Icerigger

by Alan Dean Foster

  “I know I can, Suaxus. Wind with you.”

  Suaxus clapped his knight on one shoulder. Then he yelled for Smjor and disappeared over the side of the raft. Leaning over the rail, Ethan could see them streaking off at an angle to the southwest. Soon they'd probably begin tacking back against the wind, eating up the distance to their home.

  It was no surprise that a single native could travel faster than the bulky raft. He turned away from the wind and rubbed at the ice crystals that had formed on his upper lip.

  The raft boasted a single wooden cabin. It rested squat against the back of the single thick mast. A summer day to the locals it might be but he was just plain cold. Inside, the du Kanes were huddled up against a residual pile of trading goods, well away from the tiny windows.

  The purpose of some of the objects in the pile was obvious. And what looked like a small stove had a pipe leading into the flat roof. It wasn't lit.

  Williams was sitting by the door. As usual, Walther had crammed himself into the furthest, darkest corner.

  “Well, it's a long way from first class,” Ethan essayed in a feeble attempt at humor, “but on such short notice...”

  Colette just glared back at him. Williams said nothing either. He was totally absorbed in examining the interior of the cabin.

  “See?” he said pointing to a joint in one wall. “They use notched logs and wooden pegs, reinforced in the difficult places with iron and bronze nails. Most of the implements on that stove are bronze, but a few are beaten copper and the stove itself is iron. There are one or two steel-tipped spears in that locker, back there. The handles have the most beautiful scroll-work.”

  “Must be Ta-hoding's pride and joy,” Ethan commented, mentally guessing at the artifact's curio value.

  “I should not be at all surprised,” the schoolmaster agreed. “I found nothing like pottery. Water would freeze on the potter's wheel.”

  The raft gave a sudden lurch. Colette squeaked.

  “Now what's happening?” she moaned.

  “I,” said Ethan with commendable enterprise, “will go and see.”

  “I think the captain has turned his vessel slightly into the wind,” informed Williams. “Shortly we should...”

  His voice faded as Ethan left the sheltering cabin. He rounded the side and stepped into the wind. He wasn't used to it but it was no longer unique enough to warrant a curse. September was up near the pointed bow, in conversation with Hunnar.

  The sail cracked. They were following the course taken by Suaxus and Smjor, who by now were well out of sight. The two turned as he came up to them.

  “Be your companions well?” inquired the knight solicitously.

  “As well as can be expected, Hunnar.” He glanced up at September. “Walther sits in his corner and glares at nothing in particular. Colette is alternately brazen and scared, her father says nothing until he has to, and Williams is too busy taking mental notes to notice much of anything.”

  “And you, young feller-me-lad?” The wind whipped a single loose strand of white hair across his forehead.

  “Me? Well, I'm...” Come to think of it, he'd been so busy he hadn't had time to consider his own feelings. “I'm cold.”

  “A pithy summation, lad.” He moved to clap Ethan on the back again. This time Ethan avoided it, grinning. The wind clawed at his face.

  “We're really picking up speed.” The sail fluttered and rattled between the bracing spars.

  One sailor was positioned at either end of the lower spar while Ta-hoding and the other manhandled the double wheel. The captain was carefully trying to match wind speed with desired direction. His eye moved continually from sky to sail to ice.

  “Stand ready!” he bellowed above the howling atmosphere. Then, “Hard over!” and he was straining furiously at the wheel, forcing it to the right.

  The raft slowly began to move to starboard. There was a split second when it was facing directly into the wind and the mainsail snapped back against the mast with a crack like shattered planking. The two spar men pushed and pulled as one, the sail snapped into a new configuration, and they were traveling at high speed to the northwest.

  “Nicely done!” yelled September admiringly. He pulled himself sternward, bracing against the railing. Ethan followed curiously. He wanted to have a closer look at the sail. Anything that could take the kind of continuous pounding it was being subjected to might have commercial value.

