The Thirteen

I – The Fold

The wooden door slid to one side and the young officer marched into the magistrate's office. He stood at attention as best he could and stared straight ahead at the bloated lazy man reclining in his seat, a pipe in his mouth.

Without opening his eyes, the magistrate acknowledged the officer's presence. "You have… something… to report?"

"One of the village guards reported a peculiar-looking man walking through the front gates," he replied crisply.

"Peculiar… how?"

"Well… he looked different from the usual traveler. He was limping as if from a side wound and he looked as if he hadn't had anything to eat in days."

"I fail to see… how that is strange…"

"There is one more thing. At his side was… a sword," the officer said tentatively. At this, the magistrate's eyes finally opened, though as if with a great effort.

"Keep an eye on this man…"

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That man walked along the dusty paths of Ambros, hunched over, dark gray hair hanging from his head. The streets were mostly abandoned with only a handful of storefronts on either side, the rest of the space being taken up by old, downtrodden houses. It is in front of one of these storefronts that he finally comes to a stop.

"Hello traveler," beckons the owner, pushing aside the curtain in front of the entrance. "You look like you could use a rest." The downtrodden man smiles to himself and makes for the entrance.

Inside, the owner guides the man to a bench at the front bar and hands him a mug filled with a murky kind of water. The rest of the small inn is sparsely populated, most of its denizens keen to sip their tea, keeping attention away from themselves. Few look up at this haggard old man. Apparently, nobody finds the appearance of a mysterious injured man strange in the slightest.

Not even for the black and gold sheath hanging at his waste.

"What brings you to the great and illustrious town of Ambros?" the owner asks with a flourish, punctuating his obvious sarcasm. The man looks up at the owner and studies him. He wears modest gray robes covered in stains and his round head features no hair to be spoken of.

The man is about to answer but it is at this point that he succumbs to his wound, unnoticed by the bartender and slumps off of his chair, head hitting the ground.

This finally draws the attention of one of the inn's customers, and he quickly finishes his drink and leaves the hut.

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"My word, why didn't you tell anyone you were hurt? Why didn't you seek any medical attention straight away?"

The man woke up to a light, girlish voice and opened his eyes to stare into the cool blue eyes of a young lady. Blinking in the light of the room, his mind brings the image of the bartender into focus. The wound in his side no longer hurts him and he looks down to see the top of his robes have been removed and been replaced by a set of bandages. He slowly sits up on the mat.

"Careful now, that there was a pretty serious gash there," the girl said, gesturing to her side. He looked and a small metal fragment about the size of his fist, covered in blood sat on the floor. Surveying the room he was in, he noticed his sword propped up against the wall of the room, near his clothing.

"Have you a name, my friend?" she pressed.

The man stares at his sheathed sword as a second, as if he has long forgotten the answer to that question. But he whips his head back around to look at the fair-haired girl.

"Nandur. And may I inquire as to the identities of my saviors?" he said in a surprisingly smooth and deep voice that perfectly matched his appearance.

"I am Adine, and this is my father," she said cheerfully, as if pulling shards of metal out of the bodies of strangers was something she did everyday, like tending to the garden. Her father stretched out a hand.

"I'm Murcus, the owner of this inn," he said proudly.

"I find myself very much in debt to you, then, Adine and Murcus," he said with a smile. "Name your reward and it is yours."

Murcus chuckled and said "That will not be necessary, I assure you. All I request is the next time you find yourself in need of a good meal, remember us."

Nandur grinned. "Of course. It is refreshing to see that for some people, friendship and hospitality does not come at a price," he said in a sagely tone.

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Waving back to Murcus and his daughter, Nandur stepped out into the street, once again dressed in his dark old robes with his sword hung at his side. Darkness had already fallen across the town. He had been knocked out for a while, it seemed. A cool wind came along the street, and he began walking in the same direction.

Ambros was just as quiet at night as it was during the day. A handful of lights could be seen burning through the windows of the buildings and in their glow, he walked silently.

Finally turning a corner, he found himself looking out over the village from the top of a hill. The rest of the town was built on an incline and he could see three other gates arranged equidistant from each other on the far edges of the town. And there, at the very center of the town was a grand, multi-storied building.

