The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) (58 page)

Read The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) Online

Authors: Brian C. Hager

Tags: #Christian, #Fantasy, #Epic, #General, #Fiction

BOOK: The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm)
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The tall man held Vaun until the youth regained control of himself, thinking how glad he was that Vaun was so protective of him. He picked up a handful of snow and wiped Vaun’s hot face, trying to clean off some of the blood. Thankfully, his head wound seemed shallow. When Thorne came over, they helped the Swordsman to his feet.

Vaun studied his companions as they gathered around him. He then glanced down at what remained of the guard who’d almost killed Drath, as well as at the results of his first look. “I’ve got to stop doing that.”

Merdel chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know, Swordsman. I think that’s the only thing keeping you from doing that to everyone.”

Vaun couldn’t laugh with the others. “Are there any more soldiers?”

They all looked around at each other for a minute. “I don’t think so.” Drath shook his head. “A tree branch saved me from the first one who caught up to me, and I didn’t see any others.” The others briefly recounted their initial encounters, Merdel explaining how simpler, easier-to-cast spells could be just as effective as killing spells that drained him nearly dry, then agreed with Drath on the absence of any other enemies.

“What about you, Vaun Tarsus?” Drath asked. “Last I saw, you were being run down by two horsemen.”

Vaun shrugged, a limp movement. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see well enough to tell what I did. I just knew they were dead when my side stopped itching.”

 

*
*
*

Estafar, Collin, and Mano watched the six fugitives gather themselves together and head off into the woods. Though they were tired and cut up, they were still twice as many. Plus, Duncan had flown about ten feet and impaled himself on a stubbed tree branch a dozen feet off the ground, and that wizard had only pointed at him!

That tall one had the gods’ own luck. If Lott hadn’t charged into that tree, he’d would’ve had him. And that Ramen slayer wasn’t about to fool them into thinking he was out. They’d seen what he’d done to Ulic, Federo, and Phillipe, and they’d been on horseback. And he’d done it left-handed!

No, Emperor Quiris’ enemies were not worth so many lives, no matter what he said. They knew the emperor would try to hunt them down and kill them if they ran, but how would he know if he never heard anything of any of them again? Plus, he couldn’t kill the three of them if he never found them. There were places in the world even the emperor of mighty Mahal could not reach.

 

*
*
*

A thousand enemies surrounded him, and the Song would not come. Slowly, each one came to him, fought him, and defeated him easily. And the Song made no sound.

Another thousand replaced the first, but this time the Song guided him, and the Rhythm drove him on. He danced and glided amongst them. He slew them all. And the Song sang of his triumph.

Again he fought, and again the Song abandoned him. Then he fought some more, and it was there. He could neither call it nor control it. No part of him could touch the Song of Battle on its own. The Song chose when it came and when it did not. It was mocking him….

Vaun bolted upright, sweating, and gasped great clouds of breath, letting the cold northern air drive his nightmares away. He shivered as his sweat froze to his skin and reached to pull his blankets up around him. Pain shot down his right arm from his shoulder, then rebounded and traveled up to his neck. His entire arm went numb with agony, and he barely kept himself from crying out.

He couldn’t believe Dart had hit him with an arrow. Sure, it had saved his life and had only been a target arrow, but hitting that big guard instead would’ve saved his life, too. Dart claimed he did it because his mischievous bow wouldn’t obey his commands. Vaun thought he’d just gone crazy.

But what had happened to the Song hurt him far more than one of his comrades shooting him with an arrow to save his life. It had abandoned him. It hadn’t come when he needed it. It hadn’t come when he tried to call it. It had allowed him to panic and run like a child. Only Dart’s arrow had kept him from being killed.

But then the Song had come. Even when he was falling, he’d struck out at the horseman and disabled his mount. Horse’s bones felt very different from human ones. Then he’d eliminated the guard, and the two who came after. All with the help of the Song. Why? Why had it only helped him after he’d nearly had his head knocked off?

