Legends Never Die: Unwanted Attention (ch. 70) (Patreon)

Hadi Husain never put much stock in hearsay. He knew people. How they thought. What entertained them. A story could never be interesting enough as they heard it -- it always needed a little embellishment. A touch here, a touch there, and before you knew it, the entire story couldn’t even be recognized. It was inherently dishonest, especially when it came to matters that people wanted to be true. Regardless of what the truth might actually be, it would twist itself into knots to become whatever the teller wanted to be true.

He had countless examples. He grew up in a small town, not too far away from the border with the Roman Empire and ever since he was old enough to understand the words of men, he had heard some rendition of the same tale. ‘The Romans are weak.’ ‘The Romans don’t know how to fight.’ ‘The Romans are scared of us.’ ‘We could sweep across their empire like the tide.’

Hadi always thought that odd. If it were true, then there wouldn’t be a Roman Empire at all. He learned rather quickly not to speak such thoughts -- especially when in earshot of his father, because no one wanted to be confronted with a simple fact. The Romans likely said the same thing about them on the other side of the border that divided their nations. Hadi never heard it first hand, but he always figured it was true, so every time he heard the older folk going off about the soft, weak, guileless Romans… He just rolled his eyes.

But maybe he was the one that was wrong, because Anatolia practically opened its gates to him. He’d intended some light raiding. A fishing village perhaps. Shaking his fist at a town, maybe two. Enough for the Caliph wouldn’t feel the need to behead him, but not so much that people would become convinced that he knew what he was doing.

Then those damned Romans… Didn’t they understand the point of walls? Of gates? How was it possible that entire towns and cities fell like a house of cards in the face of a slight breeze!? What were they even doing? Were all those stories of ‘the Roman plebs wish to be ruled by the Abbasids instead of their cruel Emperor’ actually true?

Hadi felt like the rug had been pulled from underneath him, everything he thought he knew no longer seemed so certain, and he was in a free fall. And, rather unfortunately, the direction he was falling was up.

“You have performed beyond expectations. Almost too well,” A man behind a silk screen began and Hadi felt every hair stand on end as he looked to the marble floor. Between them was a pool of liquid silver and they were surrounded by attendants and high nobility. The kind of high nobility that Hadi had prayed to never be in the same room with, much less as the center of attention.

He almost wished that this was an execution, just to get it over with. “My apologies, my Caliph. The Romans proved… far less capable than anticipated,” he tried to deflect with what wasn't even a lie. He had no idea what those city commanders were doing, but it sure wasn't their job. He didn't even have to bribe anyone. They just opened the gates like the cities belonged to them.

The attendants laughed as if he had said something funny. Polite laughter. The kind that was born from genuine amusement but played up for appearances.

Worse, even Caliph al-Mahdi wasn't immune, chuckling lightly behind the screen. If it wasn't for his silhouette painted on the screen from a flickering fire behind him, Hadi would doubt that he was even there. “Like the bones of an old man, they snap easily under pressure. Soon, they shall be crushed. Hadi al-Husain, for your efforts in paving the way to the beating heart of the Romans, I grant you the lands of Amida, raising you up to Sheikh.”

Hadi knew it was coming. It had all been discussed with him beforehand. He would become a Sheikh. It wasn't high nobility, but… it turned him from a face in the crowd of lower nobility into a member of the forefront. It was awful. Hadi felt his guts tie themselves into knots before vanishing down the pit that opened up in his stomach.

“On behalf of my family, I thank you for your generosity. It has been my honor and privilege to serve Allah, the Empire, and you, my Caliph,” Hadi forced himself to say, dipping his head low. The sentiments weren't anything special. Flattery when given a gift. Lands. He would need to manage them, wouldn't he? Maybe he could just hand that problem off to his father? Yes… yes, that sounded perfect.

