Drath suddenly hated his father, and hated himself even more for feeling it. He knew those voices did not belong to his beloved father but could not control the feelings the words evoked.
* * *
Lymon, or whatever had taken control of him, began to laugh. It was the same laugh as before, only it echoed around the room in a chorus of malevolent voices. It rang loud against the walls of the old house, making them rattle and quake, as if the house itself feared what was inside. The companions backed away, trying to escape the fear rising in each of them. They all knew the voices had only wanted to frighten them into forgetting their quest, and though they ordinarily would have welcomed the challenge, the malice and power in those voices put the desire to flee deep into their hearts.
The old wizard’s body flew backward out of its chair, toppling it, and he crashed into the wall behind him. The laughing had stopped, replaced by dead silence. The fire in the hearth blazed high once again, then died completely without even a trace of smoke. The world itself seemed to hold its breath, and each person in the room could feel the presence behind the voices leave. Even then, they still dared not breathe.
Hesitantly, driven by a need to know, Merdel approached the body of his old friend. The others followed a couple of steps but were too afraid to move closer. Merdel knelt down before Lymon, muttering prayers that had no meaning for him now, and the old wizard raised his head. His eyes were clear now, though they didn’t sparkle as they used to. His mouth moved as he tried to speak.
No words came, only a thin trickle of blood escaping from between his lips. Desperately, he thrust a crumpled parchment into Merdel’s hands, still trying to speak but unable to make even the smallest of sounds. His head dropped onto his chest, and after a moment Merdel reached out to place two fingers on the old man’s neck. He jerked his hand away as if burned, and realized as he at last felt the magic at work what was happening.
“Go!” He rose quickly, shoving the others to the door. His companions obeyed wordlessly, still stunned by what they’d heard. They paused only long enough to snatch up their cloaks as they scrambled for a way to exit the place where they’d felt so much terror.
Once outside, they turned toward the house in time to see fire erupt inside. The flames seemed to spurt out of Lymon’s body, and quickly spread to the books and scrolls lying around him. With such excellent fuel, the house soon became an inferno. The companions backed away from the heat and flames and watched helplessly as Lymon and all his knowledge burned to ash.
“Stone and burning ice! What was that?”
Merdel shrugged. “I don’t know. Something very evil and very powerful.”
“Was it Elak?” Vaun looked terrified, as they all did. Even Rush and Dart were too scared to comment or wager on what would happen next.
“No.” The wizard was trying to take the fear out of his voice, but it wouldn’t leave. “That at least I do know. It was something else. Something far worse.”
Drath swallowed a lump in his throat. “Could it have been that thing Lymon was trying to tell us? That aid Elak has summoned?”
Merdel never took his eyes off the blaze. “Most likely. I didn’t recognize the magic it used, so I have no idea what it could be. Lymon obviously did, and he was afraid it would track him. That was why he was so nervous. I’ve never seen him as agitated as he was tonight. Whatever he had found also found him.” The flames illuminated the wizard’s dark eyes as he at last faced them. “Now we’ll never know what Lymon was trying to tell us.”
Village folk gathered around, inquiring as to the cause of the fire. As flames completely engulfed the house, its timbers started to weaken, and the structure gradually crumbled inward on itself. Fortunately, it stood far enough away from any other house that there was no danger of the fire spreading, but then again the buildings were all so wet they probably wouldn’t have burned. That, however, did not keep Lymon’s home from dying in a conflagration of greedy flames, flames that seemed unnatural as they ate not only the house and the old wizard, but the secrets he’d held as well.
Suddenly, Vaun’s side began to itch terribly, and Song-induced instinct drove him to draw his sword and whirl to block the thick-bladed scimitar sweeping for his head.
The impact jarred all the way to Vaun’s shoulder. He knew from that instant of contact that the man wielding the scimitar weighed twice as much as he did and had the strength to match. He could also tell he was quite nimble for his size.
