Derrick stepped through the iron gates of Sir Thompson's estate and stopped for a short moment.
The mountain air was cold and clean, and he could hear the sound of the clashing of swords on the distance.
If his memory was right, them that meant the guards were currently training.
The estate was exactly as he remembered it. Stone walls, iron railings, the wide training courtyards sitting quiet in the distance. Nothing had changed. Somehow that made him feel both better and worse at the same time.
Before he could take another step forward, two guards stepped out from either side of the gate.
Their spears were raised, not threatening, but not relaxed either. Their armor carried a gold and blue sigil, a phoenix rising through a ring of thorned roses.
Sir Thompson's personal guard. Not soldiers of Dravania, but men who answered only to him.
"State your name and purpose," the first guard said.
Derrick tilted his head slightly, just enough for his voice to carry from under the hood.
