The Yngling

Nils and the sailor began walking back to the wharf.

"And what about his clan?" Nils wondered.

"What's a clan?"

"A clan is, well… " Nils had never thought about this before. It was as natural a part of life as eating or breathing. "A clan is like the family, in a way, but much bigger, and the members fight for each other and take vengeance if need be."

"In Denmark we don't have clans. Countrymen have lords. But townsmen and sailors are loyal mainly to their bellies."

"And I won't be judged at a ting?"

"Ting? I've never heard the word." The sailor paused. "Swordsman, let me give you some advice. The world you've come to is a lot different from your barbarian backcountry. Its ways and even its speech are different. You and I can talk together partly because Danish and Swedish aren't so different in the first place, but also partly because we sailors are used to going to ports in Jotmark and adapting our speech for Swedish ears. But most Danes have never heard a Swede, and you won't find it so easy to talk to them at first. And if you travel farther, to the German lands for example, you won't understand their ways or anything they say. If you're going to travel in civilized lands, you'd better learn something about their customs; otherwise, even a man like you will find only hardship and death."

The i

The noise didn't stop as he crossed the room, but the volume dropped a few decibels and faces turned to look. The i

"Do you want a bed, stranger?"

The sailor had been right. Nils understood the question, but Danish speech was different. He might indeed have trouble understanding longer speech or making himself clear. At any rate, he would speak slowly.

"No, only food," he said. "The ground will have to be my bed, or else I'll run out of money too soon."

The i

"I have been robbed already today," Nils said. "Are there so many thieves in Denmark?"

"There are thieves everywhere, and towns have far more than their share. Are you the barbarian who crushed the chest of Hans fra Sandvig with his bare foot?"

"If that was his name."

"Well, that's a service worth a free meal and a mug of beer with it," the i

Nils leaned over the pie with busy fork. He was aware that someone stood near the table watching him, and his eyes glanced upward occasionally as he ate. The watcher, of middle height, wore his yellow hair cropped close, and unlike the townsmen, carried a short sword at his hip.

After a bit the man spoke. "You are a Swede," he said, "the one who killed an armed thief with only your foot." He spoke a hybrid Swedish-Danish, from lips not at home with either, accented with a crisp treatment of the consonants.

Nils straightened from his plate. "Yes, I'm from Sveala

"No, I'm a Fi

"I've heard of the Fi

"I am traveling alone in the world, and it's healthier not to travel alone. You're traveling too."

"I'm used to traveling alone," Nils countered, "even in land without people, where wolves and bears hunt. I've slept buried in the snow without harm."

"Yes, but you're not in your homeland now. In Denmark there aren't any wolves or bears, but to the outlander, men are more dangerous."

"Where are you going?" asked Nils.

The Fi

"Where your search takes you," Nils echoed musingly. "Suppose that's not where I want to go?"

"I believe it's as good as any for you," the Fi

Nils leaned back, a grin on his boy's face. "You're the third today who's pointed out my ignorance to me. I believe you must be right. But tell me, why do you think I have no place in mind?"

"Well, for one thing, I suspect you don't know of any places. But regardless, you're a warrior, and among your people it is good to be a warrior. Few warriors would leave the fellowship of their clan to wander alone in the world. Probably you were exiled, most likely for killing outside the bans."

"Sit down," Nils said, motioning to a chair across from him. "Now I'll ask another question." His speech was easy and assured, like that of a chief twice his age. "You say you seek a thing of great value. If it's so valuable, others may seek it with armed men. And if someone already has it, it may be strongly guarded. What will we do if we find it?"

"I don't know," the Fi

Nils ate, without saying any more, until the mug was empty and the plate wiped clean. He signaled the waiter with the empty mug. "I'll travel with you awhile," he said to the Fi

"Iron Hand. I believe it." The Fi

4.

Nils and Kuusta walked all day, and never had Nils seen such farmland. The fields covered more land than the forests-broad fields of oats and barley, nearly ripe. Tame trees in rows, which Kuusta said bore fruit called apples. Large herds of cattle. Even the forests were unfamiliar to Nils. Most of the trees had broad leaves and were larger than the birches of home. And although some of the pines seemed familiar, most of the needle-leaved trees were strange, too, and large.

And there were sheep, which Nils had never heard of before. Kuusta said that sheep were foolish and easily caught and killed by wild dogs, which the Danes hunted relentlessly so that they were cu

Then Kuusta talked about the languages of men. They were as many as the kinds of trees that grow in Denmark, he said, and no one could learn any large part of them. But there was one that could be spoken by most people in most lands, at least to some extent, and was used by traders and travelers outside of their own countries. It was called Anglic, and was easy to learn. He taught Nils a few Anglic phrases, starting with: "I am hungry. Please give me food. Thank you."