Chapter 22: First Trade


    Morning in Millhaven arrived with the smell of fresh bread and the sound of boats being loaded at the docks. The stable''s common room was busier than the previous day, filled with traders discussing plans over breakfast.


    "Eat," Dayne said, pushing a plate toward James. "Trading on an empty stomach leads to bad decisions."


    The food was simple but filling: river grain porridge topped with some kind of preserved fruit, bread still warm from baking, strips of smoked fish. James ate mechanically, his mind already on the day ahead.


    The trading token sat on the table between them, a reminder of the responsibility he''d accepted.


    "Starting price should be five marks each," Dayne said between bites. "They''ll argue for four, maybe less. Don''t go below three marks unless they''re buying multiple."


    "And if they want all four?"


    "Then you can drop to two and eight marks each."


    Other traders left in small groups, heading out to their various business around Millhaven. James noticed how they moved with purpose, each with their own place in the settlement''s commerce.


    "What about you?" he asked Dayne. "This ''other business,'' how long will it take?"


    "Hard to say. Should be back by midday." Dayne pushed his empty plate aside. "If not, don''t wait. Handle it how you think best."


    They walked back to the stalls together, the morning air still cool and damp from the river. Traders were already moving through the stable yard, examining goods and discussing terms. The day''s business had begun.


    Dayne checked each Shellback one last time. "Remember, it''s not just about the price. Quality of what you''re trading for matters more."


    James nodded, the wooden token feeling heavier in his pocket.


    "I''m heading out now," Dayne said, glancing toward the docks. "Shouldn''t take long."


    "What exactly is this business?" James asked.


    Dayne hesitated. "Just checking something Gareth might want to know about." His expression suggested there was more to it, but he didn''t elaborate. "If anyone asks, I''m arranging transport back home."


    With that cryptic comment, he headed toward the stable yard exit, his pace purposeful. James watched him disappear into Millhaven''s morning crowds, then turned back to the Shellbacks. For the first time since meeting Dayne, he was truly on his own.


    The first hour after Dayne left passed without serious interest. A few people stopped to look, asking casual questions about the Shellbacks'' origins, but moved on without making offers. James found himself checking the sun''s position frequently, wondering how long Dayne''s business would take.


    His first real prospect arrived mid-morning, a short, broad-shouldered man with a salt-and-pepper beard and calloused hands that spoke of years working the land. He examined each Shellback with a farmer''s careful eye, spending particular time on their leg joints and shell flexibility.


    "Mountain stock," he said finally, a statement rather than a question.


    James nodded. "Pure bloodlines. Good for breeding


    The man, who introduced himself as Jerrin, made that thoughtful sound farmers seemed to share across worlds. "Need two. Replacing a pair that got old on me." He ran a hand over the nearest Shellback''s shell. "What''s your price?"


    "Five marks each," James said, trying to sound confident.


    Jerrin snorted. "Four for the both, and that''s generous."


    The gap between their numbers was wider than James had expected. He hesitated, searching for a response that wouldn''t seem desperate or offended.


    "Four marks total wouldn''t cover what it cost to bring them from the mountains," he said finally. "These aren''t field animals. They''re bred for quality."


    "Four and six weights, then. For both."


    "Nine marks," James countered.


    Jerrin eyed him carefully. "Five marks, final offer."


    James hesitated. Dayne had said not to go below three marks each, which would be six total. This wasn''t even close. "Sorry," he said. "Can''t do it."


    He expected Jerrin to walk away. Instead, the farmer scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Which two would you recommend? For breeding with valley stock?"


    The question caught James off guard. He quickly recalled what Dayne had taught him about the Shellbacks'' markings, pointing out the two with the most distinctive spiral patterns.


    "Seven marks for those two," Jerrin offered. "Plus two bushels of seed grain. The kind that grows in drier soil."


    The seed grain caught James completely off guard. He''d entirely forgotten Dayne''s comment back home about trading for grain if possible. A wave of relief washed over him, what had seemed like a clever negotiation on his part was actually saved by the farmer''s offer. This wasn''t just a good deal; it was exactly what they''d come for. Drought-resistant seed was nearly impossible to get in the grasslands without direct valley connections. He struggled to keep his expression neutral, not wanting to reveal how much of a windfall this truly was.


