At 8 a.m., the tavern hall of the Old Inn felt like it was closed. Empty tables, a young woman pushing a mop against a dark stain on the floor, and Madame Mitte behind the counter, drying glasses without any hurry.
No one cared when Rian entered the place and took a seat at the bar.
“Won't you pour me a drink, Madame?” – a forced friendliness emanated from the young man.
Without even looking at Rian, the innkeeper replied, ‘I don't intend to encourage you to start a new debt with me, boy.’ And she continued her unassuming work with the glasses.
“Don't be cruel, Madame. My last debt was paid in full, wasn't it?”
The question made the woman raise her white head with its usual bun pulled back. “I can't disagree, but I remember well when you were asked to leave your room, and my boys were forced to take that chest of yours with half a dozen coins inside. I have no intention of waking them up so early to pull coins out of your pockets. If you have any, that is.”
The answer hit Rian hard. The last two years had not gone as he had hoped. With the reputation of his failed jobs, almost no one sought him out anymore, and he was constantly doing odd jobs to afford a few nights in leaky inns and his irresistible attraction to strong drinks.
Throwing his charm at Madame Mitte was a waste of time.
“You're right, I'm temporarily without resources, but I could certainly help you with matters at the Inn,” he suggested eagerly.
The old woman put down the glass she was cleaning on a shelf behind the bar, hung the piece of cloth on a small hook on the wall, and walked over to stand in front of Rian. She looked at him kindly, ran her ring-covered hand through the young man's straight black hair down to his shoulder, and said in her husky, seductive voice:
“You know you're charming, don't you? You're a handsome, charismatic young man, but my boys are twice your size. A nice smile is of no use to me today.”
Rian continued to look at the woman with little hope, but she continued in a lower, almost whispered tone:
“People tend to have short memory. A change of clothes here, a few years there, and almost no one remembers that you didn't work alone.” Madame Mitte's words made Rian's relaxed posture tense up.
“I remember your brothers and when the three of you would come here late at night to celebrate one success or another. And I know they lead those people in white robes who come here occasionally to drink when they're in the village. And they have gold, quite a lot of it. Why don't you join them and get out of this miserable life?
Rian's face became serious, and he looked down. Madame Mitte had touched his most painful wound. He missed Stan and Aran, but he couldn't go back empty-handed. For a moment, he regretted the time he had spent drinking and chasing women for the past two years instead of focusing on his prize of redemption, the child. Until he finished this job, he would not go back to his brothers.
“I don't think that's a viable option, ma'am,” he replied dryly.
Noticing the change in tone, the woman stepped away and returned to cleaning the glasses but said: ”Either you've done something terrible that prevents you from going back, or your pride will lead you to the gutter, alongside the horse excrement. Speaking of which, there's a traveling troupe in the village, maybe they have some work for you. They usually need people to take care of the animals.” She gave an ironic smile as she said the last words.
Hearing about his brothers, without a drop of alcohol in his system to numb him, devastated Rian, but he couldn't let his vulnerability show. Pretending to pull himself together, he rose from his chair and held out his hand to Madame Mitte, who returned the gesture by placing her hand on his.
“Thank you for your advice, Madame. I'll be back when I can repay you.” He kissed one of the woman's colorful rings affectionately. The old woman smiled contentedly and called out as the young man headed for the exit: ‘Preferably with coins, you hear?’ Rian waved with a charming smile on his lips.
When the breeze from the street hit his face, the friendliness of the farewell was gone. Without a penny in his pocket, Rian hoped to get some kindness from the innkeeper, but the woman was too focused on her business to sympathize.
That conversation flooded him with unpleasant memories and laid bare how much he had failed—and now he needed a drink urgently. He thought once again about selling his only item of value, the whistle given to him by the ghostly figure in the forest so many years ago.
Despite his pressing need, the object represented his usefulness in the world: it was proof that he still had a job to do. And over the years, it had also become a fear of being punished by the gods if he got rid of the whistle. Blowing it without having the child was an even greater fear. A hope and a burden, that's what the gold pendant represented.
He lowered his eyes and shifted his weight onto his right foot, making sure he could feel the discomfort of the necklace under the sole—the only safe place to keep the whistle, after all, bandits had a habit of leaving only boots behind when they beat and robbed someone—then he notices he was stepping on a scroll.
He picked up the dirt-stained sheet and immediately recognized the large symbol in the middle: the silhouette of a child sitting with three stars floating above her head. The announcement seemed like a bad joke designed to further crush Rian's wounded pride. It listed the times of regular sermons at the temples in the region—built with huge donations from barons and other important figures who fell for his younger brother's smooth talk—and invited everyone to bring their children to be blessed by High Priest Stan at a big gathering in the largest village of the region next month.
When he came across this type of announcement or news of the opening of a new 3-Star temple, Rian always felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Stan's achievements were admirable, but to him, it was all just a big acting show. Somewhere deep down, he hoped that this religious spectacle would be exposed at some point, and he could return to the life the three of them had before their encounter in the forest.
Only one thing could take that bad taste out of his mouth: alcohol. And at that moment, his best chance of getting money was the tents and wagons set up in the open field across from the Old Inn, the traveling troupe.
Rian crumpled the parchment, threw it into a mud puddle, and headed for a makeshift corral where some men were tending horses. On the way, he heard the soft voices of some women singing and noticed the gypsy women from the troupe washing clothes in the central fountain, while hiding furtive glances and muffled laughter at Rian.
The young man smoothed his slightly greasy hair with his hands, regained his charm, and turned toward the women. If his smile wasn’t of any use for Madame Mitte, it was still his best weapon when it came to getting certain advantages.
The Tales of Greenfar are originally written in Portuguese. If you find any major mistakes, please be kind and let me know 🌻
🔖 New chapters every Friday!
Next chapter:
#28 - The missing part
“Can you believe it's finally our time?” - Marcel's excitement was such that his voice rose above the noise of the crowd of masters and apprentices in the human corridor formed in front of the weapons arsenal.
What has already happened in Greenfar:
Prologue: The beginning of Greenfar
Chapter 1: Alone in the forest
Chapter 2: Marks
Chapter 3: Zelas
Chapter 4: The Chosen Ones?
Chapter 5: Storms
Chapter 6: Ghraul
Chapter 7: Ramira
Chapter 8: Almost 10
Chapter 9: In the search may we remain
Chapter 10: Finally, blades.
Chapter 11: Sword of honor
Chapter 12: Intrusive thoughts
Chapter 13: Battles in and out
Chapter 14: Relax and fight
Chapter 15: Black Stars
Chapter 16: Noises
Chapter 17: Low blow
Chapter 18: Everything hurts
Chapter 19: Anger and Pride
Chapter 20: Jelly
Chapter 21: Let the celebrations begin
Chapter 22: The necklace
Chapter 23: Lies
Chapter 24: More disappointments
Chapter 25: Between tears and blows
Chapter 26: Master Rhano's diary