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The Yngling and the Circle of Power

TWENTY-TWO

From—Modern China, by Giulio Matsuda. University Press, A.C. 832.
. . . . No written records have been found of the post-plague Tibetan migration into those parts of China previously peopled by “Chinese,” that is, by people ethnically Chinese. Certain assumptions and conclusions can safely be made, however. Considering the physical appearance of the ethnic Tibetans in modern China, they presumably came from the eastern Tibet-Qinghai Plateau and adjacent mountain districts.
One might ask how there came to be so many. According to the Terran census of A.D. 2100, the last available, the total population of ethnic Tibetans within Tibet itself, and in the adjacent Chinese states of Xinjiang, Sichuan, Qinghai, and upper Yunnan was fewer than seven million. According to planet-wide estimates of plague and short-term post-plague mortality, the expected number of Tibetan survivors should have been somewhere between five hundred and five thousand. In the instance of a people many of whom lived a relatively self-sufficient life, not vitally dependent on the technological infrastructure, five thousand seems not unreasonable.
An additional peculiarity lies in the genetic strain of Tibetans to which modern Sino-Tibetans seem to belong: the Goloks. Judging by the degree of their population recovery, Asian nomads in general seem to have been less severely decimated by the plague, or more probably by post-plague privation and disease, than were other genetic stocks. But seemingly the Goloks were the least affected of all; one might hazard a guess that something like five percent survived, possibly ten or fifteen percent, instead of a small fraction of one percent.
Apparently becoming aware of the depopulation of China, with its much kinder climate, significant numbers of Goloks began moving down the river valleys into Guizhou, Qinling, lower Yunnan, and lower Sichuan within a generation or two. Numbers capable of dominating the scattered Chinese survivors they found in those areas. . . .

“Also, in private, he has proven his wizard skills to my brother, the chief. He has shown his wizardry to my brother the chief, and it was greater than any wizardry seen by him before. Thus my brother the chief invited Nils of the Iron Hand, and his close companions, to the council, as his guests.”
Jaghatai’s mouth had clamped shut early in this recitation, but when Achikh was done, he looked at the three and spoke. “Be welcome then,” he gritted, and turning, stalked away.
Along with Achikh, the three sat not in the front and center—which would be arrogant and offensive of foreigners—but not far from the front, either, nor too far to the side. Wherever they’d walked, eyes had been drawn to Nils because of his size and obvious strength. He wore his leather shirt now, but it had no sleeves.
The listening area filled quickly, and as it did, the council came and took their seats on cushions brought by slaves. Finally Kaidu Long Nose stood up—he was the council’s leader—and called for silence. When he had it, he spoke again in a strong voice. His mode of speech was formal but not repetitive; the council had much to discuss and hopefully settle in the three days left to them.
“Yesterday,” Kaidu said, “we listened to complaints between tribes, and settled them justly. Today we shall speak of others matters, matters of broader scope.” He paused, looking the crowd over. “Including a matter of which we have not spoken before.”
That got their attention; they expected him to bring up an invasion of the Yakut-Russ.
“A year ago we also held a great congress here. At that time I proposed that we unite to seize the forest region below Baikal. Since then I have come to see matters differently.” He gestured toward the front row of listeners, where for the first time Fong Jung Hing sat among bodyguards and keepers. “The emperor’s ambassador has been here for almost a year—since a single moon after our last congress. He has made an offer which we all need to consider. Also I have had four ambassadors in China, traveling widely. Their reports have confirmed and enlarged on what my spies had learned for me earlier.”
Baver could feel a tension in the crowd, a restlessness, an uncertainty.
“I will tell you what my ambassadors have seen,” Kaidu went on, “before I tell you what the emperor proposes, and what I believe we should do. We have always known that China has a vast multitude of people. The emperor’s ambassador says thirty million, which is a thousand thousands, and then thirty times that. More than all the Mongol people—the Buriat and Khalkhaz and Kalmuls—and also their horses and cattle and sheep.
“Of that multitude of Chinese, more than six million are Goloks—a thousand thousands, six times. The Goloks are good soldiers; many of them are warriors. They rule the empire, and the emperors have been Goloks from the beginning. China has many towns, each with its garrison, each garrison with its troop of Golok cavalry. And every town, every district, has young men who, at the emperor’s call, will put aside their work and muster with their swords and bows, their halberds and spears. Also, the country is full of people growing food and making all manner of things, including weapons and clothing and armor for the soldiers.”
