Read The Patrimony for Free Online Page A

Bili’s own fond boyhood memories.
    “Give Tim a couple more good ransoms, if his luck holds, and he’ll be a captain in his own right Hell be totally independent of his present regiment and able to negotiate contracts for his services.”
    “With only fifty horse archers, Bili?” the old
thoheeks
asked. “What sovran or lord would be willing to hire on so small a contingent?”
    “Ask any one of the hundred I might name, Hwahltuh,” attested Bili bluntly, adding, “You’ve never been in the Middle Kingdoms, good stepfather, so you’re thinking in terms of the vast host of Lord Milo’s army. But none of the states of the north is even a tenth the size of our Confederation, and even if the three largest could somehow be brought into alliance, even that alliance could not pay either the hire or the maintenance of a force the size of our Regular Army.
    “Oh, yes, there’ve been the rare times in years agone when one kingdom or another briefly fielded fifteen or twenty thousand fighters, but not recently. They’ve been fighting among themselves for so long that warfare there is almost a game—a violent, bloody and sometimes fatal game, but a game, nonetheless. Quality of troops is of far more importance to the prospective employer than is numbers—quality of the troops and the fame of their commander.
    “You can bet your last silver
thrahkmeh
that Sir Tim’s exploits have by now spread far and wide. So if his luck holds and he can manage to put together a good, independent command, he’ll soon be able to pick and choose among some very lucrative contracts. His fortune will be assured. You can be justly proud of him. Hwahltuh. Sun and Wind know that I am.”
    “I could burst of my pride in my son, Bili.” The old man’s voice was low but filled with feeling. “But his place is—> should be—here. He should be in Vawn, Bili. I’m an old, old man, even for our race, and… and I’m not well. If… if something should happen to Tim, if he should be killed or badly crippled… well, I just don’t know.
    “You know how it is with Ahl—he’d never be confirmed chief. As for Behrl, well, hell make a fine
tahneestos
, he’d be a first-class war chief, but he’s just not the temper for the kind of chief a Confederation clan needs, and the Kindred know it as well as I do, too. And his mindspeak is a chancy, come-and-go thing, atop it all. So, I doubt me that the Clan Council would ever confirm him.
    “And,” his voice assumed grim overtones, “you and I both know who that leaves to succeed me.
She
is forever preening the lout in front of any Kinsman of Sanderz who’ll hold still long enough to watch the act And act it is, Bili. Myron is totally Ehleen, the worst kind of Ehleen. I cringe to think how my duchy and kin and our folk would fare under so unnatural a creature.”
    Bili squirmed uncomfortably in his high-backed armchair, then shrugged, “Well, if the act is really so apparent, the clansmen might not confirm him, and, even if they should, I can always refuse to recognize that confirmation, you know.”
    Hwahltuh sighed. “Be realistic, Bili. Admittedly, I was born in a hide tent on the Sea of Grass, but I’ve dwelt among your eastern Kindred for near a score and half of summers now. Men will be men, whatever their birth or race, and they have their pride.
    “Prince Zenos is first cousin of Mehleena, and you know as well as I do that he’d never allow you to override a Clan Council confirmation of a man of his house. No, you wouldn’t dare but recognize that pervert in my place.”
    Bili cracked one big knuckle, then another. “Hwahltuh, I am not without certain influence at Kehnooryos Atheenahs, the Undying…”
    Hwahltuh slowly shook his head, raising a hand. “The High Lords are up to the eyebrows in the mountain business, and the last thing they want to see is any bare trace of internal discord. Neither the High Ladies nor God Milo could afford to countenance your barefaced insult and