Icerigger

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  "Probably react to a fist in the snoot that way, too," the big man grunted.

  Ethan blinked beneath his goggles. The ice was gray under the streaking storm clouds, which raced the ship like an end­less herd of galloping hippos. Lightning threw geysers of ice­chips when it struck the ice.

  Several tunes the iron rods at the tips of the three masts drew million-volt white scimitars, but without damage, to the raft. If you ignored the pain in your arms from gripping the rail, or the way your goggles slug circles around your eyes, why then, Ethan admitted, it hard a wild and wonderful kind of beauty.

  In fact, it was magnificent.

  "I'm going below for something warm. Coming, young feller?"

  "I'll ... I'll be along in a minute," Ethan murmured. Lightning jumped in a gargantuan triple arc from one tiny island to another. "You go on."

  September grunted, then paused, swaying in the gale. "Did you ever hear of the Analava System?"

  A part of Ethan's mind managed to drag itself away from the meteorological asylum. "Sure, vaguely. Weren't those the two planets in the Vandy sector that went to war despite intervention of a Commonwealth peace team and a Church edict ... oh, some twenty years ago?"

  "Twenty-two. I told you I was wanted. Well, you want to know what I'm wanted for? I think, young feller-me-lad, I may just tell you."

  That drew Ethan's attention away from the howling weather. September faced hire broadside, clinging to the railing with one hand and a safety line with another, fighting the wind.

  "Hundred twenty million people died in that war. Lasted a, whole week. There are one or two people who think I'm re­sponsible for it. That's why they want me." Then he turned, put both hands on the safety line, and started to make his way to the nearest hatch.

  Ethan was too shocked to try and keep him from going, too stunned to frame any questions. The Analava War was one of the great horrors of modern times, a blot on the history of the Commonwealth, a, running sore on the record of mature homo sapiens, and a throwback to the Dark Ages. His per­sonal recollections of it were of the faintest-he'd been only eight or nine at the time. Details he'd learned later, in matura­tion. But the shock and terror it had on the adults around him were memories he retained from childhood.

  September was crazy, of course. No one man could possibly be held responsible for the deaths of 120 million human beings.

  Lightning cut and ripped at the gray ice. He looked out and saw none of it.

  A giant hand picked high up and threw him out of his bunk. He didn't think the joke was a bit funny and said so at length as he flailed angrily at his blankets in the dark room. Sleep evaporated from his curtained brain as he untangled himself and absorbed several facts at once.

  First, while he was sure he was sitting up straight, he seemed to be leaning at an angle. He was sure the fault was with the universe and not hire. As his eyes grew used to the darkness he was positive of it. He fumbled a bit, lit an oil lamp. Yes, the deck was canted to the left at an unnatural angle.

  A respectable rumble of trannish curses drifted in to him from the main hold. Terranglo related semantic species carne from September's cabin, next to his. Cries of uncertainty and anxious questioning were already beginning to supplant the first howls of outrage. He opened his door.

  Someone had already lit the lamp in the hall and lights were beginning to go on down in the main hold. If there was a sailor or soldier who hadn't been dumped from his bunk, Ethan didn't see him.

  Fighting with his jacket and survival suit every centimeter of the way, he walked to the end of the hall. Tran were strug­gling to their feet, trying to straighten bunks and sort bedding, repeating the sane inane, unanswerable questions to each other over and over: A single moan of pain came from some­where far forward, but otherwise everyone seemed more shaken mentally than physically. Ire walked back and rapped on the door of the cabin across from his own.

  A concerned Sir Hunnar confronted him almost immedi­ately. The bedraggled knight was trying to banish the sleets from his own eyes and buckle on his sword at the same time.

  "We're stopped!" Ethan blurted.

  Hunnar shook his great red mane. "Tis assured you can find the sum of some things, Sir Ethan. Most definitely, we

  are.

  Ethan glanced past the massive torso and saw General Balavere struggling with his own garb. September joined him a moment later and the three started up the passageway.

  They nearly collided with Ta-boding. The expression on the plump captain's face was not reassuring.

