The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm)

by Brian C. Hager

  The sounds of the youth’s fall had drawn the attention of the patrol camped in a nearby cave. Rush had followed Vaun down in an attempt to save him, with the others trailing a good thirty paces behind, but the elf had changed tactics once Vaun hit the boulder and the patrol had revealed itself. Drath, Merdel, Dart, and Thorne had quickly halted their own pursuit and disappeared behind the rocks around them.

  Rush had then started climbing silently up again, and had maneuvered directly above the five mean-looking mercenaries descending on Vaun’s position. Kicking small rocks and pushing larger ones, the elf had started a small avalanche that had panicked the soldiers enough to make them disregard what they’d heard.

  And so, after several more hours of searching, Rush had at last found an unguarded entrance. The closer they came to the walls of the fortress, the more guards appeared. It seemed they couldn’t take twenty steps without having to hide from another patrol, all in groups of five or more. One group of ten had almost spotted Thorne ducking behind a boulder until Rush, hidden by his chameleon ability, had thrown dirt into their faces. Spitting and cursing, the guards had checked where the dwarf had stood, but found nothing. Rush had given Thorne enough time to find a better hiding place. Merdel had refused to use magic at all during their trek, claiming that such would instantly alert Elak to his presence.

  Rush had then suggested he explore alone and had left the others hidden in a cave that was little more than a split in the seam of the mountain. While they waited, the group ate the last of their provisions, deciding they could always hunt for more when they were through and that they needed all the strength they could muster for what lay ahead. None of them mentioned the possibility of not needing food because of failure.

  After over an hour of tense waiting, the five adventurers cramped together in the tight wedge of stone had sighed gratefully when Rush returned with good news. That was until he’d told them his way in.

  The smell reached them long before they came within sight of the only safe entrance into Elak’s fortress. Vaun had to swallow hard to keep from retching, and Thorne swore rather nastily that even a Septen slave ship smelled like roses compared to this. And Rush expected them to crawl through that? Surely the elf had gone mad!

  No matter what anyone said, though, Rush insisted the sewage tunnels were the only unguarded passages. Drath said this was because no sane man would dare venture into such a filthy place willingly, and everyone agreed with him. But they all knew the necessity of getting inside undetected and putting a stop to Elak’s madness, so they ignored the stench as best they could and forced themselves to continue.

  After Rush had picked a lock the size of his head and Drath and Thorne lifted aside the heavy iron grating that closed off the tunnel, the six adventurers crept into the Dark’s Wizard’s canyon home.

  21

  “STONES, THIS PLACE STINKS!” Despite the number of times he’d already said it, Thorne still received the same grunts of agreement from the rest of the party. Someone coughed and spit into the filth at their feet, and another person nearly vomited at the wet, smacking sound made by the wad of mucus.

  “Please don’t do that, Drath.” Vaun could barely hold in what little he’d eaten earlier. “I can barely stand this place just by itself.”

  All manner of waste caked the walls or ran in an ankle-deep stream at their feet. Even the air itself seemed heavy with the filth.

  Thicker than the horse stench in Landsby and more cloying than a Tarquonese harlot’s perfume, the air in the tunnels kept all the party members breathing shallowly and with their mouths open. Vaun felt sure it would take a week of steady bathing to rid himself of the smell that saturated his skin.

  Fortunately, the torch they used to light their way burned fitfully, so the young Swordsman couldn’t get a clear view of what he sloshed through. If he had, he would surely have lost all control and vomited on the spot. The flames from the torch looked dampened by the closeness of the air and even by the stench. The greasy yellow light played sickeningly over the slimy walls, making Vaun glad he still wore his gloves. He’d probably throw them away once this ended, even though they were still in good condition. Losing a good pair of gloves, however, was better than touching the walls with his bare hands. He might have felt compelled to cut off his hands if he had.

  He knew he had to either shave his head or wash his hair thoroughly for about a week when he returned home, because the one and only time his head had brushed the low ceiling his hair had pulled away with a disgusting sticky sound. He, like Drath and Merdel, had to walk almost doubled over, which made him almost wish to be as small as an elf or dwarf for a change. At least then he wouldn’t have a slimly spot in his hair.

