Tales & Treasure

Vidmar - Trouble Hiding

The bird's melodious chirping seemed different this morning. It was slightly softer and less enthusiastic, and there was no echo, no annoyingly accurate echo. Vidmar watched Vatis. The bard sat in the dirt, hugging his knees to his chest. The remains of their campfire smoldered a stride away from his face, smoke spiraling upward into the foggy air. His bloodshot eyes seldom blinked. "First skirmish?" Vidmar asked.

Vatis shook his head, avoiding eye contact. He glanced at the red-stained earth where Zidane's guard died, then back to Vidmar. He opened his mouth slightly. His dry, cracked lips glistened as he licked them. "I," he started, but his voice cracked as if the words were punched back into him. "It was," he continued. "We could have," he rubbed his bruised face. "My fault," he mumbled, looking at the ground. He sat silently for a few moments.

Vidmar waited. He knew what it was like for most people after a battle. Surprisingly, Vatis handled the situation much better than Vidmar anticipated.

After a moment, Vatis found his voice. "Thank you, Vidmar." A tear escaped from his swollen, darkening eye. "Thank you."

"Just listen to me next time," Vidmar said softly, trying to ease the tension.

"I'm sorry," Vatis said, with more strength returning to his voice. "I'm glad you were here." A shy smile emerged from beneath his mustache.

Vidmar helped Vatis to his feet. The bard hissed as he stood. "Let's see the damage."

He gently pressed on Vatis's side. The bard squirmed, hissing as Vidmar examined him. "At least two broken ribs. Lift your shirt. No signs of internal bleeding. Alright, you can put it back down. A few broken ribs, some bruising, a broken nose, and just a little unrepairable trauma. Not too bad. Pa always told me, 'If you come out of a battle with your life and half your wits, consider yourself lucky,' and it sure looks like you passed that test. Not that you had many wits to begin with - a peddler, really?"

"I'm sorry," Vatis repeated softly. His face reddened despite the bruising.

Vidmar handed Vatis his pack. "I think that's everything," he said. "I just stuffed it in there when I woke this morning. You might want to double-check."

Vatis opened the bag, rooting through its contents systematically. "What's this?" Vatis said as he pulled out a black coin purse embroidered with golden symbols.

"Zidane's purse," Vidmar said, gathering his supplies. "I figured you deserved it after that beating you took."

Vatis paused, weighing the purse in his hand. "We should split it," he said.

Vidmar smiled. "I was hoping you would say that."

They stepped out of the dense forest back onto the road where Zidane was tied tightly to a thin birch tree. He perked up as he heard footsteps. "Help, help, please, I beg," he stopped abruptly.

"Good morning, Zidane. How did you sleep?" Vidmar asked.

"Untie me, you... you twisted goat fucker," Zidane shouted.

"Well, I was considering untying you; that is my favorite rope, but that rash vulgarity is precisely why I must leave you here. You're unpredictable."

"Untie me," Zidane cried. "You can't leave me here."

"Oh, I can. Here you go," Vidmar said as he tossed the thief's purse. It fluttered like a feather before falling to the ground in front of Zidane's feet.

"It's empty."

"Of course it is. Did you really think I would leave you any money? After what you did."

"What I did? How about what you did? You killed four men last night and nearly a fifth. We were just going to rob you."

"Right? Vatis is proof that you were just going to rob us," Vidmar said, pointing at the bard. He stood, more like, hunched next to Vidmar. An orange-tinted sun illuminated his bruised, swollen face.