* * *
The attacker was surprised he’d been discovered before he could strike the youth down, for he and his companions had waited until the wizard had turned back to watching the house burn before making their move. It was almost as if the fire-cursed Ramener had known he was coming. They’d all heard he was good, but Cortel hadn’t realized just how good.
Now the burly man found himself being overwhelmed by a whirlwind of black and white steel. He’d never seen anyone so fast, and it was all he could do to keep from being slashed open within the first few seconds.
* * *
The blade of his attacker’s sword was rusty toward the hilt, and the edge needed sharpening badly. There were several nicks in it that were years old, and polish hadn’t touched the sword since before some of those nicks were made. Vaun was disgusted as always when he encountered someone who mistreated his weapon so badly, and his fear turned slowly into fury. The Song pushed him on, and the Rhythm fueled his ire.
* * *
Cortel couldn’t believe this young man deflected his best strikes with what seemed so little effort. Just when he thought he had him, the scrawny youth would dance aside and that Vaulka would slap his blade so hard he nearly lost his grip. If he hadn’t been fighting him, he knew he’d be standing back and watching in awe. Most men stumbled or charged into battle. This one floated.
* * *
The only warning Drath had of the attackers was Vaun spinning to deflect the sword that nearly took the youth’s head. After that, three men charged him and Thorne, who stood close by. He forgot his fear in the rush of combat and reveled in this chance to prove his worth. Only he wasn’t sure just whom he had to prove himself to.
Thorne turned when Drath did and immediately pulled free his hammer. He didn’t wait until the men reached him, but instead charged directly at them, bellowing a fierce dwarven battle cry. It served to push down the fear that had clogged his throat only moments before.
Dart was too busy wondering why he hadn’t heard the men approach to bother with saving his own life. Rush was forced to save it for him as he dove at the man trying to skewer his gaping cousin. His elven shortsword slapped his opponent’s short-handled pike aside, though not enough for it to avoid gashing his left thigh. Dart recovered his surprise as his cousin’s blood splattered his face, and he drew his sword and leapt into the fray.
Merdel began calling forth his power as soon as he heard the first ring of steel on steel. He didn’t need to see his enemies to strike at them; his spell would find its mark. Anger surged up from underneath the fear implanted by Lymon’s death, and two men died before coming within ten paces of the bearded mage.
* * *
The Song drowned out the sound of the evil voices laughing at Vaun and his abilities, and the Swordsman lost himself in the embrace of combat. He flowed from strike to block to counterattack and felt satisfaction as his woven blade sliced through bone. The scream of the big man as he clutched the stump of his right arm changed the tempo of the Song, providing a nice transition as the Swordsman engaged the other men attacking his friends.
Two men with longswords pushed Drath back several steps. They struck at him from both sides, their swords hunting for an opening in the tall man’s defense. Thorne’s charge was cut short by a battle axe taller than he was. The double-edged weapon would have cut him in two, had it not been for the dwarf’s quick reflexes. He knew he could never halt the weapon’s course—the man wielding it was far too strong—so he flattened himself to the ground instead.
Rush stumbled as he dodged another slash at his midsection, the cut on his leg hindering his usual agility. The point of his opponent’s pike missed him by mere inches, and to halt the return strike, which would surely kill him, he flung a dagger into the man’s scarred face.
Having no chance to deflect or dodge the weapon, the man screamed as the elf’s dagger embedded itself in his left cheek. Dart cut his cries short by stabbing him through the heart but saved his satisfaction for later as the remaining bandit launched himself toward the elven tracker.
Merdel mourned the loss of his staff, which he’d foolishly discarded some weeks ago, as the shield protecting him weakened. He’d tried unsuccessfully to step inside one or the other of his opponents’ reach to knock his weapon away, but he’d been shoved back by hand or steel each time. The last time he’d tried, one of his opponent’s swords had penetrated his shield and sliced his right side, telling him just how weak he was becoming. If this went on much longer, he would never find out if what Lymon had told him was true.
