Aastaar Dahiris.
The captain’s order for a general assembly caught me in a rather inconvenient position.
It literally pulled me out of bed just as I was about to start round two with a Summer Islander beauty.
How good she was, that summer girl with skin the color of teak, contrasting so unusually with the sheets.
And what she could do in bed was simply something else.
I feared that now any whore, even the most skilled in Lys or a concubine in Yunkai, would seem like a log in comparison.
It was a pity I had to interrupt my rest, but an order was an order.
The captain himself was displeased, but arguing with Maelis was useless.
He was insane and monstrously strong, and he was supported by the majority of our fighters.
It was hard to expect otherwise, given that the company consisted mostly of fugitives and exiles from Westeros.
“As if they were the ones in charge of us,” I thought, realizing the irony of the situation.
The only thing that cheered me up was that the captain said we would be expected in Tyrosh.
That meant I would see my home again.
Walk through the market, buy my favorite sweets, honey fingers.
I hoped the contract, or whatever that Beast had cooked up this time, wasn’t urgent, and I’d have time to enjoy some Tyroshi pear brandy as well.
“Dreams, dreams,” I thought, giving orders for my unit to assemble.
My attention was caught by a commotion on one of the training grounds.
Coming closer, I witnessed a sparring match between two fighters.
In one of them, I recognized the new recruit recently accepted into the company.
The same one who had beaten up the fighters from Silent One’s unit.
I had almost forgotten about him.
After Mark, one of my decani, called out, the kid suddenly changed.
Taking advantage of the enemy’s mistake, he made a thrust, more than enough to kill an opponent.
But Irat, if I remembered his name correctly, decided to finish off his opponent.
On one hand, the right decision.
A good enemy is a dead enemy.
On the other hand, a fatal mistake in the reality of battle.
You can’t get distracted by finishing off the wounded in the thick of the fight.
The wounded can be dealt with after the battle.
Had this been a real battle, the big guy would have been dead already, as would the young Valyrian.
The captain’s ironic nickname, given how many people with Valyrian features there were in the Free Cities.
I had mixed impressions.
He handled the sword quite deftly, even though he said he didn’t know how to use it.
I should test the kid myself.
Maybe I would even change my opinion of him, and chalk the mistake up to inexperience.
“Valyrian,” I called out, interrupting Mark’s praise.
The decanus choked on air, hearing my voice beside him.
“You told the captain you didn’t know how to use a sword,” I decided to needle Irat.
“I said I hadn’t had to use one,” he replied with a grin.
“Turns out, it’s not that hard.” With his last comment alone, he rubbed all the fighters’ faces in a pile of shit.
We hone our skills for years, only to test them in battle.
And here, some snot-nosed kid says “it’s not that hard.” I need to teach him a lesson.
I think if he takes a few hits to the neck from an iron rod, he’ll become more sensible…
if he doesn’t die.
Without thinking too much, I answered the decanus as I stepped into the circle.
While picking up the training weapon, I tried to contain my emotions so the kid wouldn’t suspect anything.
But judging by how he, without even taking a stance, prepared for battle, I wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding them.
“You still have some strength left, don’t you?” I asked him, more out of formality.
His fatigue didn’t concern me much.
My only desire was to punish the pup.
Perhaps that was my mistake, which led to this outcome.
I hadn’t expected Irat to have speed that matched my own.
It could have ended before it even began, if not for the opponent’s inexperience, which allowed me to grab his hand.
His subsequent actions surprised me even more.
Instead of retreating, pulling his hand free from my grip, and thereby dodging my next strike, he did the opposite, he closed in even more.
The force with which he shoved me was truly great.
Only my natural agility allowed me to stay on my feet, rather than fall disgracefully.
Quickly catching my breath and giving the order to assemble, I decided to make the kid’s life harder by doubling his training load.
But his joyful grin told me just how wrong I was about “punishment.” “Damn brat,” I muttered with a grin and spat out a clot of blood once I was far enough from my fighters.