The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers (60 page)

The harbormaster relaxed slightly, straining to see into every corner of the icerigger. “You appear to have been on a long voyage.”

“A modest journey,” admitted Hunnar.

“We are a state of much commerce.” Valsht said this matter-of-factly, without boasting. “Ships come from many thousands of
satch
distant to trade and exchange their goods here in Poyolavomaar. We have,” and he rolled his brilliant yellow eyes in a manner which Ethan had come to know as the Tran equivalent of a sly wink, “many facilities for weary travelers. Reasons why our city is such a popular place to trade, for is not trading a tiresome business and respite after a hard day a necessity rather than a luxury? I am sure your crew would enjoy the sights and availabilities of our city.”

“Your hospitality is most welcome. We accept.” Hunnar turned, called up to the helmdeck. “Captain, we are given invitation! Give three-quarters of the crew leave to visit the city. They have earned it. The remaining fourth may go when the first quarter of leave-takers returns.”

Ta-hoding indicated his agreement. The order was relayed to the mates, who in turn dispersed it among their subordinates. Prolonged shouting and cries of delight echoed from various sections of the ship as each knot of sailors received word of their permission to go ashore and relax.

The decision to grant liberty having been made, the greeting party followed the harbormaster up the pier and into the town, Tran traveling on icepaths while the humans elected to leave their skates on board and walk alongside.

Shouts and insults, hellos and damnations, promises and lies filled the freezing air around them. They issued from booths, stalls, cabarets and cloaked doorways, knots of huddled Tran and isolated craftsmen and children. Even the beggars appeared well fed. Signs of prosperity and ruthlessness coexisted, and the average expression was one of mellow avarice.

“Something wrong,” September said with a grunt. Pessimism was part of September’s natural reaction to anything unfamiliar, and Ethan knew it. He didn’t mention his own initial suspicion of Valsht’s seemingly prepared greeting, having already dismissed that as unwonted.

“What’s bothering you, Skua?” He strayed onto the icepath, slipped, regained his balance while glaring at a covey of cubs who’d witnessed his clumsiness.

“Not sure, feller-me-lad. That’s what’s botherin’ me most.” He didn’t elaborate and Ethan, excited at the prospect of finally trying out their confederation proposal on a prospective government, didn’t pursue the conversation.

The slope they were climbing never turned steep, and the main approach to the castle was placed from the western side of the island so that the prevailing wind blew always from the back of anyone approaching. Thus, the Tran did not have to tack uphill, but were swept upward effortlessly while Ethan and September struggled to keep pace.

A central gate of dark wood bound with brass fittings admitted them to a wide courtyard. Guards stared at the humans and pointed, all the while chatting among themselves. The group passed the armory, which seemed unusually large to Ethan, then entered the main structure. A long iced ramp led to a floor, a hallway, and finally into a circular domed chamber.

It was quite different from the throne room in the castle of Wannome where Elfa’s father held court. Placed on a raised central dais instead of at the far end of the room were three high-backed chairs. The dais was mounted on a huge, carved stone disk which cleared the floor by a centimeter or two, leading Ethan to suspect it could revolve. Decorative mosaics and reliefs filled curving walls, alternating with windows that looked out onto island and harbor. They depicted the six surrounding crag-crowned islands.

Undoubtedly the Tran slumped into the center chair and staring at them was Rakossa, Solace of the Six Peaks and so on. Compared to the ruling Tran Ethan had encountered thus far, he seemed to be very young. There was no white in his gray fur, no crinkling of the skin beneath. He guessed the Landgrave to be, in human-equivalent terms, younger than himself.

Of the two other Tran seated on either side, one was an older male, the other a young female. Advisors, he mused, or perhaps queen and father. He examined the gargoyle-lined stone disk again, wondered at the mechanism that powered it.

All three were in turn studying their five visitors with obvious interest, though different expressions.

Valsht approached the throne, halted a correct distance from it. “Your pardon, sir, but I have duties I must return to.” The young Landgrave dismissed the harbormaster with a diffident gesture. Valsht turned, hurried past the visitors. As he passed, he favored Ethan with a brief, complex, inexplicable stare.

