A/N: You read the title right. I decided that, in order to make the main story less overwhelming, to create an appendices story, almost like the appendices of The Lord of the Rings. Now, I realize that it came at the end, but I couldn't wait until I finished The Twin Blades before I started.
This story will consist of several stories that occur over all four "books" of the main story. I'll try to keep them together in terms of chapters, but there may come times when one story will be suspended and another one begins. I'll also try to keep you up to date on the timing since a lot of the events here occur at the same time as the main story. This chapter takes place during chapter 1 in the main story for example. Be sure to check out the changes I've made there as well.
I should also warn you that this story may reveal things sooner than they would be in the main story, so there are spoilers in this. So, if you find yourself finding out something twice, you have been warned.
The Rising in the East
Chapter I: The Man Without a Name
The mid-winter's night was young, quite young, for the roads of Nevassa, the capital city of the Kingdom of Daein. It was only a mark after sundown, and despite the youthful age of the evening, the streets were silent and still. Nearly every earthen path stood idle with only the billowing heaps of snow for fleeting companionship. Every so often, a sudden gust would snatch up the piles of white and carry them about. A few men, those soldiers and guardsmen now relieved of their duties, did walk the streets, only to find a place to share the night with their fellows.
These men, who had earlier received their wage, were for whom the night was young. Each one quickly sought out their comrades in whatever pub they could find. In each tavern, the air about was as loud and boisterous as the streets were quiet and tranquil.
Every pub within the city was equal this night as the sounds of shouts, laughs, and indiscernible words rendered even a thought deafened against the growing din. Men filled each table, casting dice as they sat in untamed merriment. The small cubes often fell to the floor, though the prevalent discord quickly consumed the equally small sounds. Most of all, streams of liquor fell without cease, save to purchase more. The innkeepers, however, paid no mind to the disarray around them, for they had seen such chaos many times. This was indeed an ordinary night for the pubs of Daein.
Yet, despite the normality of this night, not all who witnessed such displays readily received them.
In one pub, The Gilded Maiden by name, a solitary man sat in a lonely corner. He was a silent fellow, but he did not bear the peaceful stillness of the streets about him. No, this man seemed to many as the sobering and quite uncanny silence of a tomb.
He welcomed no fellow to join him, and he often cast ill looks towards the revelers among him even if he was not seen. None would approach him, for they knew well if they were to try, he would greet them with scorn and tell them to leave his side. He was known by no name. He had never given it to any who would speak to him, and the occasion was rare indeed that any would ask of him.
In appearance, he was a broad man, yet he did not appear as one who would indulge excessively in food. Instead, many considered him as one molded for deeds of strength, for he was a common sight. His red hair ran wildly across the top of his head, and he showed no care for it. His locks gave themselves to the dirt of the roads and fields, and many considered them far longer for a man. An equally-red beard lightly covered his chin, and he appeared all the more filthy because of it.
His clothing was ragged and worn, yet no effort was made to put as much as a patch to it. Many thought he wore little more than a mere undergarment, such as the sort worn by knights under their heavy coats of iron. The only other garment he wore was a threadbare coat of brown that appeared as though it belonged in a heap of refuse.
Often, he idly walked the streets of the city if he were not in any of the pubs. In the eyes of the men of Daein, this strange figure was little more than a common vagabond who traveled along with the winds. Yet, all who saw him knew that he was somehow different.
A belt surrounded his waist, and a sword and scabbard dangled from the left side, though he had never once drawn the blade, and an empty purse hung from the right. A chain of gold swung also from his neck, and it ran to hide beneath his shirt. Beneath the worn fabric, any who drew near could see the outline of a large coin at the end of the forged cord. Still, not a man paid him any mind, save what they would for other such common things.
All of Nevassa was quite accustomed to his presence. The stranger would hire himself to whomever would take his service upon them. He showed no care for the sort of labor he took. On many a time, he even took the work of women. And each person who welcomed the man was quick to relieve themselves of him, for he showed neither esteem nor respect to his masters. Most thought he spent what coins he could earn on liquor by the bottle, and often were they right.
The strange fellow lifted his stein to his lips and found no drop to meet them. Turning his head, he noticed the bottle he had earlier purchased was likewise dry. Leaving the bottle where it rested, he took the mug and rose, almost knocking over his chair as he did. He looked about and gave the wooden seat a hard shove, sending it to the floor with a loud thud. A few heads turned towards him, but each quickly returned to their business at hand.
