Icerigger

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  Distant screams drifted over the ice to Ethan and chills raced up his spine. He put his hands over his face and sank in stunned silence to the ground. September put a gentle hand on his head and tried to comfort him.

  "I know what you're thinking, young feller-me-lad," he muttered softly. "But you've got to consider what these folk have suffered. The only difference between them and their traditional enemies out there is a little book learning and another philosophy of life. Underneath, they're very much the same animal ... just like most humans are, when we're pushed. To them the nomad women and cubs are as dangerous as the menfolk. Not because of what they can do, but because of what they represent. Do you understand that?"

  Ethan sat still as the stones. He looked up. No.

  September grunted and walked away. To the end of his days, Ethan would hear the far-away shrieking.

  Confronted with a murderous, unstunned enemy in front of them and fire behind, the once proud, invincible Horde of the Death dropped helmets, weapons and armor, broke, and fled toward their flaming homes. September was trying to get Hunnar's attention. The knight finally calmed down enough to listen.

  "Your tane-Anst did his job well, what? Will he have enough sense to watch for those who escape? They're scared and many are weaponless, but hysterical humans, and prob­ably Iran, have little regard for their own lives. Makes for difficult fighting."

  "Tane-Anst is a good soldier," said Hunnar thoughtfully. "He'll take care to keep his men together."

  Finally Ethan stood and had a look at the retreating snob of surviving nomads. "This tane-Anst only took about six hundred men with him, Skua. Won't they be badly outnum­bered by these?"

  "No group of well-organized, disciplined soldiers is ever outnumbered by a mob, Ethan. Remember that."

  Ethan turned and looked down into the harbor again. The ice was literally blotted out by a vast array of twisted, broken furry forms and a small lake of rapidly freezing blood. Hunnar came up to him. The knight was trembling now and Ethan thought he saw a little of what September had meant reflected in Hunnar's face. After hundreds of years of helpless genuflection, reaction to what he and his people had done today was beginning to sink in.

  "The Landgrave watches from his rooms and can see well for himself what has been wrought this hour," said the knight, his voice slightly shaky. "I go to give him official word of his troops ... and to remind him of his promise to you, my friends. Will you come?"

  "No, this is your moment, Hunnar," said September.

  The knight exchanged breath and shoulder clasps with both of them, then departed at a run into the castle. September strolled to the edge of the parapet and looked down into the harbor. The fighting had degenerated into a bloodcurdling mopping-up operation, with Sofoldian soldiers and militia ex­amining each corpse and methodically slitting the throat of any who lived.

  "It may not be a gesture of the morally highest," he began, "but for better or worse, by introducing gunpowder here we've brought a whole new kind of warfare to dais decidedly bellicose people. And you know?" He turned and glanced at Ethan. "Try as I might, I can't convince myself we've done a bad thing."

  "Bad or not," replied Ethan drily, dabbing at his cut cheek, "it's always one of humanity's first gifts, isn't it?"

  There was a ball to end all balls in the great castle that evening. It served to cover the fact that many of Sofold's finest young men had passed to the Warm Regions that day. Sadly, the brave and methodical tane-Anst had been among them, felled as he personally led a squad in pursuit of just one more fleeing raft.

  At least three quarters of the barbarian fleet had been burnt or captured, together with a province's ransom in ar­bor, weapons, and treasure. And those ships which had es­caped had not departed overcrowded.

  To everyone's intense disappointment, Sag-yanak had been among the successful escapees.

  The Scourge's power, however, was forever broken. From a near god, the Death had been reduced to simply another an­noying pirate, whose strength had been scattered with the wind.

  By way of partial compensation, the head of Olox the butcher was prominently on display atop a jeweled pike at the dinner table. It was joined by the crania of assorted com­panion warriors.

  The little knot of humans sat in an honored position, far up the table near the Landgrave himself. But they'd seen too much blood to fully enter into the merriment of the night. Only September, sitting next to him, seemed able to throw him-self into the spirit of the occasion with honest gusto.

