Chapter 12 – A Bard Named Vard
“Vard?” Zull said, raising an eyebrow in incredulity. “That’s a rather…lucky name for a bard.”
“In full, my name is Vard Exlis Ffyddlar,” the bard said as he inched his chair closer to the table. “Teller of tales, spinner of stories, extoller of epics, etcetera, etcetera.”
“Fascinating,” Zaphyr said, mustering as much sarcasm behind the word as she could.
“I think so,” Vard said, ignoring the insult entirely.
“If you are so well known in these parts, then would you mind telling me why I have never heard of you before this night?” Sir Kyr asked.
Vard laughed nervously. “Well, I do tend to exaggerate my popularity somewhat, good Sir. It’s good for advertising purposes, you see. Truth be told, nowhere, in this province or any other I’ve visited, have I yet found an audience who has embraced me as fondly as I had hoped they would when I chose to become a bard. But, they say that for every performer, there is the perfect audience, and so I hold out hope to one day find them.”
Zull’s frowned deepened as he felt as if a headache threatened to crash upon his mind at any moment, like a thundercloud on the very tip of the horizon. A part of him thought that this man, as fantastic and bizarre as he acted and talked, surely had to be some kind of agent for the Master. If so, it explained to Zull his strange behavior as a guise he was using to put them off their guard before moving in for the kill. The other part of his mind pointed out that, if this were the case, then Vard was doing a remarkably poor job of easing his targets’ suspicions.
“What do you want?” Sir Kyr asked, fists clenched and resting lightly on the table.
Vard shrugged amicably. “I already told you that. I want to know your stories. Every story I add to my repertoire enhances my own story-spinning skills.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Sir Kyr grumbled, his hands slowly unclenching, although Zull couldn’t help but note how one slid to the edge of the table, within reach of the swords on his belt.
“I would love to help, but we aren’t exactly in a position to tell you anything about ourselves,” Zaphyr said.
“Fugitives?” Vard said, an eager, almost playful grin crossing his face. “How tantalizingly dramatic.”
Zaphyr winced as Zull rolled his eyes in annoyance. Then, an idea occurred to Zull which made the faintest of smiles creep across his face. “I’ll tell you what, Vard, I think we should make a trade.”
“What?” Zaphyr said, surprised.
Sir Kyr hissed, “Are you mad?” in Zull’s ear, but he ignored the knight.
Zull raised a hand, silently asking for them to give him a moment to finish explaining. “Here is what I am offering, Vard. You say that you know a lot about this region of Waed, and presumably the rest of the Empire as well, correct?”
Vard nodded slowly. “That would indeed be correct. One tends to pick up that sort of knowledge when traveling from town to town giving performances.”
“Then, here is my proposed offer: we’ll tell you our story, in exchange for you telling us everything you know about the Master.”
Zaphyr raised a hand to her mouth, surprised, while Sir Kyr growled softly in his throat, ready to lunge forward should Vard make any sudden moves. Instead, the bard let out a low whistle and slumped back in his chair, mopping at his forehead with a cloth. “I must say, lad, you certainly drive a hard and surprising bargain,” Vard said, shaking his head in dumbfounded amazement as he did so. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, do you? Just saying that name aloud is enough to get you killed in certain locales, whether at the hands of the Master’s own men or the Empress’ enforcers. Telling you would only put you in danger.”
“The Master already has put us in danger, repeatedly,” Zaphyr argued. “At this point, knowing more information can only protect us, not put us in more danger.”
Vard rubbed at his chins for a moment, then sighed. “Well, I’ve always been a bit of a gambler. I agree to your proposal, provided your guardian doesn’t tear me in two first, as he seems so eager to do.”
“Answer one question for me first,” Sir Kyr insisted. “Do you work for the Master?”
Vard shook his head. “Hah, if only. I’ve heard he pays well, but he has no use for an entertainer, and a rather second-rate one if I am being honest.”
Sir Kyr relaxed. “I can smell the truth on you. Zull, I agree to your bargain of yours.”
“I do as well,” Zaphyr said, nodding firmly.
Vard’s expression furrowed. “What?”
