Thorn
The Shepherd, Book III
A Novel by Jeffrey B. Linn
All Rights Reserved

Chapter III

The scene was too much for me, and I averted my eyes. To gaze at the turf was comforting. I had traveled all over the wasteland and never seen grass that was so full of life. The glow of the torches upon it was pleasant, yet it reminded me of our situation. I began to feel embarrassed for my cowardice, so, after a few more moments of listening to the torches sputter, I ventured to lift my head.

What I beheld was not at all what I had expected. For the countenance of the one central eparch was of such benign and even beauteous nature that one was put immediately at ease. He had a fine brown beard, well trimmed and combed. His walnut locks framed a high forehead. His expression assured one, so that even though his consorts remained hooded, I did not dread, and even the brand that squirmed upon his cheek seemed a badge of office.

The giant in the rear remained cloaked, and now seemed no more menacing than an old tree.

"Peace, friends!" began the eparch in a sonorous and congenial tone. "You appear arrayed for battle. We come only to correct an oversight, the righting of which will bode well for all."

"To the matter," said the gatekeeper.

"Of course. We have come during the second watch. You are no doubt weary."

"True or no, no business of yours. Speak."

"Yes. Yes. Are you always so frigid with wayfaring guests? Well, now, to it." He turned and gestured toward the giant, who stood unmoving. "Our good friend Thorn is the last of a race that owns deed to this land upon which now rests your fortress with its enclosed habitations and gardens. He, and we with him as advocates, request only that you remove yourselves to some other parcel for which exists no previous claim, taking those items which you may rightly call your own, but leaving the structure and its surrounding lands to himself."

The cause seemed reasonable. Had we infringed upon the property of another? The eparch's argument was so compelling, to me at least, that it seemed to enter the claim into the record of reality like an imperial visage pressed on a drop of wax.

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