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

by Alan Dean Foster

  He became aware of the other’s waiting stare, turned to face the worried noble who attended on him. They were alone in the Landgrave’s private quarters. This was necessary. The words they exchanged now were too dangerous to be overheard even by the most trusted members of his court. Hence he chose to receive Obel Kasin here and not in the chamber of formal audience.

  He knew his continued silence was increasing Kasin’s nervousness. Still he did not speak, but watched the slim noble, noting the bandage across the side of his neck, the ragged tear badly patched in the membrane of his left dan, the bare places on his body where fur had been cut away.

  “Be at your ease, noble Kasin. You did the best you could.”

  “I am not,” the noble asked unsteadily, “to be punished for my failure?”

  “I so promise.” Using both hands to help himself rise, Ro-Vijar then walked to stand next to the window. The glassalloy pane stretched from floor to ceiling and framed him unintentionally. It was larger than any other single piece of glass either made or imported into Arsudun. It was larger than any piece of glass Calonnin had ever heard of or imagined. Yet it was here, in his castle, come down to him from the heavens in one of the humans’ sky-ships. And he had been told and had come to believe that though it was no thicker than his smallest claw, it was stronger than the walls that bordered it.

  “As you said,” he finally continued, “we cannot fight with swords and shields against the sky people’s light knives.” He looked back over a shoulder.

  “But for all that, we will have that ship, Obel Kasin of Arsudun. One day our flag will fly from its stern and masts and it will stand at the front of the Arsudun fleet.” He did not add that some day in the future even the Slanderscree could be dispensed with. There were dreams he could as yet share with no one.

  “We will have to use caution, and time this next attempt better. I will now take charge of this enterprise myself, noble Kasin. On your way out tell my Minister of Appointments—third door on your left, second level—to ready the Rinstaster. That is our best ship. I myself will pick her crew. We will dog the stern of this monster craft until the right opportunity presents itself, whereupon I will take it for Arsudun’s glory!”

  “Yes, your lordship. May you go with the wind.” Genuflecting properly, he departed the room.

  Calonnin considered the noble’s absence. Kasin had tried hard. His wounds proved his loyalty. There was nothing to be gained by punishing the noble. He knew better than anyone the superiority of the humans’ technology. Had he known the three on the great icerigger possessed energy weapons, he would not have ordered the attack.

  Excused and commended, Kasin would be twice as trustable now. Ro-Vijar would undertake the task of capturing the icerigger and killing her crew and the humans allied with them because he could not trust anyone else to do it. No one else had his reason or fervor.

  Until now he had kept himself hidden in this matter. He could do so no longer.

  Dreaming, he pictured the huge ice boat, saw again its human-metal runners which did not wear out or crack on the ice as did stone and bone and wood, saw once more the well-made pika-pina sails and rigging. He imagined it as he’d described it to Kasin, sails full of wind, pennants and insignia of Arsudun flying from her high places.

  And if his plans came to fruition, some day that great ship would be but a toy to sneer at. For a while, however, it would be good to possess her.

  Though he could not hope to overtake the craft, it must eventually stop someplace. That would be the time for capture.

  Distasteful as it would be, he had first to talk to the human Landgrave before he departed.

  Jobius Trell received the Landgrave of Arsudun in his office. As the temperature inside was adjusted for human norm, the near-naked Landgrave suffered in brutally hot temperatures.

  Trell had altered his midday schedule to receive Ro-Vijar. He wore a light orange service tunic open to the waist, light braid at waist, sleeves, and ankles. He greeted Ro-Vijar alone.

  The Landgrave had likewise left his personal bodyguard outside the human’s building. Both men felt more comfortable that way. It gave them privacy and confidence, since each felt himself more than a fighting match for the other.

