Copyright J.B. Norman
The two guards of the one road leading to Nearfields stand at the town gate, keeping a watchful eye on the road. As the town’s only line of defence other than Old Man Fitzburton’s infamously ornery chickens, this is a serious task that they take very seriously.
On the other hand, it is a very boring. On any given day, only a few travellers come along the road from Porthaven and even fewer of them are in any way noteworthy, or bad or good.
“Smells like rain,” the first guard notes.
The second raises his eyes upwards and finds a sky devoid of cloud coverage. He takes a sceptical sniff of the air.
“Smells more like Cow, I reckon.”
The first guard shrugs. “I ain’t much on reckonin’, I reckon.”
And so it goes. At least until a group of travellers on horses — five of them on a horse of their own and a small girl green sharing a particularly well-built horse with a towering woman wearing a bear.
“These ‘uns gonna be trouble, you reckon?” the second guard asks his companion.
The first guard shrugs. “I ain’t much on reckonin’, I reckon.”
Nolan urges his horse forward to address the guards. “Hey, we’re the Lyte Brigade, we’re here to meet with Egeria Valda, do you know her?”
“Lyte Brigade?” the second guard mutters. He turns to his partner. “That some kinda book club, you reckon?”
The first guard shrugs. “I ain’t much on reckonin’, I reckon.” He points to where Pela is mounted on Falcata’s horse. “I’m more afeard that they’re kidnapping that there small green adult lady.”
“I’m not a kid!” Pela cries. “I’m just short!”
The guard nods and thoughtfully runs his hand over his beard. “Now, I’m afeard that they’re kidnapping that there small green child.”
“You reckon we oughta fight them off?” the first guard asks. “You hold ‘em off, I’ll make a run for Old Man Fitzburton’s chickens for help.”
Before they can react to the prospect of being fought off, the Lyte Brigade watches as a dark-haired Elf girl comes running towards the gate.
“Don’t you dare!” she cries to the guards. “These ones ain’t for fightin’!”
“Hello, Cousin Egeria,” Amara mutters.
“Y’all oughta be ashamed o’ yerselves!” Egeria cries, chastising the two guards with light taps from her umbrella. “Treatin’ my very own guests like common thugs! Now, git!”
The two guards slink away.
Five jaws drop to the dirt as Amara heaves a heavy sigh.
“Did she just say y’all?” Matilda exclaims. “Are we sure she’s related to Amara?”
Overhearing this, Amara sighs again and does that nose-wiggling. thing she does when she’s embarrassed.
“I can assure you that we are, indeed, related,” Amara mutters. “We have the patents of nobility to prove it.”
“Cousin Amy!” Egeria exclaims giddily as she sees her cousin, who is doing her utmost to keep herself hidden by Nolan. “Git outta there and come gimme a big ol’ hug!”
Amara yelps as Egeria all but wrestles her from her horse and pulls her into a crushing embrace.
“So, tell me, Cousin Amy,” Egeria says. “Which one of ‘em is that Nolan boy you been writin’ about.”
Her gaze shifts between Nolan and Tancred and she leans in close to study their faces.
“Golly, it’s gotta be this ‘un,” she notes, pointing to Nolan. “Wow, Cousin Amy. He does have pretty eyes.”
“T-thank you?” Nolan stammers.
“Mother says I have pretty eyes,” Tancred mutters.
“I don’t mean nothin’ by it,” Egeria assures the offended knight. “But have you seen this fella’s eyes, like really peered long and deep into ‘em? Golly, I could just lose myself in ‘em forever.”
“It is frankly uncanny,” Tancred concedes.
“Seriously?” Nolan cries.
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