The princess refused to look at Vaun, who bowed toward her and said how honored he was to meet her. Everyone else in the room chuckled. Vaun, confused still as to her behavior, sat back down and looked questioningly at the grinning faces around him. He noticed King Dobry regarded him oddly, as if sizing him up all over again. Telling himself he’d probably never understand women, especially this one, he listened carefully as the conversation turned back to the matter at hand.
* * *
Rain sheeted down from the sky in a torrent. It hit the ground in large, fat drops and ran in rivulets into ever-growing pools. It covered everything and was so thick that Vaun could barely see his companions riding in front of him. He peered out from under his deep hood at Merdel and Thorne, their forms shadowed by the wall of water between them and himself. He caught only sparse glimpses of the elves at the front of the party, though he mostly kept his eyes on the treacherous ground before him.
The terrain here was not the gentle, rolling hills of the Midlands that Vaun had become accustomed to. Instead, multiple ravines cut the rocky ground. Most of them were shallow, but a few were quite deep. Because of the rain, the ravines had quickly filled with water and become narrow, swiftly flowing streams.
Thunder boomed distantly over his head, causing Vaun to gaze at the dark sky. He couldn’t see a spot of sunlight anywhere, though it was only midday. The clouds were too thick. Drath, riding beside him, said this was absolutely normal, but the youth still didn’t like it. This much rain, no matter what anyone told him, didn’t seem natural. They were halfway through their third day out of Bordell, and already the Swordsman was uptight. It wasn’t so much the rain that bothered him, as it was what had happened in the city he had just left.
The prisoner wasn’t all that forthcoming, either through loyalty to Elak, which Merdel doubted, or because he didn’t know anything, which the mage figured was the truth. The man had said that he and his companion had been sent to find out if the party members were in the city, and if King Dobry helped them. Town gossip had told them all they’d needed to know, which informed the king that he had only one security breach. Elak had ordered them to murder Princess Tara after learning of the Overlord’s aid.
The man had said he knew nothing about the Jaga or Liskin and had pleaded with them to kill him. He seemed terrified of Elak finding out he’d been captured and had answered questions. In compliance with his request, the mercenary had been hung.
A message had arrived from Darim, telling King Dobry that the traitor in King Celos’s court had not been apprehended, for he’d fled the city once it had become apparent that his king knew about his plots. King Dobry’s reply had been thanks for the information, as well as an apology for doubting the Darim king’s loyalty and for the names the Overlord had called him when all the facts were still unknown.
Tara had remained cold, colder even than the wind that now blew in his face, until the day Vaun left, and he could not figure out why. She was an attractive girl, and he hated to see the way she turned people off because of her short temper. She had beautiful long hair that was more brown than blond and also splashed with a little red. She had the most vivid green eyes he’d ever seen, and they had pierced him since they first set on him. He guessed her to be two or three years younger than he, though she acted as if she were a queen. Vaun couldn’t figure her out and didn’t think he ever would.
The others only snickered when he mentioned her, refusing for some reason to answer his questions about her. Vaun had learned that her mother had died in childbirth several years ago, taking the baby with her, and that Tara was wholly devoted to her father, resembling her mother in that as well as many other things. Trying to dismiss her from his mind, Vaun Tarsus shook water out of his eyes and wiped his forehead.
“Thinking about Tara again.” Drath made it sound more of a statement than a question.
Vaun scowled. “Aye. I still can’t figure out why she was so mean to me.”
Merdel chuckled from in front of him. “She likes you.”
“She what?” The Swordsman couldn’t believe that. He thought the usually intelligent wizard had finally run out of knowledge.
“She…likes…you.” Merdel emphasized each word, speaking as if to a small child. “And quite a bit, from the signs.”
Vaun gaped. “Signs? What signs? The first time I saw her she nearly broke my face. I can still feel the imprint of her hand. And then I thought she was going to slug me when I found her little hiding place. She barely spoke to me, and when she did the majority of her words were ‘Vaun Tarsus the Swordsman.’ She never addressed me by anything else.”
