Triranydd, chapter 1

Chapter One: New Meetings

Triranydd loosened his grip on the reins of his horse, the roan neighing gladly with delight as it lowered its pace. The ground underneath its hooves brightened with the rays of the morning that broke through the emerald canopy of leaves in several places. The journey through the night had been taken carefully, and Triranydd welcomed the light, as it served as a ward from the lurkers of the forest. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking ingesting the sounds and the smells around him; the birds perched unseen in the weeping willows chirped in time with the whinny of Triranydd’s mount. Lavender filled his nose, bringing a smile to his face.

He would reach his destination soon, he hoped. The taverns in Legeiband would provide good food and drink, a warm bed and fine women. When he would arrive, the first thing he’d do would be to take a long nap. Then he would be rested enough for the games that took place as part of the town’s annual celebration. Triranydd stroked the golden hilt of the broadsword that hung at his side, a coming of age present from his grandfather.

After several minutes spent in the forest, the dull green and brown landscape bored Triranydd, and he prayed that something would soon come up that would break the monotony, or at least lift his spirits. He yawned, letting his horse guide him blindly along the path as his eyes closed again.

Up ahead, a lone traveler appeared on the path, ambling in the opposite direction. “I’ve never seen a horseman ride with his eyes closed before,” the man laughed.

Triranydd opened his eyes and pulled hard on the reins to stop the horse. “If my eyes had something different or new to focus their sight on, then they’d be wide open.” Triranydd looked the man over. He was dressed rather plainly in a russet tunic and brown breeches, over which he donned a black oil-cloak. He carried a knotted wooden staff that he used as a walking stick.

“Where are you off to, friend?” The man’s chubby face, which was wrinkled beyond his appeared age of about thirty years, grinned up at the rider.

“I’m off to find a future and fortune, and to find myself as well. And don’t call me ‘friend.’ My luck with friends is not anything to speak of.” Triranydd yanked on the reins, about to start off.

“Wait, sir! Are you heading for Legeiband?”

“Yes, I am. Why?” He raised a golden eyebrow.

“You’re going the wrong way. Legeiband is a couple miles that way.” The man pointed to his right and in the direction Triranydd came from.

“What?! There was no sign or fork or adjoining path! How can that be?”

The man laughed. “You can still get to Legeiband by taking this path, but it’s the long way. I can show you a shortcut. It’ll take you there by midday.”

Triranydd pondered for a moment. While he did want to reach Legeiband as soon as possible, following a stranger through unknown territory was rather unsettling to him. He had heard the many tales of dryads seducing human males and tricking them to join them as permanent forest dwellers. But his stomach grumbled, his legs ached and his mind spun with boredom, so Triranydd took his chances and accepted the man’s invitation.

“My name’s Olyn, the famous bard. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” Olyn looked eagerly at Triranydd, who shook his head in the negative. He frowned. “I’m looking for inspiration for my songs and stories.” Olyn reached under his cloak and displayed his lute. The instrument was an ornate piece of work, crafted of a fine dark wood. The body of the lute was painted yellow and green and was carved with intricate designs and patterns.

“I am Triranydd ap Elelihan.” Triranydd held his arm out to Olyn, who clasped it firmly. Olyn’s grip was stronger than he expected, unlike a bard’s grip would be. “You’re hoping to find some inspiration in Legeiband?”

“After all, it is the Day of the Bull celebration, isn’t it? The games, the events, the people all will offer a perfect stage for me and my work.” Olyn swirled his hand in the air like he was fighting with a sword.

Triranydd chuckled as he circled around on his mount. “Right. Now, show me this shortcut, Olyn. I’m hungry.” He rubbed his stomach.

“Then let’s stop at my shack first. We can eat something there. And you can get some more appropriate clothing,” Olyn said, noting Triranydd’s attire: a scarlet tunic, lined with gold trim and embroidered with a gold sun on the chest, and black leather breeches. The cowl that was normally pulled up over his head was neatly lowered to his shoulders, revealing his bright blond hair. “You look more like a noble than a traveler.”

If you only knew, Triranydd mumbled under his breath as Olyn started off along the dirt road. After giving Olyn a few strides head start, Triranydd followed after him, letting out a long silent yawn.

It was another several minutes before Olyn strayed from the road. “Now it’s all treading through brush from this point on. Good thing you’re on the horse. Some of the bushes we’ll be walking through surely nick your gem.” Olyn chuckled, holding his groin. Triranydd winced at Olyn’s imagery.

Triranydd’s horse easily trampled the spiny bushes and brambles that tripped Olyn up. Finding a clear spot in the brush, Triranydd grabbed the bard under the arms and hoisted him onto the horse, which grunted under the added weight.

