492. Goodbyes II

492. Goodbyes II

Omen: 2, 11

Chief Iromin was glad he was born within the Iyr. If something had occurred like last night within Aldland or any other land, there would be those with power trying to find out what had happened. Yet, within the Iyr, things moved smoothly, for what they must know, they know.

He had to spend his time figuring out how to deal with the most pressing issue, but he had the peace to do so without the additional stress of suspicions cast against the Great Elders.

“It’s cold,” Adam said, glancing around. His triplets cuddled up against him, not wanting to leave his presence. Even Lanarot was holding her mother’s hand as she stuck bread into her mouth, looking up to check that her mother was still there.

“Will you play with the children today?” Sonarot asked, looking out to the other children, who had stuck closely with their own parents.

“Sure. We can read and play some WaW, and maybe read some more...”

Adam did as he promised, allowing the children to read to him. The children sat closer together that day, and tried to sit right up beside the Half Elf.

‘How cute.’

It was during the evening that they approached. More than thirty thousand strong, with banners and cloaks denoting their legions, trekking through the snow. They were not quite as fresh as the beginning of the month, already hardened from the various Beast Waves.

Duke Lionheart rode near the King, his Lionguard a short ways away. The King was surrounded by his King’s Blades, assuring that if the Duke did decide to betray his liege, he would die moments later.

They approached the huge walls of the Iyr, noting the greater walls beyond. The King swore he had not seen such walls before, but he smiled. ‘The Iyr does fear me.’ There was only one thing the Iyr could possibly fear, for their walls were built to keep the Aldish away, and had stood solely for that purpose.

At least, that was what the King assumed.

Standing atop the gate was a single figure, though within the hidden bunkers nearby, there were at least another few hundred Iyrmen, ready and eager for blood.

The King leaned back, refusing to raise his eyes, and stared across the handsome Elder. “Open the gates, Iyrman. I, King Justinian Blackwater, ruler of all the lands from Drakkenlan to Aswadasad, have come to speak with your Chiefs.”

Elder Lykan was an Iyrman, which meant he knew the value of patience. He was an Elder of the Front Iyr, which typically developed over the course of years, and had been taught with that in mind. This year was an anomaly, of course.

“Our gates are closed, Lord Justinian.”

The King narrowed his eyes at the words of the Elder. Of course, he had started by belittling the Iyrmen, but to think they would dare to return such words back to him. “That is King Justinian to you, Iyrman,” the King stated, his words calm, full of authority. “What do you mean your gates are closed?”

“We will not open the gates,” Lykan replied, simply. “To you, or your army.”

“Iyrman, my army is thirty thousand strong,” Justinian warned. “What do you mean you will not open your gates? I have come for supplies for the war!”

“Our gates are closed,” the Front Iyr Elder repeated.

“What treachery is this, Iyrman?” Lionheart shouted upwards. “How dare you refuse your King’s words!”

“Lord Blackwater is a great King within his lands, but these are not Aldish lands, for these are the lands of the Iyr, as was promised by blood and steel. It was your ancestor, King Solomon the Wise, who had promised the lands beyond the Five Bends.”

“It is your honour to serve such a great King,” Lionheart called.

“There are no Kings within the Iyr,” Lykan stated, firmly. “If you wish to break the treaty, then you need say no more. I will call the Chief.”

“You speak of breaking the treaty, but it is you who have broken the treaty,” Justinian stated, firmly. “One hundred soldiers were promised for war, and we have come for such warriors, which have been promised.”

“I will call the Chief,” Lykan stated, before raising a hand, and clenching his fist.

“Thank you for helping with Jirot,” Adam said, shaking Otkan’s forearm. “I will be sure to repay the debt.”

“I still owe you a debt,” Otkan said. “This did not count.”

“A debt?” Adam asked.

“I lost the bet.”

“Ah.” Adam smiled. “Well, even if it doesn’t count to you, it counts to me.”

Otkan brushed his hair.

Health: 65 -> 59

Jarot slapped his back. “Just accept her debt, you brat of a grandson.”

“Whose your grandson?” Adam rubbed his back, feeling the pulsing ache.

The trio of elderly Iyrmen then left, going off to grab their gear. Soon, they would be led to the Front Iyr.

“Granduncle and that old geezer are gone,” Adam said, quietly. “So, whose the strongest in the Rot family now?”

“Uncle Kalrot,” Sonarot thought.

“How strong are they?”

“They are firmly a Master.”

‘What was that, Silver Rank?’ Adam thought. “What was granduncle Sarot?”

“Firmly a Grandmaster.”

Adam whistled. He hadn’t expected that. ‘That’s Gold Rank, isn’t it?’ “The old geezer?”

“He was almost a Grandmaster,” Sonarot said, smiling down at the Half Elf.

“Damn,” Adam whispered. “He would have been way stronger if he didn’t retire...” Adam recalled their bout. He was pretty certain he had dealt well over one hundred damage, even without Phantom, and yet the old man wouldn’t drop. “I need to get stronger.”

“You will,” Sonarot said, running a hand through his hair. “You, who constantly surprise us, will continue to grow more powerful.”

“I’ll...” Adam felt too embarrassed to say more. “It’s going to be lonely without that old man.”

“Jirot and Jarot will be lonely too.”

Adam frowned, before kissing his twins on their foreheads. “Daddy will give you more attention, okay?”

They cooed in response, reaching up with their tiny hands.

Click banner for Patreon!

First Lanarot's baba dies and now the twins' babo leaves.