The figure staggered towards the bar, and upon seeing his host engaged in some other chore, he slammed his metal cup upon the counter. He did this twice before the innkeeper turned. As they looked upon each other, the master of the inn scowled at the sight of his patron.
"Oh, it had to be you who comes to me," the barkeep stated indignantly. Despite his disdain for him, the keeper treated his unwelcomed visitor as any other customer, though he made no effort to hide his sentiments. "Well, seeing as you are here now, whatever do you want?"
"Do you not find that question without any significance at all?" the stranger answered clearly. It was a surprising feat to many that he could speak and yet shamble about like an ordinary drunkard, but even that accomplishment soon grew common, especially to those who hosted the unknown man. "I want what any man who comes to the Maiden wants. I am here for you to serve me another bottle."
The innkeeper looked at his caller and peered behind him to glimpse the empty bottle on the table before turning again to the unnamed man. "You won't get it if you try to make sport with me," he remarked, "Although, I do not think I will serve you more. You have had well over two pints as it is. I would say you've drank enough for a night and likely the next one. Would you not care for some food?"
"Did I order food? I don't believe I did. I came for drink."
"I am not about to serve you drink," the keeper said firmly. "You have had enough."
"Does it matter if you think I have had enough? You are to serve those who come, and I've asked you to serve me more. What should it matter what it is that I ask for?"
"It matters to me," said the barkeeper with a scowl. "I've seen what company men are with such an amount of liquor in them, and you are hardly good company even when you are sober. I say you've had enough."
The stranger only gave a flaming sneer in reply, and he slammed his fist upon the bar. "I said I wanted more, and more I will have!"
"I said you've had enough, and if I say it, then more you will not have."
"I do not care what you say. My only concern is for what I say, and I tell you I want more."
"You have had enough, and I will not say it again. If you do someone harm tonight in your state, I will share the blame. Now, either go back to your table or be gone with you. There are your choices on the matter, and I don't care which you choose, though to be honest, I would rather have you out the door. Besides, I've learned to count a man's wages. I can bring a bottle to a table of soldiers because I know it is all they can spend. As for you, I know you have not even a coin left in that old bag of yours. If you can't pay, then you can't drink. Now, be off with you. I don't have the time."
The man again glared at his host. He reached up with his hand to lightly scratch at the golden chain around his neck before he pulled upon it. In moments, he had produced the small ornament he wore and placed it on the bar. Calling for his host, the man pointed at its rather plain face with one dirt-covered finger.
"That should easily buy another bottle. I would wager it would fetch even two, for you will find it more valuable than I ever have."
The barkeeper picked up the disk, glistening in the light of lamps, and examined it with all care. When he had turned it over and gazed upon its surface, his face took on a look of surprise and let out a gasp.
"Do you know what this is?" asked he. "Do you know what you've given me?"
"I believe it is gold," the man replied sharply. "I did not think your eyes were dulled in addition to your ears."
"My eyes are as sharp as a hawk, if you want to know. I can see it's gold, but that is not what I meant. Look here, man, this is a medallion, and what's more, look at the symbol."
The innkeeper turned the coin over and pointed to the design upon its face. Three flowers crafted of silver were etched into the golden surface, one of the blossoms in full bloom and the other two only buds on each side of it. Spread out on each side of the flowers were two feathers also of silver. A circle of gold formed an edge around the emblem.
"This is a knight's crest," the barkeeper added, "And not only that, it's the crest of Crimea. The honored fighting men of Daein also wear an emblem much like this one, but I have never seen a knight so willing to part with his. Tell me, how did a man like you come to own this? Were you once a knight?"
"Perhaps I was, or perhaps I stole it. Either way, why should it be of any difference to you? I am paying you with it, and now I would like you to put a bottle in front of me."
At first, the eyes of his host widened in a mix of shock and horror at the ease in which the man gave such a statement, but when he looked again upon the gold, he quickly snatched it and left. Hardly a moment passed when he returned with another bottle filled with a liquid of deep copper.
"Tell me, what's your name?" the innkeeper asked in a rather suspicious tone. "I have had many soldiers come through my doors, but I have never had a knight enter the Maiden. We never have the serving for their pallets. Since you bear a knight's crest, perhaps you were a knight yourself, and I would like to know what I should call such a man."
