Dear readers, tonight we are hosting the notorious Dahoud, a former siege commander with more curses on his head than a camel has fleas, and a conscience heavier than a bricklayer’s tray. Together with him is his lover, the foreign weather magician Merida.
Let us start with Dahoud first. Tell me, what are you most proud of in your past?
[Dahoud] The first time I took charge. I was a fifteen-year old grunt in the army. Our unit was transporting supplies when the enemy attacked. One after the other, our officers fell. I rallied the survivors, and we recaptured some of the supplies, and got our wounded back to base. Nobody questioned my command, and it felt good. I was made a centurion after that, quite an achievement for a young nobody from the Samil tribe without family or education.
What was your childhood like? Any favourite toys?
[Dahoud] There was no time for childhood. When you were old enough to walk, you were put to work, guarding the flocks, mostly. I don’t remember anyone giving me toys. My mother certainly didn’t. I made my own stone sling and bow and arrows and practised with them – do they count as toys? Continue reading “Dahoud and Merida (of Storm Dancer by Rayne Hall)”