303. Adam’s Request

303. Adam’s Request

“Hello,” Adam said, awkwardly. He was staring at the extended family of the Rot, many of whom he had only met once or twice before. There was also an Iyrman who held a baby, one who was younger than even Lanarot. The baby was carried in one arm, half of the babe within the large pocket of the Iyrman’s top.

‘Why are there so many people here?’ Adam wasn’t that close with most of them, and had expected only a handful of Iyrmen to be in the estate, considering there was work to be done.

“You’ve finally come,” Jarot said, motioning a hand for Adam to come with his one good arm. Churot was beside him as he almost always was, the young teen staring at Adam with a blank look.

“I didn’t expect to see so many people,” Adam admitted, stepping up to the old Iyrman to shake his hand, only to find Jarot ruffling his hair instead.

“Why are you acting so shy to your grandfather?” Jarot asked, still ruffling Adam’s hair, chuckling lightly.

“Whose my grandfather?” Adam replied, pulling his head back, staring at the old man with the very same blank look Churot had given to him. “What’s with all the people?”

“We are here to celebrate both of my grandsons’ birthdays,” Jarot replied, simply. “Even if Jurot is not here, you can accept the celebrations and gifts on his behalf.”

“Is that how that works?” Adam was still not wholly used to the way of the Iyrmen, even after spending months with them.

“Normally we would not make such a party for a man who has turned nineteen, but since it is your first birthday in the Iyr, how can we miss it?” Jarot replied, simply, before greeting Sir Vonda. The Priest of Life had been invited to the party too, since it was her birthday, and she was both a Priest of Life and a member of the Order of Life’s Rose.

“Right,” Adam said, trying not to sound embarrassed. “I should introduce myself then.”

“They will come to you as we celebrate,” Jarot informed, motioning Adam and Sir Vonda to take a seat at a table nearby. “Turot, come,” the old man called, ruffling the boy’s hair.

Turot smiled as his hair was ruffled, before he noted the look on his grandfather’s face. He quickly darted away, but returned with a shield which was metal plated. It was about the size of Adam’s torso, and it was a deep red, the colour of fresh blood.

“What is this?” Adam asked as Turot stepped towards him with the shield in hand.

“It is my gift,” Turot said, standing a little taller. “It was given to me by grandfather when I was born.” He held it out to Adam.

Adam stared down at the shield, not daring to take it. “A red shield?” Something about it seemed familiar.

“It was the same shield I used when I was your age,” Jarot said.

‘Oh,’ Adam thought. ‘Right. I remember now.’ He recalled how a party in one of the towns had named themselves after the shield they had seen.

“Turot has decided to gift it to you.”

‘Isn’t that rude?’ Adam thought. “Can I accept this?”

Turot’s eyes seemed to be filled with great pride. “Yes,” the boy said, firmly. “You are strong, Cousin Adam. You always enchant axes, and they are very good, but you have not enchanted your shield.” He handed the shield to Adam. “Our family uses the axe and shield.”

“Right,” Adam said, taking the shield from the young boy. He understood the point, even if Turot was unable to verbalise it properly. The Rot family’s weapons were the axe and shield, and though Adam had given up using a sword, he sometimes only used an axe and emphasised the weapon over the shield.

The latch was quite sturdy, and he could feel the leather against his arm. It felt slightly lighter than he expected, so assumed the metal was quite thin over the wood and leather. The sun shone down against the shield’s metal, and for a moment Adam though it was made of bloodsteel, same as the scale that Damokan had given to him earlier in the day. Yet, it seemed far more familiar than bloodsteel.

“It is not our way,” Jarot stated, placing his hand on Churot’s back. “The way of the Rot family has always been the axe and shield.”

“I know,” Adam replied, though he did not back down.

Jarot did not care that Adam wanted to teach magic to a member of the Rot family. However, this was not any member of the Rot family. This was his Churot, who he had looked after since the day he had been revived.

“You are a Scribe Mage, Adam,” Jarot grumbled. “Should you not keep such magics secret?”

There were no Iyrmen Scribe Mages, partly because the Scribe Mages kept their magics secret, and partly because there were so few who actually went out to adventure, so there was almost no way for Iyrmen to procure such magic.

“If I want to teach him my magic, I’ll teach him my magic,” Adam said. “As long as he wishes for it, I’ll teach it to him.”

“He will not learn,” Jarot said, firmly. “He will remain in the Iyr and live his life in peace.”

“He is...” Adam’s throat clogged up, wondering how far he should take it. Jarot’s face had darkened, and Adam understood why. Jarot still had regrets about his son, who had struggled to grow stronger, before eventually being killed by a Dragon. Even now, the old man regretted his actions.

“Churot is old enough now,” Adam said. “Aren’t you?” He looking to the boy, the Devilkin teen who had almost always remained with his grandfather.

There had been two times he had recently been away from his grandfather. Once was when his grandfather went to go face a great opponent. The second time had been when he had gone to speak with Adam the day before. He had come to Adam just as Lanarot had slapped him and tried to steal his sandwich.

“He will not learn,” Jarot said.

“There’s only so much you can coddle the boy, Jarot,” Adam stated, firmly.

“If I want to coddle him, I will,” Jarot replied. “He is my grandson, it is my right as his grandfather.”

“Turot is your grandson too, and yet, he will go out and adventure one day. He’ll fight, and he’ll gain plenty of experience, before he eventually returns to stake his claim to become Elder Peace.”

Turot puffed up his chest. “I will grow strong.” He nodded his head slowly, assuring his family, and the world.

“I will not allow it,” Jarot said again.

“Do you think he’ll be in danger?”

“There is no need for him to study,” Jarot replied. How could he let the only child of his precious Farot learn how to use magic? Even if he was a Blood Mage, he would not allow it.

“I want to learn,” Churot said, finally. His voice was like a shadow which had crept into the conversation, one which had only darkened Jarot’s heart.

“I allowed you to seduce my daughter, but not my grandson, Adam,” Jarot said, controlling his shaky voice.

For a moment, the Half Elf thought about fighting the old man. However, he remembered the first time they had met, and the fact that he had been quite easily beaten, even with quite the powerful blade in hand. ‘I really should have taken Phantom back.’

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Jarot's about to make it 2-0.