The Yngling y-1

by John Dalmas

  "No!" The man who had recognized Nils grabbed the other by the arm. "He's worth many forints to us alive. We can take him to the palace and have him put in the dungeon for attacking a knight. He won't escape this time-not in the shape he's in. Then we'll send word to Lord Lajos. He'll want the foreigner, and he's the king's guest. The king will oblige, and you can bet that Lajos will pay us all well."

  Quickly they threw Nils to the cobblestones, pushed the head of the arrow out through the back of the thickly muscled leg, and broke the shaft in front of the feathers. Then they pulled it out and stuffed pieces of his rags into the hole to slow the flow of blood.

  Ahmed sat straight and intent at his desk. There could be no doubt about it; the prisoner just brought into the palace was the big barbarian, and his friends in the palace guard would not be happy about it. He had better act now. Opening a little chest on his desk he took out a sheet of parchment and hurried from the room.

  Nils lay in a cell neither shackled nor locked in. One of the guard knelt beside him cleaning the wound with big, careful hands. Nils's calm gray face showed no interest in the sudden commotion down the passageway.

  "The King!" a voice shouted.

  "That'll do it," said the guard, standing. "He'll get you out of here."

  But Nils did not sit up. He saw the king's mind clearly.

  In a moment Janos stood before the cell, his voice grim with hate. "You filth! You swine! The boy would have given you almost anything, but you wanted what he would not give-his decency." Janos turned to the physician who had hurried, wheezing, behind him. "See that he's able to walk again by the next holiday. I want him to walk to the gallows. And I want him strong enough to take a long time to choke-he'll learn how Imre felt being strangled."

  For a moment more he glared at Nils, then turned and walked swiftly away.

  Janos stood at his window, staring unseeingly into the early June dawn. In his grief and bitterness he had not slept. Yet he was past the peak of it and could think again. He had liked his big barbarian guard and had never sensed his weakness. But you couldn't know what a barbarian might do.

  There was a rap on his chamber door. He turned.

  "Yes?"

  A guard opened it apologetically. "I could hear you moving around, Your Highness, and knew you were awake. Sergeant Bela would like to talk to you."

  "At this hour? What about?"

  "The barbarian, Your Highness."

  The king stared at him with narrowed eyes. "All right, let him in. But you and Sandor stay with us."

  Bela was ushered in and dropped immediately to one knee. The words began to pour out. "Your Highness, I've heard what has been said about the barbarian-what you have been told. And I've talked to him." Without a pause he told about the friendship between Nils and Imre, their joking closeness, of being with them continously on the barge and of his farewell to them in the City of Kazi. "And Your Highness, I know it's not true. He couldn't have been that way without some of us seeing some sign of it and speaking of it. He just couldn't have done it. It would be impossible for him. He says that Kazi himself had Imre killed, on a whim. And it's true, Your Highness; I know it. By my life I swear he is telling the truth!"

  "Shut up!" shouted Janos. "By your life, eh? Guards, take this lunatic out of here and lock him up." The shaken guards put the points of their swords to Bela's chest, and he stood.

  "I swear it, Your Highness," Bela said in little more than a whisper. "Nils is telling the truth. He doesn't know how to lie."

  The door of Ahmed's chamber opened quietly and Janos' two guards stepped in and to the side. The king entered behind them and walked up to the cot of the sleeping Sudanese. Drawing back the blanket he placed his dagger point at Ahmed's throat, laying his hand on the dark arched brow so the man would not lift his head abruptly.

  "Ahmed. Wake up."

  Ahmed awoke fully alert at the words and knew his danger instantly. He touched the mind of his own bodyguard, fading in death outside his door. The king's mind was cold and hard, and he knew that this time it could not be cozened.

  "You said the letter came yesterday. Why didn't you show it to me until tonight?"

  "As I said, Highness, I couldn't bring myself to give it to you at first. I knew how terrible the news would be for you."

  "Liar! You have never had a merciful thought. And why did Kazi send it to you instead of to me?"

