The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm)

by Brian C. Hager

  Thorne sighed, obviously displeased but recognizing the logic of his friend’s argument. He pointed at Vaun’s side. “You’re bleeding again.”

  Vaun looked down, then set about removing his shirt and trying to halt the slow trickle of blood that soaked into his bandages. He didn’t want to call Rebbuk to look at it because he couldn’t endure another lecture on the reasons to obey one’s healer.

  Thorne was right, though. If his wound didn’t heal faster, it could be a serious hindrance. And, despite how skilled he’d become with the shortsword after only a day of practice, he would never be able to fight as well as with his Vaulka. Rebbuk had said the wound would only tear open if Vaun moved too roughly, so it might not be too bad after all. Then again, sword fighting involved moving very roughly indeed.

  Merdel regarded his companions with raised eyebrows. “Is it settled, then? Do we go with my plan?”

  The wizard eyed Thorne after receiving a nod from the others, and the dwarf merely stared back. After a hesitant moment, Thorne nodded once, gruffly, and turned away, muttering under his breath.

  “Good.” Merdel headed up the steps to tell Rebbuk they’d be leaving soon. He needed to walk about the town and set a few “traps” in strategic places to aid their escape. Though unwilling to help directly, Rebbuk had suggested several alternatives during the laying out of Merdel’s plan, and his advice had usually been worthwhile. Merdel said Rebbuk had always had a mind for strategy.

  When the wizard left, the others moved slowly about the basement. They had all been locked up in the place for over a week now, and despite the room’s generous size they were growing restless with the confinement, especially now that they had a plan of action. Drath assisted Vaun in the retying of his bandages and shared a few words of friendly advice while Dart prepared the items he’d need during the morrow’s events.

  Thorne paced sourly around the room, muttering about not wanting to leave Merdel’s side and about his desire to kill a few more Mahals. He also fussed about how right everyone else was. Before growing quiet, Vaun heard the dwarf softly vow to himself that he would do whatever it took to ensure the others arrived at the dock and boarded the ferry in time.

  * * *

  Snow fell from the sky, whipped about harshly by the strong wind. The swirling flakes made the snowfall appear far more heavy than it was. It did, however, make walking more difficult, not to mention seeing. Huddled in a large, thick cloak, Vaun reminded himself that, while the snow made his actions more troublesome, it did the same to the Mahalian guard.

  The young man stood in a large crowd that shuffled anxiously forward, each person trying to get a clear view of the scaffold dominating the courtyard. The structure stood in the middle of one of the city’s largest squares. Nearly eight hundred people could fit fairly easily in this square, and half again that number now pushed together on the cobblestones.

  Buildings and stalls marked the edges of the square, and there were a few interspersed throughout the open mainway. Instead of the fountain or statue that the other squares held, this one had a scaffold in its center, and it seemed to Vaun that this made it more popular.

  Snow lay on everything and everyone, but no one appeared to notice it as they waited for the day’s execution. The youth squirmed between two large men, trying to move into position. He still had a while yet, but with the number of people that also jostled for position he figured it would take him some time to reach his destination.

  Drums pounded by strong hands wielding mallets sprang to life, causing Vaun to jerk his head up. They’re starting early! The hanging wasn’t supposed to occur until noon, and that was almost an hour away. It took him a panic-stricken moment to realize the drums only heralded the approach of the executioner.

  The black-hooded, thickly muscled man slowly mounted the gallows and checked the noose and trapdoor, the crowd giving a brief cheer as the door fell open. Resetting the door and finding all else working properly, he descended and disappeared among the cordon of guards on the opposite side. That was where the emperor and the condemned would come from, and the black and gold dressed guards kept the way clear.