  Ro-Vijar chose a couch rather than one of the narrow human chairs. Sitting straight despite the invitingly curved back, he ignored the tremendous heat that suffused the office as he regarded his human counterpartner. This was a little game they played. Whenever Trell came to visit Ro-Vijar in his castle, the Landgrave took particular delight in opening all the storm-shutters and windows so that the freezing winds of Tran-ky-ky could pour through whatever room they were in. Since Trell had to lift the mask of his survival suit indoors in order to keep custom unblemished by showing his face to his host, Ro-Vijar could enjoy the human’s discomfort as his skin reddened from the chill—though Trell pretended to be as relaxed and at ease as Ro-Vijar did now.

  It was a fair exchange of favors. Trell had one slight advantage in detecting discomfort, however. Having no sweat glands, the Tran did not perspire. So Trell could tell that the Landgrave was feeling especially uncomfortable whenever he covered his mouth with a paw, in an attempt to conceal his lolling tongue and his heat-shedding panting. If he tried to go an entire visit without panting, his overheated body would cause him to black out. Very undignified.

  “So they got away,” Trell was saying, getting down to business after the exchange of pleasantries had been concluded. “That’s unfortunate.”

  “Worry not, friend Jobius,” Calonnin said reassuringly. “They have accomplished nothing, nor will they. I myself will follow with a crew of my best and most trusted soldiers. They will have to tie up that great hulking ship of theirs sometime to spread their vicious treasons. When they do, I will let circumstances determine my method. Whatever I eventually choose, it will be quite final and efficient.”

  Trell was nodding. “Good, good.”

  “The noble I placed in charge of this first attempt did what he could. He was defeated by the hand weapons of the three humans on the ship.” Settling himself into the disgustingly soft couch back, he forced himself to appear monumentally indifferent to Trell’s response to his next question.

  “If you could provide me with at least a couple of similar devices and instruct myself and my knights in their use, the success of our journey would be assured.”

  Trell shook his head, smiled paternally. “Friend Calonnin, you know I can’t do that. Commonwealth and Church declarations strictly prohibit the distribution of modern weaponry to non-Commonwealth peoples. Even those races that have attained associate membership cannot obtain energy weapons except under special circumstances. Ownership is restricted to full Commonwealth members. This is not a rule of my making, but it is one I can’t risk breaking.

  Trell hoped his friend understood his refusal.

  “Until some future date you’ll have to make do with the weapons of your own civilization. In your skilled hands, I’m sure they’ll prove more than adequate.”

  “I did not mean to imply they would not,” the Landgrave assured him. “Your light knives would make this business simpler and much quicker, though.”

  Trell wagged a finger at him. “Patience is another modern weapon which you can obtain for yourself, Ro-Vijar. But when this obstacle to our future plans is removed, who knows what arrangements we might work out? Arrangements whereby even extreme edicts can be bypassed. But not this time, not today.”

  “I understand, friend Trell.” Ro-Vijar stood, panting like an overworked hessavar. “I am leaving my cousin, Sir Das Kooliatin, as ruler of Arsudun during my absence. You may deal as candidly with him as you see fit. He is unimaginative and harbors no delusions about replacing me on the throne—a trusted relative.” This last was mentioned not to compliment the absent Kooliatin, but simply to forestall any idea, however faint, which the human Commissioner might entertain about dealing with someone other than Calonnin.

  “Let’s not delay
your pursuit any longer, then.” Trell pulled himself up, walked to stand next to the Landgrave. Round pupils met vertical ones. “The sooner this unfortunate business is concluded, the more easily I’ll rest.”

  “I also, friend Trell.” Reaching out, he wrapped one huge paw around the Commissioner’s hand. Then Trell leaned forward, placed both his palms on the Landgrave’s shoulders and exhaled into his face.

  “My breath is your warmth. Go with the wind, friend Calonnin.”

  Ro-Vijar exited, exerting monumental effort to keep from breaking into a run to escape the hothouse hell of Trell’s office for the cool breezes outside.

  The Commissioner waited until the Landgrave had left the outer offices. Then he resumed his seat. Touching several switches brought out recordings and the rest of the day’s work. As always, he allowed himself the pleasure of checking several private molecular files and smiling at the hidden bank accounts there. They were listed under numerous names and companies, but the credit was all his. This delightful activity concluded, he passed on to the more prosaic work of Resident Commissioner.