Kaidu looked his audience over. “Much of this I told you before, but it is worse than I knew then. Couriers on swift horses ride daily throughout the empire, and in many places there are signal towers within sight of each other, with men who know how to speak with a flag on a long pole. Also on these towers are men with far-seers, made with the hollow stems of certain saplings, with wizard glass set in the ends, which make distant things look near. Thus soldiers and other armed men can be gathered quickly from whatever towns and districts the emperor wishes, into armies small or large.
“Beyond all this, the emperor has large and dangerous ogres who fight for him. We had heard of them before, and doubted. They sounded like stories told to naughty children, to frighten them, but they are real. My ambassadors have seen them. They are far taller than men, stronger than the bear, more savage than the tiger. And they wield their great swords with the skill of masters.
“I would not wish to fight the empire. Our forefathers fought and drove away the armies of earlier kings and emperors, and we are not lesser men than our forefathers. But the army of this emperor is far more dangerous than earlier armies. Even in the depths of the Yakut-Russ forest, I would not wish to fight the emperor’s army.”
A voice rose from the crowd then, a voice impatient and angry. “What do you wish to do then? What do you propose?”
Kaidu took the gauntlet without a pause. “In the empire are great districts covered with leafy forest; land where the summers are long, with much rain, and the winters short and soft. Land well suited to growing the food the emperor’s people eat. Every year his people clear more of those forests, and it grows abundant food. The emperor does not care to possess our land, where the soil is often bitter, and even in the memory of young men the winters have grown longer.
“He has conquered northward only to protect his out-lands from raiders. The lands he wishes to possess are westward and southward. What he wants of us—” Kaidu stopped a long five seconds, making the people reach for what he had to say, then repeated slowly. “What he wants is that we be his allies. The lands he would conquer are mostly open lands, without fixed towns, without forts of stone. They are lands much like our own, but without the iron winters, and they go on forever, to the ends of the Earth.”
Up till then, Kaidu had not raised his strong voice, which traveled far without shouting. Now though he spoke more loudly. “What the emperor wants is that we be his allies. That we make war westward. That we spread consternation and confusion through the western lands, while his own armies, vast and powerful, conquer and subjugate. Then, in the conquered world, the Mongols, especially the Buriat, will have first choice of the horses and cattle and slave girls. And the Mongol women, especially Buriat women, will wear silk and silver.
“I say ‘Mongols’ because he would have the Buriat raise all the Mongols to our banner. He would have the Buriat raise and lead all the Mongols. To the west, the Kalmuls are lurkers and skulkers by preference, and seldom follow any leader, though everyone knows they are dangerous fighters, swift and tireless horsemen. And more than any people, they are ravenous for the animals and goods of others. If the Buriat, powerful in union, were to press the Kalmuls, if a united and powerful Buriat people pressed them, they would join us for the looting they can have as the emperor’s allies.
“While to the east, the Khalkhaz have fat herds and fat wives, and their leaders had rather watch their cattle graze and their colts race in the deep grass, than go to war outside their own pastures. Though they will fight like the bear to protect their possessions. And more than any Mongol people, the Khalkhaz worry about the emperor coming, for theirs are the richest pastures, their grass the tallest. They even raise grain and beets for their slaves to harvest!
“But their young men chafe at the lack of fighting. If the Buriat people were united, and proposed to the young men of the Khalkhaz that we go conquering westward together, most of their young men would shout ‘yes!’ And if this meant that the emperor’s armies would go west instead of north, then their elders would not gainsay them.”
Achikh had sat quietly, deeply disturbed at what he heard. And more deeply disturbed at what he saw around him, for many men’s cheeks had darkened with excitement, and their eyes had taken the glint of a knife blade.
Then discussion began within the council, and there were questions from the crowd. Some, like Achikh, distrusted the emperor. Some did not want to leave their own steppes and mountains and herds. Especially the chiefs of the Red Spear clans resisted the proposal. The faces around Kaidu became more thoughtful, most of them, weighing, evaluating. And it seemed to Achikh that his brother might not get his way after all, though the voices raised for conquest, from whatever clan, still spoke strongly.
