Sir Evarin Omur
Of all the armored men of the world—from the lowliest fighters to the highest Emperor across stars and seas—platinum clad knights were a sight to behold. The Aavartti were no exception, no matter how many times one happened upon them. Every detail of the five mens' suits were delicate to the eye—carefully wrought, shimmering feathers, inlaid jeweled eyes, forged Delan glass visors and fine silk cloaks—but crafted in such a way that not one was even marred by something as simple as a scratch. In failing day light, Evarin remembered likening them to fiery birds. Gigantic, sweeping phoenixes gliding down the hillside on horseback.
“Anders,” he gave the lead a curt nod. “Bear, Llewyn.” The other two he wasn't sure of, so they in turn received a brief tip of his head. “The royal guard as escorts? I do believe I've seen it all.” Anders, he was certain, was stone-faced behind his helm. Not even in youth could he remember the head of the sworn men daring so much as a grin—not even to his father. Bear, however, was a case all his own—one-eighth Ursarian on his mother's side, no one was actually sure of his name. 'Bear' simply happened to fit the oversized, over hairy, warhorse seated knight. He was well known for the rough guffaw that escaped him, though. It went hand in hand with a particular rowdiness that had gotten him a reputation with the towns' women.
Llewyn was silent. Always silent.
“If-” Anders waited for Bear's laugh to die down. Ev could feel the dryness of that raised brow sapping the very humidity from the air. “-you don't mind- we have business. Her Ladyship has sent us to retrieve yourself and your entourage post-haste. That is all.”
Rhys, in the meantime, could be seen rounding up behind the Aavartti men. “Ladyship?” had a few of the horses whinnying out of surprise—they couldn't half turn their heads for the blinders, let alone hear. “Seems you aren't in half the shit I suspected, Sire.” Grin. “Llewyn, how's your mum?”
Thank the gods there were no weapons to be so easily drawn. He was sure even he would regret seeing which shade of red made young Haele so brash with everyone—if for nothing more than the simple fear that it would match his own. “Adelai has already arrived?” How long had she had word? Tenate and the isles of the Masters were half a world away...
Nothing flew that fast.
“She awaits your own in the bay-side courtyard,”came from where Anders had directed his steed between Haele's and Llewyn's. “She claims it to be of the utmost urgency that you speak with her first.”
And, at that, his mind began to work. It sought the seas for Tenate—that white granite island rising from cerulean waters. It searched the ruins, the four ancient Gods' Gates, the priestesses and priests, the farmland, the jungles. Everything. But even if his mind could truly seek out a presence not twenty feet from him, seeking the same across oceans was improbable, unlikely and just plain idiocy. If anything had become of his father, it would not be Adelai who delivered the information anyway.
That was all he could tell himself.
With a snap at Rhys and a toe to his mount, “Lead the way,” was all he could manage even with self-reassurance in full swing. It was not fear for himself or loved ones—had he had any—but power undivided would surely end them all... Two dead kings and one heir-less queen with an empire at her feet. His mind's eye razed the flatlands to flames. It would be war.
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