Chapter 18 – The Bandit Feast
Argus Vyle gestured to his two followers, who bowed before immediately departing the tent, leaving the four of them alone with the bandit lord. He grinned like an excited child as he stood up and walked over to Sir Kyr, who he then hugged ferociously. “It’s good to see you again, friend,” Argus Vyle said. “Have you killed anyone particularly interesting since we last met?”
“No,” Sir Kyr said flatly.
“Shame,” the bandit lord said sympathetically. “I hope that you and your companions have enjoyed your strolls through my woods?”
Sir Kyr looked to the twins, who nodded. “It has been satisfactory.”
“If I may be so bold,” Vard interjected, “but I would rather we receive our supplies immediately and get on our way.”
“Nonsense!” Vyle said with a laugh. “It’s far too late in the day for that. The four of you must join us for a feast and then spend the night! Tomorrow, tomorrow, you can be on your way, but tonight you shall celebrate with me the return of an old friend! Surely your quest isn’t so urgent that you cannot afford a single night?” The four of them didn’t have an answer to that, so Argus Vyle smiled and said, “I thought not.”
The bandit lord strolled ahead out of the tent, the four of them scrambling to keep up with the man. Despite his apparent age, the bandit lord was practically brimming with excited energy and moved far faster than any of them, even Sir Kyr, could manage. He gestured to the center of the clearing, where the four of them saw a large collection of pots, cauldrons, and other cooking utensils gathered together, where the silent woman who had stood alongside Vyle was wordlessly directing several other bandits as they prepared the evening’s meal.
“Her name’s Alys,” Vyle informed them as they walked over to the group. “She joined us after you left, Kyr. She isn’t much of a talker, but an absolute genius when it comes to preparing food. I made her in charge of all the provisions less than a week after she arrived, and I haven’t regretted it.”
“And the man in green?” Sir Kyr asked. “I don’t remember him either.”
“Ah,” Argus Vyle said, stroking his mustache as he spoke. “You refer to Lloyl. Lloyl Renzick. A former mercenary captain working for the Empress, he grew dissatisfied with his pay and, during a patrol at the edge of the forest, left along with his whole company and asked to join me instead. Of course, I wasn’t going to refuse him. He isn’t the most gifted soldier I’ve ever seen in combat, but he knows how to train his men. He’s made himself my chief advisor, on the understanding that I am free to ignore his advice whenever I choose. Which, as it happens, is most of the time.”
“I thought you hated the Empress,” Zaphyr blurted out. “Why would you have someone who used to work for her join your ranks?”
Argus Vyle swung around to face her, eyes showing his amusement. “You really haven’t heard much about me, have you?” Argus Vyle said wonderingly. “I do hate the Empress. How else do you think I convinced any of these men to serve with me? Nearly all of us served her at one point or another. Now, together, we get the revenge that none of us would have as individuals been able to achieve.”
“If you loathe the Empress so much, it seems like you and the Master would be natural allies, since you both want her deposed,” Vard said half-accusingly.
Sir Kyr tensed, waiting to see if Vyle would take offense to the accusation, but instead the bandit lord threw back his head and laughed. “Want the Empress deposed? You couldn’t be more wrong. If the Empress was overthrown, then I couldn’t torment her anymore, now could I? It isn’t about defeating her. It’s about simply making her as miserable as I possibly can. Do you understand?”
“No,” Vard said, running a hand along his forehead.
“Ah, well,” Argus Vyle said breezily. “I suppose that’s your fault, not mine, since I at least had the decency to explain myself. Keep up, my good man!”
By this point, they had made their way to where Alys and the other cooks stood in a rough circle around an enormous pot, brewing enough stew for the bandit lord’s entire army. The ingredients, which ranged from cured venison to mushrooms to wild plants Zaphyr and Zull couldn’t even guess at identifying, were scattered around the great cauldron, waiting for their chance to be added to the bubbling concoction. Evidently, all these ingredients had been collected by the various bandits from hunts in the forest. Alys was leaning over the stew as they approached, and upon hearing them coming stood up and quickly turned to face them.
“When will supper be ready?” Argus asked in his booming voice.
“Soon, another half hour at most,” Alys said in a soft, husky voice. Sir Kyr frowned, ears twitching, and Alys’ seemed to tense up.
