THE YNGLING AND THE CIRCLE OF POWER by John Dalmas

With that he did sit, and wondered where Hans was, and Nils. He didn’t even think of Matthew and Nikko and pinnace Alpha just then. They belonged to another world, an earlier life.

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Songtsan Gampo could sense the prisoner’s mind as he was led up the great marble stairway and along the broad hall with its panelling of tropical hardwoods from Guangxi, inlaid with carved ivory. It was a worried but not inordinately fearful mind, able to notice its surround­ings and even to appreciate them. Images stirred in it, and comparisons with other halls and rooms.

Two guards marched Baver to the door of the audi­ence chamber and inside. One was a Mongol, a merce­nary. Their strong hands halted the prisoner three steps inside, Baver’s eyes taking in as much of the room as possible without obviously gawking. This was clearly the imperial audience chamber. There was a throne on a raised dais, and on it a strong-faced man wearing beauti­ful robes; surely the emperor. Ogre guards stood behind the throne on either side, while to his right stood an ogre notably larger than the others.

The emperor’s visitors were required to offer an obei­sance, the degree varying with the person and circum­stance. Even the emperor s brother Drukpa bowed when he entered. Baver unwittingly had done nothing. The emperor spoke quietly to the Mongol, Corporal Nogai, who then spoke to Baver in fluent Buriat Mongol. “You are expected to bow to the emperor,” he said mildly, and demonstrated.

Baver bowed from the waist, not deeply. The emperor monitored him telepathically and found no sense of de­fiance or disrespect, only embarrassment that he’d had to be told.

A star man indeed, the emperor thought, just as Ten-zin had said. He smiled slightly to put the man somewhat at ease, and spoke to him, Corporal Nogai translating into Mongol a sentence behind.

“We welcome you to our empire and our palace. Even though you entered our territory without permission, in our imperial wisdom we believe you intended no harm. Therefore we do not now plan to punish you. It is enough that you be restrained from wandering and spying.”

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Baver wondered if he was expected to reply. Unsure, he decided not to, beyond a perfunctory acknowledg­ment. “Thank you,” he said.

The slanted oval eyes were on his, emotionless; the emperor and his translator went on. “You are a foreigner. Your clothing is of interesting design, and the material seems unfamiliar to us, though as dirty as it is, it is not possible to be sure. Where did you get it?”

“In my homeland, far to the west. The lie seemed to Baver the lesser of undesirable alternatives. Telling the truth might get him in trouble as a liar, or perhaps for disrespect to the imperial throne. Or it might get him branded a lunatic. And actually the only untruth in what he’d said was the west.

“Indeed. When you have been returned to your quar­ters, clean clothes will be provided. These will be washed and returned to you.

“Now, your homeland: What is it called? Perhaps I have heard of it.”

“I think not, Your Highness.” He turned to Corporal Nogai. “Is that the right term to use? Your Highness?”

The interpreter passed the question on, commenting that the Mongol language was not fully adequate for court etiquette, and that while the prisoner’s knowledge of Mongol seemed quite functional, he was not fully ar­ticulate in it. The emperor didn’t tell the interpreter that he wasn’t much interested in Baver’s verbal answers. His interest was in the concepts and images that his questions brought to or near the surface.

“The term ‘Your Highness’ is adequate,” the emperor answered. “And what is your function in your homeland?”

“I am—” Baver groped. He knew no Mongol words for ethnologist or student. “I am one who learns. From teachers and from watching people. I am one who lives among foreigners and watches them, in order to learn how they live and think.” He felt uncomfortable with his answer—it might well sound unbelievable here, even incomprehensible—so he added, “It is respected work in my homeland.” So respected that hundreds applied for

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the ethnologist positions on the expedition, he remem­bered. If it hadn’t been for my doctorate in ancient Earth history, I wouldn’t have had a chance.

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