[1488] – Y06.388 – Adam’s Heart VIII
It was a clash of steel which sung so brightly, like a that of a petrel, the seas thrashing back and forth, colder than ice on this day. It had been so long, too long, in their estimations, as the fleets crashed together, the warriors of the sea hungry for blood. It was only after the sky had lit up with large balls of fire, exploding against the ships, did they finally manage to force their way forward.
How many Priests had died?
Admiral Junaid thought little of it, for he as he leapt upon the ship, his sabre cleaved through a readied marine, falling bluntly like a seal between his feet, but he did not rest, leading the charge as his own warriors followed after him.
“You damned sea dog!” exclaimed a large warrior, adorned in polished steel over faded scale, a steel that would no longer remain polished, as his polisher had fallen under the Admiral’s blade. He was tall, wide, and wielded a large blade that could cleave lesser men from shoulder to thigh, though fell still against the curved greatsabre ahead of him.
“Your blade is so light today,” Admiral Junaid replied, having finally managed to catch his greatest foe at the edge of his blade, not for the first time in his storied career, but perhaps the last. He was tall, wide, wielding a large sabre that kept his foe at bay for the moment.
“I had to shave off a finger width so it would be a fair fight,” the Aldish Admiral, Jones, replied, their blades still pressed against one another. However, his armour kept stealth the grey of his skin, the sound of steel the labour within his breath, the swaying of the ship the unsteadiness of his step.
The last day, he had felt it, and as the clock struck midnight, the Aldish Admiral had realised the deep sickness, not just within himself, but also within his crew. He had called forth the Oathsworn to him, but as he had, news broke of the Aswadian’s fleet rapid assault, which had emerged swiftly upon the horizon, their ships smashing into their fleet, their port, and even upon the land, as swift as evil.
If it had been any other admiral, Jones may have expected it, but Junaid was unlike any other, for he was as patient as time. While the Aswadian navy had lost the islands, and had allowed Aldland to claim them for the past few years, Junaid would have only considered it a loss once a decade had passed.
Junaid was that kind of admiral.
As they fought, the Aswadian quickly overwhelmed the Aldishman, much to his confusion, but as Jones fell, Junaid swiftly assisted the man, hearing him choking, and under the dim light, he could see how pale the Aldishman was, and as his evening’s meal spluttered out upon his armour, Junaid slammed his fist upon Jones’ back, clearing his throat, allowing the fellow to spill out his guts to one side.
‘Noor bless me,’ Junaid thought, for somehow, on this day of all days, he had managed to find the one time his foe had been violently ill. Though the steel within his heart ached from the lack of virtue of such a victory, the silver within his heart was glad to have done his country a great service, finally claiming one of the larger islands as their own.
A marine skid beside the Admirals, coughing out spit as he keeled over, and Junaid rose to meet the large shadow, drawing his greatsabre in both hands.
“As I thought, this victory will not come so easily,” Junaid admitted, holding his blade in both hands, readying himself.
“No,” the Grand Commander of the Steel Boars agreed.
Yet, as the islands far west knew the symphony of steel, blood, and death, the mountains to the west knew the symphony of death, blood, and steel.
“What!” cried the fool, holding the spoon to the girl’s lips. “Ranya! Why won’t you let me feed you?”
“No!” Ranya complained, turning her head to the side, rubbing her eyes with the back of her gloves, hiding away from her ahm. “No!”
“Ranya…” Adam pulled the spoon away, staring down at the food for a moment, then his eyes turned towards the little girl, who yawned lightly. “Enisa, can I feed you?”
Little Enisa, much of her head hidden away from the world thanks to the thick collar and hat, smiled coyly. She accepted the spoonful of food from the half elf, even accepted him picking her up and placing her on his lap, and then accepted his chest, and as the half elf brought the food to her lips once more, he accepted the fact the girl wanted to sleep, so allowed her to pin him, holding her close.
“Ranya, would you like some fruit?” Vonda asked, offering the girl a slice of salya from her fingers, the cold keeping the banana rigid between the woman’s fingers.
Ranya blinked, turning away from the woman, and nestled her head against her arm’s bicep, hiding her face away from the Ray.
