Bards & Bargains Chapter 1

Sequel to Tales & Treasure

Propaganda - Vatis

Vatis stepped into the tavern, hopeless with a fake smile and a knife at his back.

The smile was for the audience. Vatis still cared for them, obsessed over them, even. He owed them what little effort he had left.

The knife was unnecessary.

Vatis wasn’t going to run, not again. Besides, he had always preferred the easier route—it kept him alive. It’s better than death, Vatis thought as he pulled down his hood, savoring the smell of ale and roasted vegetables.

For nearly a month, Vatis had told heroic, honorable propaganda about his captor, Alcin. Emre’s last hope for salvation, according to himself, at least. One of his loyal henchmen, a guard named Tycar, had dragged him from Haran to Ferrum and seemingly every town with a tavern west of the capital city, Barna.

Tycar coaxed Vatis forward with the threat of his blade and a promise of performance.

Vatis was no longer free to perform where he liked. He was no longer able to search Emre for exciting characters and stories. He was a courier, a messenger, an errand boy, a liar.

The rigorous schedule and Alcin’s desperation to spread his message had worked in Vatis’s favor. They didn’t know he had the Wandering Curse—a curse that brought fortune as one traveled, but if they lingered in one place too long, devastation followed.

Fortunately, Tycar was not the most observant guard. He focused solely on Vatis’s actions, nothing more. If he had been more astute, he would have noticed some irregularities at each stop.

A dying child miraculously recovered from a disease that baffled the medics in Bridgeway. A father returned from war after he was presumed dead in Holm. They stayed in Malar for three days; fortunately, the disaster that struck was a hailstorm that frequently affected the region.

Tycar steered Vatis with the tip of his blade to an empty table. “Sit.”

Vatis sat at the round wooden table. Decades of spilled ale seeped into the wood, causing the timbers to split apart. There were no centerpieces, no table runners, no candles. This was not that kind of tavern. The Moth’s Flame in Silvar was only a modest step above a stable in Haran, but the smell of roasting meat and baked bread overcame the unpleasant odors of a room filled with miners and farmers. It was a simple bar with simple folk who were easily persuaded.

“Stay,” Tycar said, commanding Vatis as if he were a dog.

Vatis wanted to retort, but his usual wit and banter had been dampened in the first few days of their journey. Instead, he sighed and rubbed his shoulder while he waited for Tycar to return. Vatis-of-the-Road did not like to be told what to do. His guard did not like anything, besides ale and gambling, as far as Vatis could tell.

So, Vatis had to play a new character. It had taken a week to hone in the inflection and mannerisms, but when they returned to Haran the first time, Vatis introduced the crowd at Nere’s Shadow to Captivar—or Cap for short. Tycar didn’t understand why he changed his name or why he had to play a different character, but as long as he told the stories that Alcin demanded, it didn’t matter.

Tycar pointed at Vatis from the bar. The woman behind the counter scowled with indifference and shrugged her rag-covered shoulders. He returned a moment later, carrying a single mug of frothy ale.

“Go ahead, Cap,” Tycar said, taking a long drink. Vatis licked his lips. Gods, I could use a drink. Tycar barely fed Vatis enough to keep him alive, and he certainly didn’t buy him ale.

Vatis stood, cleared his throat, and tried his best to get into character as he walked to a small stage between the tables. He cracked his knuckles. Cap had a habit of popping each knuckle before he performed. It wasn’t a productive habit, but it was enough to get him into character.

An old, orange-striped cat hissed as Vatis shooed it away from its napping spot on the stage. He stepped up. Whispers slid through the crowd like a snake. There couldn’t have been more than twenty people in the tavern, but a bard had to work with what they were given. Three men sitting at the table nearest the stage scowled in aggravated agreement as the fattest one rolled a cup full of dice. King, Calvary, & Army, Vatis thought, nodding an apology that was met with a chorus of snorts and turned shoulders. Not the most attentive crowd tonight. Better they don’t pay attention to these lies.

