[959] – Y04.059 – Trouble in Red Oak II

[959] – Y04.059 – Trouble in Red Oak II

Rajin’s hands were too swift as he grabbed little Jirot, pulling her to his chest, while the carriage charged past. For one moment, his heart beat too quickly for his old bones, but it had already calmed the next moment. ‘She is definitely your greatdaughter!’

The horses came to a swift stop, the carriage driver pulling the reins, the commonfolk all quickly pulling back from the scene. The carriage doors opened and a figure stepped out of the carriage, half in shock. The abrupt stop had certainly brought his heart aflutter, but it was what he had seen within the town which had set his heart ablaze. The man, who had few wrinkles across his face, with bits of white within his sun kissed acorn hair. He wore the finest of clothing under his breastplate, and at his side was a long blade, one that had been forged by one of the finest smiths in West Fort.

“What travesty befalls our land for goblins to walk before my path freely?” the Count growled aloud, while his knights dismounted from their horses, and took their place beside their lord.

Rajin narrowed his eyes towards the Count, the most major reason why Zijin had asked him to come. “Count Joseph Westmoon.”

“Iyrman,” the Count replied, to the one Iyrman he should have known, considering he had been quite active in his lands many decades ago. “Do you escort these pests?”

Rajin heard a crack beside him, and he reached out an arm to block Jarot from moving forward. “These children are my greatniece and greatnephew.”

“Has the Iyr fallen so much that you have adopted vermin into your land?”

“...”

“Step aside, Iyrman.”

“Uwajin,” Rajin called, the young woman, who had been awake since Rajin had caught Jirot, quickly scooped up the children. “Get back within your carriage, Count.”

“You should deal with the vermin before they make a mess within the town,” the Count said.

“Yes,” Jarot agreed, his lips forming a wide grin.

“Leave at once,” Rajin stated.

“Do you believe you are upon the Iyr’s land?” Count Jacob asked, narrowing his eyes.

Rajin did the disservice of glancing aside to the six guards, two of whom were knights, probably at the level of Masters, and then the other guards, who may have been as powerful of Experts. Though, individually, they were weaker than either of Rajin and Jarot, a group like that, including the Count who was probably greater than an Expert, was quite awkward to face.

“You should know how protective we are of our children,” Rajin warned.

“Since when were there goblins in the Iyr?”

“Since I have accepted them as my own,” Jarot growled back.

“Do you not follow our laws?”

“We follow the laws of your King in this land,” Rajin assured. “However...”

“If you harm my precious greatchildren, the Westmoon shall only be spoken of in tales,” the old Mad Dog growled, daring to threaten them even while crippled.

“You should understand that our family has a special relationship with such vermin.”

“Yes,” Rajin replied, still holding out an arm. “Even now you have been unable to defeat them. We Iyrmen are different. You must know that the family which rules you were picked by our ancestors, as they were for East Port and Gold Port.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“In the history of our people, not once has Aldland defeated us,” Rajin said.

Count Westmoon narrowed his eyes. “You Iyrmen believe you are so great with the stories you pass by a time long forgotten. We are not the Aldland of old.”

“The time is not forgotten,” Rajin stated.

“We are still the Iyr of old,” Jarot added.

“I will show you mercy, Iyrmen. You are outnumbered, and you should not wish to face us, for we are not any normal family. Surrender the vermin, and be on your way, and I will forgive your audacity for interrupting my day with your foolishness.”

“Outnumbered?” Jarot asked, glancing across all the Iyrmen around. “There are only a few hundred of you?”

“Jarot,” Rajin said, inhaling deeply. “If you kill him here, we will have to return the children home.”

Drakebane.

Wildheart.

Deathhand.

Mad Dog.

Three of those names had gone to become Great Elders of the Iyr. Truly, it was a golden age for the Iyr, and everyone from that generation knew those four names. Surely, many knew other names, especially those in Aswadasad, like those of Flame Brand and Butcher. However, within the top ten, everyone knew of those four, but one could include the likes of Bearded Dragon, The Kid, Bloody Jarot, and Crimson Shield.

In the top ten names of an era, there was only one figure who had managed to penetrate the top four, but also the top ten multiple times.

As the Aldishmen watched the fight, some calling for the guards, for the six warriors were no doubt going to kill these two old men, a gasp of shock fell through the air, and so did a loud grunt which fell silent a moment later.

The crippled old Jarot had spun violently within the air, his axe audibly cutting through the wind, before striking against the guard’s armour, scraping it hard enough to almost spark. The six guards struck viciously at the pair of old men, their blades striking against flesh.

‘What old fools,’ the guard thought, his blade firmly against the Iyrman, who keeled over, almost kneeling.

Blade against flesh.

Not through, but against.

Even before the guard could feel the hint of confusion run through his mind, the shadow of a blade cut through the air, striking so harsh against his helmet, it dented and crushed against his face. The guard fell backwards, his blade clattering against the ground, and while they had momentarily let down their guards when they saw the old one armed Iyrman against a knee, they realised it was only to allow the horc to swing his blade freely.

Even now they made the same mistakes the Aldish always made.

The Bearded Dragon was no horc, for he was an Iyrman.

An Iyrman whose name would have been known as far and as wide as Drakebane, if only he didn’t lose against his rival for the position of Chief of the Iyr.

“Careful!” a knight shouted, feeling the intense pressure emanating from these dying old men. “They’re not-,”

The guards were not careless, still trying to protect their Count, who had drawn his blade too, but that was the problem. The Iyrmen were careless, and with the lack of care, their blows so terrible, the old men threatened to kill the guards even with their heavy armour.

In the moment the knight tried to warn his companions, another had fallen, as the Iyrmen, who accepted whatever blades came their way, with precision that could only be honed through years of slaughtering people like sheep, pierced through the chinks within their armour, their blades slipping through the air, the steel moving like the wind itself.

‘What?’ the knight thought, his body moving purely from the training he had undertaken over years, trying to flank around the Iyrmen. He was one of the two greatest threats, and even though he was now flanking one of the Iyrmen, neither of them had even turned to face him, while their blades swung down towards the pair. ‘What is this?’ His blade struck across the side of the Iyrman, and yet he had only managed a superficial blow.

With terror filling his heart, one of the guards cried out, his blade cutting through the Iyrman’s shoulder, managing the deepest blow any of his companions had managed. “Take that, you beast!” He roared, suddenly feeling a rush of adrenaline through him. ‘Yes! Just one more!’ His thoughts rushed through his mind as he grew drunk upon his victory. ‘Just one more and I-‘

Before he could finish that thought, an axe and blade simultaneously struck the knights across his helmet on either side, a blade even cutting through the visor to forever scar him, should he survive the terrible blow.

There had been a reason why Rajin, who had vied for the Chief position, had been requested to watch over the Iyrmen the guard had tried to cut down.

“Okay?” Rajin asked.

Jarot flexed towards the three remaining warriors, blood spurting out as he did, and yet the old man, even having taken multiple blades, stood tall and proud. “Okay.”

‘What?’

The knights tried to gather themselves, each trying to carve the Iyrmen, like a butcher would carve a pig, but though their blades managed to break through their iron skin, they only painted the canvas slightly red. The knights, in sheer disbelief, watched as their fourth companion, another Expert, fell to the terrible blows of the Iyrmen, whose bodies were hot red with rage.

‘By the Mother!’

“Left?” Rajin asked, as though asking for permission.

“Hmm,” Jarot allowed, turning to face the knight on the right.

“Aim for the cripple!” the knight shouted.

Finally, two Masters turned their attention upon the crippled Iyrman, who was finally panting for air, and wore no shield, which was his family’s way.

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