Obviously the residence of one very powerful person. He began traversing the edge of the terrace surveying the town. It did not stretch very far and he felt he could be at the other end within an hour. But he was not quite ready to leave.

Nandur finally approached a stone staircase that bridged the gap between the level of the village he was on and the lower level. Below those stairs was a shallow, calm stream, dotted with lily pads and fish calmly swimming too and fro. The stairs were about twenty feet downward diagonally, and half as wide. There were no gates or fences. Apparently, balance was not a problem for the denizens of Ambros.

He began descending the stairs. Soon, his footsteps were joined by another pair. Walking upwards towards him. Nandur moved to the side to let the person pass. The man wore dark clothing and his face was hidden by a cloak.

As they passed each other on the bridge, Nandur heard the unmistakable sound of cold metal on wood and whirled around, bringing his own weapon to guard. The resulting clang echoed around them as Nandur blocked a downward slash from the man who had passed him.

They stood there, pressing against each other's blade for a few seconds, and his opponent sprung backwards up the steps and removed his hood. It took a moment, but Nandur recognized the face of his assailant.

"I am called Sayke. You killed my comrades. Now I shall kill you!" he said calmly, sword pointed outward. Nandur smiled. He'd certainly heard that one before.

"Your compatriots left me no choice. The longer they continue to extort travelers, the more likely they are to try it on the wrong one."

"I cannot continue to live while the voices of my brothers echo within my mind, demanding vengeance. The water below us will turn red with your blood."

Nandur lowered his blade. "Echoing for vengeance, you say? The voices in my mind bellow for it. And they have been doing so for three years."

"I don't care what you have to say!" he called and rashly ran towards Nandur, leaping up to deliver a crushing overhead slash. Nandur was ready for this and brought his own blade back up, taking a step backwards to brace himself. Landing in front of him, Sayke whirled his sword away and sent it back in a horizontal cut. Countering with an upward slash that twisted Sayke's arm backward, tearing the cloth away and leaving a gash, Nandur brought his blade back up into an attack position

Sayke regained his footing and cocked his sword arm backward, preparing to lunge his blade towards Nandur's chest, blood dripping from his forearm. He never got a chance to make his attack, however.

A dull whack sounded against the bandit's head. His sword clattered to the stone ground and he tipped over side ways onto the edge of the staircase. A man holding a long pole stood over his body and unceremoniously kicked the body over and into the water, than slipped his boot under the sword hilt. He kicked it up into the air and grabbed it.

"I could have done that myself," Nandur said, slipping his sword back into its sheath and walking up to the newcomer.

"Yeah, but it's been such a long time since I've gotten to do anything like that," he replied, holding his pole in front of him like a staff. He wore indigo robes along with a lopsided smile.

"You're right. It has been a long time." The two man clasped hands.

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A rice dish cooked in a pot surrounded by four cushions. Nandur sat on one of them and the other man sat down opposite and began to stir the contents of the pot with a large wooden spoon.

"Csai," Nandur said simply.

"I see you at least remember my name," Csai said as he withdrew the spoon and tasted the dish. He made a face and returned the spoon to the pot.

"They all think you're crazy," he continued, concentrating on the rice. Nandur closed his eyes, and then opened them again.

"Do you agree?" he asked without blinking or diverting his gaze.

"Damn right I do!" burst Csai, relinquishing his grip on the spoon.

"And yet you still sought me out tonight. What does that mean?"

"It means I still trust you. You may be some bitter old man whose soul is consumed by that thirst for vengeance, and whose mind is fogged by pain, but I still trust you."

Nandur smiled.

"Deep down, we all do. We understand that if we just went out and did it that night, he would be waiting for us. And we would have all been killed. You were the only one to keep from letting your anger blind you, and you knew the value of patience." Csai leaned backward and crossed his arms. "So."

Csai looked Nandur in the eye.

"It's really time, isn't it."

"It is. Three years to the day. That was what I promised the twelve. And today, I make good on that promise."

Csai retrieved two bowls and filled them each with darkened rice and bits of cooked sausage from the pot. He slid one across the floor to Nandur. For a few minutes, they ate in silence.

"Who is next in line?" Nandur asked without looking up. Csai apparently found this a dreadfully funny question, beginning to laugh. Nandur raised an eyebrow.