“Fine service deserves a fine reward. I expect fine service from you, Sheikh Hadi.” Caliph al-Mahdi stated and Hadi felt a shiver race down his spine. That was quite literally the very last thing that he wished to hear. Hadi's head dipped low once more, stepping back, bowing again, before he fell in place with his prior position before being brought to the center of the palace.

Behind him, water flowed through a small gutter, cooling the room as the heat made a swift return after a break in winter. Much to his relief, despite his recent promotion, he was swiftly forgotten about as the topic turned to what came next. And what came was obvious -- war.

“For too long have we tolerated the Romans holding the gate to the west. Like a sick man with a gut wound, they pitifully cling to life even as the rot has set in. It is time they have been put out of their misery,” Caliph al-Mahdi began, his voice firm and harsh as he spoke. “Now is the time that we deliver the final blow. Our armies have been assembled. Our warriors blessed by Allah. Winter has receded, and the first harvest sown.”

As he spoke, there was a stirring in the palace that was all too familiar. It reminded him of the command tent. That was mildly terrifying -- what if he was put in charge again? No… no, that was impossible… a lot of the upper nobility would have to die before he was so much as looked at for command.

“Our armies shall be divided into two -- forty thousand men under the command of my heir, Prince Hadi.” Hadi's heart nearly jumped from his throat when he was broken from his thoughts upon hearing his name. Only it wasn't his name.

Prince Hadi was around his age, but he was probably everything that his father had ever wanted him to be. Tall, strong, good looking -- dark skin, dark eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. He was dressed in silks, a traditional turban heavy with gemstones and gold sat upon his head, with a golden gilded scimitar sat at his hip. In the palace, he was the only one who so openly wore a weapon -- a privilege of birth.

“A second army shall attack by sea, from Crete. This army shall be led by my second son, Prince Harun,” Caliph al-Mahdi continued, bringing attention to the Caliph's second son. Prince Harun reminded Hadi more of himself than his brother who shared his name -- average looking, not particularly muscular, and he appeared as if he hated being the center of attention. Oh, he hid it well, but as a master of lies, Hadi saw that the younger prince was every bit as uncomfortable as Hadi had been mere moments before.

As far as the empire was concerned, the succession was secured. They had the perfect heir -- handsome, strong, charismatic, and a capable warrior by all accounts. The spare was a shy, almost meek, boy that Hadi couldn't remember any particular rumor about. A potential disaster should Prince Hadi die, but it was far more preferable than two charismatic ambitious sons. Though, in Harun’s case, he was so unremarkable that the response when asked about him would be along the lines of ‘A second son? The Caliph has a second son? Since when?’

That seemed to be the cue for Prince Hadi to speak, “My army shall mobilize first -- cutting a bloody swath through Anatolia. When the Romans find their courage and muster their men, my brother shall commence a naval invasion behind them.” As he spoke, he walked the length of the pool filled with liquid silver, before his father's hidden gaze. On the second pass through, he came to a stop directly before him.

That couldn't be unintentional. A display of power and intent -- Caliph al-Mahdi wasn't old by any measure, but his best years were behind him. Prince Hadi was showing that they had a young, fit, charismatic prince ready to pick up the reins.

“Crushing them in Anatolia is the purpose of this war. We are not there to raid them and carry off petty treasures,” Prince Hadi said and Hadi went deathly still when the prince's gaze landed on him. Oh no. No. no, no, no. Dear Allah, please tell him that he hadn't made an enemy of the crown prince- “We are going to conquer their cities and lands all the way to Constantinople. We shall deal a blow that they will never recover from, even should we give them the chance. In the second war, we shall take everything left until we share a border with Bulgaria!”

It seemed a little premature to start planning the next war when you hadn't even won the first. But… given how easy the raiding had been… Hadi was hesitant to say that it wasn't possible.

“As my father has said -- fine service deserves a fine reward! We shall carve up their petty empire and to the victors the spoils!” He added, and his proclamation was greeted with cheering. At the very least, he knew how to work a crowd, Hadi would give him that.