    "Seven marks," he agreed. "Plus three bushels of seed grain."


    Jerrin''s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Two and a half bushels. Best I can do."


    "Deal."


    The sale concluded with the formal recording of terms. Jerrin produced a folded square of thick paper from his vest, already marked with his personal symbol, a stylized seed sprout that looked almost like a letter from some ancient alphabet. James watched as the farmer noted the exact terms they''d agreed upon, using a stub of charcoal to mark quantities and delivery dates.


    When it came time for James''s mark, he hesitated. He''d never established a personal symbol in this world. After a moment''s consideration, he drew three triangles arranged to form a larger triangle, a simple design from a video game he''d loved back home. The hero had carried it on his shield, forced to “LISTEN” to endless advice from an irritating fairy companion. Beneath it, he added his name in careful letters. Not quite a proper trader''s mark, but it would serve for now.


    After Jerrin left to arrange delivery of the seed grain, James released a breath he hadn''t realized he was holding. His heart hammered against his ribs, not from fear but something else, the sharp, bright rush of having made his first real trade. It felt like he''d just finished a battle of wills, each counter-offer a thrust and parry until one side finally yielded. The victory hit his bloodstream like a drug, leaving him slightly light-headed.


    He''d haggled and held his ground and walked away with a better deal than expected. Better yet, he''d felt that moment when the power shifted when Jerrin realized James wasn''t going to fold easily. The rush of that shift had been almost physical.


    The wooden token felt different in his pocket now. Not just a symbol of permission, but something he''d actually earned the right to carry. Strange how quickly things were changing, from stumbling out of the grasslands to making deals in his own name.


    He barely had time to savor the feeling before his next potential buyer appeared, a wiry woman with sun-darkened skin and calculating eyes. She wore practical clothes that had seen hard use and didn''t waste time with pleasantries.


    "How much for the remaining pair?" She gestured toward the Shellbacks with a quick flick of her fingers.


    James straightened, residual confidence from his last sale carrying into this one. "Five marks each."


    She laughed, short and sharp. "Highway robbery. Three marks for the pair, not each."


    A month ago, he might have been intimidated by her directness. Now he just watched her studying the Shellbacks and waited. Dayne had taught him that silence often worked better than arguments.


    "Three and eight weights," she offered when he didn''t immediately counter.


    "Eight and five," he replied, keeping his voice steady despite his still-racing pulse. "These are mountain bloodlines, not valley stock."


    Her eyes narrowed slightly. She didn''t speak, just stared at him with a look that was equal parts skepticism and challenge. The silence stretched between them, daring him to prove his claim or back down.


    James moved to the nearest Shellback without being asked, pointing out the features Dayne had drilled into him, the deeper coloring at the center of the spiral pattern, the slight ridge along the shell''s edge, the stronger leg joints.


    "Seven and two," she said when he finished. "Plus a fishing boat priority pass for the grassland channels. Good for two seasons."


    Now that was unexpected. James knew from Dayne that getting permission to fish the narrower channels between settlements could be difficult, the locals guarded those rights carefully. A priority pass would mean better catches and easier travel.


    "What''s your name?" he asked, considering the offer.


    "Lena." Something in her posture suggested she wasn''t used to traders asking her name. "I work the eastern channels."


    "Eight marks even," James decided. "And the priority pass."


    Lena studied him for a moment, then nodded once. "Done."


    The process with Lena was similar to that with Jerrin. Her own mark was a series of connected lines suggesting water channels, drawn with the speed of someone who''d signed many such agreements. She produced her own paper, already prepared with the fishing pass details, and neatly added James''s agreed payment beside it.


    "Your mark?" she prompted when he finished recording the terms.


    This time he drew the triangular pattern with more confidence, the shape becoming more distinct. Lena studied it briefly, memorizing it as traders did, before folding the paper and securing it in a waterproof pouch.


