Tales & Treasure Chapter 12
Vatis - Haran
Start from the beginning - Tales & Treasure Table of Contents
Vatis’s head pounded. Imaginary painful knives stabbed his entire body as he packed dried meat into his bag and pulled out his purse.
“Here,” he said, wincing as he offered the pouch to Hobb. “For the supplies. It’s the least I can do.”
Hobb pushed Vatis’s hand away and shook his head. The farmer had been extra short with Vatis since he woke, his bushy eyebrows constantly furrowed like he was attempting to read Vatis’s mind. There’s something in that tower. He wants to know if I found it. What are you hiding?
Vatis placed the purse back in his bag. He watched Vidmar hide and sheath at least seven knives in his pants, shirt, jacket, and boots. The treasure hunter reached into his boot; his fingers scrambled up his leg and onto his hips. He searched the ground, ran inside, cursed, and ran back onto the porch.
“Has anyone seen a finger-length, green-handled blade? It has a sapphire in the hilt,” he asked, turning his head rapidly as if the speed of this movement would somehow make the knife appear.
“Oh, yes. I’ll get it,” Taldor said, jumping to his feet. “You dropped outside the barn before the wolves attacked.”
“Thank you, Taldor,” Vidmar said. “Wait,” he yelled as the boy ran toward the barn. He scratched the stubble on his chin. “You keep it. I’ve had that blade since I was your age; use it to whittle, filet fish, or practice throwing. It’s a good blade and a trustworthy companion. It should be in,” he paused. “Less practiced hands. If it’s alright with you, Hobb?”
Hobb looked at Taldor. The boy grinned ear to ear, his child-like eyes pleading their case. The old man huffed once, then nodded.
“Thank you, thank you,” Taldor said, running at Vidmar and wrapping him in a hug. “Do you have to leave so soon?”
Vidmar turned to face Vatis. “I need to get to Haran. We’ve been delayed enough already.”
“Surely your wounds could use more time to heal,” Taldor pleaded.
Vidmar looked down as if searching the dirt for an answer. Vatis interjected. “If we are going to reach Yimser in time for the tourney, we need to leave. Haran is just the first stop on the way. We can recover as we walk,” Vatis slung his bag over his shoulder and tried his best to satisfy the boy’s curiosity.
“You’re going to try the tourney?” Taldor said, springing forward within inches of Vatis. The boy did not embrace him as he did Vidmar. Instead, he stopped short, keeping a little distance between them.
The distraction worked. “I believe so. If we can get there in time,” Vatis said, winking at the boy and taking a step backward.
“Well, then, you better hurry,” Taldor said, entirely wrapped up in the tourney idea. Hobb still studied Vatis with the scrutiny of a master fletcher stringing a bow.
“Hobb, Taldor,” Vidmar said, tussling the boy’s hair. “Thank you for everything. I hope our paths cross again someday.”
“May your feet find the road,” Taldor said, sniffling.
“And yours,” Vatis said.
“Stay on the road,” Hobb added.
“We will,” Vidmar said, nodding at Hobb. Vidmar and the farmer seemed to have bonded when Vatis was unconscious. Vatis’s stomach flipped over. What did you say about me?
“If you run into Evanor on the road, tell him to hurry home. He looks like me, except taller,” Taldor laughed.
Vidmar smiled. “Ready when you are, Vatis.”
“Onward,” he said, waving his bandaged hand. The ominous tower to the west still whispered his name. Vatis, Vatis. It called as he took heavy northward steps.
A tedious, three-day journey through farmland and rolling hills led them to the expansive gates of Haran. Thick stone walls encapsulated the port city. Gulls cawed and circled above the walls, searching for scraps of food. Haran had been built on a hill. The walls and docks were at sea level, and the rest of the buildings gradually rose higher until they peaked at a four-towered castle with emerald flags flapping in the wind.
They continued up the cobblestone road; Vatis looked to his left beyond tall, wispy grass to see waves crashing onto the sandy coastline. The salty air felt strange, stinging his nostrils as he tried to acclimate himself to the new environment.
It felt odd to come to a city with no intention of performing. Nevertheless, Vidmar needed to come here, and Vatis needed the rest of Vidmar’s story. He had gathered a few more details on the way as the treasure hunter opened up, but he never divulged anything substantial other than his escape from Jegon, which he described vividly.