  “Fire and ice!” Vaun clutched Thorne’s brawny forearm as the dwarf saved him from falling on his face. That was the third time he’d slipped since entering the tunnels, and the only satisfaction he felt at having to be rescued yet again was that he’d already kept Drath and Merdel from falling into the filth themselves.

  Thorne spat. “This stuff’s slicker’n a Galesian’s head.”

  Rush turned slightly back towards them. “And almost as smelly.”

  Time seemed suspended in this darkness, so Vaun wasn’t sure how long they’d been exploring the sewers. It could be the next day, or they could’ve only just begun. Neither could he tell where they headed, for every inch of the nasty walls looked the same to him. They could be traveling in circles, for this was the third right turn in a row, or Elak and all his evil could wait around this next corner. Hopefully, Rush and Dart could lead them where they wanted to go, but despite the elves’ constant reassurances that they moved in the right direction Vaun thought he’d die of old age in this unwholesome place. Either that, or the smell would kill him first.

  Light may have been absent in the tunnels, but sound existed aplenty. They could all hear water dripping every time they stopped long enough for the elves to reject or accept the next side passage. Their breathing sounded shallow and forced, as if the unclean air slowly choked them.

  The wet, squishing their boots made as they sloshed through the putrid filth beneath them made the food they’d eaten sit heavily in their stomachs. On those rare occasions when someone spoke, the tunnels gave his voice such a hollow, ghostly sound that goose bumps sprang up on everyone else’s skin. None of them wanted anything more than to just get out of these nasty tunnels.

  * * *

  Merdel hadn’t paid much attention to where they went, trusting the elves’ thieving senses to guide them truly. It did seem, however, that the elves bypassed several upward-sloping branches just to take the ones to the right. But Merdel didn’t really care, so long as he got a chance to wrap his hands around Elak’s scrawny neck. What occupied the wizard’s attention was the aura of power that slowly grew and pulsated around Vaun.

  He’d noticed it once they left sight of the tunnel entrance and the last rays of the setting sun didn’t obstruct his vision. He’d glanced behind him to make sure Vaun and Thorne stayed with them and had seen a faint blue glow surrounding Vaun. It strengthened when they took certain turnings, and dimmed on others until they turned back. How odd!

  Merdel guessed this had something to do with the impatience that had gradually sprung up in the Swordsman, and became convinced even more that the Great God had led him to choose such an unlikely person to aid their quest. Smiling mischievously in the ugly yellow light of Drath’s torch, Merdel thought that Elak had trouble coming upon him.

  “We’re stoppin’.” Thorne’s already deep voice was made even more so by the echoes in the tunnel.

  “Did Rush finally fall down a hole?” Vaun’s impatience had turned to irritation at being in the tunnels so long.

  “We can only hope so.” Thorne ignored Vaun’s biting tone. They all grew weary of this place.

  Several minutes passed before Drath told them quietly that Rush had called a halt because they’d reached the castle and that Dart had crept on ahead to scan for enem
ies.

  Everyone sighed gratefully and began checking weapons and equipment, making sure everything was ready for the battle that was sure to come. Merdel, quivering in anticipation of confronting Elak, reached down yet again to make sure Gwyndar’s Wand was still safely tied to the inside of his belt.

  Gasping, he jerked his hand away from it, wondering why his fingers felt like they’d been burned. He looked at them and could see tiny red spots that throbbed painfully. Frowning in puzzlement, he felt the outside of his belt for additional heat, concerned that the rod would burn through the leather. Oddly, though, the leather felt cool to the touch, as if it held ice inside. Even more confused, he reached tentatively behind the belt again and felt the heat radiating from the wand from a few inches away. He couldn’t guess at the cause and didn’t have time to worry over it. What mattered now was getting inside and finding Elak.

