"Share your firelight, fellow traveler?"

The merchant came around the edge of his small wagon wiping his hands on a rag. He cast a suspicious glance over the tall, rough-looking man standing to the edge of the short camp. Though he wore clothes a beggar would shame and his eyes sunk deep in his face with a haunting sorrow, his stance shadowed an ancient nobility and the size of his frame seemed more apt a warrior than a sneak thief.

"My name is Blau, and this is my wagon. I make my living selling trinkets, and I've no ease in my budget for robbery. If you're an honest man, sit yourself. If not, save us both the trouble and move on."

In answer, the man removed his sword-belt and laid it scabbard, blade, and all near the fire. With slow, arthritic movements he settled himself against a decaying tree-stump and stared pensively into the flames. "Thank you," he said simply.

Blau watched him for a moment, and fought to keep the pity from showing on his face. "I don't know which gets worse with age, the nights or the mornings." His voice carried only a brusque sympathy, which the man accepted with a grudging snort.

Again a silence fell between them, as though both sat alone at the fire. "Have you any tales to tell? I'd share my supper for a story. It's a lonely road, this."

"What would I tell that has not already been heard?" asked the man flatly.

Blau looked about him, and spied the man's sword. The hilt of it sparkled in the golden light, it's pommel the beautiful face of a crying woman, it's cross-piece her arms held open as though beseeching. "Tell me of your blade. It's a very unique piece. Is it magical?"

"It is cursed."

"All the better tale. Tell me of it. The whole story as you know it." Blau scooped up a bowl of lukewarm stew and tore off a big chunk of frybread. Though he doubted the other's ability to spin a decent yarn, he would enjoy hearing a voice not his own.

The man hesitated, his stomach growling in the silence. "It is a long story."

"It is a long night." Blau pressed the bowl and bread on him.

Hunger won out, and as the man devoured his supper he gestured to the merchant to look over the weapon.

Slowly and reverently, Blau withdrew the silvered sword from its scabbard. "Magnificent," he whispered. The whole of it shaped like a weeping woman, the creases of her narrow skirt lined down the blade. The detail of her beautiful face so clear each silver tear trailing from her wide eyes seemed almost to wet his hand.

"Long ago," began the man as he set aside his empty bowl and paused for a burp, "there lived the eldest son of a duke, called to the king's court to find a bride. And he did so in short order, one none could refute. The young Lady Sarah, as sweet and kind and comely as ever a lass were made. The duke's son courted her madly, seduced her quickly, and brought his new lady wife to his ancestral home."

Blau settled in to listen, the sword laid across his lap.

"The duke's son loved his wife so that he snarled and sniped at all who came too close, noble and servant alike. Foul thoughts began to taint his mind. As his lady wife had so freely given her kisses to him, might not she equally grant those favors to another? And he took to spying on his lady wife at all hours of the day, determined to find her duplicity out.

"And comes to visit a cousin to the duke, a noble minstrel traveling with his trade. A young and pretty fellow, with a voice superb. The duke's son assumes the cousin to have captured Lady Sarah's fancy. And though he never caught them out, his suspicions ate at him like worms.

"Then one day he finds them in the garden together, her back to the minstrel's front, his arms about her, and his sitar in her lap. The lady wife smiles to see her husband, and laughs for him to sit and give ear as she learns to play. But the husband is so filled with jealous rage, he despises her and casts her away, cursing her foul to all the gods in heaven.

"As she stands weeping, her arms open begging his embrace, pleading his forgiveness for she knows not what, her tears turn to silver. The gods made of her a weapon for him to wield as he had done her love."

"A tragic tale," the merchant sighed, and returned the weapon to its owner. "And well told, even for its lack of prose. Let me make us some tea, that we might rest a little easier this night." And Blau put a kettle on the fire, and poured herbs into two mugs.

The traveler fell again silent, staring pensively into the flames. He accepted the mug and drank it when pressed. The dark sweet taste urged him to drink more, until he'd drained the cup, dropping it aside as his eyes fell closed.

The hot noon sun awoke him with a thick taste in his mouth, his limbs heavy with the unnatural sleep still clouding him. The merchant gone as though only a dream, leaving naught but wagon tracks, a burned out fire, and an empty scabbard as evidence of his reality.

The man reached for the plain leather case with his right hand as a deadly numbness spread down his left arm. "Sarah."