Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

“Harbor pilot,” said the captain with evident satisfaction. “They are sophisticated here, though the pier they have assigned us is barely half our length.” No matter. ’Tis a trouble we’ll likely face wherever we go.”

As sails were taken in, the great icerigger followed the pilot raft toward the northeastern side of the central island. Other ships gave them plenty of room, their crews crowding railings to stare as the huge raft chivaned past.

Once more the anchors were released, and the docking procedure employed successfully at Arsudun was repeated. The Slanderscree was pushed slightly westward by the wind before the anchors brought her to a complete stop.

Ethan, September, Hunnar, Williams, Elfa, and a soldier named Tersund assembled to greet the harbormaster, who didn’t take long to appear. He was short for a Tran, almost Ethan’s size, and wore a strange coat of archil and argent done in diamond patterns, the diamond shapes varying in size. Like all Tran torso-wear it was slitted at the sides to permit the dan to move freely, and fastened with silver braid at shoulders and upper thighs. Belts of some snakelike skin formed an “X” across his chest. He picked absently at his left elbow.

“I hight Valsht,” he said in a thin, reedy voice that nevertheless carried an air of authority, “master of Poyolavomaar commerce. I extend warmth and greetings.” He performed an elaborate weaving of paws which Ethan didn’t recognize.

Hunnar launched into introductions and explanations.

When the redbearded knight had finished, Valsht responded almost as if he were anxious to be rid of them, though it was probably only his naturally nervous character reacting normally.

“This confederation you speak of and the reasons for it are not for a simple servant like myself to ponder on. ’Tis a matter for Tonx Ghin Rakossa, Landgrave of Poyolavomaar, Bringer of the Fair Wind and Solace of the Six Peaks, to decide. I am instructed to conduct you immediately to the grand presence.”

That little speech, which sounded rehearsed despite Valsht’s evident attempt to make it appear extemporaneous, tickled warning thoughts in Ethan’s mind. He shrugged them away. Tran-ky-ky was making him suspicious of every stranger they met. If he’d been able to see that thought in Ethan’s mind, Hunnar would have enjoyed a knowing laugh.

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!”