Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

The wall itself was a typically solid piece of native engineering. It looked well-nigh impregnable. But something lay behind that gate. The quilt of grooves in the ice now ran straight toward the double gate.

They were very close when the sound of a horn reached them. It brayed three times and then was silent. Ethan ran for the bow, discovered Elfa, Teeliam, Hunnar, September and many others already there, staring forward.

A voice from one of the towers hailed them. Its tone, so crucial to the precise meaning of many Trannish phrases and words, was neither hostile nor openly inviting. “Who are you, in the great ship? From whence do you come, and what do you wish of the peaceful folk of Moulokin?”

This development produced an excited muttering as word spread through the crew, made its way up the masts and into the cabins. Moulokin existed; Moulokin was real! At least, an unseen presence on an impressive wall had laid claim to the reality of a rumor.

Hunnar replied. “We come from a far state, Wannome, to the northeast of you. We desire to parlay with your Landgrave and council on a matter of great importance to all Tran. And we have three important visitors with us.”

“Step forward, lad. Time to show ourselves.” September slid back his mask so those hidden in the wall would have an unobstructed view of his furless visage. Williams and Ethan duplicated his movement.

“They are from a world other than Tran-ky-ky.” Hunnar pointed skyward. “A world from the ocean of black ice.”

All at once there was movement on the ramparts. Ethan could see Tran soldiers emerge from concealment, gesturing at the icerigger while talking among themselves with apparent excitement.

So the appearance of the three humans was a surprise to them. Now he could relax some. Calonnin Ro-Vijar had not conjured up a skimmer or other modern vehicle to carry him here in advance of their arrival, to stir up trouble and spread the lies he’d sown so effectively in Poyolavomaar.

“They have much of importance to impart to you, as they have imparted to us,” Hunnar continued. “Important things which can benefit all Tran.”

“These Tran are of Moulokin and for Moulokin first,” responded the voice from the tower, sounding noncommittal. “But… we will talk with you and mayhap even listen.

“As to your own plans and desires, know that many have tried to sway Moulokin with weighty promises erected on thin ice. We make no promises of our own. Will you still talk, given these words? We will open the gates to you.” A pause, then, “I believe your vessel will pass between. Marvelous as are the shipwrights of the city, they have created nothing half so grand.”

“Happily will we share our knowledge with all.” Lowering his voice, Hunnar faced those grouped around him. “What think you, friend Ethan?”

Uncomfortable as always with so many eyes on him, Ethan replied softly. “Everything points to the real Moulokin lying somewhere beyond that gate. Whether it exists or not, we seem to have found some Tran with self-confidence and a willingness to listen. That’s a valuable combination we should try and enlist.”

“Leastwise they haven’t told us to turn around and take off back the way we’ve come.” September was gazing expectantly at the wall barring their path. Shrouds and stays snapped around them, singing in the down-canyon breeze. “We should be careful, and we should go in.”

“’Tis settled, then.” Hunnar called out the command to the midship mate, who relayed it crisply to the helmdeck. A prompt reply came back. Ta-hoding felt he could negotiate the narrow gateway in the wall.

“We will come in,” Hunnar shouted back to the listeners assembled on the wall and in the two towers, “and with thanks for your friendly welcome.” The last was offered as much in hope as certainty.

Like the snores of a restless giant, the thick wooden gates drew back on stone slides. Ta-hoding rumbled cautious orders. The Slanderscree started forward, tacking minimally under slight sail.

Ethan was too busy to decide whether the anxious expressions of the guards gathered on the walls were due to curiosity, awe, or nervous tension. The stone wall contained a surprise. It was much thicker than he’d expected, varying from ten to twenty meters in depth. Cabins and barracks were built into and on top of the immense rampart.

Ta-hoding employed his fanciest maneuvering to turn the ship to starboard once her stern had cleared the wall. As the icerigger began to edge slowly around the sharp rightward bend in the abyss, a cry of dismay sounded from the bowsprit lookout. Other cries sounded from the bow.

Intending to discuss the difficulties of negotiating the slim channel with Ta-hoding, Ethan heard the shouts, stopped, and reversed his course. By the time he readied the bow, the Slanderscree had come to a halt. A glance showed the cause of the crew’s consternation.

Around the canyon headland and before them lay a second wall. It looked just as impregnable and well-tranned as the one behind them. There was a double gate in it, and the gate was closed.

A creaking noise turned his attention to the stern. Working frantically, the guards on the first wall had succeeded in closing the portal they’d just passed through, after having oiled the stone slides to keep the ponderous gates from screeching and warning the icerigger’s crew. Now they were draping thick green-red cables across the gate and securing them to the bracketing towers. Spears, lances, and bows formed a threatening fringe along the wall top. Expectant yellow eyes gleamed behind them, shining brightly in the dim canyon light of afternoon.

“So much for local hospitality.” September studied a furious Sir Hunnar. The knight was showing clenched teeth, examining the armed walls, instinctively gauging an opponent’s strength. “Much as it pains me to admit it, friend Hunnar, I’m tempted to come ’round to your way of thinking. First Poyolavomaar and now here. Doesn’t look like Tran folk even like to speculate on cooperatin’.”

“Raft coming!” called the mizzen lookout, stimulating a rush toward the stern. Everyone clustered at the icerigger’s widest point, over the starboard stern runner.

A very small icecraft was fluttering toward the Slanderscree from behind, having emerged from a dock attached to the inside of the first wall. It looked like a brown leaf scudding uncertainly across the hard whiteness. Three Tran manned it: one steering, one handling the single sail, the last standing at the bow-point gazing curiously at the icerigger which towered above him.

One of the sailors peering over the railing growled. “They carry no weapons.”

“And fly no pennant,” said Hunnar, adding admiringly: “They said they would let us past this gate, and that we would talk. Talk we will, though ’tis not the setting for a parley I would prefer.” He glanced over at one of the assistant mates. “Vasen, what are our chances of backing sail and breaking through that gate?”

The mate replied as if he’d already considered the question carefully, “As thick as the wall is,” Sir Hunnar, I would care not to try. We might crack the wooden gates despite lack of room to build up proper speed. But the pika-pina cables appear well secured to the stone towers. They would not snap, and I would not care to chance pulling their moorings free from the wall.” He thought a moment before speaking further.

“With the aid of our crossbows and the light weapons of our human friends, we could perchance overpower the guards on the wall. But we would still have to unkey and drop the cables barring our retreat.” He gestured toward the bow and the second wall up canyon. “I cannot judge how many soldiers might be waiting out of sight behind that wall. They could attack us from behind and overwhelm us with numbers.” He executed a Tran gesture of disappointed negativity. “’Twould be prudent to talk first. We can then always slit the envoy’s throat before attempting to escape.”