  Hellespont du Dane stuck his head out of the door of his cabin and shouted across to them, "What has happened, gen­tlemen?"

  "We're going to fend out, du Kane," Ethan yelled back at him. "Soon as we do, I'll let you know." The financier nodded and vanished back into his rooms.

  Ta-boding led them up the steps, grumbling over his shoul­der. "It seems we may have run aground. That in itself is no insignificant worry, noble sirs, but I am more concerned about the damage. Tis almost a certainty one or more of our run­ners has collapsed. By the angle the raft lies at, I should guess one. I only hope tis the bolting to the hull and not the runner itself."

  "That's duralloy we're riding on, captain," reminded Sep­tember. "Reworked or not, it won't crumple. I think you're probably* *right about the bolts."

  Ta-boding shoved at the hatchdoor. As always, the two humans braced themselves for the expected blast of groping, heat-sucking air.

  The Rifs had degenerated into a mere. gale. By morning the storm would pass them completely. Carefully shielded from the wind, lanterns threw dancing tendrils of light onto the deck. Ta-hoding was met by the waiting night-duty helms­man. Then another sailor came over, breathing unevenly, to stammer out a long string of information.

  Hunnar and September walked to the railing while the con­ference continued. Ethan listened briefly, then joined them.

  "We're aground, all right," suggested September.

  "Can we pull free?" Ethan asked.

  Hunnar pondered the question. "This southeast wind wilt die by first light. Then we'll have the normal westwind in our faces. That should enable us to pull off with little trouble."

  Ta-hoding rejoined them. "Well., noble sirs, it seems I was woefully wrong. We have not run aground. Not exactly, any­way."

  "I don't follow you," said Ethan, squinting ahead into the darkness. "Certainly looks like an island up forward."

  "It does," the captain agreed. "Again the world lies. Come."

  They followed him 'toward the bow. As they approached the sharp prow of the ship, Ethan noticed something shining in the moonlight off to the right. A big, cream-colored pillar. It looked oddly familiar.

  They had to step carefully to avoid the fallen rigging and shattered spars that had been knocked down. The upper half of the foremast had snapped in the middle and the huge log had. crashed to the deck, bringing rigging and furled sail down with it. Only a stub of the bowsprit was visible, and the left railing near the bow was crumpled, though the hull seemed sound.

  To their left, sailors with lanterns threw rope ladders over the side and started down to the ice.

  The stavanzer was quite dead. Extending into the dark to port and starboard, the uneven crusted back loomed over the prow. By terran standards it was a colossus. Compared to the only other member of its species Ethan had seen, this one was small, even tiny.

  Ta-boding scrambled awkwardly over a broken topspar, reached the bow and leaned forward.

  "A young one, very young indeed. I wonder how it happens to be here alone."

  "Probably it was separated from its herd in the storm," Hunnar guessed. " end sought the shelter of an island." He stared at the wide, arching back, at the two flaccid air jets. "It must have been very weak and perhaps also asleep when we struck. I think it must have died instantly. See? We've hit just behind the head.'

  Indeed, the sharp prow of the fast-moving raft had im­pacted just behind the huge closed eye. The long, tapered bowsprit had
plunged mortally deep into the great animal, wreaking havoc with that endless nervous system.

  "We're damn fortunate it's not an adult," September ob­served.

  "Fortunate indeed," agreed Hunnar.

  "Here, captain!" The cry came from their left, up from the ice. They followed Ta-hoding over.

  Budjir had been on night-watch. Now he reached for the paws that dipped to help hire back over the shattered sail.

  "We struck the thunder-eater at an angle, sirs. The front

  port runner has broken completely loose from its mounting

  and now lies alone on the ice. The fore starboard runner is bent sharply, but the bolting held."

  "Vunier!" muttered Hunnar. "Well, we have spare fasten­ings, The mast will be no trouble, but the other ... " He sighed. "We will have to make the repairs. Another delay, my friends."

  "Don't fret," said Ethan cheerily. "It won't make any dif­ference."

