Tales & Treasure Chapter 8

Interlude - Zidane

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“Get back here, you insolent, black-hearted son-of-a-bitch,” Zidane screamed as his attacker walked away. “You pig-licking, mother-fucking prick, you get back here now.”

The only answer came from the rustling of the orange-brown leaves in the wind and the soft song of nearby birds. Zidane’s leg throbbed. He could feel warm pulses like a heart beating on top of his shin. “Vidmar, Vidmar, Vidmar,” Zidane said, committing the name to memory. “I’m going to kill you, Vidmar.” The rope stung the chafed skin on his wrist as he struggled to free himself. He knew his efforts were useless; he tried all night.

Several hours passed, and no one had come down the road. It wasn’t exactly a busy thoroughfare; which is why Zidane chose this route in the first place. His limbs were numb, his fingers were purple, and his mouth was drier than the Kaharn Desert. The only benefit to his predicament was that he could no longer feel the excruciating pain in his leg. I’m going to kill you, Vidmar. You have no idea what I am capable of.

Time seemed to move slower than usual. The irritatingly peaceful sounds of the forest were suddenly interrupted by the rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunk of wagon wheels. Please. Zidane took a deep breath as he waited for the wagon to come around the bend. 

He could hear the hoofbeats of whatever animal pulled the wagon, most likely a mule in this area. A tall, brown snout peeked into view—a horse, a large horse, a merchant perhaps.

“Help, help,” Zidane yelled as an elaborate green-painted wagon approached. 

“Steady,” a gray-haired man dressed in obviously foreign clothing said as he pulled on the reins. 

“Oh, kind sir, please, you must help me. They took everything and left me tied here for the wolves. Sir, I beg you, please cut me free.”

“Steady,” the man repeated as the horse stopped in front of Zidane. “Master, this gentleman requests our aid. Shall I cut him down?”

The carriage door slid open. A black-skinned man with a well-manicured beard peaked his head out, a gold etching visible on the collar of his silk doublet. “What is it, Otto? Why are we stopping?” he asked. 

“I’m dreadfully sorry to bring your travels to a sudden stop, but it was bandits. They stole everything from me and tied me to this tree in hopes that wolves would find me before a kind traveler like yourself,” Zidane said. 

“What’s your name?” the young man asked. 

“Zidane, sir.”

“Well, Zidane, how can I be sure this isn’t a trap? These woods are known to be the home of many bandit camps. Aren’t they, Otto?” He phrased the last sentence as more of a threat than a question. He examined Zidane more thoroughly. “Why that is wonderful,” he said, pointing at Zidane’s hat on the ground near his feet and empty coin purse. 

“Ah, yes, it’s one of a kind, but sir, I beg you. Please cut me down. If this were a trap, it would have been sprung as soon as you stopped,” Zidane pleaded. 

“Possibly, but I haven’t made it this far without caution,” the young man said, leaning further out of the carriage. “Otto, what do you think?”

“Well, Master, I think he speaks true,” Otto said, leaning over the railing to see his master.

“I swear by all the gods. Please, I can’t feel my arms and legs.” You ignorant pricks just cut me down already.

“Fine, Otto cut him down.”

“Ah, thank you, thank you. You are a true gentleman,” Zidane said, bowing as well as he could while still restrained. 

Otto jumped down from the wagon with the dexterity of a much younger man. He pulled a neatly polished dagger from his waist and approached Zidane cautiously, checking the forest for any sign of movement. He quickly sawed through the ropes, and Zidane crashed into the dirt. “I’m sorry, sir,” Otto said.

“Don’t be sorry. My legs gave out, that’s all. I’ve been tied up there for quite some time,” Zidane said, pushing himself up and rubbing the raw red flesh on his wrists. “How can I repay you?”

“Well, it appears your coin purse is empty,” the young man said, pointing at the flat purse on the ground. “But that hat might suffice.” 

Zidane paused. Is this fucker trying to take my hat? “Ah, well, ah,” Zidane struggled to find any words to say, let alone the right words. “You see that hat.”

The young man laughed and threw something at Zidane. “It was only a jest. You can keep your hat. Here are a few coins to help you in your travels.”

“Why, sir. That’s incredibly generous of you. What’s your name so I can spread word of your kindness throughout the taverns of Emre?” Zidane asked. 

“Tarver, Tarver Bulago of Numeria. It has been a pleasure, Zidane, but we are already behind schedule. Otto, to Haran. Good day, my friend.” 

What luck. “You’re going to Haran?”

“Ah, yes, a matter of some urgent business.” 

“Have you been there before?” 

“No, sadly, this is the first time Father has trusted me enough to handle business this far north.” 

Inexperienced too. Perfect. “Well, it sounds to me like you could use a guide. The path the Haran gets a little tricky once you get through Vicus,” Zidane said, smiling. 

“This is either the most elaborate bandit heist in history or you’re simply a kind fellow looking to return a favor,” Tarver said, weighing his options. “Why should I trust the navigation capabilities of a man we just untied from a tree?”

Zidane continued to brush the dust off his clothes. He picked up his hat, carefully blowing dirt off its rim. “That is a good question,” he paused, searching for an answer. “This forest is a little new to me, but I grew up in Haran; no one knows how the city better. I can find you safe passage once we arrive since it is also where I’m headed.” 

“Otto?” Tarver said. 

“I’ve been to Haran many times, sir, but Zidane seems trustworthy, and we are going the same way. If his navigation abilities are suspect, he could at least provide some conversation on the road,” Otto said, returning to his seat on top of the carriage. 

“Good point, Otto. We are still a few days out. No doubt the story of how you ended up in that tree is entertaining,” Tarver said. 

“Oh, it’s a tale fit for taverns,” Zidane said, smiling. 

“Come in, come in. You can start by telling me where you got that hat.”