Tales & Treasure Chapter 25

Interlude - Zidane

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Zidane paced across the ship’s bow as it rocked gently near the dock, shuffling his feet across the wet surface. Rain dripped off the front of his hat. How did he escape? He bit the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from screaming. Vidmar and the big mercenary took down guard after guard as they emerged from the shack; he couldn’t remember the mercenary’s name, Kameer, Kal, Kamen, something with a ‘k,’ and it didn’t matter. They would come for him if he didn’t act fast. 

“Get those crates,” he called to the guards on the dock. “Get the fucking crates.”

If I lose Vidmar and the shipment, I’m worse than dead. “Hurry.” There were only two crates left—each full of freshly harvested Garvasta flowers, worth almost as much as the entire city of Yimser. “I said hurry,” Zidane yelled through the heavy rain. The guards looked distracted. They didn’t know whether to join the battle or load the ship. 

“Sorry, sir,” two guards said simultaneously, carrying the second-to-last crate aboard while watching the mercenary strike down another of their comrades. 

Zidane raised his eyebrows as he saw an archer climb onto the shack's roof. Yes, he thought. Shoot the big one. Shoot the big one. The archer loaded his crossbow and peered over the edge. He hesitated. “Shoot, you idiot,” Zidane said. The guards carrying the final crate of Garvasta looked at him despairingly.

Rain pelted the deck; its hollow thudding drowned out all other noise. The archer aimed, fell backward, and missed. A small, dark-haired girl threw something at the crossbowman. “Who the fuck is that?” Zidane yelled. She attacked again, hitting the archer in the head, and another shot misfired. He fell, grabbing his face.

While Zidane focused on the exchange between the girl and the archer, Vidmar and his brute murdered three more men. Only the archer and one guard remained until the mercenary launched Vidmar into the air and onto the roof. Zidane couldn’t believe his eyes. Vidmar tackled the archer off. A second of hope led to gut-wrenching despair as the Vidmar’s oaf-of-a-friend drove a sword into the archer’s chest. Zidane’s enemies confronted the last guard, who met a similar fate as most of the men he had hired. Useless.

Vidmar and the brute ushered the girl forward, who in turn motioned to another man carrying two packs. The bard. He watched them take shelter in the shed, breathing a sigh of relief while thanking every god he knew that they didn’t board the ship.

“Come on, untie the damn boat. Hurry,” he screamed at his two guards on the dock. The rain worsened; Zidane could only make out the dark outlines of the guard’s shack. “Man the oars,” Zidane said, adjusting his hat. Water poured down his face. 

They obeyed but appeared reluctant; with only three of them left, there was no one to push the boat away from the dock. “Why aren’t we moving?” Zidane yelled.

“The anchor,” one of the guards explained. 

“Gods. Pull it up. Pull it up,” Zidane said, pushing the closest guard to the anchor. The guard snarled at him for a second but still wound the anchor upward. 

“We need someone to push us out,” the other guard said, pointing to a long oar-like stick on the ship's starboard side. The boat began to sway now that the anchor was up. Wind whipped against the mainsail.

“We need to row. You need to push us off,” the guard yelled, struggling to keep his oar steady. Finally, the other guard locked the anchor and returned to his seat. 

“Fine, fine,” Zidane yelled. Fucking Vidmar, he thought as he tried to lift the long wooden oar; he killed my whole crew. The oar slipped from his grip, smashing his toes. “Damnit,” Zidane yelled before he tried again.

The obtuse stick wobbled as he held it over the edge, growing heavier and heavier as he extended it. His forearms burned. He was losing his grip on the slippery surface, but he finally struck the dock. He pushed with all his strength, but the ship wouldn’t budge. It was too windy. The oar slipped off the pier, and Zidane crashed into the railing, nearly falling overboard. 

“Help,” he yelled.

The guards pulled him and the oar aboard. The ship collided with the dock. He heard wood splinter through the downpour and hoped it was the dock, not his escape vessel. 

“Go. You row on the port side. We’ll push off,” a guard said. Zidane wasn’t sure which one. Insolate, subordinate fool, you can’t tell me what to do, Zidane thought, but he pushed his way through the rain and grabbed the oar. His clothes were heavy, and his hat drooped over his eyes. He felt the boat jerk; both guards wielded oars and pushed the ship away. They were close now. So close. The wind blew them off course, sending them back into the dock; luckily, the guards used the momentum expertly and gave one final push. The current grabbed hold of his ship. 

“Check her down,” one of the guards yelled. “Check her down.” One guard returned to his oar, and the other dropped his stick and sprinted toward Zidane. He slipped on the deck. “Check her down,” he repeated as he tried to stand. 

“I don’t know what that means,” Zidane yelled. 

“Push the oar down. Hold it in the water.”

Zidane hesitated. 

“Put it down,” the guards yelled.

Zidane dropped the oar into the water. The force jerked him out of his seat as he tried to hold it in place. “I can’t hold it,” Zidane said, grinding his teeth. 

“Move.” The guard grabbed the oar, pushing Zidane out of the way. Zidane felt rage boil in the pit of his stomach. He hated feeling useless and hated it even more when someone below his station pointed it out. Just wait until we are on dry land. 

“Steady,” the other guard called out. 

The ship teetered back and forth but eventually evened out and began floating down the river.

“Keep her steady, boys,” Zidane said, trying to regain his composure and standing amongst his men. Satisfied, he bowed, entered the ship’s cabin, and hung his hat on a peg by the door.