"Why should you care to know my name? I have had few men ask me for it and a few women when they put me to their work. I did not care to give my name then, and I do not care to give it now, especially to you."
"Oh come now, I gave you a bottle, so the least you can give me is your name."
The man said nothing, though he shot the innkeeper a scowl in very much the same manner as he had earlier received. At length, however, he spoke, though it seemed still that he did not wish to do so.
"I paid for the drink. I could have just as easily taken it from you, and I would certainly have liked to do it. I owe you nothing, not even that piece of metal, but I suppose I could indulge you. My name is Otis. Consider yourself fortunate, man, for you will be the first to know it."
"In your company, I could hardly call myself fortunate. Tell me this, 'sir' Otis, why are you not in Crimea? You bear the crest of Elincia, but you are not in her house. I don't see armor or a horse or a retinue for any sort of peaceful purpose. Instead, I find a roamer of a man. Tell me what could bring such a knight such as you to Daein?"
"You think of me as a knight then? Are you certain that I am such a man? Perhaps I merely found the crest discarded on the ground, or perhaps I killed one of Elincia's knights and took his emblem. You think so little of me that I'm sure one thought or the other must have crossed your mind."
"I suppose I should have thought better of it. I had never seen a man offer to trade something so valuable for liquor. Since you have, then perhaps you did steal it. You have a look of a thief, for I have, sadly, entertained my share of them, but I would be very surprised to hear that you are a murderer as well."
"You allow thieves through your door, do you? I find that curious for an honorable fellow. As for the crest, did I say I stole it? I hardly think I did. I said I may have stolen it. I also did not say I had killed a knight. I may have killed none or many, but if I had, would I not have taken his horse? You have no need to answer. I certainly will not, at least not until I have another drink."
With that, Otis uncorked his bottle and filled his stein before bringing it to his lips.
"Don't bring up another matter entirely. I entertained them because I didn't know they were thieves, though they certainly looked the part. You find that curious, but I would say you are rather curious yourself, 'sir' Otis," said the barkeeper. "I hardly think you were a knight, but I'm sure you have quite the tale to tell about yourself and your love of the drink. I imagine you were a fighting man, since you carry a sword, if it's even made of iron. I would think you would live a fine life. I've heard your queen rewards her men well, but here you are, taking manual labor for yourself for a mere handful of coins. So, perhaps you could tell it to me. What is your story?"
"If I did steal that crest," Otis replied, setting his stein back down. "I would be far more wary than you are at present. I may be more dangerous than you think. If I killed a knight for it, then it would be no great feat for me to kill you, and if I earned it, then I would find it the same."
"I wouldn't call you dangerous. You seem to enjoy idly talking as much as you enjoy drinking. I see you carry a sword, but I have never seen you draw it. For all I know, it's made of wood."
"You may see me draw it, and you may see it sooner than you would like. I can promise you that it is a blade, not a child's plaything. Tell me this, if you would not call me dangerous, what would you call me then? Do you think me a mere fool?"
"That all depends. Tell me your story, and then I'll tell you what kind of man I think you are. I haven't heard a good story for some time now."
"And what story would you care to hear?" Otis asked rather lightly. In his voice, the barkeep heard a slight trace of ill mischievousness, and the man furrowed his brow at such a reply.
"I would rather not hear it if you only intend to toy with me. I am not the sort of man who plays games such as this."
Otis only gave a small laugh at such an answer, and he took a great gulp from the bottle.
"Oh, I will tell you my tale, although I'm sure you've heard many like it before. I am a man followed by ill fortune," he began, although his voice dripped heavily with insincerity. "I had a sister once who saw fit to cause me all sorts of trouble, and my father seemed to favor her more. One day, they both decided to rise up against me. My sister was a fighter too, and she ends up beating some poor man within an inch of his life. Well, I watched her do it, but somehow they manage to put the blame on me. And so I rot in jail for ten years. Now, I come to waste whatever is left of my life with the bottle. Does that satisfy you?"
The innkeeper shook his head and gave an unfriendly snort.
"I said I am not the sort of man who plays games. I've heard men tell me many stories that do not sound close to the truth, and some were worse than others, but even a fool could spot the lie in that one."
