The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm)

by Brian C. Hager

  Despite his prejudice against the city and his insults of Merdel, Drath did manage to tell Vaun a little of Mahal’s sordid past. It started as a small shipping facility and trading post centuries ago, slowly growing with years of successful trade to its current vast size. Being naturally clever merchants, the Mahals had quickly learned the finer arts of negotiation, and some even mastered the more discreet art of piracy. Mahalian pirates, though, were nothing compared to those from Veldan. Legend held that Veldanese pirates could steal goods from a ship guarded by the entire Darim war fleet. Open trade deserved most of the credit for Mahal’s rise to power, which demonstrated just how skilled Mahalian merchants were. Now Mahal was one of the leading trade centers, and despite the corruption inside the city their dealings with other kingdoms, in trade only, had been relatively honest.

  Kings, or emperors as they called themselves, had come and gone throughout the city’s history. Whether by assassination, war, suicide, or just plain bad luck, Mahalian rulers have been notorious for getting themselves killed. Suntikan I, Mahal’s first ruler, seemed to be the only one to have died without controversy, having passed away quietly in his sleep at the age of ninety-eight. Also, he was the only one that can be said to have been truly liked by his subjects.

  “Not that Mahals hate their kings,” Drath told his friend. “They just don’t like some of the stupid things they do. Like impose order on their activities or levy taxes. You know, unfair things like that.”

  Most of the monarchs, though, have been very clever and astute leaders, so Mahal has managed to prosper under them. The large noble families and the immense merchant population have always influenced, one way or another, the rule of the city. But the king, unpopular or not, has always been acknowledged as the supreme ruler. At least until his death. So much political turmoil has occurred inside just one room of the thousand-room palace that Drath abandoned any hope of describing it all to the Swordsman. Vaun found he didn’t regret the loss of information, as what the tall man had already told him made his head swim. He did, however, ask about Merdel and his connection to the city.

  With the wind making low moaning noises in their ears and the other people’s voices a constant, noisy babble, the two friends had to virtually shout at each other to be heard. The snow had slackened since the morning, but the temperature had not. Despite the sun and the progression of the day into early afternoon, it only seemed to grow colder.

  “That’s a tough one.” Drath jostled roughly against a swarthy easterner taller than himself. The lanky foreigner glared down indignantly and called Drath what, in his own tongue, was probably a very bad name. “I don’t know everything, and Merdel would turn me into a toad if I told you all I do know. I can tell you he was Court Wizard for a long time a number of years ago. He won’t even tell me exactly how long ago. He served well, he says, then made a few mistakes and was, shall we say, encouraged to leave. Actually, he was chased, but he likes to say the final decision to leave was primarily his own and one he’d considered for a while before everything happened. Of course, you’d choose to leave, too, if the king had ordered your head served to him on a platter alongside your hands and other essential body parts. That’s about all I can tell you because Merdel seldom talks about it. I don’t blame him.”

  Vaun nodded. “And Thorne?”

  Drath frowned. A snowflake fell and stuck to the corner of his mouth as he turned to look Vaun in the eye, and he licked it away before answering. “Thorne is even more quiet about this than Merdel. I’m sure you figured out by now that his stay in Mahal wasn’t pleasant.”

  “Yes. He was the one Merdel helped escape.”

  “That’s right. I don’t even know why they arrested him, and neither do I know why Merdel decided to free him. All I do know is that the two have been close friends ever since they fled from here together. Don’t ask me any more questions about it, Vaun, please. I know you think we try to hide a lot of things from you, especially Merdel, but this is different. This is private information, and if they want you to know about it, they’ll tell you. It’s not my place. I’m sure you’d say the same about some parts of yourself.”

  Vaun nodded. “Aye. I saw Thorne’s scars when we were in Landsby, and from the looks of them I don’t blame him for being quiet about where he got them. And I’ve forgiven Merdel for being a crabby, tight-lipped old firehead of a mage. Thank you for telling me what you did, though. It helps me understand them a little better.”

