He wore Kynortas’s battle helmet, the helmet of the Black Lord, with his hair threaded through the back in the style of a Sacred Guardsman. He looked every inch the warlord; the visor and cheek-plates of the helmet even hiding his young, unmarked features. Even Uvoren on seeing him had smiled slightly and nodded. “You cut an impressive figure, my lord.” He and Roper had been civil as they bade each other farewell, both knowing that they now led two opposing armies.