  Vaun sighed and went limp, discovering he had been taut as a bowstring. He shifted the shortsword under his cloak to a better position, wishing he had his Bonded sword. Merdel had told him repeatedly that his Vaulka would only be a hindrance, as he’d be fighting in a tight space. Besides, a weapon like that would be recognized easily. Gripping the sword’s hilt with his left hand, he thought about how much he hated this part of the plan, and about how right the wizard had been, again. He was without his Bonded sword, and he discovered its absence made him feel empty and hollow, as if an essential part of himself was missing. The shortsword at his hip felt cold and lifeless, totally opposite to the warm, vibrant feel of his Vaulka. When practicing with the smaller, and to his mind inferior, weapon, he found the Song didn’t come as easily, and the Rhythm continually faded in and out, ruining his flow. That bothered him tremendously. It made him feel as if he was not a Swordsman.

  * * *

  Thorne and Drath had taken the Vaulka along with the rest of their gear to the stables. The two had left Rebbuk’s house separately, and met only at the entrance to the large, rectangular building housing their mounts. They then had to wait for the arrival of the others, which was a considerably long time.

  They appeared like every other traveler reclaiming steeds in preparation to leave Mahal, so their actions and burdens went relatively unnoticed. As long as they didn’t try to steal someone else’s horse, they would be fine. Fortunately, enough space remained on the ferry they needed for Drath to reserve places for them.

  Thorne checked and rechecked the equipment he’d tied onto the steeds, urging the sun faster to the top of the sky. His breath billowed out before his face in large plumes with each frustrated breath he took. He couldn’t keep his hands still, and straightening his clothes over and over again wasn’t enough. He hated waiting and hated not being able to do anything about it. He wanted to act but couldn’t. Retying the blankets to better conceal Vaun’s sword, the dwarf moved on impatiently to another horse. He hated Merdel for making him wait, too.

  * * *

  Dart vigorously rubbed his longbow with a thick rag to keep it warm, for the cold and snow would surely freeze and crack it if he wasn’t careful. After pulling his bowstring through his closed palm to warm it as well, he turned to the half dozen arrows lying nearby, particularly the one with the odd-shaped head and extra feathers. Testing its edge, he took out a small whetstone and honed it to better sharpness. Satisfied, he leaned back against the wall behind him and waited, breathing deeply of the crisp winter air to keep himself calm. Fortunately, the cold masked the smell of the city and its people, making the wait easier. It wasn’t much longer now.

  * * *

  Pushed to and fro in the crowd, Merdel tried to find Vaun. Covered as the young warrior was in a thick cloak, though, the mage doubted he’d find him. He simply hoped Vaun would get into position in time and that his own knowledge of the gallows was still accurate. Thinking of the structure, the wizard studied it along with the rest of the multitude.

  It was a large complex of wooden beams erected over a square platform. Merdel had seen a full score of prisoners executed atop it at once. Built as a permanent place of execution, the Mahalian Gallows differed from other such devices around the world. This one had an enclosed area under it where the implements used to dispose of prisoners were stored. Ropes, axes, swords, even a guillotine, rested in the space below the platform. The trapdoor on which Rush would stand opened into this area, and a clever bed of spikes waited on the ground below it in case the rope snapped. This occupied the wizard’s mind most, and he hoped Vaun would reach it in time. Provided the door still stood in the same place.

  * * *

  Drath sat quietly on a bench outside the stables, hardly listening to the crowd milling about him. He sat a good mile or so from the place of execution, but he heard people tal
king about the upcoming death of his friend as if it was something important to see. The pleasure Mahals took from seeing the death of others disgusted him, as it did all the party members. Vaun had looked ready to vomit when Merdel had told him how many people would be at the event and why. Drath heard only a constant murmur as the city-goers went about their business, but he knew they all discussed the same thing. Today, an enemy of the emperor, and hence of all Mahal, would die.

  * * *

  Vaun tensed as the drums began again, this time signaling the approach of Emperor Quiris and the condemned. Parting as if by magic, the guards and the crowd moved aside as their ruler advanced upon the scaffold. Regally mounting the steps, his black and gold embroidered robes flying in the wind which made the red crow on the breast seem to be in flight, Quiris stepped to the edge and addressed the throng before him.

