Day 14 of Midwinter, Sunset

  Outskirts of Cluain Toradh

  Annwn

  We rode until well after dark. I could no longer see more than an arm's length from Gaoth. Though I was sure the horse could see well enough, some dangers in the Midlands gave no second chance. I needed to see them coming. The goal for the day had been to reach the great farmlands and orchards of Cluain Toradh, but to stay clear of its sprawling namesake, the farm called Baile Toradh. There, I could let my trusty mount graze and water himself. There, I could secure myself in the thick groves of peach trees in the northern orchards.

  I was sore from riding hard all day. And with nothing to do except trust in Gaoth's sure footing, my thoughts had spiraled out of control. I thought about my time with Bren before and after Inis Fer Falga. I thought about Bren’s head popping up over the side of the Whiskey Wind when I had been newly captured by the Fomorians. That moment had filled me with hope. Never before had someone risked themselves so overtly for my benefit. As a child, my brothers had defended me, but I had always known that their defense of me had merely been a defense of our family and therefore themselves.

  Bren was a true friend. And even though he lashed out at me in the prisons of the Deep Realm, I didn’t fault him. I deserved much worse than his burst of energy magic. And instead of further torture or death, he had taken me out of those prisons and delivered me unto destiny's door.

  When we parted, I was still conflicted—torn between being the son my father expected and the man I was becoming. If I had walked away from Bren and his cause, I might have kept my father’s respect. But I would’ve stayed blind.

  Father used to say a ruler must always choose the righteous path, no matter the cost. What he never said is that everyone thinks their path is righteous. This was the moment I realized that I’d been following the wrong man.

  My thoughts were not just about the past. I thought about my new path, both physical and spiritual. I was traveling through lands where the fae would not take kindly to a lone changeling traveler, let alone one so close in proximity to the crown. I had to remain hidden. My plan was to be swift and silent as I traversed the land around Tech Duinn. I had no intention of getting close to the hills and crags surrounding that fire-breathing mountain. Those were the lands of the giants and the ogres. Even still, the plains contained all manner of fae with questionable allegiances even before the Slaugh Doctrine had turned them sour on the throne.

  There would also be small villages and hamlets in these lands filled with changelings so far removed from the Tuatha, that they would be more closely aligned with the wild fae than with the laws and order of Falias. I was hoping to avoid all manner of living and nonliving creatures on my eastern path.

  A particularly rough step caused my ribs to creak and pain shot through my body. Each breath caused a small bit of discomfort, but now and again, a sudden movement or shift of weight caused me to flinch. Those moments took my breath away. I took that moment to focus on my last power rank notification. It had come after we battled the Bodach.

  Name: Tadg mac Nuadat

  Race: Changeling

  Current Power Rank - Level 21

  Current Progression Status:

  Physical Progression +26

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Mental Progression +23

  Spiritual Progression +21

  I focused on my physical progression and was able to drill into the injury from the prison cell.

  Current Physical Injuries:

  Broken Ribs x2, Left Side

  Small Lung Puncture, Left Lung

  Minimal Lung Collapse, Left Lung

  The injuries were no surprise. I had assessed myself immediately after the enraged Bren had left my cell in the Deep Realm. These conditions had not gotten any worse, just more painful.

  Thinking more about the power rank notification, I marveled at it again. It had been years since I ranked up from Level 19 to 20. But in the span of the last three weeks, I noticed a sizable difference in my experienced earned. Was this because of my adventuring beside the God of Harmony?

  I would have parsed that out more in my mind, but the reality of my physical environment pulled me back into the present. I saw trees approaching quickly to my right and into the distance for as far as I could see, which truthfully wasn’t far. The sheer scale of the farm had always impressed me, no matter how many times I had seen it.

  The trees themselves were old, but they had been planted in orderly rows and columns. Because of this, one would have to get far into the trees in order to be obscured from view. I dismounted and walked Gaoth between the low-lying branches. We made our way behind a particularly large tree.

  “Thank you,” I said to my horse. Gaoth nuzzled me with his nose and went looking for some water. “Don’t go far, I need your eyes and ears, my friend.”

  I watched as Gaoth stepped outside of my visual range. The trees concealed what little light the moon supplied here. It was virtually pitch black where I stood, and only the hours spent in gradually increasing darkness aided my eyes.

  I took off my breastplate and attempted to stretch out my back and legs without stressing my ribcage. I stood there in the chilly silence for a moment before I heard it. There came a great commotion farther south, into the orchard. Nearly at the same moment, I began to smell the smoke of a campfire. It made its way to my nose, hanging low under the canopy of the peach leaves.

  I stood there for a moment weighing my options. I could have done nothing. I could have easily sat at the base of the tree and closed my eyes, or I could have gathered up Gaoth and made my way farther east. But the truth is, I was tired of riding and curious. At this distance, the sound was formless. It could be almost anything here in Mag Mell. The only thing to be done was to investigate.

  I crept toward the sound of the noise, taking note of the features of each peach tree, so that I could find my way back to Gaoth. Before long, the sounds took on a clarity and revealed themselves to me. A small company of men and women had made camp for the night in a clearing up ahead. One of them, Oisín, by the pronouncement of his traveling companions, was a bard.

  I stood in the darkness of the trees, some distance away, and watched as the bard began another song. There were six people around the fire, four men and two women. All had the look of warriors, and all looked to be changelings. The group listened intently to Oisín and some even sang alone.

  “I’ll tell ye a tale from the old orchard trail,” sang Oisín. “Where the moss grows thick and the roots never fail.”

  The man played a beautiful cittern. The wood was a deep mahogany color, and it had wear marks where hours of constant hand movements had made the wood smooth and faded.

  I studied the people around the fire. They carried weapons and sported armor, though most had taken off their protection for the day. The women flanked one man, who sat staring into the fire. Looking more closely, I could see that the man had a very prominent birthmark in the middle of his forehead. He looked familiar for some reason.

  We crept through the brambles and what did we see?

  A man in the mud, rollin’ wild and free

  With an ogre half-covered with tooth and with hair,

  And standing there grinning was bold Bren the Bare.

  I was taken off guard. Though I hadn’t been listening very closely to the song the bard was singing, the last line caught my attention. “And standing there grinning was bold Bren the Bare.” I continued to listen. The song went on to talk about Bold Bren the Bare, and how he washed himself off in a pool of water while being watched by the Morrigan’s raven, and finally being arrested by the “king’s men.” Could he be talking about Bren Búachaill?

  So mind where you wander and try not to stare,

  Where there's mud on the ground and some fruit in the air,

  For gods only know what you’ll find over there—

  You might just run into our bold Bren the Bare!

  The chorus left no doubts. This song could only be about my friend, and apparent folk hero. I chuckled to myself and then went cold, as I realized the man with the birthmark wasn’t just staring into the fire, he was staring through the fire and was focused directly on my position.

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