Within the waking city, horns were droning like undertakers. Drums howled more urgently, and edgy soldiers loosed arrows at the moons.
“Over spars!” Ta-hoding bellowed. “Over spars!” echoed his mates. The Slanderscree’s sails came around, there was a whiplike crack, sheets plumped out like the prow of a woman September had once known, and the icerigger began to move ahead, picking up speed with every second.
Her crew was much too busy to shout with joy. Both moons were high adrift in a cloudless sky. The sextuple crags of Poyolavomaar’s circling islands cast quilted shadows across the harbor as the foremast lookout yelled a warning. “Pilot raft ahead!”
Ta-hoding looked grimly at Ethan. “Small pleasure would it be if Valsht the harbormaster, excrement in Trannish form, were to be aboard it.”
Seconds later Ethan heard a faint crunching sound and rushed to the edge of the helmdeck. Shards of cut wood were sliding beneath the ship. The rear runners further reduced them to splinters. His gaze shifted aft, to show tumbling bits of wood and softer fragments strewn in the wake of the icerigger.
“The gate is closed!” shouted the lookout again. Ta-hoding stood his place, simply reminding the helmsmen of their course. They held a touch tighter to the wheel, as everyone else on board braced himself as best he could for the expected collision.
Ethan imagined disapproving, forbidding faces frowning down at them from the flanking mountain-tops. He fell to one knee as the deck shimmied beneath him. Then they were through, and he rushed back to the railing for a look astern.
Angry lights danced futilely on the walls linking the two isles. A pair of huge wooden gates lay smashed and fragmented on the moonlit ice. Four huge blocks of stone bounced lightly in the icerigger’s wake, their unbroken pika-pina cables still firmly secured to each.
Damage reports came back from the bow. The Slanderscree would have to do without a bowsprit for awhile. If their maneuverability was slightly impaired, their speed was not. They were flying across the ice now, the powerful westwind shoving them with a giant’s hand from behind, their first attempt at initiating a union of Tran island-states a dismal failure that receded rapidly astern.
X
“YOU MUST GO AFTER them, your highness.” Calonnin Ro-Vijar filled his voice with urgency as he addressed Rakossa of Poyolavomaar.
Crowded around him in the Landgrave’s personal quarters were the high knights and generals of the city. Most of them would rather have been anywhere but within verbal range of their storming, blood-thirsty ruler.
Rakossa seemed not to hear his royal counterpart. “They must have her! Her body is not in the dungeon or on the ice, not in the hell place or the tunnel—the tunnel wrested by the devil-weapons she stole.”
A subordinate officer, in charge of the castle’s armory, was not present to confirm or deny what most in the room knew to be true. For his laxity in allowing himself to be seduced and then knocked unconscious by the absent royal consort, he had already been returned to his family. As the officer’s family was scattered about five of Poyolavomaar’s seven isles, it was necessary for him to be returned in the equivalent number of pieces.
“When we catch her this time, we will …” Rakossa unreeled a long list of imaginative and shuddersome proposals. While doing so he waved his longsword about with complete disregard for where it might impact, much to the discomfort of those officials in the forefront of the attending crowd.
“It seems incredible, my lord, that they dared travel out through the old bore,” the chief jailer observed, wondering why he had not enjoyed the same fate as the armory guard.
One of the knights safely concealed near the back of the group murmured, “ ’Tis unwise to pursue those who can kill demons in Hell.”
“She will wish she stayed her hand from aiding them!” Rakossa swung his sword, destroying a priceless ivory carving adorning the back of a chair. “We are through playing with this one.” He showed gleaming fangs. “She shall not return to embarrass us further. We will make a hell for her she will not have to climb down to, a new hell every day, different and stimulating!”
“Would it not be simpler, my lord,” asked the same knight who’d spoken a moment ago, “to take a new and more willing consort?”
“Who speaks? Who tells Rakossa what to do and how to judge?” The knight did not answer, bent his knees to sink a little lower into the crowd.
“No sheslug defies us or gains our better. We will instruct her in the meanings of Hell.”
