Earth Magic by Alexei Panshin, Cory Panshin Read Free Book Online Page B

man. He danced a little shuffling dance in the water as he spoke, shifting from one foot to the other as though he found it cold to stand. Then he balanced on one foot, drawing the other from the water and setting it adrip against his knee.
    “What?”
    “Nothing, lord.” And he shook his head.
    “No signs at all?” said Haldane. “Have you heard aught of a wurox being seen in the forest?”
    “Oh, that. Yes, lord. The woodcutters do speak of a wurox they have seen. I have not seen it myself.”
    Haldane gestured with a questioning hand. “Is that not a portent? Bud Month is the month when the sun is in the sign of the Wurox.”
    “No,” the old man said. “No, lord. There used to be many wuroxen in the forest. Many, many. They have been away. Now they return.”
    “Ah, but if that is not a portent, then what is?”
    The old man shook his head again. He was almost as slow a head as the other.
    “I don’t know, lord. I have seen no portents.”
    “Is that a portent, lord?” the great lout asked. He pointed past Haldane.
    Haldane turned in the saddle. It was Hemming Paleface caught up to him at last. Hemming Paleface, a portent? Hemming was too familiar and small to be anything more than himself.
    “I know him,” said Haldane, “and he is not important.”
    Hemming reined his chestnut mare in on the slope above the bridge pilings. He waved and called to Haldane.
    “Hey, ho, Haldane. Come.”
    Haldane waved back. “Come here yourself,” he called in return.
    But Hemming did not come. He sat his horse and waved again to Haldane.
    Haldane was angered. Who was Hemming that he should refuse him before these peasants?
    The wind blew overhead, scudding heavy clouds across the sky, and the light altered frequently. A sudden shaft of light picked Hemming out as he sat his horse on the slope. And they below were in a cloud shadow. In that moment, Hemming looked very like a portent. Or meat for an arrow.
    Haldane brought his horse around. His jaw was set tight.
    “When will you be putting our bridge back up, lord?” the simple peasant said.
    Haldane looked back at him. Fords were made before bridges as any fool knows, and a Get had no need for more. The Gets were careless of bridges. Bridges that fell in Nestor under Gettish rule would stay fallen.
    “Continue to wade as you are used to do,” Haldane said shortly, clapped heels to his horse, and rode up the hill.
    Hemming Paleface was two years Haldane’s elder, but no bigger or stronger. He was not yet finally grown and his paleness was marred by the red remains of pimples nipped young. He was always pinching at himself. He was a dogged unquestioning would-be-good and only half a Get. Haldane meant to have him left behind in the tail when he and Morca raided into Chastain. He had thought on it overnight.
    Haldane rode up the slope determined to throw Hemming Paleface from his saddle before the eyes of the shell gatherers. He meant they should know Hemming for a Nestorian. Haldane guided his gelding with one hand and uncumbered his bow with the other, and when he reached Hemming he slipped the bow behind his leg and tumbled him. It was an unfair trick fairly played. Haldane laughed at Hemming sitting surprised on his rump on the damp Bud Month roadway. By his hand a solitary daffodil waved with the wind.
    “Pick a bugleflower,” Haldane said and rode beyond the hill.
    But he checked there and waited until Hemming came riding to join him. In his hand Hemming held the lonely bugleflower. It was not what Haldane would have done, or perhaps it was.
    The carl said, “Haldane, you shouldn’t have thrown me. I wouldn’t throw you.”
    “Couldn’t,” said Haldane. “Why would you not ride closer when I called for you to come?”
    “I don’t like me here so far from the dun. Morca said we two should ride together on account of outlaws venturing out with the springtime. I didn’t know those peasants. Where were they from?”
    “I never ask those things,”