Chapter 5

The bandit group had been skeptical at first, only allowing the mysterious stranger in black to participate from the sidelines. But after the man with the blue diamond eyes had proven to be the most successful in acquisitions by four times over the best in the group the first night… well, he was instantly the boss’ new right hand man.

The second night, the raid was an unmitigated success. There was three times as much treasure, and the taste of terror that the men got from the villagers only whetted their appetite for more. It stood to reason, therefore, that they immediately put the title of Leader onto Zelgadis’ more than willing shoulders.

His first order of business was to make all of the men switch to black clothing at night. It made them harder to see and not as easily identified during the day.

The second thing that he did was to send the men into the town dressed in normal clothing and have them get a feel for the area, to see what places were likely to have more things that could be stolen. He called it ‘reconnaissance’ but most of the men couldn’t begin to pronounce it. He didn’t let it irritate him; it wouldn’t do to get aggravated with the men so early on in the game.

The third order of business was to dispense with the foolish name that the bandits had come up with for themselves. The ‘Slippery Eels’ just wasn’t anything that remotely struck terror into anyone’s heart. In fact it lent most to hysterical laughter and bemused looks.

The men stood around him, looking at their new leader in a mixture of dismayed curiosity. He stood there in the center, a lazy sort of graceful figure in his movements, each motion languid and flowing. He reminded some men of a cat, others of something far older and nearly draconian. Of course, none of them were remotely accurate.

“We have to have a name, Boss. Something to call ourselves that will strike terror into the hearts of others,” one man said thoughtfully as he scratched his beard.

Zelgadis considered this. True, there was power in a name, more than the bandits around him could possibly know. In fact, there was a name that came to his mind unbidden, a name that had a strange tangle of emotions. “Dra-mata…” He murmured it without thinking, and every man around him paled and stepped backwards as one.

“Boss, is that what happened to your last group? She came through and took them all out?” The bearded man spoke in a tremulous voice, eyes wide. Every man here had heard of the bandit-killer, and a few of them had seen firsthand the destruction that she was capable of wielding.

Including Zelgadis, who lifted his head, dark diamond eyes flashing a furious fire for a moment before he answered. “She won’t be a problem.” It was said with such ringing finality that the bandits had no doubts that his words were the truth. He regarded the man who had wanted a name, and nodded. “Fine, you want a name? We’ll have a name. Nightstalkers. Now get out of my sight and learn about the next town.”

The men scattered, for even though Zelgadis had been with the group for less than a week, his was a voice of command that brooked no resistance or refusal. If it occurred to any of the men to question his orders, the thought of what might happen to them kept them from doing so. It wasn’t quite an iron fist, but it wasn’t a loose reign either. A Mazoku’s charisma could be quite an effective tool when wielded properly.

He watched the men move away, watched them follow his instructions and head off for town in groups, laughing and carousing, as if they were simply a group of travelers heading into the town for supplies and a chance at a soft bed and a hot shower. He had to admit that this group had best chances of becoming what he wanted of them… a handful of mortal minions to cause havoc and wreak destruction around them. One or two might have a potential to become something more than just mortal, but he’d have to wait and see who would ultimately pass that test.

For now, he would sit back and wait to see what the men found in the town. He had no desire or need to go exploring to see what there was to see. He’d find the bar, order a drink and pretend to drink it while he watched the inhabitants, see if there was anyone worth trying to recruit. He doubted it, but it was worth a look. If he was lucky, the bar would at least be a reasonable place to gather some information on the surrounding area.

He waited until all of the men were gone before he allowed his power to collect around him, changing his appearance, making himself look older, some grey shooting through hair that hung in his face, concealing the one thing about his appearance that he couldn’t change: his eyes.

Assuming the appearance of a grizzled swordsman in worn armor, he turned towards town, moving in an easy limp, as if he’d recently taken an injury and had been released from his bond. He scratched at the new stubble on his chin as he made his way to town, considering what to call himself when the villagers asked. Perhaps something easy this time, like Rick. It was easy enough to remember, wouldn’t require much explanation. He didn’t need to choose a family name; he’d pass it off as a condition of bondstanding if necessary.

Most of the time, it never came to that. Villagers tended to take him at face value, never questioning him too hard. If pressured, he could claim that he had escaped from Ambervale and that would be the end of that.

As he entered the town, people started to wave and nod to him amiably. It was just another small town on the road, people were friendly, and he felt himself smile. It would be perfect pickings.