"Then perhaps this tale will do. I was a knight once, as you guessed. I served the royal family before falling under the ranks of man greater than I. He was a foul man, my lord, and even such a title does not do him justice. My lord was easily mad and quick to inflict all means of pain that he could upon me and my fellow soldiers. But, even as mad as he was, he was not altogether absent in his head."
"So, it seems as though you served a fool then, if he was so foul. I should think that you would not find a man like that, if it is true."
"Oh, it was very true," said Otis. "My lord knew much, and while I served him, he taught me well, both in the ways of the sword and in the ways of life. He was a man who had neither want nor need of anything; all a man could ever desire was his, except for one thing. One day, my lord came to me and told me that he would reward us well for our service if we do for him one last thing. We did just as he had asked, but in the end, he betrayed me and many others. It did not happen all at once, but when it had ended, my men and I ran for our lives because we had no queen and no country. And so here I am, the victim of betrayal after betrayal. That is my story, and what say you to it?"
As Otis finished his account, the barkeep stared at him intently. He spoke not, and he looked as though he were weighing the tale in his thoughts. At length, the barkeeper's shoulders began to quiver as a hearty laugh escaped his mouth.
"What say I to it? I'll tell you what I say. I say that has to be the worst story I have ever heard, and as you said, I've heard plenty of them."
At once, the face of Otis darkened. "Did you not hear me, man?" he shouted. "I am a man of betrayals, one upon the other. Did you not hear the tale, and do you not believe it?"
The outburst caused several of the other patrons to glance towards the bar, some with looks of wonder at the spectacle before their eyes. As time passed, the other men quickly returned to their drinks as they had before.
"I heard it, Otis. I believe everyone from here to Queen Micaiah's halls could hear it. I also don't believe a word of it. I've heard many stories from other men, and I've trusted few of the tellers. You asked me what I thought of you, and now that you've told me this story, if it is yours, I'll tell you. The way I see it, you are nothing but a dirty beggar who enjoys your ale a little too much, and nothing more. Now," he added with a point towards the empty table, "be off with you. I've given you more to drink, and I see no reason for me to indulge you any further."
Otis gave a quick nod before filling his stein once more. "Indeed, you have served me. Now, allow me to return your favor," said he before taking his cup and throwing the drink into the face of his host. The man could only stare in utter surprise at the minor attack, and when he found his voice, he was greatly offended.
"What did you do that for?"
"As I said," Otis answered quickly before snatching up both stein and bottle, "My lord taught me much, and I doubt you would understand it yet." With that, Otis said not another word and returned to his table. As he left, the barkeep shouted after him.
"If you didn't rot in jail before, you will be lucky if you don't end up in one before sundown tomorrow. You will be lucky if I don't have the soldiers after you."
"What sort of charge would you bring against me?" Otis asked, sounding most assured of himself. He did not stop nor did he turn to meet his host, though the innkeeper leaned over the bar to shout at him. Try as he might, he could think of no words to give in reply, except for those he had already spoken.
"You'll be very lucky if I don't have the city guard at your heels!"
Otis, however, paid no heed to the threat and did nothing else, save sit down and drink deeply of the bottle. All the while, he laughed quietly to himself about the earlier encounter. "What a learned fool he was, my old lord" he uttered. "For all his knowledge, he had not a trace of true wit, although, I could speak it of all of those I have ever known. One day, I will make them all see the true extent of their folly, even if I have to see them die to do it. If only I had the means to do it, I would again hold a kingdom by its throat, and then tighten my hand."
And so he sat again alone, drinking until the last of his liquor was spent. However, Otis did not leave. He remained in darkened solitude, even as the revelers and merrymakers continued in the light company of their fellow men.
The time of the Maiden drew on and on, until the last of its measurement, the coins of its patrons, was spent. Each soldier and guardsman had, by now, squandered what wages the crown had given, and had gone one by one to his own home poorer than when he had arrived. Otis had watched them as they departed with a moan from the drink and a look of woe at their losses at ale and meal and games of chance. As they had gone, they did not show their strange visitor any regard, for many had forgotten his very presence. Otis, however, rather enjoyed it. Despite the feeling of drunkenness filling his head, he found the silence fitting for him. Though he likewise moaned in the same misery, he could abide far more.