  Ethan stared curiously across the table at Hellespont du Kane. One of the wealthiest men in the arm. Yet he still wore the same expression Ethan had observed hack on the Antares, the day they'd had their private destinies inextri­cably altered by a pair of indecisive kidnappers. Nor was his appetite affected. He downed. a delicately carved slice of roast with the same precision he doubtless employed in the finest restaurants of Terra or Hivehom.

  Ethan felt an urge to put a fist in that robotic face. For a wild moment he thought du Kane might really be a clever robot, and that the flesh-and-blood du Kane was somewhere else, perfectly comfortable except for a mild upset at the loss of one valuable piece of machinery. It would explain several of the odder things about the industrialist.

  But no. He may have been robot-like in some respects, but he was definitely human. hike his daughter. He was just a nice, slightly dotty, schizophrenic old man with several hun­dred million credits and a daughter as cool-headed as lie probably was-once.

  Ethan was discovering the interesting side effects which the steady consumption of reedle could produce in the human system when Hunnar came over. Standing between the two humans, the tran put ,a paw one each man's shoulder and leaned closes

  "It is necessary that I see you both in private," he whis­pered.

  "Aw, don't be a party-popper," September huffed. "Sit yourself down with us and-'' He broke off in mid-sentence when he saw the look on the knight's face. It was solemn ­and something more.

  They left the grand hall, the masquerading torchlight, the flashing, jeweled cloaks and blouses; left the polished dress armor of the nobles and knights and the gowns of their ladies; left them to follow Hunnar down quiet cold hallways and mocking stairs.

  "Isn't this the way to our rooms?" said Ethan unquestion­ingly.

  "That is so," Hunnar replied, but Ethan's probe failed to elicit any more information.

  From distant chambers Ethan could hear shouts and laugh­ter. The other inhabitants of the castle were celebrating the victory in their own fashion. Once, when they passed a chill open balcony, he had a glimpse down into the town itself. Bon-fires blazed in open squares, and every torch and lamp and candle in Wannome was burning. The city wore a neck­lace of light.

  Celebrating would continue for days, General Balavere had told him. Or until everyone was too drank to lift another tankard or mug.

  He wondered where Williams had gone. The schoolmaster hadn't been seen since he'd been introduced as a co-guest of honor. When the Landgrave had presented him and pro­ceeded to make a flowery speech full of lavish praise and sugary compliment, the little professor had fidgeted and squirmed like a five-year-old posing for his first preschool soloid.

  On the other hand, old Eer-Meesach had expanded in the light of praise like a fat sunflower.

  "Sulfur from the volcanic vents and springs," Williams had nervously explained to the rapt audience of chromatically clad nobles and ladies, "saltpeter from dry old vents, and charcoal from the townspeople burning cut wood and even furniture:"

  "But not any of the beds!" a voice had bellowed from downtable. Williams's voice was drowned in raucous laughter and he'd slipped away quietly.

  Only to reappear behind Ethan and whisper, "Later per­haps ... something rem ... show you th ... big ... okay? ... "

  Ethan had mumbled a clever reply, something along the lines of "Yeah, sure," and ignored the schoolmaster. Williams and Eer-Meesach had then left the room. Maybe to resume the trannish wizard's lesson
s in galactic astronomy or to do new work on the big telescope Williams had promised to help him design.

  They turned down a hail that in the past weeks had became as familiar to Ethan as his home apartment on Moth. They passed his room, then September's, then the du Kanes', and continued on down a slight ramp, around a corner ...

  A little knot of soldiers was clustered just ahead. The pas­sage here was brightly lit. A heavy door to an apartment Ethan had never entered stood wide open.

  The group parted when one of its members spotted Hunnar and the two humans. Parting revealed a single soldier crum­pled on the floor. He lay on an uneven frame of dark scarlet. It centered at a spot on his back and the small but fatal stiletto imbedded therein.

  "We've looked all over the castle for him," Hunnar ex­plained awkwardly. "We've no idea of where he has gone to, nor how, or why. He may have slipped out some tine during the fighting and caught an arrow, tumbled over the cliffs. Tis little point in searching fully til morning."

