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 knowing 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 Jötar made war
on the Svear, and the Jötar 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 Jötar and several of their clan chieftains.
“This demoralized the Jötar 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 Jötar had before them, until it
appeared it was the Jötar who would be destroyed and
enslaved.
“And then a young warrior among the Jötar 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 psi, 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.”
Janos frowned. “But Kazi’s army is more powerful
than all the others put together. Otherwise, I’d never have
allied myself with him.”
“That’s what he wanted you to believe,” Nils
answered. “And in open battle it would be true. But in that
land you could work as small units, striking and then running to
cover to strike again elsewhere.”
Janos’ face sharpened. “And who asked your
advice?” he said coldly. “Have you forgotten that
you’re a foreigner of common blood?”
Nils grinned. “I’m young but not foolish, Your
Highness. Yet I do indeed advise,” he continued more
seriously. “And deep in your mind you know my advice is good,
because if you don’t combine armies, Kazi will eat you up
separately. But you are a king, used to listening to advice only
when you’ve asked for it, and so my boldness offended you.
Yet I’m only a foreigner, a commoner, a barbarian, and a mere
youth to boot. You wouldn’t have asked for my advice, so I
had to give it uninvited.”
The king stared at Nils for several seconds before a smile began
to break his scowl. “You’re a scoundrel,
barbarian,” he said, clapping the warrior’s shoulder.
“But allowances must be made for barbarians, at least for
those who are giants and great swordsmen who can look into the
minds of others and speak across half a world and heal dirty wounds
in three days. You’re right. We must move, for better or for
worse, and if need be we’ll die like men, with swords in our
hands. And you will come with us, and I’ll continue to listen
to your unasked-for advice.”
“Highness,” said Nils, suddenly solemn, “with
your permission I’ll go instead to my own people and lead
them against Kazi. They are not numerous, but they fight with a
savagery and cunning that will warm your blood to see.”
“All right, all right,” the king said, shaking his
head ruefully. “I bow to your will again. If your people are
all like you, they can probably talk Kazi into
surrender.”
Janos sent riders ordering the nobles to gather at the palace on
the sixth day, which was as soon as the more distant could possibly
arrive if they left at once. The orders specified foreign danger to
the realm, in order that there would be no delaying by independent
lords who might otherwise be inclined to frustrate him.
After two more days spent resting and healing, Nils submitted
his newly knitted thigh and hip to a saddle and rode a ferry across
the Duna to the town of Buda. He didn’t want to send a
messenger to Zoltan Kossuth, the psi, in case the request be
interpreted as an invitation to a trap.
Nils led his horse off the ferry and spoke to a dockman.
“Where can I find the inn of Zoltan Kossuth?” he
asked.
“Would that be the Zoltan Kossuth who is called the Bear?
Turn left on the outer street. His is the inn just past the South
Gate, under the sign of the bear, and the stable next to it is his,
too. It’s the best inn in town, if you like your inns
orderly. The Bear is notorious for throwing out troublemakers with
his own tender hands, although”—he sized Nils up with a leer
more gaps than teeth—“He’d have his hands more than
full trying to throw you out. Not that I’m calling you a
troublemaker, you understand, but if you were.”
Nils grinned back, mounted, and started down the cobbled street.
“And the fare is good for both man and horse,” the
dockman shouted after him.
Nils strode into the inn, which was quiet at that hour. The
keeper was talking with two men who were telling him more than they
realized. Tuned for it, Nils had detected the man’s psi
before reaching the stable, but engrossed as the Bear was in the
words and thoughts he was listening to, he wasn’t aware of
Nils until the barbarian came through the door.
Zoltan Kossuth was not admired for his beauty. His round head
had no hair above the ears, but his black beard, clipped somewhat
short, grew densely to the eye sockets, and a similar but untrimmed
growth bushed out obstreperously through gaps in the front of a
shirt that had more than it could do to contain an enormous chest.
He was of moderate height, but his burly hundred kilos made him
look stubby. Just for a moment he glanced up balefully at the
strange psi, then seeing a servant move to wait on Nils, he
returned to his conversation.
Nils sat in an inner corner nursing an ale and a bowl of dry
beef. He felt no need to interrupt the Bear’s conversation,
but saw no point in waiting needlessly if the innkeeper’s
interest in it was not serious. Therefore, he held in his mind for
a moment a clear picture of the Bear holding a gray plastic psi
tuner, at the same time naming it in case the Bear would not
recognize one by sight.