A soldier approached adorned with steel plate armor, Haran's red and black eagle-like sigil painted on the chest. A well-polished helm with a triangular visor covered the guard’s face. “The city is closed,” a higher-pitched voice than Vatis expected announced. He examined the soldier, who had wide hips, narrow shoulders, and a slight sway as they walked forward. A woman. “The White Gull to the north has room for travelers.”
Waves crashed against the shore, the calming sound growing louder as the tide came in. To their right, a man argued with another guard, desperately trying to get into the city. Dusk approached.
“Why is the city closed?” Vidmar asked.
The guard didn’t answer but stepped back to her post. She planted her spear in the ground between her feet like a tree. Vidmar stepped forward with his hands raised. Before his foot hit the ground, the tip of the guard's spear nestled underneath his chin. A second guard stepped forward in unison.
“The city is closed,” the woman repeated.
“I heard you the first time. Why is the city closed?” Vidmar said, gently pushing the spear's tip out of the way. He stepped backward and raised his arms again. “I don’t want any trouble. I just want to know why the city is closed.”
“Mayor’s orders. Aye, come back on the ‘morrow,” the other guard answered in a brogue Haranian accent.
“Blindly following orders will get you far,” Vidmar said. As he began to question the guards again, the woman twirled her spear with incredible speed and swung at Vidmar’s head. He ducked under the blow with frightening casualness.
“The city is closed,” she said, emphasizing the last word with a ferocious jab of the spear's blunt end toward Vidmar’s ribs, but again the treasure hunter avoided the blow, deftly sidestepping the strike.
The guard held up her spear for another strike as Vidmar let out an exaggerated yawn. Vatis stepped forward before the situation escalated. “I’m dreadfully sorry for my companion,” he said. “We will find other lodgings.” The guards retreated to their posts, spears stamping the dirt with a rhythmic, coordinated thud.
Vidmar rubbed his eyes as they walked north along the road. “Fucking pricks,” he said loud enough for the guards to hear.
“Are you trying to get us thrown in jail?” Vatis asked.
“The cells here aren’t so bad,” Vidmar said. “More comfortable than the dirt anyway. Follow me. There are other ways to get into this damn city.”
After walking for some time, they veered off the road into a small yet densely packed forest.
“Where are we going?” Vatis asked, darkness thickening around them as they hiked into the woods.
“The city,” Vidmar said. He ran his hand along a young oak tree. “Stay close. Stay quiet,” he finished, whispering.
Vatis watched each step Vidmar took. His heel landed softly, then he rolled onto his toes and moved forward. He stopped; his left foot hung in the air like it was frozen in place.
“What’s wrong?” Vatis asked.
“Traps. Don’t step there,” he said, pointing at what looked like a normal branch. Vatis mimicked Vidmar’s movements, sliding sideways until his companion returned to his accustomed crouch. Vatis stood as a dull pain in his back grew from annoying to agonizing.
“Get down,” Vidmar whispered as loud as he could without yelling.
“I’m not as young as you, Vidmar. My back can’t handle this crouching too long,” Vatis said, wincing into a more hunched crouch than before.
“Shh,” Vidmar said, holding a finger to his lips. “We’re almost there.”
They slowly pressed further into the forest. Hot, shooting pain stabbed Vatis’s lower back, but he continued to crouch. Vidmar’s caution had saved them before; he decided to trust his instincts, even if that meant becoming a hunchback for the remainder of his life. This story better be worth it.
Vidmar stopped in front of a giant tree. It was as thick as three men standing shoulder to shoulder, easily the largest in the forest, at least that Vatis had seen as they crept through in the dark. They circled the tree twice before Vidmar knocked on some sort of door. A moment later, a small man appeared through a circular opening, holding a lantern in one hand and a crossbow in the other.
He eyed Vidmar suspiciously. “A king uncrowned seeks admiration,” he said in a soft, accented voice. Is that a child? Where are we?
“The people unloved seek preservation,” Vidmar said. The people unloved seek preservation. Vatis repeated the saying in his head, committing it to memory.
“Welcome,” the boy said, pushing the door further open.
Vidmar walked into the tree, stopped, then tilted his head. “Jacob? Is that you?”
The boy shined the lantern at Vidmar, his long shadow in the corridor mirroring his movements. “Vidmar?” The boy wrapped his arms around him. The lantern nearly cracked as it crashed into the crossbow.
