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

by Alan Dean Foster

  “There’s been a change in plans, Brother,” yelled September. He brought his clasped hands around and came down hard with the rock concealed in them. Tydin collapsed without a sound.

  “Help, Brothers!” shouted Durnad. “We are tricked!”

  As it developed there were nine of the Brotherhood guarding the Slanderscree—less Tydin. The odds were bearable.

  The Brothers fought furiously, wielding their clubs and green staves like madmen. You’d have thought they were battling the devil himself. But they were not trained fighters. Without the advantages of surprise and overwhelming numbers, such as they’d possessed in the monastery, they were only a good exercise for the likes of Budjir, Suaxus, and Hunnar. Elfa swung a broken staff with as much skill as any of them.

  Ethan used his surprising mass to bowl over a pair of opponents. It would be more even in an honest fight with a knowing tran, but this time the surprise was his. September had thrown one Brother halfway across the deck and was dismantling another like a pale chicken.

  Ethan stooped and grabbed up a club dropped by one of the Brothers. His attacker pursued him and swung his staff again. Ethan ducked to one side, rammed the club blunt-end-first into the other’s midsection.

  The Brother whoofed and doubled over. Ethan brought the club down hard and whirled to face the next attacker.

  There was no next attacker.

  Suaxus stood to one side, panting heavily. “What shall we do with them, Sir?” The expression on the squire’s face was typically noncommittal. But if he were asked, Ethan didn’t doubt he’d have a ready suggestion or two.

  “Tie them up and dump them belowdecks,” Hunnar ordered. He paused, startled. “Belowdecks!” A sharp turn and he was over the nearest hatchway.

  A simple pin and loop arrangement sufficed to dog the hatch cover down. Hunnar pulled the pin, released the loop. Up came the cover.

  The anxious face of captain Ta-hoding stared up at him, blinking in the torchlight.

  “We heard sounds of struggle above,” he grunted as he exited the hold. “We had hoped twould be you and our friends, Sir Hunnar.”

  Sailors and soldiers streamed out on deck. They set about binding the white-robed figures. A few of the Brothers were beginning to regain consciousness. The men who’d been locked in the dark hold all evening were not particularly careful in their handling of the bodies.

  “We were embarrassedly surprised, but none were hurt,” Ta-hoding informed them. “All is well now, then.”

  “All is not well,” countered Hunnar as the two tran walked over to where Ethan and September stood. “Three of our friends are held still in the lair of these monsters.”

  Ta-hoding sputtered. “Counterwind! We must mount an expedition, then! Besiege the place and—”

  September shook his head slowly. “No, my good captain. It cannot be done that way.”

  “Sir Skua is right, Ta,” said Hunnar. “Those virians above will probably assume we’ve been taken by their minions here.” Said minions were now being unceremoniously hauled below. “But even so, they will post guards upon the stairway. Not to do so would be an act of such cub intelligence that I cannot think they would fail to do it. A few could hold the entrance to the monastery against an army. Which,” he continued, turning to September, “worries me greatly, friend Skua. How are we to rescue our companions?”

  “Frankly, Hunnar, I’d been too busy the last hour to give it much thought. Let’s see, now …”

  “I suppose we’ll have to find a way around them,” said Ethan hesitantly.

  “Sir Ethan,” reminded Hunnar a bit impatiently, “there is no way around. There is but the single carefully watched entrance, with a sheer drop on one side and, I venture to say, equal precipitousness on the other.”

  “I agree,” said September. “It will have to be a small group in any case. Too many people … too much noise and movement.” He turned to Ta-hoding. “Captain, is there any climbing gear on board?”

  Ta-hoding was obviously contused, and with reason. Mountaineering was not an art practiced by his folk.

  “Climbing gear? Well … we have rope, of course, but I do not know what you mean by ‘gear.’ ”

  “I see. Another problem.” September grunted. “My fault. I should have guessed you wouldn’t know a crampon from a creampuff. Glassfeathers!”

  “Strange words,” said Hunnar. “More of your odd devices, friend Skua?”

