Chương 1349: [1264] - Y06.164 - Old Man IV

'He must be asleep,' Bael thought, the carriage passing by north of where the dragon made his home, though as the noonval sun dared to caress his skin, Bael's nostrils twitched.

'No. I can't sense him, or his effects. Is he elsewhere?' As they made their way towards the nearby village, Adam let out a soft sigh, one filled with thoughts of home. The next days passed by like a blur, the group passing from village to village, taking breaks often to allow Kizwolima to play in the nearby river, with several of the Iyrmen keeping an eye for threats, while Adam and Bael played with her. They followed the larger river, which made its way north, and then the slightly smaller river from the east.

'I guess if the Shen needs to, he can take a ship this way to the dragon quickly?' Adam thought.

"Huh?" Dunes called, noting the appearance of an older dark skinned man, who was as handsome as the moon, his smile brighter than the sun, his turban holding his whitened hair at bay, his beard dyed orange, and neatly trimmed by an Aswadian hand.

"Kal Rajan, Minstrel of the Sand?"

"Oho! You know of this Rajan?" the older man called, bowing his head towards the young man. He was adorned in beautiful long clothing, those of the Aswadian style, though he wore a scarf wrapped over a shoulder. At his side, a silver rapier lay menacingly, encrusted with a pink gem, another pair of shorter blades joined his rapier. Over the scarf, a a pear shaped oud hung perilously, made of a wood that Jurot and Laygak could admire, sandwood, if the pair had to guess, due to the near golden sheen.

"Who does not know of Rajan, Minstrel of the Sand?" Dunes asked, while a particular half elf beside him admitted within his heart he had no clue, but for once, showed incredible restraint in not speaking up.

"I am Mo Dunes of Black Mountain." Rajan bowed his head, holding out his hands to greet the Mo, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, for the young Mo was making his way back to Black Mountain with a group of Iyrmen, it seemed.

"We met once when I was a boy," Dunes said.

"It was over twenty years ago, at a time when you passed through Black Mountain."

"It has been many years since this Rajan has visited," Rajan said, bowing his head deeper.

"In my heart, Black Mountain has always treated me so well. I must pass by again, Black Mountain, whose warriors have steeled blades and golden hearts."

"Would you allow my companions to speak of their tales?" Dunes asked, motioning to the Iyrmen, who buzzed with excitement to speak of their family's tales.

"Shukhur, this Rajan is so blessed this day," Rajan said, holding a hand over his heart, bowing his head lightly, and once the group had settled, they eagerly informed Rajan of their tales. It took the man the greetings to realise how terrifying this group of Iyrmen were, for they each spoke of their relations, and each were related to monsters of an era that had passed while he was still active, though he was younger.

Tanagek eyed up the rapier at his side, for it was that rapier, the kind that had made dragons bleed, and had forged Aswadian history from the forests of the west, to the mountains and hills further east. Thanks to his relation to Hadi Tanagek, he was able to whip the rapier within the air, for of course Rajan of all Aswadians would know of the Iyrman's tales.

"So, who is this guy?" Adam whispered.

"He is a famous…" Dunes tried to find the word.

"Bard?"

"Bard? Like, magical music people, or the storytellers?"

"Yes," Dunes confirmed.

"Oh!"

"He is one of the few who knows Fifth Gate spells," the Priest informed, causing the half elf's brows to raise in alarm.

"He is one of the College." Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"College?"

"The Bardic Colleges, which…" Dunes shrugged his shoulders.

"They are secretive, and they leave the world be, collecting stories and tales, and assisting now and again. There is some suspicion they may have caused trouble along the lands, but so far, they have been found innocent by the various courts of the lands, and when they were found guilty, it was said that they were guilty of being under the wrath of the ruler."

"Huh. So, he's a big guy because he's part of the College?"

"No. It is Kal Rajan, Minstrel of the Sand. He has composed a hundred poems, a hundred songs, and a hundred plays. At this time, he is the greatest among the entirety of Aswadasad, and Aswabayad."

"Oh! So he's the Shakespeare of the day?"

"What does that mean?"