  Never a merciful thought. He is almost right, Ahmed realized. Not for many years. The Sudanese was suddenly tired and didn't particularly care what happened to him, but he answered anyway, sensing it would do no good.

  "He sent it to me so that I could use my judgement as to whether or when to give it to you."

  The king's eyes were slitted, his grim face pale in the dawn light. "The barbarian has said that Kazi had the boy killed. How do you answer that?"

  "The barbarian lies."

  Janos' voice dropped to a hoarse undertone. "And do you remember what you told me after you first looked into his mind, early last winter?"

  Ahmed simply looked at the king, too tired to answer. He felt the mind explode at him in the same instant the blade plunged in, watched in dim and heavy apathy as his body first stiffened, then slowly relaxed. It… could… not…

  Tears of release and grief washed down the king's cheeks as he spoke to the dark corpse. "You said he didn't lie-that he wasn't able to lie. Now I know who the liars were, and have been all along, and I sent my son, the boy who was like a son to me, to be killed by him."

  He turned to his guards, who stood with their jaws hanging in gross astonishment. "Get this carrion out of here," he rasped. And pointing to the corpse of Ahmed he added, "And see that that one is fed to the swine."

  17.

  Early in the morning, under the fussy directions of the asthmatic physician, the strong hands of guards lifted Nils onto a litter and carried him from the dungeon to a softer bed. He gave them almost no attention, for he was busy using a skill Ilse had taught him. He was healing his body.

  Ilse was aware of the cellular structure of tissues-the Kinfolk had maintained all they could of ancient knowledge-and the circulation of the blood was known by everyone. That knowledge was not very functional, though, in the sense that she could do much with it. It served mainly to provide a sense of understanding. But the body itself understands the body much better than any physiologist ever had. The ability her father had developed and taught her was the ability to impose conscious purpose on autonomic physiological processes.

  Therefore, Nils didn't try to think of a cell or a tissue. He simply fixed his attention totally on a whole and undamaged thigh and buttock, with a completeness of concentration that Ilse had developed through disciplined practice but that he had mastered almost as quickly as the possibility had been demonstrated to him.

  Although his eyes were closed, his other senses received the thoughts, sounds, smells and touches that encountered them. But in his trancelike concentration, that part of him which screened sensory data for referral to action centers or to the higher level analytical center, operated on a basis of passing only emergency messages.

  The physician sat beside him, aware that the wisest thing to do was nothing. For despite the profoundness of Nils's trance, he clearly was not in a coma. His breathing was deep and regular, his brow neither hot nor cold, and his heartbeat was strong.

  Beginning about midday Nils awakened periodically for water and nourishment. After eating lightly and drinking, he would return to his healing trance.

  By early on the fourth day healing was far advanced, and Nils walked with Janos to Ahmed's chamber. A servant with hammer and chisel broke the hasp on the chest they found there. Nils opened it, took out a gray plastic boxed stamped with the meaningless symbols:

  PROP INST MENTAL PHEN

  UNIV TEL AVIV

  and flipped the switch.

  The instruments once used for "finding" other tuners had used electricity and had long since been inoperable and lost. Without knowi
ng the setting of a particular tuner there was no real possiblity of tuning to it. Nils's memory was precise, however; he set the coarse tuning, then the fine, and then the microtuner. Finally, carefully, he set the vernier. Then he looked at the number stamped on the case and held in his mind the clear picture of a series of digits: 37-02-103-8. He waited for several moments. It was the time of day when members of the Inner Circle communicated.

  "Nils!" Raadgiver had recognized his mind. The wait had been the time necessary to duplicate the setting Nils's mind had held for him. "Where are you, Nils? And what set is that? I've never heard of that number before."

  Nils reran the audio-visual sequence of relevant events for Raadgiver's mind, beginning with the ambush in the Bavarian forest.

  Raadgiver digested the information for a few moments and then began. Kazi had begun his invasion, landing his army from a fleet of ships on the north coast of the Black Sea. His advance forces had easily broken the resistance of local Ukrainian nobles. The Inner Circle had a substantial picture of events. One of the Wandering Kin, with a psi tuner, had been sent from the court of Saxony to King Vlad of the South Ukraine in the expectation that Kazi would strike there first.

