Breaking the Sword

A Tale Worth Telling (II)

"Um," Tristram said. The woman blinked at him slowly, her expression stony, and gradually the wildness of her curling hair, the blankness of her face, and the bareness of her leg resolved themselves into a likeness of the barmaid Sylvia. The renewed familiarity put Tristram in a better position to order his thoughts. "I'm looking for Elyse?"

Without a word, Sylvia turned to look somewhere behind the door, the loose tunic that was her only covering pulling tight along the near side of her body. From within the room, he heard Elyse groan. "Tristram, by all the gods, what can you possibly want?"

"Can I speak to you?"

"I'm a touch busy at the moment."

"It's important."

"It had better be," he heard faintly before Sylvia shut the door.

The only goal conceivable to his addled brain now close at hand, Tristram felt his legs begin to tremble beneath him. When Elyse finally huffed her way out into the hall, securing the cinch on her belt, he had collapsed against the opposite wall, head resting against his knees.

"Hey," she said, nudging his shin with a stockinged foot. Tristram moved with the push, but he didn't look up. "Tristram!" she tried again, kicking him more insistently. Sighing as she sunk to the floor beside him, Elyse added, "Tristram, it's too early for dramatics."

But even as she said the words, she noticed the whiteness of his knuckles as his fingers gripped his hair. He looked, she thought, as if in the very next moment he would begin tearing those fistfuls and more from his head. Knowing how vain he was of his looks, her tone when she next spoke was accordingly more patient. "Tristram. Tell me what the matter is."

"I've lost Grey Lady," he replied, voice muffled against his legs. Elyse had to lean in to catch the sense of the words. "I don't remember what's become of her."

"Who did you go to bed with?" asked the thief, suspicious of man- and woman-kind alike by nature.

She thought he shook his head at that, though it was hard to tell because he still hadn't raised it. "I woke up under a table in the bar."

"And she wasn't there."

"No."

"And she wasn't in your room when you looked?"

Silence was his reply.

"You didn't look?" she exclaimed, indignant. "Kings and aces, Tristram, I was–"

"I was hoping you would," he interrupted.

"What?"

At last the bard raised his face to meet hers. Blood shot eyes and a haggard look about him, Elyse observed, and perhaps neither simply the result of the previous night's drinking. He held her gaze for a moment, before dropping it in diffidence. "I– I can't face it, Elyse."

Elyse bit her lower lip. Then, rising, "Alright! I'll check for you. But if you think this is some kind of clever trick to get me into bed, I swear... Where are my shoes?"

No sooner had she thus spoken than the door of her room jerked open and a hand held out a pair of well-worn traveling boots. "Thank you," Elyse said, without a hint of embarrassment, pausing for a moment to clasp the hand before turning back to Tristram. The door closed firmly behind her.

The bard was gazing at her with a funny look on his face. Elyse raised an eyebrow, waiting for his comment.

Finally, Tristram said, "Weren't you getting chummy with that northern fellow?"