Tales & Treasure Chapter 4

Vidmar - More Questions

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Vidmar’s hands trembled as he returned to the Rau Tavern. The bard had noticed him earlier, it was clear. Even when he moved tables, the storyteller still found him in the crowd. I’m getting careless.

Five years ago, no one in the bar would have known he was there. Somehow, the bard had captivated him, pulled him close, and lowered his guard. Vidmar escaped to the stables to calm his nerves.

The tavern was quiet. An elderly man was sprawled out on the end of the bar, a half-full mug still in his hand. Rane began his nightly cleaning ritual, overturning stools on top of tables. A young man desperately tried to convince the only remaining woman to come up to his room, a scene Vidmar had witnessed in different taverns across Emre a hundred times. It usually ended with a disappointed man, but luck seemed to be on his side; flirting progressed from banter to light touches to passionate kissing before they disappeared upstairs.

Rane struggled to escort the old man to the door. The drunk was well-fed, a rarity this far south of Barna; his bare feet dragged behind like an anchor. Vidmar hurried over, grabbing the man’s limp, tree trunk of an arm, helping the bartender bear a bit of the burden.

“Thank you, Vidmar,” Rane said.

“Don’t mention it,” Vidmar said, grinding his teeth. “Where to?”

“There’s a bed in the stables. Hugo has had a tough time of late.”

“There are worse places to sleep the ale away,” Vidmar said.

Rane smirked. “Aye, suppose you’re right.”

They set Hugo down as gently as possible, but he caromed off the stall, startling the nearby horses.

“It’s alright,” Vidmar said, petting a brown mare’s nose. The horse snorted a few times before calming down and returning to its hay. “Good night,” Vidmar said, scratching behind the horse’s twitching ears.

Rane waited by an empty stall at the front of the stable. “How about that bard tonight? Gods, I haven’t seen a crowd like that in a long time.”

“I haven’t heard Montalvo’s story in a long time, not since I was a kid. What was his name?” Vidmar asked.

“Vatis,” Rane said. The name brought a smile to his face. “Vatis-of-the-Road. I hope he’ll stay a few more nights.”

“I’m surprised I’ve never heard of him,” Vidmar said. “I’ve traveled across most of Emre, seen many bards, even attended a few tourneys, but I’ve never heard of Vatis-of-the-Road. I wonder where he’s from.”

“I had the same thought this afternoon. I asked Vatis when he first entered. He said, ‘He’s from the road.’ He’s quite odd when he’s not telling a story,” Rane said, locking the stable door.

“Most bards are.”

Rane laughed. “That’s true.”

Vidmar kicked mud off his boot as they approached the tavern's backdoor. “Do you mind if I go up to his room? I need to ask him a few questions.”

Rane eyed Vidmar carefully before opening the door. “Don’t scare him, Vidmar.” 

“What?” Vidmar said, grinning. “I would never scare anybody.”

“What about Elbert?”

“Well, somebody needed to put that oaf of a hunter in his place. Ember said he hasn’t bothered her since we had our little chat.”

“He hasn’t been back to town since your little chat. You put quite the scare in him.”

“And I would do it again, but I want to ask Vatis a few questions. I won’t be long,” Vidmar said, leaning toward the stairs.

Rane pulled a cloth from his apron and cleaned spilled ale off a nearby table. “Fine, but be quick.”

Vidmar smirked and crept up the stairs. The tavern’s second floor consisted of a long, dimly lit hallway with five doors lining the left wall. Two drafty windows with tattered curtains looked out over the stables. The first door wasn’t numbered. The other four doors had a brass number at eye level. Three of the rooms showed no sign of an occupant, no light under the door, no noise from within, nothing, but the fourth room, the smallest room in the tavern, let a faint glow of candlelight escape through the cracks. A soft tapping came from inside, like a musician keeping the beat with his foot. Vidmar knocked.

The tapping stopped, the lock clicked, and the door creaked open, revealing the storyteller. He looked much older than he did in the common room; dark lines hung beneath his eyes as if weights were pulling down his eyelids. His skinny frame strained to stand; his right leg shaking from the effort. “Hello there,” he said with feigned enthusiasm. “How can I help you?” His voice trailed off. He recognizes me, Vidmar thought. The bard closed his eyes; his eyelids struggled to reopen like a child resisting early morning work.

“Forgive me, but I hadn’t heard the story of Montalvo-The-Kind in many years, and I hoped you could answer a few questions,” Vidmar said, trying his best to act like a fan.

“You know of Montalvo?” Vatis said, his voice regaining strength.

What are you hiding? Vidmar found it odd that the bard’s voice shifted in inflection and accent. “Yes. You tell the story better than anyone I’ve heard.”      

“Thank you. Why don’t you come in?” Vatis said, his powerful voice returning to its performance level.

Satisfied, Vidmar huffed and walked into the room. Let’s see what you know.

A small bed with a multi-colored quilt sat against the back wall under a window. The room was cramped for one occupant. An oak nightstand with an almost burnt-out candle and a rickety-looking wooden chair filled nearly all the remaining space. Vidmar scooted sideways and sat on the chair; Vatis sat on the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees.

“This is cozy,” Vidmar said.

“It is plenty for me,” Vatis said, bouncing his legs up and down, recreating the rhythmic tapping Vidmar heard from outside the room. “I won’t be staying long.” The bard shook his head as he peered longingly out the window. “Now, what questions do you have?”

“Rane will be disappointed. He hoped you would stay a few nights,” Vidmar said, contemplating which question he should ask first. “Here’s what I never understood: when and how did Montalvo find out he was cursed? He always seems to know when the mining disaster happens. So, how did he figure it out before? There must have been a series of awful events leading up to his discovery.”

