Tales & Treasure Chapter 13

Interlude - Zidane

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Zidane gently tugged the reins of the carriage, slowing his horse. The familiar walls of Haran seemed different, taller, and more threatening. The salty air brought back memories of his childhood, his only joyous memories. The sun vanished from the sky; a faint orange glow reflected off the violent waves. His leg throbbed. The brutal wound Vidmar gave him was getting worse. Yellow puss oozed from underneath a bubbly black scab. He needed medicine. I have to see Alcin first, though, he thought as he approached the gate. 

“Halt,” the guard said. “The city is closed.”

“Niare? Is that you?” Zidane said, straightening his hat. It seems my luck has changed.

The guard tilted her head. “Zidane. I should have recognized that dumb hat from a league away, but that’s a different carriage. What happened?”

“Do you like it? I thought my carriage should better reflect my elegance, so I bartered, traded, and sold until I could afford this one.”

“It does suit you. Where’s your crew?”

“Oh, you know mercenaries,” Zidane lied. “They follow the coin, and since I spent a hefty sum on this carriage, I could no longer afford them. So we parted ways near Vicus.”

“The city is closed, Zidane. Mayor’s orders,” Niare said, her tone much less convincing than moments ago. “I can’t let you in.”

“What’s this? I seemed to have saved a few coins for you, Niare,” Zidane said, untying a pouch from his belt. He tossed it to her. “My favorite guard.” 

She caught it in her gauntleted hand, weighing it carefully. The coins jingled pleasantly like the wind chime hanging in his mother’s window. “Seems a bit light for a person of such elegance,” she said mockingly. “But fine. Be quick, and…”

“And if anyone asks your brother, let me in. I know,” Zidane said. He carefully tucked his red-stained shirt into his new doublet as he ushered the horse through the gate. 

After he stabled his new horse and stored his new carriage, he changed into a new shirt. Tarver had excellent taste in clothing. It’s a shame that only fish, snails, and crabs can admire it now. He smiled as he adjusted the gray doublet's gold buttons, a perfect complement to his hat. His newfound wealth was a much-needed distraction. I might be joining Tarver by the end of the night. 

He paced up and down a dimly lit street and cursed as he distractedly stepped into a puddle near a black iron lamp post. He kicked water off his new leather boots and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the muddy puddle. Dark stubble shadowed his sharp jawline. I need to shave, he thought. His breath fogged in the cool night air as he attempted to muster courage. I should run, but I’ve worked so hard to get here. Alcin will understand. It can’t all be for nothing. Zidane’s feet ignored his thoughts of escape and walked down a narrow alley that ended at the base of the city wall. 

The door to lead thee
Lies between diamonds three

He always felt like a child when he recited the rhyme, but he couldn’t open the door without thinking of it. He approached the wall, the gigantic, ominous wall. To common folk, it looked ordinary, a barricade from the outside world, but to his guild, this was the front door. One only needed to know where to look. The first two marks were relatively easy to find. They looked like notches in the stone, but upon closer inspection, they were perfectly shaped diamonds. The two diamonds were engraved at eye height to the average man. Zidane had to look up slightly to find them. They were uneven and spaced about ten feet apart. The third diamond was harder to find. Some thought it was a star in the night sky. Others thought you needed to offer a diamond at the foot of the door, but the path to the third diamond required knowledge and courage. Between the two diamonds at waist height was a small hole in the mortar, just big enough for a man to stick a finger through. A thin piece of canvas camouflaged the opening. It was easy to find if one traced the line of mortar with a finger, but otherwise, it blended identically into the wall. 

Alcin was fond of saying, “My men are like diamonds, hard to crack.” This essentially meant anyone loyal to Alcin would offer up their diamond-like blood, and the door would appear - the third diamond. There was another part of Alcin’s saying that Zidane overheard in the tavern. “My men are like diamonds, hard to crack but easy to sell.” Zidane wasn’t sure what the last part meant. Did it mean that they were all his slaves? Or that he sold their secrets? He tried not to think about it and gingerly stuck his finger into the hole, bracing himself for the impact of the needle.

