The Tales of the Travelsman

[Drake Teglen]

(The First in a series of short stories I'm working on. This is all I have done so far, hope to write more soon.)

Episode I: The Woodland Lullaby

“Surely you jest!” Harmon Gregor remarked, a chuckle behind his voice. The tall thief straightened his black eye mask and shook his head at his shorter companions. “Are you dwarves or halflings? Surely the great bearded folk are made of greater stuff!”

“Bah ye string bean fool!” said one of the two dwarves, Fric Firewalker.

“We’re not keen on walkin’ into strange houses in the woods!” said his twin brother, Frac Firewalker.

The three companions stood in front of a small, strange house, which they had never before seen in the Shadow Wood. They were farther from the city of Apollos than they had previously ventured, choosing mostly to rob those on the main roads or within the city itself.

The three had been fairly successful since they had left one of the city’s largest thieves’ guilds, known as the Nightwings. A rumor they had heard in a city tavern had led them to this house, supposedly the home of a great adventurer who was rarely home.

The self-proclaimed leader of the trio, a human named Harmon Gregor, was in his mid twenties. The tall man wore a black eye mask that matched his tunic of the same color. His blond hair fell from beneath the mask in curly locks, and he wore a thick mustache, which helped accent his large front teeth. He kept two daggers sheathed at his belt, and had an extra strapped on his right leg.

His twin dwarf companions, Fric and Frac, looked almost identical, and Harmon regularly got them mixed up. Both sported fiery red hair and beards, though Fric’s was a single braid and Frac’s a double. They wore brown leather vests and black pants and boots. The easiest way to tell the difference in the dwarves was by the weapons they carried. Fric preferred to use a battle-axe, while Frac carried a war hammer.

The three had their weapons in hand as they approached the house. Harmon stood in front and got close enough to the small cottage’s front door that he could now see a note attached to it. He surveyed the area carefully for traps, as did his dwarf companions, and finding none, he reached and took the note and read it aloud.

Dear Visitors,

I regret that I am not available to enjoy your company, but I must have important business elsewhere at the moment. Please return at a later time, that we may share a glass of wine and stories of great adventure. Also, please beware of trolls.

Your humble servant,

-The Travelsman

“Who the blazes is the Travelsman?” Harmon asked, his dwarf friends scratching their hairy heads.

“Some stinkin’ hermit I guess,” remarked Frac.

“Livin’ way out here by himself and all,” added his twin.

“Why would someone call himself ‘The Travelsman’ if he was a hermit who stayed in the same place all the time? You stumpy idiots! Must be just like they said, it’s an adventurer! He’s made up a crazy nickname for himself, or been given it.”

Harmon pushed the door slightly and it opened. “Hey, it’s unlocked!”

“Ah, but what if he’s trapped the place?” Fric warned.

“And what about trolls?” Frac chimed in.

“I don’t think any person would keep trolls in their house, my little friends. This guy might have died in the Great War, ya know? Lots of trolls around back then! And to think we might be the first ones to find this! Oh the possibilities!”

“I believe things when I sees them!” snorted Fric.

“And I sees trouble!” said Frac with a spit.

“Only one way to find out!”

The dwarves thought at first that Harmon had said the last statement, but they then remembered he was standing in front of them, and the voice had come from behind. They briefly exchanged glances and then turned around to see what Harmon had already noticed.

A man dressed in red was sitting on a fallen tree trunk. His vest and pants were both red, as was his finely woven cape. To complete his outfit was a wide-brimmed red hat, which was adorned with a large white feather. Dark brown wavy hair fell from his hat, ending just above his shoulders, and his handsome face wore a smile, his blue eyes showing kindness, but any who looked into those orbs knew they had seen much. As he sat on the tree, he began to strum a guitar, now not even looking at the three thieves.

“Who the devil are you?” Frac asked, breaking the silence save for the guitar playing.

“Not a devil,” the stranger replied, continuing his strumming.

“Well who are ye?” the dwarf’s twin brother pressed.

“I am just a man who wishes to return home,” the man’s deep yet soothing voice replied. “Yet when I return, I find three thieves at my very doorstep. Is that any way to show your appreciation?”

“Then you are the Travelsman?” Harmon asked, his hands moving toward the hilts of his weapons, though he did not draw them.

