The trio trudged through the bustling streets of the settlement, the rain still falling in relentless sheets. It pooled in the uneven cobblestones, forming miniature rivers that trickled toward unseen drains. Despite the storm, the town was alive with activity, its inhabitants darting between cover, their faces shadowed under wide-brimmed hats and dripping hoods. Fires burned in protected hearths, their smoke curling into the gray sky and mingling with the ever-present scent of wet earth and damp wood.
I couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, walls rose around me, high and protective, holding back the wild chaos of the forest beyond. The settlement wasn’t particularly large—nowhere near the scope of Valda-Ashdock or even the guard post’s shanty town—but it was a town nonetheless, a place built by human hands, defying the primal dangers that lurked beyond its boundaries. For a moment, the sight gave me a fleeting sense of comfort, as though the very existence of civilization was enough to assure me that safety wasn’t so far away.
Trevor moved with an ease that bordered on uncanny. His boots splashed through puddles with practiced nonchalance, his sharp eyes darting to and fro as though scanning for familiar faces. It was the way he carried himself, I realized—a combination of confidence and caution that seemed to fit seamlessly into the environment. He navigated the narrow streets like he had walked them a hundred times before, though I knew from his stories that he shouldn’t have any knowledge of this place.
“Keep up, boy,” Trevor called over his shoulder, his voice carrying easily over the din of the rain. Heinrich followed closely, his shoulders hunched and his hood pulled low against the storm. I struggled to match their pace, the exhaustion from days of travel weighing on me like an anchor. My boots squelched with every step, the soaked leather clinging uncomfortably to my feet.
The inn wasn’t much to look at from the outside—a squat, timber-framed building with a thatched roof that sagged slightly under the weight of the rain. A weathered sign creaked on its rusted hinges, displaying a crude depiction of a mug and a bed. Light spilled out from the windows, warm and inviting against the gloom of the storm.
Trevor pushed the door open, the hinges groaning in protest, and ushered us inside. The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the mingling scents of ale, woodsmoke, and a hearty stew that made my stomach growl involuntarily. Patrons filled the room, their voices a low hum punctuated by occasional laughter or the clatter of a tankard on wood. A fire crackled in the hearth, its flames casting flickering shadows across the rough-hewn beams of the ceiling.
We found a table near the back, tucked away from the main crowd, and sank into the rickety chairs with weary sighs. For a moment, I simply sat there, letting the warmth of the room seep into my chilled bones. My eyes wandered across the space, taking in the simple but sturdy furnishings, the worn wooden floorboards, and the staff bustling between tables with trays of steaming food and frothy drinks.
Trevor motioned to one of the serving girls, a wiry woman with a quick smile and an even quicker stride. “We’ll take three plates of whatever stew you’ve got on,” he said, pulling a handful of coins from his pouch and slapping them onto the table. He turned to me. “And you, boy? What’re you having?”
I hesitated, my hand instinctively going to the small pouch at my side. Panic bubbled up in my chest as I remembered the caravan—my luggage, my main stash of coin, all left behind in the chaos of the raid. I had only a few coins on me, exchanged hastily at the last tavern near the border. They wouldn’t be enough to cover a meal and a night’s stay, not in a town like this.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, waving off the serving girl before she could jot down my order. My stomach churned, half from hunger and half from the realization of just how precarious my situation had become.
Trevor raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Fine, huh? You’ve been slogging through mud and rain for days, and you’re not hungry?”
“I’m not... I can’t afford it,” I admitted reluctantly, my voice barely above a whisper. I braced myself for Trevor’s reaction, but even that didn’t prepare me for the full force of his exasperation.
“You absolute fool,” he said, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and irritation. “You’ve been carrying yourself like some noble’s kid this whole time, and now you’re telling me you don’t have the coin to eat? You’re monumentally stupid, you know that?”
Heinrich chuckled, his grin wide as he leaned back in his chair. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he said, his tone teasing. “Kid’s been one blunder after another since we met him.”
Trevor didn’t let up, jabbing a finger in my direction. “You think you’re going to make it out here without food in your belly? Think again, boy.
I flushed with embarrassment, my cheeks burning despite the chill that still clung to me. “I know, I just...”
“Just nothing,” Trevor interrupted, waving over the innkeeper. The man, a burly figure with a graying beard and a perpetual scowl, approached our table with a questioning look. Trevor gestured toward me. “This one here’s going to work off his meal. Put him on dish duty for a plate of stew.”
My stomach twisted at the thought of more work, but the smell of the food won out. The innkeeper eyed me for a moment before nodding gruffly. “Kitchen’s through there,” he said, jerking a thumb toward a door at the back of the room. “Start now, and you’ll eat when the rush slows down.”
Trevor clapped me on the shoulder as I stood, his smirk equal parts amused and satisfied. “There’s a lesson in this, boy. Don’t go walking into towns without a plan—or at least enough coin to fake one.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The kitchen was a flurry of activity, the air thick with steam and the scent of simmering broth. I was handed a rag and a stack of dirty plates, the innkeeper barking quick instructions before leaving me to my task. The work was tedious and repetitive, the constant sound of running water and clattering dishes blending with the muted noise of the tavern beyond. My arms ached, my fingers pruned from the soapy water, but I forced myself to keep going, driven by the promise of food.
