The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers (54 page)

“We will if we don’t splatter ourselves all over the ice.”

“You are both crazy.” Hunnar exchanged shoulder grips and breath with both of them in turn. “We will trust your madness because we have no choice. Go with the wind.”

“Thanks, Hunnar. But not this time.” Ethan turned, removed his skates. Then he followed September up the first ledge, concentrating on where his feet and hands went and not looking down. The last thing he wanted was a steady breeze blowing him around while he was crawling like a fly up a wall.

But the wind turned out to be an ally. It blew steadily against his back, shoving him into the cliff. And the spire was not as sheer and smooth as it had appeared in the darkness. There were ample cracks and ledges where a human hand or foot could find a hold. They made steady progress upward.

Halfway up the granite wall Ethan waited while September hunted for an elusive handhold above. As he caught his breath and stared single-mindedly at the giant’s backside he found himself wondering what a moderately successful salesman was doing glued like a bag of meat to cold rock on this frozen and inhospitable world, trying to rescue an argumentative princess who was more manx than man. Perhaps there had been more truth in Hunnar’s appraisal of their scheme as madness than he’d been ready to admit.

September was moving again. Panting like an old engine, Ethan started up after him. It seemed the cliff extended, grew higher instead of shorter with each painful step upward. Once, he looked down. Dark blotches against the ice suggested the location of the waiting Tran. He missed a breath, forced his gaze skyward again.

He pulled himself up onto still another ledge, lay there for several minutes before he was aware that he was lying next to September’s recumbent bulk and that the giant was motioning for him to be silent.

Ahead, he saw square-cut stones fitted carefully together.

The ledge was two meters wide, the wall of the fortress set that far back from the spire’s edge. Looking up, he saw that the walls of the fortress, in keeping with its modest size, were not particularly high. There was no reason for them to be. The Tran would not consider a serious attack from this, to them, sheer side.

Holding tight to the stone and gravel ground, Ethan pulled himself to the edge and peered over the side again. Only bare ice was visible, which meant that the Tran had moved off toward the leeside stairway. According to plan, they would wait there until Ethan and September had cleared the way for them.

The two men moved to the base of the wall and began to crawl around the pinnacle, staying close to the stonework. The wall was five meters high, the drop off the edge considerably more.

Ethan considered their chances. Their assailants would still be treating their wounds. They should not expect an organized assault on their fortress so soon after their own attack. After all, as far as they knew, they’d only taken a single prisoner, and that was hardly worth risking a suicidal attack, was it? They should be tired from chivaning at top speed back to their base and climbing the stairway to it. They would have to have climbed, Ethan knew. No icepath could wind a practical course upward at the steep angle the hidden stairway suggested. Such a climb would be slow and painful for them to make. That same climb would also serve to discourage attackers. It would not have the same effect on more agile humans.

“We’ll use our knives where possible, lad, beamers only if we have to.” After disposing of the sentries guarding the pathway down to the ice, they’d signal Hunnar and the assault party, then hold the open walkway against any who might attempt to retake it.

So went the theory.

Five more minutes of crawling brought them around into the sheltered side of the fortress. They found themselves gazing at what had to be the top of the walkway.

On this side the pinnacle was several meters lower. Moving slightly away from the wall, Ethan could see stairs laboriously cut from the naked rock of the stone pillar wending their way down into darkness. Crawling to the edge of the cliff, he peered over. No sign of Hunnar and the others. That was as it should be. He felt confident they were waiting silently below, part of the shadows and hollow places, awaiting the human’s signal.

Two armed Tran flanked the top stair. Their attention was directed down and out, their lances pointed threateningly at the stairway. From his position next to the edge, Ethan was able to obtain a good view of the parapet directly above the entrance.

“No sentries above,” he whispered to the waiting September.

“Why should there be, feller-me-lad?” The giant was a brown-suited lump, just another rock buttressing the outer wall. “Sentries at the stairway and maybe at the drawbridge are guard enough.”