  It was thicker than sailcloth, a material Ethan had no formal knowledge of. Despite this it seemed flimsy for taming the high winds it had to take on this world. It was a bright yellow — surely not the natural color. Hunnar came up behind him and confirmed it.

  “The inside of the pika-pina is soft, but the exterior is tough and thin. When dried, treated, and drawn out through looms, it makes a very strong fiber. Sails, ropes, a dozen useful things.”

  “You don't say?” commented September, who'd returned from his brief examination of the raft's steering mechanism. Then he did something that almost gave Ethan impetus to scream.

  Gripping the lower edge of the sail in two powerful hands, he wrenched suddenly in opposite directions. At any moment Ethan expected to see the big man go down under a swarm of four angry sailors.

  No one paid him the least heed. Ta-hoding didn't even glance up from his post at the wheel. Neither did the other sailors. Budjir and the other soldiers continued their story swapping.

  Eventually September let out a deep breath and let go. As near as Ethan could tell, he hadn't made so much as a tiny rip in the material.

  “Strong is the word,” September wheezed. “I'd think that several layers of this stuff, tightly woven and laid over each other, would make a very respectable shield, what?” Hunnar looked at him with new respect.

  “You are a military man, then, friend September?”

  “Let's say I've had occasion to do some scrapping.”

  “It might,” admitted the knight, “except that treated hessavar hides laid to wood or bronze or iron are better. For one thing, they're harder to burn.”

  “Um. I didn't think of that.”

  “Would you like to try my sword?” Hunnar offered, leaning into a particularly violent gust.

  September looked tempted. But rather than risk exciting attention, or give away any hidden abilities, or lack of same, he politely declined.

  “Not today, friend Hunnar. In the future, in less awkward surroundings, should there be another opportunity—”

  “When the Horde comes you'll have plenty of opportunities,” said the knight grimly. He walked between them and stalked off to chat with the captain.

  “What's this ‘Horde’ he keeps referring to?” September asked Ethan.

  “I don't know.” He stared after the knight. “I've got this feeling, though, that we're not going to get much nearer Arsudun until we find out.”

  Chapter Five

  Actually they made slightly better time than Hunnar had estimated. The wind rose to a steady 60 kph, but under the skillful paws of Ta-hoding and his tiny crew, the ungainly raft fairly flew across the ice. The merchant might be comically effusive, but he was a master seaman — or iceman, rather.

  It was an exhilarating experience just to stand in the sharp prow of the raft and let the wind shriek past your face. It battered at the snow goggles and whipped the too-large hood which now enveloped Ethan's entire head and face. The angry air had all the softness of a newly minted scalpel. Exhilarating, yes. But how much more exhilarating it would have been to be warm again ... would he ever be warm again?

  He grew aware that Hunnar was standing next to him. “Wannome,” the knight murmured, “and Sofold Island. My home. Yours, too, for a while, friend Ethan.”

  For another moment there was nothing but a blur on the horizon. But as the little raft flew closer, the scene seemed to leap across the ice at him. Before he knew it, they were cruising beneath towering stone walls amidst a swarm of similar craft. All were built along the triangle design. Most were abou
t the same size as their own ship.

  There were a few two and three times as long, and one great raft that must have gone at least ninety meters. It had a two-story central cabin with smaller cabins fore and aft.

  Decks were piled high with crates and boxes, all securely lashed down against the wind. Many were protected with material made from the same stuff as the sails. The big raft's fittings were brighter, with here and there decorative flashes of metal and bone. Sails were splashes of rainbow against the ice. Ethan realized that any color other than white or green could be easily spotted many kilometers off.

  Moving with the westwind behind them, several ships shot past them at tremendous speed. All were moving from or to the same spot, an opening in the walls. The entrance was flanked by two massive towers of gray stone. Great walls stretched off to right and left, curving into the distance.

  Ethan staggered over to the cabin entrance, yelled inside. “Mr. du Kane, Colette, Milliken, you can come and look. We're here.”