“It will make sense after we explain,” Zull said. He looked to Zaphyr, who nodded encouragingly, and, after composing and ordering his thoughts, began retelling their story, with Zaphyr occasionally interjecting with her own recollections. Sir Kyr remained silent, arms crossed on his chest, his attention focused entirely on Vard, reading his every minute reaction to the story. Zull started with their return to Gerok’s house, the fire, being chased by the Plague Rats, and their first meeting with Sir Kyr. With Kyr’s nod as reluctant approval, he then told of their battle with the Plague Rats, and Sir Kyr’s true nature. Once Zull had finished, Sir Kyr began speaking, telling a shortened version of his own story and how he had tracked down the children.
Upon the completion of both tales, Vard repeated his whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, it’s certainly more convoluted of a story than I had expected. Do you still have this letter?”
Zull reached into his sleeve and, retrieving the letter, showed it to Vard, who nodded. “Keep it safe,” he advised. “The Master, at the very least, seems to think it is worth killing over.”
“Which reminds me, you need to keep your end of the deal,” Zull said as he returned the letter to his pocket. “What do you know about the Master?”
“Not as much as I, or anyone else, would like,” Vard admitted. “Rumors have been swirling around the Master for months now. Whoever they are, they’ve been hiring mercenaries, thieves, and assassins across the Empire, building a concerningly large criminal network. It’s hard to keep an operation on that scale hidden, but no one yet has pierced to the center and found the mastermind. Anyone who comes close is killed, quickly and often brutally. I wish I had more to tell you, but as it stands, it appears I have inadvertently cheated you somewhat in our deal.”
“So, this Master has a reach far beyond Varin, and has many allies, in addition to a particularly vicious disposition,” Sir Kyr said. “I see that our journey is going to be more difficult than I had initially expected.”
Vard stared at the trio as if they had lost their minds. “You mean you still intend to deliver the letter to the Empress?”
“We made a promise,” Zaphyr said. “And we will keep it.” Zull wordlessly nodded his agreement with his sister’s statement.
Vard twisted the rings on his fingers, then inspected the gems as he whistled once more. “I can’t say that I’m surprised, judging by the very little I know of you two. I see I wasn’t wrong in estimating the quality of your story, either. The orphan twins and their wolfen guard, on a noble quest to reach the Empress, fighting alone against a shadowy villain bent on the kingdom’s destruction. How wonderful!” He wrung his hands together eagerly. “It has all the markings of a great heroic ballad.”
“It sounds like worthless drivel to me,” Sir Kyr said dismissively.
“That is because you lack the true discerning soul of the artist, good knight,” Vard said with a wave of his hand.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
“And you lack enough common sense to avoid walking into a doorpost,” Sir Kyr retorted.
Vard laughed. “A fair riposte, good knight. I can tell I will quite enjoy bantering words with you along our journey.”
At this, all three of them started, looking at Vard with astonishment. “What do you mean, ‘our’ journey?” Zaphyr asked pointedly.
“Wasn’t it obvious?” Vard said, raising an eyebrow expectantly as he did so. “I haven’t heard a thrilling song or ballad to add to my repertoire for years. Truth of the matter is, I don’t know any good stories, aside from yours now. Do you think I’ll pass up a chance like this? Absolutely not. If you three shall continue your quest to the Empress, then I intend to go along, to chronicle your adventures for future generations.” Vard smiled slyly. “Besides, I may not be the most popular of bards, but I do earn a little, enough to pay for our lodging and supplies as we travel. Of course, that is, if you’ll have me.”
Sir Kyr growled to himself, but Zull leaned over and, as Vard tried his hardest to pretend like he wasn’t eavesdropping, whispered to the knight, “Let him come along. He’s right, he can help pay for the journey, and our enemies are looking for us, a group of three; not him. Having him with us might throw them off our trail.”
“A benefit I had considered, Zull,” Sir Kyr admitted. “Zaphyr, do you have anything to add?”
“I trust him,” she said simply.
“Why?” Sir Kyr asked.
She smiled warmly at Vard, who grinned back at her. “I just do. He seems trustworthy to me,”
Sir Kyr sighed and slumped over in his seat, as if too tired to continue debating this. Nonetheless he said, “Very well, Vard, feel free to travel with us and chronicle our journey, if you are so inclined.”
