The sky was turning purple as the faris’ steps echoed across the hallway, and he approached the woman who was currently within her study, reading whatever reports she thought to read that evening, those which her servants had deemed most important.
A pair of warriors remained within the shadows nearby, another stood behind her, each armed and unarmoured, but each who possessed at least the realm of Expert, and the one who stood behind her, the realm of Master.
“Was it the Grand Malawi?” Faro al-Yasin asked, placing down her reports, her eyes now completely focused on the fellow before her, for he brought the most important information to her, the kind that was far too deadly to ignore, and considering what the subject of matter was, she had to take it as though it were life and death.
“Considering the aura they possessed, I must think so,” Kal Fadi replied, and though this was all he could gather, and his hunches and assumptions were all the Faro could look forward to, it was enough.
“Did he not speak of the matter.”
“It seems he is also restrained by his emotions.”
‘If even the one who let slip the world through his lips would not speak of, it must have been the likes of the Grand Malawi, or another Faro, who must have somehow met his children,’ Lady al-Yasin thought, but as she wrote down her own notes for that evening, she waited for the ink to dry before closing the book, and she stood, for tomorrow she would step upon a battlefield she was more familiar with. “I shall entrust you to guard me while the Iyrmen remain.”
“As you command,” Kal Fadi replied, clasping a palm over his fist, and he followed the woman, who made her way to the baths, in which he stood outside, while the Master followed after her, the woman remaining within the shadows.
The Faro considered how the emotional state of the half elf would end up affecting their conversation in the next few days. ‘The Iyr would not pass through Arisa so swiftly…’
Meanwhile, the Iyrmen had gathered within a particular estate, one which the Faro had prepared for them, formed of mighty sandstone, the dome building in the centre large, with columns holding up the ceilings, the large dome within the centre split to form various rooms. It was so large, it could easily house a hundred or so, and the Iyrmen spread sparsely throughout, while the children remained within the centre of the spiderweb of deathly warriors, each cuddled with their mother and father, with the girl reading a book to them, and her siblings.
Meanwhile, Vadim stared up towards the ceiling, reaching up to rub his burnt brow, scratching his skin, which flaked lightly. ‘The Iyr moves with such swiftness, such efficiency. No wonder they call it Iyrmanly efficiency…’
‘I’m surprised there were no issues this far,’ Hakam thought under his blanket, rolling over to the side, staring at the ceiling which separated him from his grandfather. He stared at the wall, considering the pedigree of the warriors which surrounded him, not just the likes of the Iyrmen, but also Yasha and the Twin Steel Sabres, either of whom he wouldn’t be able to defeat, for they were those trained by a legend within Aswadasad, meanwhile, though his grandfather may have been able to reach Grandmaster, would he have been able to reach the same heights as the likes of the Weal and Woe Sabres?
He turned, rolling to his other side, reaching up to scratch the side of his neck, the sudden onslaught of his thoughts covering him. He stared into the darkness, to the wall ahead of him, barely able to see it through the light which peeked from the outside, and as he stared at the tapestry upon the wall, for a moment he could have sworn he saw eyes staring at him. With his heart beating wildly, he leapt out of his bed, unsheathing a blade, and he tore the tapestry away, and swung a blade towards the wall, stopping as he found nothing. He looked down at the tapestry, staring at the two spots of yellow, a pair of shields, each belonging to their own warrior, a pair of warriors fighting against one another, one whom wielded a hooked sword, another an axe.
‘Which tale is this depicting?’ Hakam thought, though his eyes returned back to the wall, and he began to press his hand against it, feeling how solid it was, and he continued, trying to push his thumb against where he recalled the shields being, found the wall remained solid. ‘To think the shadows would bring me nightmares at my age…’
Hakam’s sword then cut towards the ceiling, and he continued to swing his sword, as though trying to cut an unseen foe, and once he was certain he had cut through every shadow within the ceiling, he paused.
‘How embarrassing…’
A knock at the door almost caused him to squeal.
His eyes remained glued to the door for a long moment, as though assuming he had merely imagined the knock. Then there was another knock. Hakam crept towards the door and slowly opened it a crack. The moonlight slipped inside, illuminating the room dimly. He was old, though looked much younger than many, his head shaved smooth that day, having allowed his greatnieces and nephews to lather his head, and they had threatened to cut off his thick moustache and his beard, which was white as snow. He was tall and lean, and behind his moustache and beard, which covered his lips, he wore a smile.
“I could not sleep,” Malfev said. “Are you willing to walk with me this evening?”
“Yes…” Hakam said, wondering why he had knocked on his door. ‘Did he hear my swinging steel?’
Malfev walked away with the young man, who was the grandson of the Chimera, one of the many figures who should have risen up, carved his name into Aswadasad’s tales, and yet those who did not wish for him to rise up did not allow him to rise up, in the same way the Gak family was not allowed to rise up, in some ways harsher, in some ways less.
Malfev stepped away towards one of the other domed buildings, stepping within to find an emptiness, and as Hakam followed him, he winced as Malfev turned on the lamp, the smell of the gas filling the air for a moment, before dissipating, instead illuminating the pair with a gentle glow.
“Tea?”
“I will make it,” Hakam said, stepping ahead, feeling his entire body tense up once more, as though it were something he could not allow, for this old man to make himself tea.
“Very well,” Malfev replied, understanding Hakam was an Aswadian, and allowed the young man to begin brewing the drink. “You may speak your tongue, for I understand it well.”
“Ah,” Hakam replied, smiling awkwardly. “Excuse me, akh al’jid, I did not realise.”
“I stepped into the realm long ago.”
“Ah? It is said those who reach Grandmaster in a particular manner of the martial path are able to understand all languages.”
“Not all languages, but all spoken languages,” Malfev confirmed, for it was the pureness of the inner spirit, or rather, the greatness of enlightenment for a Grandmaster, those of this martial path, of those light of foot, light of fist, and heavy with inner turmoil. “I would teach you, but you have learnt your grandfather’s path well, to the point my grandnephews speak highly of you often.”
“Are you related to Chosen?”
“We are all related, in some way,” Malfev replied, chuckling lightly, the scent of the tea filling the air, it was a minty scent, the kind that would ease their minds and hearts, and would not keep them up in the night. Once the tea was poured, Hakam poured a drop of honey in each tea, enough to flavour it lightly, but not enough to overwhelm the gentle flavour of mint which would soothe them.
Malfev beckoned the young man out, turning off the lamp, and as they entered the darkness once more, he sipped his tea lightly. “Your ability to brew tea might even surpass my grandnephew, though do not tell him I spoke such words, for he is rather prideful about his ability to brew a cup.”
“You speak of the Mo?”
“To you, he may be a Mo, or Kal, or Executive, but to me, he is my grandnephew, who brews tea for me, and was raised well, for he, too, would have brewed me a cup, though, now and again, I hope he will allow me to brew him a cup.”
“If you wish for it, akh al’jid, I will make sure you are able.”
Malfev turned, at first thinking he would say he would allow this old man to brew him a cup, but he smiled at the young man’s words. “I will brew you tea hope, and I hope it is as good as this.”
“Thank you…” The young man flushed lightly.
“I will ask you to brew tea tomorrow, for me, for my grandnephew, and though he is currently deep in thought of his children, I shall keep my thoughts upon you and your grandfather, so you may rest easy.”
“Ah, yes, akh al’jid…” Hakam flushed. ‘Is it because he is the Mo’s granduncle, that his ears, too, are so sensitive?’
PATREON FOR 30+ CHAPTERS!
Okay, babo Malfev, you're kind cool too.
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