From Blood Ruse: A Blood Errant Adventure
The soldier stared at the Hesperines. Apollon met his gaze benignly, his fingers on his hammer haft where the weapon rested at his feet under the table.
“Goddess bless,” the soldier said. “Tisena, do you know who they are?”
“I suppose some introductions are in order.” Tisena put a hand on Apollon’s shoulder, then gestured to his niece and Ritual sons in turn. “Apollon, Nike, Ioustin, and Methu.”
The soldier’s gaze lingered on Nike’s black, knee-length fighting robe, on Ioustin’s vivid red hair, on Methu’s deep brown countenance, but especially on their weapons.
The soldier gave his head a shake. “The Victory Star, the Blood-Red Prince, the Midnight Champion.” His gaze returned to Apollon, and he studied Apollon’s mane of blond curls. “And the Lion of Orthros.”
Apollon set his hammer on the table where the man would see it, so gently not a piece of Tisena’s fine ceramics clinked. Her hand tightened on his shoulder.
Nike looked the soldier up and down. “You are aware of our reputation.”
The man’s gaze lingered on her. “You’re the Blood Errant. Mistress Tisena, you have invited Orthros’s finest to swat at our little bandit problem.”
“They’re friends of mine.” Tisena all but caressed Apollon’s shoulder as she stepped away and began to fill tankards from a keg.
“Swatting little bandits is fun,” Nike said.
“No problem is too large or too small for the Blood Errant,” Ioustin agreed.
Methu assured the mortals, “We are happy to serve.”