He took note of the barkeeper as he looked with unease upon him, even as he went about his work. As the host went from table to table, he kept his eyes fixed upon the man of Crimea. Yet, Otis knew well he was not the only man for whom such attention was held.
The night was still rather young, and the hours had not yet come for the dimming of the lamps and the barring of the door. As the fighting men of the country had gone, others had slipped silently in to take their place. Indeed, several such men now sat at the tables. Two of them even sat a short distance from Otis himself. By the looks of them, he was certain that these were men of most unsavory character. The barkeeper did not expel them, for they, too, had gold, and he did not bother to ask if it were truly theirs. At the sight of him serving such wayward men, Otis laughed wickedly to himself.
"It seems he does not care if he shelters and feeds the honorable men of Daein, if they could be called so. He does not care whether he serves a fighting man or a wayward rascal. He cares only for coins, and he does not care from whose purse they come. My lord was right when he spoke of the true hearts of men."
Otis wondered if someone had, by some chance, heard his muttering, for he knew that such men often paid great heed to the things which took place around them. The eye of a thief might see things that the eyes of other men did not, and the ear of a thief might hear words never meant to be disclosed. Otis looked about the room at the hunched forms of the roguish men as they plotted their deeds. They seemed to take little notice of him, and of this, the man was most glad. They, likewise, kept their voices hushed in the hopes of devising what foul acts they might do.
As he looked upon them, Otis knew well that a few of those who had come were likely assassins, for he knew the air of men who plotted death. He wondered of whom they spoke and thought to kill and, no doubt, in sleep.
"How might such men be swayed?" he asked silently. "How might a murderer be bought or made to pledge their loyalty, if they had any at all? A thief cares for trinkets, but what do the men of worse natures care for?"
At once, the ears of Otis were drawn to a sound very near to where the man himself sat in his solitude. It was the sound of two voices, muffled and hushed, and they intrigued his ears. As they bade upon him, Otis turned his head to glance at the place from where the voices came. It was from the two men who sat but a stone's throw away from his table. If not for the fact that these men were so near to him, he would not have bothered with a diversion such as eavesdropping.
"So, Rasadon, what do you say?" one man asked. "Are we for it or not?"
"I don't know, Uben," the other replied. "It sounds risky. It sounds too risky."
Otis frowned and growled as he found the conversation rather ordinary for his liking. All the same, he continued to listen for no other purpose, save for his own amusement. He did not know one man from the other, but he did not care to know. One of the men spoke again, and Otis supposed that it was the voice of the one called Uben.
"I know it does, but every job we do has some risk. How many manors or travelers have we robbed? The way I see it, this job is no worse than any of them."
"You're as hard as a rock," came the voice of the second man. "This job is a lot riskier than anything we've ever done. We're only thieves, and Parzal is a murderer. If we get caught on one of our jobs, we get locked up. We could hang for this one."
Otis tilted his head in foul curiosity as their words carried the dire thought of death. He wondered of whom the deed was spoken, and who was this strange figure they called Parzal. He had not heard such a name before, even though he had lived for many months within the borders of Nevassa. The name seemed most intriguing to the man, and he hoped to hear more. He heard the first man only laugh in reply before he gave an answer.
"I still don't think we're risking all that much. I don't like the idea of hanging either, but think about how many times we got an arrow shot at us or nearly gutted by someone with a sword. We came through in one piece. Besides, you heard what Parzal said, 'Better to die a loyal Daein than bow to a false queen.'"
Otis gave a slight smile. Though he knew nothing about him, he was certain that he would have found an ally in this man. At the very least, he could find some manner to win his allegiance and find some use for it.
It came as no surprise to the wandering man that there were those who plotted against Micaiah, the new Queen of Daein. Otis had stood among the crowd when the crown was set upon her silver head, and the people offered her their cheering honor. He had seen her do in a matter of weeks what other rulers took months or even their very lifetimes to accomplish. And then, once she had firmly established her reign, Micaiah had done what Otis was certain some considered unthinkable. She had stood before her people and revealed herself as a Branded.
Otis recalled how the crowd fell silent in utter shock at her words. If not for one child daring to laud her and stirring much of the crowd to do the same, he had thought the rule and life of the Silver-Haired Maiden would have ended swiftly.
"I don't know," the second man said. "Since when do we care who rules? We're thieves, and we care only for our loot. And what makes you think Parzal will even let us in on it?"It's not like he really needs us. If his dagger can kill with the slightest cut, why should he want us with him?"