Another official whispered that after serving as consort to the Landgrave for several years, the vanished woman no doubt knew the meanings of hell already. Fortunately, Rakossa did not hear or he might have been inspired to begin a mass murder of all assembled merely to insure the disposal of his single insulter.
“It is only just that you pursue her—and them,” said a comfortingly acquiescent Ro-Vijar. Rakossa’s anger subsided somewhat, the Mad which had held him fully let clearer thoughts have room in his twisted brain.
“That is truth, friend Ro-Vijar. We must follow her and those who aided her.” How neatly, thought Ro-Vijar with distaste, he changes things in his mind to fit his mind’s bent. Now it is the escapees who are guilty of assisting the woman, not the other way around. Then he grew tense, aware that the madman was eyeing him coldly.
“We have taken your word in much of this, Landgrave of Arsudun. Of the three offworld devils’ intentions and of their Tran friends.”
“I tell only the truth, sire, of what needs doing. You defend all of us. Your name will be remembered as mighty.”
“We wonder,” Rakossa muttered calculatingly, while Ro-Vijar strove to appear unaffected by his ferocious stare, “just whose purposes are truly being served in this.
“However,” he said more briskly, taking his gaze from the silent Ro-Vijar, “We will have that witch back. As she is served by those you believe need be destroyed, it seems to pursue one we must pursue all.”
“They are devils and destroyers, Lord Rakossa.”
“Devils they are. Destroyers seek destruction, not escape. Yet only a few died in trying to prevent their flight. We wonder—we will have her back!”
He turned on a stiffly posed officer. “Talizeir, ready the fleet for pursuit. All ships, all officers, all crew to the ready, for we leave by first light.”
“As my Landgrave commands,” the tall, dignified Tran replied. He pushed through the others toward the door.
“You are dismissed,” Rakossa told the rest. “Those who are to chase, prepare yourselves.”
“We will have her back,” he murmured, alone now in the ornate chamber. “And we will have that ship, that magnificent ice ship for our own, though this strange Landgrave Ro-Vijar wishes it for himself.”
As for the outworld devils, perhaps when they were recaptured he would listen a little more to their words and a little less to those of the Landgrave of Arsudun. He was older, this Ro-Vijar, more experienced, his words as devious as his true aims. His purposes clashed somehow with his speech.
Blood and bone awash in a sea of shrieks inundated his thoughts, and he thought again only of the consort Teeliam Hoh, as the thick blood bubbled from her laughter.
Wind howled mournfully across the deck of the Slanderscree. Ethan blinked behind his face mask as he emerged on deck, shutting the cabin door tightly behind him. Elfa, Hunnar, and September stood conversing near the mizzenmast. As he drew nearer he saw Teeliam among them, hidden partly by September’s bulk.
“Warmth and wind this morning to you, friend Ethan,” Hunnar called happily. “We debate on what to do next.”
“We still can’t return to Arsudun.” September spoke through the diaphragm of his own mask.
“Our first try at establishing a confederation certainly didn’t work out very well.” Ethan sounded depressed.
“What confederation speak you of, friend Ethan?” asked Teeliam. He explained their idea to her.
“That gives meaning to the lies of the false Land
grave Ro-Vijar,” said the former royal consort of Poyolavomaar. “The only Tran he seeks to protect is himself.”
“We could return to Wannome,” Hunnar suggested. Everyone looked to him with varying expressions of dismay or shock and he hastened to protest. “Not I, ’tis not I who wishes to do so. But I felt it but fair to certain of the crew to relay their desires.
“For myself, I admit I was skeptical at first, my friends. Now, the more we travel across my world and the more I see how such as Ro-Vijar and Rakossa conspire for their own benefit, pitting Tran against Tran, state against state, the more convinced am I of the Tightness of this plan. This union you have outlined is a worthy end to be fought for of itself, no matter what distribution of trade and benefits it also produces with your government, friend Ethan.”
September commented approvingly. “Nothin’ like some outright treachery and double-dealing by politicians to convince the citizenry they need a new form of government.”