Zidane winced as the mechanism pierced his skin. It hurt less each time he entered; his finger developed a protective callus. The apparatus was some intricately engineered machine that poked a needle into one’s finger. Then the blood dripped into a vial and, when full enough, triggered a doorbell alerting two guards. He also didn’t want to think about what Alcin did with all that blood. There were rumors of blood magic. It was most likely tavern talk; however, gossip in the guild turned out to be true too often for comfort. 

The door slid open, the stone somehow retracting into the wall. The first time Zidane entered the tavern, the smell of alcohol and smoke was overwhelming, but now it was soothing and welcoming, like his mother’s lavender garden. 

“Complacency is rooted in stone,” a voice said as Zidane’s eyes adjusted to the hazy greenish light. 

“Starvation is caused by the throne,” Zidane said, reciting one of the dozen phrases he was forced to memorize. 

“Welcome,” the men guarding the door said simultaneously. 

Zidane couldn’t remember their names. “Thank you, gentlemen. It is great to be back.” Is it, though? 

The tavern was quieter than usual. He could hear individual conversations instead of the accustomed murmur. An attractive woman expertly dodged the vulgar advances of two drunks. “Sounds like you two could help one another,” she said, leaving them.

Zidane straightened his hat as he meandered into the heart of the tavern. The conversational murmur grew louder until he heard a scream from Alcin’s study. Alcin’s torture chamber was more fitting; very few people left with their lives, even less left unscarred, at least that’s what Tycar told him. He hadn’t been with the guild long. Purchasing a new shipment of Gar was his first assignment of any significance, an assignment he failed. Fucking Vidmar, he thought. The patrons collectively turned their attention to the study; they fought the urge to stare. After a prolonged silence, the crowd returned to whoring, gambling, and drinking. Zidane veered his course closer to the study. A giant mercenary rushed past, nearly knocking Zidane over. 

“Hey,” Zidane said, picking his hat up. 

The mercenary turned but didn’t stop. His teeth snarled like a wolf through his beard while his hand moved to a mace on his belt. 

Zidane had enough to worry about without angering this bull. “I apologize,” he said, tipping his hat. After the incident with Vidmar, Zidane decided he needed to be more careful about who he picked his battles with. The man snorted and stopped a few paces away from the study. Upon closer inspection, the mercenary looked familiar, but he didn’t have time to think about it. He had to tell Alcin that he missed the rendezvous with the dealer. Fucking Vidmar, he thought again. I’m going to kill you, but his thoughts of revenge dissipated into instinctual dread. Not if I die first. He approached the bar slowly with his coin purse in hand. 

“I’ll have a Numerian Brandy and a loaf of that brown bread. You know, the one with rosemary and the salted crust. I don’t remember what it’s called,” Zidane said, placing ten Kan on the countertop. His hand shook when he let go of the tan drawstring, the last of his coin. 

A few moments later, the bartender returned with a silver chalice and a wooden plate. Steam rose from the perfectly browned bread. The herbaceous fragrance momentarily distracted him from the butterflies that had been dancing in his stomach since he arrived in Haran. The bartender nodded, emptied the purse, and took the coin.

“Thank you,” Zidane said, using the now-empty purse as a handkerchief to wipe the beading sweat on his forehead. He took a long, slow drink of the brandy. It was warm and smooth, sweet and bitter, a perfect combination of senses that made it the most sought-after brandy in Emre. He savored each sip like it was his last. The bread complimented the alcohol excellently; its warm, chewy center reminded him again of his childhood and his mother. At least he would see her again soon, according to most religions anyway. Zidane only seemed to find faith when his life was on the line. He raised his chalice to the air. See you soon, mother.

