Alfstan

Tristen looked out from behind the shelter of the thicket. He saw no one on the path. It was early morning and the mists shrouded the countryside in a thick blanket of wet air. After scanning his surroundings again, he ducked down into the bushes.

“Aria, it’s time to get up.” He gently nudged his sister’s arm. Aria moaned softly and opened her eyes, blinking in the early light.

“Is it morning yet?” She shivered and sat up.

Tristen nodded. “We’d better get moving before the morning wears on.”

Shaking her head, Aria pulled her mud splattered cloak around her. Her clothes were damp and chilled. She was wearing her hunting clothes instead of a palace dress, for in the haste of the escape she needed clothes suitable for a frantic gallop through the forest and protection from the elements. The elements seemed to be much wetter than she thought they’d be.

“Tristen, are we lost? Where are we?”

Tristen paused for a moment. “No,” he finally said, “not lost, just a little misplaced.”

Aria shuffled through her travel pouch and pulled from it a small roll of dry bread. It was slightly crushed and crumbled, but still fresh. She handed half of it to Tristen and then took a bite of her half.

“We need to get to Father and tell him about Wayfeld.” Said Aria, after swallowing her bite of bread. “How far from Wayfeld are we anyway?”

“From Wayfeld?” Tristen looked in puzzlement at the ground. “I would estimate somewhere between twenty and thirty miles. Still too close for comfort.”

“Once the Taalt capture Wayfeld they'll find out we're not there.” Aria said.

“That's why we have to move.” Tristen finished his bread and took a drink of water from his pouch. He began to pack his small inventory of supplies into his bag. He was almost finished when he stopped and listened.

From a ways down the path came the sound of a voice, or possibly voices. It wasn't very clear and seemed to fade in and out of the forest mist. As it grew closer the voice grew clearer. There seemed to be more than one person, but the voices were nearly identical to each other.

“Perhaps we'll find better luck in Wayfeld?” Came one voice.

“Surely, the last town didn't seem to like you very much.” Spoke the second one.

“I might just have another idea as well...since it is the capital. People don't take too kindly to bad news or warnings though, do they?”

“Rhetorical question, but no.”

“Or prophecies, or politics, or problems, or anything particularly perturbing.”

“Precisely.”

The first voice laughed and its owner started whistling. The other voice was silent.

Tristen motioned hurriedly for Aria to grab their things and duck under the bushes. He drew his sword and crouched beside her, hoping the strangers would pass. Aria too looked nervous, clutching the bedraggled bag of vittles to her chest with one arm and holding the blankets in the other.

“Oh, da da da, dee do, hmm, hm hm.” One of the voices trilled, spitting out simple sounds to a tune instead of words. The footsteps drew closer, allowing Tristen to catch a glimpse of the person’s trousers from behind his hiding place in the bush.

“De diddy da, de diddly…” The voice paused. “Hello there?”

Tristen glanced at Aria with a look in his eyes that told her not to move. He rested on the balls of his feet, ready to spring at any moment should the need arise. There was a swoosh and a large, heavy stick whacked the bushes beside Aria. Before she thought to control herself, Aria let out a startled squeak.

“What?” Came the voice, but Tristen let it go no further. He shot straight up, bringing his sword up in front of him with a graceful but powerful stroke. He held it to the throat of the person standing in front of him.

Before them stood a man, a little bit shorter than Tristen. He appeared to be middle aged and wore some very well worn and fairly dirty clothes. In one hand he held a long quarterstaff, the other hand he had raised in defense. The tattered man looked down at the sword pointing at his throat and took a step backwards.

“Excuse me, I wasn’t aware that the someone had taken up residence in that bush.” He grinned, as if trying to set Tristen at ease. “I meant no harm.”

Still unmoved, Tristen didn’t lower the weapon. “There were two of you. Where’s the other?”

The man looked a little confused, then a look of realization dawned upon him. “Oh, I’m sorry. You must have heard me talking to myself. We lonely types do that a lot, though I promise we’re not crazy. Well, I’m not anyhow. I didn’t mean to frighten anyone.”

Tristen lowered his sword and growled. “Then don’t go swinging that stick of yours where it doesn’t belong. Now be off.”

“Well that’s hardly a good morning. I’d like to know why you were up and at me with that hatpin of yours.” The man leaned on his staff and shook his bedraggled mop of gray-flecked red hair out of his eyes.

“Because you nearly hit my sister with your staff. Had you hit her, I might have killed you.” Tristen kept his sword drawn with the point lowered, but was ready to raise it into position if need be.

“Sister?” The man glanced to the right as Aria stood up and cast her brother a slightly indignant glare. “Bosh. If I’d have hit her, she would have been fine. A lump on the head never hurt anyone.”

There was a moment of silence as the three analyzed that statement. The man seemed to mull it over then looked sheepish. He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders before making a dramatic, sweeping bow before Tristen.

“My name’s Cedric. Cedric Alfstan the First, troubadour and performer. I’m well renowned for my tales and music and profound knowledge of the hidden magic in this world.” He grinned broadly, so that nobody could tell if he was joking about being famous or not. “At your service.” The man stuck out his calloused hand to Tristen, who refused to shake it.

