The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers (35 page)

“A safe wager, captain,” said Hunnar. “If you are wrong there will be none of us about to collect. Can this be made ready by morning?”

“Not if we sit here jabbering all night,” broke in Balavere excitedly. “Captain, see to your men and to your repairs. And mind they proceed quietly. We have no wish to arouse the animals’ curiosity.”

Ta-hoding nodded and departed at as close to a run as Ethan had ever seen him use, the schematic of the ship held tightly in his paws.

“Then sirs, if that is all there is to be decided upon …”

“Your pardon, General, but that is not all,” said September. “Let’s say we make the repair secretly and in time. Let’s say further that this jury-rigged setup of the captain’s actually holds together. We pull free of that meat-mountain and start running into the wind. I assume we can make better time into the wind than they?”

“No question of it,” said Balavere.

“All right then, we show them our fundament and laugh ourselves silly as they disappear astern. What’s to prevent them from following doggedly in our tracks … this thing does leave tracks … and catching up with us as soon as that temporary hitch
does
fail?”

Balavere thought, hesitated. “We must take that chance. Likely we can lose them. Or, not knowing the precariousness of our situation, they may believe we are beyond overtaking.”

“And they may not,” September countered. He looked around the table. This awkward thought which the big man had raised refused to run away and hide. It demanded an answer, and no one had any.

“I beg your pardon, noble sirs,” said Eer-Meesach from the quiet end of the table. “I am not often involved in matters military, I know, and would prefer to shun this one. But I have had a thought. We may have other allies in this.”

“Don’t talk in riddles, wise one,” admonished Balavere. “I am too tired for games, and my shoulder hurts.”

“Very well. Tis a risk, and a considerable one. But as seems certain, our lives are balanced on the blade of fate as this ship is on those runners. One more risk should not drive us onto it any deeper …”

O
NE THING, ETHAN REFLECTED
moodily the next morning, was that the wind wakes you quickly on this world. There’s no dawdling in bed. Right now he’d happily sign away a year of his life for a modest comfortese bed, which he would immediately set at roasting level before freezing the controls.

He turned and eyed the bow warily. The sailors had withdrawn to the rear half of the ship. Everyone huddled behind something solid in the pre-dawn chill.

There was a violent explosion. A fountain of raw meat and flesh vomited into the clear air. The westwind caught most of it and carried it off at right angles to the ship proper. He stood and stared out across the ice as the enemy encirclement, barely visible in the growing light, scrambled awake at the sound of the explosion. What were the demons up to now?

At least they’d had the pleasure of rudely waking the entire enemy camp. He took a deep breath, but cut it in the middle. Now that the gigantic carcass was laid open to the air, the smell of internal decay slowly permeated the entire ship despite the untiring efforts of the wind to sweep it away.

There was a cry from the lookout and then everyone was running for the stern.

A small cluster of four … no, five barbarians had broken from the circle and were chivaning slowly toward the motionless
Slanderscree,
moving in single file. They appeared to be unarmed.

“Parley party,” Hunnar explained laconically. “I do not believe we have anything to discuss with them.”

“I beg to differ, friend Hunnar,” said September. “We’ve as much to say to them as we possibly can think of, and for as long as we can say it without becoming obvious. We can gain time for that work crew. They still may not finish in time, but every minute we can stave off the final attack …” He left the rest unsaid.

One of the nomads was helped—none too gently—over the railing. Balavere and the others clustered around him.

The envoy’s once-magnificent helmet had a bad dent on one side. His leather frontispiece was cut and stained. But he seemed neither tired nor disenchanted, as Ethan had hoped. He spoke directly to Balavere without formal by-play.

“The Scourge would hold converse with those among you who lead. I am Haldur the Talker. I and my three lieutenants will remain here as hostages in bond for those you send.” As he spoke, three more of the nomad party were being helped on deck.

“We agree to the terms,” said Balavere, after a quick conference with Hunnar.

“Suaxus, make one of the noan ready.” The squire moved to do so.

