Chapter: The Prophecy of Fools
I said to myself, "What journey, you drunkard?"
I looked around to find the men staring at me as if they'd just seen a monkey wearing a crown. I stood up, puffed out my chest, and said in a loud voice:
"Follow me… for wealth, fame, power! Follow me, and you shall have all you desire!"
For a moment, I thought no one would answer. But suddenly, the first shout rang out, then another, and soon chants erupted:
"Ashborn! Ashborn! Ashborn!"
I laughed. A loud, long, mad laugh, as if I were laughing from the depths of hell itself.
I laughed… and I didn't even know why. Was it because they believed me? Or because, somehow, I believed myself?
Or maybe because, for the first time, I felt something like power?
Even if it was over a bunch of savages who barely knew how to wipe their asses.
I stood among them, my heart pounding like war drums. One of them threw his sword into the air and shouted:
"To Qohor!"
Another replied: "With the Ashborn!"
I whispered to myself: "What's wrong with you, eunuchs? You want to invade a city full of Unsullied, and you're barely two hundred?"
I looked at them, then at the place around us… the trash heap they called home. The air reeked of sweat, wine, and dried blood, yet they looked at me like I was a star fallen from the heavens.
I raised my hand high and said in a hoarse voice:
"Pack your things, you bastards… we're leaving this filth behind, and we'll burn Qohor if we must!"
I had no idea why they'd chosen Qohor in the first place. If I found the whore who shouted its name, I'd skin him alive. But as soon as I spoke, the chants rose again.
A man with thick braids came close and whispered in a rough voice:
"You called… and the beasts answered. Don't fail them now."
I muttered to myself: "Beasts, you eunuch? They're just vagrants."
I looked at him and said:
"Fail? My friend… I don't even know how to fail myself."
I asked him, "Are you a rogue khalasar?"
He replied:
"We were a khalasar. We split after the khal died. Some were slaughtered, the rest scattered. We… are what's left. No home, no honor, no purpose."
I thought to myself: "And this eunuch thinks raiding is honor?"
Then he began explaining the terrain and the number of bandits preying on the caravans. I asked him:
"Which ones are closest to us?"
He pointed toward the sandy horizon and said:
"We're on the outskirts of the Hundred Cities. No law here. The nearest ones are twenty cities away. Their number? Around one hundred fifty."
I asked: "Why haven't you attacked them before?"
He laughed and said: "We weren't their match."
I thought to myself: "More than two hundred and you're no match for a hundred and fifty? What kind of fools are you?"
But then he added:
"But now we have something we didn't have before."
I raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"
He smiled, as if revealing the apocalypse:
"You."
I asked, "Do you know the name of their leader?"
He said:
"They call him the White Dog. He was a slave turned executioner. No mercy, no negotiation. The Qohor caravans pay him tribute."
I pondered, then shouted to the vagabonds behind me:
"Our enemies are just twenty cities away, and they have gold and blood… but there's one thing they don't have!"
I opened my arms and shouted like I owned the world:
"They don't have me!"
The cheers exploded again. "Ashborn! Ashborn!"
I laughed. Not out of joy, but out of knowledge.
I didn't know them, and they didn't know me—but we lied together and believed the lies when said with enough conviction.
The braided man approached again and asked:
"Shall we set off tonight?"
I looked at the sun, then at them, and said:
"No. Tonight, we sing, we drink, and we lie to ourselves that we'll win. Tomorrow… we try to make that lie true."
That night, the fires blazed—not for war, but for wine and song. I was the center of it all, drinking a cup of cheap wine, waving another like I was a poet of war. The drums beat, the men danced, and the braided man watched me like I was a prophet of fire.
I brought out an old barrel from my stash and said to him quietly:
"Drink."
He looked at me with a gaze I couldn't decipher… awe? Fear? Worship?
I raised my cup and said:
"If I die tomorrow, my only regret… is not dying tonight."
He laughed and began drinking.
Then a small boy, barely ten years old, came to me. He carried a dirty cloth bundle and spoke in fear:
"This… was with a man who claimed he was from the White Dog's men. He left it and ran."
I opened the bundle… a human ear, and a single word written in blood:
"See you soon."
I nearly pissed myself, but I held it together. I looked around.
The music stopped. The laughter died.
I raised the ear before the fire and said loudly:
"My lords… Mr. Pup honors us with a gift! I want you to welcome him as he deserves… as what?"
They all screamed: "As a dog!"
I raised the ear like a banner:
"Let's show him what it means to send gifts to your lord, you eunuchs!"
They laughed. They danced. They cursed the White Dog's name like he was born just to die by their hands.
I laughed, watching them believe the lie… and watching myself believe it too.
In the morning, I woke up with my head cursing me. One man was puking on the ashes, another sleeping on his spear, a third snoring like he was jamming with demons.
"A damn army of misfits," I muttered, washing my face with what I hoped was water—or at worst, wine.
I dusted off my cloak and shouted in my hoarse voice:
"Enough sleep, you moving pile of sin! We've got a dog to dethrone!"
The braided man stood up. After a moment, he said:
"What's the plan, Ashborn?"
I placed my hand on my chin, pretending to think, while inside my head it screamed:
What plan, you fool?
I said in a wise, fake tone:
"We won't attack from the front. We'll split them, tear the edges before the heart."
I pulled out a piece of cloth and drew some scribbles:
"This is the path. Here are the guards, here the shipments, and here… the White Dog."
I had no idea where anything actually was, but they believed me as if I'd read it from a holy book.
"We strike at sunset. Half from the south, half from the west. As for me… I'll walk in through the guards like a ghost. Got it?"
One of them chuckled: "A ghost? You do magic too?"
I looked at him with deadly seriousness:
"I don't master magic… magic masters me."
Silence. Then wild applause.
The truth? I had no plan. We'd just run and scream until someone dies. But leaders don't plan… they just pretend after the chaos.
I chose twenty men of the ugliest, dumbest ones and said:
"You are the vanguard. You will pave the way to victory!"
I didn't say "You'll be the first to die," even though I thought it.
One of them asked:
"And if the White Dog runs away?"
I answered with a deadly smile:
"When you see a dog running… don't chase it. Shoot it."
One raised an eyebrow:
"Shoot? With what fire?"
I smiled and said:
"Tonight… we teach the White Dog not to play with fire."