He was halfway through a bite of the bread when a chubby finger tapped on his shoulder. The butterflies in his stomach returned immediately, planning their coordinated escape through his belly button. Zidane’s muscles tensed; he swallowed the bread and turned around. 

“Alcin is ready,” a ferocious, dog-like guard said. 

Zidane chugged the rest of his brandy. The once-enjoyably warm liquid burned his throat like lava forced through a volcano. He coughed. His eyes watered. “Better not keep him waiting,” he wheezed. 

They walked into a storeroom behind the bar. Barrels of mead were stacked neatly along the back wall. A lantern swayed back and forth; its hinge mounted to the ceiling creaked softly. Crates of fruit and vegetables lined the other walls. A pleasant aroma of citrus filled the air. Alcin was drying his hands with an intricately stitched indigo towel; his flowing velvet cloak simmered in the lantern's dim light like a shadow on a crescent moon. The door slammed shut. Alcin turned, revealing a beautiful black tunic with a golden collar.

“Ah, Zidane, please excuse my tardiness. I had some urgent business to address,” Alcin said, tossing the towel onto the ground near a crate of green apples. “I hope you will excuse the location. My study is occupied.” 

Zidane nodded. He didn’t know what to say. 

“Splendid. Well, don’t delay. Is the shipment secure?” Alcin said, examining his nail beds. 

Fuck, right to the point, Zidane thought. He opened his mouth. No sound came; a lump formed in the back of his throat. He swallowed, but it didn’t help. “No,” was all he could muster. 

“What do you mean no?” Alcin said, focusing his intense glare on Zidane’s stinging eyes. 

Shit. How can I get out of this alive? “I was delayed and missed the rendezvous,” Zidane croaked. He shook with each word. His fingertips were ice. 

The guard grabbed Zidane’s shoulders and forced him to his knees; his meaty paws threw his hat across the room, pulled Zidane’s hair, and exposed his neck. This is it. Alcin bent down and met Zidane’s tear-filled eyes. “You showed such promise, Zidane. I had high hopes for you.” Alcin stood and pressed a knife onto Zidane’s throat.

“Fucking, Vidmar,” Zidane cried, forcing his eyes shut. 

He could feel the blade release its pressure on his neck. He opened his eyes. Alcin stepped back but still pointed the tip of the knife at him.

“How do you know that name?” Alcin said quickly, biting his lower lip and baring his teeth.

“Vidmar,” Zidane started. “He’s the one who delayed the shipment.”

“How?” Alcin demanded.

Zidane nervously told the story of his encounter with Vidmar, only embellishing a few minute events. Alcin listened without interruption; the veins on his forearms protruded as he gripped his knife tighter with each detail. The door opened. Zidane stopped. Alcin tapped his forehead with the butt of the blade. “No interruptions,” he said, turning his attention to the newcomer. “Tycar, what are you doing here?”

Tycar looked around the room. His eyes bounced from the other guard to Zidane to the floor to the lantern, carefully avoiding Alcin. “Kamet,” Tycar started kicking a stray potato against the wall. “Kamet said you asked for me. We switched places.” 

Alcin dropped the knife. It clanged against the stone floor. Grab it, Zidane thought, but he couldn’t get his hands to cooperate. Alcin looked up at the ceiling, then dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes like he was going blind, and somehow his fingers could massage his vision back to life. “Is Kamet part of my personal guard?” he asked, his hands still covering his eyes. 

“No,” Tycar said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Have I ever asked Kamet to guard my study?” 

“No.”

“Why the fuck are you still standing here?”

Tycar’s mouth dropped open.

“Go, you fucking moron, go,” Alcin said, ushering Tycar out the door. “Stay here, Lucius, and for your family's sake, do not leave.” He followed Tycar. Zidane could hear him cursing as the door closed. He took a deep breath. His fingers tingled as he gingerly unclenched them. Fucking Vidmar. The thought brought a smile to his face. You may have spared my life again, but I’m still going to kill you.