It had been an inspired gift on Trell’s part. The modest cost had been more than repaid in less tangible but far more valuable ways by the grateful Landgrave of Arsudun, Callonnin Ro-Vijar. Ways that ought to be preserved.
Trell turned to the Tran standing next to him. “I understand, friend Ro-Vijar, that some of my people, the newcomers who arrived on the great ice ship, were involved in a very nasty fight in a city tavern.” He indicated the harbor, where the towering masts of the Slanderscree rose above all other.
“I heard similar reports.” The Landgrave of Arsudun performed the Trannish equivalent of a helpless shrug. “Outsiders are not popular here. Does this news disturb you?”
“It does disturb me,” replied Trell. “It disturbs me, my friend, because it took place here, where news of it could reach other humans, including members of my own staff If harm befell any humans so close to the outpost, it could create trouble. I could be discredited among my superiors. That could lead to disagreeable meddling by my government in the salubrious commercial covenants we have concluded here.”
“That is to be avoided.” Ro-Vijar kicked at the light snow. Sharp chiv sent bright flakes flying. “It is rumored that these newcomers talk of organizing a large number of independent states to apply for higher status within your government, your Commonwealth.”
“So it’s rumored.” Trell smiled behind the face mask. Of course, it was he who had informed Ro-Vijar of the strangers’ plans, but both men enjoyed their subtle word-play. It was a good habit, just in case anyone else happened to overhear.
“If they were to succeed in such an endeavor,” the Landgrave continued, “would it not mean that any from the outlying regions could come and trade freely with many different representatives of your own island states?”
“Merchant families,” Trell corrected him, “not island states. But the effect would be the same. Personally, I don’t feel that’s necessary. The present commercial arrangements are satisfactory to all concerned. Unless you think someone other than myself can supervise our trade better.”
“I too, find the existing understandings agreeable.”
They fell silent then, each absorbed in furious thinking while ostensibly concentrating on the construction which continued below them. Noisy crews raised the first new wall, bracing the unfamiliar prestressed plastic against the wind. Once it was molded in place, the work could proceed rapidly behind the windbreak it would provide.
“What then is to be done, friend Trell? Can you yourself do nothing?”
“I’m afraid not, my friend. I can conceal credits and crates and alter listings and manifests. Three citizen corpses would be dangerous to try and make disappear. Yet we must do something … and not clumsily visible, this time.
“These three humans are strangers to Arsudun, but not to your world, Landgrave. They have lived among the Tran for many months. They are intelligent. Their grasp of your language and nuances is firmer than that of my own specialists. While I am informed that a union such as they contemplate is extremely unlikely, they should not be given the opportunity to prove my xenologists wrong. They should be discouraged.”
“Discouraged,” echoed the Landgrave, mimicking the human vowels as best he could. “But not here. I understand. As soon as they are fairly on their way, I will muster the best arguments at my disposal.”
“I’m sure they’ll be effective.”
Both turned back to watch as the second wall was raised into place and the human engineers commenced heat-sealing the corner where they joined. Nothing more was mentioned about the Slanderscree’s crusading crew. Nothing more needed to be. While they were of different races, they understood one another perfectly …
“What do you know about this Poyolavomaar?” Ethan held onto a shroud as he spoke to Ta-hoding. They were making their laborious way southward from Arsudun harbor, tacking into a stiff breeze.
“Only what the other captains on the icefront told me, friend Ethan. Four stars to port!” Responding to his command, the two burly helmsmen fought to turn the huge wooden wheel. A screeching sound slightly higher than usual came from the stern of the immense icerigger as the fifth duralloy runner, used to steer the vessel, cut sideways into the ice. Slowly the ship came around to a new heading.
For several days now they had been racing parallel to the island of Arsudun. They’d already covered, by Williams’ estimates, over a hundred kilometers. It was evident that Arsudun was many, many times the size of Sofold, Hunnar and Ta-hoding’s home island.