  * * *

  Thorne glanced over at Vaun and saw the feral intensity in the Swordsman’s eyes. The dark-haired youth crouched in his familiar explosive fighting stance, only this time he wasn’t relaxed, and his hands clenched and unclenched before him. His right hand jerked convulsively toward the hilt above his right shoulder, telling Thorne more than anything else that Vaun ached to finish their quest.

  Fighting down the urge to step back, Thorne laid a hand on Vaun’s left arm. “Easy, lad. We’re almost there. Don’ spoil our one advantage by actin’ too soon. We need all the surprise those stone-brained elves can give us.” The dwarf tightened his grip on his companion’s arm, wondering if he could really hold him if he tried to run. “And besides, you can’t have all the fun.”

  Vaun didn’t look at him, but the dwarf could tell by the minor shift in his stance that the youth had heard him. The corners of Vaun’s mouth twitched once with his effort not to smile at Thorne’s joke; then the rest of his body relaxed slightly. Hopefully, Vaun could remain calm until they drew so close that surprise didn’t matter. Then he could set that frustrated energy free all he wanted.

  A few minutes later, Dart returned and told them that the tunnel opened into a circular room with other sewage tunnels around this one. There was only one door, and the grate covering the tunnel entrance was securely locked. The room itself was empty, and he’d heard no one moving about beyond the exit. Nodding satisfactorily, Rush moved past his cousin to go unlock the grate, the others behind him.

  * * *

  Stepping out of the dank tunnel into the light of the room’s oil lamp, the six adventurers squinted in the sudden brightness. Vaun never felt so happy to leave a place. The air in the anteroom didn’t improve much over that of the sewer, but the light burning untainted looked magnificent. The Swordsman couldn’t open his eyes for over a minute when he first stepped out and blinked repeatedly to better let them adjust. When he could see clearly, he took stock of himself and his companions.

  Rush and Dart busily inspected the stout oak door across the room, Dart with his ear pressed to it and Rush intently studying the double-sided lock while searching through his wide assortment of picks. Thorne stood with one foot propped on the other, scraping off the muck caked on his boots and muttering about how little he thought of people who took such bad care of their tunnels. The darkness and closeness of their road into the fortress hadn’t bothered the dwarf as much as the others, since he’d grown up in places much like them. What did bother him, though, was the condition of the tunnels, for dwarves greatly respected all passages underground. Stories told that they kept theirs almost as neat as the citizens of Darim kept their streets. “A tunnel is like a woman,” one old dwarven saying claimed. “If you don’t care for it, it’ll smash your head.”

  Merdel had taken out Gwyndar’s Wand and the parchment Lymon had given him, still trying to make sense of them. Strangely, the wizard never touched the wand with his hands, and after studying both for several minutes he stuffed the wand back behind his belt, careful to pick it up with a rag wrapped around it. The parchment he tucked behind his belt as well, then set about cleaning off his own footwear.

  Vaun wondered at the sudden care the bearded mage took in handling Gwyndar’s Wand but found no ready answer. Merdel acted peculiarly sometimes, and it didn’t serve any purpose to try and figure it out. That’s probably why he was a wizard.

  Drath doused their torch in the slime of the tunnel, then tossed it and the rag he’d used to wipe his boots off down into the darkness. Wiping his hands on his breeches, the tall man turned and supported Vaun while the youth removed the waste stuck to his boots.

  “Even if we pass unseen,” Vaun commented, “they’ll certainly be able to smell us. We all smell like a dung heap.”

  “Speak for yourself, dirty boy. At least now nobody can tell you haven’t had a bath in weeks.”

  “And you have?” The Swordsman turned questioning eyes on the tall man.

  Drath made no comment beyond a half-heartedly sour look.

  The room they’d paused in held nothing but the sewage tunnels, of which there were seven. An oil lamp burned on a hook next to the only door, which the elves just now levered open. It revealed a rough stone corridor leading straight to a stone staircase about fifty paces ahead. A lamp burned on the other side of the door, as did another at the bottom of the steps. The companions wasted no time in entering the otherwise unadorned hallway and mounting the stairwell after shutting the door behind them.

