“Emir Hadi al-Gaib,” King Hoffer greeted him politely. It had been years since Hadi had last seen him, but the man was unreasonably big. Hadi felt like a child in comparison. “Please, allow me to introduce our esteemed guest who shall be joining us this evening, Pope Adrian.”
The pope didn't seem particularly happy about joining this private gathering in Sardinia. Hadi would even go as far as to say he seemed quite upset. Angry. Of the murderous variety. Still, a year of captivity would temper anyone's outbursts, and he didn't look mistreated. Just that he would rather be literally anywhere else.
“... my greetings, Pope Adrian. Peace be with you. And you, King Hoffer,” Hadi said, accepting an offered seat. The pope's lips pressed into a thin line in an attempt to be as neutral as he could be. King Hoffer, for his part, simply laughed.
“I suspect peace is not what has brought you to my shores this day, Emir Hadi al-Gaib,” he replied, taking a seat across from Hadi. There was a calculating glimmer in his eyes. As if he was trying to weigh how much he was worth. “No. Peace, I'm afraid, is a luxury out of your reach.”
It wasn't a surprise that King Hoffer knew. He likely knew about the accusations before Hadi did. So, he offered a thin smile. One not too dissimilar from the one Pope Adrain greeted him with. “Circumstances being what they are, I am inclined to agree with you.” He would hardly be mustering his armies and take a trip himself to Sardinia to handle negotiations personally if peace was an option. “I do hope that it goes without saying that I didn't do it.”
“Of course,” King Hoffer replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “The Allvaldr holds you in high regard! I wouldn't dare think you would do something so base.” Then his smile grew a fraction, “And if you had, I would expect you to be better prepared to take advantage of his near assassination.”
That was… something. Likely not a good something, but something nonetheless. “Then it would be my hope, King Hoffer, that you might be willing to help an innocent man clear his name and punish the perpetrators for the attempt on your ally Caliph Harun al-Rashid.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Hadi saw it the moment the words left his mouth, “Ally. An interesting word to use. I must wonder where this steadfast ally was when I lost half of my kingdom.” The territories of Italia and Cyrus.
“I was conducting the plan raids in Charlemagne's territory. The Caliph, I believe, was rebuffing Khalzar raids,” Hadi answered, his tone even. His bitterness was expected. Counted on, even.
What he did not say was that bitterness was entirely self inflicted. The raids Hadi had asked for were reasonable. King Hoffer was the one who escalated things to a full invasion, forcing Charlemagne to commit his forces in full. The lost territory, the evaporation of the core of his army… the blame for all of it could be traced back to his own feet. However, kings weren't renowned for their ability to be self aware. Quite the opposite. So, King Hoffer needed someone to blame for his… misfortunes.
“However, if we had been made aware of the scope of your ambitions… While I cannot speak for the Caliph, I, of course, would have adjusted my plans. Expanded them in scope to push Charlemagne to the Perynes Mountains and threatened to go beyond them in the hopes he would go on the defensive to allow you to consolidate your territorial gains.”
Hadi had told a number of lies during his life. However many was anyone's guess, but he was confident that it outnumbered the number of truths he had uttered by a factor of… at least ten. The words that just came out of his mouth were likely the single greatest lie that he had ever spoken. Because when he learned that King Hoffer was radically altering what should have been a simple raid, Hadi had smiled, thought, ‘What a fool,’ before taking a key fortress on an important hill.
He had no interest in battle. Even less interest in facilitating King Hoffer's kingdom of pirates that occasionally turned their fangs to his merchant vessels and coastal villages. Officially, King Hoffer disavowed such actions, but the fact of the matter was he had a loose grip on his kingdom to begin with and it only got worse when that bastard Hjalmar took fifty thousand Norsemen back to Siegfried. The core of King Hoffer's support had been gutted.
Something they both knew.
“How regrettable,” King Hoffer replied, his tone entirely neutral. He didn't fully believe the lie, but he didn't exactly doubt it either. Simply because it was true -- Hadi prepared for a small raid. The kind of force needed to care that make-believe plan would require more prepared resources than he had. “As are our present circumstances.”
“So they are,” Hadi agreed.
There was a terse silence that fell over the room. Hadi watched King Hoffer ponder the information as well as his options. Which were limited. While he enjoyed an alliance with the Caliphate, it wasn't in the same scope as the one made with Scandinavia. Such protections came with strings that King Hoffer had refused. All the same, what alliance they did have wasn't likely to outlive Harun as Caliph.
“Your enemies are many,” King Hoffer broke the silence. “Three Emirs have denounced you. They name you an assassin. An usurper. More shall join their chorus if they haven't already.”
Hadi inclined his head to the king, “So they do.”
“As our nations are close, they besseched me to take action. To invite you to my hearth, betray you, before delivering you to them.” He continued in an idle tone. Hadi did not react to the provocation, but Khalid did. He tensed, a hand resting on his scimitar as he looked to those in the room to gauge their threats.