  At least the weather proved predictable. The receding storm held a little longer than the tran had expected, but by mid-morning the same familiar westwind gale had regained sway.

  Ethan chatted with Budjir as the squire* *helped raise a fresh case of crude nails from the hold.

  "Quite a storm we had, wasn't it? How often does it get that bad?"

  "Oh, that wins a very light storm, sir," the. squire replied, his open peasant face devoid of duplicity. "Tis but bad luck we were caught out on the ice. Soon the real storms will begin." ale walked forward with the case, 'Leaving .than thinking cold thoughts.

  With the prow of the raft buried in the dead stavanzer and the rear runners holding farm, the _Slanderscree_ was high enough off the ice at the bow for men to work underneath. Nevertheless, timbers and blocks were cut and placed to fur­ther reinforce the bow and assure that it would not collapse on the men working below at a sudden shift in the wind. Soon sounds of hammering and sawing, pounding and scraping rose above the gale.

  Ta-holing leaned over the side and grunted his pleasure. "At this rate we may be on cur way before another day has passed. That is wondrous metal that your strange skyboat was made of, Sir than. Even steel would have broken any twisted on that impact."

  "There are ways you might obtain more of it, you know.." said Ethan thoughtfully, beginning to enjoy himself. Shop talk!* *"Also ways. to make it into things you need, easily and quickly. You have some things of manufacture that might do well in trade ... nothing extraordinary of course ... among my people. Your fine woodwork, for example. And such as this coat of hessavar. And other things."

  He looked over to where a group of crewmen were remov­ing-excavating would be a better terra-the enormous tusks of the dead stavanzer.

  "Those teeth, for another example. What are they used for, anyway? Surely not for defense."

  "Eh?" Ta-holing had been, dividing his attention between Ethan and the repairs. "Oh, naturally not. The stavanzer has no enemies. The avaer are used for digging up the ice to get at the roots and the rich grenloen of the pike-pedan."

  That was simple enough. He had more questions, but they veers interrupted by a shout from the mainmast lookout.

  "Sail* *on the horizon!" Then, seconds later, "Many sails!"

  "Convoy?" bellowed the captain loud enough to make lath«n wince. There was silence above. Other eyes turned from their work to stare at the basket atop the mast. Below, repairs slowed as the word was passed.

  "Too far:" came the eventual answering shout. "But tis too many! And the patterns is not right:"

  September was just comming on deck. Ethan rust him half­way to the stern.

  "Company, lad?"

  "Looks like it, Skua. Ta-holing thinks it might be a mer­chant fleet. The lookout isn't so sure. 1 guess you could meet anyone out here."

  The repairs continued, but the metalworkers, carpenters,

  and supervisors kept throwing uneasy glances at the northeast horizon. They worked. a little faster.

  `word came up that the starboard runner had been straightened. and the bent belts replaced. The new foremast was already in place and other trap were retying the rigging and setting in new sail. Work was proceeding apace on the broken port runner. Then came a cry from the lookout that stopped everything.

  "The Gods mock us! Tis the Horde, the Horde that comes!"

  Hunnar uttered a violent oath and launched a vicious kick at the rail. Extended in anger, his chiv cut triple gashes in the wood. He whirled and stalked off to inform Balavere. Sep­tember was shaking his head.

  "Now if that isn't just the loveliest thing," he groaned.

  "How could they have known to follow us?" cried Ethan. "How?"

  "Ah, I'm not at all sure this meeting is by design, young feller. They've probably been running, running.* *Just our bad luck they ran this way. They may think we're just another big merchant ship ... They'll recognize us when they get close enough, all right."

  "We could take down the banner," Ethan suggested, "and let Ta-hoding and some of the crew try to bluff it out."