“Damn, you have grown. What are they feeding you?”
“Fish, mainly,” Jacob said, letting go. “Too many damn fish.”
“What would your father say about talk like that? You’re supposed to be better than us, Jacob,” Vidmar said, tussling the boy’s hair.
“I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Clearly.”
Jacob led them through a narrow tunnel lined floor to ceiling with what appeared to be boat scraps. Vatis did not like enclosed spaces; he concentrated on breathing. He felt caged; the cool air struggled to enter his lungs. Fortunately, the boy’s quick pace didn’t allow Vatis time to panic. He thought he saw the word ‘mermaid’ painted in black along the wall. The Mermaid was one of Emre's most famous pirate ships until it sank in a storm off the coast of Numeria. Somehow the lumber made it into this escape route, or maybe Vatis’s bard-eye urged him to look for a story that wasn’t there. It can’t be The Mermaid. He thought through frantic breaths.
“Did I miss anything?” Vidmar asked. “Oh, this is Vatis, by the way.”
“Hello,” Vatis said quickly in a nervous, unpracticed accent.
“What’s with him?” Jacob asked.
“He’s a bard. And we haven’t exactly had a relaxing journey.”
“Did you warn him?” Jacob said as he turned and stopped. Warn me about what, where are we going? Vatis wanted to interject, but he decided to focus on his breath. In and out. In and out.
“He’s with me. He’ll be fine,” Vidmar said, nodding at Vatis.
“I hope so.”
The smell of dirt and oil faded away as the spicy aroma of tobacco smoke flowed into the enclosed space. Jacob hung his lantern on a hook and pushed a circular door outward. Cloudy green light burnt Vatis’s eyes. Dozens of tables were strewn about in what appeared to be a tavern. A long, glistening bar stood in front of three tapped barrels. Thick wood beams, seemingly placed at random, held up a low, planked ceiling. The murmur of conversation stopped abruptly as the door slammed closed.
“Who’s that?” a dirty, dark-haired woman asked at a nearby table.
“You’re not welcome here,” a husky bald man yelled behind her.
Dozens of hard bloodshot eyes turned their attention from their games of dice or cards or empty mugs to inspect the newcomers. A man playing dice at the table closest to the door kicked his chair in as he stood, a maneuver that was somehow both extraordinarily violent and graceful. “What the hell are you doing here, Vidmar?” the man said, wiping beads of ale out of his graying beard.
At the mention of Vidmar’s name, the tavern cohesively turned their attention back to their original vexes as if they rehearsed it. The uniform dismissive grunting and chairs sliding was almost sinister. “I could say the same to you, Kamet,” Vidmar said, stepping forward. “What? Are you out of villages to burn down?”
Kamet grimaced. “Find a buried treasure yet?” The men at Kamet’s table chuckled but did not look at Vidmar.
“I found a ring buried in a pond full of shit,” Vidmar smirked. “Oh, also, I was digging somewhere quite familiar to you recently. I was searching, just for pleasure, deep within every hole in your mother’s beautifully flabby body.”
“You fucking piece of shit,” Kamet said, charging forward. He towered over Vidmar. The expression on Vidmar’s face didn’t change. He looked up confidently, smiling like he knew something that everyone else in the tavern didn’t.
“Stop,” a commanding voice called to their left. A man sitting alone at a table scribbling in a leather notebook stood up and gently pushed his chair in. A hood concealed his face along with the dim, smokey light. “Sit down, Kamet.” He pulled his hood back, revealing a clean-shaven, scarred face. Kamet sat down like a chastised toddler. “He’s here to see me,” the man said, walking forward. Despite a slight limp in his left foot, he still commanded respect as he marched. “Aren’t you, Vidmar?” he emphasized the name like he knew a secret.
“I am,” Vidmar said with unexpected sincerity.
“Who’s this?” the cloaked man said, pointing at Vatis. His fingernail was painted black.
“Vatis, he’s a bard.”
“A bard, huh? Well, maybe he can entertain us later. I don’t know how you ended up with such,” he paused. “Questionable company, but it is a pleasure to meet you. I’m Alcin.” The name carried weight and rang like a hammer striking an anvil. The Alcin?
Vatis bowed. He wasn’t sure why. “An honor,” he said, looking at Alcin’s well-polished, jewel-studded leather boots. Vidmar elbowed Vatis in the ribs. He stood instinctually.
