Folks Of Fury (#1; Tales Of Elysia [COMPLETED])

epilogue.

The first to answer the call came atop a green horse. Not the green of the forest or of health and life but a shade forbidden and arcane from the Garden of Moments.
Its rider onto whose great bow all things are set afflicted; Istari of Pestilence he is named.
Another horse galloped and tossed its cloudy mane, the shade as red as the freshly spilled blood staining its bronze hooves, the same as the rest of its magnificent body.
The rider was the Istari of Bloodlust yet he was not foolish enough to spill a drop of blood himself.
Third came a daunting steed of veinous azure hide and mane, stampeding across bones of the fallen. Its rider charged with a spear of curved spinal bone and impure adamant.
He is the Istari of Hunger but he has vowed never to take the bounty of the earth.
At last, a deathly white horse neighed at the Borderland, its rider held in one hand a scythe of starlight like his armour. He was the Istari of Conquest yet he didn't dare dorn the crown he held in his other hand.
Ithamar. Kairval. Engorel. Aristyl.
The crowngivers. The Istari. The Wyld Chariot.
They had been sons of the King Who Shall Reign Again. Princes over all of Faery and Scions of Ether.
Yet now they had come to the burned ruins of the wooden cabin that was a casualty of the boy's defiance against the Elders.
All four brothers looked up at the boy standing at the balcony of the house.
They could smell the witch blood struggling to dominate the tide of his Fey self. They could see that he had chosen his father's legacy.
But when they met the boy's gaze, staring at them through eyes which held the shine and glory of chaos and fury, they affirmed inwardly.
They climbed down from their monstrous steeds and drew out their blades. Bow, battle axe, spear and scythe.
They could hear the sudden spike of fear in the half breed's heart, the laboring breaths of anxiety.
And the Istari relished and acknowledged his palpable dread.
"Dauntless Knights... have you come to hold me accountable for your Queen's death?" He asked in eloquent Fey speech.
But these four deified warriors, feared and honoured above even kings and queens of Faery long past, didn't utter a single sound as they advanced.
They didn't break eye contact with the half breed even when the sudden pungent and belligerent scent announced the presence of the boy's chosen mate.
He was formidable, this mate who now growled, baring fangs and fierce resolve to protect as the boy summoned the Stream of Anguish into his hand.
It seemed the appearance of Angurvadal stopped them in their tracks.
Then Ithamar, the Istari of Pestilence dropped to one knee. Laying his disastrous bow at the ground with a bowed head, he proclaimed.
"Hail, the Raven Prince!"
Kairval, Istari of Bloodlust fell to obesiant knees placing his bloodstained axe before him and cried out.
"Hail, Lord Columnar of the Wyldwuds!"
Engorel, Istari of Hunger joined his brothers, his armour rattling like a desert viper as he knelt and surrendered his spear and exclaimed in just the same gusto.
"Hail, King of Faery!"
And at last, as he had always come in the order of his brothers and as befitting the Istari of Death.
Aristyl stepped a foot ahead of his kneeling brothers and knelt right under the balcony where stood the halfborn and his Hound mate.
He presented the crown in his hand to only one.
The son of witch and Fey, who had been tormented by one and shunned by the other.
One they had now come to make their liege.
"Hail, Senoy Furyflame!"