No one spoke or moved. Finally Hunnar stepped forward. “My breath is your warmth, sirs and madame. We come to you from a far distant land hight Sofold. We come to forge what we hope will be a union, a confederation of many island-states for the purpose of dealing on fair and equal terms with strange new friends from off-world. These friends,” and he indicated Ethan and September.

“They bring great promise and fortune to all Tran who will have the foresight, as your highness surely will, to join in this unifying proposal. I realize that this thought is …”

Without warning the Landgrave rose, thrust a trembling clawed finger at them. “Liars! Offspring of guttorbyn! You bring promise of naught but enslavement and poverty!”

Of all the visitors, only September was not so shocked that he couldn’t mutter: “That does it.”

Ethan whirled, staring dumbfounded at the giant.

“I knew there was something wrong, lad. When the harbormaster was escorting us here, we passed through the heart of town. And we were assiduously avoided. No one except the cubs gave us so much as a curious glance, except the soldiers here in the castle, and even they didn’t act too excited. Contrast that with the stares and inquiries we got from the crews of other rafts.

“Means there’s been other humans here before you and me. Or else,” and he glanced at the third figure seated on the dais, the distinguished looking older Tran whom Ethan had guessed to be an advisor or royal sire, “word of us.”

“That is the first truth you have spoken,” said the young Landgrave angrily. He gestured to the softly smiling Tran on his right. “ ’Twas fortunate that my good friend here, Calonnin Ro-Vijar, Landgrave of Arsudun, arrived but two precious days ago. He told me of your infamous plans to enslave and make servants of the independent peoples of my world, beginning with Poyolavomaar.”

Hunnar took a couple of steps toward the dais, his hand going toward his sword hilt. “Ro-Vijar, was it you who had our ship assaulted off your south coast and the Elfa Kurdagh-Vlata kidnapped?”

The older Tran stood, looked imperiously at them. He acted as cool as the air blowing through the open windows. “I did indeed wish you on your way to the afterlife, traitor, to prevent the spread of your evil intentions,”

If the confrontation had begun badly, it was still capable of deteriorating. Ethan moved toward the throne. “Your highness,” he said desperately, “it’s Ro-Vijar, who lies to protect his own monopoly and trade with my people, to poison your mind against us. He trades truth for money.”

“Silence and quiet!” Rakossa looked nauseated. “We will not credit the broken words of a hairless k’nith who masquerades as a true person. Your falsehoods do not touch us.”

Ethan saw the eyes of Rakossa, wild and fearful, dangerous and cunning. Yellow with cat-pupils, they were not human eyes, but there is something in the gaze of a madman that transcends shape, reaches across genetic distances. There was nothing to be gained by arguing with Tonx Ghin Rakossa. His mind was made up. Logic and reason would only antagonize him.

Only in the near-neutral expression of the female consort, who had not spoken, was there a hint of something else. It might be sympathy, it might be sadism. Ethan couldn’t tell.

Hunnar’s sword came half free of its scabbard.

Several of the mosaic walls moved inward, revealed compartments behind which disgorged dozens of armed Tran. Hunnar stopped.

“Fight and die here,” said a tight-voiced Rakossa, “or wait ’til you are properly judged.”

“Sounds like that has been done already,” Tersund murmured softly.

The Landgrave continued; he looked vastly pleased with himself. “Your ship is already taken, the sailors aboard already imprisoned. As are those who scattered themselves thoughtlessly throughout my city. You will greet them again in the dungeons below.”

Meanwhile Ethan was counting the surrounding pack. They filled the circular chamber until they stood shoulder to dan. Better to die here than …

He felt a hand cover his beamer as he moved to draw it. “No, young feller-me-lad. There are too many and likely more behind these. Life is chance, death the absence of opportunity. We’ve nothin’ to lose by waiting and hoping.”

“What chance will we have without beamers, Skua?” But he left the weapon at his waist nonetheless.

Ro-Vijar stepped off the dais and approached them. Without hesitation he undipped Ethan’s beamer, then September’s, lastly Williams’.

Other guards began disarming Hunnar and Tersund. Then they were escorted from the room. Tran bodies were packed so tightly around them they could hardly move without stepping on sharp-chived feet.