  “Good people of Mahal!” The crowd hushed, allowing the emperor’s lilting voice to carry easily. “Today, our kingdom will again be victorious over those who threaten us and break our laws. This criminal...this elf,” the word brought a gasp from the onlookers, for no one had known the condemned was an elf, “dared to enter our fair city and invade its castle. After foully murdering several of our loyal guardsmen, wrecking our beautiful palace, and freeing several criminals, he was caught, as all criminals in Mahal are caught.

  “Despite thorough questioning, he refused to divulge the names and whereabouts of his evil accomplices. One can only imagine the dark oath this man swore to his fellows to keep silent. Such devotion is to be admired, but only in those who obey the law. Now this black-hearted elf shall no longer disgrace us, as he is to die for his arrogance and cruelty. Let this example remind all those who dare to oppose Mahal of the fate that awaits them.”

  When the emperor finished, he raised his arms and embraced the crowd’s cheers. Mahals never particularly liked their rulers, but they adored executions. And this one was an elf. This was indeed a day to be remembered.

  Quiris left the platform and placed himself amongst his guardsmen, the two Black Guard moving up protectively behind him. He watched proudly as two guards half dragged, half carried Rush up the steps to the noose waiting for him. In response to the tenseness that arose in the crowd, the drummers began a low, steady roll.

  Vaun shuffled to within twenty feet of the scaffold. He studied its sides, trying to find the door that led under it. In horror, he realized he was on the wrong side, and Rush was only moments from death!

  Desperately, the Swordsman pushed through the crowd. He ignored the insults people shot him as he shoved past them. He glanced hurriedly at the scaffold in time to see the executioner move away from Rush. He paused, aghast at the sight before him.

  * * *

  Rush stood with his hands tied behind him, looking at a spot just over the heads in the crowd fifteen feet below him. Despite the bruises and cuts on his body, he stood proudly erect, defiant of his impending death, his ears deaf to the execution drum roll. He didn’t feel the rough cord of the rope around his neck. He didn’t feel any fear of his upcoming death, always accepting that his time would eventually come. This trait was a rare one for an elf, as they were a rather long-lived race. Rush himself was nearly two centuries old and still considered young.

  Nevertheless, he allowed himself a small smile of triumph at the thought that, despite his capture, he’d still succeeded. He only hoped his companions remained in the city long enough to reap the reward his sacrifice would bring. Like Quiris had said earlier this morning, he expected his friends to attempt a rescue, and he also believed they would not succeed, just as the monarch did. The security surrounding this event was too good. Of course, people had said the same thing about rescuing someone from the prisons and stealing from the treasury, but even Dart would bet against the luck one would need to defy Mahal’s reputation so many times in a row.

  No, Rush prepared himself to die, whispering prayers to the Great God in thanks for his life and the opportunities he’d been given to serve, and wished only that his companions had not yet fled the city. They could surely gain access to his body before the guards destroyed it, and then they could continue their journey with a weapon to use against the Dark Wizard. Resigned now and feeling victorious, Rush almost welcomed the noose around his neck. He’d done what he was called to do, and it was time for him to move on to another place.

  * * *

  The drums built to a crescendo as Dart strung his bow and fitted an arrow with a quarter-moon-shaped head and two extra feathers to help stabilize its flight. From three blocks away on a rooftop, he drew the arrow back until those goose feathers tickled his nose. Holding the bow steady, he took careful aim and waited.

  A gust of wind sprang up, causing the elf to have to adjust his aim. He squinted, bringing the fibers of the hanging rope into sharp focus. Distractedly, he admired the closeness of the weave. It was a strong rope but would part easily under the honed edge of his arrowhead.

  * * *

  Building steadily, the drums rose in volume until the snow vibrated on the ground. Just as the wood under Rush’s feet reverberated the noise, the drummers pounded one strong beat and stopped. On that beat, the hooded executioner pulled a lever, releasing the trapdoor.