Vatis rubbed his eyes like he was waking from a nap that went a few hours too long before looking at the floor absently. A cockroach scurried out from under the bed, climbing out the window. The lone candle burnt out, leaving the two men alone in the dark, with only faint moonlight left to illuminate the room. Vatis looked like a skeleton in the darkness. His bony cheeks sunk into his jaw; the wrinkled skin pulled tightly as he forced a smile. He stood up slowly. The joints in his knees and hip popped in unison. “I’ll find us another candle,” he said, rummaging through his pack. He pulled out a few items from the bag, but Vidmar could not tell what they were. “Here we are.” Vatis set the candle on the stand, struck a match, and it flickered to life. “Now, what were you asking?”

“Are you alright?” Vidmar asked. The bard looked as though he’d aged a decade since his performance. The bags under his amber eyes were swollen and purple.

“Quite,” Vatis answered quickly.

Vidmar furrowed his eyebrows. Rain fell again; the heavy drops were strident on the second floor. A shiver ran down his spine as he forced images of battle out of his mind. Vidmar focused, ignoring the storm, foul memories, and suspicions of Vatis. “How did Montalvo find out he was cursed?”

“That is a tough question to answer,” Vatis said. His voice grew more confident as if he were beginning a tale for an audience. “Some say that when the curse invaded his body, it spoke to him. It told him its laws. Some say the curse was a demon feeding off Montalvo, giving him prolonged life and constantly bickering into Montalvo’s ear, begging him to stay in one place so its evil could be distributed further. Others say that he caused the collapse of the East and that it was only when his mother was killed that he realized he was cursed. There are a few other rumors, but none have much credibility.”

“Which do you believe?” Vidmar asked.

“Some answers are better left unknown,” Vatis said, staring deep into Vidmar’s eyes; something about that answer scared him.

Vidmar focused and searched for his next question: "But it’s a true story, isn’t it?”

“Mostly, yes.”

“What’s untrue?” Vidmar asked, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“Nothing that I told was untrue. I take great pride in telling true, honest tales. Any bard can spin some web of lies and make it interesting, but a true story has magnitude and consequences,” Vatis said.

Water dripped from the ceiling, splashing onto the corner of the nightstand. “What about Montalvo’s warning? Did someone else get cursed?” Vidmar asked. I need to change the subject, he thought, but was unsure how to make an unsuspicious transition.

“More rumors. No one knows for certain. Some say it was the last effort of Montalvo to save his life. Others say the curse or demon has yet to find a new host.”

“What do you think?” Vidmar asked, trying to pry details out of the bard.

“Neither,” Vatis stated plainly.

“Understood. Well, can you answer this? Did King Kandrian Ambita bring the dragon back for executions?”

“I haven’t been to Barna in some time, but from what I’ve heard, the answer is yes,” Vatis said. He stared at Vidmar without blinking for quite some time. Vidmar was the first to look away.

“So, it’s true. He’s gone mad.”

“As I said, I do not know the details, only rumors, and I won’t be spreading more of those,” Vatis said. His head sagged heavily, struggling to stay awake.

Vidmar fiddled with the stone in his pocket. Just ask him. “Speaking of kings, what do you know about King Slavanes Greco and his lost crown?”

Vatis perked up. Life returned to his face. “I’ve got a tale or two about him. The people of Barna killed him after a particularly gruesome tournament won by none other than Dinardo himself, the leader of The Pact. His crown was lost that day and never found. Why do you ask?” Vatis finished, eyeing Vidmar as if seeing him for the first time.

Vidmar stared into the bard’s eyes. “Ah, just another story I liked as a kid. I hoped you might know a little more.” He wanted to show the bard the stone, his only clue, but he didn’t trust him; something about his eyes threw Vidmar off.

Vatis relaxed on the bed. His shoulders hung low as he exhaled. “I’m sorry. I don’t know much more. That’s one of the stories that has eluded bards for centuries. Unfortunately, I’m not sure we will ever find the answer.” The bard turned his back and scribbled in a journal that had been resting on the bed behind Vatis.

Another dead end. “Well, I don’t want to keep you much longer,” Vidmar said. “I do have one more question?” 

Vatis nodded.

“Does anyone in your guild know more about Slavanes Greco?” Vidmar asked.

“Well, I … I,” Vatis stuttered. The inflection in his voice changed.

“I’m sorry,” Vidmar said. “I thought a bard of your skill would be a member of the guild.”

A bead of sweat dripped down Vatis’s forehead. He cracked each knuckle on his hands before he answered. “No need to be sorry,” He paused, tapping his toes rapidly. He grabbed his leg to stop the shaking. “I … I haven’t been active in the guild for some time. The guild hall is in Barna now. Perhaps someone there can help you.”

Fucking Barna, of course. “Ah,” Vidmar said, trying to hide his frustration. “Well, thank you for answering my questions. I’ll let you get some sleep.”

Vatis’s shoulders dropped. He rolled his head around his neck, revealing a jagged scar near his left clavicle. “Goodnight, Vidmar,” he said, closing the door.

Vidmar walked back into the empty common room and sat cross-legged in front of the smoldering hearth. Black logs glowed orange on top of a metal grate. He pulled the stone out of his pocket and traced the inscription with his finger. After finding Ember’s ring and hearing the story of Montalvo-The-Kind again, Vidmar wished that every day could be that simple. Today would have been perfect. He thought as he glared at the dancing orange flames. But I’ll never have a simple life. People paid for his discretion, for his loyalty, for his services.

Alcin is going to kill me.