  In spite of the atrocities being committed, Vlad was not seriously trying to defend his kingdom, which was mostly open steppe. Instead he was pulling back his army of nearly four thousand knights to join with Nikolas of the North Ukraine, numbering about twenty-five hundred. They hoped to make a stand in the northwest, where the grasslands were interspersed with forest, providing an opportunity for a cavalry guerrilla and the prospect of help from the neighboring Poles.

  "The best army in Kazi's way," Raadgiver continued, "is that of Casimir of Poland. It has been a curse to the Balts, the Ukrainians, the Saxons and Prussians for years, and when fully gathered, it numbers perhaps six thousand. Most important, it is disciplined and well led. Casimir is gathering it now, and the Prussians and Saxons are gathering theirs. We have spread the word everywhere.

  "But now there is another invasion, in northern Poland, by the northmen, your own people. There are still only a few, perhaps two hundred, holding a tiny area on the coast, but their position is impossible to attack on horseback because of marshes, and a force of knights sent against them on foot was routed. And more are expected, for they have stolen several Polish and Danish ships.

  "When enough have landed they will surely try to break out of the section they hold now, so Casimir is sending a strong army that will attack them when they move. And the King of Prussia is holding his army to fight them, too. And by holding these armies from joining with the Ukrainians, the neovikings are destroying what little chance we have against Kazi."

  Raadgiver read the question in Nils's mind. "It was the winter that caused it," the counselor explained. "In Denmark it was the worst ever. In the northlands it was so bad that your tribes felt they would hardly survive another. We captured several wounded when Norsk raiders took a Danish ship, and I questioned them and read their minds. The three tribes have joined in this and plan to move all their people before winter if they can.

  "It's not northern Poland they're interested in. They hope to cross the continent to the Mediterranean. They'll never make it, of course; all of them together are far too few. They underestimate the Poles and the Germans. But they are weakening us at a critical time."

  Nils interrupted. "Who is their war chief?"

  "A man called Scar Belly."

  "Ah, Bjorn Arrbuk! I would rather fight the troll again, or even the lion. And he is the greatest raid leader of the Svear, as my clan has learned by experience. You would take the tribes more seriously if you knew him better.

  "Now, listen to me; this is very important. The tribes can be your salvation instead of your ruin, if they are led against Kazi. But you'll have to keep war from starting between the Poles and the tribes-keep them from wasting one another. For the tribes do what few armies do. They fight on foot more than on horseback, and stealth and cunning are their pride.

  "Once you told me that one of the Inner Circle, a Jan Reszke, was counselor to Casimir. Is he still?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. Tell him I'm coming north to turn the tribes eastward against Kazi. Tell him to keep Casimir from attacking them. Have him urge Casimir to send as many troops as possible against Kazi."

  "Are you telling me you can get the tribes to abandon their plans and follow you against Kazi? You're only a youth, and an outcast at that."

  "We have a legend in the north," Nils answered. "Once, when the tribes were younger, the Jotar made war on the Svear, and the Jotar were stronger so that it seemed they would destroy and enslave the other tribes. But then a young warrior arose among the Svear who became a raid leader and led several brilliant raids. In one they surprised and killed the chief of the Jotar and several of their clan chieftains.

  "This demoralized the Jotar and heartened the Svear, so that the tide was turned. And then the young warrior disappeared, but in their successes no one missed him. For several years the Svear prevailed, burning villages and haystacks and destroying cattle, as the Jotar had before them, until it appeared it was the Jotar who would be destroyed and enslaved.

  "And then a young warrior among the Jotar was made a raid leader and led a daring raid which left the chief of the Svear dead, along with several of their principal raid leaders. It was then that both tribes realized this was the same youth who had saved the Svear earlier, but until he wanted them to, they had not been able to recognize him, because he was a wizard. And he said he was not of any clan or tribe but was simply a northman.