  The noose around his neck grew taut an instant before Dart’s arrow sliced neatly through it, plunging Rush toward the spikes waiting below him. He faintly heard wood breaking; then Vaun appeared, catching him mere inches from the foot-long steel spikes.

  “’Bout time you got here,” he said as Vaun lowered him safely to the ground and cut his bonds.

  The Swordsman handed the elf his shortsword and drew his own. “’Bout time you told us where you were.”

  They both heard the shouts and curses as the realization of what had happened passed through the crowd. Before they could turn around, three guardsmen appeared in the doorway Vaun had broken through. Both could see more guards behind those. Vaun’s side began to itch mightily.

  Leaping eagerly to the attack, the guards charged Vaun and Rush. The space under the scaffold was large enough for almost half a dozen of the black and gold dressed guards, but the instruments of death scattered around hindered their movements. Unfortunately, they also hindered Vaun’s and Rush’s attacks as well.

  Vaun jumped to his right out of the way of a guard’s lunge and slashed at the man’s back. He knew he’d cut the man but couldn’t feel it through the cold, dead steel of the shortsword as he did through his Vaulka. Although that feeling disturbed him, he found he missed it terribly. He could only rely on the jarring impact of steel on flesh or actually seeing it to know whether or not he’d hit his target. Since he rarely ever saw his blade make contact with anything, he wasn’t sure how well he’d survive this battle.

  The guard gasped in pain and crashed into a shelf stacked with hammers and nails used to repair the scaffold.

  Rush sliced one guard’s knee and rolled easily out of another’s path. He ignored the stabbing pain that brought to the wounds on his back, concentrating instead on staying alive long enough to escape. There didn’t seem to be any way for that to happen, though, as a host of guards blocked the only door. Suddenly, the wall behind him exploded outward.

  Flinching under an overhead strike that would’ve split him in half had it not been for the low ceiling, Vaun charged with Rush through the hole Merdel had made. Glad he’d listened to Merdel about the swords, Vaun grabbed Rush and yanked him to the left, flinging them both headlong into the dazzled crowd.

  * * *

  Quiris fumed. Never before had the same people thwarted his rule so many times. That elf had given no information about how many companions he had or what they wanted, no matter how they’d tortured him. He knew Merdel had wanted Gwyndar’s Wand but couldn’t think why. After all, the bearded mage had scoffed at it and said it held no power. Now it seemed as if a dozen or more people risked their lives to save this elf, and all for a completely useless wand. Once they were all captured and executed, Quiris would have
to get Culvis to reexamine that wand. The fool wizard should be here now to combat Merdel’s magic, but he was far too squeamish to tolerate a hanging. His guard should still be able to capture these renegades without him, though.

  * * *

  Merdel created another bright flash of light and thunderclap in the middle of the startled crowd. People scattered, screaming, hampering the efforts of the guardsmen who tried to restore order and capture their prisoner. Smiling in satisfaction, for he’d seen Vaun and Rush safely reach the street they needed, the mage bolted down an alley and headed for the stables. He hoped the Swordsman could remember the route Thorne had drilled into him the night before.

  Rush finally gained his own footing and shrugged off Vaun’s grip. The youth had dragged him down half a dozen alleys before the elf could stagger to his feet. He and Vaun raced down a narrow street toward where Drath and Thorne waited.

  * * *

  Shoving his guards in all directions, Emperor Quiris demanded the prisoner and his rescuers be captured and killed at once. Those who let them escape would find their own necks in a noose. Urged on by the emperor’s threats, which they knew not to be taken lightly, the guardsmen charged after the fleeing comrades. As his soldiers finally obeyed his orders, Quiris cursed the arrogance that had allowed him to neglect placing guards in the other squares and at the ferry at the same time that he justified it by recalling that no one had ever escaped the wrath of the Mahalian throne.