Trekking

 The tapping of hooves and the rolling of wheels, a sound he would have to get accustomed to over the next few hours. The pastures of Belan was left behind as hills belonging to other villages appeared over the distance.

The merchant who had requested his presence chuckled beside him, driving a horse-pulled wagon while Hugo rode a mare belonging to his family. Clover was her name, a tall member of the Gelden breed.

“Quite the scene your father made back there. I was only asking you to accompany me to the nearest city.” Hugo had to remind himself of the man’s station several times over to hold back a sigh of exasperation.

“You certainly could’ve made that clearer, sir Orin. I had also assumed you were asking me to become a member of your caravan.”

“Haha! It takes more than a single conversation to become a part of my troupe, old Bram back there would have my hide if I invited anyone over willy-nilly.”

Hugo hunched over, instinctively trying to make himself as small as possible. “Is Bram the one who’s been staring a hole into the back of my skull for the last ten minutes?”

A glance behind showed a man older than the merchant by at least three decades, certainly deserving of the moniker ‘Old’, even if Orin was quite young for a caravan leader.

“That’s the one, any good merchant needs an angel on his shoulder to whisper every tiny risk of a deal.” The term ‘angel’ hardly fit the man, though Hugo kept the thought to himself.

No need to invite a harsher glare, the back of his head was scorched enough as is.

Orin dug through a large sack placed behind him for a few moments, taking out a wineskin before taking a sip. The man let out a long sigh of satisfaction, Hugo couldn't help but feel it was overtly loud on purpose.

“Eastern wine with Ghana spice, perfect for a long road. Want any?” He held out the wineskin towards him, Hugo nervously shook his head.

“N-No thank you, I’m only sixteen.” The merchant scoffed in response.

“Bah! Nonsense. If you’re old enough to work you’re old enough to drink.” He shook the wineskin towards him, Hugo awkwardly scratched the back of his head before declining once again.

“I’m not big on alcohol.” He quietly said.

Orin stared at him for a second with a raised eyebrow before taking another swig, throwing the wineskin at him a moment later.

“Suit yourself, hand it off to the wagon behind.” Hugo nodded.

It was a while later when Orin spoke once again.

“Say, you have been to Thorn before, yes?”

“Of course sir Orin, it’s the closest city to Belan. We buy most of our supplies from there.”

The man scratched his chin as though he was running his fingers through a beard, despite the clear lack of one.

“Hoho, so you would know all about the markets, yes? I imagine your father takes you there often.”

Hugo shifted nervously in his saddle. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting from me, sir, I don’t know much beyond grocer’s and the tailor.”

A smirk that could only belong to a capable merchant appeared on Orin’s face, filled to the brim with greed and a snake’s cunning.

“Hugo, my boy, that is exactly what I need to know. Only amateurs look for schemes and shortcuts to wealth, veterans learn the markets. Find the cheapest of the essentials and the most expensive of the luxuries, then strike where competition is the weakest! That’s how you found a mercantile empire.”

The words he spoke dripped of wisdom, and Hugo would’ve been impressed had it not been for one small issue.

“Sir Orin, I would hardly consider four wagons to be a ‘mercantile empire’.” He deadpanned, the man practically recoiled from his words.

“I-It’s a work in progress. A-and I'll have you know I have a lot of capital at my disposal!” Hugo thought he could see a drop of blood flow from his mouth, and every member of the caravan nearby looked away, refusing to show their face.

Sensitive bunch.

It took several seconds for Orin to recompose himself, at which point he continued his lecture. “A-As I was saying, one needs to learn the markets, and few know it better than the locals.”

The merchant continued to explain economic concepts and the art of trading to him, Hugo got the distinct impression that it was because he didn’t have much else to talk about.

He half listened as an hour passed, occasionally chiming in with questions and observations. The concepts were simple enough, all logically consistent with what one would expect. Truth to be told it was a little boring, but there wasn’t much else to do except listen.

It was an hour later when the City of Thorn appeared over the horizon, standing tall as one of the largest settlements in the duchy of Avelin. Founded nearly a millennia ago, the suburbs had long since spilled out of the walls that were first built, creating a perimeter of buildings around the fortification that slowly waned into the countryside.

Orin whistled at the sight.

“Quite the city indeed, almost as large as Alanfer out near the frontier.” The merchant excitedly stood as he pointed towards the western edge of Thorn.

“And there’s the Avelin aqueduct! Haha, to see it with my own two eyes!” There stood the most notable feature of the city, a massive aqueduct that towered over the districts, splitting into dozens of smaller sections to deliver water to every corner of Thorn—distribution centers for those of moderate wealth, and directly into their homes for the rich.

 Beyond the city just at the edge of their vision, it found its final stop at an academy before pouring into a lake that stretched far beyond the horizon.

Built of pale marble, the opulence of the structure was astounding, yet the most impressive part of the construct was undoubtedly the fact that water flowed up for much of it, supposedly an enchantment placed by mages from the western institute.

And it wasn’t just the aqueduct either, nearly every bit of the city had magic involved one way or another—from the gates opening by itself to public baths being heated with no need for fuel.

Hugo didn’t understand how it worked in the slightest or how such a thing was even possible, and he doubted he ever would, constrained to the countryside as he was. At the end of the day, education and magical conveniences were limited to the rich and those who lived in their proximity.

Did he envy those who lived within the city's walls?

Perhaps he would’ve in the past, but such feelings he had long learned to let go. There was comfort to be found in familiarity, a sense of safety only allowed to simplicity, impossible to achieve in Thorn with all its magical mystery.

Perhaps he would’ve rejected it in the past if he had the chance, but he was now content with his life in Belan, and that’s all that mattered.

He was content, and that’s all that mattered.