  Drath led his companion through the streets as they continued their exploration of Mahal. Worry still coated the tall man’s features even after the amount of walking they did. It seemed he never became too tired to complain about Merdel’s foolishness and his own complacency.

  After seeing perhaps half the city, Vaun and Drath decided to return to the tavern. The Swordsman’s legs felt as if they’d fall off at any moment in protest to his abuse of them. They felt worse than they did after the Jaga clawed him, which made him wonder if he’d be bedridden for a couple of days and limp for several more like he did before. Upon reaching The Silver Platter, they found Thorne absent. Thinking he’d retired to the inn to avoid getting in a fight, the two sat down to a nice early dinner. They ate slowly, conversing lightly as they waited for word from either the elves or the dwarf.

  About two hours later, Thorne came striding gruffly over to their table. Shaking snow from his cloak as he sat, he grumbled a greeting to Drath and the Swordsman. He then immediately filled and drank off a tankard of wine. The blood on his lip and the bruise slowly coloring his cheek below his left eye told them what he’d been doing, and his rough manner persuaded them not to ask him about it. When the dwarf’s meal arrived, he filled his third cup, but savored it this time. Mahalian wine, after all, was very good.

  Finally, when the sun had long since set and the snow began falling heavily again, the wind whipping it about and howling madly down the streets, the elves walked briskly into the tavern and joined the others. The place was as crowded as the night before, so it took the cousins a moment or two to reach the table. But from the identical worried frowns on their angular faces, they could all guess at the bad news.

  They didn’t hesitate after they’d sat down together. “He’s been captured.”

  Thorne’s wooden cup exploded in his fist at the announcement, splashing wine over the table and himself. He ignored it, however, his blue eyes blazing angrily at the foolhardiness of mages. He frowned deeply and picked up the pitcher to drink more wine, muttering that it was going to be a long night.

  16

  FIVE FIGURES MOVED HASTILY THROUGH THE COLD, DARKENED CITY STREETS. The more slender of the front pair flitted with almost feline grace amongst the shadows and blended with them almost to the point of invisibility. His companion, not much shorter than he, moved quite delicately for his broader size, though he could in no way match the other’s skill at concealment.

  The second pair, twenty paces behind the first, was mismatched greatly in size, one considerably larger than the other. The taller one tried desperately to imitate the stealth of his companion, but with only moderate success. The shorter of the two moved with much the same agility as the taller of the front pair, but he did not blend as well with his surroundings as did the other.

  Another ten paces behind these two and on the other side of the wide street stalked a lone figure. A sword made a dark patch on this one’s back, though it hindered his movements in no way as he crossed from one shadowed spot to another. He moved with a fluid grace about him that suggested his skill came mostly from the weapon on his back, but he was still able to remain silent and relatively invisible.

  Snow fell heavily, making the bitter cold that much worse. Though it did mask the sound of their boots as they hurried along the streets, it faithfully recorded their passage, and only covered it up after several minutes. The wind blew strong only in brief gusts but remained a constant presence, seeking the gaps in their clothing and clasping onto their skin with icy hands. Trying to kee
p his teeth from chattering, Vaun squinted across the road as he and his companions halted momentarily. He could just make out Drath and Dart crouched alongside a stack of crates.

  Every fourth one of the tall, worked-iron lampposts that dotted every street of the city was lit, and with the moon only occasionally adding its light the Swordsman could see about as far as the street was wide. Dart gestured strangely with his hands, communicating with Rush far ahead of him. Vaun couldn’t see the blond elf and Thorne, but knew they, too, hid somewhere ahead of him. The youth couldn’t figure out why they’d stopped, and almost moved on without his companions when four guardsmen entered their street. They walked slowly and deliberately, glancing down each side street as they passed by.