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    By midday, all four Shellbacks had been sold. The stable yard had quieted as traders broke for food or moved to other business. James perched on a crate, trying to roll the wooden trading token across his knuckles like he''d seen gamblers do with coins. It kept slipping and falling to the ground, forcing him to retrieve it again. Between attempts, he reviewed the written record of his sales.


    Seven marks and two and a half bushels of seed grain for the first pair. Eight marks and a priority fishing pass for the second, assuming Dayne even fished the grassland channels.


    He''d just dropped the token for the fifth time when a shadow fell across the paper. Dayne stood there, looking tired but satisfied with whatever errand had taken him away.


    "All sold, I see." He nodded toward the empty stalls.


    "All four." James handed him the record. "Finished about an hour ago."


    Dayne scanned the paper, his expression neutral except for a slight raise of his eyebrows at the fishing pass. His finger paused on James''s triangular mark, tapping it once before glancing up with a questioning look. James just smiled and shrugged. Dayne shook his head almost imperceptibly, then folded the page and tucked it into his vest.


    "Good prices," he said finally. "Especially for your first solo trading."


    James tried not to look as pleased as he felt. "The second buyer started too low, but when I showed her the mountain traits..."


    "Eat first," Dayne interrupted, though not unkindly. "Tell me the details over food. Been a long morning."


    As they walked toward the eating houses along the docks, Dayne glanced at him. "Feels good, doesn''t it? Making the deal yourself."


    James didn''t need to ask what he meant. The rush of trading was still humming in his blood, hours later. "Different than I expected. Reminds me of..." He paused, searching for a comparison.


    "Combat?" Dayne supplied.


    "Yeah. Sort of," James said


    "Trading and combat both need strategy. Patience. Reading intentions behind words instead of movements." A half-smile crossed his face. "Course, the stakes are different. Bad trade means hungry winter. Bad fight means no winter at all."


    They found an eating house farther from the docks than the one they''d visited last night. This place was quieter, with fewer traders and more locals. The back room had tables separated by woven screens that offered some privacy without complete isolation.


    "Seed grain''s valuable," Dayne said once they''d ordered. "More than the marks alone would be worth. And the fishing pass..." He raised an eyebrow. "Don''t even fish much, but that''ll be worth plenty to other traders. We can sell the rights to someone who needs them. Just need to visit the river authority to sign it over."


    A server brought bowls of some kind of fish soup, heartier than what they''d had the night before. Chunks of river vegetables floated alongside white fish in a broth that smelled of unfamiliar spices.


    "So," James said after they''d eaten in silence for a few minutes. "Your business. Did you find what you were looking for?"


    Dayne stirred his soup, taking his time before answering. "Yes and no." He glanced around the room, though no one was sitting close enough to hear them. "Gareth''s been collecting things from the river. Old things. Metal and stone that shouldn''t be there."


    "Like what those river workers found?"


    He nodded. "Similar, yes. Been happening more often lately, the river shifting, uncovering things that were buried." He tore off a piece of bread. "Followed Ren this morning. Wanted to see where they''re keeping these finds."


    "And?"


    "Old storage building near where the river bends. Guards posted. More security than you''d expect for a bunch of river junk."


    "What do you think they are? These things they''re finding?"


    "Not sure," Dayne said. "But they''re paying good money to keep them quiet. And they''re moving some of them upriver." He fell silent as their server returned to refill their cups. When she''d gone, he added, "Gareth''s worried. Says the Northlanders have been asking about the river finds too."


    "Why would Northlanders care about old junk from the river?" James asked, keeping his voice low.


    Dayne finished his soup before answering. "Some of those finds aren''t just junk. The pieces I saw..." He hesitated. "They remind me of the havens. Same kind of stone, same markings."


    "You think they''re connected?"


    "They feel the same," Dayne said, struggling to find the right words. "Like they''re related, or part of the same thing. Hard to explain unless you''ve handled both." He shook his head slightly. "Sounds foolish saying it out loud."


    He dropped his voice even lower. "I think it''s connected to the raids. To the people Bjornulf''s been taking." His jaw tightened. "Thorgrim mentioned ruins in the north where they''re bringing them. Might be connected to these river finds somehow. Whatever they''re doing up there, they need workers, skilled ones."


