Sotavasara.net

Don’t you tell me that!

Don’t tell me that! Don’t give me those lies! You don’t know, you cannot know; how could you possibly know? You have nothing to back up your words.

He glared at the contract angrily. The fine print was clearly written, and he knew exactly what it meant to draw his mark. He could sense the smile the man in front of him was smiling, even though his lips were tightly shut. He knew his trade.

Stahl Maredith shifted his position, and with harsh, strong lines drew his name to the parchment, and underlined the letters so fiercly the paper was just about to rip apart. He stood up, and didn’t look anywhere particular. The parchment appeared in the other mans hand, and eyes skimmed the text through quickly before it was rolled and stuck into a container - into one he had loads of.

“Thank you, Stahl. I think we both know how relieved we must be. I can speak for myself, at least. Your aid will be of great help to our great cause,” the man said with an honest, reassuring voice. He must’ve had a lot of practice. Without still looking much anywhere, Stahl grabbed the offered hand, and grunted a response.
“You do not seem well. Is anything wrong?” the man asked. Stahl threw a gaze at his direction, and was confronted with relentless, dark eyes, deep in dark, unnaturally so, skin.
“Yeah, grand. Great cause it is,” Stahl replied.
“Stahl, we are all friends here. So I trust you understand the improtance of our agreement. It does not just benefit you, but that of all that is around us. Now, I know you are not much of a man of politics –“
“You do, don’t you, Hassan? You know so very much. I was once referred to as Herr Maredith, you know? By my own people, nontheless. But yes, you must be right, for right you so very often are; I did not have much to do with schemes. I once had a wife to help me with that, and a man superior to me. And now?” Stahl spat out from his mouth. He dared not to face Hassan’s eyes, however. He couldn’t bear to see the twinkle in his eyes. That meant he had won.
“Now you have your obligations, do you not, herr Meradith? Life is not as so simple as it has once been; not for many of us,” Hassan replied. Now he could not help but to smile, a barely noticable grin. Oh, but was it not so much easier for those precious few? “But Stahl, I assure you; you are no longer alone with your burdens. You came to the right people. Have some faith, my friend.”
“I am praying all right.”
“Prayer is not what I am asking now, however. But your end of the bargain.”
“As I am now obliged.”
“You are. And rightly so. Take care that your adjutants are ready tomorrow morning an hour after sunrise. Your people most likely will not need to move their residence, but after the counting has been completed tomorrow you will be further instructed. You are also expected to attend a meeting tomorrow afternoon about expanding our territory further west, for which first procedures are planned for a week of time,” Hassan closed the conversation. It was now official, and Stahl was faced in front of a wall of strongest steel, yet not visible for eyes, between Hassan and him. The wall had the words of the contract carved into it, and not a single thread of compassion or feeling could penetrate it. Stahl turned to leave. Hassan paid no longer attention him. He was reduced to his rightful place: a tool.
“The Shiek must be pleased with what you are doing here,” Stahl said, lifting the cloth of the tent.
“Sorry? Oh, yes, the Shiek. His reception is most wonderful,” Hassan replied. He barely looked up from his papers.

You don’t give a snotling’s worth about the Shiek, do you? At least we have that in common..

Stahl could hear the wall breaching behind him. It was a brief instant, never to occur again; a sharp arrow that slit his innards; flew cleanly through the decorated barrier, but left no hole from where to reach to the other side. Those were the last words Stahl can remember Hassan saying to him for ages from there. He felt sick.
“Stahl,” he started. “Your people are safe. You are set. There is no need, or place to run to now. I know you. Do not get dangerous ideas.”

Do not give me that! You cannot give me that! Do not talk to me like that.

Stahl did not reply, but continued out from the tent into the smelly afternoon of camps beyond camps of mercinaries. He walked through groups of warriors, grim men of war in search of wealth and glory. They were satisfied with a decent coin a-month, occasional loot, and a wench at the end of the day. Their superiors, with glory in their eyes, would be sitting in their chairs with the best of whores or prettiest of slaves kneeling before them, heads bowed for a coin, or their life; what glory was there?

Stahl was not one of those who bothered themselves with doublesided morals. He knew he had enjoyed those moments, and simple spoils of war. He had not been far from a mercinary; he still wasn’t. There was, however, something more important than that at the moment.

The tents and caravans were all around in somewhat orderly fashion, still ready to move in half an hour if need be, as they had all been conditioned already; they had been forced to. Children screamed, men helped their wives with laundry; he smelt the scent of food (the remains of that precious little they had left) from the direction of fireplaces. He might’ve been a mercinary once. He was a king now - a saviour, or at least a poor sod who had helped more than a thousand people carry on mile after mile from the dead North, to the dying South. He had not done it alone, and he sure as hell had not done it well, but they were still alive - so many of them.

There were more important things: a home.