IRON GOD | 2: Empyrean

[7] Azvalath: First Song

 "That isn't how you crack an egg." Dras grabbed Azvalath's wrist. "Tap it gently."

Azvalath gave a nervous sideways glance. Gingerly, he tapped the egg on the counter.

"A bit harder than that." Dras gestured with his other hand. "Still, it doesn't take much."

Azvalath sighed. "Can't we just boil them in the shells? That's what we do at home."

Dras nodded. "That works too. We've just got to use these eggs up before they go bad." He took the egg from Azvalath and stared at it for a moment. "Haven't you ever thought about how eggs look so damn perfect?"

The warrior shrugged. "Can't say I have."

The other man chuckled.

Azvalath raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." Dras smoothed his blond hair. "Well, I get the impression you don't think about much of anything unless it's to worry about something."

Azvalath looked down. "Comes with the territory when you live like I do."

"Here. Chop this up." Dras dropped a large white onion in front of him. "Nice and fine. Now tell me, how is it you live that requires so much worrying and nothing nice?"

"It's not that nothing is nice." Azvalath picked the knife up, but nearly dropped it when he heard Kolo laughing outside. The sound startled him.

"You're awfully jumpy, for one thing." Dras snapped his fingers. "You've got a sword that I'm pretty sure isn't only for show. Your ride-along straightened the deer skull on my wall without even touching it, and I'm sure you've got some kind of power up your sleeve too."

Azvalath didn't say anything and started chopping up the onion. Its odor burned the inside of his nostrils.

"It's kind of rude to ignore someone," Dras teased.

"We've got our reasons. And our secrets, for that matter." Azvalath paused and coughed into his sleeve. "What's it matter to you if we're helping you out?"

"I like to know about people." Dras leaned on the counter. "So Azvalath, what's your story?"

"A long one." Azvalath smacked the knife's handle to shove the dull blade through the onion. The pungent fumes scorched his eyes to tears. "Good grief. What's this?"

"A long and sad story?" Dras smirked.

Azvalath growled. "It's the onion."

"Mm-hm." Dras nodded. "That's what they all say. So what's your deal?"

"I don't even know where to start." That was true enough. Kolo yelled something indiscernible outside. Azvalath tried to contain his flinch that time.

The younger man hummed. "Where are you and your friend from? It's not often we get newcomers, though it's quite nice whenever we do."

"We're from the mountains farther inland." That was also true enough.

"All right, then." Dras hovered by Azvalath, too close for comfort. "Good view, I'll bet. How are the people there?"

Azvalath gave a halfhearted chuckle. "Batshit." His eyes were bloodshot now and streaming tears. He could barely hold his eyelids open.

"Any pretty folks?" Dras's tone suggested he was trying very hard not to laugh. "Come on, big strong man like you's got to have a pretty woman back home, isn't that right?"

"Not a woman." Azvalath reached up and rubbed his eyes. Then he dropped the knife on the floor and made an animal sound of pain.

"Oh, that's pretty bad. Let me help you." Dras grabbed Azvalath's hand away from his face.