THE YNGLING AND THE CIRCLE OF POWER by John Dalmas

Nils spoke to the farmer in Mongol: “The emperor has a shaman who has spelled the ravens to watch for me.”

The farmer frowned and shook his head, but in his mind was the beginning of a thought. For even with Nils’s accent, which wasn’t heavy, he thought he recog­nized the language. “He sounds like old Chen at the festivals,” the farmer said.

His wife nodded, worried to have this giant barbarian in her house.

“I’ll take him to Chen and see what I can learn about him. I think he said emperor. He may be a wanted man.”

The wife at once looked frightened; she was very afraid of the authorities, Nils realized. But she answered on another tack. “Take him to old Chen? That will cost time! There is too much work to do!”

The farmer scowled at her. “I will take him.”

“But Wu! He is dangerous!”

“He does not seem hostile. And there may be a re­ward. Jik will come with us. He will walk behind us with his bow, and shoot the foreigner if he does something wrong.”

She felt uncertain that an arrow would kill so large and powerful a man. “When will you go?” she asked.

“Pack food for us. We will go right away.’

Thwarted but still upset, Mrs. Wu wrapped several round, pancake-like pieces of flatbread around two slices from the end of a cheese like a large salami, and put them in a linen sack. Nils grinned inwardly; she’d packed nothing for him. She would not waste more of her fami­ly’s sustenance on this dangerous-looking foreigner.

Farmer Wu looked down at the squatting Northman and spoke to Jik, who half bent his bow in response. Then Wu beckoned Nils to stand. Nils did, and Wu handed him his harness and gear, which Nils buckled on.

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Next the fanner gestured at himself and Jik and Nils, and made walking motions with his fingers. Finally he gestured toward the door. Nils in turn made the raven sound, and gestured downward with forked fingers from his eyes. He then pointed at the woman’s large field hat, some sixty centimeters in diameter, and at a straw rain-cape that hung on the wall, also hers. He pantomined putting them on.

“He s afraid the raven will recognize him,” the boy said. “Perhaps it’s a magical raven, sent to do him harm.’

The father snorted. “The cape will hardly cover his shoulders. Take the cover from your bed and put it over him.”

The woman was stricken. Blankets were dear, and if one was lost, they’d have to pay to replace it, for here in the forest they kept no sheep. Sheep were noisy and stupid, enticing bears and wolves and the infrequent tiger.

Nils draped the blanket over his big shoulders, tying it at the throat, then adjusted his gear so his sword was covered and his quiver did not lump conspicuously. That done, he tied the wide straw hat on his blond head and grinned widely, partly in amusement but also as part of the role he was acting. Then, in response to the farmer’s gesture, he went out the door, the man and his son following.

It wasn’t a reward Wu was interested in; he’d men­tioned that only to quiet his wife. He was looking at survival. Nor did he reel strong misgivings as they left, although this whole action was drastically foreign to the don’t-do-it-till-you’ve-worked-it-all-out style characteristic of peasants. A style grown out of the slim margin for error within which they survived.

Because Lo Pu-Pang had been narrowing that margin, and too many had lost their land and daughters when they couldn’t meet the bailiffs demands.

And it seemed to Wu that this giant barbarian was an opportunity of some kind, a possible solution to their

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problems. One he couldn’t afford to let pass. As for a pan, he would leave that to Chen. The blacksmith had led an adventurous youth, had seen much and known the roughest kind of men.

THIRTY-FIVE

Star tidragen han t’ flikkor,

ofta kjikt i ham på sölstig,

blikkor fölte ham om middag,

nog dröd när en mö i sjymning,

viskte biääli t’ vä ellen.

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