Ethan reflected again on the Tran inability to climb smooth surfaces. There was no place to hide on the length of exposed stairway spiraling downward. One Tran could spot an attack party, give the alarm, have breakfast, and return before the fight began. A few soldiers with bows and arrows or spears could hold off an attacking army.

September was whispering to him again. “I’ll take the fat one on the far side, lad. You take the other.” He was fumbling for the small axe at his belt. Ethan would use a dirk. He hoped they wouldn’t need to use beamers. Not that they would make any more noise than axe or knife, but the intense beams of light might be visible to someone within the fortress.

He crawled back next to the giant. Together they started to make their belly-scraping way toward the guards, keeping to the shadowy regions close by the wall. The wind helped to hide the noise of their passage; the Tran had excellent hearing.

Triangular furry ears flipped in their direction and one of the guards turned, squinted. The two humans became part of the landscape.

“Be that you, Smigere?” The guard’s double eyelids flickered against the wind. “You are not due on watch for three
vate
.” Ethan held his breath. The curious guard took several steps toward them. “Smigere, are you sick?”

Although the sentry was staring straight at Ethan, he apparently still couldn’t conceive of the possibility that any enemy could be
behind
him. The other guard was looking curiously at his companion.

There was no time for antique weapons. At such close range, it was impossible to miss with the beamers. Both Tran were punctured by thin ropes of azure light. Smigere’s friend went down with an expression of surprise and hurt on his face, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening to him. He looked down at the hole in his chest, dropped his lance, and stared curiously into the shadows. His eyes closed and he fell over onto his side. His beamed colleague had stumbled backward and tumbled over the side of the cliff.

After another glance at the moonlit ramparts above, September rose, walked over to the remaining body. He examined it briefly, then picked it up by one arm and leg. A single swing consigned it to the night and the ice. Wind and distance combined to prevent them from hearing the corpse strike the surface far below. That was fine with Ethan, though he wondered absently if the falling shapes had accidentally struck any of the waiting attack party. No time to worry about that now.

They ran to the doorway. Entrance to the fortress was blocked by a single outward-opening door of thick wood. It was large enough and wide enough for Tran to enter only in single-file. Any opponents fortunate enough to survive the stairway could be picked off one at a time if they tried to force their way into the keep.

Their task was only half finished. It was reasonable to expect a gatekeeper posted inside, if not another pair of guards. But no one had appeared to question the sudden manifestation of blue lights in the night sky. The sentries’ demise had gone unwitnessed.

September had replaced the beamer at his waist, redrawn his small axe. “No chance we can use beamers inside,” he murmured. “We’ve been lucky so far, but someone’s sure to see any lights inside the wall.” Ethan had his knife out already.

“What now? Do we just walk in and check for guards?”

“Mebbe we do just that, lad. No reason for them to lock the door. Plenty of time to do that when the stairway guards give warning.”

Ethan moved to stand with his back pressed against the wall flanking the door. September put a gloved hand on the horizontal lock bar of the gate, slid it out of its wall socket slowly. To Ethan it produced an abnormally loud screeching sound in the darkness. As soon as the bar was clear, September grabbed the single handle and pulled. When nothing happened, he pulled again, harder. Hinges creaked, but the door didn’t budge.

“Locked from the inside after all. Damn!” He was heaving with the effort he’d expended on the handle. “One more good try.” He handed Ethan his axe. Bracing his legs against the wall, he put both hands on the handle, pulled and shoved simultaneously.

Metal hinges groaned again. The door moved outward a couple of centimeters. Something went
ping
on the other side. The door came open a half meter, then a full meter … and metal flashed in a bath of moonlight.

“Lookout!”

September let go of the handle, fell back onto the paving as Ethan stepped clear and fumbled for his beamer. No time for a knife, since he couldn’t tell how many swords might be behind that gate. The giant was already on his knees, ready to confront whoever came charging out the forced door.

“I’m sorry … it’s hard to see in this light.” Elfa Kurdagh-Vlata put up the sword she was carrying, stared at the pair of startled humans.

“You!” Ethan blurted out.

