Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

Hunnar responded with a snarl. He disliked having to wait. Patience was not a Tran trait. The humans had chided him about that before. Well, he could be as patient as any hairless human, and would chat pleasantly and politely with this envoy.

As Vasen said, they could always cut his throat later.

Someone finally thought to throw over a boarding ladder. It clattered against the side of the icerigger. The tiny raft pulled up alongside. Clasping the ladder cables in both hands, the Tran in the bow climbed toward them, moving smoothly for a biped balancing awkwardly on three sharp chiv instead of a flat foot.

Then the Tran was standing on the deck, confronting half a hundred hostile stares with an aplomb and air of assurance Ethan could only admire.

He was skinny to the point of emaciation, being no broader than Ethan himself, though he appeared healthy enough. After surveying his audience with a rigorous half-smile, his gaze settled on the three humans. Double eyelids blinked against winddriven particles of ice.

“’Tis true? You are truly from a world other than this?”

“It’s so,” Ethan shot back. “We prefer not to be thought of as strangers, however. We’d much rather be thought of as friends, though appearances suggest you feel otherwise.”

“Contraryso, offworlder. We would wish it similarly. I hight Polos Mirmib, Royal Advisor and Guardian of the Gate.”

“Which gate?” Hunnar’s tone made his response sound like much more than a question. “The one we were invited to pass safely through, or the one that has been used to entrap us?”

“The gate to Moulokin, of course,” replied Polos, appearing unaffected by Hunnar’s hostility and avoiding his insinuations diplomatically. “That is a gate made not of stone or wood, but a gate mostly of the mind.”

A belligerent voice sounded from close by Hunnar: Suaxus-dal-Jagger. “I’d heard that the Moulokinese were famed as shipbuilders, not philosophers.”

Mirmib executed a smile. “Recreational metaphors are a personal affectation. Do not ascribe such wordplay to my people as a whole. They are for the most part stolid, honest, not especially imaginative folk, who wish nothing more of life than to enjoy a good day’s work, a hearty meal and warm fire at day’s end, and the love of their mates between days.”

His voice took on a slight sharpness as he continued. “To outsiders, Tran and otherwise, these things may seem a peasant’s way of life, simple and uninspiring. We enjoy being uncomplicated.” The sharpness disappeared. “Enjoy we also guests, visitors who bring to us news of the strange places to which we of Moulokin rarely venture.”

“Because you’re afraid to?” challenged a voice from up in the rigging. A mate shushed the sailor.

Mirmib had the control as well as the diction of a diplomat. He did not grow angry, as he would have been justified in doing. “We do not travel because we find in the stories travelers tell to us all we wish to know of far regions. As none we are told of sound superior to fair Moulokin, we see no reason to leave it. Better to remain and let others perform the arduous task of travel for us.”

His gaze focused on Ethan. “As travelers from a place so far distant I cannot comprehend it, you must have still more exciting tales to tell us.” Ethan started to reply, but Mirmib raised a paw to forestall him.

“Before that can be done, before we can greet you freely as guests and friends, that simple way of life I have described to you must be insured against violent disruption. So that the second gate may be opened to admit you to our home, to my home, I would ask that you pile your weapons here before me where they can be collected and stored safe for you by the gate patrol, to await your departure.”

He added a few additional words, but they were drowned out by the angry and uncertain outcry this request produced among the sailors who had gathered about.

BALAVERE LONGAX FINALLY STEPPED forward. His presence quieted the crew. “From where I was raised and have lived a long life, no Tran will enter yea even the home of a neighbor without retaining at least a knife.”

“You must be mistrustful of your neighbors.” Mirmib sounded unperturbed, but did not modify or drop his demand.

“Suppose,” Hunnar ventured pragmatically, “we refuse?”

Mirmib made the equivalent of a shrug. “I will be saddened by what might happen. You are trapped here between walls even this wonderful vessel cannot break. In seconds I, or others if I am unable, can call on large numbers of waiting soldiers to rally against you. You may still be able to escape, though I think not. In any case, many would die, of mine and yours. I would rather not speak of such unpleasantness. As Guardian of the Gate, I give my warmth in promise: none of you will be harmed and you will be welcome as proven friends.”

He turned to near-pleading. “Surely this custom seems strange to you. ’Tis a requirement for strangers we insist upon. On subsequent visits to Moulokin such will be not required. You are an unknown and judging by this ship, powerful factor. My people are insular and suspicious. This request has preserved us in the past when prevaricating, jealous visitors would have pillaged us. Please, I implore you, execute this gesture of good will! We wish your friendship, not your blood.”

Hunnar seemed ready to reply. Ethan hastily put a restraining hand on the knight’s arm, felt the tenseness beneath the fur. “It’s time for us to take a chance, Hunnar. If they really wanted a fight, why send a single unarmed representative to advise us of their intentions? That’s poor salesmanship. They could have attacked as soon as we passed through the first gate.”

“Why attack if they can win the Slanderscree without a fight?” the knight protested. “This thing is unheard of. To enter a strange city is difficult enough, but to do so without weapons is to invite justified murder of all of us, fair retribution for such stupidity.” He growled at the human. “No, it is not a thing to be considered!”

Ethan spoke anxiously. “Hunnar, this whole long trip we’ve taken together, from Sofold to Arsudun to here, was not to be considered either. Yet we’ve done it. The idea of a confederation of Tran city-states was not to be considered, and here we are trying to implement that. Each day you, Balavere and the rest of the crew do things none of your people imagined doing.

“Now is the time for boldness and risk-taking, not for reverting to primitive superstitions and dying customs.” He paused, aware that Balavere, Elfa, and the rest of the assemblage were watching him steadily, some without affection. He kept his poise, and kept his eyes on Hunnar’s.

Mirmib spoke into the ensuing silence. “I understand not all of what you refer to, offworlder, but your position I can naught but concur with. I believe strongly that we will be friends.”

“Spoken firm if not well.” Hunnar shook Ethan’s clinging hand off, turned to glare at Mirmib. “Be this an excuse for treachery, know that my companions and I have walked into Hell itself and have returned after spitting at the inside of the world. Even unarmed, we would not go like k’nith to the slaughter.”

“You talk too much of slaughter.” Mirmib looked sad. “Having much to protect, we of Moulokin are no strangers to killing. But we are less fond of it than outsiders seem to be.”

“Where do you want them?”

Mirmib looked across at Elfa. She had her own sword out, ready to turn it over. The diplomat’s voice turned deferential.

“Here will be sufficient, noble lady.” He indicated the section of deck in front of him.

Sailors and knights trooped by, dropping off bows, crossbows, swords, axes, weapons of every kind. Ta-hoding invited Mirmib to inspect cabins and below-decks storage holds for additional weapons. The Moulokinese declined politely, accepting Hunnar’s word that the entire armory of the crew was being deposited at his feet.