Zoltan Kossuth scowled across at Nils, excused himself from the
table and disappeared into a back room. “Who are you and what
do you want?” he demanded mentally.
“I am Nils Järnhann, on business of the Inner Circle
and the king.”
This alarmed the Bear. Covering his intentions and actions with
discursive camouflage, he walked to a crossbow hanging on the wall.
“I’m not aware that a king of Hungary has had dealings
with one of the Inner Circle since old Mihaly, counselor to Janos
I, was murdered by an agent of Baalzebub when I was a boy.”
The Bear cranked the crossbow and set a dart to it. “What I
would like to know is how you can be on business which is of both
the Inner Circle and of Janos III.”
“Put down your weapon, Innkeeper.” And Nils ran
through his mind a rapid montage of Kazi, of Kazi’s guard
lopping off the head of Imre Rakosi, and of vile acts in the arena.
And the identities of all were clear, although Zoltan Kossuth had
not known what Kazi looked like until that moment. And it was
clear, too, what Nils’s mission had been. Then the picture
was of Janos leaning over a cot, slicing open the throat of
Ahmed.
The innkeeper was a suspicious man for someone who could read
minds, but he accepted this intuitively. Removing the dart, he
pulled the trigger with a twang and hung up the crossbow.
“And what do you want of me?” he asked.
When Nils was finished at the inn, he resaddled his horse and
left Buda through the West Gate, riding leisurely toward the castle
of Lord Miklos, which dominated the town from a nearby hill. Miklos
was the town’s protector, deriving an important part of his
wealth from its tribute. Prairie flowers bloomed along the climbing
dusty road, and the moat surrounding the castle was green with the
spears of new cattail leaves that had crowded through the broken
blades and stalks of last year’s growth. The shallow water,
already thick with algae, lost as much to the sun in dry weather as
it gained from the overflow of the castle’s spring and the
waste that emptied into it through an odorous concrete pipe.
The countryside was at peace, the drawbridge down, and the
gatekeepers at ease. “Who are you, stranger, and what is your
business here?” one called genially as Nils drew up his horse
at the outer end.
“I want to speak to Lord Miklos. My name is
Nils.”
The man’s mind told Nils that he might not remember such
an outlandish name long enough to repeat it to his master’s
page.
“Tell him it’s the big barbarian he rescued from
Lord Lajos’ castle,” Nils added.
A grin split the guard’s brawl-sculptured face and he
saluted Nils before he turned to carry the message. The ill-feeling
between the two nobles was shared by their retainers.
Lord Miklos was sitting on a stool, stripped to the waist, when
Nils was ushered into his chamber. One servant was washing the
nobleman’s feet and ankles while another towelled his still
lean torso. “Ah-ha, it is you. Sit down, my friend.
I’ve been in the fields this morning inspecting the work, and
that’s a dirty occupation in such dry weather. I’m
afraid our talk will have to be short, as my vassals are waiting to
meet with me at the noon meal. For business. Have you come to join
my guard?” He eyed Nils’s expensive clothes.
“No, m’ Lord.” Nils looked at the servants and
spoke in Anglic. “I have news for your ears alone.”
The old knight straightened and spoke to the servants, who
speeded their work and left. “What is it?” he
asked.
“I’ve come to tell you of the king and Baalzebub,
but there’s quite a bit of it and it will take time. Also,
it’s best if King Janos doesn’t learn about my visit
here.”
“Plague and death!” Miklos strode to a bell cord and
pulled it. In a moment a page entered. “Lad, I don’t
want to be disturbed until I ring again. Tell my guests I’ll
be delayed. Tell the steward to hold the
meal . . . no, tell him to feed the guests.
I’ll come later.”
The page left and Miklos turned to Nils. “All right, my
big friend, tell me everything.”
Speaking Magyar, Nils told him of Kazi the Conqueror who was the
basis in fact for Baalzebub, of Kazi’s military strength and
psi power and of his intention to conquer Europe.
“And you say this creature has lived since ancient times
and looks into men’s minds?”
“Yes. And there are others who can read thoughts,”
Nils answered. “I’m one of them.” Without giving
Miklos time to react fully to that, Nils told him of Janos’
visit to Kazi’s city some years earlier, of his conviction
that Kazi could not be withstood and of his decision to ally
himself to Kazi when the time came to assume the throne of Hungary.