"It's a compliment of the highest order," Adam assured.

"No, seriously, from where I'm from, if you're compared to Shakespeare, it's really big."

"Hm. What did he do?"

"His, or her, or their, or, well I don't know if it was a guy, a woman, a group of people, but whoever Shakespeare was, they created countless plays, and pretty much every kid learns about them at school, and every other year we'll learn one of their many plays and sometimes we'll even play them. I bite my thumb at you, good sir!"

"What does that mean?"

"It's disrespectful, like flipping the bird," Adam said.

"The what?" Adam stuck out his middle finger and Dunes pulled back, for though he did not understand what it meant, he could feel the offensive nature.

"Yeah, exactly. We've got another one that's more Greyish specific, it's one of these." Adam held out the reverse peace towards Dunes, and then flipped it over.

"This way, it means peace, as in peace and love. This way? It's disrespectful, mostly for Greyish, because we were known for our archers back in the day, and the French cut off-," Dunes tilted his head, noting the half elf's eyes scan through him, the sudden realisation filling the half elf's eyes.

"What?"

"This entire time I've been trying to keep things about my life secret, so I called it Greyland, but I really ended up talking about the French without coming up for a different name for them? What was the point of that!"

"I did not realise that was their true name. I thought you made up a ridiculous sounding name to speak poorly of them, though with an undertone of respect."

"Firstly, I completely agree, what kind of name is France and the French, which I assume comes from the Franks, but anyway, I'd prefer it if you ignored the undertone of respect so I can keep joking about how they only did one thing right and that was that they were right about the nobility," Adam said, raising his brows towards his friend.

"How many people were named Frank for such a kingdom to be named after them?" Dunes joked.

"Damn it, Dunes! You can't be funnier than me!"

"I apologise, Adam."

"I'll forgive you just this once, since you're jealous of my adorable daughter," Adam replied.

"Which one?"

"Why Ranya, of course," Adam said, smirking playfully, as his daughter would. Rajan paid keen attention to the various Iyrmen, before his eyes darted about to the rest. For a moment, he caught Ashmir's gaze, and the pair exchanged gentle bow of their heads, having crossed paths several times in their lives, and as he spotted Bael, Rajan could feel his hair stick on end.

Bael smiled, slowly bowing his head lightly, his eyes full of a warning for the Bard, who reached up towards his turban and bowed his head gently out of respect for what was obviously a dragon in disguise, and judging by the scales, which were almost a silvery blue, he realised it was someone from another realm, and hopefully not someone related to that terror. His eyes also took in the sight of the rest of the business, trying to figure out more about them.

It was fortunate that Adam spoke so easily, and though he spoke of the business gladly, there was one particular topic Adam spoke even more freely about.

"A Ray?" Rajan asked, his brows raised in sheer surprise, quickly reaching over towards Adam's hand to shake them.

"Mo Adam, shukhur, you are so fortunate."

"Yeah, no kidding," Adam said, holding the old man's rough hands.

"That being said, I'm rather jealous of you!"

"How can you be jealous of this Rajan?"

"If you're a Bard, you probably have more children than me!" Adam accused.

"This Rajan," Rajan began, before shaking his hand.

"Such few children, Mo. You must pray for me, for they say this Rajan has too few children?"

"Oh yeah? How many?"

"Only twelve."

"This Rajan is really hurting this Adam's feelings, what do you mean twelve?" Adam asked, glancing aside to his companions.

"You're only thirty years old, so you should be able to have at least, ten, twenty, thirty more."

"I am over sixty," Rajan said, furrowing his brows towards the half elf, though he smirked playfully.

"Okay, I was joking about the thirty, I thought you were like fifty, but sixty makes sense, since all you Aswadians look so young. I hear the sun ages you, so what are they putting in the water to make you all look so vibrant?" Rajan chuckled, peering towards the half elf curiously, having already memorised his tattoo, and his relations to the various Iyrmen.

This Rajan understood, Adam was someone he needed to keep an eye on, and the villagers thought the same, but only because the half elf had spent piles of gold on random nicknacks.