"He's in the next city over. Curtulmain, I think it's called. And I'm sure he'll be overjoyed to see us. Rink's been waiting a long time for this."

"Rink," Nandur repeated coolly.

"Yup. I gave him the third position, because I knew you'd have some… issues to settle. And we can't afford to get sidetracked in our mission. You'll just have to work it out."

Nandur sighed. There was no use arguing, this chain had been set up years ago without his input. He'd just have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

Then he finally decided to look Csai over. Indeed, he had changed a little in the past three years, but he was undoubtedly the same cocky, lighthearted stick-swinger he had always been. Csai's red hair had been cut short and was covered partly by a white bandanna, a stark contrast to the dark hair he had allowed to grow long and haggard in his self-imposed exile. Csai's green-studded quarterstaff stood against the wall, and a set of indigo robes hung from a hook beside it.

"Something wrong?" Csai asked, mouth full.

Nandur redirected his attention to the window, out of which he could see the moon and stars. "For now, everything is as it should be."

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Nandur awoke from a fairly peaceful sleep. Or at least it was peaceful compared to normal. He blinked and took in his surroundings. Nandur had slept in the den of Csai's modest hovel. Something on a far wall caught his eye, and he shuffled over to it.

Hanging from the wall were two paintings. The first was of a beautiful young girl wearing ceremonial robes and smiling awkwardly. The second was of an elongated fishing boat with a handful of men sitting inside it joking and being merry.

"It's amazing what skills you pick up when left alone for three years," came Csai's voice from the other end of the room.

"These are yours?"

"It's how I've been making my living these past years," he said as he approached, and laid a hand on Nandur's shoulder. "You were gone a long time."

"I know. Who is she?" he indicated the pretty, young girl.

"Oh her, she is the only woman I will ever love. We were married a few years back and we had many wonderful children together. Oh how my heart aches for her."

"You have no idea, do you?"

"Not a clue. Came in, asked for a portrait, left. You ready to leave this dump?"

Nandur smiled and picked up his sword.

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Nandur had insisted on a side trip, so they made their way down the dusty streets. In contrast to the previous day, they were alive with vendors, families and children walking up and down the paths. He came to a stop outside of a simple inn, the same he had been to yesterday.

"We could have eaten at my place. For free," Csai remarked sullenly.

"I have a debt to pay the owner," Nandur responded simply. The two stepped inside. Unlike his first visit, the inn was filled with customers, though it was just as eerily silent.

The two did not have to look far for the cause of the hushed silence. Three men in dirty gray robes stood near the bar and one with a messy, long ponytail had his hand grasping Murcus by his robes. A fourth man, this with an eye patch, was meandering through the tables and benches, randomly taking food from customers. Adine could be seen hiding behind the doorframe to the kitchen.

Three of them held long, curved swords at their sides. The fourth held a pick-like weapon dangling from a chain and was spinning it in an idle, yet intimidating fashion.

"…don't think we feel like paying, do we, boys?" the leader was saying, tightening his grip on Murcus's tunic with a sneer.

"In fact, I was thinking we'd rather you pay us," one of his fellows continued, sweeping his hand across the bar.

Nobody seemed to notice the two newcomers.

Csai whispered to Nandur. "Bandits. They're a constant scourge around these parts. They extort travelers and then raid the villages."

"I think we've met," Nandur said, sizing up the situation. "Certainly, you could have done something about these injustices. Or what of the village guards?"

Csai gestured at the raider who seemed to be leader. "Nah, Mukito's got the magistrate in his pocket. And besides, you told us not to draw attention to ourselves."

"I think that policy will soon be coming to an end." Nandur began walking towards the bar. Csai took a seat at a table instead.

"Excuse me," Nandur said quietly, taking a seat up at the bar, as if not even noticing the bandits.

"Hey, old man, we're trying to have a conversation here," Mukito said with a snicker.

"You are committing a grave injustice here, my friend. Certainly you could live in a more peaceful manner than this."

"Who's going to stop us?" he asked, jokingly. This was just the question Nandur had been hoping they'd ask.

"Me." And without even so much as a flourish or unsheathing of his sword, he unceremoniously cocked his fist backward and slammed it into the leader's jaw. Mukito reeled backward, letting go of Murcus and falling backwards. His two comrades withdrew their blades and began walking towards their opponent.

