I was really busy last weekend and didn’t get a chance to post an excerpt from last week’s Realmgard scene, so I’m doubling up this weekend.
© 2025 – J.B. Norman, published by Emona Literary Services
“Hence,” Porthaven’s resident eccentric genius and multi-disciplinary man of letters Sir Francis Crossword says, looking hopefully at the esteemed council of representatives from various important institutions in the city.
He takes a deep breath and presents his masterstroke.
“I propose the implementation, for the good of the City and in the interest of Science, of an elite contingent of mounted warriors,” Francis declares.
The council blinks dumbly at him.
“And how exactly would that help?” Porthaven’s Executor-at-Arms, charged with matters of the city’s defence, asks. “The bulk of Porthaven’s military and mercantile power is based on seapower.”
“Precisely!” Francis says, eagerly pointing to his scale model of the city and his proposed method for the betterment of its defences. “From an attack by sea, Porthaven is virtually impregnable. But against an landward invasion? Practically helpless.”
He takes another deep breath.
“Therefore, we implement a contingent of elite mounted warriors,” he reiterates. “And, naturally, since the Horse has proven itself skittish and untrustworthy, we must turn to Man’s true best friend?”
“Well, Countess Philerma was quite insistent that this be our next read,” Amara explains.
Kat glances at the title of the book: Worrying Heights.
“What’s it about?” Dunstana asks from across the room, looking up from where she’s brainstorming ideas to improve her pirate flag. So far, most of her ideas are swords or fire or swords that are on fire, or finding the way so that they can make the real flag go on fire…
Amara reads the description off the back of the book, “The lovely poet Emilia and the dashing geographical surveyor Kenneth have a fated encounter while trapped at the very top of the looming seaside Heath Cliffs during a summer storm. And, well, one thing leads to another and it becomes what one can only assume is a torrid but ultimately futile love affair.”
“Gross,” Dunstana says, turning back to her designs. She gives her sparkly kitty-cat an experimental pair of angry eyebrows and steps back to contemplate.
Kat peers over Amara’s shoulder. “Will you—”
“Yes, Katherine,” Amara says with a sigh. “I’ll do the voices.”
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© Joel Balkovec — Published by Emona Literary Services™.
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