The next morning, William woke well before the sun, slipping out of his blankets to meet John at the edge of the village alongside his uncle.
The early dawn breeze felt moist and biting against his skin, but the chill did nothing to dampen the eager embers burning in the boy's chest. Ashbrook was mostly silent at this hour, though a few signs of life were already stirring—a handful of other poor souls forced to start their labors at the first crack of dawn.
Uncle Rob let out a massive, jaw-cracking yawn, looking down at him with a sleepy grin. “So, excited for your little trip?”
“Yes,” William replied, his voice firm and confident in the quiet dark.
Rob let out a low chuckle, resting a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder as they walked.
After a few minutes of navigating the dim paths, the silhouette of a large wagon materialized through the morning mist, where John was already hoisting the last of the heavy wooden crates and grain bags into the back. William raised an arm and waved enthusiastically the moment he caught sight of the blacksmith.
John spotted them and let out a boisterous laugh that echoed off the sleepy tree line. He wiped his calloused hands on his trousers, tracking the boy's eager approach. “Ready for your first trip to the city, kid?”
William nodded quickly, adjusting the heavy, worn straps of the canvas packs slung over his shoulders.
Rob offered John a quiet, solemn nod, giving the blacksmith a subtle signal. The two men stepped a few paces away from the wagon, their voices dropping into a low, private murmur as they shared a final word before the long road ahead.
While Rob and John were having their private conversation, William’s attention drifted toward the wagon. It looked old but sturdy, its weathered wood showing clear signs of careful, frequent repair. Peering over the side, William found the multiple crates and grain bags arranged neatly in the back, leaving a small, cozy space covered with a thick woolen blanket—apparently his reserved spot for the long ride ahead.
He walked around to the front of the team and found two heavy-set mules quietly cropping the sparse grass, lazily swishing their tails to keep the morning flies at bay. William reached out a hand, carefully petting their coarse noses. The beasts didn't even flinch; they just blinked sleepily, completely used to the touch of humans.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the crunch of heavy footsteps approaching through the dirt. He turned to see John walking back toward the cart.
“Buckle up, kid,” John said, tossing a final leather strap into the driver's box and checking the wheel pins. “We need to clear the valley before the sun rises completely if we wanna make it to Arindale before it sets.”
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William nodded quickly and climbed up into the back of the wagon, settling himself into the small, blanketed nest among the iron crates. As the wooden frame groaned, he looked back over his shoulder to see Uncle Rob standing by the tree line, smiling and waving a quiet farewell.
William waved back, his heart thumping against his ribs as John cracked the reins, the wagon jolted forward, and the dust of Ashbrook began to drift away behind them.
The journey at the start was anything but comfortable. The constant, violent jolting of the unpaved road—which didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon—sent a sharp, dull ache straight up William's spine. The crisp morning breeze and the shifting scenery along the road were his only saving graces.
John glanced back, hiding a smirk as he watched William rubbing his lower back. “In about half an hour, we’ll hit the main route and meet up with the rest of the caravans,” the blacksmith called out over the rattle of the wood. “The city actually maintains that road regularly, so the ride will smooth out. Just bear it for now.”
True to John's word, thirty minutes later, the dense trees parted, and William caught sight of dozens of wagons gathering at a wide, stone-packed thoroughfare.
Many of the vessels looked just like theirs—old, heavily repaired, and pulled by stubborn, dusty mules. But a half-dozen of the carts looked completely different. They were massive, reinforced structures built from fine timber, looking incredibly sturdy and expensive. Instead of mules, they were being pulled by teams of massive, powerful horses. It was the first time William had ever seen a horse in his life; they were far too expensive for anyone in the countryside to afford. They looked utterly majestic, dwarfing even the strongest mule he had ever encountered in Ashbrook.
Surrounding these wealthy carriages was a small army of armored guards, their steel glinting in the morning light as they held spears, swords, and longbows.
John pulled his team to a halt, his brow furrowing deeply as he surveyed the crowd.
William noticed the sudden, tense expression on the blacksmith's face. “Is there a problem?” he whispered.
John grunted. “There shouldn't be, but… the number of guards is way higher than any trip I’ve made before, and they look a hell of a lot better trained. Let me ask around.”
John climbed down from the driver's seat and walked toward the center of the caravan under the watchful, suspicious eyes of the mercenaries. William watched from the back of the wagon as a well-dressed man, likely a representative for the merchants, stepped out to meet John. After a brief, serious negotiation, John reached into his pouch and parted with a precious silver coin—the required fee to secure their spot in the line and ensure they fell under the temporary protection of the convoy's guards.
John walked back to his wagon looking visibly relieved, though his coin purse was lighter.
“What happened?” William asked the moment John climbed back up.
“I thought maybe there were feral beasts or bandits sighted near the high road to justify this much iron,” John replied, gathering the reins. “But it’s nothing like that. The third son of a minor noble is visiting the city, and the merchants are just hitching a ride under his personal guard. The silver is steep, but it guarantees we make it to Arindale in one piece.”
William nodded, though a quiet weight settled in his chest. He had heard stories of nobles, but to a boy from a starving village, the concept was entirely foreign. He didn't know what titles or lineages meant; he only understood the raw power displayed before him. People who could afford to travel with steel, horses, and an army of men were people who could decide the fate of country folks like him with a single word.