It wasn’t long before the shack was in sight. The shackled roof was covered in holes and ivy, and the wooden walls were brittle and warped. The building appeared as though bandits had ransacked it many times over. Olyn dismounted and rushed into the house in a hurry. The sounds of slamming doors and drawers and shuffling of objects poured out of the windows. Olyn came out soon after, breathing heavily. “I apologize for the condition of my home. Devon is a lousy housekeeper, and he’s not here to clean up anyway.”

Triranydd dismounted and led the horse to the small stable next to the house. The steed put up a bit of struggle as it entered the dark stable. “I don’t think the horse likes the smell. I buried my dog in here last week,” Olyn said.

“I’ll keep the horse outside if you don’t mind.”

The two men entered the shack, and Triranydd gaped at the disgusting state of the place. Dirty clothes in shambled piles lay scattered about the room, amongst crumpled balls of paper and open books. The putrid smell of rotten food remains emanated throughout the room, but was strongest around a door across the room (obviously the kitchen). “Devon!!” Olyn called, cupping his hand around his mouth.

A young lad dressed in a tattered and faded purple robe entered the room from the door across the room, a book in one hand and a small willow branch in the other, “Master Olyn?” The boy smiled eagerly at the bard, scratching his fiery red hair with the branch.

“So you are home. What did I tell you about playing with that magic nonsense? You are my apprentice, and if you want to become a renowned bard like myself you must keep to your formal studies.” Olyn crossed his arms over his chest and gave Devon a reprimanding look.

“Yes, Master Olyn.” Frowning, Devon returned to the kitchen, which was filled with the sounds of uttering and shuffling.

Triranydd chuckled as he searched for a place to sit. All the chairs were covered with dirty plates or other rubbish. “I don’t believe in magic either. It frightens me.” Triranydd shivered slightly.

Olyn cleared off a chair for himself and another one for Triranydd. “Afraid of magic? Not me. I just don’t believe a boy Devon’s age should meddle in the ways of magic, with a head like his on his shoulders. He could achieve great fame as a bard if he keeps his feet on the ground.”

Triranydd laughed. “You sound like my father. Is Devon your son?”

“No, I took Devon under my wing when he was very young. He was so fascinated in my stories and songs that he wanted to be like me. He was an orphan, his mother a scullery maid and father a cook, both killed in a massacre when he was an infant. I took him in.” Olyn let out a hearty laugh. “Besides, I couldn’t have my way with a woman if she was a harlot. Once…”

Triranydd’s stomach growled. “About that meal you promised,” he interrupted, raising his hand. “I’ll listen to your stories another time.” Olyn frowned.

Devon entered moments later with a tray of food balanced on his head and a jug in his hands, spilled beer as he tried to juggle both tasks at once. “The meat is a bit overcooked and the bread stale, sir, but it should do.” Devon set the tray on Triranydd’s lap and began pouring the beer into a horn. “The beer is a very fine brew. You should try it.” Devon looked on eagerly as Triranydd raised the horn to his lips.

“Pffffft!” Triranydd’s face turned green and he began choking, spitting the beer all over Devon. “That is horrible! Take it away. I’ll drink water.”

Olyn laughed as Devon headed into another room to change out his wet clothes. “So, you have you entered the Day of the Bull sword-fighting competition?” the bard asked as Triranydd chewed on the gamy piece of meat.

“Yes I am. I’m a warrior, having served time in the army back home in Elelihan.” Triranydd smiled proudly as memories flashed back in his mind as he related them to Olyn. The bard scribbled away attentively in one of his books, immersed in Triranydd’s tales. They were going to make a perfect song or story to tell once he reached Legeiband.

* * *

Devon was already by the stable, Olyn’s and his own horse prepared when Triranydd stepped outside, looking down at a map that Olyn had prepared for him. A wide smile filled the lad’s freckled face. “I love going to Legeiband, especially on the Day of the Bull. It brings all sorts of strange folk to the town, and I can buy reagents for my magic.” Devon cupped his hand around his mouth as he leaned in closer to Triranydd. “Don’t tell Olyn, but I’ve been saving up for a spell book so I can scribe the spells I’ve learned and will learn.”

“So, you want to become a magician, eh?”

Devon nodded. “Olyn wants me to become a bard like him, but I’m not really that good at music and writing. I love his work, but it’s not for me.” The boy scuffed his foot on the ground before mounting a small white pony.

Olyn came out of the shack moments later, a pile of clothes in his arms, consisting of a black cloak exactly like the one Olyn wore, a hunter-green surcoat and pants, and a strange hat. “Here, put these on,” he said, tossing them up to Triranydd. The cloak was a bit tattered and covered in an oily material. “It’s to keep rain from soaking it,” Olyn explained. Triranydd donned the cloak and surcoat but rolled the other clothes up in a small sack tied to the horse’s back.

The sun was reaching the middle of the sky, Triranydd deduced by the angle of the sunbeams hitting the ground. “We must hurry if we are to reach Legeiband by mid-day.” Triranydd dug his heels into the horse’s side and started on his way. Olyn and Devon followed soon after.

