Finally, the entrants settled on both sides of the throne, and the first participant of the Tournament appeared in the doorway. The tall man in blue clothes which was not the color of the sea, it was the color of the pre-dawn sky: dark, deep, saturated. And the brighter was the bright red cloak, the inner side of which was black, with thin silver lines woven into a bizarre pattern, reminiscent of lightning flashes, but in fact, they were rivers.
- The king of the Riverlands, Stephen Strange, - the messenger declared loudly, and the guest, having reached the throne, leaned slightly to pay his respects.
He looked young enough, but the whiskey had two gray lines so similar to the silver patterns of his cloak. The river king straightened himself looking at Xavier the elder, but he had time to look at Charles with a quick gaze, forcing him to hang his chin a little longer.
- I am glad to welcome you in the Central Lands, - the king smiled as he came down from the hill and clenched the shoulders of his old friend.
They had been in correspondence for a long time, and the king of the Riverlands was perhaps the most sensible of all the rulers of the eight kingdoms, and if the opinion of Father Charles was asked, he would have preferred to put his son in these hands. The Riverlands were beautiful and rich, and their king was as wise and calm as the current, smoothing out sharp corners and keeping his principles in line.
- I'm glad to be here, especially having the right to fight for such a priceless prize, - the river king looked over the shoulder of the king at Charles, and the younger Xavier had to smile, feeling unable to cope with himself and his unwillingness to participate in all this.
The herald blew the whistle again, and then again - and the King of the Central Lands retreated back, smiling a little at the first guest.
- The participants of this tournament are incredibly punctual, - father stood next to Charles again, and the prince just snorted. - Behave yourself, Charles.
Those present in the hall held their breath, hearing the approach of the second participant. The first to appear before their eyes, of course, was not the king himself, but his entourage of two men and two women who accompanied him everywhere and everywhere. They were followed by four strong porters, holding the throne of the second guest of the Tournament on their shoulders. He was wearing purple fabrics, light, silk, intercepted by several laces - on his belt and on his hands; on his head was a hooded cape, stretching from shoulder to waist, diagonally, translucent, embroidered with gold, a long trail of gold, remaining behind the throne, even touching the floor. The king's face was covered with a golden mask, which was the end of the image.
The procession stopped, and those who carried the burden down on the floor, the guest got up, taking off the mask and holding it out to one of the representatives of his entourage.
- King of the Eastern lands, Ann Sabah Noor! - The king went a little forward, holding his hands glued to the abdomen level.
He bowed his head a little, his face was beautiful, but his features were so sharp, the eyes of the eastern king were put on, but despite this and all his clothes, he was not to be confused with the woman.
- Welcome to the Central Lands, - Xavier The Elder bowed a little in return.
- I'm glad to be here, - the second participant of the tournament looked closely at Charles and nodded at him. - I am glad to fight for you.
The prince nodded discreetly. Ann Sabah Noor was from a hot land, but his eyes remained cold and indifferent, although Charles had noticed a slight smile, obviously directed only to him. The procession of the king of the Eastern lands was over, and a third guest entered the throne room after him without interruption.
Unlike the first two participants, he was young. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a mop of bright red hair resembling a lion's mane in an emerald green camisole, from under which a snow-white shirt looked out. High boots, up to the knees, and, to complete the image, a brown kilt in a large cage, this pattern duplicated and cape, thrown over the shoulder and grabbed on it with a wide buckle.
The guest was alone, he walked with a confident gait, holding his hand on the saber edifice, ladies watched him amazed, men looked at the ladies with dissatisfaction, but it was impossible not to pay attention to this mountaineer - and the fact that he was a representative of the mountainous lands, was undoubtful.
To Be Continued...