The wizard laughed, as did the dwarf and Drath. “She still likes you.”
“I still don’t believe you.”
Merdel laughed again, while Thorne interjected, “You forget, Swordsman. She probably watched you from the first day you arrived. I doubt she let you out of her sight. And she looked to me like she wanted to kiss you, not hit you. You see, when a girl like Tara takes a likin’ to someone, she usually tries to cover it up, and the best way to do that is to be mean. It happens often and usually ends well.”
Vaun frowned at the dwarf. “I think you’ve been hitting the ale too much lately.” He then frowned deeper as they all chuckled more before turning to survey the rain-soaked world around him.
Hills had sprung up again, and they had to ride up a few in order to avoid the murky, flooded ground between. Trees, mostly maples and oaks, were scattered randomly, most missing at least half of their leaves. The occasional bushes and shrubs looked as ragged as the trees.
The wind picked up and blew the rain under their hoods, forcing the travelers to pull them forward and lower their heads. Vaun thought that if it wasn’t so cold and the wind so bitter he might be able to stand the rain easier. Once they’d passed a particularly difficult area, the youth scanned his surroundings again and noticed what appeared to be a fort situated atop a particularly large hill some distance away. It stood in the very center of the hill’s top, and the sides of the hill sloped steeply up to the high walls. The fort appeared to be made of wood, or at least the wall did, for Vaun couldn’t see the buildings because of the rain.
“What’s that?” He pointed to the structure.
Drath glanced to where he indicated. “That is the Comarch Garrison.”
Noting the strength of the tall man’s voice in identifying it, Vaun guessed the place to be of some significance, and asked why.
“It used to be the most strategically placed building in the world.” Thorne raised his voice over a growl of thunder. “Now, it’s…fallen into disrepair.”
“What do you mean?”
The dwarf shifted in his saddle. “’Tis haunted. At least accordin’ to some.”
“Haunted?” Vaun laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
Thorne shook his head. “Nay. That garrison was built over three thousand years ago by someone familiar with the arts of war. It’s so well constructed that it doesn’t even seem to have aged. Why, it rivals even dwarven architecture.” He held up a thick finger. “Yet many hundreds of years ago a darkness fell over the place. The one hundred men stationed inside all disappeared without a trace, and all who have ventured inside since have ne’er returned.”
Vaun thought he detected a wicked gleam in the dwarf’s eyes despite the rain. “How do you know so much about everything? I mean, you seem to know more about human history than anyone else, and, well, you’re a dwarf. I’m not trying to be rude. I just don’t understand.”
Thorne’s tone relaxed. “Point taken. I’m interested in the history of all the races, particularly mankind. Unlike the elves, who think of no race but their own,” here the dwarf glanced ahead to see if the cousins had heard his jibe, but they had ridden away again to scout their trail, “I want to know as much as I can about the kinds of people who live around me. Most dwarves are like that, though we rarely do more than observe. I’ve spent most of my life travelin’ many lands to learn thei
r histories, and the stories behind the Comarch Garrison are many. Besides, I’m about the only one who doesn’t grow weary of all your stone-buried questions.”
Thunder crashed again overhead, a little farther away this time.
“Go on,” Vaun prodded.
“Nobody knows who built the thing.” Thorne shifted in his saddle so he could look at Vaun. “Though some believe the first settlers of this area did it, long before any real borders were established. It’s placed on a spot where the current borders of Bordell, the Midlands, and Galesia meet. In fact, we’re now in Galesia and have officially left the Southern Kingdoms. Which means we all need to sleep with one hand on our weapons and the other on our purses.” The dwarf winked at Vaun. “The garrison was placed where it is for obvious reasons. Even back then, whoever occupied it could watch over three important lands.”
Thorne had to halt his narration as the party maneuvered up another hill surrounded by its own small lake, then down the slippery, steep other side. When they’d reached firmer, less treacherous ground, the dwarf began where he’d left off.