He couldn’t answer that question, and it bothered him immensely. It made him think he’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe he wasn’t really a Swordsman. Maybe he only thought he heard the Song when he fought. Maybe he’d created the Song of Battle and the Rhythm of Battle to make his abilities with the sword make sense. Maybe this whole journey was just an illusion.

Vaun shook his head in an attempt to clear it and pushed to his feet. He needed to relieve himself, and maybe the cold air would clear his mind. Surely he was wrong about the Song. Wasn’t he? He shrugged, not knowing the answer, and decided to leave his treacherous blade where it lay by his bedroll.

 

*
*
*

The cold intensified the farther north they traveled. The bitter wind seemed to always blow directly into their faces, even when it came from behind. It peeled away their skin, leaving any exposed areas raw and dry. The group’s breath hung in the air longer, as well, making it seem as if it would freeze solid if the temperature dropped any lower.

The fires they built at night didn’t dance as much or drive off as much of the cold as they had before, as if the cold air had somehow managed to blunt the one weapon the party members had to fight it. After six days of this harsh northern winter, Vaun decided he’d rather march through a small army of sleeping Jaga, as long as the air was warmer. Anything would’ve been better than these cursed frozen woods.

The forest they had escaped into had only become thicker as they trudged steadily closer to the mountains. Snow-covered undergrowth caught at their ankles and cloaks, tearing holes in both clothing and skin. Branches dropped piles of snow onto them at the slightest provocation. Vaun thought for sure that the birds and other small animals laughed at the trouble he and his companions were having, or at least the noises they made sounded suspiciously like laughter.

The Swordsman had wanted to hunt down one particular bird that had caused what seemed a mountain of snow to fall on him as it laughingly alighted from a tree. His friends’ chuckles and jokes hadn’t helped cool his ire. He was never able to find the bird, however, so he was left having to imagine roasting the devilish little thing, and Rush with it, over a nice blazing inferno.

Thorne had told Vaun that these woods, which had no true name, ran along the slopes of the Kalt Mountains about two or three leagues and were notorious for swallowing travelers whole. Hundreds of adventurers had endeavored to explore this forest, but fewer than half ever returned to add truth to the tales of vast wealth secreted in its depths. Wolves were said to be responsible for most of the disappearances, as well as the occasional bear or exploring mountain cat. Bandits shunned the area as if it were the Tapisian Way, a road so well-patrolled that caravans carrying the most expensive goods could ride without its own escort of guards, and this despite undergrowth so thick an army could hide ten paces from the famous road without being seen.

Those few who did survive the mountain forest claimed it was riddled with demons and other unspeakable horrors, things that snatched away whole companies as easily as a single person, leaving neither sound nor trace. None of the gold and jewels that were supposed to be hidden here had ever been found. Even the Great God was said to have abandoned the place.

Because of the curse that seemed to be on the forest, no one had bothered to name it, or perhaps its name had been forgotten in an effort to make it go away. According to Thorne, people believed that to name it would have fully awakened its evil mind, allowing it to wreak yet more havoc.

Thorne related several stories of hauntings and mysterious deaths, apparently in an effort to frighten his young companion. Vaun let the dwarf ramble, trying desperately not to believe what he heard. Most of it he could discount, but the way the place seemed to watch him, as if it did have a kind of baleful intelligence, made him apprehensive when they approached deeply shadowed areas, and he slept with his Vaulka clenched in his hand.

It was six days after escaping the remaining Mahalian guardsmen, and still they hadn’t begun to climb the mountains. Their mission, which felt so close to its end after their recent successes, now stretched before them with no end in sight. The amount of snow blocking their path only added to the misery of the cold and malicious forest. Some places possessed such high drifts that Thorne and the two elves had to be carried to keep from being lost underneath.

Twice now over the last week they’d been caught in a blizzard, and the second one had nearly claimed Dart. Had Rush not been standing so close to him, and had that tree not stopped the wind from blowing him away, the elven archer would’ve become another victim of the forest that adventurers the world over had nicknamed Traveler’s Bane. Vaun glanced over and saw through the snowfall, light for once, that Dart still looked pained by his impact with the tree, and that had been three days ago. The little elf, usually a quick healer, winced every other step, his face pinched with pain. Obviously, he hadn’t yet recovered from that hammer’s blow, either.

