18.
His Own Path 24: Chapter 18.
His Own Path 252 AC.
Tyrosh Irat Rexarion.
I drummed my fingers on the table thoughtfully, waiting for Ross to sit down.
He looked exhausted.
His face was pale, with dark circles under his eyes.
The eyes themselves were red from burst capillaries.
I wouldn’t be surprised if, given the chance to relax, he’d pass out instantly.
Not surprising, considering he’d been on his feet for several days now.
Same as all the survivors of the night massacre, including me.
“How’s John?” I asked Ross, who had just dismissed the serving girl after ordering a pitcher of wine for our table.
We were sitting in one of Tyrosh’s taverns, which we’d finally managed to reach.
Though not in the same numbers we’d planned.
Our unit had suffered catastrophic losses.
Barely half the fighters remained.
And that was counting the severely wounded who only miraculously survived until we handed them over to the city’s healers.
Whether they lived or died was no longer our concern.
“Bad,” the big man grimaced.
“But he’s trying not to show it.” “Not surprised,” I grinned humorlessly.
“How’s…” Ross started to say, but stopped.
We were interrupted by a stout woman who appeared with a pitcher in hand.
Without a word, she quickly placed her burden on the table.
Alongside the pitcher, a pair of plain cups appeared on the table.
While I examined the vessels, the woman vanished as quickly as she’d appeared.
“As you know,” the mercenary continued, taking the pitcher and pouring wine into our cups, “he’s useless as a fighter now.” “Short on arms,” I joked darkly, drawing a weak chuckle from my companion.
My stupid joke was an attempt to distract from the irritation, or even anger.
Anger that my squad had lost a valuable fighter because the lookouts had failed to spot the pirate attack.
And this wasn’t the first time the entire company had suffered because of certain members’ negligence.
I was more than certain there would be many more such incidents.
Meanwhile, the commanders were doing gods know what.
Only holding idle conversations in their tents.
I wanted to tear and rage, but I also understood it would accomplish nothing.
Only one option suggested itself, which I’d been thinking about since the night massacre.
“I’m leaving the company,” I said, breaking the silence.
Ross, who’d been drinking from his cup, choked and started coughing.
I watched him impassively, waiting for his response.
“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” he nearly shouted once he’d recovered his breath.
He was clearly shocked by my announcement.
He hadn’t expected that from me.
Understandable.
It’s hard to expect such a decision from me, especially given my reputation in the company.
“How?” the big man continued, not hearing an answer.
“Why?” “Because I’m tired of all this,” I said calmly, looking at him with a bored expression.
My answer made Ross’s eyes go wide with surprise.
Where had anyone heard of a “psycho drunk on death” getting bored of killing?
Watching the man try to process what he’d heard, I smiled to myself and recalled recent events.
The night massacre hadn’t been easy on our unit.
Losses, failures, exhaustion, and sleep deprivation had improved no one’s mood, including mine.
Nor did the whispers I’d started hearing behind my back do anything to improve my mood.
The survivors of my battles all said in unison that I was crazy, a sorcerer, the embodiment of the Stranger himself.
But the moment I approached the speakers, the whispers stopped and fear became palpable.
These were the people I was forced to command because Aastaar was unconscious.
The rest of the journey to Tyrosh had been spent in that atmosphere.
Dislike behind my back and fear mixed with sycophancy when they faced me directly.
For the most part, I didn’t care what others thought.
But I understood one simple truth: the more people in the company talked about me, the sooner Blackfyre would learn of my existence.
Which would certainly lead to a fateful meeting that could only end with one of us dead.
After ordering a transfer to one of the surviving pirate ships and continuing toward Tyrosh, I began to wonder if I’d chosen the right path.
I thought about what I really wanted.
Returning to this question again and again throughout the rest of the journey, I grew more doubtful of my choice.
I had plenty of time to think and examine myself, including my own memories.
Picking out fragments of information, I gradually constructed a complete picture.
Everything inside me began to rebel against the path I’d chosen, pointing out obvious flaws.
I was born to give orders, not receive them.
How many times had I disobeyed orders?
And who knows how much longer I could get away with it.
Sooner or later, it would boil over into conflict where I’d either kill everyone or be killed myself.
There was no third option.
I could only guess what would happen first: whether they’d try to rein me in, or I’d meet Maelis.
And even if I killed Blackfyre, I doubted they’d let it slide.
Which would again lead to a confrontation with the entire company.
Either way, a lousy outcome.