The lowlands around the city and harbor had long since given way to cliffs which rose steeply from the ice to heights of thirty meters or more. Trees and shrubs grew to the edge of the cliffs, forming an uneven fringe at their tops, making the weaving cliffline resemble the spine of a nervous green cat.
“You told me,” Ta-hoding went on, “we should begin our quest with some nearby yet important state. All of the captains and merchants I talked to agreed that Poyolavomaar was the most powerful in this region save Arsudun itself. It sounds like an interesting city to visit.”
Safely clear of other ships, Ta-hoding was feeling conversational. “According to Zho Midan-Gee, the captain who was most helpful to me, Poyolavomaar is a cluster of ten or more closely grouped and very steep islands. He said they are so near to one another that all but the very youngest cubs can safely chivan from one to the next. Having made two trips there himself in past years, he most remembers that these islands form a circle, enclosed island to island by great walls much like the one which protects our own harbor at Wannome.”
“It sounds very much like a place that could develop into a center of commerce,” Ethan admitted.
Ta-hoding made a gesture of agreement. “Trade is the most important business there, Midan-Gee told me. If the walls all have gates, a captain could take his ship out of the enclosed harbor in any direction he chose, without worrying about where he would pick up a trailing wind.
“Still we must remember that many of these captains produce much of their own wind,” Ta-hoding said portentously, blithely excluding himself from the company of ice-going prevaricators. “They like to boast of their abilities and expertise. This Poyolavomaar may be nought but a cluster of metal-poor villages. Yet I think Midan-Gee as honest as most and am inclined to trust him.”
“We have to trust someone,” Ethan reminded him.
Ta-hoding studied the setting sun. The thermonuclear candle was almost straight ahead, its flaming upper curve beginning to settle beneath the martingale of the ship. He glanced down at something set just behind the great wheel.
“According to compass, Ethan, we have been changing heading from south to southwest for the past two hours.” He gestured at the land mass of Arsudun, which was still to port. Only now port had become north instead of west.
“We have rounded the southernmost part of the island,” Ta-hoding continued. “As the winds on the open ice will become stronger and the day is almost done, with your permission I would suggest anchoring for the night.”
“You’re the captain, Ta-hoding. This ship is your charge. Do what you think best.”
“Thank you, Sir Ethan.” The portly Tran moved forward of the wheel, leaned over the helmdeck railing and shouted forward. Sailors turned immediately to listen. Ta-hoding was deferential and meek in private conversation. But when giving orders to his crew, he made certain his words were audible above the wind.
“Kilpit, Monslawic!” Two mates acknowledged. “Reef in all sails and prepare to anchor!”
These orders were voice-relayed back down the ship to the last sailor at the bowsprit. Each crawled his way up into the rigging. Once more Ethan marveled at the ability of the Tran sailors, who constantly had to set, adjust, and take in sails while walking on narrow spars in a perpetual gale.
When all the sheets were furled and the icerigger had come to a near halt, the fore and aft ice anchors were released. These clusters of metal thorns and spikes were usually set into a heavy globe of cast iron.
Those of the Slanderscree gained additional holding power from the chips and shards of duralloy gleaned from the remnants of the cannibalized lifeboat in which Ethan and his friends had crashed.
There were nerve-tingling shrieks and crackings as the anchors snubbed themselves deeply into the ice fore and aft. The ship slipped slowly to the west, shoved by the persistent wind, until the pika-pina cables holding the anchors grew taut. The creaking and groaning ceased. The Slanderscree had come to a halt.
Immediately, blocking teams went over her side. They secured the ship by placing stone slabs in front and behind each of the five runners. Now the ship would not move unless struck by an abnormal wind. Guards at stern and bow were posted more to warn of such an approaching weather front than of any flesh-and-blood peril.
Ethan remained on deck, watching the last glow of sunlight shift steadily from yellow to red to purple.
“Not hungry, friend Ethan?”
