A tale of song, swords, and flowers

Chapter 4

The first bell after midday found Tristan running a brush through the ash blonde mane of his Horse, although the piece the action normally brought him was nowhere to be found.

"I sure hope they're all right Honey!" He murmured, giving The stallion's burnt-gold neck a gentle pat. I've known that barred for barely a day and I just know trouble follows him around like a loyal pack of dogs!"

"Pardon... but are you Sir Tristan?"

Startled Tristan twisted round, nearly dropping brush in favor of drawing the sword at his hip. The slight figure of a brown haired youngster was framed in the open door to the horse stall, an equal parts curious and fearful expression on his young face.

"That I am!" Tristan replied, giving the boy a gentle smile. "Can I help you with something lad?"

He nodded enthusiastically, "Papa sent me, he said a Man is looking for you!"

Sighing in relief, Tristan returned his brush to its rightful place and followed the boy back to the inn, expecting to see a Long ponytail of red hair and a triumphant grin. Instead he was met with a Man at least a head taller than he, an unbearably smug expression contorting his scruffy features.

"You're the knight Sir Tristan?" he asked, Tone equal parts disbelieving and mocking. "I expected you to be... I don't know, a bit less of  a pretty boy?"

Allowing the jab to roll off his shoulders like so much water, Tristan slipped into the empty chair across from the man and most certainly did not contemplate knocking out what remained of his rotting teeth. "I would advise caution my good fellow, for a Rose may be beautiful with all of its blushing petals, but it's thorns will still certainly make a man bleed!"

The man replied with a derisive snort, finishing his tankard of ale off and pushing a small scroll of parchment across the tables aged surface. " I hope you enjoy the rest of your day Noble knight!"

Without another word the man stood and dropped a pair of copper Talon on the table. "Here! have an ale on me, something says you're going to need it!"

He then made his way from the inn without a backward glance, leaving a rather puzzled knight in his wake. Carefully Tristan unraveled the parchment only to gasp, as a strand of Red hair fluttered into his palm. " oh!... Shit!" Feeling the blood drain from his face Tristan focused anxiously on the messy script covering the page

" greetings to you Sir Tristan, I have something of yours that I think you might want to get back. You have two options, leave the little fox in my care and let him be slaughtered come morning, or two, you surrender yourself to me at the crossroads between Tasadia and Etensdirth, your neck for him. Also bring at least 1000 Gold Talon with you as incentive.
I look forward to finally meeting you!
-S"

With haste Tristan jumped to his feet and practically sprinted up the stairs to his room, calling himself an idiot in every language he knew.  Once firmly behind the piece of a closed door Tristan allowed himself several breaths to feel guilty, before squaring his shoulders and shifting his plans. 

Thanks to years of practice he formed the circle without trouble, lines of white chalk and colored candles aligned as precisely as one could get in such cramped quarters. He sat cross legged in the middle, plate sized scrying mirror a Comfort in nervous hands. The burnished silver revealed not but his own countenance, too round and soft without its usual touches of Face paint. The all-too-familiar discomfort was there as well, rearing its ugly head whenever The reassuring presence of the amulet resting in the dip between his collarbones wasn't there to cage it.

"none of that now!" he chided himself, pressing one hand to the firm plane of his abdomen and feeling the flex of hard  muscle beneath his palm. "I know who I am!"

Pushing fears and insecurities to the back of his mind like so much refuse, Tristan forcibly slowed his breathing and tried to distinguish the different colors hidden in his reflected gaze. Meditation slipped over him like a warm woolen blanket, protective and soothing.  He could feel the magic, a humming, swirling vortex in the pit of his stomach. He reached for it with incorporeal fingers, drawing the Energy up and out into his hands.

"Show me he who bears the moon to my sun!"

With deft motions, Tristan pulled out the twin dagger to the one he had loaned the bard, allowing the naked blade to rest flat in his open palm.  It immediately began to hum and vibrate quietly, blade shifting to point toward the west as  the once crystal clear reflection in the mirror distorted into a vortex of swirling colors. The Image soon resolved itself into  The unmistakable figure of Florian, hands and ankles bound. There was dirt on his clothes and what appeared to be strands of hay clinging to the fiery locks of his no longer pristine ponytail, but the diminutive bard appeared to be none the worse for wear in spite of the cruelty usually displayed by his captors. Somewhere in the back of his mind not occupied with maintaining the spell, he realized the other man's condition was insurance of a sort. The bandits were bastards to be sure, but their ransom notes were almost always Upheld, at least until the end. He knew from past months Taling them that Their true plans most likely involved both he and Florian's demise, but as long as The bard didn't do anything too stupid he would stay safe.

Balancing the dagger precariously on his knee, Tristan reached out and skated one finger tip over the mirror's smooth surface in an attempt to Glimpse The bard's surroundings, gaining only impenetrable fog for his troubles. "Of course the bastards have woards!" He thought irritably, releasing his hold on the spell. "The real question is, do they still have the mage that cast them?" Sighing Tristan unfurled himself, groaning as he stretched stiff muscles and stepped from his circle. 

The far off  sound of the bell chiming four times slowly penetrated the soporific haze of his mind, Post spell work lethargy dissipating like morning dew under the full fury of the summer sun upon realizing just how much time had truly passed. On next hearing it toll again Tristan was bente low over the neck of his Horse, galloping like a madman into the setting sun. The only things that could mark him as a night of Aquila were the crest tucked safely beneath the high collar of his black tunic and The twin short swords at his hip and back. This battle would not be one by chivalry, but by The snake like tactics of subterfuge learned over the years of having a Learian viper as a Master.

"This is going to be fun!" He thought sarcastically, once more allowing the dagger to twist around on his Black gloved palm. "It'll be a miracle if we're both not dead by morning!"

With a soft cry and twitch of the rains, he urged Honey faster, Time was of the essence after all.

A/N

OK so chapter 4, I can't believe I'm getting this one up on time given the amount of finals I've had to do this week!!! At least now I'm done and the only thing I have to worry about is my online summer classes yay. Anyway I hope you enjoy and be prepared, things are about to get interesting.

Sage