“I don’t know all the countries which’ve held it in the past, but I do know those who did were able to hold it ’gainst every kind of attack. There’re stories of sieges lastin’ ten years and more, huge catapults and batterin’ rams assaultin’ the walls day and night for months. The tales go on and on and all end the same. The holders of the Comarch Garrison always emerge victorious.” He lowered his voice. “Until that one dark night. ’Tis said the screams of the soldiers echoed off the heights of the Kalt Mountains for three long days.”
Throne grunted and lightened his tone. “But that ’twas centuries ago. None have ventured into it in the last couple hundred years or so, ’cept for the foolishly brave. And as I said, none have come back out.”
Vaun found his skepticism diminishing. “Why?”
As if the answer were obvious, Thorne stated, “’Tis haunted, Swordsman. No one knows who built it, so no one can rightfully claim it as their own. And its tainted history makes everyone swear it is someone else’s, and thus is someone else’s problem to clean up. ’Tis only a building of wood and stone, but it has more control over the hearts of men than most other things. And the vaunted Great God does nothin’. He just lets it sit there and terrify and kill His children.”
Merdel groaned loud enough to be heard over the rain and wind.
Thorne smiled, obviously happy he’d silenced any other protests by the wizard. “Ev’n so, armies and foolhardy adventurers have still tried to get inside. None have succeeded, and the bones of those who have tried run deep into the hills around it. The walls are almost thirty feet high, and twice that much is sunk into the ground. All of it is made from the great stone trees that grow in the Kern Forest, and the walls are reinforced with stone from the Kalt Mountains. It’s outfitted to house just over one hundred men. Some say it is the damned souls of the original hundred who haunt the place, killin’ any who trespass. Though what caused their deaths, those stories no say.
“It has withstood countless sieges and assaults, and the walls’ve never shown damage. Fire failed, stone failed, even wizardry failed to destroy it. Some say ’tis because the place has some spell cast on it, but all wizards have sworn it does not.” Thorne glanced at Merdel to see if the mage wanted to add something, but he was too busy watching the road ahead. “And anyway, ghosts and spirits have no need of magic. Whatever haunts it, the Comarch Garrison has stood invincible and will probably remain that way ’til the end of time. Unless, of course, the prophecy is true.”
“What prophecy?” Vaun shook rainwater out of his gloves. He did this periodically to keep them dry, but they remained so for only a short while until the heavy downpour soaked them again.
“Supposedly, the Comarch Garrison will be destroyed by a whirlwind.”
“A whirlwind?” Vaun couldn’t understand how that would be possible.
Thorne nodded as Merdel quoted, “‘And to a Whirlwind shall fall the Comarch Garrison.’”
The Swordsman looked at the mage curiously. “You sound skeptical.”
“I am. Prophecies are mostly nonsense.”
Vaun nodded, then scanned back the way they’d come. He couldn’t see the structure because of the distance and the rain, but he thought he could just barely catch a hint of its dark shadow standing eternally and indomitably on its hill. It seemed to tell him that it was defiant and indestructible, daring him to try and take it. He felt no itch in his side, but there was a heaviness to the air, though whether from his imagination brought on by Thorne’s tale or some actual presence inside the building, he didn’t know.
The feeling that he would see the building again suddenly overtook him. In response, the Swordsman thought he could hear the Song trill faintly in his head, and he shivered at a strong blast of cold air and a deep boom of thunder in the sky above. Vaun Tarsus shook his head and swiveled back around in his saddle, returning his attention to the road ahead.
* * *
They reached a small town the following afternoon. Rain still plummeted from the sky, though it had slackened a little and didn’t pound on their heads quite as hard as it had for the last several days. A sign had been strewn over the entrance to the town, but Vaun could not read it because of the darkness and the rain. Upon reaching the only inn, whose sign was also obscured, they hurriedly dismounted and gave their steeds over to the two stableboys who came plodding from the shelter of the barn next door. The ragged youths led the horses away, muttering assurances that they would be properly cared for. The travelers then hurried to the warmth and dryness of the inn.