As the four sat on the floor eating supper, Achikh asked Nils, in Anglic, what he’d thought of the council meeting. Nils answered that it was not unlike council meetings of the Northmen. “What did you think of it?” he countered.
Achikh didn’t answer at once. Baver wondered about Nils’s question. If he knew the thoughts of the people around him, why would he ask? Perhaps to get Achikh to formulate his thoughts? Or simply to see what he’d say?
“I think,” Achikh said at last, “that Kaidu spoke very skillfully. The things he said excited the people, many of them, made them want to do it in spite of doubts.” He paused. “I am glad that Burhan Rides-the-Bear spoke so skillfully against it. For to trust the emperor, I think, is to trust the tiger, trust the lightning. I have seen one emperor, and fought for him. I think this one would be no better. One who becomes emperor, and remains emperor, must be ambitious beyond reason and ruthless beyond feeling.”
After eating, Nils and Hans went to the paddock of the chief, where their own horses were kept, those they’d arrived on, and horses that Kaidu had gifted them with. Then they rode out of camp a short distance to drill with swords, an activity Hans didn’t like to miss.
They did their forms for awhile, taking turns, Hans watching Nils and asking questions, Nils watching Hans and making comments. Soon they were sweating, though the sun had set and the cooling begun. When they had finished, they swung into their saddles and rode to the top of the rise beside them, to look out over the great encampment and drink water from a skin.
When he’d wiped his chin with his wrist, the apprentice poet spoke. In Swedish, which he preferred but had not used much lately. “If Achikh’s people go to war for the emperor,” he said, “will you join them?”
Nils shook his head. “I did not come here to fight for any emperor.”
“Why did we come here?”
The Northman chuckled. “I only know that my weird sent me. You said you came so you would write my saga. And Baver—Baver believes he left the ting with you so he could let his friends know where I was. Later, he believed, he followed along because he couldn’t find his way back alone. And both were true for him. But mainly he came because his weird drove him to it; the rest were simply reasons to believe in and give. The star folk do not believe in weirds, so often they must strive to imagine explanations, and then convince themselves that what they imagine is true.”
Again they sat quiet, watching the dusk thicken while their horses grazed the feather grass and fescue. The details of the encampment blurred, and lost themselves in twilight. After a bit, Hans spoke again. “I do not understand the star folk,” he said. “And Baver! He is so helpless!”
“Oh? He was at the start, but he does many things now. He’s learned much. He had never lived in the forest before, or on the steppes. He had seen little of anything except towns, and nature was a stranger whom he’d heard about but didn’t know.”
Hans scowled, not wishing to alter his position. “And he has no interest in training with the sword!”
“True. It is not something his people do. They are people of peace. And their ancestors abandoned blades long ago, for more serious weapons.”
Hans contemplated Nils’s answer. He hadn’t been along on the campaign against the Orcs, though he’d been one of the adolescents who’d hunted their survivors. The campaign itself had been only for the warriors. But he remembered what the warriors had said about the star folk’s weapons. They’d been more than effective, if killing was the goal, but there seemed little honor to be won with them.
Nils nudged his horse’s flank with a callused heel, and they started down the mild slope toward camp, the star folk still on Hans’s mind. He tried to imagine flying between worlds. As they approached the first row of gert, he said, again in their own language, “I would like to ride in a skyboat sometime.”
“Perhaps you will, Hans,” the Yngling answered. “Perhaps you will.”

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The Yngling and the Circle of Power

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TWENTY-TWO

The next morning Baver opened his eyes to Hans’s voice, not loud, but intense and worried. “Nils!” the boy was saying. “I cannot find Svartvinge! He is not on the roof, and I cannot see him flying!”
The doorflap was open and bright morning entered, to lose itself in the ger’s interior. Their sleeping robes were on beds of new hay near the wall. Nils rolled to his feet with no apparent disorientation. He must already have been awake, Baver thought sleepily. For a moment the Northman simply stood there as if listening, not to Hans, or to anything, but for something. Or so it seemed to Baver.
“The shaman has killed him!” Hans was saying. “Or had him killed! I know it!”
“Maybe he flew off to investigate something,” Baver suggested, and got a dirty look from Hans.
Nils shook his head. “I don’t think so, either one.”
I don’t think so. It occurred to Baver that such a statement was unusual from Nils. Usually he was sure of things.