“Follow me,” Alcin said. His cloak fluttered gracefully, emphasizing his movements.
A short, tense walk averting the eyes of other patrons led them to a small, smoke-free room where an ornate chandelier with dozens of candles outlined a polished wood desk. Two uncomfortable-looking stools sat in front, and an intricately stitched leather chair sat behind. The chair squeaked as Alcin sat down. Two muscular men took their posts: one at the door and the other behind Alcin. They each carried two black-painted axes, one on each hip. What have you gotten us into, Vidmar?
“Sit,” Alcin said, gesturing to the stools.
Vatis felt like his stomach was going to explode like it was being inflated from the inside. “I can wait out in the bar. Perhaps I can entertain the guests with a story.” There’s no need for me to be here. The walls felt closer.
“No,” Alcin said without explanation. His gaze struck Vatis like an arrow. Vidmar rubbed his face and looked at Vatis before wriggling onto the stool. Vatis brushed his pants, crossed his legs, and put on his best attentive listener façade.
“Tycar,” Alcin said, gesturing toward Vidmar. The guard pushed him onto the stone floor and pressed his knee into his back. He searched roughly, placing each knife or weapon he found on the desk. Vidmar’s silence surprised Vatis; he was reticent other than a few grunts. The guard dragged Vidmar up by the collar and threw him on the stool. It wobbled backward on two legs, but Vidmar calmly rocked back into place; blood dripped from his lip. Seven knives of varying sizes and one gray stone lay on the desk. Alcin examined each one.
“I’ve heard about this one,” Alcin said, holding up the dagger Vidmar stole from Acer. “You stole this from a poor farmer. I thought you were a treasure hunter, not a thief.”
“It depends who you ask,” Vidmar said, wincing. It appeared like he was trying to resist his usual snarky retort. “Is there a difference? Is digging up graves different than pickpocketing a stranger?” Vidmar finished in an attempt to recover. Tycar stepped forward, anticipating a command, but Alcin signaled him to move back.
“Yes,” Alcin said plainly. He finished his examination and neatly arranged the knives in a line from largest to smallest. “I’ve always wondered, what do you do with this one?” He said, picking up the smallest blade. It was thin and no bigger than his little finger.
“Pick food out of my teeth mostly, but it is also great at finding openings between helms and armor.”
“Interesting. You’re missing one. You always carry eight.” How often is Vidmar interrogated that this man knows precisely how many knives he carries?
Vidmar scratched the back of his neck. “I lost it on the road, wolves attacked us, and I missed a throw.”
“You never miss,” Alcin said, smirking. The expression haunted Vatis.
Vidmar didn’t flinch. “I miss often. A few lucky tavern wagers have exaggerated my skill,” Vidmar said, shifting on his stool.
“Like your claim to be a treasure hunter?”
Vidmar nodded.
“Enough,” Alcin said, raising his voice. “We aren’t here to discuss your assassination abilities.” Vidmar shuddered at the word assassination. His usual smirk flipped downward. “Have you made any progress?” He eyed the stone.
I shouldn’t be here. Vatis’s craving for drama lost to his selfish preservation. “Really, I can wait outside.”
Alcin didn’t look at Vatis. “I said no,” Alcin said in a venomous tone. “Have you made progress, Vidmar?”
“Some,” Vidmar said, looking down.
“What’s some?”
“I’ve crossed off a few locations,” Vidmar said, avoiding Alcin’s darkening glare. “My lead in Numeria went nowhere. I need to find someone who can decipher the engraving. I’ve heard of a man in Yimser who knows all languages.”
“He’s a simple merchant, a raving lunatic,” Alcin said.
“Some lunatics have answers buried within their disguise.”
“Go to the library in Barna. There must be someone there who can read it. The hour grows late. I need results, and soon the burden of your secrets will be too much to bear.”
“You know I can’t go to Barna,” Vidmar said, forcing his head up. “It’s out of the question.”
“I tell you what’s out of the question. So, if I say you’re going to Barna, you’re going.”
Vidmar nodded.
Why can’t he go to Barna? “I’m sorry to interrupt, but perhaps this lead in Yimser is worth checking. I need Vidmar to accompany me on the road. You see, I’m entering the bard’s tourney, and Vidmar’s abilities have been priceless on our journey thus far,” Vatis said, attempting to defuse the tension building in the room.
