Tales & Treasure Chapter 38

Interlude - Zidane

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"I'm going to kill you, Vidmar," Zidane whispered into the bottom of his empty waterskin. He needed an ale. If it weren't for Vidmar, he wouldn't be thirsty in the miserable Overpass Inn on the shore of the Clemil River. Bridgeway, he thought. What a dumb name for a town. Instead, he'd be whispering secrets into Alcin's ear, sipping fine wine, and living the luxurious life he deserved. But no. Here he sat, broke, exhausted, and hungry, watching a blind man struggle to spoon some soup into his mouth. 

"Can I get you anything, sir," a haggard waitress asked. Her lip quivered beneath a dark mole. She wiped her hands on her tattered apron, swaying side to side while she waited for a reply. What can you give me? You common wench. Do you know who I am, who I will be? Zidane refrained from voicing his opinion. Instead, he watched her sway. Her dark green skirt brushed dust into a neat line under the table.

"Ale. I need ale, but what do you have to eat?" Zidane asked, fishing in his coin purse. 

The waitress stopped swaying. "Tonight, we have roast perch, caught fresh this morning, fried catfish, and a fish stew."

Zidane rolled his eyes. He hated fish. "Do you have anything other than fish?"

"Um," the waitress began. "Bread."

"Then, I'll take a loaf of your freshest bread and two ales to wash it down." Zidane dug out a few coins. "How much?"

The waitress did some not-so-quick math, counting on her pox-scarred fingers. "Ah, seven Kan."

Zidane felt his eyeballs nearly pop out of his head. "Seven, fucking Kan. You're joking."

The waitress stepped back. "Grain is hard to come by with the drought in Flathill." She held up her hands defensively. 

"Fucking drought. I'll give you six."

The waitress stepped back again, wringing her hands together like she was washing dishes. "Del said it's three for a loaf of bread and two for ale and that I'm not to take anything less, and if someone doesn't want to pay, they can talk to him on the dock." 

I can't believe I'm bartering with a tavern wench over bread and ale. Zidane's face felt hot. He reached into his purse for another coin. Luckily, he found one. "Tell Del, whoever the fuck that is, that I don't appreciate being robbed, much less being fucked, but I'm tired and starving and don't feel like walking to the docks." 

"I prefer the company of women like Ilyana here," a deep voice called from Zidane's right. Wet boots squished against the floor as they strode next to the waitress. He put a muscular arm around Ilyana's waist and rested the other hand atop a fierce-looking ax. "No need to walk to the docks. I'm Del. This is my Inn. Is something wrong?"

Zidane's throat tightened as he searched for words. The hair on the back of his neck stood. "No, sir, no problem," he said, trying not to whimper.

"No, you were saying something about being robbed. The last thing I want is for my patrons to feel threatened," Del said. His voice lowered an octave, emphasizing the last word while his hand moved onto his ax's handle.

Zidane brushed the hair on his neck down as he tried to weasel out of the hole he dug for himself. You're an idiot. He thought—a goddamn idiot. "I apologize, sir. I meant no harm. It's been a long few weeks, and the road has gotten the best of me. I apologize. Here," he said, pulling out another coin. "A little something extra."

Del took the coin and handed it to Ilyana. A darkly sinister expression morphed into a smile as he faced Zidane again. "I hope you enjoy your stay at the Overpass, though I would steer clear of the docks tonight. They are extra slippery, and I wouldn't want anyone falling in." 

Zidane forced himself to say, "Thank you." 

"You're welcome. If you ever find yourself in Bridgeway again, find another place to sleep," Del said, rubbing Ilyana's arm. 

If I'm ever in Bridgeway again, I'll burn this Inn to the ground. Zidane sat at his lonely table for quite some time, gnawing on the stale bread and drinking the sour ale. The worst eight Kan I've ever spent. 

Ilyana approached cautiously. "Would you like another ale? The bard is expected to perform any minute now."

Zidane hadn't noticed the Overpass slowly filling with occupants while he stewed on his confrontation with Del, thinking of various means of revenge. "Do you have any wine or mead? Something less sour than this ale." 

Ilyana picked up Zidane's dishes. "We have a Numerian wine, but it's five Kan a glass or goat's milk." 

He thought about protesting but then noticed Del watching from behind the bar. "I'll have the wine," Zidane said, reaching into his purse. He only had seven Kan left. Reluctantly, he handed out five coins, leaving him with two Kan for the rest of his journey to Haran. This won't be enough. He wiggled his unpracticed pickpocket's fingers like the air around him was somehow ticklish. 

Ilyana returned with the wine a few moments later. Zidane took a long drink. The dry red featured delicious notes of citrus and walnut – an incredible improvement over his first drink. "Ah. Did you say a bard was performing soon?" Zidane asked, licking a few stray drops of wine off his lips.

The waitress stopped. "Yes, he's taking a bath but should be down soon."

"Who is the bard?"