“What, then?” Hans demanded.
“If he was near, within a few tusen, I would sense him and know where—in what direction. And if he’d been killed, I’d sense some residue of the act . . . ”
He stiffened then, scanned the dim ger for a moment, and moved quickly to where his gear lay—battle harness, axe, bow and quiver, saddle . . . and dropped to his haunches. When he stood again, it was with the body of Svartvinge in his hands, like a large bundle of black feathers. The Northman said nothing, simply peered at the bird.
Baver found himself getting to his feet. From Hans, two words hissed: Han förgiftas! “He is poisoned!”
Baver stared.
“No,” said Nils. With one hand he pinched lightly the latch of the dead bird’s jaws, opening them more widely, and with the other took something from the beak or mouth. Squatting again, he lay Svartvinge on the floor, then without rising, examined the object the body had given up to him. Baver and Hans both came to see.
“What is it?” Hans asked.
To Baver it looked like a smooth pebble, rounded and slightly flattened.
The Northman sighed audibly. “A message.”
“A message?” Hans and Baver said it together, then glanced at each other before they turned back to Nils, who stood up now.
The Northman nodded, and went to the fireplace in the center of the ger. Someone had replenished the fire, perhaps Achikh, who was gone, or Hans. There was a pile of firewood near it; Nils picked some of it up. “Bring fire,” he said, and turned to the door. Achikh came in just then and stood aside, letting Nils go out, and peering after him. There was a small iron shovel by the hearth, its handle wrapped with leather. Hans shoved it into the fire, picked up a small, glowing mound of coals, and followed Nils, careful not to spill any.
“What is it?” asked the Buriat.
Baver pointed at the bird on the floor. “Svartvinge is dead,” he said, and left after Hans into the early morning chill, Achikh behind him, saying nothing. Three meters in front of the door, Hans put the hot coals on the trampled ground where Nils pointed. Nils laid the wood on it, piece by piece, building it high.
It flamed up quickly. Hans had already gone back for more wood. Shortly they had a strong fire crackling, and for a minute watched it burn, hot enough to stand back from. Then, without a word, Nils went back in and brought out Svartvinge and the iron poker. The blond hair on his forearms crisping and curling, he laid the bird gently on the fire, then backed away and squatted at arm’s length to watch. The breeze was light and variable. The smoke eddied a bit, and the smell of burning feathers assaulted Baver’s nose.
It seemed to him that someone should say something, but he had no idea what. As if he’d heard Baver’s thought, Achikh began a ritual chant, something about Tengri—God, not Teb-Tengri—calling to paradise the spirit of the deceased. Baver saw Hans’s lips moving too, though he heard nothing from them. He wondered if the youth might be composing a verse, and that later, when he was satisfied with it, they might hear it.
Some tribesmen and women had come near, attracted by the odd activity. Several, when they realized what was going on, sheared off. When Achikh began his chant, two or three had joined in; clearly it was traditional. Those who didn’t join in were perhaps put off by the species of the deceased. Among the watchers was the woman assigned to cook for them. She watched only briefly, then went into the ger to begin preparing breakfast for the four.
The body burned up quickly; even so large a raven, more than seventy centimeters long, weighed only a few kilos. Nils squatted without speaking, his only movements to poke the fire up. The others stayed too, unwilling to leave until Nils left. When finally the fire had burned down to coals, Nils stood, looked around at the others and nodded soberly. Then they went in to breakfast.
As they ate, Baver recalled his mother’s bird, a beech warbler. It would sing when they uncovered its cage in the morning—a lot nicer sound than Svartvinge ever made. But Svartvinge had character. He remembered the winter evenings in the forest hut, when Nils and Svartvinge would sit in silent contemplation of each other.
And Svartvinge had left a message. He wondered what it was.
After a quiet breakfast, the four walked to the flood-plain of the Tola, and the open grove of old, thick-boled poplars in whose shade councils met. There was a loose flow of Buriat men walking there now, mostly in clusters. Here and there people would greet each other, perhaps stop to talk. Already within the grove’s edge, numerous people squatted waiting, talking primarily about what they expected to hear discussed.
As the four approached the listening area, a tall, strongly built young warrior accosted Achikh.