The proclamation brought an end to the official meeting and marked the start of the celebration. People began to feast and make merry as if they had already won. The princes found themselves surrounded quite quickly by nobility, all buttering up their chosen prince for positions of favor in the coming war.

That's why Hadi had no interest in being high nobility, much less a prince.

Even with his new position of nobility, Hadi wasn't important enough to badger, leaving him free to take a cup of fruit juice and head out to the balcony that overlooked the Abbasid capital, Baghdad. The royal palace was at the very heart of it all, giving him a glorious view of the city itself that seemed to stretch out for miles upon miles.

If Constantinople was the beating heart of the Roman Empire, then Baghdad was the heart of the Abbasid Caliphate. The entire city seemed to be celebrating with them -- welcoming the new year and the prospect of war. There, they could make themselves rich at the expense of the Romans.

He drank his fruit juice, idly wishing that he had gotten a kebab while he was at it, finding himself-

Hadi felt a pat on the back and his first thought was that he had been assassinated. Then he turned around and he wished that he had been.

“You've made the family proud, my son,” His father greeted him with the most warmth that Hadi had ever heard from him. That was a little unsettling. He hadn't been trying to, but throughout his life, he found that it was rather easy to disappoint his father. It used to bother him, but once he saw what it would take to impress him, Hadi quickly gave up on hearing those words.

The fact that he was hearing them now was a sure sign that Hadi had made a very wrong turn in his life.

“I knew the military was exactly what you needed. Where you would thrive,” his father lied through his teeth and Hadi fought to keep the skepticism off of his face. It seemed that they recalled their last conversation rather differently. Hadi recalled the words, ‘Rot in obscurity, my worthless child’ thrown in his direction a few times. “I never could have imagined that you would accomplish so much. A Sheikh. You've become a Sheikh.”

His father grabbed him by the shoulders, smiling in his direction. Behind him, Hadi saw his younger brother -- Naeem. Younger by a few years, but he was easing out of the awkward phase between boy and man. He openly wore his uncertainty at the display and when their father went for a hug, Hadi met his brother's eyes and shook his head.

There was never any doubt who the favorite son had been growing up. As far as Hadi was concerned, Naeem could have the position.

“But what are you doing out here? You should be mingling!” Ah, they were entering more familiar territory -- scoldings. “You are not yet married. I'm sure we can find you a proper bride from a worthy family now, despite-”

“Despite?” Hadi interjected, his voice light. His father recognized the tone.

His father scowled, “It was a black mark on your reputation, but one that has been washed away with success.” As he said that, Hadi looked down to his cup, wishing that it were wine. Allah frowned upon getting obscenely drunk, but a little wine would make this conversation far more bearable. “You killed a man over a whore.”

“I dueled a man for a friend,” Hadi corrected. For all the good it did in the end.

His father, frustratingly, nodded. “That is the story that shall be uttered now. That is the difference in perception of position,” He continued and, annoyingly, Hadi agreed with him.

The duel had been sanctioned. There were witnesses. Yet, Hadi had never been a popular lordling. He was as unambitious as his father was ambitious, content to spend the rest of his life spending his father's coin until he eventually inherited his position, and one day, his son would do the same for him. He was a passionate patron at one of the local brothels, and just clever enough to make enough money to continue his visits even when his father cut him off. And because he was unpopular, when he won the duel, he became a social outcast.

Because the man he killed had been vastly more popular than him, even if he had a personality as pleasant as stepping in dog shit.

Now he was a hero. He was a Sheikh.

What a farce.

“Hm. Since you want it so fiercely, feel free to handle the arrangements. I'd prefer a homely wife -- a pretty one is too much hassle,” He dismissed the responsibility. And, for a moment, he thought his father might strike him despite the witnesses. Then that moment passed and…

His father had gotten old. He had already been showing some signs of it when they parted ways five years ago, but those signs had entrenched themselves. White streaks in his beard and at his temples, wrinkles gathering at his eyes and mouth… when he thought of his father, Hadi always pictured him as he had seen him as a child. Taller than life, stronger than strong, and shoulders so broad that the sun could rise and set on them. And, in that moment, Hadi felt guilt seize his heart.