Otis stiffened at those words. He wondered if he had heard them rightly or if his ears toyed with him under the influence of the brew. He continued to listen, and he hoped they would speak of this dagger once more.
"Why shouldn't he? He wouldn't leave us out. We're friends, and you might say we're family to him."
"The only reason you might say that is because he broke us out of prison for the fifth time, and I don't think he would have done it either, if he didn't think we'd tell the guards where to find him."
"Oh, you're talking like a fool. How many scrapes has he been in and we helped him? That's why he helped us. He owed us getting us out of prison, and I'd think he'd want to give us a good turn? Why don't we go talk to him?
"I don't think I will, Uben. Like I said, we're thieves, and I only care about two things. I care about my loot and staying alive long enough to get it, and I still don't think Parzal will want us with him."
"Oh, come on," his partner pleaded. Otis scowled as he imagined the most pitiful face for the most pitiful of voices. He again hoped to hear of this dagger that he had thought they spoke of if only to know of it for certain. The first man went on, and Otis once turned his ear towards the two robbers.
"Parzal may be the greatest assassin on the whole continent, but he knows a friend when he has one. Besides, once Micaiah is dead, we'll have a whole castle to loot. We can live like kings off of a handful of what's inside her storeroom."
"'Oh, I'm sure he does," the second man replied with a mocking tone. "'I'm Parzal, the greatest assassin in Tellius. I stole some magic dagger from Begnion, I can kill with the slightest cut, and I'm going to include two friends in the biggest job of my life.' Does that sound like Parzal to you, Uben? He doesn't need us, and I don't think he'll want us. He can just cut through the guards and Lord Sothe, and right to Micaiah. Then he can live like a king. Besides, what makes you think he won't cut us instead? Last time he broke us out of prison, he didn't seem too pleased."
Otis let out a slow breath, and his smile broadened. He heard all that he had need to hear, and he knew now that he had not imagined those words. Otis hunched over and waited, digging at his palm with eager and impatient strokes. He hoped he did not appear unsettling, for he did not wish to cause alarm to the pair of rogues. He wished now to hear of Parzal, but he was hardly worried if they did not speak of him. Otis knew quite well a number of ways to force men to loosen their tongues, and he was quite sure he would have little difficulty with men such as these two.
"You close your mouth, Rasadon. I'm getting sick of hearing it. Parzal wouldn't do us in. He's our friend, and he still owes us a good turn. And you've got it all wrong. Parzal didn't steal the dagger. I heard him say he found it."
"Where was I when he said it? I don't believe anything unless I hear it with my own ears."
"I don't know where you were. Maybe you were there, but you're so stone headed, you don't remember it."
"I'd say it's better to be stone headed than empty headed, like you Uben. Parzal had to steal that dagger. I don't think he's ever had anything that was his."
"All right, he probably stole it, but what makes you think he stole it from Begnion?"
"It's a magic dagger, isn't it? Everything that's magic comes from Begnion."
"He's never been there," the first man countered quickly.
"He probably lied about that too." said the second.
Otis scowled as the two men began a lengthy argument on the subject. Back and forth the robbers went, each providing little to the quarrel, other than a quick utterance of 'he said this' or 'he's a liar.' On and on they went, and Otis thought they sounded like two roosters. He continued sitting there listening with disdain for the two squabbling bandits.
He held no interest in claims to the truth of another man's account. He cared only to know where he could find the man of whom they spoke. As they continued to quarrel, Otis pondered simply wringing the truth from their lips if only to prevent them from taking their own lives if they should go from petty words to a brawl or a knife fight.
At length, the two men ceased to speak in angered voices, and the first man spoke again.
"All right, fine," said he. Otis imagined him raising his hands to yield to his fellow, for the eavesdropper did not turn his head. "You say he stole it from Begnion then, he stole it from Begnion. But we're going to get ourselves thrown out or worse if we just keep sitting here. Should we tell Parzal we're for him or not?"
"I still don't like it. I don't know what he'll do if we do, but maybe he'll see it your way, Uben. Let's tell him we're for him."
"Good," the first man answered, and he sounded very pleased at the turn in his favor. "Let's be on with it then."