“Good evening,” Vatis said, with the slightest hint of a Numerian accent. “I am Captivar, but you can call me Cap, and I would like to tell you a story.”

Chairs scooted, heads turned, conversation stopped, and instantly, a warmth filled Vatis’s stomach better than any ale or food could provide. He bowed ornately, performing a minor illusion as his once-white cuffs turned emerald green. An audible “oh” escaped the lips of a young woman sweeping the floor. Vatis felt the corner of his lip turn upward as he flashed the barmaid a mischievous grin.

“Have you heard of the great Alcin?” Vatis asked the crowd.

A few heads nodded, but no one spoke up. Most of the patrons looked confused.

“His name is but a whisper on the wind, but soon it will ring in the hearts of every man, woman, and child. Alcin. The savior of Haran and soon all of Emre.”

An excited silence filled the tavern. Only Vatis noticed the wind whistling softly through drafty windows, the creaky floorboards underneath the foot of an impatient patron’s quivering leg, and the uneasy shifting of plated armor as Tycar swayed irritatedly in the back of the room.

“The Almighty Alcin. The moniker makes him sound like a god. In some ways, he is. I’ve seen him mend a maiden’s broken heart with nothing more than kind words. I saw him save orphans from a fire near the docks of Haran. I’ve seen him outmaneuver King Kandrian Ambita on the battlefield. He ventured into the Kokor forest and lived to tell the tale. He has discovered the secrets of a long-lost magic. But, most importantly, he can save you,” Vatis said, trying to make eye contact with as many people as he could.

Most members of the audience turned away; however, a few locked eyes with Vatis. They were enthralled. They believed. That was all he needed to do. If he could convince one or two people of Alcin’s heroics in each tavern. Eventually, word would spread like wildfire. His job would be complete, and maybe he’d be free.

Vatis felt his emphatic pause linger a few moments too long. His voice cracked as he sprang back into his lies. “The story I want to tell you tonight is a story you can share with your grandchildren. It is a story about your future, about the future of Silvar, the future of Emre.”

He paced across the stage, making sure his audience was attentive. They were enraptured; even the tabby cat looked interested after it finished cleaning one of its paws. Vatis’s feet felt lighter; he glided through the space, utilizing every inch. The warmth in his stomach spread to his chest, to his arms, to his fingers. Vatis’s love for performance wrapped his mind in a cozy blanket. Despite posing as Captivar and telling a story filled with lies and propaganda, he could not help but feel the euphoria of an attentive crowd.

“Before I begin the story, we need to set the scene—paint a picture, as it were, of how life is today. King Kandrian Ambita has gone mad. There’s no denying it anymore.”

Only a few disconcerting grunts popped through the patrons. When they started this tour, the taverns and inns weren’t shy in showing their support of the King, but as word spread and Kandrian’s expansion efforts continued, the people of Emre were no longer scared to show displeasure.

“The King’s relentless search for a way through the Kaharn Desert has led to increased recruitment for his army. Our boys, some as young as ten, are being thrown into the fray—sacrificed. For what? Legends and myths. Alcin knows what the people of Emre need because he is one of us. He grew up poor in the slums of Barna. By eleven, he had graduated from the University; by thirteen, he had worked his way into the Merchant’s guild; by sixteen, he was elected to the Merchant’s Council. He will put more money in your pockets, but most importantly, he will keep you safe from Kandrian Ambita’s increasing greed.”

The patrons nodded along in agreement. A group of three women raised their mugs in appreciation. People should not be this easily swayed, Vatis thought.

“Now that the stage is set. Let’s begin,” Vatis said, circling the stage one more time before sitting delicately on the edge of a stool. He exhaled, once, twice, three times. Three times for luck, as his father used to say. As a provider of luck, Vatis didn’t think that the number three had any real significance, but he relished tradition.

“Our tale begins on the docks of Haran, where our hero waits eagerly for a ship to arrive,” Vatis said, closing his eyes momentarily and enrapturing himself in the performance.

