The Silent Slave 19: Special №2.
The Silent Slave Magok the Silent.
Standing on one of the Stepstones islands, I gave myself over to memories.
Not all of them were happy.
To be precise, there were none at all.
Where would they come from for a man who had fallen into the hands of pirates?
Once one of the best warriors in my settlement, hired as a guard on a trading ship, I found myself chained and thrown into a cage, awaiting my fate.
And the fate of someone like me is not something even the cheapest port whore would envy.
The rest of the journey usually depended on which pirates you had the “luck” to fall in with.
Finding myself in that cage, I could only pray to my gods.
Pray that I wouldn’t end up like those whose lives ended right there, on the Stepstones.
That I wouldn’t join the ranks of slaves whose bodies were buried in the folds of the rocks or fed to the countless crabs and other carrion lovers.
But the gods were deaf to my pleas.
At least, that’s what I thought at the time, when I and a crowd of other prisoners were driven into the tunnels the pirates had turned into their hideout.
I lived among the pirates for six long months.
Six months of suffering and the desire to rip the throats out of my tormentors.
On the Stepstones, slaves were neither servants nor guards.
Here, we were nothing.
Just a means of entertainment.
Something to fill the time between raids.
The pirates proved quite inventive.
They regularly staged fights between slaves.
The losers were sent to serve their punishment.
Punishments whose cruelty depended on the tormentors’ imagination.
It was then, for the first time in my life, losing a fight, that I lost my tongue.
Realizing what fate might await me next time, I never lost another fight.
Many of us envied those taken to the slave markets in one of the Free Cities.
Everyone wanted to be in their place.
No one cared what conditions they’d end up in, as long as they could escape this hell.
I was among those dreamers too.
Perhaps it was then that the gods finally took pity on me.
Or maybe the pirates just got bored of me never giving them a reason to punish me.
Either way, I found myself on a ship among slaves being sold at one of the flesh markets.
That’s when Sergeant Aastaar bought me.
I don’t know what caught this strange Tyroshi’s eye, but he freed me and brought me into his unit.
The sergeant’s sense of humor was as strange as he was.
How else to explain the name he came up with for me: Magok the Silent, which in the Summer Tongue meant “silent slave.” One way or another, I found what I’d stopped even dreaming of: freedom.
If you could call serving in the Golden Company freedom.
I spent three long years in the company.
During that time, I participated in countless battles.
From defending this or that Free City from Dothraki raids to petty local wars.
It all came down to the same thing: I was still doing what I’d learned to do best, killing.
Still, that fate was far preferable to rotting away on the Stepstones.
“Who would have thought I’d end up here again,” I thought, staring out at the sea as our new decanus gave orders and laid out the plan.
“We’re splitting into threes,” our young commander ordered.
“Magok and Ammis, you’re with me.” I gave a curt nod in reply.
Our young commander’s plan was perfectly clear.
In the narrow passages, there was no point in having large numbers of men.
Though, given our commander’s abilities, there was no need for anyone else at all.
Watching the white-haired boy deftly don his new armor, I involuntarily recalled the events of a month ago.
Events that had once again drastically changed my life.
From the moment the sergeant brought Irat into our squad, which was still under Mark’s command, I had mixed feelings about this youth.
A boy just entering adulthood who had never held a sword in his life.
Everyone agreed he wouldn’t survive his first battle.
It made me wonder: “Why did Aastaar bring him here?” But the first training session put everything in its place.
This Valyrian seemed born with a sword in his hand.
There was no other way to explain his rapid progress.
Just a few days of training and endless sparring, and no one doubted he would march through many more battles with us.
The surprises from our new comrade didn’t end there.
The boy was secretive, but as a silent observer, his peculiar behaviors often didn’t escape me.
His strength wasn’t just in his sword-wielding hands.
Often, watching him, I could see fury heating his eyes whenever someone made a careless remark in his direction.
Irat’s outbursts of anger grew more frequent and fiercer each day, but he restrained them masterfully, careful not to reveal himself.
I also noted his frequent thoughtful expressions, and only the gods knew what thoughts swirled in that white-haired head.
The youth’s hot temper, nevertheless, didn’t stop him from advancing quickly through the ranks.
You could call it a fortunate turn of events.
After all, a significant role was played by the death of the previous decanus and the lack of other worthy candidates for the position.
Ross outright refused the promotion, surprising all who survived the Tyrosh bloodbath.
This burly man, in contrast to his formidable appearance, was remarkably perceptive and wise.
His thoughtful glances toward Irat didn’t escape me.
As if he knew more than the others.
Such behavior couldn’t help but intrigue me.
But, as became clear, I couldn’t simply walk up and ask; so I remained a silent observer, noting one oddity after another.
Back then, I couldn’t have imagined where my curiosity would lead.
It all started so suddenly.
From the day Irat brought that plump boy no older than ten.
He answered our questions only by saying the boy was “talented,” though we saw nothing of the sort during his training.
We never got another explanation from our commander, so we could only guess at his purpose.
Until one event turned our lives upside down.
An event that showed there were still many undiscovered mysteries in this world…
That day, Ross and I accompanied Irat to meet the former owner of the little slave, not just out of duty.
I’d be lying if I said we weren’t interested in possible loot and the chance to unravel at least a fraction of the secrets our commander kept from us.
And that’s exactly what happened.
Killing the fool’s guards hadn’t been part of our plan; it would have cost us nothing.
But the indifference with which the Valyrian took their lives, and the manner in which he did it, shocked me.
Though I’d seen much in my life, the disgusting sound of breaking bones and the unnaturally twisted necks haunted my dreams for a long time.
Even a seasoned warrior like Ross couldn’t remain indifferent.
When the initial shock faded, an even greater curiosity took its place, stronger than before.
Where did he get such power?
What else was our commander capable of?
What else hid behind those violet eyes?
The questions only multiplied with each passing day, but neither I nor Ross, by silent agreement, rushed to ask.
Not the least factor was simple fear for our own lives and my inability to speak.
Otherwise, I’d have attacked Irat with questions the next day, ignoring any subconscious fears.
In the end, the Valyrian beat us to it and prompted the conversation himself.
A conversation in which I played only the role of a silent listener.
That day, it became painfully clear that our commander held far more secrets than I could have imagined, and that was when I made the decision to follow him to the very end.
“Magok!” I heard the commander’s shout, breaking me from my thoughts.
“Did you fall asleep or something?
Grab your sword and drag your ass over here.
We’re moving out!” Smiling to myself, I nodded.
Pushing myself up from my spot, I strapped on my scabbard.
Indeed, it was time to move.
After all, pirates don’t kill themselves.