  "You think Walther killed this one, then?" asked Ethan.

  "I did not say that ... but we would like to find him," Hunnar added unnecessarily.

  "Did any of the nomads penetrate: this far into the castle?" September queried.

  " We do not believe so. But there were those of the vermin who tried to gain the interior. One or two might have been bold and daring enough to crawl along the stone to the side and thence slip through a window."

  "I wonder if Walther could handle a small raft by himself?" mused Ethan aloud.

  "Think be might have made off in the confusion and hopes to make Brass Monkey ahead of us, eh, young feller-me-lad? Beat us to his friends and maybe salvage their whole original plan ... must have tempted him," the big man said thought­fully. "I know I wouldn't try it. A few thousand kilometers of virgin ice to cross, scrapping with Drroom and gutorrbyn and windstorm and pirates and who knows what else all the way. Crazy little punk might have tried it, though. If so, I expect he's saved us some trouble. He knew the best he could expect if we got back was at least partial mindwipe. Man'll do superhuman things for intangibles like memories."

  "I don't see how he could have escaped the nomads," com­mented Ethan, shaking his head.

  "Nor do I," agreed Hunnar. "However, that knife," and he gestured at the protruding hilt, "is no barbarian device. Twas made in our own foundry."

  "What should we do, Skua?" asked Ethan.

  "Do? Well, me, I'm going back to that hall and slobber reedle until I float ... physically or otherwise." He turned on a heel and called back over his shoulder. "And I heartily suggest, young feller-me-lad, you come ahead and do like­wise!"

  Ethan glanced down again at the stone-still body. A gust of icy atmosphere sucked at his body heat and he shivered. Torchlight rippled like chiffon dolls' skirts.

  Then he shrugged, said a bad word, and turned to follow September.

  Ethan crossed his arms and flailed opposite shoulders. It didn't make him any warmer. As a method of raising his body temperature it proved effectively nil. But it did better psychologically. Excellent! He would freeze to death nice and sane. This self-flagellation is making you warmer, he repeated unconvincingly, it's making you warmer.

  His skin fought the supposition tooth and nail.

  It was a fairly cool day-minus ten or so outside. While it was perhaps thirty degrees warmer in the castle, it was still a long way from tropic. Modified to fit his human frame, his new hessavar-fur coat gave him considerable protection. They'd even managed to persuade the royal tailor to sew on real sleeves and leggings. At least now they could worry a little less about the dangers of frostbite.

  Frost-nibble, however, was driving him crazy.

  And he'd been wearing the coat for weeks now. Every so often an uncomfortable feeling crawled up his back as if the long-dead fur was beginning to take root to his chafed, abused body.

  If it weren't for their occasional jaunts to the foundry for a really hot bath, the encrusted dirt and sweat could have doubled as a heat-sealing coating in itself. They hadn't fallen that far-yet.

  It had been nearly two weeks, for certain, since the epic defeat of Sagyanak and the memorable battle in which the Sofoldians had shattered the power of the great Horde forever. In other words, the local population was just about sobered up.

  Now he was making his way up to the vile-smelling rooms that Eer-Meesach called home. He passed an open balcony and spared a glance for the scene below.

  Once again rafts were moving across the ice of -the great harbor. Most of the frozen blood from the thousands of corpses had been chipped and melted away, the rough spots on the surface smoothed over. Hundreds of Wannomian stonemasons, carpenters and other craftsmen were at work repairing the extensive damage to the harbor wall. Even the huge gap where the monstrous ram had broken through was beginning to be filled as loose stone was gathered off the ice and fresh rock brought from quarries in the mountains.

  He turned from the balcony down a short hall, began to ascend a spiral ramp. He vaguely recalled that at the start of the victory celebration Williams had mumbled something about another surprise. Well, it couldn't be more of a shock than the introduction of gunpowder had been to their hosts. Heaven help the social system of this feudal ice-world if the little schoolmaster's subsequent revelations were half as over­powering!