Then, without being specific or complete, he told of the kinfolk,
of his commission to murder Kazi, and of his brief service with
Janos. And he told of Ahmed, who also was a spy set to report on
Janos through the psi tuner.
The old knight’s eyes were bright with anger as he arose
from his chair. “So this Ahmed looked into our minds when we
had audiences with Janos and told him what we thought to keep
secret. A lot of things are becoming clear to me now,” he
said grimly. “We’ll have to overthrow him.”
“I have not finished, m’ Lord. The king has killed
Ahmed with his own hand.”
Miklos sat down again, confused and prepared to listen.
Nils told of his friendship with Imre Rakosi, of Kazi’s
demanding the boy, and of their going.
“And Janos sent him! The man is gutless!”
Nils went on to tell of Imre’s murder. “But I was
lucky enough to escape and returned to Pest to tell the king, and
Janos cut Ahmed’s throat. And Ahmed had a magic box he used
to talk to his master’s mind from afar. I know the use of
such boxes, and used it to speak to my teacher who lives near the
Northern Sea. He told me that Kazi has struck north against the
Ukrainians. Casimir of Poland is gathering his army to join the
Ukrainians, but he in turn has been invaded by barbarians from the
north, so he can send only part of his army against
Kazi.”
Miklos was on his feet. “Why, man, we should go.
Before we are alone. Throw down the traitor and go ourselves. There
are no finer fighters in the world than Magyars.
I . . . ”
Nils interrupted. “That’s what Janos plans to do.
It’s the reason he’s called for his nobles. ‘We
must move for better or for worse,’ he said, ‘and if
need be we’ll die like men, with swords in our hands’ ”
Miklos stared. “Janos said that? This
Janos?” His gaze sharpened. “Why did you come here to
tell me this when I’ll hear it from Janos himself in a few
days? And why did you ask that your visit here be kept secret from
him?”
The nobleman’s mind was suddenly dark with suspicion.
“Because you’ve distrusted and despised Janos and
might not believe him, while you might well believe me. And
you’ll be the key man among the nobles. For you are not only
the most powerful of them; you’re also the most respected,
even by your enemies. If you respond with belief and approve the
king’s plan, the others will follow. But if Janos knew
I’d taken it on myself to come here, he’d be mad. My
forwardness has already tried his patience.”
Miklos looked shrewdly at Nils. “I’ll bet it has, at
that. I look forward to seeing more of you, northman, for
you’re as crafty as you are strong, and I enjoy craft in an
honest man.”
“You’ll be disappointed then, m’Lord, because
I’m leaving tomorrow. The barbarians distracting Casimir are
my own people, and I have to try to bring them in with us instead
of unknowingly against us. If you see me again, it will be with
them, the tribes of northmen, who, I have to tell you frankly, are
the greatest fighters in the world.”
It was then Miklos tested Nils. You’ve said a lot
today, he thought silently but deliberately, most of it
hard to believe, and asked me to accept it as true. You’ve
asked me to trust Janos, a man I’ve always distrusted with
what I know now to be good reason. So tell me, can you really read
my mind?
The grin came back to Nils’s face. “Yes m’Lord, and the honest doubts that go with the thoughts.”
And Miklos smiled, the first smile Nils had seen on him.
“That settles it. I’ll do as you ask.” He put out
a big knobby hand that Nils wrapped in his.
“Thank you, m’Lord.” Nils started to leave,
then turned at the door. “And sir, don’t underestimate
the king. His mind does prefer the devious, just as you once told
me, but he is no coward.”
That evening Nils introduced Zoltan Kossuth to Janos, and the
Bear showed no sign of surliness, for he was nothing if not shrewd.
And they talked until late.
In the morning Nils rode north from the city astride a large
strong horse, a prize of Magyar horse breeding. And with him rode
Bela and a tough guard corporal also named Bela, differentiated by
the guard as Bela One and Bela Two. Fourteen days later seventeen
hundred Magyar knights left the fields outside Pest, with Janos and
the western lords. By the time they reached the northeastern end of
the kingdom and were ready to start over Uzhok Pass for the
Ukraine, they had been joined by the eastern lords with twenty-one
hundred more.