“Achikh Runs-Away!” he said with false geniality. “I heard you’d come back. I am Barak, son of Jaghatai. You wouldn’t recognize me; I was still a boy when you left.” He looked for a moment at Nils and Hans and Baver, then back to Achikh. “I heard you’d taken up with foreigners, but found it hard to believe.’
Achikh said nothing, simply looked at the youth with hard eyes.
“What brought you so low,” Barak went on, “that you so abandoned your pride?”
Achikh replied, using a formal style of speaking. “You were right when you said I would not remember you. You are not someone whom a warrior of pride and family would remember. Your father I remember. Your family I remember. Your father and your family are worth remembering, but who are you, and what have you done? You are not simply young; you are callow. You have no wisdom. You speak freely but think little. The Mengetu family must be embarrassed over you. If I cared to speak with one of the Mengetu family, it would be your father or one of your uncles, not a foolish boy.”
Barak, son of Jaghatai, had been blushing before Achikh was half done, but he’d made no move, because fighting was forbidden at the council grove. Now he began to challenge Achikh to go elsewhere and fight him, but a heavy hand gripped his arm from behind and spun him around.
“Boy! Shut your mouth! Go to the ger; I will speak to you later!”
Barak froze. “Yes, father,” he said, though to have his challenge cut short had almost broken his heart, after the provocation Achikh had given him. He hurried away, in his upset stumbling once over his own feet.
Jaghatai stared hard at Achikh, then gestured at Nils, Baver, and Hans. “A great council will be held here. On whose authority do you bring these foreigners? Even the emperor’s ambassador is not allowed.”
Achikh met the man’s hard glare coldly, and answered, still in formal mode. “Kaidu the chief invited them. Out of respect my brother the chief invited them. They are free men, not the creatures of some emperor. They were not sent by some foreign ruler to do his bidding. The big one is Nils of the Iron Hand, a great wizard and great warrior. You see his scars, or some of them. My bother the chief invited him, and with him his friends. With his own sword, Nils of the Iron Hand killed the emperor of the west in single combat. Cut off his head with a single stroke, though the emperor was a giant, far larger and stronger even than he. This fight was witnessed by many on both sides.
“But before that, as a naked captive, he was cast into an arena, a broad pit, to fight a lion, a large fierce beast. Naked and given only a borrowed sword with a weak blade, he fought the lion, which is a tiger without stripes. He fought and killed the lion, breaking his sword in its skull. This was before a great crowd, of which I was one.
“Then the emperor sent down his champion to kill Nils of the Iron Hand, sent his champion in armor to butcher him. Still naked, and with another borrowed sword, Nils of the Iron Hand killed the emperor’s champion. Again before a great crowd. I saw this too.
“Also, in private, he has proven his wizard skills to my brother, the chief. He has shown his wizardry to my brother the chief, and it was greater than any wizardry seen by him before. Thus my brother the chief invited Nils of the Iron Hand, and his close companions, to the council, as his guests.”
Jaghatai’s mouth had clamped shut early in this recitation, but when Achikh was done, he looked at the three and spoke. “Be welcome then,” he gritted, and turning, stalked away.
Along with Achikh, the three sat not in the front and center—which would be arrogant and offensive of foreigners—but not far from the front, either, nor too far to the side. Wherever they’d walked, eyes had been drawn to Nils because of his size and obvious strength. He wore his leather shirt now, but it had no sleeves.
The listening area filled quickly, and as it did, the council came and took their seats on cushions brought by slaves. Finally Kaidu Long Nose stood up—he was the council’s leader—and called for silence. When he had it, he spoke again in a strong voice. His mode of speech was formal but not repetitive; the council had much to discuss and hopefully settle in the three days left to them.
“Yesterday,” Kaidu said, “we listened to complaints between tribes, and settled them justly. Today we shall speak of others matters, matters of broader scope.” He paused, looking the crowd over. “Including a matter of which we have not spoken before.”
That got their attention; they expected him to bring up an invasion of the Yakut-Russ.
“A year ago we also held a great congress here. At that time I proposed that we unite to seize the forest region below Baikal. Since then I have come to see matters differently.” He gestured toward the front row of listeners, where for the first time Fong Jung Hing sat among bodyguards and keepers. “The emperor’s ambassador has been here for almost a year—since a single moon after our last congress. He has made an offer which we all need to consider. Also I have had four ambassadors in China, traveling widely. Their reports have confirmed and enlarged on what my spies had learned for me earlier.”
