Welcome to the first chapter of Keeper Of Gudrun, an original medieval fantasy saga made public by yours truly, right here on Steemit. Check out this introductory post for a little foreword and some backstory on the lore of the land.

![keeperofgudrunsmall.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmetPA62GNJ4UMh8Z2E8eA9govPcepZaTK2n98r3kybRVY/keeperofgudrunsmall.jpg) ![gudrunsmall.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmZ6CDi5aUvXYYsHJh1RSqKMvn6fPS5xzbe4WVJoD67oYz/gudrunsmall.jpg) ![Untitled-1.png](https://steemitimages.com/DQmceq6wTf7mNMutkhNHdh9KQkk4LJT6iK7kd5EMq4n45sP/Untitled-1.png) ![chapterone.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmcV7EEsBcPRFcq95M9gzcLMd37SXhUMYvANqRDWXvM8J3/chapterone.jpg) Haramond laid back against the tree. A silky breeze brushed his face and he removed the loosened, dark green head cloak. The sun was starting to set on his left shoulder and the Lonely River splashed faintly off to his right, barely audible amidst the calm shuffling of the forest leaves. Haramond loved to savour the hushed moments that found him alone along his long, everlasting journeys on foot. It was approaching the end of the third day of his trek. Haramond had journeyed south-westerly from the great city of Tourla, through the mostly untrodden and pathless woodlands shading the countryside east along the south flowing Lonely River. His green eyes fixed upon the large stone bridge to the south. Torch lights were starting to illumine the overpass and Haramond took to his feet, slinging the laden rucksack on his back with a stifled clang. It would take him almost an hour to reach the stone bridge passage. Darkness quickly engulfed the meadow and flashing stars began to pierce the night sky. Haramond strutted serenely upon the trackless grass with the river to his right. His dark green mantle accommodated his tall lean frame flawlessly and fluttered not at all. The copper bristles of his beard and moustache marked the evening air and the lanterns at the gate of the bridge grew larger as he approached. In the torch light a pair of steel-plated, ironclad men came into view, each wielding spears mounted with silvery axe blades and spikes. "Hail good guardians of Lyon!" called out Haramond in a full voice. The two armoured bridge guards moved divergently yet together, one sleekly bringing the point of his spiked staff forward, and the other inclining the sharp fitted end of the axe in a suspended position. Anyone unfortunate enough to trespass within a finger would be disassembled at once. Haramond could see the Lyon city insignia on the soldier's left shoulder plate, the depiction of bright wolfish teeth clenching the blue, S-shaped river in its jaws like a snake. "Well hello green stranger of the evening," said one of the bridge watchmen. The candle lit flagstone path of the bridge ended in gradual darkness behind the two glistening guards. A deadly, shivery silence rung in for an instant as the Lonely River flowed beneath "I am Haramond..." The bridge guard lowered his halberd weapon and the second followed. "I've come shouldering gifts from king Laukos of Tourla, and also to deliver salutations to you and your Lord Alexon," continued Haramond as he loosed and opened his rucksack, dipping his arms into the bag, setting off rattling metallic noises. He pulled out what looked like a small glowing stringed instrument. "Do any of your lady friends enjoy music?" Haramond plucked a few of the pearly strings on the harp and forthwith sweet-sounding resonant music filled the night air. The first guard stepped nearer, leaning his weapon on the stone railing to the side. The second guard likewise placed his halberd against the rail and they both removed their rigid, iron nasal helmets. "Aye, a thing of beauty. Stessa would really truly be delighted!" voiced the enticed guard as he moved in to grasp at the shining harp. "Woco, your father ever speak of anyone named... Haramond?" asked the enthused soldier, glancing distractedly over his shoulder to his partner. "Time and again...Haramond the wanderer, Haramond the wise, the soothsayer, the lorekeeper, the joker, the sleuth, and indeed... the good friend." Haramond smiled. "Woco? Son of Alexon? I barely recognize you! I've brought something special from the treasure rooms of Tourla for you as well. You're father tells me that you're an admirer of books and finds too many of them missing from his collection. " Haramond pulled from his grey bag a thick and exquisitely embroidered book. "Lord Alexon won't know about this one..." Haramond winked and smiled. Woco's eyes shone as he fiddled his fingers around the book. "Good wonders... The Lost Legends Of Ireon... what!? This can't be!" Woco appeared larger standing next to