As he checked the saddlebags on Albion before moving over to the pack horse, Prewtez d’Grayson reflected on the conversation he’d had with the Gaidar Captain. Amayani do Ciresh a'Sorene had assigned him to escort a newly raised Aes Sedai to visit her family in Andor. When she had told him the name of the woman he would be protecting Prewtez had breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Betrys Cadwallader’, or Betrys Sedai as she would now be known. Thank the Light it wasn’t Marissa Sedai! That woman had gotten under his skin with her incessant talking and none too subtle hints about bonding him. The Gaidar Captain had explained that Betrys Sedai did not yet have a warder and, since Prewtez was not yet bonded, it made sense to assign him to this task. Dangerous times precluded the idea of an Aes Sedai, especially an inexperienced one, traveling alone.
As the trip promised to take several days to arrive at their destination, he made sure the pack horse was carrying several waterskins, extra blankets, and a goodly supply of dried meat, cheese, and bread. He assumed his companion would have her own belongings packed in her saddlebag as did he.
Andor! he thought, Light but it had been a while since he’d been back, not since leaving for the Grey Tower. Although he had spent his early years in one of the noble houses and most of the rest serving the queen in her Horse Guard, Prewtez no longer felt any attachment for the place. He had no home, his half-brother Conail had seen to that and he had been dismissed from the service against his will, again on the behest of Conail. The man, boy really, was obsessed with the fear that Prewtez would somehow claim the seat as head of House Northan. Not bloody likely, now or ever, especially since gaining the fan cloak. He shook his head, his long salt and pepper hair tied off in a tail at the nape of his neck barely over the shoulders of his cloak which, itself covered a white shirt and brown suede jacket. His riding boots came to the knees of the dark green pants he wore.
Prewtez looked up, brought out of his reverie by the clip clop of a horse being led. The woman who approached was certainly not Marissa Sedai. No, this woman was remarkably unremarkable in appearance. Youngish looking, and her long braid put him in mind of a Two Rivers woman he had seen once. But there was something about the bounce in her step that indicated she was full of life. Prewtez could only hope she would not be as self-absorbed as the pervious Aes Sedai he had accompanied.
“Betrys Sedai?” he bowed slightly, his cloak of greens and browns and greys shimmering softly with the movement, “Gaidin Prewtez d’Grayson at your service.” He arched his left eye involuntarily, a habit of long standing, the scar above it gaining prominence.
As the trip promised to take several days to arrive at their destination, he made sure the pack horse was carrying several waterskins, extra blankets, and a goodly supply of dried meat, cheese, and bread. He assumed his companion would have her own belongings packed in her saddlebag as did he.
Andor! he thought, Light but it had been a while since he’d been back, not since leaving for the Grey Tower. Although he had spent his early years in one of the noble houses and most of the rest serving the queen in her Horse Guard, Prewtez no longer felt any attachment for the place. He had no home, his half-brother Conail had seen to that and he had been dismissed from the service against his will, again on the behest of Conail. The man, boy really, was obsessed with the fear that Prewtez would somehow claim the seat as head of House Northan. Not bloody likely, now or ever, especially since gaining the fan cloak. He shook his head, his long salt and pepper hair tied off in a tail at the nape of his neck barely over the shoulders of his cloak which, itself covered a white shirt and brown suede jacket. His riding boots came to the knees of the dark green pants he wore.
Prewtez looked up, brought out of his reverie by the clip clop of a horse being led. The woman who approached was certainly not Marissa Sedai. No, this woman was remarkably unremarkable in appearance. Youngish looking, and her long braid put him in mind of a Two Rivers woman he had seen once. But there was something about the bounce in her step that indicated she was full of life. Prewtez could only hope she would not be as self-absorbed as the pervious Aes Sedai he had accompanied.
“Betrys Sedai?” he bowed slightly, his cloak of greens and browns and greys shimmering softly with the movement, “Gaidin Prewtez d’Grayson at your service.” He arched his left eye involuntarily, a habit of long standing, the scar above it gaining prominence.
