The Grand Bazaar City of the Plain
《Baleon’s Log》
Morning at a village inn — Inner Plain
[Fael] Walking the field paths at dawn → exchanging news with the innkeeper.
[Serio] Sound asleep → strolling with Maya after breakfast.
[Maya] Sound asleep → strolling with Serio after breakfast.
Last night we stayed at a small inn in a farming village of the granary lands.
With real beds for the first time in a while, everyone slept deeply.
The next city lies close ahead.
The weather looks fair, and today should be a peaceful day.
Across the Great Granary of this Plain, small villages stand at day’s-journey intervals, each home to the farmers who tend the fields of that district.
Leaving the Hillside Road behind and descending into the grain lands, Fael’s party pressed on along the Plainway toward the greatest city of the plain: Saint-Prea.
They paused at one village after another, spending nights at rural inns, until at last they reached the final village before Saint-Prea.
Even for travelers long used to camping under the sky or sleeping in tents, a proper inn bed was a joy they could not deny.
This morning they lingered in that last village before setting out for Saint-Prea.
Along the road, fields just harvested stretched without end.
They passed farmers pushing carts, and trains of Elbas laden with sacks of grain.
The air carried the mingled scent of hay and the voices of people, a living murmur of those rejoicing in the season’s bounty.
Soon, upon a broad plateau that jutted out into the floodplain of the Great River Narethil, a city came into view.
Whitewashed walls and thatched roofs rose like an island upon the floodplain itself.
Rows upon rows of houses spread across the plateau, smoke from countless hearths rising into the sky — clear proof of thriving life.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Here, on this floodplain plateau that never sank beneath the spring floods, stood the great city of Saint-Prea.
Every spring the Narethil swells into flood.
The snows piled high upon distant mountains melt all at once with the coming of the season, sending torrents of water down countless tributaries into the main river.
By the time those waters reach the plain, they are enough to cover the entire floodplain.
Thus the flood season begins.
The flood lasts about twenty days.
During that time the Narethil spreads fertile silt across the plain.
Through that steady rhythm, repeated year after year, this land has been made into soil of boundless richness.
In the villages of the plain, the farming calendar itself is set against the floods.
Farmers know: in years of shorter floods the harvest fails; in years of longer floods it thrives.
Thus, by reading the length of the floods, they decide when to sow wheat, predict the harvest, and plan other crops to balance the yield.
This is the minimal risk-management of the plain’s people, who rely upon its bounty.
The calendar also staggers the sowing of leafy greens and root crops so that food is always at hand.
Beans in particular are sown every year alongside wheat.
For farming folk, beans are the chief source of protein, while also restoring fertility to fields once used.
In some places, two crops of wheat of different kinds are raised in a single year.
Thus in this plain, there is never lack of food nor of work.
People who learn this truth migrate from all directions to the plain.
They in turn create new harvests.
So it is that many kinds of people with many purposes gather here, and supported by this ever-growing plain, the city of Saint-Prea has prospered.
Fael’s company now walked along the Great Plainway that runs straight to Saint-Prea.
As the city drew closer, Maya’s eyes grew wide.
“…Is this the royal capital?”
Serio burst out laughing.
“Hardly! This is only a provincial city. The royal capital is beyond compare.”
Maya asked incredulously.
“There’s a city bigger than this?”
Serio responded as if it were obvious.
“Of course. Saint-Prea is the hub of the plain, but the capital is another order of magnitude. More people, more houses — many times more.”
Maya was speechless.
Born and raised only in the mountain village, even this sight before him outstripped his imagination.
And yet there existed a city even greater than this…?
At last, at the end of the Plainway, they reached the entrance to Saint-Prea.
Before them opened a vast square.
The Grand Plaza of Saint-Prea
People called it simply “Saint-Prea Plaza,” or just “the Plaza.”
Compared with the small village squares Maya knew, this was immense — large enough to swallow an entire rural village.
Crowds surged without pause, their murmur rising and falling like waves.
Travelers, farmers, children, all mixed together; the Plaza itself seemed like a world complete.
Overwhelmed, Maya turned his gaze to the right.
There stood caravans clustered with their banners raised, Elbas lined in rows beneath their loads.
Voices rang out as people unloaded the goods.
A great building faced them, its entrance hung with a sign:
The Caravanserai of Saint-Prea
From this night, it would be the lodging of Fael’s company.
Maya’s eyes widened as he stared at the great building, then followed the flow of people across to the left side of the Plaza.
There, opposite the Serai, a multitude of shops stood side by side.
People poured into that quarter one after another.
Even from afar Maya could see the heaps of grain, piles of vegetables and fruit, stacks of spices and cloth — endless farm produce and trade goods.
This was the very heart of the city, the place that gave it its character.
The Grand Bazaar of Saint-Prea
It was commonly called the Saint-Prea Bazaar.
Commonly known as the “Saint-Prea Bazaar.”
Also called the “Grand Bazaar.”
Before long, Fael returned from registering the number of guests and Elbas with the Serai gatekeeper.
Seeing Maya still dazed by the city’s bustle, Fael smiled faintly and said:
“Serio, once you’ve tethered the Elbas in the Serai’s stable and unloaded the baggage, show Maya around the city.”
“Leave it to me!”
Serio struck his chest proudly.
Maya’s eyes lit up at once.
The boy’s heart pounded as he tugged at his big brother’s sleeve, urging, “Hurry, hurry!”
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AI disclosure: I am a non-native English writer and have used AI for partial translation and light editing. No AI-generated prose.