summers with in the south toward the mountains closest to the sea. It took brave men to hang dangerously from the cliffs on the waterside, but they found many of the best gems there.
“What are you doing here, you ass? I thought the boys were all headed south?” Tristan asked, not able to help but grin and clap this old friend on the back.
“Ahh, I’m finished with that rubbish. Moved on. Working a respectable job these days.”
“Really, doing what?” Tristan cocked his head at Damien, a stocky man with a body built for hard labor and heavy lifting.
“A little here, a little there. Dabbling, if you will.” He laughed heartily and slapped Tristan on the back. Tristan realized how long it had been since he spent time with friends his own age. Last year was spent with Uncle Rémy on the side of mountains, alone.
“Hey, you want to grab something to eat? I’ve just arrived in town myself and am starved,” Tristan asked.
“I would, my brother, but I have a girl waiting for me, if you know what I mean?” He smirked, and Tristan knew exactly what he meant. “I’m sure she has a friend, if you’d like to come along?”
Tristan smiled, forgetting his meal, knowing the real delicacies in life had nothing to do with meat or cheese.
“Brilliant!” Damien said smiling perhaps a bit too happily at the prospect of spending the evening with Tristan. “Where are you staying?”
“I’m on my way to the Aubérge as we speak. Can we meet, say, in an hour?” Tristan asked.
They made plans for their night of decadence, and Tristan made his way into the local Aubérge. He quickly acquired himself a room for the week. Simple quarters with the small luxury of a bath in the room, a feathered bed and a dining hall. He only lived in home-away-from-homes.
Tristan changed clothes and washed his face. He looked in the mirror and ruffled his lose blond curls from the tie that had held them back while he travelled. A cocky grin was planted on his face, ready for fun.
Damien waited for him, just as he promised and he immediately began quizzing Tristan on the Trésor de L’espoir , the diamond, and the legend. As they walked, Tristan chatted amiably, but Damien’s questions grew specific and aggressive. Who was his source? Where was he going next? Why not look at the sea? Where did he keep his stones?
Finally Tristan grew uncomfortable with the direct line of questioning and cut to the chase.
“Man, what is the deal? Is this an inquisition? I want a night off from work.” Tristan tried to not be annoyed, but all he ever did was focus on the trésor … a night of focusing on girls was a much-needed reprieve.
“Of course, of course. I just wondered, do you know where you’ll look next?”
Tristan stopped walking, they were a block from the place Damien called home. He couldn’t help but feel protective, of himself and of all he and Uncle Rémy had worked for.
“Why did you stop tracking, Damien? The real reason?” Tristan asked, standing a full foot above his friend, looking at him intimidatingly.
“I work … you know I told you. A little--”
“No. Really. Who do you work for?” Tristan dragged Damien to the alleyway behind the building they passed and pushed him against the brick wall.
“Cool it, man. I’m your bud, your comrade. Your pal.” Damien coughed through the hold Tristan had him in.
“I’m not asking again, brother. Who do you work for?”
“You know who,” Damien squeaked, his face growing red through the chokehold Tristan had him in.
“Shove off,” Tristan said, angry for letting this ass in on his plans. “Tell the king that I know what I’m doing. You can tell the other informants that, too.”
Tristan dropped his hands from Damien, who
“What are you doing here, you ass? I thought the boys were all headed south?” Tristan asked, not able to help but grin and clap this old friend on the back.
“Ahh, I’m finished with that rubbish. Moved on. Working a respectable job these days.”
“Really, doing what?” Tristan cocked his head at Damien, a stocky man with a body built for hard labor and heavy lifting.
“A little here, a little there. Dabbling, if you will.” He laughed heartily and slapped Tristan on the back. Tristan realized how long it had been since he spent time with friends his own age. Last year was spent with Uncle Rémy on the side of mountains, alone.
“Hey, you want to grab something to eat? I’ve just arrived in town myself and am starved,” Tristan asked.
“I would, my brother, but I have a girl waiting for me, if you know what I mean?” He smirked, and Tristan knew exactly what he meant. “I’m sure she has a friend, if you’d like to come along?”
Tristan smiled, forgetting his meal, knowing the real delicacies in life had nothing to do with meat or cheese.
“Brilliant!” Damien said smiling perhaps a bit too happily at the prospect of spending the evening with Tristan. “Where are you staying?”
“I’m on my way to the Aubérge as we speak. Can we meet, say, in an hour?” Tristan asked.
They made plans for their night of decadence, and Tristan made his way into the local Aubérge. He quickly acquired himself a room for the week. Simple quarters with the small luxury of a bath in the room, a feathered bed and a dining hall. He only lived in home-away-from-homes.
Tristan changed clothes and washed his face. He looked in the mirror and ruffled his lose blond curls from the tie that had held them back while he travelled. A cocky grin was planted on his face, ready for fun.
Damien waited for him, just as he promised and he immediately began quizzing Tristan on the Trésor de L’espoir , the diamond, and the legend. As they walked, Tristan chatted amiably, but Damien’s questions grew specific and aggressive. Who was his source? Where was he going next? Why not look at the sea? Where did he keep his stones?
Finally Tristan grew uncomfortable with the direct line of questioning and cut to the chase.
“Man, what is the deal? Is this an inquisition? I want a night off from work.” Tristan tried to not be annoyed, but all he ever did was focus on the trésor … a night of focusing on girls was a much-needed reprieve.
“Of course, of course. I just wondered, do you know where you’ll look next?”
Tristan stopped walking, they were a block from the place Damien called home. He couldn’t help but feel protective, of himself and of all he and Uncle Rémy had worked for.
“Why did you stop tracking, Damien? The real reason?” Tristan asked, standing a full foot above his friend, looking at him intimidatingly.
“I work … you know I told you. A little--”
“No. Really. Who do you work for?” Tristan dragged Damien to the alleyway behind the building they passed and pushed him against the brick wall.
“Cool it, man. I’m your bud, your comrade. Your pal.” Damien coughed through the hold Tristan had him in.
“I’m not asking again, brother. Who do you work for?”
“You know who,” Damien squeaked, his face growing red through the chokehold Tristan had him in.
“Shove off,” Tristan said, angry for letting this ass in on his plans. “Tell the king that I know what I’m doing. You can tell the other informants that, too.”
Tristan dropped his hands from Damien, who
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