"Dainius. He's quite charming - came in a couple of hours before you," Ilyana said. Her eyes fluttered like a handmaid watching a handsome prince parade through a city.  

Zidane slunk into his seat. Of course, it isn't Vatis.  

Ilyana stepped backward, obviously trying to distance herself from Zidane. "Let me know if you need anything else," she said in a tone that hoped Zidane wanted nothing more from her. 

"Damnit," Zidane yelled before he realized how close to Ilyana he was. Del rushed to her side. Zidane looked up with his hands held high. "I apologize. I traveled with a bard a few months ago and hoped to see him again. Was this bard alone?" He finished, fidgeting on the wobbly stool. 

Del sent Ilyana into the kitchen with a quick gesture and a pat on the back. "Unless you count a horse." 

"Thank you, Del. I meant no harm," he said, adjusting the brim of his hat. 

Del snorted and returned to the bar. A short time later, the bard appeared. That's Vatis, he thought, nearly jumping out of his seat. The Vatis-of-the-Road – Vidmar's companion. The bard was thinner and cleaner than the last time he saw him, but it was Vatis. The bard introduced himself as he walked between two tables. His voice was different than Zidane remembered, deeper, more exaggerated. Why were his eyes and ears trying to deceive him as his luck finally turned? That must be him. 

The bard stepped onto a small stage that could also have been described as a large crate. Vatis looked older, too, despite the fresh shave and bath. His clothes were tattered. The bags under his eyes were so large one could smuggle coins in them, and the wrinkles on his forehead seemed to deepen like a creek after a brutal storm. Where's Vidmar? What happened? Zidane needed answers but decided to wait until after the story ended, so he took off his hat and tried to blend into the crowd. There's no harm in a bit of entertainment first. 

As much as Zidane hated to admit it, Vatis or Dainius was a splendid bard. He had never heard someone tell such a captivating tale. The tale he performed tonight was a classic known throughout Emre – The Knight of Seven Lives. Most people heard this story from their mothers at bedtime. Zidane was no exception. He could hear his mother's voice as Vatis described the Knight's first death. He could smell his childhood home as Vatis portrayed the fifth and most gruesome death. 

Zidane had barely touched his wine as Vatis reached the climax. He almost felt bad that he had to interrogate Vatis after this performance. Then he remembered the night in the woods, Vidmar's brutality, spending a night tied to a tree, and the massacre on the docks in Yimser. Who cares that he meant to rob or kill them in the first place? Or that he planned on letting them be tortured? Not Zidane. He was done caring about the thoughts of others. Well, except for Alcin and his mother, of course. No sane person wanted Alcin as their enemy, and even Alcin would fear Zidane's mother.  

Vatis finished with a dramatic bow, basking in the applause from the small audience. He wasn't that good, Zidane thought as a table of women began whistling. Give me a few months of practice, and I could be twice the bard he is. Zidane lied to himself. He watched Vatis mingle with patrons at the table nearest the stage. Their laughter infuriated him. Ilyana clearly admired Vatis. She lingered near every table he greeted. Finally, he threw an arm around her, singing a song Zidane was vaguely familiar with but couldn't place.

Zidane threw his hat on as Vatis approached his table. The bard froze.

"Wonderful performance," Zidane said, smiling. 

After a second's hesitation, Vatis began another performance. "Why, thank you, kind sir," he said more enthusiastically than any man had a right to be. "Have a wonderful night," he finished, perfectly emulating Zidane's greeting. 

Vatis started to turn towards the final table when Zidane called out. "Have we met before," he said playfully. 

"No, I don't think so, but I have met many people in my travels. Excuse me, sir, may your feet find the road," Vatis said, greeting the final table. 

Zidane waited patiently, sipping his expensive wine and watching Vatis mingle merrily with the dull-witted guests. The bard never even glanced at Zidane. That arrogant fool will remember me after tonight. The casualness Vatis displayed boiled Zidane's blood. His fingers ached as he released his unconsciously clenched fists. Finally, Vatis broke the tediously long conversation and gathered his belongings from the stage. Why doesn't he keep his pack in his room like a normal person? Everything about the bard annoyed Zidane, his blatant acting, his stupid whistling, and that dumb smirk that seemed etched into his face. 

Vatis slung his pack over his shoulder, waved goodbye to the few remaining patrons, and bowed to Del behind the bar. Zidane had to act now. "Excuses me, Vatis, sir," he called. The bard turned around slowly. "Could I have a word with you outside?" Zidane had to pressure him in front of the crowd to ensure that Vatis kept up his act. 

"It is rather late; perhaps we could meet in the morning," Vatis said, adjusting his pack. 

"It will only take a second," Zidane said, performing his best impression of a child begging for a sweet. 

Vatis looked at Del, nodded to Ilyana, then stepped toward Zidane. "Who am I to turn down such a well-dressed fan?" he said. You motherfucker, Zidane thought, holding the door open. I'm going to enjoy killing you. 

The bard took a deep breath as they stepped outside and sprinted into the darkness. "Why do they always run?" Zindane sighed.