Vard clapped his hands together like an excited child. “How wondrous! Believe me, once we have delivered your letter to the Empress and I resume to my usual pilgrimages, there won’t be a village between the Karthys Mountains and the border of the empire that won’t have heard of the noble adventurers of Zull and Zaphyr, er…” He looked apologetically to the twins for assistance.
“Tyrill,” Zaphyr supplied helpfully.
“Zull and Zaphyr Tyrill,” Vard continued, “and their valiant knight, Sir Kyr. I may have to cut the wolf part of the story, I fear. Most audiences can only stretch their credulity so far, you know.”
“This is all assuming, of course, that we survive long enough for you to tell your little tale,” Sir Kyr said. “The whole thing may feel like a lark to you, Bard, but these children nearly died twice just over a week in the past, and they still have the scars to show it. Our journey won’t be easy.”
“Easy adventures are boring,” Vard said, dismissing Sir Kyr’s concerns with a wave of his jeweled fingers. “And please, don’t bother trying to talk me out of assisting the three of you; no matter what you may say, my mind is made up.”
“Very well, your own funeral it shall be, then. Yours as well as ours,” Sir Kyr muttered to himself, but he seemed relatively placated, and he didn’t voice any additional complaints at the idea of Vard joining them. The four of them ate and drank in companionable silence for a few minutes, until Vard turned to Zull and said amicably, “Why don’t you and I play a game of Mills? We have a board here already, and it would help pass the time.”
Zull didn’t see why not, and he quickly arranged the board between the two of them. Mills was a simple enough game to play. The board consisted of a series of empty spaces, connected by lines. One by one, the players, whose pieces were either black or white, would place their tokens on any empty space on a board. If they managed to position two friendly pieces so an opposing one was located between them, it would create a mill and “capture” that enemy piece, removing it from the board for the rest of the game. Once both players had placed all their pieces, they would take turns moving pieces to adjacent empty spaces, to continue capturing more enemy pieces. Play continued in this way until only one player’s pieces remained. The game’s simplicity allowed it to be learned quickly by nearly anyone, and it had spread across the entirety of the empire as a result. Zull had played many times against Master Gerok, and usually won. It was one of the only skills outside hemomancy that he spent time and effort attempting to cultivate.
“Who should go first?” Vard asked Zull.
“You can,” Zull said encouragingly. His sister giggled knowingly at that statement. She knew from experience that which player came first hardly mattered when one was as skilled as Zull. Zaphyr had stopped playing against him for exactly that reason, after all.
“If you insist,” Vard said with a shrug, taking the pile of tiny white pebbles that served as his pieces. Zull in turn took the black tokens and arranged them neatly on the table before them. “When you’re ready, we can begin,” Zull said.
Vard considered his possible moves for a second, then carefully placed one of his white tokens in the very center of the board. Zull frowned slightly. A risky move, he thought. Vard either has little experience, or he is deliberately playing very aggressively. Zull opened with his usual starting move, a piece in the bottom right corner. Corners were good in Zull’s opinion, as it was more difficult, although not impossible, for your opponent to arrange his pieces to capture you there. Vard responded by placing his second piece in the top left corner, directly opposite to Zull’s own piece. Play continued like this, with Zull carefully placing each of his pieces to build up centers of power across the board, as the more pieces he had in one place, the more difficult it would be for his opponent to surround them. Vard played very erratically in comparison, placing his pieces seemingly wherever he felt like doing so at that moment. As the game continued, both Zaphyr and Sir Kyr, having finished the last of their meals, watched the game interestedly, curious to see who the victor would be. By the time that all the tokens had been placed, Vard had lost three pieces already compared to Zull’s one, and Zull had a strong control of the bottom half of the board.
“I expected you to be good, boy, but I didn’t think that you would be this good,” Vard admitted, dabbing at his forehead with his handkerchief as he did so. Zull ignored him, deep in thought and concentrated on the game as he was. His thoughtful frown had grown into a positive scowl, his eyes focused on the board, biting idly at his thumb’s fingernail as he considered his moves. After a moment more of silence, he only said, “Your move.”
