ocean-life [1075] – Y05.075 – Gone II
[1075] – Y05.075 – Gone II
[1075] – Y05.075 – Gone II
Adam stared at his reflection, the surface of the water rippling with every breath he took.
He could see it. The fire. He could feel it against his skin, cutting him like a thousand knives.
He could see it. The fire. He could hear the screams of those he killed. He had tried to recall their names, he had made that promise to himself.
He could not remember their names, even though he had made that promise to himself.
He could see it. The blood. The gore. The crushed skull of a Vice Commander.
He could feel it against his skin. Thick sludge, weighing down his shoulders. He scrubbed against his skin, red raw from the hour he had spent in the bath. The water had grown cold, but he had yet to noticed.
As he stared into the reflection of his eyes.
‘Five rounds,’ the half elf thought.
Five rounds.
If they were as strong as Adam expected. If the fight went about as well as he expected, he had estimated the fight to last five rounds. If he could complete his task within five rounds, he had enough time and Mana to flee. He could grab Lucy. Mara? The Iyrmen could help her, he was sure of it.
Rajin sat in the corner, illuminated by the gentle candlelight. He sipped at the alcohol lightly, feeling the gentle warmth dancing through his blood. He continued to sip away at the alcohol, before the one legged Iyrman, dropped down opposite him with a grunt.
Jarot placed down two gold coins and tapped the table twice with two fingers, before he leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes, feeling his back crack. He enjoyed the silence while the workers brought over a platter of food for the pair, who had ordered lightly the entire evening, but were about to feast.
“Bordor,” Rajin said. “Grey Claw?”
“Grey Claw,” Jarot confirmed. “I have not heard that name in a long time.”
“His nephew joined the Three Hundred Blades.”
“Grey Claw’s nephew?” Jarot asked, raising his brow questioningly.
“Twelfth Blade.”
“Bordor’s heart must bleed every night,” Jarot said, sipping the wine Rajin poured for him, taking a moment since it tasted so poor, only to recall it was not made by Rajin.
“His brother retired, and his son, he joined...” Rajin waved his fingers, having forgotten which of the various guards the man had joined.
“No one has a sword arm like Grey Claw, not even his brother,” Jarot said.
“Maybe his brother,” Rajin said.
“Maybe,” Jarot said. “Millions of farmers, but only a dozen like Stonesword and Grey Claw.”
“It would be difficult for the King if there were more like Stonesword and Grey Claw.”
“They leash them well enough, the Grand Duchess, the Order.”
Rajin smiled slightly. “What can the Aldish do, but to leash their people like dogs?”
Jarot shook his head lightly, cutting into the meat now that it had cooled down, tasting it, before sprinkling more salt atop it. He ate the food slowly, only accepting the smallest of morsels. He could barely taste the meat, even after salting it so heavily, barely tasting the salt.
The candle flickered beside them.
“The King’s Blades were refused,” Rajin said.
“Less to kill.”
“Can you do it?”
Jarot stopped cutting into his meat, his eyes slowly tailing upwards to meet Rajin’s. “I am not so old you need to worry of my rage.”
“If you cannot control it, your grandsons will die.”
Jarot stared deep into Rajin’s eyes. “You have grown old, Rajin, that you have need to worry of my rage.”
‘To cloud one’s mind.’
‘Clouds belong in the sky, not in the mind,’ the boy stated.
‘Yes.’ Tonagek ruffled his son’s hair lightly.
Mosen allowed the Iyrman to reminisce upon days long past, his eyes glued to the figures around. A small urchin approached cautiously, holding out her hands in front. Mosen flicked her a silver and a copper before the girl slipped away, while other urchins gave him a questioning look, but the Iyrman shook his head and they dispersed.
“Any problems?” a guard asked, tipping his helmet towards the Iyrman.
“No,” Mosen replied.
The guard and the Iyrman exchanged a look for a long moment, before the guard tipped his helmet, and continued his rounds.
“What did I say about talking to the Iyrmen?” his companion whispered, the woman keeping her voice low.
“Just checking in on them,” the guard replied.
“Do you know who they are?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s Tonagek.”
“Tonagek?”
“His great grandfather used to fight dragons for fun.”
“Yeah, and my great grandfather used to-,”
“Rule the rivers, I’m sure. I’m serious, and you see the other Iyrman?”
“The one in armour?”
“No, that’s Tonagek, the other one’s Mosen.”
“Mosen?” The guard asked. “What kind of name is that?”
“The kind of name that says he’s related to Bloodblade, you son of a ox.”
“Who the fires is Bloodblade?”
‘Oh my gods, he really is stupid,’ the woman thought, glancing aside to the nearby merchants, who noted the look of shock within her eyes. “Did you smoke some moonleaf?”
“No, I just had a little drink before I started my shift. Also, it’s not a ox, it’s an ox.”
“It’s going to be my fist in your throat if you don’t shut your stupid mouth.”
While the marital argument between the two guards continued, Mosen caught the eye of the urchin he had slipped his coin to. He shook his head, and the urchin shrugged her shoulders, before slipping away back into the shadows.
The next morning, Dunes cleaned the blade, eyeing his reflection within the blade. It was a blade that held an enchantment which was identical to one given to a dragon. It was a blade that stated his intentions to his wife, or so he had hoped.
“Dunes,” Jurot called, catching the Priest’s eyes. “May I join you in prayer.”
“Do you have a sword?” Dunes joked, before the pair joined together in prayer. The pair prayed quietly upon their knees, clasping the hilt of their weapons with one hand, their knee with their free hand. The prayers lasted a minute at most, before Dunes turned his head to the side, blowing out a puff of air.
“We will stay at the fort tonight,” Jurot said. “We will make it to the meeting by tomorrow’s noon.”
“Noon would be best,” Dunes agreed, smiling slightly. “Lord Noor will be our shield, and Lady Arya, our sword.”
“Baktu, our right,” the Iyrman added.
“Yes,” Dunes said, smiling a sad smile.
We are so close. I can taste the blood.