Siluro, Wesson, and even Marena Dimura units, under various chieftains, might align themselves with men they felt likely to improve their lot. Moreover, nobody would dare go all out because of greedy neighbors. Volstokin, especially, might loan troops and arms to a favorite.
Inject into all this a Haroun bin Yousif, with my backing. (El Murid, much as he may want to, will not dare interfere directly in Kavelin’s internal off airs. He is not yet ready to resume the wars, which would be the inevitable result of his interference with a Western state.) Add a Bragi Ragnarson with a substantial mercenary force.
There would be battles, shifts of loyalties, a winnowing of pretenders. By proper exploitation we should not only become wealthy men, but find a kingdom in our pockets. In fact, I genuinely believe a kingship to be within your reach.
Ragnarson looked up and leaned back, fingers probing his beard. What Haroun really thought and planned was not in the letter. He didn’t explain why he offered kingship, or reveal what he himself hoped to gain. But it would have to do with El Murid. Bragi rose and went to the map of the west, looking for Kavelin.
“Ah, yes.” He chuckled. The mere location of Kavelin cast light on bin Yousif’s plan. It was ideally sited for launching guerrilla incursions into Hammad al Nakir. From the border to El Murid’s capital at Al Remish was less than a hundred miles. Swift horsemen could reach the city long before defensive units could be withdrawn from more distant frontiers.
That country, rugged, waterless badlands in which small bands of horsemen would be difficult to find, was suited to Haroun’s style. It was the same country in which the last Royalists had held out after El Murid’s ascension to power.
Haroun’s goal was obvious. He wanted a springboard fora Royalist Restoration. Which explained the presence of El Murid’s raiders here. They wanted to spoil the scheme. The western states, long plagued by El Murid and weary of supporting rowdy colonies of Royalist refugees, would, if Haroun could manage it, gleefully support a fiat.
Haroun’s letter continued. Bragi read it out of a sense of debt to Rolf, but he had made up his mind. Haroun would not drag him in this time. Yesterday’s action, and his wounded leg, were all the adventure he wanted. Haroun could find another catspaw.
Haroun always talked fine and promised the moon, but seldom came near delivering.
The only crown Bragi felt likely to win, if he went to Kavelin, was the kind delivered with a mace.
IV) Knives in passing
Another dawn. Behind them the Trolledyngjan women were striking camp. Bragi, Mocker, Haaken, and Blackfang’s staff, were already under way. Uthe Haas, and Dahl, rode with Bragi, ostensibly to help with his business in Itaskia, but, he suspected, more as Elana’s watchers. He had not had the strength to argue. His wound and another evening of drinking had washed the vinegar out of him.
“Why don’t you just ride along till we meet up with Reskird?” Blackfang asked. “He’ll want to swap a few lies, too. Been years since we’ve all been together.”
Reskird Kildragon was in the hills somewhere south of the Silverbind, near Octylya, training bowmen for service in Kavelin. These were prosperous times in Itaskia. Kildragon had been able to recruit few veterans. The youngsters he had assembled were all raw, with the customary, bullheaded Itaskian predilection for using their weapons their own ways. Bragi didn’t envy Reskird his job.
“I’ll think about it.” He wanted to say, “No,” but he would hear about that all the way to Itaskia. And if he indulged his emotions and agreed, he would hear about it from Uthe. “Ought to ride ready. Might be ambushed.”
The ambush didn’t come till after he had wearied of staying alert. The least likely place, he thought, was Itaskia itself. El Murid’s men would be too obvious there.
He overlooked the national prosperity that had eased
Inject into all this a Haroun bin Yousif, with my backing. (El Murid, much as he may want to, will not dare interfere directly in Kavelin’s internal off airs. He is not yet ready to resume the wars, which would be the inevitable result of his interference with a Western state.) Add a Bragi Ragnarson with a substantial mercenary force.
There would be battles, shifts of loyalties, a winnowing of pretenders. By proper exploitation we should not only become wealthy men, but find a kingdom in our pockets. In fact, I genuinely believe a kingship to be within your reach.
Ragnarson looked up and leaned back, fingers probing his beard. What Haroun really thought and planned was not in the letter. He didn’t explain why he offered kingship, or reveal what he himself hoped to gain. But it would have to do with El Murid. Bragi rose and went to the map of the west, looking for Kavelin.
“Ah, yes.” He chuckled. The mere location of Kavelin cast light on bin Yousif’s plan. It was ideally sited for launching guerrilla incursions into Hammad al Nakir. From the border to El Murid’s capital at Al Remish was less than a hundred miles. Swift horsemen could reach the city long before defensive units could be withdrawn from more distant frontiers.
That country, rugged, waterless badlands in which small bands of horsemen would be difficult to find, was suited to Haroun’s style. It was the same country in which the last Royalists had held out after El Murid’s ascension to power.
Haroun’s goal was obvious. He wanted a springboard fora Royalist Restoration. Which explained the presence of El Murid’s raiders here. They wanted to spoil the scheme. The western states, long plagued by El Murid and weary of supporting rowdy colonies of Royalist refugees, would, if Haroun could manage it, gleefully support a fiat.
Haroun’s letter continued. Bragi read it out of a sense of debt to Rolf, but he had made up his mind. Haroun would not drag him in this time. Yesterday’s action, and his wounded leg, were all the adventure he wanted. Haroun could find another catspaw.
Haroun always talked fine and promised the moon, but seldom came near delivering.
The only crown Bragi felt likely to win, if he went to Kavelin, was the kind delivered with a mace.
IV) Knives in passing
Another dawn. Behind them the Trolledyngjan women were striking camp. Bragi, Mocker, Haaken, and Blackfang’s staff, were already under way. Uthe Haas, and Dahl, rode with Bragi, ostensibly to help with his business in Itaskia, but, he suspected, more as Elana’s watchers. He had not had the strength to argue. His wound and another evening of drinking had washed the vinegar out of him.
“Why don’t you just ride along till we meet up with Reskird?” Blackfang asked. “He’ll want to swap a few lies, too. Been years since we’ve all been together.”
Reskird Kildragon was in the hills somewhere south of the Silverbind, near Octylya, training bowmen for service in Kavelin. These were prosperous times in Itaskia. Kildragon had been able to recruit few veterans. The youngsters he had assembled were all raw, with the customary, bullheaded Itaskian predilection for using their weapons their own ways. Bragi didn’t envy Reskird his job.
“I’ll think about it.” He wanted to say, “No,” but he would hear about that all the way to Itaskia. And if he indulged his emotions and agreed, he would hear about it from Uthe. “Ought to ride ready. Might be ambushed.”
The ambush didn’t come till after he had wearied of staying alert. The least likely place, he thought, was Itaskia itself. El Murid’s men would be too obvious there.
He overlooked the national prosperity that had eased
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