As the next phase of the game begin, it became clear who had the upper hand. Zull carefully and cunningly maneuvered each of his pieces around his opponent’s arranging them to capture Vard’s own tokens with ease. With each piece he lost, Vard fought an ever more challenging battle, eventually resorting to drawing his few remaining pieces back into a single corner of the board to protect each other. Unfortunately for him, this spelled his defeat, as he no longer was able to take any of Zull’s own pieces as he surrounded him and finished him off one by one. Soon, the last of Vard’s pieces was pinned by Zull’s own tokens, and the board was cleared of all except the black pieces as Zull’s frown turned into a triumphant grin and he reached out a hand to Vard, who took it and shook it eagerly.
“Good game,” Zull said earnestly. “You played well, Vard.”
“Not good enough,” Vard said ruefully, scratching at his neck with a jeweled finger. “You are a far better player than I am, young Sir, and it was an honor to be bested by someone as skilled as yourself. I feel far more confident about our upcoming journey thanks to your talents. With such a strategist as yourself, I can’t see how we could lose a battle.”
“Unfortunately, skill in a board game don’t exactly translate to tactical mastery in real life,” Zull said with a regretful shrug. “The rules in Mills are simple compared to the complexities of true combat, as Sir Kyr will undoubtedly tell you. Besides, a piece once taken in Mills, is simply eliminated. People rarely go down that easily when their lives are on the line. No, if you’re looking for the genius in battle, it would be Sir Kyr.”
“It’s true,” Zaphyr interjected excitedly. “He saved our lives by defeating twelve men by himeslf!”
“Twelve men?” Vard said incredulously. “Impressive. If only I had been there to witness such a grand battle. The songs I could write about such an event…”
“The children exaggerate somewhat,” Sir Kyr said, clearly uncomfortable with their praise. “The Plague Rats, those fools, didn’t even have the intelligence to attack me all at once, so to say that it was myself against twelve would be to misrepresent the scene.”
“Well, whether twelve simultaneously or twelve linearly, it’s still an impressive achievement, and nothing to be ashamed of, good knight,” Vard said with a placating wave of his hand. He turned and called the tavern keeper over, then ordered another round of drinks for Sir Kyr and the others, insisting that he pay for them. “Consider it my gift to you all, as a reward for all you have done to get this far.”
The others certainly weren’t going to say no to his offer, and soon the tavern keeper returned with four more mugs which he set before them all. Vard picked his mug up and held it aloft, sending some of the ale inside sloshing out over his hand as he did so. “A toast,” he said somberly. “To the Empress, to our quest, and to Master Gerok, may he rest in peace.”
The other three lifted their mugs, hitting his with a soft clinking noise. “To the Empress, to our quest, and to Master Gerok,” they echoed in turn. Zull and Zaphyr both felt a catch in their throat at that last element of the toast, but they managed to maintain their composure long enough to finish their drinks. Setting their mugs down, they looked at each other, the pain and loss evident in both their faces. His death was still so recent to them, like a raw wound that hadn’t had time to develop a scab to protect itself, that every mention of Gerok, even in respectful remembrance of his memory, hurt them again.
“Once we reach the Empress, think of the fame and glory that will be ours!” Vard said cheerfully, oblivious to the twins’ sorrow. “After all, we helped to save the kingdom from a vast conspiracy. We will be heroes!”
Zull marveled at how quickly Vard had ingratiated himself into their band, in the space of a single meal and conversation making his use of “our” and “we” feel natural. Some people simply have a talent for that, he considered. Zaphyr has it. Vard certainly has it. I don’t. Zaphyr would say that we each have our own strengths, but when will being good with Mills help us? It certainly won’t ever save our lives.
Zull’s musings were cut off when the door to the inn was thrown open with enough force to make it slam into the wall behind it, nearly falling off its hinges. The resulting crash was loud enough to make Zaphyr and Zull both jump in their seats. All heads turned to see who the new guest, who had announced his presence so dramatically, might be. What the twins saw made chills run down their spine. The new arrival wore a long black hood and cape, concealing their body save for a leering, rotting smile visible from within the hood’s recesses. Somehow, Zull knew instantly and instinctively that this newcomer, whoever they might be, was incredibly dangerous. I fear Vard may get his chance to write about a deadly battle much, much sooner than anyone of us would like.