Here Be Dragons - Fernand and Tristan
Pieces started to fit together, awkwardly and then more surely. The name behind the raids on farms in Gascony had returned, this time lingering on the lips of those who discussed the haunting song that had played as his father drew his last breaths. Guilleri. The name itself filled Tristan with a mixture of loathing and fear. He had heard in whispers that Fernand was chasing the man that he sought, and so he had found himself in the last place that he expected. The Court of Miracles had been a near death-trap to most, but his generosity in the past had had the useful side effect of buying him passage…for a time.
Asking after that name in a den of thieves didn’t bode well for him in the end. Tristan found himself like a stag brought to bay by dogs, back pressed against an alleyway wall, and blade drawn. The group of ragged thieves and brigands encroached on him, taunts ringing in his ears, and with a weary realisation, Tristan noted that the chances of fighting them all off was absolutely nil. He had used his last grenade saving his own life and Renaud’s, and he would have no chance to reload if he abandoned his sword for a pistol.
With flashing eyes, Tristan called out his challenge and awaited the inevitable.