  “Wherever that is,” grumbled Colette.

  A moment later they were all clustered along the bow of the raft. With delicate handling and elaborate curses, Ta-hoding was maneuvering them skillfully through the swarm of shipping.

  Along the tops of the flanking towers patrolling tran were visible. The raft slid between the walls, edging near an exiting merchantman with orange sails, and ornately carved handrailing. Once, the merchantman's low spar, riding higher than their own, almost clipped the raft's sail. Ta-hoding hurled a stream of invective at the other, of which Ethan managed to understand perhaps half.

  Bow in hand, the first mate of the other vessel came to the rail. It was the first indication they'd had that archery was known to the natives. He made threatening gestures with it in their direction until Hunnar walked over and spoke quietly — as quietly as one could above the wind — to the other. That worthy shut up fast and disappeared.

  “How do you close off the harbor?” Ethan inquired. “I don't see anything resembling a gate.”

  “With nets of woven pika rope,” replied the knight. “A gate would have to rest on the ice.”

  “What's wrong with that?”

  “A good fire on the ice would easily undermine such. The walls themselves are built deep into the ice but a gate, naturally, could not be so. Also, there is the Great Chain. It is passed from one gate tower to the other and can keep out all but the tiniest ships. The nets serve to keep out men on foot.”

  The walls, Ethan observed, were several meters thick, with plenty of room on top for maneuvering troops. They stood about twelve meters high, with battle towers slightly higher.

  Once inside the gate he could see that the walls completely encircled the harbor. It was a very respectable feat of basic engineering.

  Wannome was ideally suited for an iceport. The island itself lay on the east-west axis, with harbor and city at the eastern tip. Once within the harbor, ice-sailors would have the island to shield them from the constant westwind. On leaving the harbor they would pick up the prevailing gale immediately. Travelers coming from the east would have a more difficult time of it, but would still find the same quiet landing and protective wall.

  Ethan took another survey of that impressive construct. He wondered what threat could make an individual like Hunnar worry despite it.

  Dozens of rafts, including small pleasure craft, plied the broad harbor. The merchantmen tied up at long, narrow piers which were built directly out onto the ice. Since the iceships had no draft and did not bob up and down on nonexistent waves, the piers were barely above the “water.” Wooden cranes and pulley hoists added to the confusion in the harbor.

  At the eternally unchanging tide-line where ice met land, a farrago of small buildings began. Tran of all sizes and shapes moved about the ice-front.

  The humans were by now turning quite a few heads on passing rafts, but Ethan was too engrossed in the approaching scene to notice. The ground sloped sharply upward from the piers. It disappeared in a crazy-quilt jumble of two- and three-storied stone buildings and houses.

  Near the houses, narrow streets paved with smooth flat stones were visible. Each had a broad swath of smooth ice running stripelike down its middle. All of the buildings seemed to sport chimneys of stone or black metal and high gambrel roofs. If Ethan had spent more time thumbing through history tapes instead of sales catalogues, he might have been struck by the town's resemblance to medieval European cities.

  The ice median strips were artificial, having been made by melting ice and then allowing it to refreeze in the desired place and pattern. Even at a distance Ethan could see furry dots dropping harborward at high speed. It was equally clear that the ice ramps were for descent only. It would take a mighty powerful eastwind to permit upward chivaning.

  Rapid transit in Wannome, then, was no problem — as long as you were going downhill.

  Above the town, steep crags rose to right and left. There was a low saddle between them. Clinging to the rocks on the left and seemingly a part of the mountain itself was the great castle of Wannome. It descended in stone levels to merge with the harbor-girdling wall.

  The castle, Sir Hunnar informed them, had been founded by a wandering knight, one Krigsvird-ty-Kalstund, in the year 3262 snc. Ethan's knowledge of the trannish dating system was nil, but the castle looked awfully old.