He let out a quiet sigh, “I can't change my nature, father. No more than you can change yours.”

To that, his father simply clasped him on the shoulders instead of wringing his neck like Hadi knew he wanted to. Hadi could see the words of a very old very weary argument bubbling up, but his father swallowed them down. Not out of any newfound respect, but simply because it wasn't the place to be seen arguing. “Very well. An ugly wife will be much easier to procure than a pretty one.” With that, he let go and stepped away.

“I said… homely…” Hadi sighed, watching his father go. As annoying as it was, Hadi did trust him to make a smart match. His father was ambitious, but smart. It was the one trait that Hadi liked to think they shared. His father wouldn't overreach. It would be a good, politically sound match from a respectable family with respectable means. The kind of match that you heard about and said, ‘Yeah, makes sense.’ And if they didn't get on, then he could do what his father did -- spend most of his time in the military and he'd only have to see her on holidays.

Looking at his younger brother, he met his eye. Naeem cocked his head, “I almost didn't recognize you. You almost looked respectable.”

To that, a slow smirk appeared on Hadi's face. “I know. I feared Father might actually give me my inheritance,” he joked before his little brother stepped forward and they embraced. To Hadi’s surprise, the boy that barely came up to his shoulder threatened to outgrow him. “You need to stop growing.”

“I will when I outgrow you,” Naeem replied with a cheeky smile. Brat.

“How is mother?” Hadi questioned, feeling a great deal more at ease. There had been a point that Hadi had been jealous of his little brother -- when their father wrote him off as a poor investment of time and effort, he turned to Naeem. The two were more alike than not, at least more than Hadi was. It still bothered him, but that mostly stemmed from his father’s actions.

By the time things reached a breaking point, Hadi lost all interest in earning the approval of their father. In doing so, he removed the painful splinter between himself and his brother.

“Well enough. Though, she was convinced they had the wrong Hadi. How did that even happen?” Naeem questioned and Hadi needed something a lot stronger if he wanted to attempt to explain the headache that plagued him for weeks now.

“I don't even know, little brother,” he admitted. He had either been blessed by Allah, or cursed. And at the moment, Hadi was leaning towards cursed. “I'm not sure how to even start.”

“If I may,” a soft voice spoke up, and Hadi’s heart sank down to his boots when he looked over to see who it was. Why? Why was this happening to him? What did he do? Was it because of the drinking? The whoring? If so, Hadi was feeling more than a little singled out because plenty of others sinned the same way and they didn't have to deal with this. “I too, would like to hear this tale.”

Prince Harun stood before them, dressed far more modestly than his brother with only a few attendants with him. He seemed smaller, almost frail, standing before him.

“I- ah- My prince,” Hadi managed, dropping into a bow alongside his brother. “Forgive our discourtesy. We did not see you,” Hadi explained lamely. He was ignored by everyone but a prince. Of all the rotten luck.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Prince Harun dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I too sought a reprieve from the festivities and I happened upon you. I thought it a good opportunity to speak.” He continued, his voice soft. Not quite hesitant but closer to it than not.

Talk. To him? Why?

“It would be my honor,” Hadi replied automatically, his mind racing. Allah may like his cruel jests, but at the very least his father wasn't here for this. That would have been terrible. A true worst case scenario.

“I am to lead twenty thousand men to seize Crete, then attack Anatolia. Given your achievements, I thought it best to get your measure of the situation,” Prince Harun said and that was… exceedingly reasonable? So reasonable that Hadi was caught flat footed by the request. He wasn't used to common sense amongst the nobility.