He had lain unmoving on the ground after hitting the tree, just letting the snow bury him. The others had swiftly backtracked the thirty yards he’d flown over after hearing him cry out, but already he’d been nearly covered. Only the tip of his longbow poking above the surface of wind-driven snow had allowed Rush to find his cousin. Vaun had never seen anyone as relieved as Rush had been when Dart was dug up and pronounced alive but unconscious. A hastily erected shelter next to the infamous tree had made sure the rest of them remained alive, too.

Vaun’s attention came back to his surroundings as a branch slapped him in the face. He doubled over, clutching his stinging cheeks and nose. His whole head felt as if it’d been split in two by a dull axe, and he was sure those were his eyeballs throbbing in the back of his skull. His recently healed head wound hurt anew, as well.

“Sorry, Vaun.” Drath’s muffled voice rose over the pain in his head. “I told you to look out.”

Vaun nodded wordlessly, thinking that if he tried to speak, his face would crack and fall apart. It had felt like that the last time he’d answered somebody’s question in this cold, and the sting of the branch only intensified the feeling. After several minutes, with Drath patting him on the back and apologizing repeatedly, Vaun at last trusted his face to remain intact and removed his hands.

He straightened and saw the world as a blurry, nondescript image. Drath was a fuzzy something beside him, and the forest and falling snow were detectable only by sound and feel. It took the youth a moment to realize his tears had frozen over his eyes. Brushing the ice away, Vaun found he could see clearly, if a little painfully.

His eyes scratched in their sockets as they rolled over to look at the tall man. “It’s okay. I should’ve been paying better attention. I’m lucky this is the only thing that happened.”

Vaun looked into his friend’s sea-green eyes, wondering why he saw fear behind the concern in the tall man’s voice. Glancing at his other companions, he could see they, too, worried over how he would react to what had happened. Did they think that, because he was a Swordsman, he would grow angry at the slightest provocation? Did they think he was going to accuse Drath of doing it on purpose, and therefore seek revenge? It bothered Vaun that his friends might think of him in this manner, and he almost began to feel insulted by it. For them to think he would actually attack his own friends….

He was beginning to grow angry just thinking about it. Then he remembered how he’d reacted when he’d seen the remains of that last Mahalian guard he’d killed. He was reassured that violence still bothered him, yet he was still capable of so much of it. Perhaps their concern, then, was a little justified. He would have to be careful not to give them a real reason to be afraid. He didn’t know if he could stomach that thought.

Vaun’s eyes returned to his friends in time to notice that they all grinned, yet tried not to show it. Only Drath succeeded in keeping his amusement to a minimum. Thorne, however, looked ready to explode, and after an inquiring look from Vaun, he did.

“Stones, lad! It looks like Tara got a hold of you again. What’d she do this time? Hit you with a switch instead of her hand?”

The dwarf broke into laughter along with everyone else, although Drath tried not to. He hadn’t mentioned the red slash bisecting his companion’s face, since he was the one responsible for it. The others felt no such restriction, as they continued to chide the youth good-naturedly on his appearance and what one particular young lady, whose name they hadn’t mentioned for several days now, would think about it if she saw him.

Vaun smilingly endured everyone’s humor, even though the wind made any expression unbearable. The mark on his face stung even worse now that the wind had picked back up, but the Swordsman didn’t want anyone to know how much pain he was in. That would only encourage more jokes.

As the stinging in his face receded, Vaun discovered they at last moved uphill. The snowfall had almost stopped, and Vaun could see that the trees thinned not too far ahead. Sighing thankfully, he attempted to hasten toward open ground, but the knee-deep snow made anything faster than a crawl almost impossible.

Though stepping onto more solid ground would be wonderful, leaving the forest would be better. Luckily, they hadn’t met any of the supernatural creatures that supposedly inhabited Travelers’ Bane, despite the number of weird noises they’d heard at night. The few wolves or cats they’d encountered along the way had been easily avoided or killed. So it seemed this forest had been named by those too timid to get close to it, at least to Vaun’s way of thinking.

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