Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 50 — page 75: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION warmth. “You have the choice, friend. To return to the village and live in dark- ness until you die, or.. .” “No!” The wounded man struggled upright. “My eyes are gone and I would not live without my eyes. I have brothers who will take care of my mother; to them I would be an added burden.” “Tt is well.” Kalin rose and nodded to a man at his side. Neither spoke but the man stepped forward, rusty iron in his hand, and the moaning of the blinded soldier died as blood gushed from his severed jugular. Kalin stared down at the dead man, sighed, and turned to the runner. “You have a message for me?” The man nodded, sinking on one knee as he repeated the old ritual. “Hail to Kalin. Kalin is dead.” It was all, but it was enough. For a moment the young man bowed his head in sorrow at the death of his father, then straightened and mounted his waiting horse. 74 “To the village,” said the new king, and his heels thudded against the ribs of his mount. AS WAS CUSTOM when the old king died and a new king took his place the village was assembled to hear his words and to learn his wishes. They assembled in the square before the House of the King, workers, warriors, those who made things with their hands and those who sang of departed glories. The Reader was there, blinking like an owl in the strong light, the filth of his body accentuated by the rain-washed skins of the others. Kalin sat on the great chair, his warriors around him, and stared at the gather- ing with sombre eyes. To be king was more than to be just a figurehead. He was now responsible for the entire welfare of the village, the arbitrator of arguments and the dispenser of justice. He was the leader, and these were his people. comicbooks.conn