Vidmar looked at Vatis the way he did when Zidane had a knife to his throat - a deeply sympathetic look. Alcin's eyes widened but never left Vidmar.
“If you interrupt me again, Tycar will introduce you to one of Vidmar’s blades.”
Vatis wanted to run. He couldn’t help Vidmar, but, more importantly, he couldn’t die here. So Vatis bowed and obeyed Alcin’s command.
“Danger follows Vidmar like a shadow,” Alcin said, pointing at the treasure hunter. “I assure you that if there came a choice between your life and his, he wouldn’t hesitate. Isn’t that right?”
Vidmar didn’t answer. His head hung lower like it was falling off his shoulders.
“See,” Alcin said. “Didn’t you notice how his demeanor changed in my presence? He’s a different man, a different animal. That’s the power of secrets, Vatis. I’ve domesticated Vidmar, the heroic, the feared, knife-wielding Vidmar, and all it took was a secret. He’s a guard dog now, and like a guard dog, he obeys when commanded, but he keeps stealing scraps of food off my table, so he needs further training, or I’ll be forced to set my other dogs on him. Understand?”
Vidmar’s head plunged further downward. He rubbed his eyes with his left thumb and forefinger. Vatis forced a smile and nodded.
“Good. Now, I consider myself a connoisseur of the arts. So why haven’t I heard of you, Vatis?” Alcin said, gesturing to a painting behind Tycar that Vatis hadn’t noticed before. A gold frame held a canvas depicting a handsome man standing on a boulder, rallying a group of people with weapons raised in the air. Is that Dinardo? Interesting choice.
Vatis quickly looked at Vidmar. He was a different person in front of Alcin. His usual charismatic confidence had all but evaporated. “I’m a simple traveling bard. I have only performed around campfires and small taverns.”
“Why enter the bard’s tourney then?” Alcin asked.
“I was convinced that I could do well, possibly qualify for the King’s Tourney.”
Alcin stuck out his lower lip and bobbed his head. “Well, let’s hear something. A song, a poem, a story. Give me a taste of the simple traveling bard Vatis.”
“It would be an honor,” Vatis said. He thought about what he might perform under such circumstances. He didn’t sing, at least not in dimly lit rooms that seemed more like dungeons than studies. A tale seemed too long. A poem would have to suffice. He searched his mind for ideas, something fitting of this moment, nothing comedic, nothing fanciful. His eyes surveyed the room but always returned to the painting. Dinardo. It must be. I do have a poem about Dinardo and the stolen crown. Yes, that’s it. He quickly ran the lines through in his head, cleared his throat, and began:
The coronation of a crownless king
The subject’s obedience it did bring
A crown stolen from the unworthy
Taken by a martyr without curtsey
To a legend, the crownless king is bound
Only a Pact knows where it is found
‘tis a search thousands tried
In lonely homes, mothers cried
‘tis a search that all failed
In broken homes, widows wailed
A lone Pact knows where it has strayed
Such treasure cannot be remade
Rumors of ancient power reside
In jewels of white the magic provide
A simple ornament that brought fire
A legend that toppled an empire
Is he a farmer with no crop
Is it affirmation or merely a prop
Is he king without a crown
His people have spoken. They won’t kneel down
Alcin clenched his fist and pounded the table. “What have you told this fool, Vidmar?”
Tycar pounced forward and threw Vidmar on the desk. A hollow thud echoed through the room. The knives and daggers scattered to the ground; a small black-handled one rested dangerously close to Vidmar’s stomach. Vidmar tried to brace himself, but his hands slipped, causing his face to take the brunt of the fall. What did I say? Vatis thought, his heart pounded. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Tycar grabbed Vidmar’s hair, forcing him to look at Alcin. “What have you told him?” Alcin said, standing.
“Nothing. I swear. He knows nothing,” Vidmar said, blood dripping into a pool under his chin.
Alcin turned to the other guard making an intricate hand signal. Calloused hands grabbed Vatis’s throat and threw him against the wall; Vatis’s feet dangled in the air. Alcin picked up a dagger off the floor near his feet; a menacing grin took the place of his stoic expression.
“You say Vidmar’s abilities have been priceless on your journey. Well, I say everything has a price. I’m going to start,” Alcin paused, searching for the words. “Trimming his fingers, knuckle by knuckle, starting with his right index finger. It will be awfully hard to throw a knife without that, won’t it?”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Vidmar winced. The pool of blood was steadily growing into a lake. His eyes were bloodshot and horrified.