  “In a sense.” The big man stared thoughtfully at the deck for a moment, then back at the knight. “Do we carry any kind of solid, strong hooks on board?”

  “Hooks?” The red-tinged mane shook. Then he brightened. “Why surely! We must have a number of fine boarding grapples, taken on the last attack. They would be in the armory.”

  “Those would be perfect.”

  “Suaxus!” snapped Hunnar. The squire nodded and disappeared down the hatchway.

  “What do you think, young feller-me-lad?”

  “Well, actually,” replied Ethan, who’d listened to the progress of the conversation with the fascination of a bird watching the approach of a king snake, “I’ve always been kind of afraid of heights and—”

  “Nonsense, lad, nonsense! All in your mind. Just don’t look down … course, climbing at night’ll be a little rough, but there’s nothing to it, what?”

  “Oh sure.”

  September looked at them all intently. “Now, we’ll stop at the last bend in the stairway, just out of sight of the monastery entrance. If we’re lucky they’ll still be occupied with Hunnar’s fire. They won’t be looking for anyone to be dropping in on ’em from above. I’ll plant the first grapple … ”

  XIV

  THE ROOM WASN’T VERY large, and the members of the Brotherhood filled it to capacity. Each pressed close upon the other for a better look at the minions of the Dark One. Real infidels were rarely available for purging and none among the Brotherhood wanted to miss the infrequent, interesting ceremonies.

  Light from lamps and lanterns surrounding the curved circular room threw dancing shadows against the dome. High braziers were filled with burning oil and wood. The stars shone brightly through the round skylight.

  Three bronze basins with sloping bottoms flashed green-gold on the paved floor. Each contained a single body with head set higher than feet. Hellespont du Kane was the tallest of the three and his head did not reach the top of the basin. Like the others he was tightly bound with his hands fixed to his sides.

  Milliken Williams occupied the basin to his right, with Colette to his left. She’d managed to break the bonds on her feet early and leave a number of very sore Brothers in her wake, but to no avail.

  The Brothers had slowly been filling the basins with water, a bucket at a time, brought in from the melting room.

  Since the room was not heated, the cold night air of Tran-ky-ky was gradually freezing each successive dose of water. The captives were now encased up to the shoulders in a jacket of diamond-clear ice.

  Colette continued to rain verbal destruction on the gathering in several languages, none of which the Brothers understood. A small chorus of same continued to moan the same unmelodic drone they’d sung since the water-pouring had begun. Only their superb survival suits had kept the captives from serious frostbite thus far—and these wouldn’t help when the ice rose over their heads.

  Colette looked from her father, motionless in both ice and trance, and then up at the watching Brothers.

  “We’ve done nothing to you. Why are you doing this thing?”

  The kindly Prior stared amusedly down at her. “Tch! That a servant of the Dark One should have the audacity to ask for mercy.”

  “Listen,” she sighed tiredly, giving a little shiver. The cold was beginning to exceed her suit’s capacity to withstand it. “We don’t even know what your damned Dark One is! If you’re moronic enough to believe that we’re the disciples of some local devil of yours, I feel sorry for you!”

  “No, She, it is I who must be sorry for yo
u,” replied the Prior righteously. “Tis known to all that the Place-Where-The-Earth’s-Blood-Burns is the home of the Dark One himself. From whatever homeland people come, all know that. Twas fortunate that you inadvertently revealed your destination to us, so that we could take proper steps. We are not ignorant peasants here!”

  He looked skyward into the night. “And as you shall partake of the Cold that has held our beloved home, lo, these many centuries, so shall the Time of the Final Warming be brought closer!” He looked back at her. “That is our end and goal.”

  “Look here.” Williams was feeling the cold more than any of them and now he was having trouble speaking. “If we’re minions of this Dark One or not, freezing us isn’t going to heat your world.”

  “Tis written in the Great Old Books that for every servant of the Dark One who is returned to the primeval cold, our world shall grow a little warmer, a little softer, a little greener. To this end is the Brotherhood pledged!”