She turned, glanced back at hidden sights, then looked anxiously from one man to the other. “I don’t see anyone inside. Where are the two sentries?” When neither human replied, she made a curt gesture of understanding. “Good. I’ve been huddled inside for ten
vate,
trying to decide what to do. I knew they were out here and could not conceive of how to cut two throats at the same time without raising the alarm. The guard will be changed soon, but now we have time.” She appeared to encounter a sudden thought.

“Forgive my preoccupation, Sir Ethan. I am remiss in manners. My thanks to you both for rescuing me.”

“I wouldn’t take credit for somethin’ you seem to have practically pulled off by yourself,” September replied. “ ’Pon my word, you’re a resourceful gal.”

“I do my best, Sir Skua.” But she was gazing at Ethan as she spoke, her yellow eyes glittering in the dim light.

He turned away hurriedly. “We’d better get moving. No sense tempting luck by hanging around.”

“One moment.” While Ethan and September exchanged questioning glances she vanished into the unseen courtyard. To Ethan’s immense relief, she returned a moment later. Something bulky and indistinct was slung over her right shoulder. Two extensions hung slackly from the rest. Arms.

“What… who’s that?” he asked.

“I was granted the opportunity to take a prisoner.” If the weight of the body was troubling her, she didn’t show it. “I believe he is a squire or higher. Would you not wish to learn who attacked us and why?”

“So you don’t think it was common piracy either?” September smiled at her, though she couldn’t see his grin behind the mask, not in the poor light.

“I do not know for certain, but I would like to.”

“So would I.” September started toward her. “Let me take him.”

She glared at him. “Do you not think I can manage a simple load?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t handle anything you wanted to, m’lady-cat. But you’re not designed for descending steps, and we’ve a helluva lot of ’em to make our way down in the darkness. If we were on open ice, I wouldn’t have opened my mouth. Do you not think,” he finished, mimicking her, “that we can make better time?”

She hesitated only an instant before passing the limp form over. “Rightness of your words, knight.” Her attention turned back to Ethan. “So brave of you to challenge the fortress alone.”

“We were the ones best built for climbing,” he said uncomfortably. “Let’s go.”

It was Elfa who had the foresight to close and bolt the damaged door behind them.

“Q
UIET.” HUNNAR MADE SHUSHING
gestures at the sailors assembled behind him. He peered around the curve of the pinnacle at the base of the stairway. “Someone comes.”

The noise of feet on stone sounded for a few minutes more, inaudible to human ears but clear to those of the waiting Tran.

“I recognize Sir Ethan!” one of the squires said, and then they were all rushing from concealment to greet the Landgrave’s daughter and her saviors. As they crowded around her, exchanging words and jokes, Ethan mused again on the informality between ruler and subject that was common among the Tran. In fact, he thought some of the joyful embraces between Elfa and sailors overly familiar. Hunnar didn’t take exception to them, so Ethan kept his peace.

“So keep you all the glory of this adventure to yourself,” the red-bearded knight said to Ethan. But there was no anger, only happiness in his voice as he spoke.

“Don’t give us credit for anything except clearing the way.” He indicated Elfa. “She was waiting for us at the door.”

“With this.” September dumped the unconscious prisoner onto the ice. At the sight of one of the kidnappers, angry mutters came from the fight-ready assembly. There was a gentle, dangerous surge toward the motionless shape.

Hunnar motioned them away. “If it is our pleasure we can kill him later.” He looked down at the unfortunate warrior. “And I think that
will
be our pleasure. A wise man can learn even from a burning book.”

A pika-pina rope bound the captive’s ankles together, a second tied his wrists in front of his groin. Two Tran picked up ropes attached to his feet, opened their dan, and started back toward the distant
Slanderscree.

As they picked up speed, Ethan wondered at the strength and toughness of Tran hide. The prisoner’s back must be feeling the effect of friction between body and ice. He remarked on his concern to Budjir, who was chivaning alongside. The soft-voiced squire replied solemnly that the skin on the prisoner’s back was of no interest to anyone, so long as his mouth remained operative.