Glen Cook - Splinter Of The Mind's Eye

"Not really. He just hasn't reasoned closely enough. Tortin indicates that the Quesani family did make a big deposit. It was used to purchase properties on the Auszura Littoral. That's a stretch of seacoast north of Dunno Scuttari. It's a sort of elephant's graveyard of deposed princes. The purchase makes it look like somebody at Al Rhemish is covering the Quesani bets."

"Not Aboud. He doesn't have the foresight."

"Farid, perhaps? No matter. That was only a small part of the flow, and not what was bothering Tortin. What did bother him came from two other sources. The loot Haroun mentioned without carrying his reasoning to the point where he mentioned that it hasn't been El Murid doing the pillaging. The depositors have been Karim, el-Kader, el Nadim and that bunch."

"Nassef s bandits-turned-generals. That's good news, Megelin. We could make the Scourge of God damned uncomfortable by spreading that around. In fact, the Invincibles might end his tale if he's been slipping something over on El Murid."

Radetic was not cheered by the opportunity. "Our side is vulnerable too."

"Aboud's money? It's his. He can do what he wants with it. Besides, he isn't looting the realm."

"Not Aboud. The priesthood. They've been sending out as much bullion as Nassef's gang. Which means they're stripping the holy places and melting the gold and silver down. What would the faithful do if they found out that they're being robbed by their own priests? El Murid can explain Nassef, more or less. Soldiers pillage their enemies. We can't shed ourselves of the priesthood.

"A lot of people already damn Nassef without damning El Murid. They consider him the Disciple's compromise with fate. They figure he'll disappear if El Murid's Kingdom of Peace becomes a reality."

"Looks like Nassef is worried about it too. He and his boys are putting a little away for their old age."

"Don't you think the priesthood's behavior will win El Murid a lot of converts?"

"Absolutely. I'll write Aboud."

"Who is under the thumbs of the priests. Who will give you the same answer he's been giving you since this mess started. If he bothers to answer at all."

"You're right. Of course. We'll just have to intimidate a few priests. Cover it up." Yousif closed his eyes wearily. "Megelin, what do you do when your allies are more trouble than your enemies?"

"I don't know, Wahlig. I really don't. Stupidity and incompetence create their own special rewards. All I foresee is deterioration and more deterioration, and most of it moral. Maybe Hammad al Nakir needs the purifying flame of an El Murid."

Haroun gripped Radetic's elbow. "Don't give up yet, Megelin."

The boy's face had assumed an expression of stubborn determination. It made him seem far older than his years.

Radetic thought it a pity that a child had to grow up in the fires of this particularly chaotic furnace.

Into Strange Kingdoms

G aunt, shivering, Bragi and Haaken paused at the crest of the last high pass.

"Already spring down there," Bragi observed. He extended an arm to support his brother. "That green must be a hardwood forest."

"How long?" Haaken croaked.

"Three days? Five? Not long."

"Hah!"

There had been days when they had not made a mile. Like yesterday. After burying Soren in the hard earth, they had fought the snowy mountain till exhaustion had forced a halt.

Sigurd had passed almost a month ago. The crossing had taken two months.

"Can't make it," Haaken gasped. "Go on without me."

He had suggested it before. "We've got it whipped now, Haaken. All downhill from here."

"Tired, Bragi. Got to rest. Make it while you can. I'll catch up."

"Come on. Step. Step. Step."

The foothills were hot compared to the high range. The boys camped there a week, regaining their strength. Game was scarce.

They had begun to encounter signs of the foothill tribes. Once they passed the ruin of a small log fortress. It had been burned within the month.

"We should be near Itaskia's Duchy Greyfells," Bragi said around a rabbit's leg. "This trail should run into the highway Father called the North Road. That's a straight run to Itaskia the City."

Itaskia the kingdom and its capital bore the same name. This was the case with several states. Each had grown round a strong city-survivor of the Fall.

"Wish you'd stop being so damned optimistic," Haaken grumbled. He attacked the rabbit like a starved bear. "We can't even speak the language. And we're Trolledyngjans. If bandits don't get us, the Itaskians will."

"You should ease up on the pessimism. Damned if I don't think all you'd see is a hernia if we found a pot of gold."

"Can't go through life expecting everything to work out. You expect the worst, you're ready for anything."

"What do you want to do?"

"I stopped making plans when Father died."

Bragi had no plan either, beyond following his father's sketchy suggestions. What happened after they found this Yalmar?

"Haaken, all I know is what Father said."

"Then we just have to keep on till something happens."

It happened next morning.

Haaken paused to urinate. Bragi ambled on ahead and was alone when the hillmen leapt out of the brush.

Their stone-tipped spears turned on his mail shirt, which his father had told him to wear whenever he traveled. They pulled him down and drew knives.

Haaken arrived, axe whining. He slew two before the others realized he was there.

Bragi scrambled away, regained his feet, finally used his sword.

A survivor tried to flee. Sword and axe stopped him.

"What the hell?" Haaken gasped.

"Meant to rob me, I guess," Bragi wheezed, shaking. "That was too close."

"I warned you."

"Let's ditch them and get out of here."

"Listen!"

Hoofbeats. Approaching.'

"Into the brush," Bragi said.

"Up a tree," Haaken countered. "Ragnar said people never look up."

Within a minute they were high in an old oak. Their packs seemed weightless during the climb.

The dead still lay scattered on the trail.

Six horsemen appeared. An officer, four soldiers and one civilian.

"Itaskians," Bragi whispered.

"What the hell?" the officer demanded, reining in. The youths did not understand Itaskian, but guessed his meaning.

The soldiers drew swords. The civilian dismounted, examining the battleground.

"Majneric's men. They ambushed two travelers. Within the past few minutes. The travelers are in a black oak about thirty feet to your left."

"Who'd be out here when Majneric's loose?"

"You'll have to ask. Use bows. They shouldn't resist the invitation."

"Just so. Sergeant."

The soldiers sheathed their blades, readied bows. Bragi and Haaken exchanged looks.

"Nobody ever looks up, eh?" Bragi growled, looking down four shafts. The scout beckoned.

When Bragi reached the ground he found his foster brother with axe in hand, defiant.

"They're just pups," the sergeant observed.

"These were the two?" the officer asked.

"The same," said the civilian. "Look like Trolledyngjans. They teach them young up there." The woodsman held out his palms. "Let's talk in peace," he said in accented Trolledyngjan.

"What's going to happen?" Bragi asked. Shakes threatened to shame him.

"Depends on you. What happened here? What brings you south?"

Bragi told it all. The scout translated.

The Itaskians chattered briefly, then the interpreter said, "Sir Cleve is inclined to generosity. Because of those." He indicated the dead. "We've been after their band for weeks. We deliver their heads to the Duke, we'll get off patrol for a while. But he doesn't know about this Pretender. He wants to look in your packs."

Haaken growled softly.