Kizwolima’s snores filled the air, the girl tuckered out from eating all the fruit. It was her favourite fruit, so she had revealed and confirmed time and time again, the girl almost ate the fruit as though she was drinking water. Adam made sure she ate all other kinds of food, little Kizwolima eating the abundance of fish on offer, though one might have expected as such since the river wound all around Black Mountain, reaching all the way to the capital.
“Hey, Uwajin, how do you know that old man?” Adam finally asked, whispering towards the young woman who stirred lightly, blinking as she tried to process his words.
“He is Zaki, Skull Sword of the Coast,” the young woman replied, slowly awakening from her nap.
“You know, your sleepiness is getting a little alarming,” Adam said, although half of his attention was on the fact the old man held one of the greatest epithets he had ever heard. ‘Damn.’
“It is curse passed from my family,” Uwajin admitted, yawning lightly. “I am too strong, so I must sleep often.”
“That sounds like a convenient excuse.”
“It is how Jirot is so pretty, so she must cause so much trouble.”
“Understandable.” The half elf glanced to the old man who held such a grand epithet, spotting the other older man beside him, but before he could ask, Uwajin continued.
“Grandfather killed his daughter.”
The half elf’s head snapped towards Uwajin, who held a general aura of tiredness about her, as though she hadn’t admitted to something insane, though she was an Iyrman, so this much was to be expected. ‘Damn!’
“They almost met,” Uwajin admitted. “Grandfather slew her in Aldland. It took some time to reach Kal Zaki, who sent a letter to the Iyr meant for grandfather. He read it upon his return.”
“What did it say?”
“Grandfather knows, but he has not spoken of it,” Uwajin replied simply, although her tone held a slight dissatisfaction, since it was about the Skull Sword of the Coast. However, no one knew what it said, apparently not even the Elders when they requested to be told.
“What about the other guy?”
“The previous leader of the Sand Walker Swords,” Uwajin assumed, for all signs pointed to it. “He retired quietly last year. He killed Skull Sword’s nephew.”
“What the hell? What kind of a problem does everyone have with his family?” Adam whispered, his eyes glancing towards the two older men, who were joined by another old man within their company, though Adam didn’t need to ask about him.
“His family are a family of warriors,” Uwajin said, as though that explained it all.
“When one fights, one must understand the consequences,” Naqokan stated simply, though her eyes darted towards the old man, who knew the loss of a daughter. Her eyes then darted to Adam, whose face held a complicated expression, the half elf wincing at his thoughts.
Adam thought about what he would do if someone had killed his children once they had grown. The Iyr didn’t extend the same courtesy to adults, however he couldn’t allow anyone to kill his children, he wouldn’t allow it. He reached up to his pulsing forehead, not wanting to think about the great pain that would cause to him, nor the great pain he would cause to others.
Meanwhile Ashmir sipped the pink tea lightly, while reaching for a biscuit, wiping his fingers on the handkerchief to the side. “You retired?”
“I retired last year,” Makdur admitted, already used to all the criticism. He hadn’t expected that choosing to retire quietly into the night would have caused him so much trouble. How was he meant to know the Reavers were going to begin invading immediately after his retirement?
‘What an awkward time for so many old men to retire,’ Ashmir thought. However, if needed, he assumed most would step forward, for only the most apathetic of the old men would allow the Reavers to ravage across Aswadasad, and others would still move if the wealthy piled chests of silver and gold.
“What brings you here, Lion King?” Zaki asked, glaring at the Aswadian, who was a few years his junior.
“I am travelling with the Iyrmen,” Ashmir replied simply.
“The rumours say you retired into the Iyr.”
“I did,” Ashmir said. “The Iyr has gifted me three wives, and my wives have gifted me many children.”
‘What a braggart,’ Zaki thought.
‘Three wives?’ Makdur thought, wondering just how exhausted Ashmir must be, and seeing the old man, he could see it within his eyes, not realising the exhaustion came from another entirely.
Zaki could feel the oppressive aura surrounding the Lion King, assuming he had been a Paragon, but now that they were opposite one another, it confirmed the fact. He had expected as such, since Lion King had been active from a youth, and had worked his entire life until his elderly age, having still looked like a man twenty years his younger, an impressive feat for an Aswadian.
“How is it, the Iyr?” Makdur asked.
“Do you wish to retire there?” Zaki asked, his eyes full of judgement.
“I just wished to ask ahm Ashmir of what kind of place it is, which has remained almost mythical,” Makdur replied, smiling awkwardly.