Looking back, I remembered that I’d chosen the mercenary path for only one reason: to get out of Lys.
But once I’d achieved that goal, I got caught up in a whirlwind of nearly nonstop events that didn’t let me think clearly.
From capturing Tyrosh to the war with the pirates, everything made me stronger and more experienced.
Pulling me deeper and deeper.
It had all been building up inside me for a long time.
I hadn’t noticed it myself, but a spring of discontent had been slowly tightening, ready to snap at any moment and bring destruction and death.
The last events in the Stepstones only added fuel to the fire.
“I’m tired of this pointless pirate business,” I continued my thoughts aloud, drawing Ross’s attention.
“We drive them off an island, they come back.
Over and over.
We suffer losses, and for what?
The Stepstones remain under pirate control, and they’ll stay that way for a long time.” “But…” he tried to interject.
“No ‘buts’!” I cut him off.
“Maybe you’ll eventually drive them out, but how many people will die for it?
Hundreds?
Thousands?
And how long will it take?
A year?
Two?
Five?” The big man sat in gloomy silence.
I was sure he’d thought about it too.
He understood as well as I did that no matter what we did, the Stepstones would remain in the hands of pirates.
Why else would the pirates under the Old Mother’s command help mercenaries?
“But you know what pisses me off the most?” I asked, leaning toward him and looking into his eyes.
“What pisses me off is that everyone’s convinced this Targaryen bastard will reward them when he sits on the Iron Throne.
But that won’t happen, not just because Blackfyre’s crazy and might decide to kill everyone who helped him.
It won’t happen because he and everyone else refuse to see the obvious: no matter how many allies Maelis gathers, he can’t defeat the Seven Kingdoms.” I stopped to take a sip from my cup.
Ross said nothing, thinking about my words.
“This campaign can only succeed under one condition,” I continued after a pause.
“If chaos breaks out in the Seven Kingdoms and there’s no unified power.
But even then, the task won’t be easy.” “But…” he tried again.
“To bring Westeros to its knees,” I continued, not letting him get a word in, “it took Aegon the Conqueror and his three dragons.
Three dragons, Ross!
And what does Blackfyre have?
A bunch of mercenaries and an even bigger bunch of starving wretches?
Do you really believe in that?” Ross said nothing.
His furrowed brow showed he was thinking.
Such thoughts weren’t easy for a simple, if experienced, soldier.
Had a deposed lord been in his place, he would have understood what I meant.
But that was the problem with the Golden Company.
They could be excellent mercenaries with a great reputation, good fighters, and a decent, if small, army.
But they were all idiots or the children of idiots who’d gone into voluntary exile for the Targaryen bastards.
All the smart supporters of the Blackfyre rebellions had stayed in place, waiting for the right moment.
I’d spent a whole year of my life as a mercenary.
It had given me a lot: the experience and strength to survive in this cruel world.
But it was time to move on.
Time to follow my own path.
“Think about what I’ve said, Ross,” I said calmly, finishing my cup and standing up.
“Think about it, and decide if you want to change anything in your life.
But keep in mind, I’m promising you nothing.
Maybe something will change…
maybe you’ll die along the way.
No one knows.” As I passed my companion’s massive figure, I heard his quiet voice: “What about the sergeant?” he asked, not looking at me.
“You don’t think he’ll just let you go?” I grinned.
A grin of anticipation spread across my face.
“He’s unconscious,” I replied softly, so only Ross could hear.
“But if he wakes up before I leave…
let’s hope he’s sensible enough not to stand in my way.
So think, Ross, think.
There may not be another chance.” Leaving the bewildered mercenary behind, I walked toward the exit with a clear conscience.
My heart felt unusually light.
By voicing my decision, I’d cut off my path back, but it only made me feel lighter.
Sometimes the right path isn’t the easiest one.
“Where are you going now?” I heard Ross’s loud voice, which drew the attention of other patrons.
“To see John,” I replied, and as I stepped out the door, I quietly added, “He’s definitely not in the company anymore.” — With a faint creak, the door of the healer’s cramped room opened.
The door, now closed behind me, cut off the sounds of the night city.
The room was shrouded in darkness, broken only by moonlight filtering through the dirty windows.
On the table in the center lay a stack of soiled parchment stained with ink.
Rough leather gloves stained with dried blood and an old, dirty candle with a dancing flame completed the picture of a workspace.
In the corner stood an open cabinet filled with jars containing liquids of various colors.
From murky decoctions with visible sediment to crystal-clear liquids that caused the most concern.