  Vaun crouched lower behind the stacks of garbage around him and imagined himself becoming invisible. Dart, with his highly acute senses, must have heard or smelled the soldiers coming and warned Rush. Their system worked well enough for the two pairs but left Vaun to his own resources. His Swordsman’s reflexes served him well enough, but he wished they’d figured out a plan that didn’t leave his nerves on edge. This was the fifth time he’d almost given himself away, and they still had several blocks to cross before they reached the castle.

  They’d decided that the best chance of rescuing the wizard and obtaining Gwyndar’s Wand would come that same night. Scheduled for execution tomorrow, Merdel couldn’t wait for them to develop a better plan. They had surprise on their side, for no one suspected the bearded mage had companions. The troupe that had stopped them earlier must still be patrolling outside the city. Their success would rely on Emperor Quiris’ overconfidence and the elves’ ability to sneak them about.

  The elves reported that Merdel had met with moderate success when he’d gone to see the Court Wizard. Pascor had fallen prey to an unexplained accident a few years before, and his successor, a yellow-haired, greasy Galesian, wouldn’t have known Merdel even if the bearded wizard had given his real name. This had allowed him not only access into the palace but also nearly gained him the wand. The two wizards had been walking to the treasury, the Galesian sorcerer fawning disgustingly over the honor of Merdel’s visit, when a servant came to deliver a message to Culvis and had recognized Merdel. Guards promptly answered the servant’s rather high-pitched screams for help, arresting Merdel and charging him with over two dozen crimes, almost none of which were true.

  After Quiris had gloated in front of the imprisoned wizard, he had invoked Merdel’s previous sentence of death. Merdel’s insistence he was on an important mission did not change the emperor’s mind. The wizard would hang, but he’d have to wait until the morrow, as today was a royal holiday.

  When the elves had related this story to the others, the plan they now executed had been formed and agreed upon. Surprisingly little debate had occurred about how they were to free Merdel. Thorne remained adamant, stating repeatedly that Merdel had to be rescued no matter the cost. He had to repay his debt. The others had readily agreed, though they wanted as little risk as possible. Rush and Dart had already worked out a basic plan, which met with only moderate doubts, and a short discussion put it into motion. Compared to the arguments other, smaller ideas had caused before, this one seemed a miracle of cooperation. Vaun had begun to wonder how the usually argumentative party members had ever accomplished anything, then saw how quickly they banded together when one of their own faced deadly trouble. He had then understood how close they all were and why they had known success in the past.

  Now, as he waited tensely for the guards to pass, Vaun hoped he fit into their mould as well as he felt he did. He still thought of himself as a newcomer and at times questioned how warmly they regarded him. They all obviously liked him, from their continuous support of him when he became upset, and Drath had quickly become one of his closest friends. Though he and Merdel tended to butt heads every now and then, their conversation in Bordell had helped smooth tensions tremendously and the youth discovered he, too, wanted to help the wizard at any cost. He did wish he could avoid paying too high a price, however. When the guards finally turned down a side street, Dart materialized from among the crates and signaled it was safe to continue.

  The elves had taught Vaun only the very basics of their sign language. Almost all he’d learned were Stop, Go, Hide, Danger, and Quiet, as well as a few rudimentary phrases. Despite being relatively simple gestures made to look like insignificant hand movements, Vaun found them difficult to master. He kept forgetting which signs meant what and wondered if he could communicate back. Recognizing them and doing them himself were two different things.

  The Swordsman ducked low and ran swiftly across an open alleyway and into the shadow of one of the city’s largest estates. The nearer they drew to the palace, the more opulent became the houses. Vaun pressed his back into the wall surrounding this particular mansion, feeling the cold, damp stone reassuringly against his back. Despite the secure feeling this gave him, the cold made him wish again that they hadn’t left their cloaks behind. The elven thieves had felt that the garments might hinder their movements. Vaun thought that extreme cold hindered movement even more but had refused to argue at the time. He could handle it, but he wouldn’t like it.

