Deren's Road

The Golden Sea was aptly named.

Covered in gentle hills and long yellow grass that rolled like waves in the wind, the southern Andesian province did resemble a golden body of water. Governed by Lady Haaran Braed, Duchess of the Bastion, it was a lawful province, respected in the kingdom by nobles and merchants alike. Each autumn, the duchess would host a grand market outside the walls of Braeden’s Bastion. For three weeks, the town of Hazel overflowed with crowds. Merchants, farmers, and artisans arrived in covered wagons from across the northern kingdoms, eager to trade gossip and wares.

From the time he was old enough to realize what he was missing, Deren Willowson daydreamed about the market. He loved his life at the peaceful stables, but never traveled beyond the valley and surrounding hills. Haaran’s Market was his chance.

The javimbre horses his family bred were famed for their quality bloodlines, and Haaran’s Market was a profitable opportunity. Every year he’d ask his mother to bring him with her, and every year he watched gloomily from his father’s side as his mother and grandfather left him behind.

And so it was, year after year, until finally, on his ninth birthday, Deren’s patience was rewarded. Informed he would go to the market that fall, he spent the rest of the summer engrossed in his chores in case they changed their minds. When the day to leave finally came Deren woke well before dawn. He completed his chores, double checked his backpack, and loaded anything he was strong enough to lift into the wagon. By the time his family entered the kitchen, Deren was asleep at the table. Bowls of fresh field berries and milk on the table and a pot of porridge bubbling on the hearth’s iron arm.

It was nearly a full day’s ride to Braedon’s Bastion. When they arrived after dinner time the wide valley was already full of colorful tents and covered wagons. The little town of Hazel at the heart of the mass was overflowing with people. Opposite the road, on a rocky hill known as the Mound, Braeden’s Bastion perched proudly in the sunlight. Deren’s blue-green eyes widened at the sight of the grey fortress, its banners blowing red and gold in the gusty grassland wind. The broad iron gates stood open and several Knights of Winter, glimmering in armor and icy blue cloaks, rode out the gateway on massive horses.

Not javimbre stock, Deren sniffed absently.

The wagon bumped down the dusty road into the valley, and Deren could see people and animals moving everywhere in a sea of disarray. It was nothing like the calm routine of Willowdell Stables and, as they neared the town and its cacophony, he felt uneasy.

Men and women all around were yelling to be heard over the clamor of wagons, ox, and sheep. The local women of the village called to their children, trying to keep them from following their curiosity. The men barked at dogs, and the dogs barked at chickens and any other creature that wandered underfoot. The noise was deafening and Deren pressed closer to his mother as the throng enveloped them.

His mother’s confident motions as she guided them to a spot just outside Hazel reassured him that all was normal. His grandfather and brothers moved quickly as they set up the small paddock that would hold the horses, but when Deren moved to help his mother called him to her. Taking his hand in her strong grip, they began to walk into the town.

“I will show you everything now, Deren,” she said with a knowing smile, “before your boyish curiosity leads you astray.”

Deren never knew so many people could exist in one place. He was overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and especially the smells, of all the different shops and booths. It was all terribly confusing. Everywhere around him men and women argued and shouted, sometimes with laughter, sometimes with fists. He had no idea how anyone could understand anything in all the chaos.

He clung to his mother’s hand, afraid of being swept away in the mass. Her bright green skirt was like a candle in the dark sea of brown and tan, and Deren suspected it was why she wore it.

The smell of the Market hung thick and still, attacking his nose with an almost violent brutality. The scent of sweat, waste, grease, spices and animal all clashed together in a dizzying cloud that hung over the town. The buildings and tents blocked the wind and the brief gusts that swept the laneways barely stirred the air. It was not long before Deren was missing the familiar breeze of the Farm, filled the scent of horses, wheat, and his mother’s cooking.

Abruptly his mother ducked down a side alleyway and stopped at a booth with a lavender canopy and violet striped curtains. A lady stood at the temporary shop, watching over a display of decorative glass bottles and vials like a goose watching her goslings. Her black hair was done in dozens of long, glossy braids that curtained her body. The lower half of her dark face was covered with a pink veil that matched the trim of her billowy green clothes. Her ebony eyes were huge, and crinkled prettily with her hidden smile as she greeted him.

Deren gaped at her. She was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. His mother laughed affectionately. “Deren, this is Mistress Brinn Shorro, from the Isles of Ell.”

Deren tried to think of something to say, but found he couldn’t. The scent coming from the booth was a powerful mix of flowers, spice, and musk that drowned out even the stink of the Market. It was only moments before it started hurting his nose. His mother began to speak to the woman, and Deren quickly realized they were old friends. When the vender produced a small, canary yellow bottle decorated with miniature silver flowers Deren recognized the perfume from his parent’s room. Now he understood why she was so protective of it at home. His mother could only get it once a year.

