An Outrider's Tale

After the short, lopsided battle, as the younger warriors hauled the dead bandits out of the old castle, the man known only as Seeker carried a bottle of dark wine over to where the outrider known only as Fist sat, alone.

Though the Code forbade him to ask the history of another outrider, Seeker needed to know the man's story. Now that the fighting was over, his goal was to loosen the tongue of the big, scarred man. Night had fallen, yet the moon shone brightly through holes in the ruined roof of the tower. Seeker's eyes had been trained, in his first life, to see perfectly in pitch-black night, but when he stepped up next to where Fist rested, he doubted what his eyes saw.

The big man was cradling in his hands a perfect red rose.

Seeker turned to leave, chiding himself for even approaching the other man. He would drink his bottle of wine by himself and try to forget the way Fist cradled the rose in his hands like an tiny animal.

Seeker was moving away when a voice stopped him: "Wine?"

He looked down at Fist again. The rose had disappeared.

"From the black grapes of Southland." Seeker handed the bottle to Fist. "Enjoy."

Fist stared at Seeker so long with his mismatched eyes, one brown and one blue, that Seeker nearly let the bottle slip from his fingers.

"Will you join me?" Fist said.

Seeker exhaled. "Of course."

Fist took the bottle and removed the cork. After a long drink, he grunted with appreciation.

"So," the big man said. "You want to know about me."

Seeker cast his gaze around the darkened tower, hoping none of the others had overheard. Something shifted high above him, at the top of the ruined tower.

"Of course not," he said, trying to smile. "That's not our way. ‘One man's history is nothing to an outrider,' of course."

"Would you try to stop me if I attempted to tell you anyway?" Fist's mismatched eyes glittered in the moonlight.

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