I stood with an arm around my wife's shoulders as we waited at the city gates. The guard inspecting us stared between me and my wife. “He's not your son.”
Not again. “He is my son.” I stared at the guard not turning toward Tom behind. Perhaps if I willed hard enough this one would get a clue and not make a fuss. Tragically, he wasn't the brightest.

“Then it is done.” I leaned forward grasping a rope for balance as the words fell across the room. Heavy and light smothering noise. No more would the Virand impose their will. Our land would be ours again. Giles Bardolf would lead us.

Bendalia stopped in front of the uneven row of brightly painted boxes. Box 11 was only mostly closed. Not even enough to hide the presence of a letter shoved where none belonged. Scowling she glanced down the cross streets. If Diel and Kedilalia thought they’d joke at her expense . . . She harrumphed annoyed.

She snatched the letter from the box and ripped it open impatiently.