Interlude: Warmth III
“Daddy,” the little half elf called, his face covered in sauce, and though he was able to stab the meat with his wooden fork so firmly, the boy was unable guide it quite so easily to his lips, for he stabbed too much.
“Eat a little at a time,” John said, wiping the boy’s face, bringing a cup of milk to his lips, while his eyes shifted to Owaen and Tristaen, each who were in the middle of wearing their warm meals upon their faces.
“Daddy,” Owaen called, revealing his empty cup, causing his father to fill it up with juice, the boy staring down at the colourful liquid for a moment.
“Daddy,” Tristaen called, revealing he had dropped half his meal onto the snow, the boy forming a frown, his face contorting as he made to cry.
John sighed, finding the annoyance rising within his heart, but he buried it, and as he reached for his son, who would make the others cry soon, a pair of shadows loomed over him, and he glanced up towards the women. They were twins, well built, short hair, and with the unmistakeable tattoo of a blue circle surrounded by blue diamonds.
“You must be John,” one stated, as though she were accusing him.
“You are the one who seduced our cousin?” the other accused, as though she were stating a fact.
Tristaen coughed into a loud cry, only to stop as one of the women pinched his nose, the woman noticing how John tensed up, the trio understanding his beautiful spear was within range, while the axes at their side was also within range too.
“I see how you seduced him.”
However, before the twins could cause trouble, a shadow loomed over them. He was tall, handsome, his tattoo the same, a blue circle flanked by blue diamonds. His eyes dark, his hair lightened as time began to take him, falling just down his shoulders, and at his side he wore an axe, but it was the patch over his eye which stated just who this fellow was to John.
“My eye slips away for a moment and immediately you cause such trouble to make such a cute boy cry?” the Iyrman said, raising his fists, while his daughters slipped away from him, circling around behind him. “If you allow me to catch you, I will spank you.”
“You wish you cou-,” one began, only to be reminded of the fact that their father had recently finished his training, so he was no longer just a simple buffoon they could bully, but rather, a man who had inherited the will of their grandfather.
The twins swiftly made their retreat, and the one eyed Iyrman considered giving chase, only to think twice, for it was easy enough to catch one, but both?
“I apologise for my daughters,” the Iyrman said.
“It is no problem at all,” John replied, holding Tristaen to his chest. “Are you by any chance the Executive’s uncle, Fakrot?”
“You have heard of me?” Fakrot replied, only half surprised, for he had also heard of John through the rumours of a figure who had been plucked by his nephew.
“Yes,” John replied, slightly more respectfully, though he had already held such a tone for the Iyrman. “The Executive stated that within the Iyr, I could trust in his Aunt Sonarot, but also his uncle, Fakrot.”
Fakrot cheeks prickle lightly, for he hadn’t seen or spoken to Adam in a long while, and he had only worked up the courage today to visit his nephew after what had happened last year. Though his heart had been wounded gravely, his nephew, wasn’t the pain within his heart greater?
“I am merely a fool of an uncle, who was unable to assist his nephew,” Fakrot replied simply.
“The Executive said that you were wounded by the loss of his children deeply, and he hoped you would be well,” John replied simply.
Fakrot flushed deeper, his heart aching, and yet also soothed deeply from his nephew’s words. It was perhaps his greatest shame he had not stepped out last year to assist, but he was finally able to redeem himself in the next year, when his children, whose wounded hearts would no doubt keep them trapped within the Iyr, would need to be soothed.
“As I said, I am merely a fool of an uncle, who is fortunate to have such an affectionate nephew,” Fakrot said, looking down at the children. “It is difficult to raise triplets, especially alone, but seeing as they are not quite as troublesome as my daughters, I hope you will have an easier time than I.”
“Thank you.”
Fakrot held the young man within his sights for a moment, reaching out to tap the young man’s shoulder gently to ease his heart, and even with such a touch, he could feel it. This young man held a legendary physique, one that could be crafted into the greatest of warriors, and though he wished to adopt the young man as his own, he could not covet someone his nephew had already claimed.
