Meanwhile, Kazi had expanded his empire to include much of the Balkans.
Reports and rumors gathered by the Wandering Kin in peripheral areas and from refugees indicated that Kazi's rule was one of deliberate depravity, and that he was clearly psychopathic. His subjects lived in a pathetic state of fear or apathy, and his army was thought to be invincible.
Legends described him as the Never Dying. Evidence indicated that he actually was either ageless, extremely old, or more probably a dynasty.
Apparently he intended to conquer Europe. He had planted a cult to Baalzebub throughout much of the continent, Baalzebub referring to himself. Under the influence of drugs, initiates practiced such obscene depravities that they felt themselves afterward totally alienated from their culture and either dedicated themselves completely to the cult or committed suicide.
It had few adherents now, however. Initiates were easily detected by the Kinfolk, and using the information they provided, the feudal lords had suppressed the cult harshly. And the Wandering Kin preached against it.
Recently trolls had appeared along the coasts of western and northern Europe, and the rumor had been spread that Baalzebub had sent them because the people did not worship him.
The Alliance had been looking for someone who might stand a chance of assassinating Kazi. Raadgiver told Nils frankly that success seemed less than likely, and that Kazi could well come to rule all of Europe.
Nils left the castle in the dry haze of an October day, alone.
"After two months you still dislike him, Signe," Raadgiver thought. "Shall I tell you why?"
"He has no sensitivities," Signe answered aloud.
Raadgiver continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Because he doesn't think as we do nor feel the same emotions. I sensed that in him when I first saw him, at his audience with the greve. He didn't think discursively except when he spoke. His mind receives, correlates and decides, but it does not 'think to itself.'
"Because of that difference you dislike him; yet if we weren't so different ourselves, we wouldn't know it. Everyone else at the castle likes him because he is so mild and pleasant.
"Signe, we are told that before the Great Death, when psi was not secret, many people disliked or even hated psis. And not because of the ways they acted or the things they said, but because psis were so different and, in a way, superior.
"Nils is still another kind of human, different and, in an important way, superior to us. It bothers you to hear me say it, yet you sensed that superiority at once, and watched it grow.
"Yet we have our part in it, for without us it would not have matured. His mind was impressive from the first, but its scope has broadened and deepened greatly during his weeks with us, and as he absorbs experiences through psi… "
Signe's thought interrupted his angrily. "And he isn't even grateful!" she flared.
"True. He knows what happened, what we did, and accepts it as a matter of fact. That's his nature. And it seems to be yours to dislike him for it. But remember this while you're enjoying the questionable pleasure of indignation. At our request he is going to probable death without question or hesitation. And who else would have a significant chance of success?"
8.
During his training under Raadgiver, Nils worked out for a time each morning, mostly giving Kuusta lessons in the use of sword and shield. The Finn already knew the basics and was strong for his size. Also, he had grown up in a relentless wilderness environment, as a hunter, with hunger or a full belly as the stakes. His senses were sharp and his reflexes excellent. By late September Kuusta had more than thickened in the arms and shoulders; he had become one of the best swordsmen among the men-at-arms, and afoot could have held his own against some of the knights.
Generally, however, the life of a man-at-arms had palled on Kuusta Suomalainen. First, it was dull. Under the gentle influence of his chief counselor, the Greve of Slesvig had been sufficiently impressed by the mobilization of Jylland forces to offer homage to Jorgen Stennaeve as King of Denmark. So there was no war. Second, Kuusta was homesick. He had compared the wide world with his memories of Finland and was beginning to find the wide world lacking.
Jens Holgersen had appreciated his woods cunning and assigned him to night patrol for poachers, which had been pleasant enough until the evening they had caught a peasant with a deer.
His main satisfaction was in training with Nils, sweating, aching, feeling the growth of skill and strength. So when Nils told him that he soon would be leaving, alone, Kuusta also began to think about leaving, and with Raadgiver's influence he was released from his service.
On the evening before Kuusta was to leave, he sat with Nils outside the castle, by the moat. "Why have you decided to go home instead of searching for the esper crystal?" Nils asked. He knew Kuusta's mind, but asked by way of conversation.
"The esper crystal?" Kuusta grunted. "It seemed real and desirable enough to me once, but now I'd rather see Suomi again. I want to hunt, sweat in the sauna, and speak my own language in a land where men are not hanged up with their eyes bulging and their tongue swelling while they slowly choke to death. And all because they wanted some meat with their porridge."
"And how will you get there?" Nils asked.
"I've seen a map showing that if I ride eastward far enough, I'll come to the end of the sea, and if I go around the end, I'll come to Suomi."
"And do you know what the people are like in the lands you'll pass through?"
Kuusta shrugged. "Like the people in most lands, I suppose. But being obviously poor and riding a horse somewhat past his prime, I won't be overly tempting to them. And since you've treated me so mercilessly on the drill ground, I'll be less susceptible to them. Actually, if the truth was known, I'm leaving to escape those morning sessions with you, but I wouldn't tell you that straight-out because even the ignorant have feelings."
"It's nice to have a friend so thoughtful of me," Nils responded. "We fully grown people are as sensitive as you midgets."
Kuusta aimed a fist to miss the blond head next to him, and Nils dodged exaggeratedly, rolling away to one side. Then they got up, went back into the castle, and shook hands in parting.
Early the next morning Kuusta Suomalainen rode across the drawbridge on the aging horse his soldier's pay had bought him, with a sword at his side, a small saddle bag tied behind him, and a safe-pass signed by Oskar Tunghand.
It was an October day on a forested plain in northern Poland, sunny but cool, with a fair breeze rattling the yellow leaves in the aspens and sending flurries of them fluttering down to carpet the narrow road. But Kuusta was not enjoying the beauty. Periodically he broke into coughing that bent him over the horse's withers and left him so weak he didn't see the man standing in the road facing him until the horse drew up nervously. The man wore a cowled jacket of faded dark-green homespun and carried a staff over one shoulder. His face approached the brown of a ripe horse chestnut, darker than the shock of light brown hair that looked to have been cut under a bowl.
"Good morning," the man said cheerfully in Anglic. "You sound terrible."
Kuusta looked at him, too sick to be surprised at having been greeted in other than Polish.
"Where are you going in such poor shape?" the man asked.
"To Finland," Kuusta answered dully.
"Let me put it another way," the man said. "Where are you going today? Because wherever it is, unless it's very nearby, you'll never make it. I've just come from a shelter of the Brethren very near here, and if you're willing, I'll take you there." He paused. "My name is Brother Jozef."
Kuusta simply nodded acquiescence while staring at the horse's neck.
The shelter was out of sight of the road, the path leading there being marked by a cross hacked in the bark of a roadside pine. It was built of un-squared logs chinked with clay, and had two rooms, a small one for occupancy and a smaller one for storage and dry firewood.