  The temperature inside the keep was, if not comfortable, at least a bit warmer than outside. The tunnels they had trekked through had alternated between very cold to almost hot. The group’s breath steamed lightly in front of them, and as they moved farther up their breath gradually became more and more visible in the colder air coming from outside.

  Rush and Dart mounted the steps first, both with drawn daggers, and Drath and Merdel started up after the elves had taken ten steps. Vaun and Thorne seemed to be assigned to each other for the duration of their stay in Elak’s fortress, and they brought up the rear an equal distance behind the tall man and the wizard. The Swordsman didn’t draw his weapon, although he did remove his gloves in preparation for the fighting that the muted itch in his side told him would start soon. Not wanting to discard the once-fine handwear immediately, he tucked the greasy, smelly gloves under his belt.

  The stairway rose long and steep before them, with lamps spaced about every thirty steps. It was bitingly cold here, but no one cared since no harsh wind blew snow and ice into their faces. Vaun’s hands kept getting numb from the cold, and he had to constantly rub them together or put them under his arms to prevent them from growing stiff. He refused to put his gloves back on, having decided he’d sacrifice comfort for a better feel from his sword. Gloves had seemed to inhibit his perception of the Song and the Rhythm the few times he’d practiced with them on. Besides, fighting would warm him up and take out all the stiffness the cold had put into his bones. He still worried the Song might betray him again but hoped he was wrong.

  The young warrior counted one hundred and eighty-seven steps before they finally reached the top. No landings or side passages had existed the entire length of the stairwell, and it had seemed to Vaun they climbed straight up into the clouds. The only sounds had been the hissing of the oil burning in the lamps they passed and the steady clump of their boots on the rough stone. Once at the top, they discovered another locked door, which Rush promptly unlocked after Dart determined no one was stationed outside it.

  This door opened into a corridor running perpendicular to the staircase. Dart squinted down each side, announcing that a few side passages and doors joined these halls and that alcoves abounded. The elf couldn’t detect any signs of guards, but he did say he heard what sounded like footsteps somewhere down the left-hand corridor.

  There seemed nothing that would tell them which way to go until Merdel brushed past the two cousins and stepped boldly into the middle of the hall. Taking Gwyndar’s Wand out of his pouch, now gripping it bare-handed, he held it straight out in front of him and pointed it in each d
irection, muttering under his breath as he did. After about a minute of this, with everyone thinking the bearded mage had at last succumbed to the senility of old age, Merdel said they needed to go to the right.

  Drath looked in either direction as he stepped up beside Merdel. “Are you sure that’s the way? This place is pretty big, and we have no idea where Elak is or where this passage leads. I’d hate to get lost.”

  “Aye, I’m sure. And we’re not looking for Elak just yet. I want to find the stones first, and I think this fire-blasted wand will lead us to them. We’ll take care of Elak later.”

  Vaun fairly leapt from the security of the doorway. “What do you mean we’re not going after Elak?” His pale blue eyes locked on Merdel’s black ones, causing the wizard to flinch. “We’re here to kill the wizard, not play with some ice-cursed pieces of rock.”

  Merdel’s throat worked as he swallowed. “I know that, Vaun. But the stones are what matter. Elak may be an evil needing to be eliminated, but the stones represent a far greater threat. They give Elak his power. Without them, neither he nor anyone else will be able to destroy our worlds. Wouldn’t you agree that’s more important?”

  Vaun blinked, and his eyes softened. Shaking his head, almost like he was waking up, he looked back at Merdel with a puzzled look. He opened his mouth to say something but was too confused about what he’d just done to put it into words, so he closed it. As the rest of his body relaxed, he realized that his left hand clenched in a tight fist and his right, disturbingly enough, gripped the hilt of his Vaulka. I actually thought of attacking Merdel! What’s wrong with me? Back in Bordell, he’d read a few stories of Swordsman madness, and wondered if that’s what caused the occasional looks of fear and concern on the faces of Merdel and Drath.