The
Slanderscree
carried two of the little rafts, or noan, to serve as lifeboats or scout vessels as occasion demanded. Now one was being lowered over the side to serve as transportation for them all—but mainly for the human members of the parley party, who would only slide and slow the others on the ice. Three of the
Slanderscree’s
crew came along to handle the sail and steering.

Hunnar, Ethan, Skua, and Suaxus comprised the exchange group. Once aboard, the noan raised sail. The nomad who’d remained behind on the ice guided them through a gap in the barbarian encirclement. A low murmur came from that ugly gathering as they passed through. Many of the nomad warriors wore bandages and splints in addition to badly battered armor. They were in a murderous mood and Ethan hoped Hunnar knew what he was doing in agreeing to this exchange.

They passed squads of nomads chivaning toward the ring. Preparing for the final effort, no doubt.

September was thinking along similar lines. “Getting ready to attack again.”

“Was there any doubt of it?” declared Hunnar. “I am twice surprised at this parley request. Does she think us fools enough to surrender?”

“Whatever the reason, be thankful for it,” September replied. “It buys time.”

“Listen,” put in Ethan, “are you sure we can get back to the raft? This charming lady’s character doesn’t impress me. How honorable is she?”

“As honorable as the lowliest slime that seeps from the garbage tailings,” spat the knight. “Yet there will be no question in this matter. All respect the person of an envoy. Without such concord it would make surrender awkward. Such as these prefer not to fight if it can be arranged. Remember when I said they have grown fat.”

Ethan watched another pack of taut, tightly armored tran chivan past. “I don’t see any who look especially corpulent.”

“No longer, since the defeat, friend Ethan. Had this happened two or three hundred years ago, when the Horde was still new in our land, I do not believe that even with your wizard’s crossbows and thunder-making we could have defeated them as we did.”

They were nearing the anchored nomad fleet—or rather, the pitiful remnant thereof. Their guide directed them among the rafts until they drew alongside what once must have been a veritable palace on runners.

Now the bloodcurdling motifs and designs carved into the rails and central pavilion were scarred by fire. The golden leafing on the central structure had been seared and melted.

Waiting hands helped them onto the deck, holding firmly. To see how much meat was left on him, no doubt, Ethan reflected. He tried to imagine some get-togethers he’d attended where the company had been worse, but the private jest brought no hidden smiles. It was hard to be flip when at any moment some unpredictable primitive might try to make steak out of you.

They entered the pavilion and passed through several rooms. The interior of the big cabin was still rich-looking, still comfortable. Eventually they reached a room larger than all the others. Several well-built specimens of trannish manhood stood along the walls, armed with huge double-edged swords.

At the far end of the room was an incredible throne made from trail bones and skulls and inlaid with precious metals and gems. The thing that sat on the throne was, even to alien human eyes accustomed to a different meterstick of beauty, outstandingly repulsive.

Instead of the huge, glowering warrior Ethan had first envisioned, Sagyanak was a shrunken, wrinkled old crone. An ugly sack of bones and bile, made the more hideous by childish attempts at facial and body makeup.

This ancient construct of weak ligaments and venomous eyes leaned forward and stared at them, a finger rubbing lower lip like a pallid bristled worm.

“So, there you stand, as the Mad One said you would.” They did not question or reply. “That you have even come to this parley says you are not so strong as I thought. Better and best, better and best.”

“That we come to this parley,” replied Hunnar evenly, “means we are proper in respecting the rules of conflict … something you have never bothered to do.”

“There are no rules to war,” the crone answered indifferently. ‘There is but victor and defeated. Methodology is irrelevant. But you have come.”

“Already established,” Hunnar replied impatiently, despite September’s anxious glance. “What is it you want? You’ve interrupted my morning meal.”

“So you have plenty of supplies, too. Excellent. Additional stores are always welcome.”

“If you can catch it before the wind does, you may follow and be welcome to our garbage.”

She leaned forward slowly, showing broken yellow teeth.

“When I have taken you, you will not long be fit to serve even as garbage.” With an effort, she sat back and tried to essay a pleasant smile. The result was horrible. “But there is no need for this unpleasantness. I do not need you to justify my actions in battle, good knight. Leave that for another visit Now, I have been known never to break my word. To do so would dishonor me before, the Gods and the Dark One. Know you this to be true?”