“Only a few hours remained until dawn. A full moon shone brightly on the waters of the Western Sea as a cool breeze rippled the sails of ships docked in the harbor. The usually bustling docks were utterly vacant. No sailors, no guards, not even a single drunk wanderer. No one, except for Alcin.”

The door to the Moth’s Flame opened, but only Vatis seemed to notice. A slender man wearing a black coat, fine boots, leather gloves, and a wide-brimmed purple hat stepped in with an undeserved air of authority, usually reserved for natural leaders. No. It can’t be. What’s he doing here?

Vatis lost his train of thought as another one of Alcin’s lackeys appeared. Zidane. Out of all his employer’s cronies, Zidane was his least favorite. They had history, a sort of rivalry. Zidane usually got the best of him. Vatis could feel the audience’s anticipation. Zidane smiled wickedly and gestured for him to continue as he sat next to Tycar.

“Alcin. Alcin,” Vatis repeated. “Excuse me.” He coughed, almost choking in his desperation to find his place. Sweat dripped down his lower back. His right leg quivered uncontrollably as he rubbed his brow. Patrons shifted in their seats. The dice players returned their attention to their game, chuckling amongst themselves, and Zidane’s predatory smile turned into a threatening grimace.

“I’m sorry. Where was I?” Vatis said.

“Alcin was alone on the docks,” a young, kind voice answered. It was the barmaid. She had put her broom away and found a seat near the fireplace. A few more eager faces appeared. They were still his, not even Zidane could take them away from him.

Vatis bowed. “Ah, yes. Thank you, my lady.” He cracked his knuckles once more, completing his recovery.

“In the darkness, a black-sailed ship appeared in the harbor, gliding across the water. Soon, dozens of men stepped out of the shadows like ghosts. Alcin watched as the dark figures took their positions. This was his only chance to save the women of Miranda’s Menagerie. You see, it became a sort of underground secret that some of Miranda’s employees, girls as young as ten, frequently disappeared and never returned. Most people blamed drugs—Gar overdoses, but Alcin knew something was off. After months of investigation, he discovered that the women were being kidnapped and sent to King Kandrian Ambita’s secret harem.”

Several women in the crowd gasped loudly; a few of the men looked away shamefully. Vatis simply shook his head and continued.

“The King has struggled for some time to produce an heir, but these extremes are barbaric and will not be tolerated by fine folk such as yourselves,” Vatis said, finding his rhythm and cadence once more.

Vatis detailed Alcin’s heroic rescue of a ship full of young women, how he found safe homes for all of them, and how he vowed to dethrone Kandrian Ambita for his injustice. All lies, of course, but it all seemed plausible enough.

The small crowd gave raucous applause, which was overly rowdy for a simple, recycled tale. Saving damsels in distress was a little on the nose for Vatis’s taste, but it wasn’t his story. Alcin wrote it, and he wanted it spread throughout Emre.

Will there be consequences for misleading the people? Vatis thought as he took a bow.

After the performance, patrons came up one by one, shaking Vatis’s hand. Some gave him small tokens of their appreciation: a few coins, flowers, trinkets, and one elderly woman gave him the top button from her blouse—Vatis was unsure if there was some sort of hidden invitation in the gesture. He hoped not.

In the back of the tavern, Tycar coughed loudly, signaling Vatis that it was time to leave. His brief semblance of normalcy was shattered like glass. He was a prisoner, after all—a tool in Alcin’s quest for the throne.

Vatis forced a smile onto his face, thanked the crowd, gathered his tips, and retreated to his guard and the ever-looming Zidane.

“Quite the performance, Cap,” Zidane said with a wicked smirk.

Tycar snorted his approval.

“Thank you,” Vatis’s voice cracked. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

Zidane laughed. “Pleasure is a strong word, but I won’t deny that it is interesting. Beats escorting, anyway.”

Vatis nodded, unsure of what Zidane meant by escorting. “What brings you to the Moth’s Flame?”