“Ro-Vijar’s the liar, your highness!” Ethan shouted over a shoulder. “He has money in place of a soul!”

Trying hard not to smile, Ro-Vijar whispered to the Landgrave. “Do not tilt your ears to the words of the sky-outlanders, mighty ruler of mighty state. They are truly more advanced than we poor Tran—in matters of falsehood and deception. You must constantly beware their subtle intonations.”

“Do not worry, friend Calonnin. We do not intend to pay the slightest attention to their degrading speech.”

“Why not,” the Landgrave of Arsudun suggested casually as the captives exited from the chamber, “kill them now and save space in your prison?”

With his usual unnerving quickness, Rakossa turned on Ro-Vijar. “We have listened to you because we believe in your good advice, friend and fellow ruler Calonnin. Do not think that because of our youth we will be impetuous instead of methodical. They will be granted fair trial.”

“That is only just,” Calonnin responded, barely hiding his disappointment. He was anxious to be on his way back to Arsudun. This distant trading city held only crude delights and he wished the more sophisticated comforts Trell had provided for him. “I meant no disrespect. It is merely that I despise these pale tricksters so.”

“No offense is taken.” Rakossa looked to the door where the prisoners had been taken, spoke thoughtfully. “They will be tried and judged fairly. Only then will they be killed.”

Calonnin had a pleasing thought. “There is a thing to be considered, your highness. There is much to be learned from those Tran who have been corrupted by the hairless devils. It might best be learned by myself, who has had the most experience with them. I would have one of the prisoners to question.”

“As you desire. Which of them do you wish?”

Calonnin permitted himself an ugly grin. It is amazing what unpleasant thoughts can be communicated between two decadents of similar mind by a mere gesture or grimace. The girl still sitting silently on her chair was able to divine Calonnin’s intent from her Landgrave’s responding smile.

She did not smile.

Hunnar temporarily lost his control when Elfa was separated from them and hauled off by a cluster of soldiery. Fortunately, their own escort was evidently under orders not to damage the prisoners, since they only knocked the raging knight unconscious.

Ethan counted three, perhaps four, underground levels as they descended. The location of the lowermost dungeon had an unexpected benefit which neither of the humans had considered.

Since their cells were located far below the surface, they were unaffected by wind or severe changes in air temperature. So the dungeon was actually warmer than the castle above. This made imprisoned Tran uncomfortable, the local concept of a miserable dungeon being one that was too warm rather than too cold.

The lowest stone and mortar level was filled with large barred cells. The bars were made of polished hardwood instead of valuable metal. Ethan tested one, using the waist buckle of his survival suit. It would take a long time for him to cut through the treated, supertough wood with the stelamic buckle. A prisoner using a bone knife would die of old age before completing the task. Each bar was as thick as September’s thigh. They were laid diagonally across the cell entrance.

Cries of recognition and despair greeted them when they reached the lowest level. The cells contained the crew of the
Slanderscree,
as Rakossa had intimated.

During the next several hours, other groups of protesting, complaining sailors were bought in. Some were wounded, some drunk. No matter their condition, they were shoved and kicked into fresh cells to join their sullen companions.

Ta-hoding landed in the cell apparently reserved for officers, knights, and hairless devils. He drew himself up and counted off the assembled prisoners. The entire crew was there. That meant no hope of outside rescue and little hope of inside escape.

“Where’s our better chance, our opportunity, Skua?” Ethan couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice, even though he was fully aware that fighting in the throne chamber would have meant his death hours ago.

“We’re still alive, feller-me-lad,” September replied without rancor. “Patient you can be, if optimistic feels uncomfortable. Me, I’ve been in worse situations. A time with my brother, now …” He paused a moment before continuing again.

“We’re alive down here. That’s better than bein’ dead upstairs.”

“Ro-Vijar was behind everything all along: the fight in the tavern in Arsudun, the attack on the raft, and now he’s telling this Rakossa lies so he’ll do his killing for him.”

“You’ve got to admire the beauty of it,” said September. “If any peaceforcers come snooping around, Ro-Vijar can blame our passin’ on this Rakossa fellow, who doesn’t strike me as dancing with both feet.”