Startled, his head jerked around. Yellow-framed black slits set in a furry face glowed back at him, flaming with sunset light.
“Not right now, Hunnar.” He turned back to lean on the railing and stare out across the ice. Tran-ky-ky’s two moons had risen. There was little snow or ice in the air tonight and just enough stratus cloud to mark the difference between atmosphere and deep space. Moonlight knocked double shadows off the trees clinging tenaciously to nearby cliff edges. The ice ocean itself had lost its daytime harshness, lay hard and unmoving while cloaked in ethereal blue-white moon glow.
Ethan glanced at his wrist thermometer. The exquisitely still landscape shivered in twenty-eight below zero C weather. By mid-morning dark, several hours before the sun rose once again, it would fall to minus sixty-two or three—plus the ever-present wind chill factor. He could remove his survival suit and blend fully with the land. His body would freeze in a couple of minutes.
Hunnar chose that moment to ask exactly the wrong question.
Pointing skyward, he inquired of Ethan, “Which of those is your home world?”
It was several minutes before the salesman could answer, and not all those minutes had been spent in studying the unfamiliar constellations overhead. “I don’t know. It’s far, unimaginably far from here, Hunnar.”
“How many satch?” the knight asked guilelessly, his own gaze roving the night sky.
“Too many to count,” Ethan told him, repressing a smile and wondering why they were both whispering. “The sun it circles is not a very big one.” He gestured upward. “It’s off in that general direction, too far and faint for us to see with our eyes. And there are other stars between yours and mine, some of which have worlds that my people and our friends the thranx inhabit.
He indicated a faintly reddish spot of light. “Far out from that star circles a land where water never freezes anywhere except in machines my people must make for only that purpose.” Hunnar shook his head in wonder.
“So warm. A terrible-sounding place.”
“My people don’t like it much either, Hunnar. But our good companions the thranx thrive there. It’s called Drax IV, and the land tries to eat the people. It’s a strange place. I’ll tell you about it some time.” He returned his attention to the silent wind-scoured ice sea. Snow and ice particles were scudding about, tiny whirlwinds twisting them in the moonlight. Ethan saw invisible dancers in gem-studded gowns prancing beneath twin moons.
“I think I am a little hungry now.” He slapped both hands on the railing. “I’ll join you for supper.”
They went down to the eating quarters for officers and knights inside the central cabin. When the door closed behind them, the only light on deck other than moonlight came from a few thick portholes. There was no movement except at opposite ends of the ship, where the weather watchers paced patiently, their faces muffled with furs. When the sun vanished, it grew cold enough in the night of Tran-ky-ky to chill even a native.
They were watching for dark clouds. They did not see the dark paws that grasped the railing amidships …
V
ALERT, NERVOUS EYES DARTED across the deck, looking and spying nothing animate. One hand temporarily let go its grip to make a gesture to figures below. Then the figure pulled itself onto the deck. It was followed by companion shapes, indistinct in the darkness.
They walked to center deck, between the two main cabins. Other shapes, coming up on the side opposite, met them there. Soft words were exchanged, firm intentions resolved. Several figures split off from the growing group and moved forward, another chivaned aft. It was quiet on the decks for several moments.
A choked scream sounded from the helmdeck. Within the large group amidships a leader cursed.
A door to the central cabin opened and a figure emerged, silhouetted in the light from inside. Looking about and seeing nothing, the figure turned to go back inside when a clanking sound stopped it. Drawing his sword, the sailor cautiously moved onto the deck to investigate. Then he saw something which made him shout.
“Boarders! The ship is boarded! Wind aboard, men of Sofold … ukk!” His screaming was silenced by a metal shaft which pierced him from sternum to spine.
But the alarm had been raised. In seconds the deck and cabins were filled with milling, cursing, shouting shapes. Figures continued to pour over the railings onto the decks. The situation looked bad for crew and passengers.