“I hope they offered you a high price for your honor and dignity,” Hadi replied, earning a bark of laughter from King Hoffer. It sounded genuine.
There was a faint twitch of his lips, a smile being smothered. “They offered me wealth. Trade concessions. And men.”
“A high price,” Hadi acknowledged. King Hoffer had need of them. While his grip had always been weak over his dispersed kingdom of islands, he had been able to solidify control because a significant portion of his warriors were Norsemen as he was. Hot blooded idiots, but that was just something else they had in common. Serving a master who looked different, had different customs, and spoke a different language wasn't unthinkable but for many, they wanted to see themselves reflected in their ruler.
King Hoffer still had supporters. Some ten thousand Norsemen remained. While he lost the battle, the wealth plundered from Italia made him a living legend, so many powerful chieftains offered him nominal support. However, his grip on islands like Crete or even Sicily were wavering. His authority was being challenged by pirates and warlords. Unless something drastic happened relatively soon, he would lose control over them entirely.
It was something Hadi rather looked forward to, if he were to be honest. Pirates were bad enough, but pirates with the resources King Hoffer commanded? They were a nightmare. Sheba had likely cursed them a thousand times and when she heard they had been crushed outside of Rome, she laughed so hard she had tears in her eyes. And while it was outside of his purview, Hadi did know that Harun desired control over the port of Norland -- influence primarily, but direct ownership would be preferable.
“A price that I would see matched,” King Hoffer replied. Hadib would give him that much -- he preferred the direct request for a bribe.
“I cannot in good faith promise that I can match it,” Hadi replied. “I cannot speak for the Caliph or what reward he might bestow.” It wasn't what King Hoffer wanted to hear, but he didn't interject. “However, I can say this -- Caliph Harun al-Rashid intends to keep his father's promise. He will take the whole of Anatolia, and in doing so, it would be prudent to retake Cyrus.”
There was a glimmer of interest, but not enough. King Hoffer wasn't a fool. He understood that territorial gains was not what he needed when he was losing his control over the territory he already possessed. “Additionally, I will be committed to pushing the Romans out of Hispania at the same time. An opportunity that Allvaldr Siegfried will surely not let go by, and while I cannot speak to what his plans are, I am certain he will give Charlemagne cause to look North. This would grant you an opportunity to retake your lost lands in Italia, if not the whole peninsula.”
Which was the kind of victory that King Hoffer needed. Nothing washed away the stain of defeat like victory, after all. What's more, with the taking of Anatolia, King Hoffer's people would have far greater ease sailing into the Mediterranean sea from the Black Sea. That, in turn, would allow him to rebuild his support base.
“A fine picture you paint,” King Hoffer replied. “When could I expect this opportunity?”
Hadi had no earthly idea. “This near assassination will have complicated matters, but so long as it is resolved cleanly, the timeline of five years should be held.” That earned a twitch, telling Hadi that was too far out. He wanted something more immediate. “Which, I admit, is less than ideal. While I cannot speak for the Caliph, I am allowed to speak for the resources and concession of my own domain. Even if they are a lesser bounty than you would receive from my enemies.”
King Hoffer hummed thoughtfully, stroking his long blonde beard. “You are an honest man, Hadi al-Gaib. I respect that.” Hadi heard a but coming. “How many men can you muster?”
“... twenty thousand in the short term,” Hadi decided to answer.
“So, fifteen thousand,” King Hoffer deduced. The true number was closer to seventeen thousand but the fact remained he was being generous with his estimation. “That would be a hundred ships. More for cavalry.”
Hadi inclined his head ever so slightly, still waiting for the but. “I came here seeking quick passage to the Caliphate heartlands. Ideally using your ships.” He admitted, and King Hoffer nodded, expecting nothing less.
“Our priests asked for an omen on the eve of your arrival. The gods look favorably upon the venture, as they have provided a passage for the journey.” An outright lie, of course. But, then again, he had no idea how whatever magics were involved worked. He could be honest. Hadi wasn't curious enough to find out. Or, he could simply be lying about the opportunity.
“... your gods are kind,” Hadi replied tersely. Something King Hoffer smiled at.
“At times,” he replied. “But they are, as a rule, greedy. As am I.” At least he acknowledged it. “The price your enemies offered was greater, but not high enough to buy my honor. What's more, while you are outnumbered, I will not wager against a man who faced the Allvaldr and survived to tell the tale.”
Hadi couldn't take it any longer, “But.” He supplied for the pirate king, and for the first time, his smile reached his eyes.
“But,” King Hoffer agreed. “There are certain men and crews within my domain that I would see… removed. You will aid me in this.” So that his hands would remain clean. If they just so happened to die in the fighting then it was the will of Allah. Or the gods.
Hadi wasn't particularly enthused by the idea of doing King Hoffer's dirty work but… what was the saying? Better the evil he knew than the ones he didn't?
“It can be arranged,” Hadi agreed. All the more, he would hardly weep for dead pirates.
With that, they clasped hands and the deal was struck.