  Calonnin would succeed in his mission. The Landgrave was a resourceful and dedicated individual, at least as greedy as Trell. He had great confidence in the native leader, in his imagination and enterprise.

  But Calonnin Ro-Vijar was entirely too imaginative and enterprising to be trusted with anything as lethal as modern energy weapons. Nothing like a needler to give a primitive mind delusions of grandeur. No, Ro-Vijar would remain far more manageable, though never exactly docile, if his methods of violent argument were restricted to lance, arrow and sword.

  That was important to Trell’s blueprint for the future development of Tran-ky-ky. Keep temptations from Ro-Vijar’s hands and he’d be less likely to conjure up awkward ideas. He touched a control which automatically imprinted his signature of approval on a request for certain materials for quartermaster division, then went on to the next tape.

  Trell was perfectly correct in his overall assessment of Calonnin Ro-Vijar’s qualities, but he was wrong on one crucial point. The Landgrave did not need possession of modern weapons to inspire grandiose delusions. He had plenty of those already.

  As he chivaned toward the harbor and his waiting craft, Ro-Vijar considered the details of his recent interview with the human Commissioner. If Trell would not provide him with light knives, he would obtain them somewhere else. Were there not three of the irresistible weapons on the persons of the humans he was going to kill? Once that disagreeable task was concluded, he could easily fabricate some clever story for Trell’s ears to explain the disappearance of the human’s weapons. Trell might be suspicious, but what could he prove?

  If a cub could trip over a slithering megorph, could not a human trip over the future? These purveyors of wealth from the sky might be rich and wise. They were not omnipotent.

  VII

  THE OBJECT OF CALONNIN Ro-Vijar’s avaricious thoughts was at that moment nearing the equator of Tran-ky-ky. It was near noon. Ethan was studying the ice sliding past below.

  No matter where they passed, the sun always seemed to bring out hidden patterns in the ice ocean’s surface. But what Ethan noticed now startled him more than any fanciful face or half-concealed monster thrown back from subsurface cracks and discolorations.

  In places, a thin layer of water lay on the ice. Widely scattered puddles formed unexpected mirrors. Once, the Slanderscree shot through a depression filled with enough water to send spray flying rail-high.

  Several hours later, the temperature had dropped enough for the isolated pools to freeze solid again, but the mere sight of free-standing liquid water on Tran-ky-ky was a considerable shock.

  It had a much more deleterious effect on the crew. They were used to seeing running water only in their homes, after ice or snow had been melted down for drinking. Their reaction would be comparable to a human watching the ground beneath his feet begin to dissolve. It was overwhelming to learn that one’s world was not indestructible.

  Williams and Eer-Meesach moved among the jittery sailors, assuring them that their cataclysmic speculations were groundless, that there was no danger of the ice ocean melting more than a few centimeters in this one exceptionally warm place on the planetary surface. Regardless, Williams told them, the Slanderscree would surely float.

  It took him a while to explain the concept of floating.

  As soon as the sun dropped a few degrees and the surface water refroze, however, even the most superstitious sailors were convinced they had nothing to fear.

  Several warning cries sounded that afternoon from the lookout baskets attached to the top of each mast. Ethan rushed to the helmdeck, the nerve center of the great icerigger, to learn what was happening.

  He found Ta-hoding yelling commands to his mates, directing the reefing of several sails. Pika-pina sheets began to shrink in the forest of rigging and spars. Ethan forbore interrupting the captain when he was obviously so busy and was soon able to make out the cause of their slowing for himself.

  A green thread lying across the fore horizon grew to become a ribbon, then a deep, verdant band. It stretched as far as a man could see from left to right across the ice sea. The band became a broad swatch and soon they were sliding over an ocean of green instead of white.

  The massive duralloy runners of the Slanderscree left parallel grooves in the emerald-rust carpet of their wake. Sir Hunnar moved to stand alongside Ethan.