“Indeed,” the stranger replied, and he stopped playing, eyeing Harmon’s knives intently.

Harmon noticed his stare and relaxed his hands, noticing the fine sword sheathed on the Travelsman’s belt.

Then the playing started back, but this time the Travelsman began to pluck the strings with abandon, playing an amazing routine on the instrument, coming to a crescendo and then calming to a slow melody. Almost a lullaby, the three thieves thought.

Indeed, they all began to yawn, suddenly feeling very tired. Their eyelids became heavy, and Frac even sat down on another nearby log, his elbows on his knees. “It’s been a long day,” the dwarf remarked.

“You three look exhausted,” the man in red said, his voice even more calming now as he continued to pluck the strings. “Please take a rest.”

The other dwarf resisted, but he too was feeling very sleepy, and he simply lay down on the ground, putting his hands under the side of his head as a makeshift pillow. Both dwarves were snoring within seconds.

Harmon leaned heavily against the door, but he began to see the song for what it was. The Travelsman was putting some spell upon them, he knew, so he began to fight it. However, Harmon was not known for his willpower, and soon he was sitting on the ground. “I know,” his sentence was interrupted by a yawn. “what you’re doing…”

“Yes, but it could all be over if you would just go to sleep,” the Travelsman said.

“Sounds good,” said Harmon, and he immediately fell backward, his eyes closed and his breathing rhythmic with sleep.

__________________________________________________ __

Harmon awakened, his eyes staring at a dark gray ceiling. He sat up in alarm and surveyed his surroundings. He was in a cell, surrounded by stone and iron bars. He was alone. “Fric? Frac?” the man called out.

“I’ll give ye a fric and a frac!” yelled a voice from across the hall, belonging to another prisoner. “If ye don’t shut yer yap!”

“We’re here,” a voice said from the side of Harmon’s cell. “Caught before we even stoled nothing!” the dwarf Fric said, looking through the small barred opening between the cells. His head was squished away as his brother peeked through.

“Durned Travelsman!” Frac added. “Did ye read the note?”

“Note?” asked Harmon, but his question was answered as he saw the note tied to his sleeve. He unrolled the parchment and read it.

Dear Visitors,

I do hope you enjoyed your visit to my home as much as I did. Please visit again, if you ever get the opportunity. Please let me know what you thought of the song I played, for I worked very hard on it, and I always aim to please. Until we meet again (if we ever do).

Your faithful servant,

-The Travelsman


“What kind of lunatic is he?” Harmon asked in frustration.

“One who don’t like thieves I guess,” Frac said in surrender

“But how’d he get us locked up?” Fric wondered.

The heavy steps of an armored guard approached Harmon’s cell. “Ah, the latest haul by the red caped one,” the guard remarked. “That guy gets ‘em from all over. King Tristan likes the guy, even knighted him I believe. Can’t believe you three actually tried to break in his house.” The guard laughed, shook his head, and left.

The three thieves could only look at each other and shake their heads.



The Travelsman stood on the road north of Apollos, talking to two of King Tristan’s knights. The red clad man now had his guitar strapped on his back, and a very finely crafted longsword was sheathed on his belt. The hilt was jet black, and formed in the shape of a black dragon. The neck and head of the beast made up the handle, while its wings extended to either side, completing the blade’s hilt.

“Information well spread,” said one of the knight’s to the Travelsman, giving him a pouch, which jingled with gold. “We’ve been after those three for a while.”

“Just doing my civic duty, gentlemen,” said the always-charismatic voice of the red-clad wanderer. “However, I hope that you fine knights can root out more of these without my help, for I have pressing business in the East. The Sultan of An-Anari requests my presence, and I am not fond of making kings wait.”

“What befalls An-Anari?” asked the second knight.

“That is a tale for another day,” said the Travelsman.

“Aye, no one spins a tale quite as well as you,” the knight chuckled.

“And I spin them much better after they have happened, and when I do not have to change them and make a false happy ending. I must make haste.” The Travelsman leapt atop his steed, the mighty white stallion Sunchaser.

“Then God-speed, good Travelsman,” said the first knight. Both knights bowed to the travelsman, who swept off his great plumed hat in salute to the knights.

“Ride long and ride strong, Sunchaser,” said the Travelsman to his steed. And he was off toward his next adventure, which is a tale for another day.