NOVPUB
Chapter 55: Beyrin Town
Zayn smirked. "Would you believe me if I said I have an invisible umbrella?"
The driver snorted. "I’d believe a lot of things before that, but whatever. Not my problem. Just don’t catch a cold."
Zayn took that as a win and leaned against the side of the carriage, he was now seated next to the driver, folding his arms as his gaze flickered toward the road ahead.
The rain made visibility shit, but he could still see the faint outline of trees in the distance.
"You said we’re close to Beyrin Town?" he asked.
"Aye," the driver grunted. "Once we pass the next bend, we’ll be able to see it. Another hour or so and we’ll be in town. After that, no more worrying about bandits for the night."
Zayn hummed in response, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against his arm.
The driver had a point. Most bandits wouldn’t attack this close to a major town.
The risk of running into actual guards was too high, and even the dumbest thugs knew that.
Still...
Instead, he shifted the topic. "What’s Beyrin like?"
The driver grunted, pulling the reins slightly as the horses slowed just a bit.
"You’ll see it when we get there, that’s how we know when we’re safe. There are some guards at the town."
"Sounds boring."
The old driver chuckled, shaking his head as he flicked the reins, urging the horses forward.
"The Town ain’t boring, boy," he said, his voice rough with age and experience.
Zayn raised an eyebrow, barely having time to process the words before the storm picked up again, the rain now coming down in thick, heavy sheets.
The sky rumbled in the distance, deep and rolling, like a beast stirring in its slumber.
He sighed, adjusting his stance atop the carriage, wiping away the droplets that had collected on his brow.
Then he saw it — the lights ahead.
At first, they were nothing but distant flickers in the dark, like tiny embers struggling against the wind.
But as they got closer, the lanterns of Beyrin Town became clearer, lining the stone road like a trail of golden fire.
And then he understood.
The town’s wet cobblestone streets, combined with the endless rainfall, made the lights reflect in a way that resembled a waterfall cascading through the town.
A river of warm, golden hues cutting through the dark, the mist curling around buildings like delicate wisps of smoke.
Zayn let out a low whistle.
"Alright, I’ll admit," he muttered. "That’s kinda cool."
The driver simply grinned.
The carriage rolled to a stop just outside the town’s entrance, where a few patrolling guards stood under the cover of a large wooden outpost.
They carried spears and lanterns, their eyes flicking to Zayn but quickly losing interest when they recognized the driver.
Zayn barely had time to react before something small and heavy hit his chest.
He caught it with one hand, his fingers tightening around a small leather pouch.
From the weight of it, he could tell there were coins inside.
Not a fortune, but enough for a decent meal and maybe a night at an inn.
The driver gave him a knowing smirk, mouthing a quick thank you before giving the reins another flick.
"Wait, hold on — "
But the carriage lurched forward, wheels splashing against the wet stone as it continued through the town gates.
A guard climbed onto the carriage, taking the empty spot next to the driver, and just like that — Zayn was left standing in the rain.
He stared after them, his expression blank.
"Am I really supposed to walk the rest of the way?" he muttered, shaking his head.
He turned, looking at the path ahead. The road leading into town was soaked with rain, small puddles reflecting the glow of the lanterns.
The scent of wet stone and earth filled the air, and in the distance, he could hear the distant hum of voices — a sign that the town was still alive, even this late into the night.
Zayn exhaled, rolling his shoulders before tightening his grip on the pouch.
"Well, nothing to do but get moving."
With that, he took his first step toward Beyrin Town.
...
Zayn tightened the strap of his coin pouch, feeling the weight of his lighter purse.
Three silvers.
Was that too much for a horse? Probably. But he didn’t have the luxury of haggling.
Time was against him, and he had no intention of spending the night in Beyrin Town.
The stablemaster, a wiry older man with mud-caked boots and a permanent scowl, barely reacted when Zayn handed over the coins.
The transaction was swift, almost impersonal, and within minutes, he found himself mounting a sturdy brown mare with a white stripe running down its nose.
He ran a hand over the horse’s damp mane, feeling the tension in her muscles as she pawed at the wet ground.
She was restless, sensing the lingering unease in the air after the storm.
The stablemaster adjusted the saddle one last time before stepping back.
"She’s fast," the man grunted. "But don’t push her too hard, especially in this weather."
Zayn gave a nod, tightening his grip on the reins.
He had no plans to break the horse’s spirit, but he also wasn’t about to take his time getting back.
He needed to return to Timberstead.
With a soft click of his tongue, he nudged the horse forward, guiding her out of the stable and into the rain-slicked streets.
The worst of the storm had passed, but the scent of wet stone and damp wood still clung to the air.
Water dripped from rooftops, forming small puddles along the uneven cobblestone roads.
Few lanterns remained lit, their warm glow flickering in the damp breeze.
The town was quieter at night.
The few stragglers still outside moved with a tired sluggishness, their footsteps heavy against the soaked streets.
Some spared Zayn a passing glance, but no one stopped him.
He pulled up the hood of his cloak, shielding his face from the drizzle, then leaned forward and gave the horse a gentle squeeze of his legs.
