NOVEL WEB Chapter 26: Farmer Family
The inn's common hall was nearly empty, except for two tired-looking men dressed as merchants, who were talking in low voices at a corner table. Arthur sat down, grabbed a piece of bread and a mug of milk, and began to eat in silence, just listening.
"...lost half my cargo near the Old Bridge," one of the men was saying bitterly. "It was that bastard Garrick's gang. The Steel Dogs."
"I heard his knife moves faster than the eye can see," the other replied. "The Royal Guard does nothing, and we merchants are the ones who pay the price."
Arthur continued to eat, showing no reaction, but inside, he was absorbing every word. 'Old Bridge. The Steel Dogs. Fast with a knife.' The information was valuable. His target wasn't just a name on a poster; he had a territory and a reputation.
Finishing his breakfast, he stood up, gave a nod to the innkeeper, and left. The morning air was cold and clean. He pulled the crumpled "Wanted" poster from his pocket and looked at it again. The poorly drawn face of Garrick seemed a little more real now.
Putting the poster away, he adjusted the backpack on his shoulders, felt the comforting weight of the uchigatana at his hip, and began to walk down the dirt road that led south. Towards the Old Bridge.
The day was quiet, and the small town, a bit more bustling than the day before, fell behind him. Arthur walked on the muddy dirt road; it had probably rained during the night. The damp leaves and the sun, which was now warming up, gave the young man a hint of hope. But as the town disappeared over the horizon, he felt a bit lonely, wondering how Shapira and the others were doing.
'Shapira must be furious with me. Zamir is probably calculating his losses, and Torvin… he must be happy to have some peace.' A faint smile touched his lips, but it quickly vanished. He missed them. The security of having such strong allies. But he knew he couldn't depend on them forever. He couldn't be the "dead weight." This journey was something he needed to do alone, to prove to himself that he could manage on his own.
After a half-hour walk, he saw a clear sign that he was on the right path: an overturned merchant's cart on the side of the road, its goods looted and scattered in the mud. A recent attack.
Arthur became more alert, his hand instinctively moving closer to the hilt of his sword. He continued forward with more caution. The terrain began to get rockier and more rugged, and soon he heard the sound of running water.
Climbing a small hill, he saw it. The Old Bridge. An ancient stone bridge, covered in moss and with some parts crumbling, that crossed a wide, fast-moving river. It was the only crossing point for miles. The perfect place for an ambush.
He didn't advance. Instead, he left the road and hid behind a set of large rocks that gave a clear view of the bridge. He needed to be smart. He needed to watch and wait.
After a full afternoon of observation, the boy had found nothing. No suspicious activity. Only a few carts had passed, but no bandits and no sign of Garrick. Until… Arthur saw a drunkard stumbling out from behind the rocks.
"You damned rock! Why did you have to be right in front of me?" the man said, his voice slurred, as he kicked the large boulder.
Arthur watched the scene with boredom. Apparently, the cart he had seen earlier had broken down due to this man's incompetence, not an attack from his target. The boy wondered if he should help. After all, he didn't have time to waste; he needed to face Garrick soon. But seeing the man in such a deplorable state made him feel a little pity.
"Damned rock, damned rock…" the man continued, kicking it repeatedly until he lost his balance and fell to the ground, completely drunk.
He struggled to get up, but without success. Finally, he gave up, remaining there, lying in the mud. Arthur, seeing this situation, could no longer ignore it.
'Why am I so nice?' he thought, letting out a sigh of resignation.
The boy came out from behind the rocks and walked towards the fallen man.
"Hey, sir. Are you alright?" Arthur asked, extending a hand to help him.
The man looked at the outstretched hand with half-closed eyes and accepted it, using Arthur's support to sit up. He reeked of cheap alcohol.
"Alright? I'm great! Just… just had a little disagreement with this rock," he said, letting out a pathetic laugh.
"Just… had a problem with the road," he said, letting out a hiccup. He pointed to the broken cart. "The wheel… it hit and… half of my potatoes went into the river," he added, pointing to the river.
Arthur watched the potatoes being carried away by the current, then looked up at the sky, realizing the sun was setting. Being in unknown territory at night was definitely not a good idea.
The drunken farmer, in a rare moment of clarity, seemed to notice Arthur's gaze.
"Hey, kid… my farm… it's not far. If… if you help me carry what's left, I… I'll give you a place to sleep. Hot food. And…" he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out two silver coins. "...this."
The offer was practical. A safe place and a small payment. It was worth more than the risk of sleeping in the forest.
"I accept," Arthur said. "But you'll have to help too. Get up."
With much effort and Arthur's help, the man managed to get to his feet. Together, they worked to collect the remaining sacks of potatoes and to tie up the broken wheel in a makeshift way, just enough so the cart could move.
Arthur searched the area and eventually found the horse that had run off during the collision. He quickly caught it, reattaching it to the cart.
"My name is… Ben," the farmer said, as they began to slowly push the cart down a dirt path.
"I'm Arthur."
"You're a good lad, Arthur…" Ben murmured. "Taking care of a drunk old man. You have to be careful around here… Garrick and his gang… they like to pick off people who are alone on the road…"
"Do you know anything about them? Where they might shelter, perhaps?" Arthur asked, trying to get some information out of the drunkard. Even if it wasn't very reliable, it was better than nothing.
"I-I only know they rob people on this bridge…" Ben stammered. "Unfortunately, it's the only bridge that connects this region with the fields to the north. That's why they stick around here."
The man climbed onto the cart with great effort, almost falling off the other side. Arthur finished tying the horse to the cart and climbed up next to the drunk, taking the reins and guiding the animal onto the path past the Old Bridge.
He hadn't gotten anything useful today, but at least he would have a free roof over his head to rest.
The trip to the farm was short but tiring. Ben fell asleep almost instantly, his loud snores and the smell of alcohol filling the silence of the falling night. Arthur guided the cart slowly along the dirt road, his eyes alert for any suspicious movement in the shadows of the forest that flanked the path. With every noise, his hand went to the hilt of his sword.
He was alone, responsible for a drunkard and a broken cart, in a territory he knew to be dangerous.
Finally, he spotted the small wooden house with the light of a lamp shining in the window, exactly as Ben had described. As he approached, a middle-aged woman came out the door, her expression of worry turning to relief, and then to irritation upon seeing the state of her husband.