.
The drunken youth stared uncomprehendingly at her, not knowing if she’d said that merely to flirt, or if she’d even meant him. His companions had all frozen in place, Thorne with his ale cup halfway to his lips and Rush with his spoon still in his mouth. Hadn’t the elf eaten already? They all regarded each other as if a secret had been given away.
“Ummm…no. No thank you. We have all we need.” Drath smiled at her as he handed her the balance of their bill.
The girl winked at Vaun as she cleared off their empty plates. When she left, everyone at the table popped back into motion, as if released suddenly from one of Merdel’s spells.
Vaun stared after the serving girl until she was lost in the press of tavern goers. “What’d she mean by that?” His voice slurred and sounded a bit too loud, but that didn’t stop him from trying to find out what was going on. He thought her words strange indeed but had really been wondering how to use what she thought of him as a way to pick her up. He shook himself at that, shocked to discover he’d half-risen to try out his method, and sat back unsteadily in his chair, looking to his friends for an answer to his question.
“What did she mean by what?” Drath tried to appear ignorant of what Vaun referred to.
Vaun glowered, convinced Drath hid something. That, and he wondered if Merdel had put another spell on him, despite the wizard’s promise not to. “You know exactly what I mean. She called me a Swordsman!”
“Keep your voice down.” Drath glanced around to make sure no one had heard the outburst. “Rumors of Swordsmen spread quickly, and false ones tend to bring bad luck on those believed responsible for them. To some, lying about being a Swordsman is a worse crime than being one.”
“I know that. But she still called me one.”
“I believe you, but I don’t know why she said it. Perhaps she was only flirting.” The tall man shrugged. “Maybe you should go ask her.”
“Thash a good idea.” Vaun lurched up to go after her but didn’t make it halfway out of his chair before the room swayed unnaturally. Anger rose momentarily at the impudence of the room in trying to keep him from talking to this girl, but it was quickly followed by a wave of nausea. Clutching his head, he lost his balance and fell, banging his forehead on the table top as he went down. He had a brief glimpse of Dart handing something shiny to Rush before the world exploded.
* * *
Vaun’s face was pinched in a painful grimace when he came down for breakfast the next morning. Awakened by a vicious headache, he discovered Drath had let him oversleep and dressed hurriedly to make up for the lost time. He attempted to straighten his disheveled clothing, but his head protested the extra movement. He had an ugly knot in the middle of his forehead whose origin he couldn’t figure out. He felt ready to face the new day, however, if he could stand the grin on Thorne’s broad face. The dwarf was the only one he recognized at the table. None of his other friends were present.
“Happy Birthday, Vaun Tarsus.” Thorne smiled even wider. The other people sitting nearby smiled at Vaun and murmured similar greetings. The dwarf seemed terribly amused at something.
Vaun grinned wryly, making his head pound even more. His mind tried to replay what he’d done last night, but he found the memory too painful to hold. He also found that pieces of it were missing, and those pieces struck him for some reason as important. He did, however, thank the dwarf for his dubious gift and realized he’d forgotten that yesterday was his birthday.
Thorne smiled again. “No need to thank me. ’Twas Drath’s idea. He felt, as did I, that every man should get excessively drunk when celebrating his survival for another year.” He paused. “How’s your head?”
The dwarf’s grin stretched across his entire face while the others at the table began sniggering and laughing. Vaun winced in embarrassment and swallowed several times in an effort to find his voice, which was noticeably strained. “Could you cut it off for me?”
Thorne nodded. “I could, but then we’d miss all the fun.” He couldn’t hold back anymore and bellowed with laughter, as did the men around him. They all consoled the young man about his hangover and assured him it would pass. Some even suggested drowning it with more ale. The thought of that nearly made the youth vomit on the spot.
As Vaun lowered hi
mself gingerly into a seat across from him, Thorne nudged him. “Soon as you finish your breakfast, we’ll head t’the market. Drath’s assigned us to gather travelin’ equipment, while he and Merdel get some horses. They left earlier, as did Rush and Dart.”
Vaun nodded and looked down at the stew placed before him. He had to suppress a convulsive urge to retch and turned it into a belch instead. He heard a few people chuckle, but couldn’t risk the pain it’d cause his head to see who it was. If this was what it was to be an adult, Vaun decided he’d rather remain a teenager forever. Inhaling deeply to calm his stomach, he discovered his body odor was nearly enough by itself to make him vomit. He decided he needed a bath and a very long nap as soon as possible.
Vaun tried to eat quickly but found his stomach wouldn’t let him. If he put two spoonfuls of stew into his mouth at once, he had to fight to keep it in. Thorne noticed this and told him to take his time, since they weren’t planning to leave until the morrow. Vaun sighed gratefully and went back to eating slow enough to appease his delicate insides.
When he was almost done, it surprised him he’d been able to eat all of it. Thorne handed him a pouch that clinked. While the high-pitched noise sounded somewhat appealing, it pierced Vaun’s ears terribly, and he grimaced.
Thorne shook his head knowingly. “Drath wanted me t’ give you that, since you don’t have any money. He said you were welcome to buy whatever struck your fancy, but to be aware that you no have an endless supply.”
Vaun murmured thanks as he finished his meal and had to bite down hard on a surge of nausea. Swallowing roughly, he wondered if that were any indication of how his day was going to be. The town smelled of horses and precious little else. The aromas of horse sweat, horse dung, and anything else even remotely associated with horses permeated Vaun’s hungover senses. It wasn’t a truly bad smell as much as it was completely overwhelming.
The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) Page 10