Baver could feel a tension in the crowd, a restlessness, an uncertainty.
“I will tell you what my ambassadors have seen,” Kaidu went on, “before I tell you what the emperor proposes, and what I believe we should do. We have always known that China has a vast multitude of people. The emperor’s ambassador says thirty million, which is a thousand thousands, and then thirty times that. More than all the Mongol people—the Buriat and Khalkhaz and Kalmuls—and also their horses and cattle and sheep.
“Of that multitude of Chinese, more than six million are Goloks—a thousand thousands, six times. The Goloks are good soldiers; many of them are warriors. They rule the empire, and the emperors have been Goloks from the beginning. China has many towns, each with its garrison, each garrison with its troop of Golok cavalry. And every town, every district, has young men who, at the emperor’s call, will put aside their work and muster with their swords and bows, their halberds and spears. Also, the country is full of people growing food and making all manner of things, including weapons and clothing and armor for the soldiers.”
Kaidu looked his audience over. “Much of this I told you before, but it is worse than I knew then. Couriers on swift horses ride daily throughout the empire, and in many places there are signal towers within sight of each other, with men who know how to speak with a flag on a long pole. Also on these towers are men with far-seers, made with the hollow stems of certain saplings, with wizard glass set in the ends, which make distant things look near. Thus soldiers and other armed men can be gathered quickly from whatever towns and districts the emperor wishes, into armies small or large.
“Beyond all this, the emperor has large and dangerous ogres who fight for him. We had heard of them before, and doubted. They sounded like stories told to naughty children, to frighten them, but they are real. My ambassadors have seen them. They are far taller than men, stronger than the bear, more savage than the tiger. And they wield their great swords with the skill of masters.
“I would not wish to fight the empire. Our forefathers fought and drove away the armies of earlier kings and emperors, and we are not lesser men than our forefathers. But the army of this emperor is far more dangerous than earlier armies. Even in the depths of the Yakut-Russ forest, I would not wish to fight the emperor’s army.”
A voice rose from the crowd then, a voice impatient and angry. “What do you wish to do then? What do you propose?”
Kaidu took the gauntlet without a pause. “In the empire are great districts covered with leafy forest; land where the summers are long, with much rain, and the winters short and soft. Land well suited to growing the food the emperor’s people eat. Every year his people clear more of those forests, and it grows abundant food. The emperor does not care to possess our land, where the soil is often bitter, and even in the memory of young men the winters have grown longer.
“He has conquered northward only to protect his out-lands from raiders. The lands he wishes to possess are westward and southward. What he wants of us—” Kaidu stopped a long five seconds, making the people reach for what he had to say, then repeated slowly. “What he wants is that we be his allies. The lands he would conquer are mostly open lands, without fixed towns, without forts of stone. They are lands much like our own, but without the iron winters, and they go on forever, to the ends of the Earth.”
Up till then, Kaidu had not raised his strong voice, which traveled far without shouting. Now though he spoke more loudly. “What the emperor wants is that we be his allies. That we make war westward. That we spread consternation and confusion through the western lands, while his own armies, vast and powerful, conquer and subjugate. Then, in the conquered world, the Mongols, especially the Buriat, will have first choice of the horses and cattle and slave girls. And the Mongol women, especially Buriat women, will wear silk and silver.
“I say ‘Mongols’ because he would have the Buriat raise all the Mongols to our banner. He would have the Buriat raise and lead all the Mongols. To the west, the Kalmuls are lurkers and skulkers by preference, and seldom follow any leader, though everyone knows they are dangerous fighters, swift and tireless horsemen. And more than any people, they are ravenous for the animals and goods of others. If the Buriat, powerful in union, were to press the Kalmuls, if a united and powerful Buriat people pressed them, they would join us for the looting they can have as the emperor’s allies.
“While to the east, the Khalkhaz have fat herds and fat wives, and their leaders had rather watch their cattle graze and their colts race in the deep grass, than go to war outside their own pastures. Though they will fight like the bear to protect their possessions. And more than any Mongol people, the Khalkhaz worry about the emperor coming, for theirs are the richest pastures, their grass the tallest. They even raise grain and beets for their slaves to harvest!