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 knowing 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 Jötar made war
on the Svear, and the Jötar 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 Jötar and several of their clan chieftains.
“This demoralized the Jötar 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 Jötar had before them, until it
appeared it was the Jötar who would be destroyed and
enslaved.
“And then a young warrior among the Jötar 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 psi, 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.”
Janos frowned. “But Kazi’s army is more powerful
than all the others put together. Otherwise, I’d never have
allied myself with him.”
“That’s what he wanted you to believe,” Nils
answered. “And in open battle it would be true. But in that
land you could work as small units, striking and then running to
cover to strike again elsewhere.”
Janos’ face sharpened. “And who asked your
advice?” he said coldly. “Have you forgotten that
you’re a foreigner of common blood?”
Nils grinned. “I’m young but not foolish, Your
Highness. Yet I do indeed advise,” he continued more
seriously. “And deep in your mind you know my advice is good,
because if you don’t combine armies, Kazi will eat you up
separately. But you are a king, used to listening to advice only
when you’ve asked for it, and so my boldness offended you.
Yet I’m only a foreigner, a commoner, a barbarian, and a mere
youth to boot. You wouldn’t have asked for my advice, so I
had to give it uninvited.”
The king stared at Nils for several seconds before a smile began
to break his scowl. “You’re a scoundrel,
barbarian,” he said, clapping the warrior’s shoulder.
“But allowances must be made for barbarians, at least for
those who are giants and great swordsmen who can look into the
minds of others and speak across half a world and heal dirty wounds
in three days. You’re right. We must move, for better or for
worse, and if need be we’ll die like men, with swords in our
hands. And you will come with us, and I’ll continue to listen
to your unasked-for advice.”
“Highness,” said Nils, suddenly solemn, “with
your permission I’ll go instead to my own people and lead
them against Kazi. They are not numerous, but they fight with a
savagery and cunning that will warm your blood to see.”
“All right, all right,” the king said, shaking his
head ruefully. “I bow to your will again. If your people are
all like you, they can probably talk Kazi into
surrender.”
Janos sent riders ordering the nobles to gather at the palace on
the sixth day, which was as soon as the more distant could possibly
arrive if they left at once. The orders specified foreign danger to
the realm, in order that there would be no delaying by independent
lords who might otherwise be inclined to frustrate him.
After two more days spent resting and healing, Nils submitted
his newly knitted thigh and hip to a saddle and rode a ferry across
the Duna to the town of Buda. He didn’t want to send a
messenger to Zoltan Kossuth, the psi, in case the request be
interpreted as an invitation to a trap.
Nils led his horse off the ferry and spoke to a dockman.
“Where can I find the inn of Zoltan Kossuth?” he
asked.
“Would that be the Zoltan Kossuth who is called the Bear?
Turn left on the outer street. His is the inn just past the South
Gate, under the sign of the bear, and the stable next to it is his,
too. It’s the best inn in town, if you like your inns
orderly. The Bear is notorious for throwing out troublemakers with
his own tender hands, although”—he sized Nils up with a leer
more gaps than teeth—“He’d have his hands more than
full trying to throw you out. Not that I’m calling you a
troublemaker, you understand, but if you were.”
Nils grinned back, mounted, and started down the cobbled street.
“And the fare is good for both man and horse,” the
dockman shouted after him.
Nils strode into the inn, which was quiet at that hour. The
keeper was talking with two men who were telling him more than they
realized. Tuned for it, Nils had detected the man’s psi
before reaching the stable, but engrossed as the Bear was in the
words and thoughts he was listening to, he wasn’t aware of
Nils until the barbarian came through the door.
Zoltan Kossuth was not admired for his beauty. His round head
had no hair above the ears, but his black beard, clipped somewhat
short, grew densely to the eye sockets, and a similar but untrimmed
growth bushed out obstreperously through gaps in the front of a
shirt that had more than it could do to contain an enormous chest.
He was of moderate height, but his burly hundred kilos made him
look stubby. Just for a moment he glanced up balefully at the
strange psi, then seeing a servant move to wait on Nils, he
returned to his conversation.
Nils sat in an inner corner nursing an ale and a bowl of dry
beef. He felt no need to interrupt the Bear’s conversation,
but saw no point in waiting needlessly if the innkeeper’s
interest in it was not serious. Therefore, he held in his mind for
a moment a clear picture of the Bear holding a gray plastic psi
tuner, at the same time naming it in case the Bear would not
recognize one by sight.