“We will certainly find out,” Alcin said without looking at Vidmar. “I’ll give you one chance to tell me the truth before I start pruning. So, Vatis, the traveling bard, what did Vidmar tell you about the treasure he is looking for?”
Vatis struggled to breathe, let alone talk; he croaked his first attempt at words. The guard’s sweaty odor seared his eyes. It was just a poem. What did I say? What did I say? Vatis tried to speak again but could only muster a cough.
“Give him a chance to speak,” Alcin said.
He could hear Vidmar struggling to free himself. Tycar laughed. He picked Vidmar’s head up and slammed it back onto the desk. Vatis rubbed his throat as he coughed. His head was light and foggy like he had too much to drink. He tried to speak through the sore dryness in his mouth, but his words came out as a whimper. He inhaled deeply through his nose and tried again.
“He’s telling the truth,” Vatis choked. “The only treasures I know about are the ring he found in Basswood and Acer’s knife. I know nothing of his current quest. It was a harmless poem; I saw your painting of Dinardo, and it came to mind. Please believe me.” Tears burnt Vatis’s eyes. The damp air stung his throat before it fluttered nervously in his lungs.
Alcin cocked his head to the side, stepping closer to Vatis. No, no, that’s the truth. I know nothing. Alcin’s tongue poked through his lips, and a hauntingly high-pitched laugh escaped. “You may have a chance in Yimser. I almost believe you.” He stepped backward and turned toward Vidmar. “I hope you sharpened this recently,” Tycar laid himself on top of Vidmar and braced his right arm into position.
I’m sorry, Vidmar. I’m so sorry. “Stop,” Vatis wailed. It was all he could think to say, even though he knew it wouldn’t help. The guard grabbed his throat again and lifted him into the air.
Vidmar struggled less than Vatis expected; defeated, he turned his face into the wood and closed his eyes. Alcin offered no comfort, no sarcastic remarks; he positioned the dagger's tip between Vidmar’s index and middle finger and pressed down. He jumped and used his frail body to force the knife through the bone. Vidmar flailed and kicked the table, but he did not scream. His fingertip popped off like a cork and rolled onto the floor. Blood burst forth like water from a broken dam. Vidmar squirmed but somehow remained speechless. The once mahogany desk was stained crimson; the thick liquid rippled with Vidmar’s breath.
“At least we can put one rumor to rest,” Alcin said, dipping his finger into the pool of blood. “Vidmar-The-Coldblooded, your blood is warm and red like the rest of ours.” The guards hollered like children. Vatis jostled up and down as his attacker vibrated with laughter. Alcin smiled, then sucked the blood off his fingers, his threatening demeanor returning terrifyingly quick.
“Let’s try this again,” Alcin said, turning towards Vatis. No. I already told you the truth. Vatis tried to think of a more believable story, but all he could focus on was the dismembered fingertip on the floor. “What has Vidmar told you?”
The process repeated five times. Vatis coughed inadequate answers with each interrogation. No matter how much he begged, no matter what he said, Alcin was not satisfied. Finally, after the fifth cut, Tycar cauterized Vidmar’s wounds with a candle from the chandelier. Vidmar finally screamed, the deafening, agonizing scream of the useless prisoner. Fortunately, he passed out before the process could begin again. They dropped his limp body onto the floor and tied his blood-covered hands behind his back.
“Tie him up too,” Alcin said, slipping into an elaborate emerald-colored jacket. “Allow them to get their story straight.”
They threw Vatis on top of Vidmar and tightly tied his hands behind his back. He slipped onto his side with his head resting inches from Vidmar’s mangled hands; the gruesome surgery left him with no right index finger or fingertips on his right middle and left index fingers. Alcin focused on the right hand until Tycar reminded him that Vidmar could throw with his left hand nearly as well as he could with his right.
“Come, we will check on them later. I’ve other business to attend to,” Alcin said. “Tycar, guard the door; let me know when Vidmar-The-Eight Fingered wakes up.”
“Yes, sir,” Tycar laughed.