The air smelled of tinctures and herbs, but the scent of moon tea stood out above all.
The metallic tang of blood, fresh blood, mingled with the fragrance.
It came from the corpse of the old man lying near the table, a man who had been a healer just minutes before.
He’d been John’s caretaker.
The mercenary himself, propped up on his elbows, looked at me with surprise from the bed in the far corner.
I walked closer silently, dragging a chair behind me.
The dark wooden floor creaked under my feet.
Finally, I placed the chair and sat down, looking at John with interest.
“How’s the arm?” I finally broke the silence.
The former mercenary stared at me with even more surprise.
“You came here at night,” he began, his voice rising, “killed the healer, and now you’re asking how my arm is?
Are you crazy, commander?” “You didn’t answer the question,” I said calmly, ignoring his outburst.
He stared at me in confusion for a while, but meeting my completely calm gaze, he was forced to let out an irritated sigh.
“Fine,” he said, raising his bandaged stump, “the healer…
or rather, the dead healer said the rot hadn’t set in yet.
A month or two, and it’ll heal.” “Good.” “Now can you tell me why you’re here?” irritation crept back into John’s voice.
I didn’t answer right away.
I studied the former mercenary carefully, then nodded toward the corpse.
“I don’t need witnesses,” I said, explaining why I’d killed the healer.
“Because I have a proposition for you.” “A proposition?” John repeated.
“What about?” “I’m leaving the company,” I said, watching his familiar surprised expression.
“And I’m offering you the chance to come with me.” Hearing this, my companion sat up in bed.
“Are you serious?” he asked me.
“Or did you take a hit to the head?
‘Leaving the company’?
‘Come with me’?
If you haven’t noticed, I’m not a fighter anymore.” He waved his stump in front of my face for emphasis.
“I can see your arm, John,” I said calmly, then added with a grin, “or rather, the lack of it.
But I’m completely serious.
I’m leaving the company.” “Then why do you need me?” the former mercenary pressed.
“I’m a cripple.” “A cripple,” I nodded.
“And moreover, you’re not in the company anymore either.” “Thanks for reminding me.” He grimaced and looked at his injury.
“You’re welcome,” I grinned.
“As for why I need you…
I haven’t decided yet, but I’ll find a use for you.
You don’t think I’d…” Suddenly, a faint creak of floorboards sounded from behind the door.
Signaling John to be quiet, I leaped from my chair and moved toward the exit.
I walked slowly, stepping carefully to avoid creaking.
When I was almost at the door, I heard a knock, then another.
When no answer came, there was quiet commotion outside, accompanied by barely audible muttering, like an argument.
Sighing, I yanked the door open.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.
Outside stood my squad members: Ross and Magok at the very door, Rob slightly behind them, and a grumpy-looking Berick.
“Lovely night, Commander,” Rob said with a wide grin, drawing weak smiles from the others.
Suddenly, Ammis’s head appeared from behind his shoulder.
“You brought Ammis too,” I groaned, slapping my forehead.
“He followed us,” Berick said, jabbing the new recruit in the side.
“Get inside, now!” I ordered.
Stepping back from the doorway, I let the fighters in.
The healer’s room instantly became crowded.
“Wow, Commander, you don’t mess around,” Rob said, nudging the old man’s corpse with his toe.
“Oh, hey John.
How’s the arm?” The cripple, who’d been watching all this, seemed about to mirror my gesture and slap his forehead, but stopped himself, apparently remembering he didn’t have that arm anymore.
“Why are you here?” I asked, looking at Ross, who had clearly brought the others.
“We’re with you,” he replied.
The others confirmed his words with nods.
“You told them everything?” I asked rhetorically, not needing an answer.
“What about the sergeant?” The big man grinned.
“You said it yourself, he’s unconscious,” he said with the same grin.
“And even if he wakes up…
you’ll protect us, right?” I didn’t answer.
Slowly I looked at each of them and saw only determination in their eyes.
The last was John, who was getting out of bed and trying to dress himself.
With one arm, it was difficult, so I nodded to Ammis to help the older fighter.
“There’s no turning back,” I said, giving them one last chance.
But they didn’t take it.
“What’s the plan, Commander?” Rob asked.
“We need money,” I said thoughtfully, tapping my finger against my lips.
“My savings won’t cover everyone.” No one interrupted.
Everyone looked at me expectantly, ready to follow anywhere.
“If that’s the case, we won’t be subtle,” I thought.
“How do you feel about robbing the Blackfyre estate?” I asked with a slightly manic grin.