The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers

by Alan Dean Foster

The Slanderscree carried two of the little rafts, or noan, to serve as lifeboats or scout vessels as occasion demanded. Now one was being lowered over the side to serve as transportation for them all—but mainly for the human members of the parley party, who would only slide and slow the others on the ice. Three of the Slanderscree’s crew came along to handle the sail and steering.

  Hunnar, Ethan, Skua, and Suaxus comprised the exchange group. Once aboard, the noan raised sail. The nomad who’d remained behind on the ice guided them through a gap in the barbarian encirclement. A low murmur came from that ugly gathering as they passed through. Many of the nomad warriors wore bandages and splints in addition to badly battered armor. They were in a murderous mood and Ethan hoped Hunnar knew what he was doing in agreeing to this exchange.

  They passed squads of nomads chivaning toward the ring. Preparing for the final effort, no doubt.

  September was thinking along similar lines. “Getting ready to attack again.”

  “Was there any doubt of it?” declared Hunnar. “I am twice surprised at this parley request. Does she think us fools enough to surrender?”

  “Whatever the reason, be thankful for it,” September replied. “It buys time.”

  “Listen,” put in Ethan, “are you sure we can get back to the raft? This charming lady’s character doesn’t impress me. How honorable is she?”

  “As honorable as the lowliest slime that seeps from the garbage tailings,” spat the knight. “Yet there will be no question in this matter. All respect the person of an envoy. Without such concord it would make surrender awkward. Such as these prefer not to fight if it can be arranged. Remember when I said they have grown fat.”

  Ethan watched another pack of taut, tightly armored tran chivan past. “I don’t see any who look especially corpulent.”

  “No longer, since the defeat, friend Ethan. Had this happened two or three hundred years ago, when the Horde was still new in our land, I do not believe that even with your wizard’s crossbows and thunder-making we could have defeated them as we did.”

  They were nearing the anchored nomad fleet—or rather, the pitiful remnant thereof. Their guide directed them among the rafts until they drew alongside what once must have been a veritable palace on runners.

  Now the bloodcurdling motifs and designs carved into the rails and central pavilion were scarred by fire. The golden leafing on the central structure had been seared and melted.

  Waiting hands helped them onto the deck, holding firmly. To see how much meat was left on him, no doubt, Ethan reflected. He tried to imagine some get-togethers he’d attended where the company had been worse, but the private jest brought no hidden smiles. It was hard to be flip when at any moment some unpredictable primitive might try to make steak out of you.

  They entered the pavilion and passed through several rooms. The interior of the big cabin was still rich-looking, still comfortable. Eventually they reached a room larger than all the others. Several well-built specimens of trannish manhood stood along the walls, armed with huge double-edged swords.

  At the far end of the room was an incredible throne made from trail bones and skulls and inlaid with precious metals and gems. The thing that sat on the throne was, even to alien human eyes accustomed to a different meterstick of beauty, outstandingly repulsive.

  Instead of the huge, glowering warrior Ethan had first envisioned, Sagyanak was a shrunken, wrinkled old crone. An ugly sack of bones and bile, made the more hideous by childish attempts at facial and body makeup.

  This ancient construct of weak ligaments and venomous eyes leaned forward and stared at them, a finger rubbing lower lip like a pallid bristled worm.

  “So, there you stand, as the Mad One said you would.” They did not question or reply. “That you have even come to this parley says you are not so strong as I thought. Better and best, better and best.”

  “That we come to this parley,” replied Hunnar evenly, “means we are proper in respecting the rules of conflict … something you have never bothered to do.”

  “There are no rules to war,” the crone answered indifferently. ‘There is but victor and defeated. Methodology is irrelevant. But you have come.”

  “Already established,” Hunnar replied impatiently, despite September’s anxious glance. “What is it you want? You’ve interrupted my morning meal.”

  “So you have plenty of supplies, too. Excellent. Additional stores are always welcome.”

  “If you can catch it before the wind does, you may follow and be welcome to our garbage.”