“Don’t be frightened of old Kyr, Alys,” Argus Vyle said reassuringly. “He may look like a ferocious wolf, but underneath he’s really just a big, overly eager puppy who wants friends.”
Vard snorted at that, stifling his humor instantly when Sir Kyr shot a withering glare in his direction. Zaphyr giggled uncontrollably, and even Zull couldn’t resist the ghost of a grin.
“Well, let us know as soon as it is ready,” Vyle commanded Alys. “In the meantime, we shall all prepare for our grand feast!”
The bandit lord was true to his word, and the next half hour passed quickly for all involved as they helped with the preparations. Soon there was a rough circle of chairs and tables all hewn from the forest’s trees set up around the clearing. Argus Vyle sat on his throne before one of these tables, with Lloyl and Alys to one side of him and Sir Kyr, Vard, and the twins to the other. Before them all were set wooden bowls, filled to the brim with the steaming broth of the stew, as well as roughly hewn goblets filled with a sharp, nutty drink that the twins did not recognize.
“Things have been ever so much more convenient around here since I was able to recruit a carpenter,” Argus Vyle told them as they began their meal. “Our earlier efforts to make furniture and utensils for ourselves were…not the most successful, as this throne will attest to.”
Zull took a spoonful of the soup and sipped it. It was one of the heartiest things he had ever tasted, and the meaty, salty taste seemed to drip and drizzle across his tongue. Zaphyr joined him, and soon they along with the rest of the bandits were eagerly devouring the warm, spiced soup with glee.
“I must confess to some curiosity,” Vard said as the meal progressed. “I am almost as ignorant as the twins are to your history, Lord Vyle. How did you come to be the self-proclaimed master of these woods, and how did you and the Empress develop such an, ah, enmity between the two of you?”
Sir Kyr started to speak, but Argus Vyle silenced him with a wave of his hand. “It’s my story, and I will tell it,” Argus Vyle said. Lacing his hands before his face, he stared broodily down at the table before him as he considered how best to begin. “It was over fifty years ago, now, that it all began,” he said at last, sounding both melancholic and deeply regretful. “Back then, there was no empire of Waed ruling the entire known world, as there is now. More importantly, there was no Empress sneering down at us from her magnificent throne. Instead, there were countless lesser kingdoms, each squabbling with each other for power, land, and resources. One of those little kingdoms had a name you might recognize. It was known then, ironically enough, as “Lesser Waed.” Back then, its ruler wasn’t known as Empress Yelezna Vay, but Queen Yelezna Waedyl.”
The twins leaned closer, curious. Their knowledge of history was rudimentary at best, and they were hearing about the founding of the very empire they were trying to protect for the very first time. Even Vard, squinting slightly, leaned in. Only Sir Kyr, who had heard this story before, continued to sip his soup.
Continuing, Argus Vyle said, “neighboring Waed was a small but wealthy independent duchy known as Hyll. The duke of that realm was a very young, very romantic, and very, very foolish man named Argus Vyle. He and Yelezna began a courtship which lasted for several years. He thought it was true love. For her, it was simply an astute political maneuver. The marriage, once it finally happened, lasted less than two years before Yelezna, putting pressure on the local church, obtained the divorce she wanted, stealing quite a chunk of Hyll’s border province for her own kingdom in the process. I, meanwhile, was left with a broken heart and a bitter hatred.” Argus Vyle looked down then, mouth twitching, reliving old, still painful memories. “Ah, but she didn’t have the decency to stop there, you see. Oh no, less than a year later, she married again, this time to that pompous idiot, Mekam Vay, who ruled a sizeable kingdom near her own well known for their military prowess. With Hyll’s stolen resources and Mekam’s armies at her disposal, Yelezna and her new husband started on her campaign of grand conquest, subjugating every kingdom, county, and city-state she came across until she ruled everything from sea to sea.” He chuckled bitterly at that statement, before lapsing into silence.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“What happened then?” Zaphyr asked gently, curious to hear the rest of the story.