When I finally returned to the table, my hair plastered to my forehead and my hands raw, a steaming bowl of stew was waiting for me. I didn’t bother with pleasantries, digging in with a hunger that bordered on desperation. The stew was simple but hearty, its flavors rich and satisfying. The bread that accompanied it was crusty and warm, perfect for soaking up the broth. For a brief moment, I forgot about the rain, the cold, and the exhaustion, losing myself in the small comfort of a hot meal.
Trevor and Heinrich were already sprawled out in their chairs, their tankards empty and their conversation drifting toward the kind of stories men only share after a few drinks. I listened absently, my thoughts beginning to blur as the weight of the past few days settled over me.
When we finally made our way upstairs to the shared room, I barely registered the creaking floorboards or the scratchy blankets. The two men were already snoring softly by the time I collapsed onto the narrow bed, my eyes heavy and my mind mercifully quiet.
Sleep came quickly, and for the first time in days, it was deep and dreamless.
Hexa’s voice nudged me awake with a calm, measured tone that somehow managed to carry a sense of smug satisfaction.
“Your body has rested more effectively than any night in the past week,” she announced, her voice an intrusive whisper in the quiet dawn. The room was still dim, the weak light of early morning filtering through the grime-streaked window.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” I muttered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Despite my sarcasm, she wasn’t wrong. For the first time in days, my muscles didn’t feel like they were tied in knots, and the lingering exhaustion from our seemingly endless march through the rain was finally beginning to fade.
Trevor and Heinrich were already stirring, their movements deliberate but groggy. Heinrich stretched and yawned loudly, muttering something incoherent as he threw his blanket aside. Trevor, on the other hand, was already halfway dressed, his boots thudding against the floor as he stomped into them.
“Up and at ’em, boy,” Trevor said, his tone gruff but not unkind. “We’ve got a caravan to catch.”
I nodded, rolling out of bed and forcing myself into motion. My clothes, still damp from yesterday’s rain despite our time indoors, clung to my skin as I pulled them on. The thought of stepping back out into the dreary, wet wilderness filled me with dread, but there was no avoiding it.
By the time we made our way downstairs, the inn was bustling with activity. The clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation filled the air, the patrons huddling over steaming mugs and plates of hearty breakfast. We didn’t linger, though. Trevor was a man on a mission, his sharp eyes scanning the room and then the streets beyond as we stepped out into the gray morning.
The rain had lessened to a persistent drizzle, but the muddy streets still made every step a careful negotiation. Trevor led the way, his purposeful strides leaving no room for dawdling. I trailed behind him, my boots squelching with every step, while Heinrich brought up the rear, his expression sour but focused.
Trevor, I was starting to realize, had a knack for reading people and places. It was like watching a detective at work. He moved with an ease and confidence that made him blend seamlessly into the bustling town, striking up casual conversations with merchants, laborers, and even a couple of guards. Each interaction was brief but deliberate, his questions laced with just enough charm to disarm suspicion.
“What’s he doing?” I whispered to Heinrich as we lingered near a market stall, pretending to examine its wares.
“Finding us a ride,” Heinrich replied, his tone clipped. “You’ll see.”
Sure enough, it wasn’t long before Trevor returned, his smirk firmly in place. “Found a wagon heading our way,” he announced. “Offered our services as extra protection, and the driver was more than happy to take us on.”
I blinked, surprised by how quickly he’d managed to secure transportation. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Trevor said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Driver’s a trader. He’s got a load of lumber and supplies heading to a village up the road. Close enough to the caravan’s likely path that we’ll catch up in no time.”
The wagon was a far cry from the enchanted caravan we’d lost. It was little more than a rickety wooden cart pulled by a pair of weary-looking draft horses, its bed piled high with rough-hewn logs and sacks of grain. The driver, a wiry man with a scraggly beard and a wide-brimmed hat, greeted us with a wary nod as we climbed aboard.
The reality of our situation hit me as the wagon creaked and groaned beneath us, the uneven wheels jolting with every rut and stone in the road. If we were attacked out here, there would be no enchanted barriers, no flame-spewing traps, no trained guards to hold the line. Just us, the driver, and whatever rudimentary weapons we could muster.
Hexa’s voice interrupted my grim thoughts, her tone clinical as always. “Probability of survival in the event of a raid on this wagon: 37.2%. Factors include lack of defensive enchantments, limited mobility, and insufficient personnel.”
“Thanks, Hexa,” I muttered under my breath. “That makes me feel so much better.”
“Statistical accuracy is not intended to provide comfort,” she replied, her tone entirely unbothered.
Trevor must have noticed the tension on my face because he chuckled, his usual grin returning. “Relax, boy. Most raids don’t hit small targets like this unless we’re unlucky. And we’ve already had our fair share of bad luck, don’t you think?”
His words were meant to reassure me, but they didn’t do much to quell the unease gnawing at my gut. I glanced back at the town as the wagon began to roll forward, the walls shrinking into the distance. They weren’t nearly as imposing as the walls of Valda-Ashdock, but in that moment, they seemed like a fortress. Leaving their safety felt like stepping into the jaws of the unknown.
Trevor seemed to sense my hesitation. “You’re getting too attached to walls, kid,” he said, his tone light but laced with meaning. “Out here, you’ve got to learn to rely on yourself. Walls are fine, sure, but they don’t move with you. You want safety? Earn it.”
I didn’t reply, my gaze fixed on the horizon. The rain continued to fall, blurring the line between sky and forest. The wagon creaked beneath us, its wheels splashing through puddles as the road stretched on, winding deeper into the untamed heart of the Forest Kingdom of Drugar.