“But their young men chafe at the lack of fighting. If the Buriat people were united, and proposed to the young men of the Khalkhaz that we go conquering westward together, most of their young men would shout ‘yes!’ And if this meant that the emperor’s armies would go west instead of north, then their elders would not gainsay them.”
Achikh had sat quietly, deeply disturbed at what he heard. And more deeply disturbed at what he saw around him, for many men’s cheeks had darkened with excitement, and their eyes had taken the glint of a knife blade.
Then discussion began within the council, and there were questions from the crowd. Some, like Achikh, distrusted the emperor. Some did not want to leave their own steppes and mountains and herds. Especially the chiefs of the Red Spear clans resisted the proposal. The faces around Kaidu became more thoughtful, most of them, weighing, evaluating. And it seemed to Achikh that his brother might not get his way after all, though the voices raised for conquest, from whatever clan, still spoke strongly.
As the four sat on the floor eating supper, Achikh asked Nils, in Anglic, what he’d thought of the council meeting. Nils answered that it was not unlike council meetings of the Northmen. “What did you think of it?” he countered.
Achikh didn’t answer at once. Baver wondered about Nils’s question. If he knew the thoughts of the people around him, why would he ask? Perhaps to get Achikh to formulate his thoughts? Or simply to see what he’d say?
“I think,” Achikh said at last, “that Kaidu spoke very skillfully. The things he said excited the people, many of them, made them want to do it in spite of doubts.” He paused. “I am glad that Burhan Rides-the-Bear spoke so skillfully against it. For to trust the emperor, I think, is to trust the tiger, trust the lightning. I have seen one emperor, and fought for him. I think this one would be no better. One who becomes emperor, and remains emperor, must be ambitious beyond reason and ruthless beyond feeling.”
After eating, Nils and Hans went to the paddock of the chief, where their own horses were kept, those they’d arrived on, and horses that Kaidu had gifted them with. Then they rode out of camp a short distance to drill with swords, an activity Hans didn’t like to miss.
They did their forms for awhile, taking turns, Hans watching Nils and asking questions, Nils watching Hans and making comments. Soon they were sweating, though the sun had set and the cooling begun. When they had finished, they swung into their saddles and rode to the top of the rise beside them, to look out over the great encampment and drink water from a skin.
When he’d wiped his chin with his wrist, the apprentice poet spoke. In Swedish, which he preferred but had not used much lately. “If Achikh’s people go to war for the emperor,” he said, “will you join them?”
Nils shook his head. “I did not come here to fight for any emperor.”
“Why did we come here?”
The Northman chuckled. “I only know that my weird sent me. You said you came so you would write my saga. And Baver—Baver believes he left the ting with you so he could let his friends know where I was. Later, he believed, he followed along because he couldn’t find his way back alone. And both were true for him. But mainly he came because his weird drove him to it; the rest were simply reasons to believe in and give. The star folk do not believe in weirds, so often they must strive to imagine explanations, and then convince themselves that what they imagine is true.”
Again they sat quiet, watching the dusk thicken while their horses grazed the feather grass and fescue. The details of the encampment blurred, and lost themselves in twilight. After a bit, Hans spoke again. “I do not understand the star folk,” he said. “And Baver! He is so helpless!”
“Oh? He was at the start, but he does many things now. He’s learned much. He had never lived in the forest before, or on the steppes. He had seen little of anything except towns, and nature was a stranger whom he’d heard about but didn’t know.”
Hans scowled, not wishing to alter his position. “And he has no interest in training with the sword!”
“True. It is not something his people do. They are people of peace. And their ancestors abandoned blades long ago, for more serious weapons.”
Hans contemplated Nils’s answer. He hadn’t been along on the campaign against the Orcs, though he’d been one of the adolescents who’d hunted their survivors. The campaign itself had been only for the warriors. But he remembered what the warriors had said about the star folk’s weapons. They’d been more than effective, if killing was the goal, but there seemed little honor to be won with them.
Nils nudged his horse’s flank with a callused heel, and they started down the mild slope toward camp, the star folk still on Hans’s mind. He tried to imagine flying between worlds. As they approached the first row of gert, he said, again in their own language, “I would like to ride in a skyboat sometime.”
“Perhaps you will, Hans,” the Yngling answered. “Perhaps you will.”

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