Moving a few steps away to clear his nostrils Deren looked around again. All he could really see was more people. Then he heard a sound that he recognized, one that instantly captured his attention. And it didn’t sound like it was too far away.

His mother was still chatting with Mistress Shorro, so he turned to follow the noise. He found what he was looking for out on the main street. The sound came from a crate, tucked under a large covered wagon laden with baskets. Two pale-skinned teamsters assembled a booth nearby, and they didn’t notice Deren. Mesmerized, he crouched down next to the small crate.

Inside the box, five brown, floppy-eared puppies wrestled in mock ferocity on a thin woolen blanket, their innocent growls and yips echoing out into the street. It was this sound that reached Deren’s innocent young ears, luring him like a siren’s song. He stared at them with glee. Kaena and Rik, Willow Farms’ two dogs, were more inclined to work than play, and Deren could never entice them away from their duties.

One of the puppies spotted him and jumped up, putting its paws on the side of the crate. With a youthful bark it grinned, its purple tongue hanging out the side of its mouth. In the sunlight the puppy’s brown fur appeared auburn and Deren smiled broadly at the irresistible sight. Reaching out his hand he stroked the puppy’s soft head.

“They’re expensive, boy,” said a rough voice.

A dark shadow fell over him and Deren jumped, looking up guiltily. As he met the eyes of the vendor he snatched his hand back. Unlike Mistress Shorro, who was dark as night, this man’s skin was as pale as moonlight. His head was shaved and his baldness shone with sweat in the afternoon sun, leaving faint streaks in the travel dust.

“I…I’m sorry,” Deren stammered, casting a fearful look around for his mother. Her green skirts were nowhere in sight. “I just wanted to touch one.”

“That may be, boy, but these be pure-bred Russet pups, straight from Vyksholm Port in Noresauld. They be far too expensive for the likes of you. Now be off wit’yeh!”

Deren jumped up and turned to run, but realized he had nowhere to go. He couldn’t remember how to get back to the perfume stand. Panic began to creep over him, when another voice interrupted. “There now, Vennek, no need to scare the child.”

The pale man turned, running a massive hand over his scalp and wiping away the sweat. “Beckem,” he grunted by way of greeting.

Deren saw a man approaching and pressed himself back against the wagon, wishing he was invisible. The newcomer was tall and lean, with golden-red hair that fell in loose curls around a smooth face with handsome, chiseled features. He was dressed in a cardinal red knee-length coat and carried an instrument over his shoulder in a fine leather case. His wide-brimmed hat hid his eyes in shadow, but his smile was unmistakably friendly as he looked at Deren.

“Surely you can spare one puppy for the boy. A pup for a pup, you could say.” Deren could hear the smile in the minstrel’s voice, but lowered his eyes, praying his mother would soon find him.

“G…Give a puppy?!” The massive trader stammered in his shock. “But this litter be worth a hundred gold crowns. Imperial gold, Beck! They be bound for the Emperor’s court in Abrett.”

“Oh, I would think that one Russet puppy would be worth repaying a favor. Don’t you agree, Vennek?”

"Repayment?”

Deren risked a quick look, seeing the vendor’s pale eyes brighten in sudden hope.

“We’d be even then?”

The minstrel’s smile widened, “Oh, no, Vennek, we’re far from even. But this action would please me greatly…and be remembered.”

Scowling, the dark giant muttered and bent over, scooping up the smallest puppy in his massive hand. Muttering incomprehensively, he thrust it into Deren’s arms with a dismissive grunt. Deren stared disbelieving into the amber eyes of the red-brown puppy, unable to stop his giggle as the little animal licked his face excitedly.

“There, Vennek, see how happy you made the boy, doesn’t it lighten your soul?”

The merchant flashed the minstrel a dark look and left, snapping irritably at the two teamsters who now stood watching them. The men jumped, returning to their work as Deren faced the man in red, unsure what to say. “I have six pennies and a chit I can give you.”

The minstrel smiled and Deren flushed, feeling foolish. What were pennies next to imperial gold? His smile softened and vivid green eyes flashed momentarily under the brim of his hat as he knelt down.

“Keep the money and buy a collar for your new friend,” he reached out and touched the puppy lightly on the head. Deren couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard a soft note in the air, like the start of a song. Then it was gone and the minstrel stood, turning away.

“I believe your mother is looking for you, Deren.”

Deren looked and instantly recognized his mother’s bright green skirts moving through the crowd. She called his name as she searched for him, and he could hear the fear edging into her voice. Forgetting the minstrel, he clutched the puppy to him as ran to her, answering her call. He felt instant relief at the sound of her own relieved scolding.