  “ ’Tis one of the largest fields of pika-pina I have ever seen, friend Ethan. ’Twould be a good place to live, were there any high land about.” Ethan knew the adaptable, prolific plant could live anywhere it could sink its traveling roots into nutrient-rich soil. The islands hereabouts might be only a centimeter or two above the surface. Or perhaps the fields’ taproots went deep through the ice to penetrate subsurface mountaintops.

  In places the thick, triangular stalks tended to a deep, rich green, in others the color turned almost red or brown. Hunnar talked on about the agricultural wealth of this unexploited, icebound prairie.

  He didn’t use a complex collection of consonants, but instead referred to the growth by its most simple, colloquial name, for the benefit of speech-poor humans. Occasionally the passage of the icerigger would stir up clouds of batwinged butterflylike creatures, little knots of black, purple, and gray fur supported by wings seemingly too delicate to cope with Tran-ky-ky’s ferocious winds.

  Larger arboreals would then rise to pursue. These had long thin snouts, almost half the length of their bodies, which were filled to crowding with curved, pin-thin teeth. Flapping membranous wings, they would swoop in among the bat-butterflies, mouths moving like scythes as they snapped at their agile but tightly packed prey. Pincushion jaws nearly always emerged from the colorful moving clouds with one or two punctured prizes.

  Hunnar’s attention wandered to Eer-Meesach’s more learned explanations directed at the school teacher Williams. Though diminutive and wizened by adult Tran standards, the aged native wizard still towered over his human counterpart, his white-gray fur contrasting electrically with Williams’ satin black beneath his face mask.

  “So we see that the pika-pina’s regenerative powers are so great that though it is cut today, it will have grown in behind us by this time on the morrow.” The wizard gestured with a shaky paw at the tracks in the path of the ship.

  “If it can regenerate so fast,” asked Williams, “why doesn’t it spread until it covers every square meter of ice on the planet?”

  “It is not that simple, friend Williams.” And Eer-Meesach repeated the method of pika-pina growth which Ethan had come to know and marvel at.

  Long burrowing roots laboriously melted or wedged their way through the ice just beneath the surface until they located a cavity, usually an ancient air bubble trapped by freezing. The root would expand there to form a thick nodule. Nutrients concentrated in such nodules—which the Tran hungered after—were difficult to locate and hard to excavate. When the nodule was rich and lar
ge enough, it would send out four, five or more new roots in quest of other cavities, while the nodule’s supply of nutrients was constantly replenished from other nodules and eventually from some distant landmass.

  “Thus,” the wizard continued, “with many nodules nearby, the pika-pina can quickly re-establish itself behind our ship, since root-paths have already been cut through the ice here. But to expand further into new territory, it must dig new pathways for itself through the resisting ice. This is why—”

  A yell from the mainmast interrupted the lecture. Ethan looked forward, to where the field of green was becoming a wall.

  “Pika-pedan,” he murmured to himself.

  Ta-hoding was already studying the forest through a crude but serviceable Tran telescope. “It appears to extend,” he told Ethan, in response to the other’s question, “as far to east and west as its tiny cousin.” He put down the glass, looked worried.

  Pika-pedan was the giant relative of the smaller pika-pina, rising to heights of as much as ten meters.

  Hunnar appeared on deck, folded his dan and skidded to a stop. “Weather and ice are your concern, Captain. Do what you believe best.”

  “Poyolavomaar is through this,” Ta-hoding pointed out. “We do not know the extent of the field to east and west. My directions do not take detouring into account. If we try to go around, we could become hopelessly lost and never reach our destination.

  “Therefore, we must try to go through.” He moved forward, to the front railing of the helmdeck. “Hello the deck!” Acknowledgement sounded instantly from waiting mates.

  Ta-hoding ordered additional sail put on. There was good-natured grumbling from the sailors on spar duty as the sheets they’d just recently taken in were let out again, billowing taut in the steady wind.

  The Slanderscree was once again traveling under full sail. She picked up speed steadily, massively.

  “What would you have ordered, good friend Ethan?”

  Startled, he turned to see Elfa staring at him. He hadn’t seen her come up on the helmdeck. Great searchlight eyes shone down at him, competing with the sun.