Elf Defence (Adventures in Aguillon #2) - Lisa Henry Page 0,26

with the mountain troll in the fountain, Lars had decided to come and sort out this monster business once and for all. Calarian only hoped that the lost hat wasn’t a sign that he’d met some terrible fate, like running into the monster already. Calarian wondered briefly exactly how terrible the monster must be if it was able to frighten mountain trolls, who were generally too thick to process emotions. Absolutely, bloodcurdlingly terrifying, he decided, and yet Lars had obviously decided to go off and face the monster on his own, heedless of the risks.

So incredibly brave.

So incredibly stupid.

And now he didn’t even have his little hat to protect him from the sun.

Calarian peered out over the hills and strained his hearing, but he couldn’t see anything even with his hawk-like vision, and all he could hear was the odd cowbell. “We should follow the sound of cows,” he decided. “Lars likes cows, so that’s where he’d be headed.”

“Yes, because of the—” Benji’s mouth snapped shut when Calarian glared at him, but Calarian thought he heard a muttered “spoilsport,” when he turned back to survey the landscape. He ignored it, and instead concentrated on tracing the source of the cowbells.

“This way,” he said, pointing at a barely visible cow trail.

“Can’t we stop for something to eat first?” Benji asked. “We’ve been walking forever.”

Calarian rolled his eyes, but he had to concede that Benji had a point. If they were going to track down monsters, they’d be better off doing it on a full stomach. He set down his knapsack and pulled out a blanket and spread it on the ground, then he produced a full wheel of cheese coated in red wax, and a loaf of bread shaped like a dick. He poked about in the knapsack, searching, and frowned. “Damn! I forgot the knife!”

“We can use this!” Benji held up a gorgeous blade with a handle shaped like…

“Is that a bollock knife?” Calarian asked incredulously. “Where did you even get a bollock knife?”

“Gretchen gave it to me. I’m her favourite,” Benji said smugly. “She calls me her cutie pie.”

“Sure, whatever.” Calarian did his absolute best not to care that some utterly magnificent specimen of womanhood thought Benji was cute and was giving him gifts. “Bully for you.”

“Bollocks for me, you mean,” Benji grinned, flicking the blade back and forth and making it dance across his palm.

“Show-off,” Calarian said, grabbing the knife by the bollocks. He stabbed the cheese wheel and hacked a wedge out, handing it to Benji before holding up the bread. “Do you want the nut sack or the tip?”

“Just the tip, thanks,” Benji said and smirked.

“Never thought I’d hear you say that.” Calarian snorted, and pulled the dick bread apart. They sat on the blanket and ate their bread and cheese and drank cold water from a flask, and it was nice, restful. Calarian wondered briefly if Benji was right and a fuck in a meadow full of flowers would be romantic. Benji definitely had said that before, no matter how hard he denied it, and Calarian was tempted to prod at it. But Benji didn’t want to talk about it, so Calarian wasn’t going to push it, because if he pushed too hard Benji was just as likely to stab him with his bollock dagger. So instead, he sat and ate his bread and cheese, watched the long grass sway in a soft afternoon breeze, and decidedly didn’t think anything about how romantic it was.

He lay back against the blanket and revelled in the caress of the breeze against his naked kneecaps. He stared up at the clouds, idling watching the shapes they made as they drifted across the bright blue sky. It really was a gorgeous day. And then, just when the faint birdsong and cowbells were singing him to sleep, Benji gasped sharply.

“Calarian,” he said in an undertone, “I think I’m hallucinating again.”

“What?” Calarian sat up.

Benji grabbed his knee, his fingers digging in. He was staring fixedly off into the distance. “What the fuck is that?”

Calarian stared.

There, on the hillside opposite theirs, was the strangest procession Calarian had ever seen–and he’d once been on a quest put together by Scott. This was no mismatched band of wandering adventurers together, though. Whatever this was... well, Calarian didn’t know what it was.

He blinked. “If you’re hallucinating, so am I. Maybe it was the cheese,” he said faintly.

A woman wearing a pinafore that appeared to be sewn out of some extremely ugly fabric that was reminiscent