  The Swordsman pushed against the wall just enough to keep himself hidden and prevent his scabbard from scraping on the bare stone. Feeling his sword on his back helped ease his anxiety more, although the frigid blade made him shiver several times. He had considered moving the weapon to his waist, but had immediately rejected the idea as ridiculous. It wouldn’t keep him from sensing the blade, and it seemed more natural strapped to his back.

  The snow had accumulated on the ground shortly after the traffic had stopped, and Vaun found the crunching of it under his boots frighteningly loud. He tried to step as lightly as he could, but each time he planted his foot the cold, white precipitation squelched loud enough to wake the entire city, at least to his ears. Rush and Dart had no problem creeping about soundlessly, and Vaun wondered if they hadn’t discovered some way to steal the noise from nature. Fortunately, the snow was dry, making stealth that much easier. Having to worry about slipping might have prevented him from moving at all.

  As he bolted from behind yet another mansion wall, this one standing at least twice as tall as he, he caught sight of the palace. Dumbfounded, he stopped in the middle of the road. Ignoring Dart’s frantic waves telling him someone approached, he stared awestruck at the building before him.

  The Mahalian palace was absolutely stunning. It dwarfed even the huge estate in front of him, and he saw only a small portion of it. Tall, straight towers topped with gold glistened in the moonlight, the moisture accumulated from the snow dazzling the Swordsman’s eyes. Windows gleamed darkly all along its expanse, and the twenty-five-foot wall surrounding the castle daunted him, though its construction still contained much beauty.

  Every structure and wall aside from the outer one appeared to be made of marble. Most of it looked white, with dark lines of color running through it. He couldn’t tell completely because the moonlight softened them all, but he counted at least six different tones, including grey, blue, black, and a little red. The columns sported the most variety of colors and blended well with the more sedate, solid coloring of the various buildings. Alabaster statues topped the towers and the castle itself, but the distance and the darkness obscured their forms too much for the Swordsman to tell what they were. Vaun even saw the heads of a few statues peeking over the castle wall, resembling extremely tall sentries come to find out who dared to break into their home.

  As the full moon appeared for a brief moment behind the thick clouds, giving him a clearer view of the palace, Vaun remained rooted in place, letting the snow drift over him. He believed he saw the wealth and power of Mahal, indeed of even the world, embodied in this one structure. The thought of entering that monstrosity suddenly frightened him terribly. Surely, no one could easily find one tired, old mage in that place. Hadn’t Drath said it contained a thousand rooms? Fire,
was this going to be difficult!

  Coming back to reality, Vaun distinctly heard the crunch of iron-shod boots on snow-encrusted cobblestones. Panic rising in his throat, he dove for the corner of the nearest building. Misjudging the distance, he crashed head first into the wall, jarring his senses. He clamped his teeth shut to hold in his dinner as the world swam before him. Putting a hand to his head, which ached mightily, the Swordsman peered blearily out from behind a cart resting next to the wall.

  He saw eight guards. No, four. No, eight. Not wanting to risk the visibility large movement would give him, he rubbed his eyes for a moment so he could see just how many guards stood there. His vision cleared enough for him to verify only four, but they had stopped and turned in his direction. All of them looked directly at him from a distance of only twenty paces.

  Fire burn me for a fool. Vaun dared not move, obeying Rush’s earlier command not to do so unless directly addressed by a guard. The elven thief had said that, when looking into shadows, guards typically convinced themselves they’d seen nothing, mostly because they feared something might be there that would cause them to actually do their jobs. Rush didn’t hold guardsmen in very high regard.

  Dimly, the Swordsman noticed his side itched. It only served to remind him how stupid he’d acted. He should’ve been able to do this without putting himself in danger so soon.

  The four heavily armed and armored guardsmen stared toward him a long moment while talking in low whispers. Their black and gold uniforms glistened with moisture in the light of a distant lamppost, and Vaun thought oddly that he found the uniforms quite sharp. If his situation were different, he would like to have one.