The sound of wood scraping against wood met Otis's ears, and he wasted not even a moment in thought or hesitation. He quickly rose and turned around just as the two bandits were rising as well. Now, he saw them with his own eyes, one man of an average size with hair of muddy brown and protruding teeth, and the other man of a more muscular form with hair the color of blue stone. Otis glanced down at their belts, taking note of the knives tucked inside and well within reach of their hands, but he gave the weapons little thought as he strode towards them.
"Who do you think you are?" the man with brown hair asked with much offense at the appearance of Otis. "Be off with you!" The eavesdropper did not do as he was asked. Instead, he only took another step towards the two bandits. The second man looked upon the comer with a face of both fear and anger, for it seemed he knew the sort of man who now stood before them. "Are you deaf?" the first man asked. "I said move on. Now, do it before I split your gut!"
The thief reached for his knife, but Otis moved his hand and took the man roughly by the shirt. "I will not be ordered," said he, and without another word, he lifted the robber into the air, finding him quite light. "But, I shall give you orders," he added.
"What kind of orders do you think you can give?" the captive thief asked, sounding very defiant, yet also fearful at having someone take him off his feet as though he were a child's doll. He struggled and kicked wildly, hoping to force his take to release him, but the grasp of Otis was firm and unyielding.
"I could give many, but I will only give you one," replied Otis, with a voice think with anger. "And if you wish to live to see the sun rise, you will heed it. Where is this man you call Parzal?" The thief did not answer. Rather, he furrowed his brow and sneered at his captor. When Otis again demanded to know, the robber only spat at him.
The red-haired man pursed his lips in silent contemplation at what he might do. He looked about at the table the two bandits had previously sat before, wondering what might he do to force his hostage, still writhing in his grip, to speak. From out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw the second man reaching for his knife.
"Draw that blade, and I tell you this man dies here and now," Otis warned, looking towards his attacker with eyes that spoke his intent more than any word his lips could give. Looking about the room at the other unsavory men who now turned their eyes upon him, he added, "And the same goes for all of you." When the thief withdrew his hand, Otis nodded with satisfaction. "Throw the knife on the table," he bade, "and then take three steps backwards."
When the bandit did as he was bidden, Otis turned his eyes back to his captive. "Now, tell me. Where is Parzal?" Once again, the man said nothing, and once again, the only reply he gave was to spit upon he who held him.
"That's right," the second man said in praise of the defiance of his fellow. "Don't tell him anything. Spit on him again!"
"What are you going to do about that?" the first bandit asked. "I won't tell you anything. We may be thieves, but we have some pride. One thief is still loyal to another. You'll never find Parzal, even if you say you'll cut my throat. So, what are you going to do?"
Otis did not answer. He turned and walked towards the wall, watching his captive continue to struggle and even to strike his hand with his own. The red-haired man drew his arm back, and then, with a quick thrust, he struck the man against the wall. The thief grunted in pain and gasped, drawing in breath after breath.
"You wished to know what I would do," Otis remarked, "and now you know what I will do. My lord taught me much in the ways of wringing the truth from a man. If they will not talk, then the only way to force them is to make them scream. Now, if you have drawn enough breath to speak, where is Parzal?"
The man did nothing, except continue to gasp. Otis again drew back his arm and struck his captive once more against the wall. In his eyes, where once burned a fire of defiance, a chilling look of fear now appeared. A third time, Otis struck him against the wall, and he pressed his own weight against the bandit. The captive no longer squirmed wildly, as though he were a caught fish. His captor drew his arm back once again so that the two men now stared each other in the face.
"If you do not tell me, then the next time, I will step back and ram you into the wall. I doubt you have the mind to see it, but think of what might happen to you. An oaken door may withstand a good battering, but do you think bones will do the same? Do not try me again. Tell me, where is Parzal?"
The bandit only coughed and heaved, hoping to draw in breath. Otis thought he even saw the glimmer of a tear in the man's eye. Yet, he did not speak. Otis let a breath through his nose in frustration at the persisting and defiant silence, and he took a step back to carry out his threat. The bandit's head shook wildly as he, at last, found his voice.
"I will tell you," he wailed. "I will tell you." His face was still a short distance from that of his captor, so he could speak quietly. "He's in Palmeni Temple," said the bandit. "He's been hiding there since the occupation ended. Now, you know, so please don't hurt me."