Zoltan Kossuth scowled across at Nils, excused himself from the
table and disappeared into a back room. “Who are you and what
do you want?” he demanded mentally.
“I am Nils Järnhann, on business of the Inner Circle
and the king.”
This alarmed the Bear. Covering his intentions and actions with
discursive camouflage, he walked to a crossbow hanging on the wall.
“I’m not aware that a king of Hungary has had dealings
with one of the Inner Circle since old Mihaly, counselor to Janos
I, was murdered by an agent of Baalzebub when I was a boy.”
The Bear cranked the crossbow and set a dart to it. “What I
would like to know is how you can be on business which is of both
the Inner Circle and of Janos III.”
“Put down your weapon, Innkeeper.” And Nils ran
through his mind a rapid montage of Kazi, of Kazi’s guard
lopping off the head of Imre Rakosi, and of vile acts in the arena.
And the identities of all were clear, although Zoltan Kossuth had
not known what Kazi looked like until that moment. And it was
clear, too, what Nils’s mission had been. Then the picture
was of Janos leaning over a cot, slicing open the throat of
Ahmed.
The innkeeper was a suspicious man for someone who could read
minds, but he accepted this intuitively. Removing the dart, he
pulled the trigger with a twang and hung up the crossbow.
“And what do you want of me?” he asked.
When Nils was finished at the inn, he resaddled his horse and
left Buda through the West Gate, riding leisurely toward the castle
of Lord Miklos, which dominated the town from a nearby hill. Miklos
was the town’s protector, deriving an important part of his
wealth from its tribute. Prairie flowers bloomed along the climbing
dusty road, and the moat surrounding the castle was green with the
spears of new cattail leaves that had crowded through the broken
blades and stalks of last year’s growth. The shallow water,
already thick with algae, lost as much to the sun in dry weather as
it gained from the overflow of the castle’s spring and the
waste that emptied into it through an odorous concrete pipe.
The countryside was at peace, the drawbridge down, and the
gatekeepers at ease. “Who are you, stranger, and what is your
business here?” one called genially as Nils drew up his horse
at the outer end.
“I want to speak to Lord Miklos. My name is
Nils.”
The man’s mind told Nils that he might not remember such
an outlandish name long enough to repeat it to his master’s
page.
“Tell him it’s the big barbarian he rescued from
Lord Lajos’ castle,” Nils added.
A grin split the guard’s brawl-sculptured face and he
saluted Nils before he turned to carry the message. The ill-feeling
between the two nobles was shared by their retainers.
Lord Miklos was sitting on a stool, stripped to the waist, when
Nils was ushered into his chamber. One servant was washing the
nobleman’s feet and ankles while another towelled his still
lean torso. “Ah-ha, it is you. Sit down, my friend.
I’ve been in the fields this morning inspecting the work, and
that’s a dirty occupation in such dry weather. I’m
afraid our talk will have to be short, as my vassals are waiting to
meet with me at the noon meal. For business. Have you come to join
my guard?” He eyed Nils’s expensive clothes.
“No, m’ Lord.” Nils looked at the servants and
spoke in Anglic. “I have news for your ears alone.”
The old knight straightened and spoke to the servants, who
speeded their work and left. “What is it?” he
asked.
“I’ve come to tell you of the king and Baalzebub,
but there’s quite a bit of it and it will take time. Also,
it’s best if King Janos doesn’t learn about my visit
here.”
“Plague and death!” Miklos strode to a bell cord and
pulled it. In a moment a page entered. “Lad, I don’t
want to be disturbed until I ring again. Tell my guests I’ll
be delayed. Tell the steward to hold the
meal . . . no, tell him to feed the guests.
I’ll come later.”
The page left and Miklos turned to Nils. “All right, my
big friend, tell me everything.”
Speaking Magyar, Nils told him of Kazi the Conqueror who was the
basis in fact for Baalzebub, of Kazi’s military strength and
psi power and of his intention to conquer Europe.
“And you say this creature has lived since ancient times
and looks into men’s minds?”
“Yes. And there are others who can read thoughts,”
Nils answered. “I’m one of them.” Without giving
Miklos time to react fully to that, Nils told him of Janos’
visit to Kazi’s city some years earlier, of his conviction
that Kazi could not be withstood and of his decision to ally
himself to Kazi when the time came to assume the throne of Hungary.