Hadi's jaw worked for a moment, not certain what to say. “May I ask what you desire to know in particular, my prince?” Because if he was asking for personal thoughts, then Hadi was going to have to lie his head off. And it very well could come off if he was caught lying to the royal family.

“A personal account of the invasion would be a nice start,” Prince Harun at least didn't sound annoyed by the clarification. “Or, rather, where you believe it went wrong.”

He knew exactly how to answer that question. “Siegfried the Wolfkissed, as he's called by his people. Though, in this land people know him as the Pagan.” Hadi had given a great deal of thought on the night that upheaved his life. He replayed it in his head dozens of times, thinking of the things he could have done differently. Mistakes that were made or opportunities he failed to spot in the moment.

Prince Harun inclined his head while his little brother looked interested. “Yes. Him. The tales paint him as…”

“A god,” Hadi finished when Prince Harun trailed off. There was a harsh intake of breath from one of his attendants at the blatant heresy. “I don't know if I'd call him a god, but I'd hesitate more to call him a man. At the very least, his own people believe him to be. Or the descendent of one.”

Prince Harun seemed interested, “You know this for certain?”

Hadi nodded, “We’ve had minor skirmishes. With some, I had men purposefully surrender to be taken as slaves so they could spy on him from within the town of Nordland.” A prudent measure. “Reports are sporadic, but they paint a clear enough picture.”

That picture was that Siegfried could stay all the way away from him. All the way.

Siegfried was undeniable proof that some people are just born special. A peerless warrior. A veteran commander. A devoted scholar. He had a harem of beautiful women and apparently even possessed a sharp acumen when it came to trade because Nordland was already shaping up to be an important port in the Mediterranean sea. Seigfried was the kind of man that boys pictured themselves becoming when they became men.

“You sound as if you fear him,” one of Prince Harun’s attendants remarked. It was a common enough tactic. A prince couldn't afford to give offense, so one of his spokesmen would voice it for him.

Hadi worked his jaw for a moment, uncertain. Then he spoke, “I personally witnessed him jump aboard a ship of warriors alone. In the span of a breath, he killed three men. In the span of this conversation, he had struck such terror that warriors were jumping into the sea in full armor, drowning, rather than to face him. Then, he jumped to the next ship as if killing two hundred men was nothing more than a troublesome errand.” Doubt. Suspicion.

They didn't believe him. How could they? What he was saying was simply unbelievable. They had no frame of reference to the inhuman force of nature that was Siegfried the Wolfkissed. They would only believe it when they were witnessing it for themselves.

The issue with that was Siegfried was smart. He was smart in a truly dangerous way that made Hadi never want to call the man an enemy or get in his way. It would be one thing if he was simply a brute. That could be handled with the right trap and the right bait. However, across from Siegfried, Hadi would never know if he was walking neck first into a noose every time he saw an advantage or weakness.

“You believe him to be that dangerous?” Prince Harun questioned lightly and Hadi offered a grim look.

“A single mistake, my prince. Against Siegfried, you cannot make a single mistake or you will lose,” Hadi uttered with such certainty that he almost forgot who he was speaking to. Something that was all too quickly reminded when one of the attendants scowled at him.

“You speak too freely,” the attendant remarked, not particularly happy with what he was hearing. He was absolutely right with that observation, Hadi admitted with a touch of hindsight. He really had spoken too freely. It was just the truth and that truth was going to get a lot of people killed because they wouldn’t believe it until they saw it and by that time, their defeat was certain.

However, Prince Harun waved him off, “Peace, Yahya. He speaks out of concern for his prince.” Prince Harun excused him and Hadi had just enough time to breathe easy for a breath to get caught in his throat. “If what you say is true… then I would feel far more comfortable with this endeavor with one that had faced him once before in my retinue.” That-

That wasn’t an offer. It was dressed up like one, but if he dared to refuse it, Hadi might as well slit his own throat.

His father was going to weep with joy, Hadi thought, swallowing every curse he could think of. Instead, uttering, “It would be my honor.”

At least someone was happy.