“There are still many good men and women of the crew who feel differently.” Hunnar gestured at the ship around them, the populated rigging above. “They became homesick long since and talk more of mates and cubs and mistresses than confederations and politics. Adventure is growing wearisome to them, nor has our failure at Poyolavamaar inspired aught but despair. They wish for familiar faces and home hearths.”
“They’re not alone,” Ethan said, feeling a tug toward a hearth more distant than the knight could imagine. “Are you suggesting the possibility of mutiny?”
Hunnar executed a violent Tran gesture indicating absolute negativity. “Ta-hoding is too observant and too good a captain for that. Never would he permit dissension to advance that far. Where other captains might put disgruntled crew members in chains, he can disarm them with a laugh or a sailor’s jest.
“I wish merely to say that for this journey to show profit, we will have to have some success capable of raising the spirits of our less far-sighted shipmates.”
Ethan studied the parallel grooves the runners cut in the ice behind them. “We can outdistance any pursuit from Poyolavomaar. The question is, where do we go now?”
“Your pardon.” All eyes turned to Teeliam. “I care not whither you go so long as it is not back to Poyo. But I have listened well to your talk and believe you have the best interests of all in mind. As you have failed at Poyolavomaar through the wiles of its ruler and not its people, so should you try another state at least as wealthy and powerful, if not as aggressive.” She nodded forward.
“I am no sailor, but I know directions and locations.” She made a spitting sound as she spoke. “This is necessary when escape to elsewhere becomes one’s obsession. Less than two hundred satch to the (Tran equivalent for south-southwest) lies fabled Moulokin.”
“Two hundred satch—a fair journey to seek a myth.” Hunnar laughed and even Elfa looked dubiously at her savior. “There is no such state as Moulokin.”
“You’ve heard of this place?” Ethan eyed the knight in amazement. “You never heard of Arsudun, yet this place which sounds still farther from Sofold is familiar to you?”
“Moulokin is a mystic name on Tran-ky-ky, friend Ethan.” The knight was still grinning. “Many of the finest ice ships were supposedly built there, in its shipyards. Yet not I nor any I know of have conversed with has ever seen Moulokin, nor even a Moulokinese.”
“If they’re only a myth, what about the ships?”
“Friend Ethan,” Hunnar said as one to a cub, “all owners are proud of their vessels. The finer the vessel, the greater the pride. To claim Moulokinese origin for a raft is to claim a credit few dare to match. ‘Moulokin’ may be naught but an honorary title given the best ships built in many shipyards and bestowed at their launching.”
“Moulokin is real.” Teeliam refused to be dissuaded.
“You have been there?” asked Hunnar.
“No,” she said, suddenly subdued.
“Do you know anyone who has been there?”
“Not of myself. I do know of some who say they have traded with some who have been there.” Hunnar made a disgusted sound. “Its direction is known,” she said defiantly. “Moulokin must be more powerful even than Poyolavomaar, for it is said never to have been sacked by a horde.”
“Absurdities, friend Ethan,” Hunnar added gently. “The richer a city, the more attention it would draw from the ice nomads. They would band together temporarily until no city could stand against them. Not Poyolavomaar, not Arsudun before your people granted it protection, not Wannome my own. They could not withstand greater and greater attacks forever. The more attacks a state withstands, the wealthier it grows, and the wealthier it becomes, the larger and more frequent the attacks it invites.
“ ’Tis kind of you to try and help us, Teeliam, but Moulokin can not lend us the help it does not have.”
“What do you propose we do instead?” Elfa asked, challenging him.
Hunnar seemed a bit taken aback by the vehemence of her query. “There should be other states we can try, elsewhere.”
“In lieu of the most powerful?” She turned that uncomfortable feline stare on Ethan. He turned to Teeliam.
“How sure are you of this Moulokin?”
“Myths do not have directions.” She raised a furry arm, pointed just south of the bow. “There lies Moulokin, if it lies anywhere. Does it not behoove us to try for it?”
September watched a distant gutorrbyn glide by, eying them hungrily. “We can do both. If Moulokin exists, we’ll find her. If she doesn’t, we might as well search south for our next potential ally as any other direction.”