“I fought her,” Argus Vyle said simply. “I fought her at every turn. Whenever she went to war, I would ally myself to whoever she was battling at the time, no matter their politics or chance of winning. They never did win, anyway. I fought her every step of the way, rebuilding my army after every bloody campaign, until even once-prosperous Hyll was utterly bankrupt. Unable to raise an army anymore, I began offering myself as a soldier for hire, willing to work for next to nothing, just to get the chance to keep fighting her, stymieing her at every possible opportunity. Nothing worked. The Empress and her armies were like a tide, which sweeps away everything before them no matter your efforts. Eventually, even my time as a mercenary came to an end: there was no one left for her to war with, and therefore no one left for me to ally with against her.”
“And then?” Zull pressed.
“And then,” Argus Vyle continued, “I became a bandit. If I could no longer torment her from outside her precious empire, then I would do so from within. I drew those who were likewise embittered with the Empress to myself and began raiding caravans, patrols, and the like wherever I could. She hunted me down, naturally enough, and after the pillaging of Empress Veil – yes, I chose that town specifically to spite her because of the name – I took what remained of my men and fled to Ar Goll Forest, where we have continued our little rebellion to this day.” Having finished his story, Argus Vyle leaned back on his throne, hands clasped across his chest, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“You mean to say,” Vard said slowly, “That you have spent over five decades battling the Empress of Waed, burning though an entire duchy’s wealth and then some, all out of a desire for revenge for her divorcing you?”
“In a word?” Argus Vyle responded. “Yes. A noble quest, do you not think?”
Vard shook his head. “I think that might be the single pettiest thing I have ever heard.”
Sir Kyr bristled momentarily, but Argus Vyle laughed. “Thank you!” he said sincerely. “That’s the best compliment I’ve received in quite a while.”
Vard looked to the twins, baffled, but they simply shrugged, as confused as he was.
“Now, I’ve told you my story,” Vyle said, gesturing with his spoon towards the twins as he did so. “Tell me yours.”
The twins hastily summarized for him everything they had been through, from the night of the fire, through their harrowing battle with Zared Choler and then their trek through the forest up until encountering his patrol in the woods. Upon finishing their story, Lloyl, Vyle’s assistant, shook his head in open disbelief. “You expect me to believe that children could have taken part in such battles and survived, let alone contributed?” he said. “Such a fanciful story belongs in a bard’s repertoire of folk tales, not at this table.”
“I was present for much of their story, and can attest to its truth,” Sir Kyr said flatly. “Are you calling me a liar, Sir?”
Lloyl gulped audibly, looking from the wolf knight’s inscrutable features to Argus Vyle, who was watching them both with evident amusement. “No, of course not,” Lloyl said meekly. “It simply seemed…incredible to me, that is all.”
“You say that to a man with a wolf’s head,” Vard noted, eyebrow raised archly.
Lloyl had no response to that, and wisely chose to remain sitting there mutely, staring at Sir Kyr and the twins with evident distaste. Argus Vyle filled the void by loudly asking for more stew, which Alys and the other cooks brought quickly, refilling his bowl as well as those of any of the other bandits who asked for it. As hearty and filling as the meal was, both Zaphyr and Zull were contented with what they already had. By this point, night had fallen, and the clearing was lit by lanterns placed about its edges, creating tiny bubbles of light which pushed the darkness back, giving a wild and fantastical feel to the entire celebration. Zull felt himself relaxing, at ease amidst the general revelry of the celebrating bandits, a comforting heaviness beginning to pull at his eyelids. Zaphyr next to him must have been feeling tired as well, as she stifled a yawn a moment later.
“I must say, Sir, your life story is quite the fascinating one,” Vard said. Vyle nodded his thanks at the compliment. “With your permission, Sir, I would like to write a ballad detailing the adventures of your life, once I have delivered the twins to the Empress.”
“Hmm. The tragedy of Argus Vyle the Magnificent, Once King of Waed?” Argus Vyle suggested.
“Er, something along those general lines,” Vard said absently. “It has all the elements the common people like in their tales: a tragic story, unrequited romance, grand battles, and intrigue. It will be a smashing success at all the inns, I’m sure of it.”
“It will?” Vyle said, amused. “And you intend to spread this grand epic across the land, to all the people of Waed?”
Vard bowed as much as he could while sitting. “Of course. As a skald by profession, it’s both my pleasure and duty.”