  “Listen,” continued the schoolmaster desperately, ‘Tran-ky-ky might be made warm and green again. My people know a process called terraforming that could conceivably melt this ice and raise the planetary temperature. But you couldn’t adapt if it were to happen in your lifetime. Besides, you’d all drown.”

  “You lie most intriguingly, Evil One, but think not to deceive us.”

  Two of the Brothers approached. They carried a large bronze kettle between them. Carefully, they distributed its load of water between the three basins. Colette tried to pull herself higher as they poured the ice water into hers, but it brought the water level up to her neck. The pair left for the melting room for another load.

  Almost immediately a crust began to form on top of the water. Another few trips and the ice would be over her head. Or maybe the insulation on her suit would give out before that.

  “We come openly, as guests, and you receive us with murder,” she said, a little frightened now. Any kind of reasonable, logical argument she could fend aside and handle. But religious fanatics! … “We needed your help, dammit!”

  “We intend to help you,” soothed the Prior. He turned to the shifting, watching mob.

  “Brothers! These poor, degenerate minds cry out to us for salvation! Let us pray for them, that their souls may meet in the next plane of existence uncontaminated by illogic and unreason.”

  “Let it be so!” hummed the assembled Brotherhood. They joined the uninspired choir in its steady, dissonant drone, the noise broken only by Colette’s hysterical sobbing.

  There was a sudden, violent crack from above. A deep voice moaned in terrifying, sepulchral tones …

  “LET IT BE KNOWN THAT THE DARK ONE PROTECTS HIS OWN!” Rapidly, it added in Terranglo, “COVER YOUR EYES!”

  Immediately all the trannish eyes in the room shot upward, while the trio of imprisoned humans bent their heads and squeezed theirs shut tight.

  Explosion. Bodies flying. Those left standing made a concerted, panicked dash for the exit, trampling some of the wounded in an unbrotherly haste to escape. Above, the weird vox boomed.

  “I AM THE POWER AND THE GLORY OF DARKNESS AND ALL WHO STAND AGAINST ME SHALL BE SLAIN!”

  There was another explosion and more of the Brotherhood fell. A lesser crash sounded from above. It was followed by brilliantine tinkling as the skylight was shattered. A cable ladder snaked into the room. Before the bottom had unrolled, Skua September was already halfway down its swaying length. Ethan, Hunnar, and several soldiers followed.

  The big man went immediately to the single doorway. He needed Hunnar’s help to clear away the bodies.

  “Thank Deity for small favors!” he breathed. “It bolts from the inside!” Hunnar threw the latch.

  “Tis not strong, Sir Skua. It will not stand against a determined rush.”

  Ethan and the soldiers all had torches strapped to their waists. They were intended to provide light if the Brothers blew out lamps. Now they were put to a different use. A quick thrust into a hanging lantern and they were lit. Then they began the slow, dangerous job of trying to melt the trapped prisoners free.

  Ethan was working on one side of the copper basin that held Colette.

  “Hurry, please!” she pleaded. “I … I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

  “How much time?” September asked Hunnar.

  “One cannot say.” The knight stared at the bolted door. “These are not soldiers and do not react as such. Yet it will soon occur to the last of the escapees that we are far from supernatural in shape or form, and some might have recognized us.”

  It took four of them to lift each metal coffin. Two tilted the heavy container upward. One at a time, the three prisoners slid free, each still encased in a block of ice. Now the melting could proceed at a decent pace.

  “Tis a difficult decision for them,” Hunnar continued. “If we are truly servitors of the Dark One, as our ability to throw thunder and lightning might suggest, then I would not expect them to attack again at all. But they might consider us to be only mortal servants of the Dark One, deluded mortals, in which case—”

  “Shove the Dark One! How much time’ve we got?”

  There was a thump as someone tried the door, then a rattling of the latch. This was quickly followed by a series of heavy bumps, then silence.

  “Well, that answers that,” the big man growled. He turned back to the center of the room.

  The melting was nearing completion and Williams, Colette, and the motionless senior du Kane were almost free.