Once the door scraped shut behind him, Vaun hesitated at the entrance to let his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness. He noted the heads of the dozen or so patrons turned toward him and his companions and then away after only a cursory glance. Glad their arrival caused no suspicion, the young Swordsman followed the others as they found a table next to the fire, having hung their cloaks to dry with the other patrons’.
The blaze in the hearth could hardly be called a fire, but because the common room was so small it provided adequate warmth. The patrons were all Galesians, or so Thorne told his young companion, and they all hunched over their tables as if guarding their food and drink. From the stories he’d heard so far about this place, they probably had good reason. All but one had black hair, and that one’s hair was barely light enough to be called brown. Vaun noticed the Galesians had typically pinched faces, as if they were continually plotting something. According to Thorne, they were.
The tavern itself was only large enough for the dozen people in it plus the adventurers, with only one open table. The bar was a small semicircle about twelve feet directly across from the fire, and there was only the bartender and a single barmaid, who looked like the man’s daughter, to serve the guests. From the looks of things, the bartender might have been able to do everything on his own.
Finally out of the rain, the six welcomed the first warm meal they’d had since beginning the second half of their journey. Vaun even drank the ale placed before him, allowing its strength to drive the cold and damp from his body despite his dislike of the drink. After their meal, which hadn’t been all that appetizing when compared to the fare in other inns, Merdel ordered five cups of heated water, causing his companions to grumble irritably and call him unfriendly names.
“I don’t care what any of you say.” The wizard added a fine powder to each of the five cups of steaming water, deliberately not meeting their unfriendly gazes. “Either you drink what I give you or stay here. I’ll not risk repeating what happened the last time we traveled during the rainy season.” He swirled each cup a few times to help the powder dissolve. “And I’ll have you know my mother was a very respectable lady, so you can cease to curse her name.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to enjoy it.” Drath, like everyone else, hated having to drink the foul medicine the wizard prepared but did it anyway. “And I thought you told me you didn’
t know your mother.”
Drath had told Vaun that the last time he and his companions journeyed during the rainy season they had become violently ill. All of them but Merdel, that is. What made matters worse was that they’d been running from enemies at the time and had nearly been killed. Therefore, Merdel did have a point. Even so, they complained bitterly when the mage handed them their drinks.
Vaun Tarsus coughed and spluttered from the taste and grimaced violently, as did his companions. “Why does it have to taste so bad? And why aren’t you drinking any?” The youth looked accusingly at Merdel, trying to make the wizard feel guilty.
The mage grinned smugly, unaffected by Vaun’s harsh look. “Because I don’t get sick. And to flavor it would ruin its effects.”
Thorne slammed his cup on the table, sloshing the warm, foul liquid over his beefy fist. “’Tis a fire-burned lie. Let me tell you somethin’, Vaun. The only reason any medicine giv’n to you by someone tastes bad is because whoever made it does no drink it. If he did, he would’ve found a way to make it easier to stomach. But instead he makes it as foul as possible so he can laugh at anyone foolish enough to do what he tells ’em.” The dwarf pushed his tankard away, as if refusing to drink more of the horrible stuff, then seemed to recall the axe blade that he’d said had missed his head only because he’d sneezed and reclaimed his cup and drank more, albeit grudgingly. Merdel merely smiled to himself, looking for all the world like what Thorne had just said was true.
“Ye be trav’lers, do ye not?” The craggy voice startled Vaun. The Swordsman turned to find a bent old man standing next to him. Vaun didn’t recall seeing him earlier or hearing the door open.
His skin was rough and seamed, stretched taut over his old bones. He walked hunched over a cane as crooked as himself, and regarded the party sharply from deep-sunk, glittering black eyes. Vaun thought they looked like the eyes of a madman. He was dirty and unkempt, and his face showed at least three days’ growth. He’d walked up to their table seemingly from out of the floorboards and smelled like it, too.
The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) Page 26