  She leaned forward slowly, showing broken yellow teeth.

  “When I have taken you, you will not long be fit to serve even as garbage.” With an effort, she sat back and tried to essay a pleasant smile. The result was horrible. “But there is no need for this unpleasantness. I do not need you to justify my actions in battle, good knight. Leave that for another visit Now, I have been known never to break my word. To do so would dishonor me before, the Gods and the Dark One. Know you this to be true?”

  “Tis so,” admitted Hunnar.

  “Then I say this to you.” The head leaned against the throne-back and the slit eyes narrowed. “Give up to me the great raft the demons have built for you. Yea, you may even keep your weapons, including the magic bows-which-are-not-drawn. I covet them, but you may retain them. Also the thunder and lightning your catapults throw. Keep these and go freely wherever you wish. I swear this.”

  Hunnar must have been startled at the seemingly generous offer, but he did an admirable job of not showing it.

  “We cannot do that. We are too far from Sofold to safely chivan back over open ice.”

  “I will give you rafts enough for all your people, including your wounded, and enough supplies to return. I swear this also. And you will have the wind with you.” There was a predatory gleam in her eyes. “What say you?”

  Hunnar appeared to consider, then turned away. While Suaxus remained at attention, the others discussed the proposal in whispers.

  “She can’t be trusted, can she?” asked Ethan.

  “It is strange she offers us our lives. Yes, if she so swears, she can be.”

  “I don’t share your confidence,” put in September. “If we make it back we’d have to start building another boat from scratch. I don’t know if that toy forge could manage it. This thing smells worse than that great stinking carcass in front of the ship. That crazy Eer-Meesach!”

  “I concur with you, friend Skua. We face very probable death if we do not agree,” Hunnar explained. “We might not live out this day. The offer will not be made again.”

  “We still have a chance to break and run for it.”

  “The moment we put on sail, friend Skua, they will attack. With irons and fire. If they cannot have the ship they will surely not allow us to escape.”

  “There’s still the wizard’s idea,” said Ethan.

  “Of which nothing has come,” September countered. The debate was interrupted by a new voice. Recognition escaped Ethan for several seconds.

  “Come on, gentlemen, you’ve been stalling long enough. You may as well accept. It’s all you can do and you know it.”

  They turned. Ethan hadn’t thought to hear that voice again.

  Walther walked through the screened door to the right of the throne, took a seat at its base, and smiled at them. No one offered greeting.

  “Well, don’t look so stunned,” he admonished them in fluent Trannish. It was the first time Ethan had heard him speak the native language, though he’d admitted to knowing it before. “I confess I was in tight for a while there. Afraid one of these hairy berserkers would run a spear through me before I could explain who I was and what I had to offer. Once I got through to a perceptive captain-type, he had me brought to the boss-lady here. We had a nice chat.

  “Of course, it was too late for me to do anything about the battle she’d already lost, but I had a few other suggestions. I managed a private looksee at the shrimp’s plans for a big raft. Wasn�
�t hard to figure out what you intended to do with it. The main remainder of the Horde slunk off for a little subsistence raiding and thieving, but small rafts made up to look like merchant ships were always shuttling back and forth between us and the harbor.

  “We knew when each mast was set in place, when every box of stores was taken on board. As soon as you shoved off and got a little out of sight, we followed. Not only do I know where you’re headed as well as you do, but that big raft cuts a helluva gash in the ice. Easy to follow.

  “Only thing I hadn’t figured on was the speed that thing makes. If you hadn’t had the decency to run into that big grass-eater, we’d still be chasing you. Everything will work out nicely now, though.”

  “Yes, I can see it, too,” said Ethan, surprising himself again by breaking in. “You’ll take a picked group of these murderers and sail on to Arsudun. Not knowing you from normal humanfolk, the humanx authorities will ignore you. Then you find your associates. If they don’t fry you out of hand for bungling the whole enterprise, you’ll explain the situation to them, fly back here in an air-car, pick up the du Kanes, and with only a little time lost, continue your original plan to hold them up for ransom. Neat. And us?”

