Free Earth Magic by Alexei Panshin, Cory Panshin Page A

friend Ludbert, who had gambled for his fork and won. The fork had a new owner now and these two ate with their knives, spoons, and fingers like regular Gets.
    Elsewhere, together sat Soren Seed-Sower and Furd Heavyhand, both Morca’s men now. They ate bite for bite and drank drink for drink and haggled bride price. Companions at another table were Ivor Fish-Eye, eating of the boar his party had taken while they hunted the wurox but found only its stone turds, and Aella of Long Barrow. Aella had returned to Morca’s dun as he had promised. If he had been too late for bath and betrothal, pell-melling up just before the gates were to be closed at nightfall, he had yet been in time for the banquet.
    And at the end of the table below Haldane sat Hemming, his army, keeping him constant company with his eye. When Haldane—son, Get, story prince, new baron, new washed, new clothed, new betrothed, well filled and happy—set forth for the outhouse half through the banquet to relieve himself of too much ale and excitement, Hemming Paleface rose and followed at his heels through Morca’s splendid new doors and into the night.
    Haldane stepped off the porch and into the yard. He breathed the comfort of the night. The air was cool after the close warmth of the hall, and smelled of the living spring. The wind whistled light nonsense through the stockade walls, her merry syrinx. It was a gay time to be alive. The crescent moon had bedded early and the stars were lightly veiled. It was quiet here. The voices within were muffled by the new doors.
    “Well, where are we to?” asked Hemming Paleface at Haldane’s elbow.
    Haldane clapped him on the shoulder. Fiercely, he said, “We are off to the outhouse. Are you game to try, though they be as thick as sand fleas all about us?”
    “Who?” asked simple Hemming.
    “Why, the enemy. The enemy.” Haldane put his hand to his sword. “Will you strike down any man who prevents us from our goal?”
    Hemming laughed and nodded. “My head is giddy from craning and from drinking black ale, but you are my captain, Haldane. I will have their lives for you. Oh, it is good to be a Get tonight!”
    Haldane and his army bared their swords and rushed through the yard striking singing giant blows that could not be parried. They laughed and Hemming fell and they slew the night many times before Haldane had Hemming on his feet again and they won through to the outhouse and safety. They collapsed against the walls and hungered for breath. For a Get who was half a Nestorian, Hemming was a good Get.
    “My sides ache so much I am near to puking,” said Haldane. “I can’t take this. I must stop laughing. Oh, I am dizzy.”
    “I owe you my life,” said Hemming. “If not for you, I would have been slain where I fell.”
    Haldane waved it away. “It was nothing. You may have chance someday to serve me like.”
    The guard in the tower nearby at the corner of the stockade called to find what the hurly was about. They were laughing so loud that his call was lost and he must needs call again.
    “Enough,” said Haldane to Hemming. “We must be sober.” He raised his voice in answer. “It is nothing. We are funning. We fight bogies.”
    “How goes the feast?”
    “Drunk. Can we send you ale or meat?”
    “Na. No need. I have eaten and I expect my relief at the first moment.”
    The two young Gets passed inside the outhouse to seek their own relief. When they were pissed dry, their heads were clearer. As they shook themselves and straightened their clothes, Haldane said, “Come early summer when Lothor is back in Dunbar, Morca and I mean to go raping in Chastain. There is a place in the party for you, Hemming.”
    Hemming had no chance to reply. As they left the outhouse, there were two men on the path. They were knights of Chastain, Lothor’s men, quietly drunk for such a gay banquet. One waved a wineskin, the other a sword. They lacked only dice to be ready to duel any man they met on his own