“It is as you imagined, and so different,” Ashmir admitted. “It is warm, but in a different kind of way. In Aswadasad, it is hot, but the people are warm, often. Some, less. Some, more. In the Iyr it is the same, but it is so different. In Aswadasad, those that you speak to are often farmers, and those who work with their hands, their worries are those of silver. In the Iyr, there are farmers too, those who smith, those who carve wood, but it is not the same. You know it, the feeling of that kind of place, where you are surrounded by warriors, many who are Experts. The Iyr is like that, but their farmers are Experts. Those who forge their swords, they are Experts. Those who carve wood, those who make bowls of clay, they are Experts. When you walk in the Iyr, they carry blades at their side, but those who carry the blades farm, carve wood, craft bowls. In the Iyr I meet many who resigned themselves to a farmer’s life, but if they were in Aswadasad, they would gain the title of Mulazim.”
“It’s true?” Zaki asked.
“By age thirty, nine of ten Iyrmen are Experts, by forty, ten of ten, unless they suffer from an ailment,” Ashmir said. “Their people live in a time long forgotten. They work their fields, forge their swords, craft their bowls, and such are brought together, into their large warehouses, and they transport the goods where they are required. I have not seen a single child star-,”
‘What is that?’ Makdur thought, as Ashmir closed his eyes, tensing up slightly in thought.
“If a child does not wish to starve, they shall not starve,” Ashmir corrected. “Their magics are freely given. When they are sick, they visit their Shamans, and their Shamans heal them. They work less, they work more, they fight less, they fight more, but the Iyrmen, when you live among them, you see how it is they still survive.”
Makdur leaned in, shuffling closer to the old man. “I heard rumours that the Aldish killed an Iyrman’s child.”
“No,” Ashmir said. “The child was an Iyrman.”
Makdur narrowed his eyes, hearing that Ashmir had also been there, and that... “Yours?”
Ashmir shook his head, and leaned back within his chair. He turned to the side, finding the half elf looking at him, and the old Aswadian raised a hand, beckoning the half elf closer.
“Hello,” Adam called, respectfully shaking their forearms, bowing his head towards each of them. “Ahm Ashmir, how may I help.”
“Sit,” Ashmir said, causing the young man to sit beside him, the youngster eyeing up the pair who held such fame across the land, one more infamous than the other. “This is Mo Adam. He is the Mad Dog’s grandson.”
Zaki noted the tattoo on his forehead, a circle and a diamond, though quite different than he imagined. “Your grandfather is the Mad Dog?”
“Yes, and my grandmother is the Rising Swallow, and from my children’s side, is Flame Brand.”
“Your grandmother is Flame Brand?” Zaki asked, far more surprised, for he recalled Flame Brand was very different.
“I am blessed,” Adam confirmed.
“That is quite the pedigree,” Makdur said, smiling wide. “What of you? Do you live up to their name?”
“Aha? How could I live up to their name?” Adam replied awkwardly, his cheeks flushing lightly, the young half elf beaming. “I am so blessed to have such a wonderful grandmother, and a grandfather who is so affectionate.”
“The Mad Dog is affectionate?” Zaki asked, narrowing his eyes slightly, for was the Mad Dog the kind of guy who was affectionate to his grandchildren?
“He spoils me a lot, but he spoils my children even more,” the half elf admitted, beaming with a much greater joy, the pair couldn’t deny his words.
“Although his name isn’t well known within Aswadasad, this young man is quite infamous within Aldland,” Ashmir said.
“He must be infamous since he is the grandson of both the Mad Dog and Flame Brand.”
Adam’s cheeks turned a deeper red, his entire body tingling, his lips twitching into a tiny, shy smile. ‘I suppose I am a little infamous.’
Ashmir wondered if he should speak the words to reveal how the half elf had become so infamous, but decided against it, instead allowing the half elf to speak his tale to the two Aswadians. Unfortunately for him, he made the great mistake of not prompting the young man properly, so he ended up gushing about all his children, his wife, and finally…
“So that’s why you should remember her name, this cousin of mine!” Adam said, sitting up a little taller, and for once, he allowed the confidence to fill him, perhaps to the point of arrogance. “Let’s see how many Orders dare to stop her!”
Zaki was pretty sure the half elf was going to get himself killed, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but think he was such a cute kid.
“Young man,” Makdur began. “Are you the Crazy Father?”
Zaki choked on his tea.
PATREON LINK
Someone finally knows him?