“If you require assistance, you may call for me, and if my daughters bother you once more, inform me and I will deal with them,” Fakrot promised, reaching down to ruffle the triplet’s hair. He wondered if perhaps it would be best for his daughters to marry this young man, for if they could not claim Adam, at the very least he could claim the young man’s apprentice.
John watched the guy leave, while Esther approached, eyes trailing after the shadow of the figure.
“Who was that?”
“Fakrot.”
“Who?”
“The Executive’s uncle.”
“Is he some kind of special Iyrman?”
“All Iyrmen are special.”
“I mean, is he a legendary Iyrman?”
“You could ask him.”
“No need for that.”
John raised a brow, but his attention quickly returned to his son, who was reaching out for the meat on the floor, but he picked the boy up, picking up Owaen too, and before he could struggle with Garaeth, Esther lifted the boy up.
“Give me Owaen too,” Esther said, annoyed he wasn’t asking her for help.
“Thank you.”
Samuel was enjoying the pile of meat, for the Iyr was more than glad to feed someone as large as he, a man who was simpler of mind, but sweet enough.
Amos, on the other hands, remained to one side, reading one of the many books of the Iyr, or rather, tried to read it, for he understood some letters and words, but he needed greater practise, and what better time than today, with the gentle music accompanying his mind?
“Gah!” Masha gasped, licking her lips. “The wine of the Iyr, it is not so bad!”
“Not so bad? It is more than not so bad, it is good, is it not?” Rohan replied, raising a brow.
“Haha! Is it good? It is not so bad, I will say that much, but good? It doesn’t hold enough poison!”
“If it was spiced, I would prefer it,” Rohan admitted, for though Masha’s scales were green, his own were gold.
“The Iyr…” Masha began, though paused for a long moment. “It is exactly as I thought it would be.”
“It is so,” Rohan agreed. “It is no wonder at all it has survived these ages past.”
“I wonder, how many ages may it continue to last?” Masha asked, for she had heard so many tales, and yet, how many tales had spoken of the Iyr upon a large scale war. The last time, against the Elves, not a generation ago, how many Iyrmen had they lost? Yet, was that even a war? It was a slaughter of a skirmish.
“Do not curse them so!”
Masha howled with laughter, returning back to her wine, drinking until she was flushed red, calling towards a deep slumber, one that would cause her to awaken heavy the next morning.
Lisa ate her pile of meat lightly, the pile of potatoes underneath calling towards her fork. This was too much meat, she thought, but it was enough potatoes to ease her heart. She wondered if she would perhaps regret joining the business, for she was doing nothing in particular.
Ah?
She was doing nothing in particular and yet earning as much, more, than her previous life as a commoner doing this and that?
‘Isn’t that a sin?’
Robin’s heart lit aflame, for though the woman had been named after one of the greatest warriors alive, she had not expected to learn the way to fight. Yet, the Iyrmen, the grandson and the granddaughter of the Mad Dog, had promised to teach her, and had promised to teach her their specific path too. Didn’t that mean she could live up to her name?
As the music trembled through his body, Zack stared at the half eaten meat and potatoes, as well as the bits of vegetables which remained, grilled and spiced as they were by a particular Aswadian.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be sure that you all become Experts at least!’ the half elf had declared.
Yet, did he wish to become an Expert? He wasn’t talented, not like the others. No, he thought. Perhaps, however, he could remain a guard, find a lovely wife, and have a few children who could inherit a greater will than himself?
Jax snoozed away, having decided against sticking a dagger in his neck, for though he was a Noskan with the least talent, he was still a Noskan, wasn’t he? He could certainly make a name for himself.
Mohammed stared at the sky, nursing a gourd of hot tea, while he wore a minuscule gourd of medicine at his side. The Iyr, which had produced the medicine, had emphasised that he shouldn’t drink while taking the medicine, which he needed to take now and against across each month. He wasn’t sure how expensive it was, certainly at least a silver for each sip, too afraid of knowing the truth. It had, somehow, not been taken out of his wages either.
‘So this is the Iyr…’
PATREON LINK
I will catch up on the chapters I owe soon I just had some matters to attend to during the last week!