"I do know now, and I will not do as I said I would. I will, however, tell you this. I have seen men I thought pitiful endure much worse than you have. If you could break so easily, then I say you are the most pitiful of them all." And with that Otis turned and roughly threw the man into the table at which he and his fellow had once sat. Both fell to the floor with a loud thud, but the knife that had rested upon the table fell with a clatter.
At once, the second man sprang upon his fallen weapon and stood before Otis with the blade at the ready, tip down towards the floor. The red-haired man merely smiled at the sight before his eyes as the two of them circled each other.
"You seem to like trouble," said the robber, coming to a stop at length. "Well, you've found more than enough with me. I'll slice that smile of yours right off your face!"
Otis's lips curled as his mouth spread into a wide and wicked smile. "I should like to see a man such as you do just that. I have not fought for a long time, since before the people were turned to stone and I walked among them until now, and I think I would enjoy it. Have at me, thief!"
The rascal before him quickly lunged in reply. He brought back his arm and struck, but his opponent seized him by the wrist. Though the robber was of a burly sort, his attack was unskilled, except by the standards of a scoundrel. Still, with an angered grunt, he fought Otis, hoping to cut him at the very least. The red-haired man, however, would not relent. With a similar grunt and with all his might, he gave a quick shove and sent the bandit stepping blindly backwards. He tripped over his fallen partner, still in a daze and sprawled out upon the floor, and as his fellow had done, he landed with a thump.
Otis drew his sword the moment the second thief had fallen. With a cry of battle, he raised the iron blade high. "Get up if you wish, and finish what you've begun," he commanded the fallen men. "You have found trouble enough with me, and I would like to settle it."
Before either man could muster enough strength to even stand, the sword clattered to the floor as the sound of glass shattering filled the ears of every man. Otis grew stiff as a howl of pain left his mouth. Behind him stood the barkeeper with an empty and broken bottle in hand and a look of ire upon his face. At once, some of the other rascals who had come to the pub shouted out.
"Get him!" they cried.
"I don't usually side with the likes of you," said the barkeeper, taking a step back, "but I would side with every rogue in Nevassa over this one. Get him!"
The men sprang from their tables and rushed at Otis. They struck him with their fists, shouting loudly some words, others merely wild cries. Unarmed and in pain from the blow delivered upon him, Otis was quickly beaten down. A few men called to kill him, but the barkeeper shouted above them.
"I don't mean this one any harm, and I will not have a murder in my inn. Throw the rascal out, and then you men be on your way. I'm tired, and I would like to sleep tonight. But get him out of here and be quick about it."
They stood Otis to his feet and roughly dragged him towards the door. When they had reached it, one man began to count while the others made ready to do as their host had asked. When the count reached three, the mob gave Otis a hard shove, and he tripped over his own feet and landed on his face in the road to the cheers of those behind him. The barkeeper pushed his way through the crowd and cast the fallen sword near its owner.
"Don't ever come back here again," he ordered with a harsh voice. "You asked what I'd charge you with, and I'd charge you with starting a fight in here. If I ever catch you in my inn again, I'll have the soldiers after you, and don't you forget it!"
And then the door was shut. It opened and closed again several times as the men took their leave of the Maiden, and they passed by Otis without thought or care at his unmoving and silent form.
When the last man had gone, Otis reached for his sword and his fingers gripped at the handle. Sorely, he rose. His body groaned at the many blows he had received, and he felt a trickle of blood from his nose. He sheathed his fallen sword and brought a hand to the back of his head, feeling the warmth of an open wound. Otis seemed to care little for the blood or his wounds, and as he stood in the road, he began to laugh.
He took the coat that he had worn and tore it for bindings for his head, and when he had wrapped his wound, he looked out at the road leading north into the mountains. At once a chilling gale blew hard, and it seemed to come from the very path he intended to take. Though he shivered against it, Otis opened his arms in an inviting embrace.
"The winds grow cold," he said, "and surely they are meant for a night such as this. I shall find this Parzal and this dagger I have heard of. If the winds will change this night, then surely they change in my favor."
And then he went on his way up the road.
A/N: For those of you who have read the main story, you'll remember this as part of chapter 1. But now that it has its own chapter what do you think of it now? Chapter alerts will be updated with abbreviations so you'll know which story it's for. For instance, this one will be updated with TRitE.