The whipping of chains could be heard behind him and, at that moment, Csai leaped from his table, and whipped his polearm upwards, intercepting the chain weapon. The force caused the chain to wrap itself around the staff and in one fluid motion, Csai jerked the weapon behind him, catching the bandit off guard. He flew along the ground towards him, overturning a table in his path until the sole of Csai's boot caught him squarely in the face.

"You always have to make an entrance, Nandur," Csai said in a mock-exasperated tone as the man crumpled to the floor in front of him. Before Nandur could respond, two of the remaining raiders ran forward to engage Nandur.

He kicked one of the seats at the bar out in front of their path. One of his attackers tripped over it, but the other hopped over the overturned chair and brought his sword downwards with a triumphant laugh.

The abrupt sound of metal striking metal filled the room and, suddenly Nandur's sword was in his hand, only halfway out of its sheath, blocking the bandit sword. He than ducked, allowing Csai's staff to swing overhead and catch the raider in the cheek. His compatriot rolled out of the way as he slammed into the chair, smashing it into wooden splinters.

Nandur stepped away from the ruins just as Mukito regained his footing.

"You're going to pay for that, you old bastard." His eyes narrowed and he furrowed his brow in concentration as he withdrew his blade. At this point, Nandur fully unsheathed his own weapon, holding it to the side, parallel to the ground. His other hand motioned outward, beckoning as if to say:

"Make me".

The man who had tripped over the chair finally rose up, but Csai simply slapped the polearm into his back, knocking him face-first back onto the ground.

Nandur took a cautious step backward as Mukito advanced. Another step backward, another step forward. Finally, Nandur felt wood behind his legs and took a step backwards onto the bench of an abandoned table. Tired of this foreplay, Mukito charged forward, trying for a clean cut that would bisect Nandur across the waist.

Nandur guarded with his blade and leaped onto the top of the table, and Mukito quickly leaped after him. The two were close in on each other now and Nandur decided to go on the offensive. He crouched and slashed, making to cut off Mukito at the kneecaps. The bandit was too quick, however, and managed to leap over the horizontal arc and while in midair, kicked his opponent in the face. Nandur flew backward, off the table and crashing into the side of another one.

Mukito triumphantly hopped off of the table and raised his blade above him, preparing to finish off the old fool who was now laying on his back, beaten.

The last thing Mukito expected was Nandur's foot swinging quickly upward to catch the sword's blade in between the large pair of wooden blocks beneath the sole of his sandal. Mukito blinked in surprise and Nandur smirked. On the ground, Nandur spun himself around, spinning Mukito away from him, his sword flying into a wall on the opposite side of the resturaunt.

Nandur got to his feet and pointed his sword downward at Mukito, who now lay against the table, robes disheveled. Mukito looked up at his triumphant opponent with terror in his eyes.

Instead of executing him on the spot, his enemy merely spun the sword around in his grip and slammed the pommel of the sword into the side of his head, knocking him out cold.

Following that, Nandur stepped to the side, dragging the unconscious bandit away from the table, and proceeded to turn the table back on its feet. Csai followed suit and brought the three other bodies into a pile near the exit.

"I was wondering why you still wore those old fighter's sandals," Csai said with a raised eyebrow.

The few remaining customers began to cheer as Murcus came out from behind the bar, Adine close behind. Nandur smiled as they approached, as if he had not just spent the last five minutes knocking out a handful of trained swordsmen.

"Does this begin to square away my debt?" he asked with a smirk. Murcus could only smile and shake his hand.

"We'll leave this trash to the authorities. With their leader locked up, maybe his flunkies will settle down." Csai pushed the bodies out the entranceway, and then made a motion to suggest he was washing his hands of some foul scent.

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The same junior officer walked into the magistrate's office, eager to report the news that the leader of the bandit scourge had been defeated.

When the magistrate inquired where to find the mysterious old man who had just yesterday came in injured and worn, the officer regretfully informed him that he had already left with great haste, as if on some great mission.

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One down.

Eleven to go.

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The city. A powerful, unseen opponent. And a shackled man whose sword hungers for justice.

Next: II – The Prisoner