“I wanted to hear the renown Captivar tell a tale of the Almighty Alcin’s heroics.”

Vatis doubted that was true. Zidane had heard the same story several times in Haran. “It’s quite the tale,” Vatis said, scratching the back of his neck and watching a group of patrons leave the tavern.

Tycar approached the innkeeper, guiding her outside and nodding to Zidane.

That left Zidane and Vatis alone at the table. The cat meandered nearby but seemed mostly unbothered before deciding its time was better spent napping in front of the fire.

“Sit,” Zidane said, pointing to a chair.

Vatis obliged. He had learned that it was best to quickly follow Zidane’s orders.

The elaborately dressed man finished the ale that Tycar had left on the table. “What is this?” he spat.

Vatis didn’t respond. He would welcome any alcohol now, regardless of taste.

Zidane swirled his tongue around his mouth obnoxiously like a dog trying to lick something off its nose. He pulled a flask from his jacket, took a long drink, and exhaled as though he had been dying of thirst.

“Always be prepared, Cap,” he said, tucking the flask into its hiding place. He looked over each shoulder, ensuring no one was listening. “Alcin is pleased with you.”

Vatis nodded slightly. “I am pleased that he is pleased.”

“As you should be,” Zidane said, taking another look around the Moth’s Flame. Satisfied, he returned his gaze to Vatis, looking more serious. “It’s time to go back to Haran. Alcin needs to speak with you.”

Vatis felt his heartbeat quicken. “Why?”

“Not sure, but he said it was urgent.”

His legs started trembling. Zidane looked too pleased. This can’t be good, Vatis thought as he clenched his jaw tightly.

“What’s urgent?” He asked.

“I don’t ask, and I would advise you to start doing the same. That’s the problem with you bards, too many gods damned questions.”

Vatis swallowed the rising bile in his throat.

“Alcin told me to bring him the bard. He doesn’t like to wait,” Zidane continued. “So, we’re leaving now.”

Vatis wanted to object. Why can’t we leave in the morning?

It was only a few days’ ride to Haran by wagon; an extra hour or two tonight wouldn’t make a difference, but he knew when to pick his battles with Zidane. Unless he wanted to spend the majority of the trip being dragged by the wagon, it was better to do as he said.

Vatis followed Zidane outside, where a beautiful brown mare was hitched to an elegant wagon with intricate carvings etched into its sides. Tycar waited by the door with something close to a smile underneath his long, dark beard.

“For your hospitality,” Zidane said, handing the innkeeper a few coins.

“Thank you, sir. Here’s to the Almighty Alcin,” she said, handing one of the coins back.

“Your generosity will not go unnoticed.”

A smile spread onto the innkeeper’s face. She tapped Vatis on the shoulder as she walked by. “What was your name again? You’re good, very good.”

Vatis felt guilty about spreading lies in her tavern and, even worse, that she had been so easily swayed.

“Va…” he started. “Captivar. Thank you for indulging me. I hope to see you again someday.”

Zidane’s eyes flashed a deathly glare as Vatis stepped into the carriage. It smelled oddly metallic, in direct contrast to the material it was made of. Dark streaks and specs covered the back wall. Vatis couldn’t tell if it was part of the design. Tycar groaned as he climbed up to the driver’s seat. The sliding window opened slowly.

Zidane waved at the Moth’s Flame and announced in an obnoxious voice. “Long live Alcin. May he bring you peace and prosperity.”

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Well it’s finally here—the sequel to Tales & Treasure, Bards & Bargains. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. It was a long process, but I’m proud of how it turned out. In June, I’ll be releasing one chapter a week, consider it a soft release or teaser, if you will, and then I’ll ramp up the cadence in July.

If you’re new here, consider subscribing. I have more fantasy stories to read, including Tales & Treasure completely FREE for subscribers. Here’s a link to book one in case you missed it.

You’re going to be seeing a lot more of me on here, hopefully not too much. I look forward to sharing more stories with you. May your feet find the road.