The morning sun struggled to break through the thick canopy of trees as Sir William Fenton made his way further into the forest. The trail Ewan had pointed out to him the night before was little more than a winding path of broken branches and soft earth. Despite his rest, fatigue still clung to William like a stubborn shadow. His belt of gold, hidden beneath his coat, seemed heavier than ever, as if it knew the trials that lay ahead.
William walked cautiously, every rustle of leaves or distant birdcall setting him on edge. The forest was alive with sound, but it wasn't the carefree chatter of nature—it was a symphony of whispers, creaks, and groans that seemed to hint at unseen watchers. Though he had escaped immediate danger, the weight of pursuit pressed heavily on his mind. The redcoats were relentless, and they wouldn't rest until they had captured him and the gold he carried.
Hours passed before the forest began to thin, giving way to rolling hills and patches of open land. William stopped at the edge of a stream to refill his flask, the cool water refreshing against his parched throat. As he knelt, his keen eyes caught something unusual: footprints in the mud. They were fresh, heading in the same direction he was traveling.
Someone was ahead of him.
William's hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword as he scanned the area. Whoever had left the tracks couldn't be far. Were they a harmless traveler or someone sent to intercept him? The uncertainty gnawed at him, but he knew turning back wasn't an option. Resolving to proceed with caution, he moved forward, his footsteps deliberately quiet on the soft ground.
The trail soon led to a small clearing dominated by a rickety wooden bridge spanning a deep ravine. The bridge swayed gently in the breeze, its planks weathered and uneven. Beyond it lay the continuation of the path, winding up into the hills. William hesitated, examining the structure carefully. It looked old and poorly maintained, the kind of bridge that could fail at any moment.
But what truly gave him pause was the figure standing in the middle of it.
A man, tall and broad-shouldered, leaned casually against the rope railing. He was dressed in a mix of tattered clothing and leather armor, a sword at his side and a dagger glinting in his hand. His posture was relaxed, but his presence exuded menace.
William stepped closer, his hand still resting on his sword. "Good day," he called out, his voice calm but firm.
The man straightened, his lips curling into a sly grin. "Good day, traveler. You seem to be headed somewhere important."
"That depends on who's asking," William replied.
The man chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "Let's just say I'm a friend of fortune—and I believe you might be carrying a fair share of it."
William's eyes narrowed. The man's meaning was clear. "I'm just a traveler, making my way south. I've nothing of value."
"Is that so?" the man said, stepping closer, the bridge creaking under his weight. "Word travels fast in these parts, friend. There's talk of a man carrying gold through these woods. A fugitive, they say, with a price on his head."
William's grip on his sword tightened. "You seem well-informed for a simple bandit."
The man laughed again, louder this time. "A bandit? Perhaps. But a clever one. Hand over the gold, and I'll let you cross the bridge in one piece. Refuse, and… well, let's just say you won't enjoy the alternative."
William's mind raced. The ravine was too deep and wide to cross without the bridge, and turning back wasn't an option. He glanced at the ropes securing the bridge to either side of the ravine. They looked sturdy enough, but if a fight broke out, there was no guarantee the structure would hold.
He met the bandit's gaze, his voice cold and steady. "I don't take kindly to threats. Step aside, and no harm will come to you."
The bandit's grin faded, replaced by a look of anger. "Suit yourself, then." He drew his sword, the blade catching the sunlight.
William had no choice. Drawing his own weapon, he advanced onto the bridge, the planks groaning under their combined weight. The bandit lunged first, his strike swift but predictable. William parried the blow, the clash of steel ringing out across the ravine.
The fight was precarious, every movement causing the bridge to sway dangerously. William's focus was razor-sharp, his training and experience guiding his actions. The bandit was strong but lacked finesse, his attacks driven more by brute force than skill.
As the duel continued, William began to gain the upper hand. A well-timed feint left the bandit overextended, and William delivered a swift kick to his chest. The man stumbled backward, struggling to regain his balance on the unsteady bridge.
"Give up," William said, his sword pointed at the bandit's chest. "There's no need for more bloodshed."
The bandit sneered, his eyes flicking toward the ropes securing the bridge. Before William could react, the man slashed at one of the ropes with his dagger, severing it in a single stroke. The bridge lurched violently, one side sagging as the remaining ropes strained under the weight.
William barely managed to keep his footing as the bandit lost his balance completely, tumbling backward into the ravine with a scream that echoed long after he disappeared from sight.
The bridge was collapsing.
Acting on instinct, William sprinted toward the far side, the planks breaking apart beneath his feet. With a final leap, he threw himself onto solid ground just as the bridge gave way entirely, its remnants crashing into the rocky depths below.
Breathing heavily, William lay on the ground, his heart pounding in his chest. The narrow escape left him shaken but alive. He rose slowly, brushing dirt from his coat and checking the belt of gold still secured around his waist.
The loss of the bridge meant no one else could follow him that way, a small consolation in an otherwise harrowing ordeal. But he knew the danger was far from over. The bandit's words haunted him—word had indeed traveled fast, and his enemies were closer than he had hoped.
Adjusting his coat, William set off once more, the hills rising before him. Each step felt heavier than the last, but his resolve remained unshaken. The journey ahead was uncertain, but he would not falter. Too much was at stake, and he was determined to see it through to the end.