"...what does the Prince of Francia want us to kill?" Ivar demanded, his eyes locked on his brother.
Ubba blinked in surprise, and then he burst out laughing. "Arming us? You think Louis the Stammerer handed this to me in a dark alley?"
"You just said he made it!" Ivar snapped, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his broken ribs.
"He designed it..." Ubba chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. "He runs the factories in City Titan. But I didn't get this from him. I bought it from a fat merchant in a dirty tavern two nights ago."
After hearing such words, Ivar felt a wave of confusion wash over him. "A merchant? You bought a deadly weapon of the Iron Kingdom from a common trader?"
"Exactly..." Ubba said, pulling up a wobbly wooden stool and sitting next to Ivar's straw bed. "This is merchandise, Ivar. Ragnar is selling them."
Ragnar has borders with Scotland and Ireland, which are friendly but still independent nations.
