Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

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.”

“But how,” Ethan asked morosely, “could he win Rakossa over to his way of thinking so quickly?”

“I fear ’tis not difficult to imagine— sief, my head.” Hunnar, having regained his senses, sat wearily against a cold wall. “Ro-Vijar is a Landgrave himself. If he could prove such to another, ruler like this Rakossa, as he evidently has succeeded in doing, it would give much credence to his claims. His opinion would be much respected. The more so since he is older than Rakossa.

“Also he is Tran. Though it pains me to admit, my people are more likely to believe one of their own than some strange being such as yourself, friend Ethan, who could as likely be a daemon or a servant of the Dark One.” He shrugged, suddenly tired.

“Then too, it is not hard to imagine the creature Ro-Vijar offering this creature Rakossa a share in Arsudun’s offworld trade. So he is safe both ways, to his way of thinking. He strikes me as ambitious and a bit mad.”

“He doesn’t need to do even that,” September said. “Rakossa already has gained the Slanderscree. Oh, Ro-Vijar will argue that it’s rightfully his, but he’ll let Rakossa argue him out of it, in return for killing us. He’s after bigger stakes, Ro-Vijar is. Don’t forget, he’s got three modern hand beamers. They’re worth a damn sight more on this planet than two ice riggers.”

Hunnar crawled over to the bars, stood, and kicked at them. His sharp chiv barely produced three parallel scratches in the wood. There were many, similar sets of scratches.

“What do we do now?” Ethan couldn’t stand to watch Hunnar stubbornly, hopelessly expending his strength on the bars.

“Young feller-me-lad, I don’t know.”

The giant moved to a back corner. Though of considerable size, the cell floor had been well matted with pika-pina fragments. September stretched out on them, put his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.

“Fer now, I’m going to sleep.”

“How is it,” Ethan said wonderingly, “that you can always sleep when your life’s in danger?”

September closed his eyes, shutting out cell and companions. “Well for one thing, lad, if they chose that time to kill you, you’d never know it happened.”

Ethan would have argued, but he was as exhausted as he was discouraged.

The old matting proved unexpectedly comfortable.

“WAKE UP.”

Rolling over, Ethan opened one eye. He was lying by himself near the bars. Who could be talking to him in the middle of the night?

“Wake up !” The voice was more insistent.

Dried pika-pina fiber crackled like burning bugs as he got awkwardly to his knees and stared out into the dim light of the passageway. Torches illuminated cells and walkway between.

The voice hadn’t sounded like that of the cellkeeper, a phlegmatic Tran who appeared periodically to make certain the outland daemons hadn’t burrowed free of their prison by some unknown magical means.

But a dimly silhouetted shape was pressing against the bars close by. It was a Tran, which was expected. It was also female, which was not. Yellow cat eyes glowed by torchlight.

“Please,” the voice said anxiously, the eyes turning briefly to glance down the corridor. “There will be a change of cellmaster before too long. We must use every minute.”

Having decided that he was not dreaming, Ethan climbed to his feet. As he approached the bars, he finally recognized the speaker.

That gave him his biggest shock yet.

“But you’re Rakossa’s queen?…”

The girl expectorated, following it with a degrading word. “He calls me his concubine. The court refers to me as royal consort. I am his chiv-stool, for he wipes his feet on me.” Her voice held more hatred and bitterness than Ethan imagined possible. Each word was soaked in vitriol, every sentence washed with venom. Yet she spoke quietly and with control.

“I hight Teeliam Hoh, outlander. I was purchased to be less than a pet. Queen?” Fury kept her from laughing. “I am a thing he uses, plays with, like a favorite sword, yet the sword is cared for and treated better than I.”

Ethan was looking down the corridor himself now. “You mentioned a change of cellmaster. What about the one on duty now? He’ll be coming—”

“Nowhere,” she finished for him. “He and the other guard are dead. I cut their throats.”

Her hands fumbled at the old metal lock which sealed the cell. Mumblings and questions sounded behind Ethan as the noises and activity woke others.

“Then you believe us,” Ethan said excitedly, watching her hands work the heavy, ornate key. “You know Ro-Vijar for the liar he is.”

“I do not know the Landgrave of Arsudun for anything but the trail a dung crawler leaves behind itself after a meal.”

“If you don’t know whether he’s lying or not, then why are you doing this for us?”

Her bared teeth shone at him. “You think I do this for you? I do it for her.” She gestured up the corridor, returned to the lock and key.

Ethan looked in the indicated direction, made out the shape of a second figure. “Elfa.” Something clicked and then the door swung open easily. Tran in other cells were awake now, watching and murmuring tensely. Teeliam moved to free them.

Ethan moved toward Elfa, smiling happily. He stopped a meter away, and stared. Just stared. His disbelief was too great for him to curse the reality of what he saw.

The beautiful cat face was bruised and marred, one eye swollen almost shut. There were large patches of smooth fur missing, and places singed and blackened as if by fire. Elfa did not smile at him. In fact, her attention seemed rooted on the floor, though it was in a different place altogether. She held both arms tight around herself. The clothing she wore was simple, not what she’d been wearing when taken away from the rest of them.

Teeliam Hoh, having given the keys to other Tran, had come to stand next to Ethan. He turned a wordless, open-mouthed gaze to her.

“I know the inner passages of the castle,” she said, less bitterly now. “I knew one of you had been brought for questioning. Through a chink I saw how this Ro-Vijar asked questions, how nothing he said or did could be credited to a true Landgrave-protector.

“While I could not know the truth of what he said about you, I did know that everything else he claimed should be treated as a lie, for he lives and that is an untruth of itself.” She looked away from him, at the floor, then at Elfa.

“Rakossa was with him, watching, relishing the spectacle. After a while, he deigned to participate.” She shuddered. “I have had to endure his foul imagination for two years. Would that I could have gone mad.”