The Wanderer
The tavern was protected, at least partially, by its reputation. It was a hub for gamblers in the region and had the patronage of Lord Nakazu. Petty criminals had no clout there. For the most part, customers were there because they had money and status, and wanted to either watch or participate in games of chance.
However, Lord Nakazu had enemies—and sometimes, those enemies made their presence felt.
One night, just after the tavern opened, gamblers gathered at their table and started an impromptu tournament. There was nothing strange about this; it was a perfectly ordinary night at the tavern. The village the tavern was in was located between a major national road and a river, so it was a favorable location for trade between the northern and southern clan lords. It was also a common stopping point for traveling artists and merchants. Consequently, no one really noticed or cared about strangers, since strangers passed in and out all the time. This was true at the tavern as well. Balsa always recognized a few faces, but many of the people who came to gamble each night were unfamiliar.
Balsa was delivering drinks to a table when she caught sight of four men sitting at a table near a window. She didn't know why, but they gave her a funny feeling. She returned to the kitchen to deliver another tray of food and kept sneaking surreptitious glances at the men. They didn't seem to notice her, but they were looking all around the tavern—and taking notes, which they passed across the table.
Are they casing the joint? Do they plan to rob us?
They might just be looking for someone, but Balsa didn't think so. They weren't scanning the tavern for friendly faces: they pointed to a spot and stared at it, then shifted focus. Balsa was suddenly very glad that Jiguro was here. He could handle four men easily—and protecting places, with violence if necessary, was what he was good at.
At first glance, the four men appeared to be caravaners or merchants. They carried longswords for protection, but the style and make of the weapons was different from what clan lords and their retainers carried. Balsa didn't recognize where the weapons were from, and that concerned her. Who were these people?
Balsa passed through the crowd and caught Jiguro's eye. He stood near the wall. Balsa tilted her head toward the men. Jiguro nodded in understanding—he'd seen them, too. Jiguro gave no sign that anything was amiss. He maintained his watch on the tavern, paying no special attention to the four men. He moved closer to the middle of the wall so that he could act quickly in case the men attacked.
But how could he know where the attack would happen? Balsa thought about that as she nursed his fever. She thought that if she could only get into his head, see what he'd seen and feel what he'd felt, she would be able to tell what was wrong with him now.
The night that Jiguro was injured, Balsa kept delivering food and drinks to tables, wondering when the suspicious men would make their move. For the longest time, they didn't. They sat at their table, ate, drank, and gambled a little—trying to blend in.
Balsa felt someone's eyes on her and looked toward Jiguro. He was staring directly at her. The expression on his face conveyed a warning. Balsa came closer to him.
"Check on Tagga for me," he said. "I think he's just gambling, but you know how it is when he gets into his cups. Ask him to come talk to me, if he's of a mind."
Balsa nodded, tucked her empty tray into her chest and withdrew. Tagga was another bodyguard that was paid to protect this tavern. He was an even-tempered man, but big and burly; just the sight of him was enough to make most belligerent drunks docile and quiet. He was a useful man to have around in the tavern, but since no one ever really thought of threatening someone that big, his sense of danger wasn't as honed as Jiguro's.
Jiguro had told her once that she was also good at seeing the things that Tagga never noticed. She remembered those words as she looked for Tagga, glowing with happiness on the inside.
Customers sitting at a table near the kitchen laughed uproariously at a joke. They were so loud that many other customers looked toward them, startled. Balsa also looked their way, and that was when it happened.
The four suspicious men all stood up at once, and Jiguro moved to intercept them. One of the men kicked their table over in indignation. "This place is a scam! They served me beer that's gone bad!"
Tableware and dishes fell to the floor and broke in pieces.
Another man stood up at the table next to the four suspicious men and yelled, "If anything's gone bad, it's you! Didn't you order the most expensive shit they have? Maybe your palate isn't refined enough to appreciate it, you clumsy oaf!"
People at the surrounding tables started whispering to one another.
"What's going on?"
"We should get out of here."
The man yelling at the four suspicious men drew his sword, scowling. Jiguro approached from behind and rested a heavy hand on the man's shoulder. "I understand that you're upset, sir, but that's no reason to draw your weapon. You're frightening all these people."
