John Dalmas - The Yngling

"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."

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:

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.