  The multitude of traveling rafts in the harbor would take the news of the Sofoldians' unprecedented defeat of one of the great nomadic Hordes back to their own towns and distant cities. They would also carry samples of gunpowder and formula for same so they could resist the bands which plagued their home provinces.

  The elimination of those utterly ruthless, bloodthirsty groups would probably be a good thing for the body politic, not to mention individual political bodies. At least, it would until Tran-ky-ky ran out of barbarians. Then the various barons, landgraves, and dukes would be stuck with their new toys and no one to look at except each other.

  Unless, of course, the barbarians managed to get hold of some gunpowder for themselves, in which case ...

  He gave it up. It was too complicated. Nor was he especially inclined toward sociological speculation. All he wanted to speculate on was getting over to Brass Monkey in one piece. Then, hopefully, to pick up his sample cases, dispose of a few thousand credits worth, and acquire a few decent orders. Smiling, he'd be off for the next world, definitely one with a generous sun and nothing more disturbing meteorologically than an occasional sensuous zephyr. Not a continual hurricane screaming eternally eastward.

  He gained the top of the spiral, walked a few paces down the hall, and entered the wizard's apartments. He considered this time that there were no guards at the door. It hadn't impressed him until after the attempt on the Landgrave's life. All the nobles had guards also. Not Eer-Meesach. The inhabitants of Sofold were a thinking, practical people, but still sufficiently superstitious to hold a healthy respect for demons, elves, and wizards like Eer-Meesach. It would take a gutsy cutpurse indeed who would try for a few pieces of gold or some such when the wizard had threatened to turn any thief he caught into a swart worm.

  The wizard was one of a little group gathered around a stumpy, weather beaten table. And on this world, "weather beaten" identified something shaky or ancient indeed. The antiquing on this archaic desk hadn't been put there by the local equivalent of terran or thranx professionals. Such con­trivances are only practiced by advanced races.

  Present along with the wizard were Williams and Septem­ber. Monumental hooked nose, jutting chin, gold earring the big man took up half the available space in his billowing hessavar fur. He looked up when Ethan entered.

  "Hello, young filler-me-lad." He was radiating obvious en. thusiasm over something. "Come have a peek at what our two intellectuals have been up to, what?"

  Ethan rubbed his gloved hands together-that seemed to help a little-and edged in between September and the school­master.

  A sheet of vellum was tacked to the smooth tabletop. The drawing on
it was not too complex, but it was sufficiently alien in nature for Ethan to have to scan it twice before he could guess what it might be.

  "Looks like a raft," he said finally. "of sorts."

  "Of sorts indeed, cub," commented Eer-Meesach excitedly. "Twas your friend Williams who conceived the basic idea that lies gloriously before us. I merely executed it."

  "I'm afraid I'm not much of an artist," Williams apologized.

  Ethan had another look at the sketch. "It certainly looks different."

  "My principal area of study was early Terran history," Williams confessed, squirming embarrassedly. "That's how I happened to know that old formula for gunpowder." He pointed at the drawing. "I've been thinking about this ever since we were picked up by Sir Hunnar and his men. As you know, three-quarters of Terra is covered with water."

  "I've seen pictures," said Ethan, nodding.

  "Well," the schoolteacher continued, "this particular kind of ship was developed and raised to almost poetic heights by a young Terran named Donald McKay, who lived and worked on the east coast of the North American continent. They were called clipper ships."

  "Funny name," said Ethan. "Why?"

  "I don't know." Williams shrugged. "The derivation has been lost. As you can see, I've modified the original design so that instead of having a curved bottom, as in an ocean-going boat, we will have a raft with a flat base. It will run on five runners-two fore, two aft, and one slightly further aft for steering purposes."

  "It may not be quite as maneuverable as some of the local craft," put in September, "but it's going to be a damn sight faster than any kind of surface transportation this icebox world's ever seen before."

  "Not an unreasonable expectation," agreed Williams cau­tiously. "It will require a considerable amount of wood com­pared to local rafts. Several large trees will have to be banded together to make the masts, and a great deal of sailcloth is needed."