The man dropped into his chair. It didn't look like Jiguro was pressing down very hard, but the weight of his hand was enough to keep him in place. When the man was calmer, Jiguro approached the four other men.
"No one's impugned the quality of the beer in this tavern before," Jiguro said casually. "That sounds like an excuse to cause trouble to me. Who sent you?" His voice wasn't loud, but it carried.
"You lookin' to pick a fight?" one of the men asked. "We ain't no liars, if that's what you're thinkin'."
The man who'd upended the table laughed in a low voice. "Seems this whole place is rotten, not just the beer. What terrible luck." He glanced around the tavern with sharp, angry eyes. "But y'all shouldn't blame us. It's Lord Nakazu that lets the tavern serve this swill."
The man's words acted as a signal. He drew his sword, as did his three companions.
Customers surrounding the four men's table rose to their feet and tried to flee. Jiguro didn't want this situation to escalate further, so he didn't draw his weapon. He took the man next to the leader by the collar and shoved him to the ground, hard.
All four men were standing close together, so the other three were forced back as their comrade went down. One of them lost his balance and went tripping backwards.
Two attackers remained upright. Balsa was observing from the side. She gasped when Jiguro punched the closest attacker in the spleen.
Three men were down, and stayed down, groaning from their wounds. Their leader didn't pay them any mind. When possible, Jiguro handled problems in the tavern bare-handed. Weapons were for killing, not for breaking up drunken fights.
Jiguro wasn't armed with his spear or his sword tonight. He carried a short Rotan knife called a rattsu as a just-in-case measure. The blade was broad and the hilt was heavy. Aside from that, he had no other weapons.
Balsa realized that Jiguro was lacking his spear mere moments before her danger sense activated. She leaned forward, fists clenched and warm all over. Jiguro was in trouble. He took down the last man, and for a second it seemed like everything was fine—but the tip of the man's blade grazed his stomach.
Jiguro grunted in pain, but remained upright. "Don't look at me!" he shouted. "Get the owner out of here!"
Balsa was stunned. What was happening? She watched Jiguro twist behind the man and twist his arm, breaking it. The man screamed.
It seemed to Balsa like all the bad guys were taken care of…why did the tavern owner have to leave? Balsa didn't understand. She heard more weapons leaving their sheaths and looked around. There was another man standing by the door of the tavern. Balsa had never seen him before.
The man with the broken arm gave a hand signal, and the man at the door threw a dagger, aiming it at Jiguro's side. Jiguro stepped aside so that the dagger merely grazed his arm, but he was still bleeding. Balsa stared fixedly at the wound, astonished—and a little frightened.
Jiguro pulled his rattsu knife and pressed the attack on the man standing by the door.
So the tavern owner can escape! Balsa realized. But she didn't move. She knew that she should, but her feet were frozen to the floor. She understood that this was a planned, coordinated attack that had been premeditated by all these men. They had probably brought so many because they'd seen Jiguro at work and knew that a few poorly trained men wouldn't be up to the task. She didn't think that these attackers would simply let the tavern owner escape. Balsa should go and protect the tavern owner right now, but she thought that if she did that, Jiguro might be killed by these men.
Jiguro put some distance between himself and the men attacking him, weaving through panicked customers. Blood dripped from his arm onto the floor. Time seemed to stand still. Until this moment, it had never occurred to Balsa that Jiguro would die someday. She hadn't believed that death could ever touch him. A shiver went through her entire body.
The three men who'd originally caused the disturbance surrounded Jiguro. Their long swords weren't very useful in close quarters, so they sheathed them and attacked Jiguro with their daggers and short swords instead. One man lunged, screaming as he struck out wildly with his sword. Jiguro caught his weapon on his own, and the sword split in two with a splintering noise. Without missing a beat, Jiguro thrust his rattsu knife into the now-weaponless man's upper arm.
Jiguro couldn't use his injured arm; it was hurt too badly. But he was able to clear some space around himself by threatening the other attackers with his rattsu knife. The knife was a heavier, broader weapon than the short swords that the other attackers carried, and they knew it. They triangulated on Jiguro, driving him into a corner.
