Hassan

When I awoke, I felt the pain from the daggers immediately, but I was more interested in how I was back in what looked like the shaman's hut. How had I gotten here? Why was I still alive? Pity? Respect? Honor? I stared at the ceiling cursing the gods for not allowing me a soldier's death and joining Sari on the other side of the veil. If the gods did exist, they were a cruel lot indeed.

"So he stirs," came the hoarse voice of the shaman as I saw him from the corner of my eyes approach.

"Aye," I said feeling my throat being parched.

He handed me a flask and I sat up enough to take a swig.

"Who brought me in?"

"A young woman. How did you get these wounds soldier?"

"No name?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"How did you get these wounds?" he pressed again. "You will never hold a shield properly again and will walk with a limp."

"Nothing time will not heal. You also said I would never hold a sword again when I lost my eye."

He huffed. "This is a definite, Hassan. You can't hold a shield and a sword in the same hand. The limp won't go away."

"I never used a shield anyway."

"Hassan, listen to me. You are not fit to be a soldier anymore."

"I'm a general- not a soldier."

"The king has you under review once you're fit."

I'm sure by now she had told him of how I had tried to attack and murder her. There would be no reason for her not to report it to him since her home had been found. Was this why I was under review?

He handed me a small wooded cup.

"Drink that."

I drank it quickly tasting the fowl and bitter liquid touch my lips.

"Herbal drink to help with your recovery."

As he walked out, I swear I heard him call me a stubborn old man.