    James thought of the haven that had saved him from the Sarriths that first night. How its ancient stones had somehow repelled predators that could tear through anything else. If these river artifacts were made from the same material, for the same purpose...


    "When do we leave?" he asked, changing the subject to more immediate concerns.


    "Tomorrow, early." Dayne pushed his empty bowl aside. "Need to sell the fishing rights first, collect on all our trades. Should be able to get everything settled by evening." He leaned back, studying James. "Unless you''d rather stay longer? Millhaven''s got more to offer than just the markets."


    The question felt like a test, though James wasn''t sure what answer Dayne expected. "I''d rather get the grain home before the weather turns. Kira and Asha will be waiting."


    Something in Dayne''s face softened slightly at the mention of his family. "Good. Safer traveling together anyway. Road back isn''t always peaceful."


    James thought of the Sarriths they''d encountered on the journey here. "About that... I wasn''t much help when that Sarrith attacked. If there''s more next time..."


    "We''ll handle it," Dayne cut him off. "You''ve got other skills. Trading, for one." He tapped the table. "Though we should practice your sword work when we get back. Can''t expect to master it in a few weeks."


    The rest of the day passed quickly with the practicalities of preparing for their journey home. After lunch, they visited the river authority office, a modest building near the docks where a clerk with ink-stained fingers recorded the transfer of the fishing rights to a trader who specialized in channel fishing. The additional two marks from that sale went into Dayne''s pouch with the rest of their earnings.


    Next came the collection of their seed grain, stored in sealed containers that would protect it during transport. James watched as Dayne examined each seal with practiced care, checking for tampering or damage.


    "Good grain means everything back home," he explained as they loaded the containers onto their now-empty wagon. "One bad batch can ruin a planting season."


    They spent the late afternoon at the stables, preparing the Haulder and wagon for the return journey. The stable hands moved around them with efficient motions, readying other traders'' animals as well. Everyone seemed eager to be on the road early the next day.


    "Storm''s coming," Bela said as she passed, nodding toward the western sky. "Not tomorrow, but the day after. Better be past the creek fork by then."


    Dayne followed her gaze, studying the clouds that were still too distant to see clearly. "Agreed. Won''t linger on the road."


    The mention of the creek fork brought back memories of their Sarrith encounter. James checked the wagon''s repairs with renewed thoroughness, making sure nothing would fail them if they needed to make a quick escape.


    That evening, they returned to the River Stone tavern for a final meal before departure. The place was busier than the previous night, filled with traders discussing routes and weather. Hannah noticed them enter, jerking her head toward an open table in the corner, the best she could offer in the crowded room.


    "Planning to leave tomorrow?" she asked, bringing their drinks without being asked.


    "Early," Dayne confirmed. "Before the storm hits."


    She nodded. "Smart. The river''s already rising upstream. Always comes this way eventually." Her eyes moved between them. "Successful trading?"


    "Good enough," Dayne said with typical understatement.


    The musicians played a livelier tune tonight, and the mood was celebratory among traders who''d done well at the market. Yet James noticed how Dayne''s attention kept shifting to the door whenever someone entered, his wariness more pronounced than the night before.


    The tavern''s energy shifted when a group of six Northlanders entered. They didn''t wear formal armor like the ones James had seen in Storhold, but their bearing and the weapons at their belts marked them clearly. Conversations quieted momentarily before resuming at a lower volume.


    The Northlanders settled at a table near the bar, claiming a space that had mysteriously opened up as they approached. Hannah served them with professional efficiency but none of the friendly banter she offered regular customers.


    James noticed how other traders were finishing their drinks and meals more quickly now, the celebratory mood dampened. "Should we go too?" he asked quietly.


    Dayne shook his head slightly. "Leaving too obviously draws attention. Finish your food."


    Between bites, James observed the room''s subtle dynamics. Traders avoided eye contact with the Northlanders while watching them from peripherals. The tavern''s normal flow had been disrupted, currents of tension replacing easy movement.