Balsa never knew that the rattsu could be used as such an effective weapon. In Kanbal, it was mainly used in narrow places where larger weapons wouldn't do; it certainly wasn't favored by warriors. Its main disadvantage was that it was heavy for its size, but Jiguro wielded it as if it were as light as air. Balsa couldn't do the same. She wasn't strong enough yet.
Balsa gritted her teeth and watched the battle. Jiguro showed no sign of favoring his wounded right arm, choosing to expose it to his attackers more than anything else—maybe he was trying to concentrate all of their strikes in one spot? He felled his attackers one by one. Balsa could only tell where he would strike next by watching his eyes very carefully.
Jiguro didn't kill them. He broke their arms or injured them so that they wouldn't be a threat and couldn't flee. As the battle progressed, he was covered more in his attackers' blood than his own. His wound kept bleeding, spattering the men who attacked him with fine red droplets.
Jiguro glanced over at Balsa, breathing ragged and eyes sharp. He nodded at her, and she finally moved.
The tavern keeper's name was Sadol. Balsa ran to his room. She heard a terrible disturbance inside and slid open the door. The man who did much of the tavern's accounting and bookkeeping, Tonal, was inside. Tonal was Sadol's oldest son, though they looked almost nothing alike. He looked up at Balsa with a bitter frown.
Sadol was crouched down behind the room's huge desk. "What's going on out there?" he asked.
Balsa told him everything she knew about the attack on the tavern. "I think all the men who wanted to attack you are here, but there could be more lying in wait. You should flee this place for your own safety."
Sadol's eyebrows furrowed together. "You said they mentioned Lord Nakazu?"
"Yes."
Sadol folded his arms and considered for a long while. Then he turned to his son and said, "Go to that man Touza, the moneylender. Ask him to give you ten men, then come back here. We'll pay him, of course. Remember to be courteous. He's not to be trifled with."
Tonal left. Sadol unfolded his arms and leaned against the wall to help himself stand, then drew his own sword. It was not the kind of light, flashy sword that travelers and merchants often carried. It looked to be of older style, though it was well cared for. Balsa hadn't seen Sadol fight before, but she suspected that he knew how to use his sword.
Sadol looked down at Balsa, his eyebrows big and bushy, and gave her a confident smile. "There are still enemies in the house. I can't flee. I'm obligated to protect this place."
He came out from behind the desk and left the room through the open door. Balsa followed him quietly. When she and Jiguro had just started working in this tavern, she'd gotten the impression that Sadol was not a very honorable man. Her impression of him changed all at once as they traveled down the hall. He'd gotten into his current position by collecting on gambling debts for Lord Nakazu, and it seemed that we was willing and able to defend what was his.
Sadol and Balsa arrived at the main room of the tavern. Sadol looked around warily. The attackers were on the floor, unconscious or incapacitated. The tables and chairs were in disarray, and the waiters had their backs pressed to the wall, faces pale. The floor was stained with blood. Jiguro stood over the attackers, watchful, but none of them moved.
"Everyone," Sadol bellowed, "I'm Sadol, the owner of this tavern. What seems to be the problem here?"
The attackers, waiters, and few remaining customers who hadn't run all looked toward Sadol.
"I apologize greatly for the disturbance. It seems these buffoons were determined to ruin dinner for all of us. Is anyone hurt? Does anyone need help?"
No one said a word. Sadol took a step forward. "Drinks and food are on the house tonight! No one expects to witness such terrible violence while they eat. If there's anything else I can do for you, please, let me know."
Customers who were regulars to the tavern seemed to calm down some, but the atmosphere in the room was still tense. One thickset man actually smiled.
"Well, since you're offering," a gambler put in, "this attack has really spoiled all our luck. What do you say to forgiving debts to the house as a way to even the odds?"
Sadol hesitated slightly, but he nodded. "Of course. All debts to the house are forgiven."
There were more people smiling now. Several gamblers resumed their games. Gradually, customers righted chairs and tables and resumed their seats. With peace restored, the tavern became as noisy and raucous as it had been before the attack.