“My lord, this man is mocking you,” Lloyl said with a snarl. “You cannot seriously believe him when he says that he will work to ‘spread your story.’ He intends to make a joke of your noble name from Velinshire to Melkis!”
“My good Sir, I resent that accusation,” Vard said hotly.
“And yet,” Lloyl said, “you don’t deny it. You would make a mockery of my lord and his struggles for the amusement of others and your own profit. I hardly see that as fit work for a so-called storyteller.”
Argus Vyle looked from his lieutenant back to the bard, his expression unreadable. “And do you intend to mock me, Bard?”
Vard stifled an enormous yawn, which surprised him, before saying, “No more so than I would anyone else, My Lord. It is my duty as an entertainer to mock those I entertain, after all. All the better if they realize I am doing so. The mockery might sting, yes, but in so doing it reveals our flaws, and how we can improve ourselves. Consider me a jester, a fool, a sage, and a storyteller, all for the price of one.”
Vyle nodded with satisfaction. “As it should be. Let the man be, Lloyl. He is simply doing his duty.”
Lloyl, clearly dissatisfied, nevertheless did as he had been commanded, picking up his goblet and pointedly ignoring Vard, Sir Kyr, and the twins as he swallowed his entire goblet’s contents in a single tremendous gulp.
“I have another question for you, Sir,” Vard asked the bandit lord. Vyle nodded slightly as he drank a ladle of soup, wordlessly giving his permission for the bard to continue. “If you despise the Empress so much, and we are seeking to save her, then why did you agree to assist us? I understand that you don’t want her overthrown, per say, but we are seeking more than that: we’re trying to save her. ”
Argus Vyle gently set the half-drunk bowl of stew down, staring thoughtfully into it as he did so. “Because of the debt that I owe to Sir Kyr,” Argus Vyle responded simply. “That mangy fur-ridden excuse for a knight has saved my life more times than I would care to admit. Anything he asked of me, short of surrendering to the Empress herself, I would do.”
“You flatter me,” Sir Kyr said humbly. “But, my lord, I never saved your life.”
“Oh, rubbish,” Vyle said jestingly. “Do you not recall that time the little fiend with the crossbow nearly shot me in the back before you shoved me out of the way and took the quarrel to the shoulder? It’s why I use a crossbow, after all. Devilishly effective weapons, those crossbows.”
“I remember quite well,” Sir Kyr said. “You were infuriated with me at the time. I believe you said you would ‘skin me alive and wear me as a coat,’ before I pointed out to you the crossbowman.”
Argus Vyle guffawed. “That I did! Good memory, Kyr.”
“Things like that tend to stick with one,” Sir Kyr said pointedly.
“Ah, you know I never meant a word of it,” Argus Vyle said with a wave of his hand. “I…I…I,” the bandit lord blinked woozily, suddenly looking as if he were struggling to maintain a steady train of thought. “I…,” he tried to stand up, but after wavering unsteadily for a moment, he collapsed back into his seat, head lolling to the side. “I…,” he said one more time drowsily, before falling into a deep slumber, snoring loudly.
“What?” Vard and Sir Kyr said in astonished unison. They looked around the clearing, and saw to their surprise that, one by one, the other bandits were falling asleep in eerie synchronization. Already, more than half were asleep, and even as the others realized as the pair had that something was amiss and tried to act, they were already collapsing to the ground, unconscious within moments.
“The twins,” Vard said, spinning, to see that they had passed out as well, sleeping peacefully, slumped forward in their chairs. He turned back to Sir Kyr, his expression one of concern. “What do we do?”
“We find who did this,” Sir Kyr said, standing to his feet. The knight took a step forward, stumbling as he did so.
“Oh no,” Vard said quietly.
Sir Kyr, eyelids drooping, struggled simply to continue standing. He took another resolute step forward, rocking back and forth like a sailor in a tumultuous sea. “I…should have…known,” Sir Kyr said in a low, raspy growl, before falling forward to the ground with a loud, resounding thud.
Vard sat there, feeling a mixture of panic and creeping lethargy, letting him know that whatever was afflicting the others was happening to him as well. In a rising tide of weariness he fell forward, his eyes closing against his own will. As his last moments of consciousness ebbed away into oblivion, one single, startling factor stood out to him: far off, he heard the lilting, mocking laughter of a woman.