The Thieves of Otar

Daxtor

Zia didn't know what to do. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think. She didn't even blink for fear that if she did she might do something to upset him and she'd earn another beating. She was six again, staring in fear at the fat lump in front of her, desperate to do anything to escape him.

He had lost a lot of weight and had gained some gray in his hair, but it was definitely him. Same brown eyes and yellow, crooked teeth.

Zia thought back twelve years, after Daxtor had been tried and sentenced to death. He had told her, Watch yourself, you useless worm. She remembered how she had lifted her chin high and said proudly, You're the worm, as he was carried away to the cells to await his execution. She remembered how brave, how free she felt at the moment and tried to draw strength from it, but her mind wouldn't allow her to stop there. She thought of how, only one day later she cowered in fear as Daxtor approached her, knife raised to end her life. The same terror that had gripped her then clung to her now, and no matter what she did she couldn't shake it off.

Then Zia was angry. Angry with Daxtor for having the audacity to even breath after what he did to her, angry at the Skilaens for not stabbing the foul man the second he set foot in their camp, angry that Daxtor could make her feel so afraid, angry at herself for allowing him to.

"What are you doing here?" Zia barked as she glared at him. If looks could kill, Daxtor would have been incinerated on the spot, nothing but a pile of ashes.

"Same as you, my darling daughter," Daxtor smiled. "I'm doing my duty to my country."

"I AM NOT YOUR DAUGHTER!" Zia roared. She had never heard such a fierce sound come out of her mouth, but Daxtor didn't even flinch. "And I'm not an idiot. I know you. You're not here to serve Otar."

Daxtor laughed cruelly. "Oh, I know you're not an idiot, my dear. After all, I raised you."

"Arch raised me, not you."

Ignoring her, Daxtor continued. "But you are right, I am not in the service of Otar. I am here to serve my native ruler, King Holen."

"You're Skilaen?" Ike blurted. 

Zia had been so focused she hadn't even noticed that her friends had entered behind her. Jay was staring at Daxtor like he had seen a ghost, his mouth open and his eyes wide.

Heath was observing the man with a calculating hate. Zia remembered that Heath had never met Daxtor before, and she was a little confused at his instant hate of the man, but she appreciated it at the same time.

Ike was looking Daxtor up and down, as if measuring him up. Zia was worried Ike might steal her chance to pin Daxtor to the ground and slap him silly if the opportunity presented itself, so cold and calculating was his frame.

Elaina was just looking ahead with a blank expression, as if the life had been sucked out of her. 

"Yes, boy, I am," Daxtor said proudly. "I don't know how no one figured it out in my years living in Otar." He paused, as if to consider the thought. "Then again, I suppose, your inferior minds would have taken at least another three years to figure it out."

"Mind how you speak, you insolent, supercilious clotpole!" Jay roared. "I would have your neck in a noose faster than you could blink were we in my country."

Daxtor smiled. "Why, Captain, it's been far too long. Such a pleasure to meet you again. Yes, I'm sure you would love to have my tongue removed-"

"I'd prefer your heart," Heath muttered darkly.

"-but, as you said, we are not in Otar. You are in my country now and, as luck would have it, my prisoner." He cackled unpleasantly. "Isn't Fate artistic?"