  “Believe me,” said Walther sincerely, “I wish I’d never set eyes on either of you. Or that teacher, either. Yes, that’s a fair scenario. You can make your own way into Brass Monkey. By the time you can get another boat built, make it to Wannome from here, and then to Arsudun, we should have received our credits and scattered to the far corners of the Arm.”

  September pointed at the listening Sagyanak. “One other little item. What does she get for providing you with transportation and protection, um?”

  “Oh, in return for her help, Her Majesty will retain the lovely big raft you’ve built.”

  “That all?”

  “Well, I did sort of promise her a few crates of modern arms and maybe a small cannon or two once we’ve been paid off.”

  “Leaving aside the fact,” September continued, “that that’s a violation of every rule for contact with Class Four-B worlds, just what do you imagine this she-scorpion will do with ’em?”

  “Why, I expect that Her Majesty,” he said, glancing over at her, “will sail pronto back to our frigid foster icebox and reduce the place to rubble. After which, without killing off too many of the populace, she’ll resume her former status as protector of commerce in the territory. As for ‘laws,’ ” he continued contemptuously, “through sabotage of an interstellar liner and kidnapping of you all, I’ve already made myself a candidate for mindwipe. I’m not in the least concerned with what the locals intend to do with any new toys I might choose to give them.”

  “I should have broken your neck when I had the opportunity,” observed September calmly.

  “Yes, you should have. But you’ve missed your chance. Agree, and you can at least get out of here with your hide. Refuse and we’ll take the boat from you anyway. Fight and you’ll be overrun. Try to run away and we’ll cut that broken skate free and fire the sails. You are good and well stuck, friends.”

  “Even if we do agree, what if the tran don’t go along with us?” asked Ethan. Walther shrugged.

  “That’s your problem. I think you’d better convince them. Oh yes, one other thing. I’d like you to leave the brat … what’s her name? … Colette … with me, as a guarantee you won’t try and follow us into Brass Monkey on the rafts we leave you. It wouldn’t do for you to sail in a couple of days after me and let the peaceforcers in on our little secret, would it?”

  Something very like a cackle came from the throne. This request, demon-origin or not, she could understand.

  “Maybe you’d like me to cut off my right arm, as a further gesture of insurance?” asked September sarcastically.

  “Naw, keep it. I’m feeling generous today.” He grinned, a small mind in a sudden position of power and enjoying every minute of it.

  “We will return to our ship and inform you of our decision,” said Hunnar, unable to listen to any more of this without going for certain throats.

  “You’ve got half an hour by the sun,” replied Walther easily. “You can spend the time counting houris for all I care. If you agree to the terms, take in the banner at your stern. If not, well,” he shrugged, “I’ve done my best for you.”

  “I don’t wonder that she calls you the Mad One,” guessed Ethan.

  Walther started and lost a little of his composure.

  “Watch your mouth, bright-eyes. This is no sales convention.”

  “And you’re certainly no door prize,” he said as they left the throne room.

  Ethan tried to affect a nonchalant attitude as they slid back over the ice. But he didn’t really relax until they had passed through the encirclement. Now there were plenty of women and cubs in the group, who looked every bit as ragged and vicious as the menfolk. Obviously Sagyanak was leaving nothing to chance. This was to be a supreme effort on her part.

  And why not, with such a prize? With modern weapons she could rule as much of the planet as she chose without far-off humanx authorities ever finding out about them.

  “Of course we can’t agree to this,” he said to no one in particular.

  “Of course not,” September said. “But it did kill some time. Maybe enough. In any case we must try to get away now. The thought of even a single decent pistol in the hands of that horror makes my stomach crawl.”

  “You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?” said Ethan suddenly, giving him an odd look. September chose not to reply. He turned instead to talk to Hunnar.

  “We’ll have to hold them off and pick the best opening, then break for it.”

