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 inn loomed two-stories high in the darkness and was made of planks instead of logs. The shutters were open, lighting the street in front of the windows and leaving nothing between the noise inside and the passersby outside. Nils had a krona in his pouch, strong hunger in his gut, and the sailor's words in the back of his mind as he moved lightly up the steps.

The noise didn't stop as he crossed the room, but the volume dropped a few decibels and faces turned to look. The innkeeper stared a moment at the bizarre but dangerous-looking barbarian wearing a pack with a shield on it, a slung bow, and a sword. Then he walked over to him.

"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 innkeeper eyed him narrowly and leaned a stout forearm on the bar top. "You plan to sleep in the open, if I take your meaning." He too spoke slowly now. "In that case, more than your money may disappear; your life's blood also. If you don't know that, then the world is a dangerous place for you."

"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 innkeeper said, and called a waiter. "Dreng, take this man to a table. Give him a mutton pie and a mug of beer, and when the mug is empty, fill it a second time."

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 Svealann. And you are no Dane either."

"No, I'm a Finn-in our language we say Suomalainen."

"I've heard of the Finn land," Nils said. "Svea fishermen are sometimes driven there by storms. What do you want of me?"

"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 Finn did not answer at once. "I don't know," he said at last. "I seek a thing of great value and go where my search takes me."

"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 Finn replied. "Because if I'm right, you don't have any place in mind. Also, you don't know the ways and tongues of the world, and need a guide and teacher."

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 Finn answered. "I can only wait and see." He paused, started as if to speak, paused again, then said it. "You're a barbarian, young and very ignorant, but you are not simple. Not simple at all. Which is so much the better, for you'll be much more than a man to frighten robbers."

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 Finn. "For you were right about me in every respect; I am an outcast, and have nothing better to do. But there's a lot I'll want to know, about you and your quest as well as about the world, and I won't promise that our paths will continue together." He half rose and held out his large, thick right hand. "I am Nils Jarnhann."

"Iron Hand. I believe it." The Finn retrieved his own. "And I am Kuusta Suomalainen."

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 cunning and cowardly. In Sweden and Finland, he pointed out, it would be impossible to keep sheep because of the wolves and bears. But the fur of sheep, called wool, could be made into warm clothing, and it was this most Danes wore instead of hides.

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."