Tristen shook his head. “This is not a meeting, or an introduction. This is you leaving and minding your own business. We don’t talk to drunks.”

“Drunks?” Cedric looked sorely offended. “It’s hardly seven in the morning and you’re saying I’m intoxicated! Nonsense, I don’t touch the spirits until at least eight o’clock.” He absently brushed some visible dirt from his shirt. At one point in its existence the shirt would have borne bright green stripes on its chocolatey brown fabric, adding a very performer-like bling to it. However, those stripes were faded, and the clothes looked rather plain now. The shirt too was faded by the sun to a dull medium brown.

“Tristen, stop egging him on.” Aria rolled her eyes and bent down to finish tying their things into carryable bundles. She tossed one bundle to Tristen and shouldered the other.

Cedric cocked his head to one side. “Are you two heading to Wayfeld? It’s the only large city around, and I expect you’re not traveling to see family in one of the local hamlets. You’re not exactly peasants.” Tristen gave Cedric a defensive look after that statement, somewhat unnerved that he’d brought up the fact that they very much didn’t look like peasants. They stood out, and that worried him.

“We’re not going to Wayfeld, and you’d better not either.” Tristen said, sheathing his sword. Aria now stood behind him uncomfortably shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She was edgy. Tristen was about ready to be off and shook his head. “Go preform somewhere else. Wayfeld’s been sieged and she’s fallen.”

Cedric stood there with a blank look on his face for a second, then blinked. “Nonsense. Wayfeld’s too strong for that. It’d take ten thousand men with all the trappings to even make a dent in her walls.”

“Well it was about that. Point being, we’re not going to Wayfeld, and where we’re going is none of your business. So go away.” Tristen snapped the last two words.

“Where are you going though?” Cedric leaned curiously on his staff and looked Tristen in the eyes.

Aria gave a frustrated huff. “To Rye,” she said, “and you should head somewhere like that too if you’ve got any sense. It’s about the only thing that’ll stand against these invaders.” She turned and looked down the road that lead to the southeast and fidgeted with the ties on the bundle she had on her back.

“Well one, it’s a long way.” Cedric gave a good natured smile but shook his head. “Two, I came from that direction, up this road. Last night there was a block a ways down, a large group of men with spears and swords and bows felling logs to block the road. They’re looking for someone.” With an inquisitive look he leaned forward, supporting himself with his staff, and looked closely at the two before him. “I wonder who?”

Aria’s hand touched Tristen’s arm as he uttered a mumbled curse. “You don’t need to know.” He said.

Cedric shrugged. “You’re right, I don’t. But what I’d like to know is if you’ll need guidance to anywhere else in Erland, because it looks to me like you’re a little misplaced. I on the other hand, have traveled far and wide, across the waters and back again. I know these lands like the back of my hand. Like the little carvings on my lute. Like the creases in my quarterstaff. Like –”

“That’s enough.” Aria glared at Cedric. “Wait there.” She grabbed Tristen’s arm and pulled him back a few paces, then whispered. “Should we listen to him?”

“Are you kidding? I don’t trust dirty homeless pickpockets like him.” Tristen tapped the hilt of his sword. “We’d do better to go our separate ways.”

“Well we’ll get even more lost then. He knows his way around, all these traveling types do.”

“Yes and lead us right into a den of thieves. This is a bad idea, Aria.”

Aria groaned. “We could get him to take us as far as the next town. Hide out there for a while until we find a way to get to Father. That’s the only idea I’ve got, do you have a better one?”

Tristen thought for a while, but couldn’t come up with anything. “This is a bad idea.” He repeated.

“Well it’s all we’ve got. Yes or no?”

Tristen looked very frustrated at being made to make a hasty decision, where neither of the terms seemed favorable. “Oh stop being bossy. Fine. We’ll get him to take us to the next city, then he goes his own way.” Tristen reached into his pocket for a small leather pouch of coins. He turned back to the ragged man waiting on the roadside. “Take us to the nearest city. We’ll pay you for your time, and no tricks.”

“Good choice. Where’ll it be? Now the nearest and best bigger city is Cawic. It’s a bit of a walk away, but nobody’ll look for you there, and if they do they won’t find you.” Cedric chuckled. “Lots of nice taverns in Cawic as well.” He seemed to get a dreamy look in his brown eyes as he stared into the distance.

“Cawic is too far out of the way,” Aria stated, “we need somewhere closer.” She glanced upwards as if trying to get bearings on where they actually were.

“Well,” Cedric went on, “you need somewhere out of the way. Go to a little town and any sort of organized force will have that searched within a day. Nobody will find you in Cawic, even if you wanted them to.” He shrugged, wondering if that last part of his sentence was really necessary. “Your call. But I’d rather not get my neck stretched for helping a runaway lord and lady escape some evil invading army.”

Tristen might have done something or said something quite ungentlemanly to Cedric had not Aria cleared her throat and got his attention. After looking at each other for a second or two they turned to Cedric.

“Just take us to Cawic then.” Tristen seethed, pocketing his money.

The traveler beamed a smile at them. “Let’s get on then, shall we?”