Vatis rocked himself upward until he was seated with his back against the desk. He coughed. His throat was on fire. He searched for relief, a sip of water or wine, something to soothe the flames, but his injured arm pulsated with pain each time he moved. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. Tycar smirked as he watched him. The sweet metallic scent was overwhelming. A rhythmic drip, drip, drip of blood fell from the desk onto the floor near Vidmar’s head, melodiously joining the guard’s raspy breaths. The chaos of moments ago was lost in a temporary silence. Vatis closed his eyes as a tear ran down his cheek. What have I done? Is it all worth it?
Vatis listened—he listened as he did in the forest alone, as he did before he met Vidmar, as he did on the streets of Barna. He focused on Vidmar’s labored yet calm breath, tuning out the horrifically consistent blood drops and Tycar’s menacing snorts. A ferocious knock disrupted his momentary trance.
Tycar opened the door slowly. “What is it?” he growled.
“The boss wants to see you. He was raving about a missing shipment of Gar, asked me to take your place,” a somewhat familiar voice said.
“Shit. I told him not to trust that cock-sure, hat-wearing fucker,” Tycar said, stepping out of the door. “You’re welcome, by the way. I’m sure if anyone can appreciate what’s in there, it’s you.” His voice trailed off into the bustling common room.
“Good luck. Hey, Ty, stop and grab a drink on your way. I want a few extra minutes alone with our friend,” the deep voice said. He heard Tycar’s haunting laughter fade into the crowd. A huge, muscular man stepped through the door. It was the mercenary who nearly fought Vidmar when they entered the tavern – Kamet. Shit, don’t hurt him anymore. He barred the door behind him as he stepped forward. Don’t hurt me.
“Gods, what happened?” Kamet said, kneeling beside Vidmar and checking his pulse with his fingers. “Vidmar? Can you hear me? Vidmar? What happened?” he repeated, turning toward Vatis.
Vatis didn’t answer immediately. His emotions were tugged around like a young whore. Seconds ago, he was confident Kamet was coming in to finish the job, but now he seemed genuinely concerned. His dark brown eyes flashed a kindness that contradicted everything about his appearance.
“What happened?” Kamet repeated.
“I’m not sure. It was going fine. It was going fine. I,” Vatis said, trembling. “I recited a poem. A harmless poem, one I wrote about Dinardo and Greco’s lost crown, and then,” Vatis trailed off, unable to articulate what had happened. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” he cried after a long silence. “Don’t hurt him anymore.”
Kamet placed a hefty hand on Vatis’s shoulder. “Vidmar is a friend, about the only loyal one I have,” he said, cutting Vatis’s bonds. “We like people to believe we are enemies. It’s easier to get things done.” What does that mean?
“We have to get him out of here. Alcin won’t be long,” Kamet continued. “Can you walk?”
Vatis nodded. He struggled to comprehend the turn of events. Is he truly a friend? Or is this some cruel trick? Pain shot through his arm as he pushed himself up. I hope I can trust you. Trust had never come easy for Vatis, he was skeptical by nature, but he didn’t have any other choice.
“Good,” he said effortlessly, placing Vidmar on his shoulder. “Stay close, stay composed, don’t say a word. It might look better if you conjure up a few tears too.” That won’t be hard. All Vatis had to do was close his eyes, and the nightmares would do the rest. He nodded, gathered Vidmar’s scattered belongings, and followed Kamet.
Kamet stayed in the shadows of the Tavern. They walked quickly around the edge, avoiding as many patrons as possible. A dark-haired man with a strange accent called out as they passed. “Taking out the trash, Kamet.”
Kamet spun while walking backward and laughed so vigorously that Vatis’s doubts about Kamet intensified. “I just want to see if rats can swim with their legs tied together,” he said, turning again to face a guarded door. The brawny man’s table erupted with laughter. They stepped toward the guards. Kamet’s free hand rested on his mace.
A guard was about to speak when Kamet interrupted jovially. “Alcin asked me to take the trash out,” he said, turning so the guards could see Vidmar’s unconscious face.
“Is he dead?” one asked.
“Not yet,” Kamet laughed.
The guards cackled like crows but opened the door to a moonlit cobblestone street. “Make sure you find out where his treasure is,” the other guard called after them.
Kamet lifted Vidmar’s hands into the air. “He’s stubborn, but I still have eight fingers left. I’ll buy a round next time I pass through.” Their laughter reverberated as they returned to their posts. The door disappeared. Vatis stared at the city wall, mouth ajar, searching for seams or hinges or handles, something to indicate that a door was there, but he found nothing.
“Stay close,” Kamet said, running down the dark street.