Drath yanked his sword out of one attacker’s chest only to find the sword of another bearing down toward his head. The wound in his leg, given him moments ago by the man he’d just killed, prevented him from leaping aside, so he could only watch the steel descend.
Just before the edge claimed his life, however, a blur of movement passed in front of him. As it passed, his would-be killer gurgled in agony and fell dead to the ground, his throat slashed all the way across his neck. Drath didn’t need to look to know who it was that saved him.
After eliminating the threat to Drath, the Song transitioned into the next movement, the axe-wielding giant trying to chop Thorne like a block of wood. The Rhythm guided the Swordsman’s dance into the conflict, and lifted the Vaulka up to knock the strike askew.
Splinters flew from the haft of the big man’s axe as it scraped along the length of Vaun’s sword, and nearly interrupted the flow of the Song with its power. Pushing down his shock, Vaun spun past his new opponent’s return slash, his sword licking out toward the man’s leg.
Cloth parted under the razor edge of the woven blade, and the skin of the axeman’s hairy leg peeled back all the way to the bone. The man grunted in pain, his attack interrupted, which gave Thorne time to step in and smash his skull. The dwarf cursed the hairy fellow as he fell, then turned to thank Vaun for his assistance. But the Swordsman had already moved on to the next verse of the fight.
* * *
Merdel sensed what could only be the power of a Swordsman as one of his two remaining attackers fell dead without a sound. He felt blood spray his face and clothes but was too glad to be alive to be disgusted.
He never saw what Vaun did to the other man; he only knew by the second spray of blood that he could safely lower his magical shield. He had to swallow nausea for the second time and blink away the stars that threatened to steal consciousness. He should’ve never used so strong a spell at the beginning of the combat, and the wound in his side didn’t help matters at all.
* * *
The Song trilled victoriously as another opponent fell, and the Swordsman looked around hastily for someone else to fight. He saw one bandit still alive and started towards him but stopped when Rush jumped on the man’s back and planted a dagger so deep into his skull that Thorne had to come pull it out. Almost disappointed, Vaun relaxed after checking for any more assassins and seeing none.
The Song slowly receded to the back of his mind, and the Rhythm returned his heart to its normal pace. He suddenly felt the slick feel of blood and immediately began cleaning his drenched sword blade. He knew some of his friends were injured, but they would have to wait until his Vaulka had been cared for. The itching in his side at last ceased.
In all, ten attackers lay dead, two so far away from the others it took some searching to verify they were part of the assault. All of them carried a black handkerchief, though none of the party members doubted whose men they were. Looking up, Drath noticed a crowd of village folk huddled nearby, watching the tall man and his companions study the bodies of the men they had just killed. He sighed at the thought of trying to explain what had just occurred. Although Elak’s men were disliked in almost every land, it was generally considered bad etiquette to kill people in someone else’s home. Fortunately, Merdel stepped in front of the crowd and addressed them, giving Thorne time to tend to Drath’s wounds after he had taken care of the elves.
The gash in Rush’s thigh was rather deep, but out amongst all these people and the dead was not the ideal place for Thorne to stitch it closed. Instead he bound it tightly with strips of cloth torn from the dead men’s cloaks, telling the elf to have patience until they reached an inn. Drath had a number of small cuts and one across his chest that would need partial stitching.
Thorne himself had a nasty slice across the back of his left hand that should’ve rendered him unable to use his hammer, but he couldn’t remember feeling pain at any point during the fight. He shrugged it off, knowing combat tended to take all of his attention.
Vaun was unscathed as usual, without even so much as a bruise. He claimed his arms were sore and his wrists hurt from deflecting such powerful attacks, but the way he tended his sword belied his statement. Thorne tried to convince Drath that he wasn’t jealous of the seemingly untouchable Swordsman, and the tall man reminded him that both the Chattul and the Jaga had sunk their claws into him. Still, the young man hadn’t been touched by a sword yet.