Then, without being specific or complete, he told of the kinfolk,
of his commission to murder Kazi, and of his brief service with
Janos. And he told of Ahmed, who also was a spy set to report on
Janos through the psi tuner.
The old knight’s eyes were bright with anger as he arose
from his chair. “So this Ahmed looked into our minds when we
had audiences with Janos and told him what we thought to keep
secret. A lot of things are becoming clear to me now,” he
said grimly. “We’ll have to overthrow him.”
“I have not finished, m’ Lord. The king has killed
Ahmed with his own hand.”
Miklos sat down again, confused and prepared to listen.
Nils told of his friendship with Imre Rakosi, of Kazi’s
demanding the boy, and of their going.
“And Janos sent him! The man is gutless!”
Nils went on to tell of Imre’s murder. “But I was
lucky enough to escape and returned to Pest to tell the king, and
Janos cut Ahmed’s throat. And Ahmed had a magic box he used
to talk to his master’s mind from afar. I know the use of
such boxes, and used it to speak to my teacher who lives near the
Northern Sea. He told me that Kazi has struck north against the
Ukrainians. Casimir of Poland is gathering his army to join the
Ukrainians, but he in turn has been invaded by barbarians from the
north, so he can send only part of his army against
Kazi.”
Miklos was on his feet. “Why, man, we should go.
Before we are alone. Throw down the traitor and go ourselves. There
are no finer fighters in the world than Magyars.
I . . . ”
Nils interrupted. “That’s what Janos plans to do.
It’s the reason he’s called for his nobles. ‘We
must move for better or for worse,’ he said, ‘and if
need be we’ll die like men, with swords in our hands’ ”
Miklos stared. “Janos said that? This
Janos?” His gaze sharpened. “Why did you come here to
tell me this when I’ll hear it from Janos himself in a few
days? And why did you ask that your visit here be kept secret from
him?”
The nobleman’s mind was suddenly dark with suspicion.
“Because you’ve distrusted and despised Janos and
might not believe him, while you might well believe me. And
you’ll be the key man among the nobles. For you are not only
the most powerful of them; you’re also the most respected,
even by your enemies. If you respond with belief and approve the
king’s plan, the others will follow. But if Janos knew
I’d taken it on myself to come here, he’d be mad. My
forwardness has already tried his patience.”
Miklos looked shrewdly at Nils. “I’ll bet it has, at
that. I look forward to seeing more of you, northman, for
you’re as crafty as you are strong, and I enjoy craft in an
honest man.”
“You’ll be disappointed then, m’Lord, because
I’m leaving tomorrow. The barbarians distracting Casimir are
my own people, and I have to try to bring them in with us instead
of unknowingly against us. If you see me again, it will be with
them, the tribes of northmen, who, I have to tell you frankly, are
the greatest fighters in the world.”
It was then Miklos tested Nils. You’ve said a lot
today, he thought silently but deliberately, most of it
hard to believe, and asked me to accept it as true. You’ve
asked me to trust Janos, a man I’ve always distrusted with
what I know now to be good reason. So tell me, can you really read
my mind?
The grin came back to Nils’s face. “Yes m’Lord, and the honest doubts that go with the thoughts.”
And Miklos smiled, the first smile Nils had seen on him.
“That settles it. I’ll do as you ask.” He put out
a big knobby hand that Nils wrapped in his.
“Thank you, m’Lord.” Nils started to leave,
then turned at the door. “And sir, don’t underestimate
the king. His mind does prefer the devious, just as you once told
me, but he is no coward.”
That evening Nils introduced Zoltan Kossuth to Janos, and the
Bear showed no sign of surliness, for he was nothing if not shrewd.
And they talked until late.
In the morning Nils rode north from the city astride a large
strong horse, a prize of Magyar horse breeding. And with him rode
Bela and a tough guard corporal also named Bela, differentiated by
the guard as Bela One and Bela Two. Fourteen days later seventeen
hundred Magyar knights left the fields outside Pest, with Janos and
the western lords. By the time they reached the northeastern end of
the kingdom and were ready to start over Uzhok Pass for the
Ukraine, they had been joined by the eastern lords with twenty-one
hundred more.