“Tis so,” admitted Hunnar.

“Then I say this to you.” The head leaned against the throne-back and the slit eyes narrowed. “Give up to me the great raft the demons have built for you. Yea, you may even keep your weapons, including the magic bows-which-are-not-drawn. I covet them, but you may retain them. Also the thunder and lightning your catapults throw. Keep these and go freely wherever you wish. I swear this.”

Hunnar must have been startled at the seemingly generous offer, but he did an admirable job of not showing it.

“We cannot do that. We are too far from Sofold to safely chivan back over open ice.”

“I will give you rafts enough for all your people, including your wounded, and enough supplies to return. I swear this also. And you will have the wind with you.” There was a predatory gleam in her eyes. “What say you?”

Hunnar appeared to consider, then turned away. While Suaxus remained at attention, the others discussed the proposal in whispers.

“She can’t be trusted, can she?” asked Ethan.

“It is strange she offers us our lives. Yes, if she so swears, she can be.”

“I don’t share your confidence,” put in September. “If we make it back we’d have to start building another boat from scratch. I don’t know if that toy forge could manage it. This thing smells worse than that great stinking carcass in front of the ship. That crazy Eer-Meesach!”

“I concur with you, friend Skua. We face very probable death if we do not agree,” Hunnar explained. “We might not live out this day. The offer will not be made again.”

“We still have a chance to break and run for it.”

“The moment we put on sail, friend Skua, they will attack. With irons and fire. If they cannot have the ship they will surely not allow us to escape.”

“There’s still the wizard’s idea,” said Ethan.

“Of which nothing has come,” September countered. The debate was interrupted by a new voice. Recognition escaped Ethan for several seconds.

“Come on, gentlemen, you’ve been stalling long enough. You may as well accept. It’s all you can do and you know it.”

They turned. Ethan hadn’t thought to hear that voice again.

Walther walked through the screened door to the right of the throne, took a seat at its base, and smiled at them. No one offered greeting.

“Well, don’t look so stunned,” he admonished them in fluent Trannish. It was the first time Ethan had heard him speak the native language, though he’d admitted to knowing it before. “I confess I was in tight for a while there. Afraid one of these hairy berserkers would run a spear through me before I could explain who I was and what I had to offer. Once I got through to a perceptive captain-type, he had me brought to the boss-lady here. We had a nice chat.

“Of course, it was too late for me to do anything about the battle she’d already lost, but I had a few other suggestions. I managed a private looksee at the shrimp’s plans for a big raft. Wasn’t hard to figure out what you intended to do with it. The main remainder of the Horde slunk off for a little subsistence raiding and thieving, but small rafts made up to look like merchant ships were always shuttling back and forth between us and the harbor.

“We knew when each mast was set in place, when every box of stores was taken on board. As soon as you shoved off and got a little out of sight, we followed. Not only do I know where you’re headed as well as you do, but that big raft cuts a helluva gash in the ice. Easy to follow.

“Only thing I hadn’t figured on was the speed that thing makes. If you hadn’t had the decency to run into that big grass-eater, we’d still be chasing you. Everything will work out nicely now, though.”

“Yes, I can see it, too,” said Ethan, surprising himself again by breaking in. “You’ll take a picked group of these murderers and sail on to Arsudun. Not knowing you from normal humanfolk, the humanx authorities will ignore you. Then you find your associates. If they don’t fry you out of hand for bungling the whole enterprise, you’ll explain the situation to them, fly back here in an air-car, pick up the du Kanes, and with only a little time lost, continue your original plan to hold them up for ransom. Neat. And us?”

“Believe me,” said Walther sincerely, “I wish I’d never set eyes on either of you. Or that teacher, either. Yes, that’s a fair scenario. You can make your own way into Brass Monkey. By the time you can get another boat built, make it to Wannome from here, and then to Arsudun, we should have received our credits and scattered to the far corners of the Arm.”