    "Those two by the door," Dayne said without looking directly at them. "Gareth''s people. Watching the Northlanders watching us."


    The observation game made James''s neck muscles tighten. He focused on his plate, trying to appear unconcerned while his mind raced with questions about river artifacts and northern raids.


    Their meal finished, Dayne left payment on the table including extra for Hannah. As they stood to leave, one of the Northlanders shifted position, angling for a better view of the room. The movement revealed a symbol on his belt that caught the lamplight, a metal piece shaped like a stylized wolf devouring a sun.


    Something about the man nagged at James''s memory. He looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring, but couldn''t place where he might have seen him before. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. When he risked another glance, the Northlander''s eyes flicked toward him briefly, then away, showing no recognition in return.


    Outside, the night air carried the damp smell of the river. More traders were heading back to their lodgings, everyone conscious of early departures the next day. The settlement seemed to have an underlying current of urgency now as if Millhaven itself was eager to see them all on their way before the coming storm.


    The Haulder had been fed and groomed, its coat brushed to a healthy sheen. James helped load their remaining supplies, arranging everything for maximum stability on potentially rough roads. Their weapon storage, he noticed, was more accessible than it had been on the journey to Millhaven.


    <hr>


    Dawn came with a thin, watery light that filtered through the morning mist rising from the river. The stables were already busy, traders eager to depart ahead of the storm clouds gathering on the western horizon. Haulers called to each other across the yard, coordinating departures to avoid traffic jams on the main roads.


    James helped check the wagon one final time, ensuring everything was secured for the journey. The marks and trading papers, along with the fishing pass they''d sold the previous day, were safely stowed in a waterproof pouch inside Dayne''s vest.


    "Dayne." The voice came from behind them, carrying a quiet authority.


    James turned to see a stocky man with a salt-and-pepper beard approaching their wagon. He moved with the steady confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed, though his clothes were practical rather than ostentatious, well-made leather boots worn to perfect comfort, a vest with numerous pockets, and a simple blade at his belt that looked more tool than weapon. Deep lines etched his weathered face, particularly around eyes that missed nothing.


    This had to be Gareth, Millhaven''s leader.


    Dayne straightened, nodding in greeting. "Didn''t expect to see you at the stables."


    "Checking departures." Gareth gestured to Dayne a few steps away from the wagon.


    They spoke in low voices, their backs half-turned. James couldn''t make out the words, but Dayne''s posture had tensed, his head tilting slightly as he listened. Gareth''s hand movements suggested he was describing something with precise detail.


    After a moment, Gareth glanced toward the wagon, noticing James watching them. His assessment was quick but thorough.


    "So this is your new assistant," he said, approaching with Dayne. "Heard you did well yesterday." He extended a hand. "Gareth. I look after Millhaven''s interests." His grip was firm, calloused from work despite his leadership position


    "James," he replied. "Good to meet you."


    "Dayne says you''ve got an eye for quality. Valuable trait in a trader." Gareth''s assessment continued, "Weather''s turning. You''ll want to make good time today."


    "That''s the plan," Dayne confirmed. "Should reach the creek fork by nightfall."


    Gareth nodded. "Safe journey then. Watch the grasslands. More reports of night hunters than usual this season. His eyes met Dayne''s with clear meaning. "Remember what I said."


    With that, he turned and moved to the next wagon, exchanging brief words with its owners. Several traders straightened as he approached, showing the same respectful attention they''d give any settlement leader.


    "What was that about?" James asked, quietly adjusting the Haulder''s harness.


    "Later," Dayne replied, his expression closed. "On the road."


    They joined the steady stream of wagons leaving Millhaven, crossing the wooden bridges that spanned the smaller water channels. The settlement seemed to release them gradually, the buildings thinning out as the road climbed away from the river valley. Other traders moved alongside them, everyone maintaining a respectful distance while sharing the same path.


    James looked back as they crested the first rise. Millhaven spread below them, morning light catching on the river''s surface. From this distance, the settlement looked peaceful, just people going about their lives.


    "Never looks quite the same when you leave it," Dayne said, noticing his backward glance. "Different every time."