By Rick Dearman
Copyright 2011 Rick Dearman
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Deren the squire struggled behind Bron in the darkness. A backpack larger than he was pulled him off-balance. Oil lamps lit the street but the wooden planks on the sidewalk where he walked were in semi-darkness, the light blocked by the overhanging roofs. The rough-hewn boards were treacherous underfoot forcing him to watch each footfall with care.