  “You know,” said Ethan conversationally as he melted away the last of the clinging ice from her ankles, “you’d look absolutely awesome in a martini.”

  “I could use one about that size right now,” she replied tightly. “Thank the Devices for these suits!” He started to rub her legs and she didn’t protest.

  “I’m okay,” she said finally. “Help the teacher.” Ethan looked over at the senior du Kane, who lay still and quiet on the stone floor.

  “Your father … is he …?”

  “Watch.” She bent over him and Ethan heard her whisper in his ear. “Free credit …”

  A hand twitched, then a leg. Stillness, and then the old man sat up, blinking, and looked up at his daughter. She put a big arm under his left and helped him to his feet.

  “Well my dear, are we safe or are we dead?”

  “It’s still a moot point, father, but we incline to the former.”

  He sighed. “Ah well. Pity.” Click. “I was so wondering what kind of flowers they have in the next world.”

  “Only flower-souls, I’ve told you that, father. Come on now, move around a little. That’s it.” At Ethan’s slack-jawed stare she replied, “Automatic protective trance. He goes into it whenever his system is overloaded. This isn’t the first time it’s saved his life.”

  There was a loud crash and the door shook violently.

  “We’ve overstayed our welcome,” suggested Ethan.

  September stood facing the door, watching it silently. He held a small, tightly bound package of vol leather in one hand. It had a short, stubby fuse projecting from it and he nonchalantly tossed it from one palm to the other, back and forth, back and forth.

  “Let’s step lively there, folks, what?” There was another crash and the door bulged inward alarmingly. Williams was being helped through the shattered skylight. Hellespont du Kane was halfway up the ladder and Ethan waited with Colette at the bottom.

  “Let’s go,” he said finally.

  She looked uncertainly at the swaying ladder. “I … I don’t know. I’m not built for this kind of exercise.”

  “Would you rather be in that martini? Come on, go. I’ll help you.” She started up. He put a hand under her enormous rear—it felt like a cake of sherbet—and tried to give her weight a boost upwards. Then he mounted the ladder close behind. If she fell he didn’t know what he could do. While she climbed and grunted, he climbed and prayed. Hunnar was right behind him.

  September walked to the bottom of the ladde
r. The crackle of splintering wood filled the room and the door exploded inward. A mob of howling, robed scholars piled into the entrance. They pulled up short at the sight of September standing calmly under the ladder.

  A few carried knives this time, probably appropriated from the monastery kitchens. The Brothers were fast losing their intellectual detachment. September reached out and touched the fuse to a nearby lamp. He looked at it for a moment, then gently tossed it.

  It landed at the feet of the unmoving Brothers. September continued to watch it with interest. The fuse shrank. Then in one motion he turned, leaped, and was halfway up the ladder before someone in the mob unfroze and threw the first club.

  Ethan was peering anxiously down through the broken glass. He extended a desperate hand and Hunnar another. Together they yanked hard and Ethan fell backwards. September came out of the opening, tumbled onto the roof, and was followed by a geyser of dust and pulverized stone.

  “Quite a banger,” he murmured, feeling his side where a thrown staff had grazed him. “Glad I saved that one for last.”

  For the second time that night Ethan found himself running blindly over rooftops, dodging pillars and buttresses, dropping from level to level toward the stairway. Apparently the Brothers were too disorganized, or demoralized, to offer ready pursuit. Or maybe that last bomb had eliminated the sanctimonious Prior and several of his deputies.

  At any rate, they met no opposition in their hectic scramble downwards. They reached the last roof above the stairway without being challenged.

  To their left a long black streak extended back into the monastery, a charred wound. The results of Hunnar’s covering blaze set earlier that night. A large band of Brothers stood in front of the burnt entrance, armed with the usual clubs and staves.

  They were expecting an attack from the front. Clearly no one had brought them the word about the return of the Dark One’s other servants. Not very military. Hunnar’s soldiers surprised them completely.

  There was no pursuit as they started their second dash down the stairway.