…
Mobilizing an army was not a quick affair. It took time for supplies to be gathered, travel to a depot, stored and recorded. It took time for men to make their way from their villages and towns. Men got lost, either willfully or by accident. Somewhere in the process there would be a clerk working with too little sleep, leading to an error in the ledgers. Then there was pay to consider -- honor and glory were fine, but most preferred gold for putting their lives on the line.
However, if there had to be a silver lining about sharing a border of Emperor ‘The only good heathen is a dead one’ Charlemagne… then it was the fact that his nation was well situated for war. He had well trained militias he could draw from, his supply depots were already full, and it only took a few strokes of a quill to set everything in motion.
There was no such thing as organization within an army. It was just some armies were less disorganized than others. Hadi took pride in very little, but he did that his army managed to be assembled and depart from his shores within a month. The ‘gods’ continued to smile upon them because their trip from Hispania to the Abbasid Caliphate was without incident even if the weather wasn't always clear.
They first sailed to Sicily, weathering a storm that lasted for two days before setting out once more. They stopped again on Crete for another day, riding out something less than a storm but the sea was too rough to sail safely. Inside of a week, Hadi's army of twenty-five thousand men disembarked upon the shore of the Damascus region, bolstered by seven thousand mercenaries ‘volunteered’ by King Hoffer.
Of course, their arrival was not a secret. Hafi was sure by the time they departed Hispania, the Emirs and Jafar had already learned of his intentions. However, a week was not enough time to muster an army. It wasn't enough time to march and group up.
Siegfried seemed to enjoy his grand battles where he was outnumbered a hundred and one. Hadi, however, had a very different approach to war. He was not whatever Siegfried was. He didn't possess his abilities or unnatural talents. He was a simple man with simple intentions -- kill the enemy before they could kill him. They were divided by distance, so Hadi would defeat as many as he could before they had a chance to unify.
“You have history with Emir Ismail, do you not?” Khalid questioned as they marched from the shore and into Damascus proper. It was not a rich land, but most of the trade from the Abbasids through the Mediterranean flowed through its ports.
It really was a wonder that old man was still alive. A decade ago, he was pushing ninety. He had to be close to a century old by now, and it seemed he lived purely to spite Hadi. “Less with the plan and more with his family,” Hadi corrected. “I was a… less than responsible younger man who often found myself in brothels. As one does when spending so much time there, I… befriended a few of the prostitutes.”
Khalid snorted softly by his side, “Lady Sheba is an ocean away. She will not overhear you.”
Oh, was a poor foolish boy. “Half of my attendants are her spies that I know about. The other half are spies I haven't confirmed.” Hadi corrected with a small shake of his head. The boy would learn. While his status of being a descendent of the Sword of Allah remained obscured for now, he knew Sheba was already planning matches. “Anyway, one day, an arrogant braggart arrived, already drunk and quite rude. Wealth does not smooth over a problematic personality, but with his status of… I don't even know. The great-great-great grandson of the Emir? Between it, and gold, he was under the impression that he could do whatever he desired.”
His tone was light. Casual. But Khalid was too sharp eyed to not notice how his grip tightened on the reins. It seemed so very long ago that felt like it had been the defining moment of his life. It had been the event that had his father entirely give up on him, not quite banishing him from the family but only by a hair. After everything -- befriending the Prince, now Caliph, his many near death experiences, the dozens of assassination attempts… by all rights, it shouldn't stand out in his memory as it did.
But he could still smell the sweat, alcohol, and incense of his favorite brothel. A place where he could drink, gamble, and shamelessly break every tenant of Allah with women who were as clever as they were beautiful. They were very beautiful. Hadi, as a younger man, was convinced he would die there and he would die content.
He was losing a board game with one of his favorites when he heard the scream. Alcohol must have given him courage, because he erupted onto the scene. There, he saw Inara, his friend and companion, beaten bloody with a burn scar across her face and eye. He also saw the man standing over her with a red hot blade.
Rage was not anger. Anger could be reasoned with. It could be controlled. Rage was insanity, and it was insanity that possessed him when he demanded a duel. It was insanity and alcohol that gave him the courage to fight it. And despite all odds, he had won.
At the time, Hadi had been lesser nobility, not even Sheikh. Distantly related or not, the bastard was the blood of high nobility. Killing him was out of the question. So, Hadi took his sword hand and the same eye he took from Inara.
So, Emir Ismail's ire was… understandable. If inconvenient.
“Did you ever see her again?” Khalid asked, seemingly hearing everything that wasn't said. A real annoying habit of his, but one Hafi had grown used to.
“Never,” Hadi admitted. “I tried once, but by then, she was gone. My father got me a position in the army…” he shrugged. It was hardly the most satisfying ending, but life was rarely satisfying.
The battle would be over far more than a clever and beautiful woman, this time. But, days later, when he stood across a battlefield with two familiar faces at the head of an army twelve thousand strong? When one of those faces was missing an eye?
Well, it felt a little personal.