  "Then he called a council of all the warriors of the three tribes, and they came without weapons, as he told them. And in the council he put before them the bans, and after they had counciled with one another they approved them. They would still fight, for that was their nature, but they would not take each other's land. They could kill men, but not women or children. They could not burn barns or dwellings, but only longhouses. They could burn straw stacks, but not hay stacks. They could steal livestock, but they could not kill what they could not drive away. And they could kill in vengeance only for specified wrongs and within approved feuds.

  "And all the clans agreed to this and praised the young warrior, and all the warriors lined up to honor him and clasp his hand. But one warrior hated him because he did not want to change, so he hid a small poisoned knife in his breeches. And when he came up to him, he struck him with it, killing him.

  "Then, instead of making a burial mound, they put the body in a canoe and let it float on the river, although they didn't know why. And it floated down the river to the sea and out of sight.

  "And then they realized that no one knew his name, so they called him The Yngling. I know that, in Danish, yngling means a youth, a youngling. But among the tribes it has not been so used since, for it can only be used as his name.

  "Although some of the details are fanciful, the story is basically true, history as well as legend. And the tribes believe that The Yngling will come again in a time of great need. Maybe this is the time."

  For several seconds Raadgiver's mind framed no response, and when it did, it was through a sense of disorientation and some unease. His skin crawled. "I will send one of the Wandering Kin to them, a Dane who has been in Jotmark. He will be able to talk to them. But will they believe?"

  "Most will neither believe nor disbelieve. But that isn't important. What is important is that they will watch for me, prepared to listen. Can you give me the name of one of the kinfolk near Pest, and how I can find him?"

  Nils followed Raadgiver's mind while the counselor looked into the ledger where he kept the names and whereabouts of the more settled kin, as best he knew them. His eyes stopped at a name and location for Nils to read.

  "Good. Here is what I'll do before I start north. The Magyars are good fighters, well mounted. I'll send them northeast over the mountains to join the Poles and Ukrainians. Let the Poles and Ukrainians know this. And if your p
si, Zoltan Kossuth, is willing and able to go with them, I'll give him this psi tuner. That will give the Magyars contact with the others. He'll get in touch with you later for the settings of any tuners you think he should contact."

  I will lead the tribes against Kazi. I will send the Magyars. A weakness, a gray fear, began to settle over Raadgiver. In his long life he had heard big boasts and hollow promises, had even been privy to the minds of megalomaniacs. But those, he told himself, had not been men on whom so much depended. Yet his fear had grown from more than that, and less, grown from something inside him that he did not see, could not look at. Nils's thoughts had seemed insane, but yet they had a sense of certainty and the feel of clear and powerful sanity. And that was impossible. That was insane. The old psi's stable data were dissolving, the keystones of his personal world.

  Nils helped him on both counts with a new and simple stable datum, putting it out as if the thought were Raadgiver's own, and the man took it. This is the New Man, maturing. Who knows what He can do? The weakness fell away, replaced by hope.

  "Is there anything more you have to tell me?" Nils asked.

  "Nothing more," Raadgiver replied.

  They saluted each other and Nils replaced the tuner in the chest.

  During the long, voiceless conversation Janos had begun to grow irritated, understanding only that Nils was sitting there silently ignoring him. But he had not interrupted. When it was over, Nils turned.

  "Your Highness," he said, "I can do what Ahmed did. I can look into minds and speak without sound to others like me. This-" he gestured to where he had replaced the tuner-"is a means by which two like me can speak to one another with the mind, at great distances. Ahmed was not only a counselor loaned to you. He was also a spy against you, reporting everything to Kazi through this. I was using it now to speak with my teacher on the shore of the northern sea."

  There was a copy of an ancient topographic map of Europe on the wall, with the modern states outlined on it. Nils walked over to it. "About here is where Kazi's army is now, with thirty thousand men," he said pointing. "The Ukrainians are far too few to hold him, even if the Poles arrive soon to help. But if you took your army over the mountains, here, your combined forces could delay and damage him until other kings can gather theirs."