  The island was built like a doorstop, with the harbor and town of Wannome at the high end. From the town the ground rose abruptly to the island's high point. From there it dropped in a long, gentle sweep to the ice and a great field of pika-pina. A steady stream of black smoke rose from the mountains.

  “The pika-pina,” Hunnar had explained, “protects us from attack from the west, out of the wind. The great wall and castle does likewise for the town and the eastern island.”

  “What about your north and south?” asked September.

  “There is wall around much of the island, but far lower and weaker than this. But the granaries, ships, and foundry are all at this high end of Sofold, protected by the wall and by steep cliffs. An attacker could come from north or south and make a successful landfall. Then he could devastate the fields and herds, the country downs. This would gain him naught but pleasure. Fields can be replanted, houses rebuilt, especially with the wealth of the province intact.

  “Wannome can support and shelter the entire population of Sofold should it prove necessary.”

  “What about an attack on the city from the landward side,” continued September.

  Hunnar gave him a patronizing look. “I see you do not understand us. No tran will fight on land when he can maneuver four times as effectively on the ice. It must be different with you, since you have no chiv or dan. That is why ships and caravans are at their greatest danger when out at ice. Few can move faster than a fighting man with a good west wind behind him. To try and take a high position from land ... no, such an attack could never succeed.

  “A landing might be made as part of a siege-plan, to prevent the townsfolk from getting supplies from the rest of the island. But never with the thought of taking the city from that side. No one could move fast enough. For one thing, there are ice paths all around the island. They give us the ability to move rapidly on land. These would be destroyed before any invader could make use of them. We would still retain those in the heights and the town. Thus we would have great mobility while an invader would struggle clumsily about in the dirt.” He pointed at the encircling harbor wall as they pulled up to an empty pier.

  A large gray pennant fluttered at the end of the pier. It was divided into four squares. A large tusk occupied the upper right-hand corner, crossed by a sword. An anvil and hammer decorated the lower left, while the opposing squares were a solid red and yellow, respectively. An exquisitely carved and appointed raft with an unusually tall mast was tied up at the pier nearby.

  “The Landgrave's yacht,” Hunnar explained.

  “About the wall,” prompted Ethan.

  “Yes. An ice path also runs
along its top. So the men above have equal mobility with those on the ice below. And except on unusual days, an enemy has the wind in his face and side at best, and the sun in his eyes in the evening. Not the best conditions under which to pursue an assault.”

  The two spar men reefed in the single sail. One side of the triangular raft struck the pier with the slightest of jars. Immediately young tran appeared beneath the raft. They placed large stones in front of and behind the triple stone runners.

  Suaxus was there to greet them.

  “I have given your messages and my report to the Protector,” he intoned, after he and Hunnar had exchanged breath and shoulder-claps. “You are to bring them to his presence immediately.”

  “Has the Council been informed?” Hunnar asked. Ethan thought he detected more than mere curiosity in the knight's voice. It was hard to tell. Mestaped language was hard on inflection. Still, there was something going on here that was being kept from them.

  Suaxus grinned tightly. “The Landgrave in his wisdom felt that a private audience might better serve the present needs of the province ... at the first. No point is there in shocking the other nobles with the sight of these strange ones.”

  “Come along, my friends,” said Hunnar. “It is a substantial walk, although perhaps not for you.”

  The harborfront had an easy familiarity to Ethan. He'd worked in dozens of such on half a hundred worlds. Some had been more, some less, civilized. All were concerned with the task of acquiring material wealth.

  Business proceeded all about them. Trading, bargaining, loading of rafts, unloading, fighting, pickpocketing, with everywhere masses of children somehow finding space to play. A seething mob of sentient greed. Oh well. The universe was not physically perfect, either. Hundreds of furry tran filled the harborfront with a warm, musky smell. It was not unpleasant, but in hot or humid air it could have been overpowering.

  Many of the locals paused in their business and chatter to eye the alien procession. But no one ventured to stare very long, or to pose comment that might be overheard. This was probably due, Ethan considered, to the presence of Hunnar and his soldiers.