Day 14 of Midwinter, Sunset

Outskirts of Cluain Toradh

Annwn

I rode until well into the night, finally forced to slow when I could no longer see more than an arm's length in front of Gaoth. Though I was sure the horse could see well enough in the dark, I could not, and some dangers in the Midlands gave no second chance. I needed to see any enemies coming.

I’d hoped to reach the great farmlands and orchards of Cluain Toradh while staying clear of its sprawling namesake, the farm Baile Toradh. I needed a safe place where I could let my trusty mount graze and water himself. A thick grove of peach trees in the northern orchards would provide me some cover.

I’d ridden hard all day, my chest and ribs aching despite Gaoth’s sure footing. The hours had melted together eventually, allowing my thoughts to spiral out of control. I found myself thinking about my time with Bren before and after Inis Fer Falga.

When his head had popped up over the side of The Whiskey Wind, I had been filled with hope. Never before had someone risked themselves so overtly for my benefit. While my brothers had defended me as a child, I had always known that their defense had merely been a defense of our family name and therefore themselves.

Bren, however, was a true friend, something I hadn’t expected. I didn’t fault him for lashing out at me in the prisons of the Deep Realm. I deserved much worse than his burst of energy magic. He could have tortured or killed me, but as quickly as it had come, his rage had eased. He could have even simply left me to rot in prison, but instead, he had taken me out and delivered me unto destiny's door. The moment had changed me.

Even now, I felt conflicted—torn between being the son my father expected and the man I seemed to be 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 had always said a ruler must always choose the righteous path, no matter the cost. He was my father, larger than life, and the leader of our people. I had followed him so blindly, trusting that he knew what was best. I had the uncomfortable realization that everyone thinks their path is righteous, but that didn’t make it so. When I looked back at his decisions and my own part in them, I knew I’d been following the wrong man. This new path that I was on, both physical and spiritual, felt like a betrayal, but also…right.

The days ahead would be dangerous. I traveled 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, traveling swiftly and silently around Tech Duinn. I had no intention of getting close to the hills and crags surrounding that fire-breathing mountain, as those were the home of the giants and the ogres.

Even the plains nearby contained all manner of fae whose allegiances had been questionable even before the Slaugh Doctrine had soured them further on the throne. The small villages and hamlets in these lands were 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.

I was shaking from my thoughts as Gaoth’s sure footing caught a root in the path. The warhorse’s slight stumble caused pain to ripple through my ribs. I’d been mostly able to ignore the small bit of discomfort that each breath caught me, but now and again, a sudden movement or shift of weight brought sharp pain that took my breath away.

I took that moment to focus on my most recent power rank notification. It had come after we battled the Bodach. Father had commissioned Uncle Ogma to gift his sons with a Basic Identification anointment when they came of age.

Name: Tadg mac Nuadat

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Race: Changeling

Current Power Rank - Level 21

Current Progression Status:

Physical Progression +26

Mental Progression +23

Spiritual Progression +21

I focused on my physical progression, drilling into my injuries:

Current Physical Injuries:

Broken Ribs x2, Left Side

Small Lung Puncture, Left Lung

Minimal Lung Collapse, Left Lung

No surprise there. I had assessed myself immediately after the enraged Bren had left my cell in the Deep Realm. My injuries had not gotten any worse. The healing process was simply painful.

I marveled at the power rank notification. It had been years since I ranked up from Level 19 to 20. But in the span of the last three weeks, I had noticed a sizable difference in my experience earned. Could it be related to my recent adventuring with the God of Chaos?

I would have parsed that out more in my mind, but the reality of my physical environment pulled my attention back into the present. Gaoth was closing in quickly on Baile Toradh. The sheer scale of the farm had always impressed me, no matter how many times I had seen it.

The old trees of the farm extended as far as I could see. They had been planted in orderly rows and columns, meaning I would need to move far into the trees to be obscured from view. I dismounted, walking Gaoth between the low-lying branches. We made our way behind a particularly large tree.

“Thank you, my friend,” I said to the horse, placing my hand on his warm shoulder. Gaoth nuzzled me with his nose, blasting me with a breath of hot air. He turned to clop to the nearby stream, drinking long and deep. I smiled, calling “Don’t go far, I need your eyes and ears.”

Gaoth’s ears twitched in acknowledgment. Done drinking, he stepped further into the trees, moving out of my visual range. The trees concealed what little light the moon supplied. It was nearly pitch black where I stood, and only the hours spent in gradually increasing darkness aided my eyes.

I carefully removed my breastplate and attempted to stretch my back and legs without further stressing my aching ribcage. In the near silence of the woods, my ears caught a surprising sound. It came from farther south, into the orchard. The smoky scent of a campfire made its way to my nose, hanging low under the canopy of the peach leaves.

I stood still, weighing my options. It would be so easy to do nothing, to simply sit at the base of the tree and close my eyes or gather up Gaoth and make my way farther east. But the truth is, I found myself 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 stealthily toward the noise, taking note of the features of each peach tree so that I could find my way back to Gaoth. As I drew near, the sounds took on a clarity and revealed themselves to me. A company of six men and women had made camp for the night in a clearing up ahead.

A laughing voice called out “Oisín! Sing it already.”

I stood in the darkness of the trees, some distance away, and watched as a bard, who must be Oisín, strummed a beautiful cittern. The wood of the instrument was a deep mahogany color, and it had wear marks where hours of constant hand movements had smoothed and faded the wood.

The four changeling men and two women around the fire had the look of warriors. The group listened intently and some even sang along as Oisín’s voice rose.

I’ll tell ye a tale from the old orchard trail,

Where the moss grows thick and the roots never fail.

As the bard’s fingers flew over his cittern, 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 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!

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?”

My attention now caught, I continued to listen. The song went on to talk about Bold Bren the Bare washing himself in a pool of water while being watched by the Morrigan’s raven before being arrested by the “king’s men.” Could this song be about Bren Búachaill?

The bard’s voice rose in volume as several of the changeling warriors clapped and stomped their feet in tune.

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!

There was no doubt in my mind now. The song could only be about my friend, now apparently a folk hero. I chuckled to myself and then went cold as I realized the man with the birthmark was no longer staring into the fire. His gaze was focused directly on me.