For his part, Vaun went about the business of caring for his Vaulka until satisfied it could return to its scabbard. He then helped Dart, who had the most minor injuries of the group besides Merdel, search the bodies of their attackers. Though he expected it, his skin tingled nevertheless at sight of the black handkerchiefs. He could hear several villagers gasp in shock when they saw them, and Merdel was quick to distract them with further talk of what they had come here to do.
As the youth moved over to help Rush stand, the people closest to him backed away and eyed him nervously. He heard whispers that compared his fighting to a dance and the astonished remarks at the absence of any injuries marking his body. He felt compelled to tear open his shirt and show them the three deeps scars embedded in his abdomen but figured it wouldn’t do any good. That, and it was simply too cold.
* * *
After satisfying the townspeople’s curiosity and giving a cursory explanation of the cause of the blaze, Merdel joined his companions in carting off the dead bodies. Daggery’s mayor, a scrawny, shifty-eyed fellow named Lucien, directed them to the village dump. As they labored under the weight of the mercenaries, most of whom were rather large men, Lucien remarked to Merdel that it was a shame old Lymon had been killed. Still, he said, it was almost expected, what with all those lanterns scattered about his books and his leg. Merdel commented it was indeed a sad day for them all, saying that they would have saved Lymon if he hadn’t been buried under falling debris.
Lucien glanced sidelong at Vaun, struggling alongside Drath and Thorne under the weight of the largest attacker. “What ’bout that youth? I ne’er seen anyone fight like ’im. ’Twas almost…beautiful to watch ’im kill. He made it seem so…simple. Know what I mean?”
Merdel nodded, forming his reply carefully. “Aye, I know exactly what you mean. He’s a Ramener, and you know how they are with swords.” Lucien nodded emphatically. “In his village, he’s considered a master.”
Lucien gaped. “But he’s so young. How can that be?”
“With Rameners, who can say?” Merdel shrugged. “He was probably trained as soon as he could walk. He won’t say for sure, not even in all the time I’ve known him. One thing’s for certain, though—I wouldn’t want to anger him.”
“Ice ’n’ wind, you’re not kidd
in’.” The mayor glanced one more time at the dark-haired young man. “You tell ’im we here in Daggery are good people, every one of us. And we’ll do what we can to make his stay, and yours too, as comfortable as possible.” Lucien’s dark eyes slithered side to side, as if hunting for eavesdroppers. “You just make sure his stay isn’t longer’n necessary. I don’ wanna chase you off, but it’s bad luck to have such a slayer in my town.”
Merdel nodded. “I understand. We’re planning to leave at first light.”
The mayor returned the nod, and both men remained silent during the rest of their labor.
As soon as the last body was disposed of, the six adventurers took themselves to the town’s only inn, cheerfully called The Sleepy Sword. Ipeks had a great love for weapons. It was close to midnight, and they were all ready to fall down with weariness.
Thorne asked for hot water to be brought to their rooms, and as soon as it arrived, he immediately began the gruesome task of stitching up the holes in himself and his friends. Rush passed out from the pain, and Drath nearly cracked his teeth from clenching his jaw so tight to keep himself from screaming. The dwarf had to wipe away tears of pain several times while closing the wound in his hand, though he did little more than groan deeply.
Vaun had to go throw up while Thorne tended to Rush, and after that the Swordsman refused to watch and took himself to bed. The others were glad he did, for they, too, had grown uneasy around their Swordsman companion.
“Did you see what he did to those men, Drath?” Merdel raised his head from reading the parchment Lymon had given him and eyed Drath thoughtfully while Thorne dressed his newly stitched wound.
Drath flinched. “Not really. I was too busy trying to stay alive myself. I do know that without his help I might not have lived.”
“Same here. But it’s very unnerving to be close to someone when he fights like Vaun does. He was so quick I never clearly saw anything he did, but I knew from the screams and the blood that he’d saved my life. I don’t truly mind, I guess. It’s just wind-blasted frightening to know he’s so deadly.”
The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) Page 29