Balsa continued her serving duties, ducking and dodging between red-faced, drunken men. She rushed over to Jiguro at the earliest opportunity. He stood near the wall standing guard over the men who had attacked the tavern. All told, there were seven of them, and they weren't moving. Balsa smelled blood and sweat and the air felt too warm.
"How's your arm?" she asked.
Jiguro glanced toward his wounded right arm. It was red and still tacky with blood. Ordinarily he would have tied the arm off and tended to the cut, but he was still on duty.
"We need to get that washed and sewn up," Balsa said. "More men are coming to protect this place. It'll be okay."
She looked down at the injured attackers with a little frown. Most had broken bones. One was crouched in on himself, holding his head like he was in agony.
"I guess we should get a doctor for them, too," she said tonelessly. She crouched down on the floor near them, earning a surprised glare from Jiguro. He looked like he was staring right through her. Slowly, he closed his eyes, then resumed his vigilant watch over the injured men.
Balsa didn't understand the reason for the glare, at first. Then she remembered that, since all the attackers were still alive, there was a possibility that one of them might pull her down and get her by the throat. She blushed, ashamed of her own negligence.
It doesn't matter how strong you are, or how good of a fighter. If you let your guard down even once, the battle might as well be over. As long as people draw breath, they'll keep fighting for their own survival—with nails and teeth if they have no other weapons. Never underestimate your enemies.
"It doesn't matter if they're down," Jiguro said. "Always defend yourself." His voice sounded strained. "Do you plan to kill people someday?"
Balsa looked up at him.
"These men brought swords," he said. "They would have killed you, if you'd let them."
Balsa said nothing. She curled into a ball like an insect and watched the injured men from a safe distance away.
The next morning, the tavern received reports that the previous night's attackers were well-known ruffians in the area. They'd also attacked Rahom, a town to the south, fairly recently. Many men had been hired to harass and bully Lord Nakazu's businesses nearby, and the mercenaries used the foothills near Rahom as a hideout.
Not all of the mercenaries were common thieves and warriors. Some were known to have connections to Rota's clan lords. How the clan lords allowed their wayward relations to go so far astray of the straight and narrow path was no great mystery: many of the men who joined the bandits were third sons or distant cousins with no chance of advancement within the clan. Unlike common bandits, most of these clan offshoots were well-trained in martial arts from birth, in addition to other formal education. The people who lived in their path fled in terror of them as their numbers swelled.
The tavern owner, Sadol, heard this news and hired even more guards.
"I may not need more, since you're the best," Sadol said to Jiguro. "I've been in this business for a long time, but by my count, it was seven-on-one last night, and you were the one! I've never seen anything like it." He praised Jiguro further and paid for his medical treatment, and also paid him extra that week as thanks.
The men who responded to the increased call for guards appeared to be hardened warriors. Jiguro and Sadol had some cause to fear that these men might belong to the bandit group. They might be using the situation to their advantage and planning to attack again. Jiguro had a sixth sense about people; it was the same kind of thing that caused the hair on the back of a dog's neck to stand on end when there was a threat.
The bodyguards-for-hire felt Jiguro's eyes on them and returned his poor regard with bad manners and ill-intentioned glares. Jiguro never reacted to their behavior, but Balsa knew him well and could tell that he was inwardly seething.
"That bastard! How does he fight so well with his arm hurt like that?" one of the bodyguards-for-hire asked, making his friends laugh and huddle in commiseration. They were gambling, and Jiguro wasn't close enough for them to see.
But Balsa saw and heard them—and Jiguro heard them, too. She felt Jiguro's hand come down on her shoulder as she left the main room of the tavern.
"Are you an attack dog?" Jiguro asked her.
Balsa gaped at him and remained silent.
"If you're not a dog, why is the hair on the back of your neck standing up?" He folded his arms. "What do you think of them?"
Balsa said nothing in reply.
Jiguro gritted his teeth, then let her shoulder go somewhat reluctantly, like a dog releasing a bone from its mouth. "Bring me my spear," he said.
Balsa dashed off to get it. She didn't want to look at Jiguro when he was like this—in pain, and worried.
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