  Balavere and Ta-hoding were waiting with anxious expressions when they reboarded the raft. It felt good to be back on the high deck, even if it was destined to become a baroque coffin within the hour. The barbarian hostages scrambled with poor grace to get over the side. Hunnar watched them speed for the safety of the encampment with obvious disdain.

  Something unseen hit Ethan, planted a freezing kiss on one cheek and vanished down a forward hatch. Ethan caught only a glimpse of flying fur and a hint of a pink face.

  “What was that?” he mumbled, rather stupidly.

  “Why, that was Colette du Kane, young feller.” September grinned. “Wonder why it is that impending destruction always gives women the hots?”

  “Deity, Skua! Sometimes your crudity exceeds all standards!”

  “Please, no compliments before battle,” he replied.

  They explained to the others the results of their one-sided “parley.” Ta-hoding was rapidly being reduced to a quivering wreck. Balavere just listened quietly, nodding now and again at something Hunnar said, questioning September, until they’d both finished.

  “Twould be unthinkable to give them the ship under any circumstances,” said the General finally. “I would rather raze it to the ice than let the Evil One near it.”

  Ethan sniffed the air and gagged. The miasma from the rotting colossus seemed powerful enough to stand off an attack by itself. In fact, after a look over the rail he noticed that the section of the encirclement directly to the east of them had actually grown thinner. It might really be of some aid. When they made their break, they would have a weakened section to try for. But Hunnar and Ta-hoding wanted to run the other way. Ethan sighed and looked at the thinned line of enemy troops with regret. The tran were probably right And the nomad rafts were drawn up to the east, forming a second barrier there.

  Extra weapons were passed to all, along with the solemn word that there would be no quarter, no let-up in this next attack. Once again preparations were made for steering from below deck. Not because of impending storm, but in case the helmsman topside should be cut down when the raft tried to break the enclosing circle.

  The wounded took swords or spears. So did Elfa and Colette and even Hellespont du Kane, who at least could wield one like a cane. The crossbowmen scrambled aloft, settling themselves in their baskets an
d stacking bolts nearby. Archers and pikemen moved to positions at the railing.

  Waiting.

  Ethan surveyed the poised Sofoldians, a pitifully reduced group, then the hundreds of tensed nomads. There were no reserves this time to take up an empty place on the rail if a man fell. He was beginning to lament all the sales, commissions, deals, promises, and women he’d failed to make. It must have taken more than a half hour.

  It could have been his imagination. Or maybe Sagyanak and Walther had decided to give them a little extra time in the hopes that the increasing tension would weaken the resolve of those on the Slanderscree. Another precious few minutes for the furious repair crew.

  They finally broke, howling and screaming, chivaning toward the raft from all sides. No disciplined assault this, but a shrieking, angry, uncontrolled mob.

  Arrows began to thunk into the deck, the masts, the railing. A man went down a few meters to his left. Meanwhile their crossbowmen and archers were returning the fire from superior height. Dozens of barbarians dropped, hundreds came on. Again the uninvited grappling hooks and ladders sprouted. One hook narrowly missed pinning Ethan to the rail.

  A helmeted head appeared over the side. September swung at it—he had the great axe in his hands again. Ethan hacked and flailed at the knotted rope attached to the hook.

  One voice drifted down through all the noise and confusion. Ethan hardly recognized it. It was the voice of the mainmast lookout, posted aloft with the crossbowmen. He was using a megaphone—another, simpler invention by Williams. His message was brief.

  “THEY COME!”

  Ta-hoding, who’d been shaking every time an arrow whizzed within half a dozen meters of him, heard it also. Suddenly he was moving his fat bulk about the deck at an insane pace, bodily pulling sailors from their positions and all but booting them into the rigging. Ethan prayed that the captain wouldn’t run into a mast and knock himself flat.

  Dropping swords and pikes and spears, they scrambled into the shrouds. Sails began to drop, grew convex with wind. The wheel creaked, a ghostly turning as the below-deck system struggled to move the half-frozen fifth runner. The soldiers fought all the harder to compensate for the manpower loss.