“I agree,” said Ethan. He looked back at Teeliam. “One more question, though. Two hundred satch is a long way from Poyolavomaar. Long, but not impossible. If Moulokin is so worth visiting, why hasn’t anyone from your city gone there?”
“It is a dangerous journey.” She paused, then added more quietly. “I would not hide that from you.”
“All journeys across the ice are dangerous,” Hunnar cut in emphatically. “How so is it known dangerous to Moulokin?”
“It is told that devils work between Poyolavomaar and Moulokin.”
“You’ve seen devils before.” Ethan patted the beamer clipped to his waist. “You’ve seen what our beamers can do. We can kill any devils.”
“Perhaps, but you cannot kill the sea.”
“What?” He frowned.
“These are sujoc devils who are invisible. They too live mostly in Hell. But between here and Moulokin they cavort close to the surface. Where they do, they bend the ocean.” She looked frightened now, for all her hard-shelled bravado.
“That’s not possible,” said Hunnar.
“That is what is rumored.”
Elfa looked accusingly at Hunnar. “If Moulokin be real and not a myth, why should not a bent ocean be equally real?”
Deductive logic was not Sir Hunnar’s strong point. “I do not know,” he replied angrily, “but the ocean cannot bend.”
“We’ll find out, because I guess that’s the way we’ll keep going,” said Ethan.
“As always, Sir Ethan, you choose boldness over caution.” She all but purred at him. Hunnar growled noticeably and stalked away sternward.
The good knight took it personally every time Elfa supported one of Ethan’s decisions over one of his own. But perhaps this time the redbearded warrior was right.
Ethan found himself puzzling over Teeliam’s words as he relayed the course to Ta-hoding, found himself repeating her comments over and over again in his mind as he hunted for a flaw in his translation.
Of course there was no such thing as a bent ocean, anymore than there were devils who caused it. But he had seen a “devil” and fought it.
Suppose this other myth also had basis in fact?
Hunnar lay in the sun out on the new bowsprit, tracing lines in the wood with one claw while contemplating the ice shushing past below. Days had passed since they’d swung around to follow the girl Teeliam’s imaginary cour
se toward its imaginary destination. The sun was not yet much above the horizon. Early morning cold chilled even a Tran.
Light turned gray, solemn ice to a more cheerful white as the sun rose. His attention lay on the sun’s ascension only vaguely. Nor was he thinking of the strange mission to which his off-world friends had converted him.
Instead, his thoughts were for the daughter of the Right Torsk Kurdagh-Vlata, Landgrave and True Protector of Wannome and Sofold. On the way the wind rippled her fur, so thick and smooth. On the noble gray down of her brow, which crested above eyes capable of more expression and emotion than most women’s lips.
Inside himself he knew well that the friend Ethan meant no harm toward his desires and surely harbored no intention toward the lady. Certainly Ethan had voiced such of himself, many times. Yet it seemed that the two of them were thrown into argument often and that the tiny but incredibly heavy (solid bones, the wizard Eer-Meesach had said, not hollow like the Tran) human won all of them when Hunnar wished most to impress his lady. And Elfa would end up congratulating and cooing approval of the hairless dwarf instead of himself.
More than all the glory of battle, riches of trade, or the accolades of the Tran he led, he craved a few words of praise from her.
The grooves in the wood grew deeper with his thoughts. What was she trying to do by favoring the alien over him? Perhaps Ethan’s disclaimers were spoken honestly, but could Elfa have some unnatural attraction to a male of another race? To a being who expressed his hatred of fighting whenever given the chance, who without his artificial chiv-skates would fall flat on the ice like a newborn cub?
He growled under his breath. No matter how he approached the situation, no matter the angle or forethought, he could not see the childishly simple explanation.
Double eyelids flicking, he found himself staring curiously at the horizon. An unusual ridging serrated the far-distant surface. They must be nearing another island. He performed some slow calculation in his head. It could not be Moulokin, if Teeliam’s estimate of two hundred satch were correct. They were still too far away by a third. Yet whatever was there grew larger as he stared. Another island, and the morning light glowed most oddly bright on its slopes.
The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers Page 50