“Well, well, well, look whose come crawling back…” Adam whispered, though he allowed the girl to nestle within his arms, taking the chance to spoil them, glancing aside to his wife, smiling.
As the troublesome Adam remained within the gaze of his wife, their troublesome daughter remained under the watchful eyes of the Gaks. Thankfully, the Gaks were full of dependable young women, especially Kavgak, who easily lifted Virot up whenever she fell into the snow, brushing the girl’s face and clothing.
“Okay?”
“Okay!” Virot laughed, hugging her aunt, who pat the girl’s back gently, and led her away. The Gaks were also some of the few who could control the little girl, for the Gaks were some of the few who could control another storm of trouble, so not even Virot dared to face against them.
Jarot followed behind his young greatdaughter, who was so swift of foot, only slowed by the thick snow, and the thick clothing, which restricted her legs from their full range of troublesomeness.
“Babo! Look!” Virot called, pointing to the side, causing her greatfather to glance aside.
“Oh?” Jarot called, noting a familiar Iyrman, but as he did so, he heard the girl cackling as she fled away. ‘I cannot believe I fell for it… again.’
Yet, since Duteous was before him, he couldn’t blame himself.
“Daddy is so tired these days!” huffed out a bundle of green, amber, and Chaos. “Daddy is so silly! I told him! I told him! I tell him all the time, I say, Daddy, I say, all the time I say it, I say you are working too hard, and he does not listen, not one time, not two times, not three times!”
“He does work so hard, doesn’t he?” Dunes called, for as the girl was about to kick up a fuss about returning to her little sister, Dunes had managed to shift the conversation away, towards causing a little bit of trouble.
“Too hard! Daddy, he is eating my head!” The girl reached up to her head, rubbing it gently, then turned towards her ahm, who had taught her the Aswadian turn of phrase.
Little Jarot licked his ice cream, watching the scene play out before him, since his sister had worked herself up into a frenzy.
“Next year, I will be sure to make sure he spends more time with you,” Dunes promised.
Jirot sighed, smiling slightly towards the Aswadian, reaching out a hand to pat the back of his hand gently. “This is why you are my favourite ahm.”
“I am your only ahm.”
“Ahm Dunes, how you can say this? What of ahm Korin? Ahm Korin, he makes such delicious food, you are eating it too, how can you forget?” Jirot teased, while little Jarot nodded his head, for he had eaten almost an entire flatbread with mixed meat all by himself, that was to say, he and Jirot had shared half each.
“Ah, yes,” Dunes replied, blinking. It was then he smiled, the young Mo who was their favourite ahm.
Korin remained with the businessfolk, who were currently sampling his spiced meats and flatbread, for many of them knew his cooking, as he had been with them all those years ago, back when the urchins had come into the half elf’s life. It was then they had tasted the delicacies of the Aswadians, not the Aldish recreations in East Port, but the real, fiery, Aswadian meals.
‘Did he really go all the way to an Order to bring back their Oathsworn as a chef?’ Rowan thought, for though it was unbelievable, it was probably true, since he had heard crazier things.
Yes, for the children had mentioned it, the urchins who had grown up so roughly in the alleys of East Port, that the half elf had defeated two Hopes back to back, the Seventh, and the First. That was more unbelievable than the fact the half elf had defeated the Grand Commander of the Thousand Hunts, or what was it called now? High Garden?
Alex stared down at his bowl of porridge, glad the Iyr had enough milk for him to enjoy it thoroughly. The boy stared down at his bowl, noting the whiteness, that was not unlike the whiteness of snow, and yet not at all cold. ‘I’m positively stuffed, I say!’
Meanwhile, Sara had stepped out, enjoying her walk through the Front Iyr, noting all the Iyrmen children, their parents, their elders, and those who remained within the shadows. It was this place, so full of death, blood, steel, and shadows, that she would soon call her home.
‘I shall speak with him to make sure he gives you a fine blade,’ Sara thought, feeling the gentle snow against her cheek, the woman staring up towards the sky, which was so different to the sky within Black Mountain. The woman closed her eyes, and killed the sensation within her heart.
PATREON LINK
The next arc is pretty slow since it's the end of the year and then the next year will probably start off slow. I mean, what else could happen in a fantasy world with infinite possibilities?
Checking patreon, technically this is considered slow...