13.
Unspoken Words 17: Chapter 13.
Unspoken Words 251 AC.
Tyrosh.
Irat Rexarion.
“Come on, come on, come on.
Disembark!” shouted a mercenary I didn’t recognize.
“What are you, a bunch of sleepy flies?
Faster!
The pirates won’t kill themselves!” This overly loud type was of medium height, which meant that even standing on the same level, I could look down on him.
His dirty dark hair and equally unkempt beard of the same color made for a repulsive impression.
He stood on the sandy stretch of beach, urging all the mercenaries coming ashore to hurry up.
Along the shore, ranks were already forming under the watchful eyes of sergeants and decani.
Some of the fighters had begun hurriedly setting up camp.
Nearly the entire thousand-strong unit was already on the island.
Only a few boats with a couple dozen men remained.
“Who’s that?” Rob asked shortly, nodding toward the loud mercenary who was now speaking with a familiar sergeant who had just come ashore.
At that moment, the mercenary in question turned his attention to us.
My squad was standing near the boat we’d used to get from the ship to the shore.
The recruits, under the supervision of John and Magok, were hauling our gear.
The rest of the squad, including me, stood to the side, watching the process.
“Hey you, over there!” he shouted in his irritating, hoarse little voice, trying to look menacing.
“How long are you going to dawdle?
Hurry up and unload, you sons of bitches, and get that boat out of the way!
You’re blocking the others.” My fighters froze in place.
It seemed they were even trying not to breathe.
They knew my temper well, and some of them had recently learned exactly what I was capable of.
It would cost me nothing to crush his skull.
It didn’t matter whether he was a sergeant or a captain.
I signaled my men to continue their work.
I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself.
“I don’t know,” I answered Rob, maintaining a facade of calm.
“But he’s already pissing me off.” “Heh, what doesn’t piss you off, commander?” Beric tried to lighten the mood with a stupid joke.
I gave him a sideways look.
Beric, realizing his mistake, swallowed loudly.
“What doesn’t piss me off, Beric,” I began in a honeyed tone, “is when you keep your mouth shut and your tongue in your ass.” He mumbled something like “sorry, commander” and tried to get out of my field of vision.
“What are you standing around for?” the annoying mercenary continued shouting, coming closer.
“Go help your men!” I stood with my arms crossed, looking at the source of my irritation, who was just a couple meters away.
I had no intention of following his orders.
Ross and Rob also didn’t move, remaining standing on either side of me.
“Are you deaf?” the man kept shouting, spittle flying from his mouth.
“I said go help them!
Now!” But we still didn’t move.
I simply tilted my head to the side and watched this individual with interest.
To my surprise, I realized the anger was gone.
It had vanished as if wiped away.
All that remained was a desire to teach this overly arrogant type a lesson.
“You won’t do it the easy way, I see,” the man said with conviction, ready to start a fight.
“Where’s your commander?” “What’s your interest?” I asked, completely calm, though an attentive observer might have caught the mocking notes in my voice.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Aastaar approaching with a large, rough-looking man.
They were talking quietly but didn’t rush to intervene.
“I want to look that idiot in the eyes,” the loud mercenary hissed.
I took a couple of steps forward, closing the distance between us.
Standing right in front of him, towering over the man, I continued to look down at him.
In the ensuing silence, only the sound of water could be heard.
The growing tension felt almost tangible.
I smirked, breaking the serious atmosphere.
“You’re looking at that ‘idiot,’ idiot,” I said, grinning smugly.
Our eyes met.
I had to give him credit; his instincts were excellent.
The same couldn’t be said for his reaction.
He tried to jump back, but it didn’t help him.
A lightning-fast strike caught him just as he started to move.
My fist slammed into his solar plexus, knocking all the air from his lungs.
The mercenary doubled over, clutching his chest, and tried unsuccessfully to take a breath.
“Next time,” I began, leaning toward his ear, “choose your words more carefully.” Turning to my fighters, I heard applause.
It was Aastaar.
He approached slowly, tucking a small pouch away that another sergeant had handed him.
“Congratulations, Irat,” the Joker said cheerfully, with a hint of mockery.
“You just beat up a sergeant.” Upon hearing this “incredible” news, I skeptically looked at the man, who had finally managed to take a breath.
I took a moment to deliberately glance from him to Aastaar and back.
“Doesn’t look like one,” I concluded with a smirk.
At that moment, the man accompanying the Joker walked past me to help the loudmouth.
He draped the man’s arm over his shoulder, allowing him to lean on him, and led him toward the camp.
Throughout the entire walk, while I remained in his field of vision, the beaten man gave me a very dark and eloquent look.
“Doesn’t look like one,” Aastaar agreed, spitting in annoyance.
“He became a sergeant shortly before you became a decanus.
They couldn’t find a better candidate, so now we have what we have.” He paused.
He thought for a moment, rubbed his neck, and spat.
“He has a nasty temper, as you’ve seen,” the sergeant continued.
“And you essentially humiliated him in front of the whole company.” The Joker gestured toward the camp.
Only then did I notice the silence.
The mercenaries’ shouts, the hammering, and the other sounds of work had stopped.
Many of those with a good view were watching us from a distance.
Among them was the captain, standing with his arms crossed, impassively observing the scene.
I wouldn’t be surprised if it was he who had sent Aastaar to sort things out.
“One way or another,” the interlocutor said, spreading his hands.
“You’ve made an enemy, Valyrian.” Having said his piece, the sergeant headed toward the camp.
I thoughtfully watched him go.
And my thoughts were far from simple.
The whole situation seemed strangely unreal to me.
From the conflict itself to the Joker’s last words.
Altogether, it felt very odd.
Let’s say the conflict itself, or rather its development, could be chalked up to a clash of personalities.
The bastardly character of this would-be sergeant, who was just looking for a reason to pick a fight, and my own fiery nature with a sense of self-worth backed by superior power.
The strangeness that I couldn’t explain began later.
Aastaar didn’t prevent the growing conflict, even though he had the chance.
Instead, he and his companion silently watched from the sidelines.
And they were even placing bets.
How could I explain the command’s inaction?
How could I explain that they not only didn’t intervene but also didn’t punish me for assaulting a sergeant?
No demotion.
No flogging.
Nothing.
They just gave me a warning.
As if I’d hit a passerby, not a superior.
I understand that we are mercenaries first and foremost, not a regular army.
But this was the Golden Company.
Questions piled up one after another, but I had no answers.
“And then there’s that nickname,” I thought about the Joker’s last words.
“Usually, he calls me that when he wants to make a joke.
But now he seemed quite serious.” “Just what we need, another vengeful bastard,” I heard Ross’s voice as he approached.
“What are we going to do?” I looked at the big man.
He looked perplexed.
Behind him, abandoning their tasks, the rest of my squad had gathered.
They were all waiting for my decision.
My choice.
“Nothing,” I said, frowning, before continuing decisively.
“If he starts causing trouble, dead men usually don’t cause problems.” The response was satisfied grins from the veterans and slightly confused expressions from the recruits.
“And pull that boat ashore,” I said, looking at the bags of equipment that had been unloaded.
“We really are holding things up.”