THE YNGLING AND THE CIRCLE OF POWER by John Dalmas

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left the ting ground, but none of it at a full gallop. His horse left the ground, clearing a fallen pine, and landed with a jar that nearly unloaded him.

Soon he passed the two pack horses, and saw the re­mount string veer off downslope. Perhaps, he thought, the Kalmuls would see them, and stop to capture them, but he put no faith in it. Then even Nils was out of sight ahead, and Baver, in desperation, put his heels to his horse after all.

After a kilometer more, his mind began to function. He was impressed at how his mount kept galloping. They’d been angling downslope continuously. Now he was leveling off, pounding along near the bottom as he entered a glade. The ravine had narrowed, and ahead narrowed more, its sides steep, the near side almost pre­cipitous. At the far edge of the glade, he saw Nils and his horse disappear into denser forest, dense enough that it seemed suicidal to enter it at a gallop.

Seemingly Baver’s horse agreed; it slowed perceptibly as it drove toward the thick growth of trees. As it plunged into them on the game trail they’d been following, they passed Nils standing behind a high-jutting rock, sword in both hands. Baver slowed his horse sharply, managing not to lose his seat, and drew to one side behind a dense growth of young pines. It was dim there; the hour was sunset, and they were among trees, deep in the bottom of the ravine. His hand found his pistol, drew it and released the safety. Then he simply sat his horse, peering through a gap in the trunks, back along the trail.

Sooner than he’d expected, the first of the Kalmuls thundered in amongst the trees. Nils had drawn himself back out of sight, and to Baver’s dismay let the first two horsemen thunder past. He found his pistol pointing, and as the first of the Kalmuls raised his sword, shot him from the saddle, the horse galloping by so near, Baver’s mount shied. The next Kalmul, not prepared to face an attack by miniature thunderclap, drew up, the horse rear­ing, and Baver shot again. This bullet hit the animal under the jaw and drove up into its brain. It went over

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backward onto its rider, who screamed. Baver’s pistol banged again, and the scream cut off abruptly. Another horse had charged up riderless, leaped the fallen horse, and ran on.

Baver wasn’t sure how many rounds he’d fired, how many he had left. He looked toward Nils. A horse was down there too. Nils had cut the forelegs from under it and was in the process of dispatching its rider. Another Kalrnul lay nearly cut in two beside the trail. Baver could hear shouted Mongol, back in the opening, but the string of charging warriors seemed to have paused. Then, sword sheathed, Nils surged through the thicket of young pines and began clambering up the steep near-precipice be­hind him, half hidden by its trees. Without stopping, he glanced back at Baver and shouted one word: ‘Ride!”

Baver took time to holster his gun—he needed both hands to ride at a gallop—then turned his horse and rode.

He’d gone less than a hundred meters when he saw Hans coming back. “Go!” Baver shouted. “Nils said ride!” Then he was past the young Northman, who hesi­tated a moment, then turned and followed, catching up and staying close behind. Behind the thudding of their own horses’ hooves, Baver could hear others following now, and suddenly Hans’s horse screamed. The sound added speed to Baver’s, and there was Achikh, sitting his horse behind a great boulder, bow in hand and arrow nocked as Baver galloped past.

Without thinking, Baver drew back his reins. His horse stopped more quickly than he’d expected, and he ended up on its neck, clutching. Dropping to the ground, he knelt behind a thick-boled pine. There was a shout, then another, as Kalmuls poured into sight not forty meters off. One plunged from the saddle, an arrow in his chest. The others reined in their horses and drew their swords. With both hands Baver leveled his pistol, the way he’d done on the range in training, but more quickly. And fired. The round banged loudly, and one of the Kalmuls half fell, losing his sword, clutching at shoulder or neck.

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