Something rustled in the bushes ahead, like an animal scampering by. Triranydd stopped to see if it was an animal, but couldn’t tell because of its speed. Oddly, the creature remained where it was in the bushes. “What is it?” Devon asked from behind, leaning forward on his mount. The figure moved again, trying to pass Triranydd on the left side, but not quick enough to dodge the warrior’s outstretched arm. He felt the smooth skin of a slender arm.

“A girl?” Devon’s voice rang out. His emerald eyes widened.

The girl appeared to be about twenty-five years of age. Her perfectly formed cheeks and chin glowed in the forest light, tinting her silky skin a pale green like a nymph. But unlike a nymph, her ears were not pointed and her auburn hair fell across her shoulders in a web of curls.

“My name is Cadissa. Sorry, I startled you. I thought you were the search party my father sent to find me.” Cadissa stood to her full height and brushed off her gown, which was speckled with briars and burrs. “He’s the blacksmith in Legeiband, and a very strict man.”

“We were just on our way to Legeiband, for the Day of the Bull celebration,” Olyn said.

Cadissa’s face paled and her eyes took on a haunted look. “No! You mustn’t go near the town today!”

* * *

Artomas tread into the Golden Unicorn tavern, scanning the sea of faces for his daughter’s but came up short. She had told him that she’d be here with the Guildmaster, but she had lied. Not even the Guildmaster was to be found. He approached an empty booth on the other side of the crowded room and sank into the seat. The air was filled with the aromas of roast mutton and baking bread, and the sounds of the minstrels weaving their yarns and ballads.

Normally at this time of day, everyone would be in the town square, preparing for the annual festivals of the Day of the Bull. But this year, the town constable had fallen deathly ill, and the church leaders had disappeared suddenly. There was to be no celebration this year, and everyone’s spoiled mood had caused a lot of commotion in the streets of Legeiband. Now the people were blaming each other for the sudden illness of the constable.

“It’s all that spice girl’s fault! The way she dabbles in magic, I bet it was her that put a curse on constable Jendal.”

“I agree, Drigos. I’ve seen her many times going off into the forest and not coming back for hours.”

Artomas rose to his feet and stomped over to the next booth, slamming his calloused fists upon the table. “My daughter does not use any sort of magic. I do not tolerate it in my house and I see to it that she is punished if she is found with any sort of magic item.” The blacksmith glared at the two men before turned away and storming out of the tavern.

“She’s in the forest now. I know it,” Artomas mumbled to himself as he returned home. He would have gone off into the forest after her himself, but he feared that it would arouse suspicion in some of the townsfolk about why he, too, wandered off into the forest. Stepping into the small cottage, he glanced around to see if perhaps Cadissa was here hiding from him.

He checked her room, which was empty, but noticed a small burlap sack, tied with a leather thong, shoved under the bed. Picking the pouch up, he noticed it was rather light. Inside was a collection of several herbs, rocks, pieces of wood and even a few gems. Even though he was a blacksmith, Artomas knew what these objects were. They were reagents for magic spells. It was apparent that Cadissa did not want him to find her possessing these items, but she slipped this time.

* * *

“Why shouldn’t we go near the town?” Olyn asked, face sinking in disappointment.

“There is an evil force that has swept over the town. That is why I left, to find someone who can help us.” Cadissa was breathing heavily, her melon-sized breasts stretching the fabric of her gown as she exhaled. She combed her fingers through her hair, breaking some of the tangles in it.

“What kind of evil?” Triranydd asked.

“Several weeks ago, our constable, Jendal, announced that he was going to keep to himself, but never explained why. Later his advisors told us that he was stricken with a horrible plague that confined him to his basement away from everyone. It was unlike any plague we had seen or heard of before.

“The members of the local churches tried to cure Jendal, but when they failed they suddenly left the town without a word. And of late, I have felt a strange presence looming about the town, especially at night. I’ll be at home lying in bed, and it will grow very cold.” Cadissa shivered without realizing it.

“Where did the church members go?”

“I don’t know. I just hope that you can help us.” Cadissa stood by Triranydd’s horse, stroking its muzzle while looking hopefully at Triranydd.

The warrior pondered for a moment. “I don’t know what I can do, but I will try as best I can.” He looked over at Olyn to see the bard scribbling something into his book again.

Olyn looked up from his writing. “Just taking notes on her story, milord. I can tell the tale of your adventure when it is over. It will be glorious…”

“Then we better be off,” Triranydd interrupted as he helped Cadissa onto the horse. “Where should we go first, Cadissa?”

Cadissa absent-mindedly shivered again. “As much as I don’t like it, we should go into town. There are some things I must get before we depart.” She put her arms around the warrior’s waist and sighed before the four companions rode off toward Legeiband.