  "Bluff what out? Young feller, you don't understand. If this were only a two-man raft bound with cargo of firewood for the of homestead, or twice as big as us and loaded. with silks and precious metals, they'd. still swarm all over it. It may make a difference to Sagyanak that we are who we are, but it won't to us. Result'll be the same as if we'd never met them before. We're still prey. Damnationl"

  Soldiers were swarming into the rigging, crossbowmen tak­ing up their posts in the three lookout baskets. Archers sta­tioned themselves along the rail. Tarps were removed from the three small catapults that were useless against gutorrbyn. The complement of the _Slanderscree_ now bent all energy toward preparing an unfriendly welcome for their unwanted visitors.

  All except the repair crew, who worked faster than ever.

  Hunnar stared across the stern. The rafts were now close enough to count, and he was doing just that.

  " Too many. A shred, a short tailing of their former selves, but too many for a single ship, even this one." He muttered another few choice curses. "If they could fix that venier run­ner we could outrun them easily!" He noticed Ethan's inquir­ing gaze. "No, Sir ',than. We will never be ready in time. The men will work until they are discovered by those, but they cannot make repairs while under attack. Perhaps ... " his voice dropped to a mumble as he glared at the oncoming rafts, "we may even finish her this time, at least."

  Something sounded wrong to Ethan. He found it.

  "Her?"

  Hunnar looked down at him in surprise. "why, yes. Did you not know? The Scourge is a woman."

  On board her tattered, shaken grand raft, a shadow of its former magnificence, Sagyanak the Death received the word of her lookouts. Yes, the runners of the oddly formed stalled, vessel were truly made of metal the color and sheen of the de­mons' sky-boat. And the Sofoldian banner flew from her masthead.

  She smiled a half-toothless, ferocious smile.

  The young warrior on her right stiffened as she turned to him. "Norsvik, I want as many taken alive as possible, do you hear? Even should it cost a few more of the people. These should be kept as healthy and undamaged as is manageable ­so that they may last long."

  "It shall be as you say, Great One." The warrior bowed and left the room.

  Sagyanak placed wrinkled, clawed fingers together and began to stroke the arm of her throne. It was built of the bones of those she had vanquished. Soon she would add another set to the elaborately enscrolled frame. Perhaps even some de­mon-bones.

  She wondered with interest if they would scream as did a normal man. That was a good question for the Mad One.

  "They're leaving the rafts," said Hunnar, protecting his eyes from the high sun with a paw.

  "I'm kind of surprised they don't try to board us from their own rafts," admitted Ethan.

  "Well, young feller, I'm sure they've got their reasons. For one thing," and he squinted as the wind shoved at his goggles, "none of those rafts look to be in good shape. In addition to what Hunnar's folk did to 'em,
that storm couldn't have done 'em any good, either ... And remember what Hunnar told us about these folk being able to move better on chiv than most rafts."

  The Horde poured onto the ice. They didn't cover it with their numbers this time, and when, finally, they began to move forward, their yelling and chanting did not deafen. Or maybe they knew who rode the strange craft before them and their relative quiet was indicative not of lack of spirit but of terrible purpose.

  They charged without pause. A hail of grappling hooks and scaling ladders hit the sides of the stalled raft. Soon Ethan was swinging his sword with the same lack of expertise but determination he had displayed, on the walls of Wannome.

  September ran one warrior through the chest, pulled his ax free, and yelled instructions to the tran at the miniature catapults. There was a simultaneous release of celluloid ten­sion.* *Four small smoking bundles arched out over the ice. A shower of glass and iron shrapnel and blinding powder ex­ploded in the middle ranks of the attackers.

  Bleeding and torn, they fell to the ice. But their companions didn't falter. Again the catapults fired and more nomads were knocked unmoving or moaning to the frozen sea.

  "It doesn't frighten them anymore!" Ethan shouted over the confusion.

  Several times it seemed certain the barbarians would swarm onto the deck and overwhelm them. Several times the archers and spearmen were forced back from the rail or cut down. Only the constant rain of crossbow bolts from the tran in the masts closed oft the breakthroughs, sealed the temporary gaps.

  The battle continued all day, the tran and men on the ship fighting of: wave after wave of attackers. Only when the ice had begun to devour the sun did they at last give up and re­treat.

  Not caring who noticed, Ethan sank exhausted to the deck. His sword clattered. beside him.