Haramond. But the immensity of his lustrous, domed armour added ample size and his sleek, angular face appeared tiny in comparison. Haramond tightly fastened the bands of his rucksack and swung it onto his back again with a curious clink. "I've journeyed for days now and am in need of a hearty supper and restful armchair. How goes the Good Horn this night? Does the lovesome Moryse still dish up the same piquant medley as heretofore?" Woco put his helmet back on and picked his spear up. "Yes of course. I can take you across the bridge." The other, more songful guard was altogether enamored with his new musical instrument, picking at the strings and straining to carry a tune. "O my Stessa so fair O my Stessa so sweet O such a beauty so rare I would face death to meet between the pillars of love her hair waves in the breeze these things I sing of bring me to my knees...!" Woco and Haramond walked briskly away, crossing to the other side of the river. The smitten, singing guard's voice fleetly dissolved behind them and was replaced by the dull, rolling sounds of the river beneath them. "Well he's a gently, reverent young man isn't he? What's his name again?" asked Haramond. "Oh I'm quite certain you already know his name... and the name of his betrothed, their kith and kin and heirs ,and their love of music. Is there anything you don't know, my famed lorekeeper?" Haramond grinned in the moonlight. "Extravagant fame would rightly kill me these days. Please speak my name faintly to others. Dirty dealing and deceit is spreading like an infection throughout Tourla. King Laukos is unwell and very leery of things. The court overturns him day after day. The Runners of Tourla give him the run around, traipsing about far afield, gathering little news. King Laukos is as much blind, groping about in the darkness. I am commanded to uncover the root of this crookedness." Haramond and Woko paused a moment to gaze at the incandescent sight of the seaside city of Lyon in the dark, inky distance. "I used to read to you when you were little. Can you remember?" asked Haramond wistfully. Woco nodded. "Something deadly looms over the world, clutching at us hungrily from behind a veil of fog. It hastens from city to city and engulfs us. I wish that I could once more perch on one of Ireon's lost horses, run a hurried circle around all the land and tempt the wrath of the mountain gods!" Woco picked up on the deeply-felt frustration Haramond seemed to grapple with. It came and went in the blink of an eye. But it inwardly shocked Woco. Haramond was like an all-knowing wizard to him and he could not envision anything that would earnestly test his cunning. "You're staying at The Good Horn tonight? I'm on the watch until midnight. I can meet you later. You are more than welcome at the palace..." "I've heard that you'll achieve liberty from the bridge watch in a few days," said Haramond knowingly. "I'm on days tomorrow and the next. After that I'm done." "I will be visiting your father by sundown tomorrow. Please meet with us then." "Excellent. Enjoy nosing around the boroughs of town. Take care beyond the southern end passed The Good Horn. Two found dead this morning in the abbey and another in the guildhall. Decapitations. Absolutely brutal." Haramond froze. "Heads and hands missing?" "No where to be found," answered Woco plainly. Haramond lingered in thought a little while and paced the ground. "Where can I find the metal smiths and miners this time of night... and also the soap maker?" Woco rolled his eyes. "All over. Many more up by the northern farms. Loidi is probably seeing double at the Shaky Hand right now which is way passed the Good Horn, near the water. He is the soap maker." "What about the glass maker?" Woco shrugged his plated shoulders. Haramond let out a weary sigh and turned intently toward Woco, smiling encouragingly. "If only there were two of me. I must hurry. I will see you tomorrow night," uttered Haramond. "I'll be at the center of town in a few hours. Maybe I'll find you. Welcome to Lyon and may the mountains bless you" Woko grinned an instant, wheeled around briskly and walked ably and neatly away. Haramond turned toward the glittering city, arranged like a burning cluster of candles in the dark. The night had noticeably cooled and the warm animated lights of Lyon beckoned him on ahead. ![ezgif.com-gif-maker (1).gif](https://steemitimages.com/DQmYvu23u5cABoiQ3F66XDwys9VzhSFEB7KxV5o73ugnfP7/ezgif.com-gif-maker%20(1).gif) Chapter 2 is coming soon! ![Dove_divider_2 (1).png](https://steemitimages.com/DQmVeC4ERXJttwLBUiRScgApXCxQJB4MxdZtzCaXksyUwfd/Dove_divider_2%20(1).png) ![signature1.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmNWrqzu65tAnWMh8E7ryxaY6aJa48cWeViX8emoJMh22X/signature1.jpg)

marcgilles