Earth Magic by Alexei Panshin, Cory Panshin Page A

no, Haldane. I will follow you even if Morca wrings my neck.” And the carl touched his throat wonderingly.
    “Then dismount,” Haldane said. And he brought his leg over his black gelding’s neck.
    The two stepped out on the sward, their tunics whipping about their thighs like drying laundry. The light was pale and green. The trees overhead seethed and boiled, cursing like kettles. Haldane bade Hemming kneel before him. Hemming sank to both knees and Haldane addressed him.
    Haldane knew nothing of the ancient Western forms of fealty. He knew only Morca’s practice, and tags of clan oath from childhood games. But he knew how to bind a willing man.
    “Hemming, son of Wermund, if you serve me truly in all things, following my word whether I am king or whether I am carl, I will make you a main man of mine. I will see to your welfare. I will lead you to your profit. But if ever you play me false, your life is mine. I will kill you where I find you. So I do swear.”
    Haldane kissed the bell of the daffodil. He held it before him.
    “Now, if you swear to serve me, and offer me your life as your earnest, then kiss this bugleflower and wear it as my badge.”
    When they two, Haldane followed by Hemming, rode through the open gates of Morca’s dun harried by a wind turned cold, there were horsemen gathering in the yard. Haldane thought of his resolve to tell Morca not to venture onto Stone Heath, and his tongue touched his chipped tooth. No one had remarked on the tooth but his tongue knew that it was rough and shorter, and worried. But it was not Morca, only Ivor Fish-Eye and a party.
    “Where are you to?” Haldane called.
    Ivor was among Morca’s barons, a narrow dark thinking man who would hide himself behind his dead white eye, then peep round the corner and flash his good eye blackly. His party was bundled against the gathering chill of the day and well armed. Among the party were two of Lothor’s men of Chastain.
    “We are off to hunt the wild cow in the woods. I will show these foreign men how a Get kills. I’ll have the horns. What is that flower in your shirt?”
    “It is my badge he wears,” Haldane said. “He is my army.”
    “Are you a baron now to have your own army, Morca’s Haldane? Will you match your army against mine?”
    “Not yet,” Haldane said. “After I am married.”
    Ivor hid behind his eye. “Perhaps you are right,” he said. “I should force you now while you are small.” He laughed, gathered his party with a hand and said, “Let us leave to seek and kill the unknown beast.”
    It was the most lightly spoken Haldane had found Ivor. They were not familiars. The hunting party rode out into the bite of wind and Haldane and Hemming into the warmth of the stable. Haldane left his horse there in the care of his army and crossed the yard to the hall.

Chapter 6
    T HE MAIN ROOM OF MORCA’S HALL WAS SET FOR HEARING. Morca sat alone on the dais in his great chair, ankle cocked on knee, hand on ankle, enjoying his singularity. Before him, within a circle of crowded benches, stood a little baron, Aella of Long Barrow, pleading some case.
    Fires burned warmly in their places. With breakfast long past and dinner a rumbling dream to be quieted with kitchen filchings, the boards and trestles were stacked by the walls. Barons and carls sat the circled benches listening to Aella and watching Morca, or moved about the room talking low amongst themselves, or perched atop the stacks, legs swinging. All but old Svein, conning the room from his staircase.
    Haldane’s ears and cheeks were heated red in the new warmth of the hall. He spied Rolf the carl leaning against the dinner boards. He joined him and asked with an inclination of his head, “What progresses?”
    “Nothing,” said Rolf. “Aella seeks leave to withdraw. He says he has present occupation at home.”
    This was news of small interest to the boy. Aella was a minor man befitted best for long dull errands.
    “Where is your fork?”