Three brown-suited shapes mounted the second story of the main cabin and surveyed the carnage taking place below them.
“Fighting too close-in to pick out friend from enemy,” September declared above the awful sounds of murder, “but if we can keep the rest of them from getting aboard … You and Williams take the starboard side, feller-me-lad. I’ll take the port.”
“I don’t like this.” Nevertheless, Williams unlimbered his own small beamer. They had acquired the three hand weapons through unofficial channels in Brass Monkey, not because it was illegal for humans to carry modern weaponry on Tran-ky-ky, but because September had insisted they’d be better off keeping their capabilities hidden until they knew who was on whose side.
Three shafts of bright blue light jumped down from the cabin roof, struck the ship’s railings and moved along them. The high-intensity coherent light beams swept incipient boarders from the Slanderscree’s sides, piercing one after another. They hardly had time to scream. They did not have time to get into the fighting.
Seeing this small victory produced a renewed surge of confidence in the crew, despair among their opponents. The sailors redoubled their efforts.
September shifted his beam from the charred top of the railing and played it intermittently on the ice. One burst revealed three ice craft mounted on bone runners waiting nearby.
Changing the intensity setting on his beamer he played it across the deck and sails of one icecraft. Flames lit the night, illuminating the other two craft and their now panicky crews. Those boarders still alive had to fight their way back to the railing. Some made their way back down the boarding ladders they had brought, others jumped and trusted to powerful leg muscles to absorb the shock of landing on the unyielding ice.
Ethan stopped firing, moved across the roof to grab September’s shoulder. “Stop it, Skua, they’re leaving.”
September sighted carefully, fired again. “Just a few more bursts, lad.” A distant scream penetrated the darkness. “I can get a couple more of ’em.”
“Skua, stop it.” Using both arms, Ethan managed to bring September’s gun arm down. The giant gazed back at him. For a brief instant another person stared out of those deep-set eyes and Ethan took a couple of uncertain, frightened steps backward. Then the unearthly glare disappeared and September was himself again.
“Sorry, young feller-me-lad. Been in so many similar confrontations I tend to forget myself, sometimes.” Ethan wondered if the giant meant it literally. “If we let them get away, they may try and kill us another day. However,” he shrugged amiably, “I defer to your gentler sensibilities.”
“Thank you.” Both men looked back t
o see a disgusted Williams clipping on his own weapon and hurrying below.
Ethan and September used the exterior walks to make their way down to the deck. They found the Tran wizard Eer-Meesach in intense discussion with Hunnar.
“I don’t recognize their trade insignia at all,” the elderly Tran was saying.
Hunnar grunted, nudged a corpse with his foot. “That is not surprising, so far from home. Emblems and insignia would naturally be different and carry different meanings.” He walked away, muttering to himself.
Hunnar joined the two humans as they moved to the railing. September used his beamer on low power wide beam to reveal an irregular path of crumpled hairy forms lying on the ice. Lightly stirred by the wind, they formed a grotesque trail leading toward the distant cliffs.
“The tip of this island would be a good place for raiders and pirates to lair,” Hunnar declared. “Here they could ambush commerce traveling from the west side of Arsudun and lands lying thereto en route to Arsudun city. I would not have thought they would be so bold as to attack anything the size of the Slanderscree, though.”
“Neither would I, Hunnar.” September scratched at the back of his head, trying to run his fingers through his hair, then remembered the new survival suit he wore now. “Maybe it was too much of a temptation for ’em. They would’ve done all right, too, if we’d only had swords to fight with.”
A mate approached Hunnar, chatted with him a moment, then moved on, holding a bandaged arm.
“Our losses are not severe,” Hunnar informed them. “We may encounter more such assaults, friends. I would hope such sacrifices are not in vain.”
“I hope so, too, friend Hunnar.” Ethan was glad it was night. He didn’t have to watch the sailors using meltwater to swab the blood from the decks.
The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers Page 41