Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

But if he didn’t get this idiot Rakossa out of the throne-room before trouble began, they would waste valuable time in a needless battle.

“She’s here somewhere.” Rakossa prowled the room, heedless of common courtesy. “We know she is.”

“She?” inquired Mirmib puzzledly.

“The concubine, who has bewitched us. We require her. She is present. We sense it!” He took a couple of threatening steps toward the throne. “Where are you hiding her, woman?”

Two burly guards, big even for Tran, stepped forward between the throne and the raging Landgrave. Each held a weighty metal battle-axe before him. One let his sway back and forth just above floor level, a pendulum of death.

“My liege and friend Landgrave,” said Ro-Vijar earnestly, stepping forward but remembering not to touch the hypersensitive Rakossa, “we have already heard ample explanation. These good people have ne’er heard nor seen the vessel or woman we seek.”

“Again I say, this is truth.” K’ferr leaned forward. “Considering your hostile actions toward us, I believe we have been extremely courteous and patient with you. Before any irrevocable insults are exchanged, I suggest you take your leave of Moulokin.”

“So it would seem best to do, my gracious lady.” Ro-Vijar tentatively reached out, chanced a grip on the wild-eyed Rakossa’s left arm. The Landgrave of Poyolavomaar did not react angrily. He turned seemed to see Ro-Vijar clearly for the first time since entering the throne room. Then he shook off the other’s hand, whirled, and stalked out of the chamber, muttering slyly to himself.

“Our pardon for this most grievous mistake, my lady, good minister Mirmib.” Ro-Vijar made a gesture of profound obeisance. “It was a matter of great importance to us, and we acted in haste instead of good sense. I am convinced of your sincerity.”

“You are excused by your ignorance.” K’ferr indicated the now vacant exitway. “The actions of your colleague explain much. May your search continue more profitably elsewhere.”

“May your warmth remain constant all the days of your life. Rest assured we will eventually find those we seek.” With that, Ro-Vijar turned with the Poyo officer and departed from the chamber.

When they were many minutes gone, K’ferr turned to Mirmib and asked, “What do you think they will do now?”

“If ’twas up to this Ro-Vijar, they would give up and sail home.” The minister rubbed the back of an ear, looked thoughtful. “Or perhaps the calmer of the two is in reality the more dangerous. So blinded by hatred, or love, for this Teeliam woman is the other he cannot think straight. If he ever could.”

“You saw the woman in question, Mirmib. The scars. Why would this Landgrave risk his power, his armed might, to find and torment her further?”

“Some rulers take not well personal affronts, though rarely do they react in so extreme a fashion as this Rakossa, my lady. Hate can be as powerful an eldur as love. Often is the line between the two indistinct.” They exchanged a glance unfathomable to outsiders. “I do not know what transpired between this girl and this Landgrave, and can but speculate. One thing I can say confidently, though. Should they eventually meet again, one or the other will surely die of it.”

That petty matter did not occupy Calonnin Ro-Vijar’s mind. If they returned to Arsudun now, he would have this second failure to report to Trell.

The critical question was: had the Slanderscree actually been within the harbor of Moulokin? If so, he could envision several fanciful possibilities to explain what had happened to the great icerigger. Though he badly wanted to, his “escort of honor” had kept him from talking to, or bribing, any of the townsfolk. In the absence of direct information he would have to extrapolate. That was something he was very good at, something which made the games he played with the human Trell interesting.

With stakes as high as they were, he was not about to leave Moulokin until he knew the truth of what had happened to their quarry.

ENOUGH DAYS PASSED FILLED with the same rolling gravelly ground and spare vegetation to make Ethan wish for a spirit or two to liven up the journey. Their sole excitement was provided by a two-meter-wide crevasse that ran east and west as far as chiv-sore scouting parties could determine. Numerous methods for traversing the obstacle were proposed. One mate suggested removing the duralloy runners from where they had been secured to the deck and using them to bridge the gap.

For a change it was Ta-hoding who provided the solution. Though he had only modest confidence in himself, he’d come to feel boundless enthusiasm for his new command. Despite Ethan and Hunnar’s apprehension he ordered all unnecessary personnel off the raft. The Slanderscree sailed in a wide circle and bore—down on the crevasse with all sail flying, wind directly behind it.

At the last instant, spars and sails were aligned to obtain as much upward lift as possible. Like some obese bird the front end of the enormous raft rose skyward. Only the two fore axles completely cleared the gap before the bow began to settle surfaceward again, but it was enough. Mass and velocity were sufficient to carry the entire ship across the narrow abyss, though the rear axle and wheels dipped dangerously inward.

Ta-hoding explained that they carried spare axles and, in the event that his ploy had failed, could still repair any damage. The threat of being halted in this chill, moody land was sufficient to inspire even the cautious captain to daring.

They reached the edge of the plateau the following day. The longing of the sailors for the boundless ice ocean out of reach two hundred meters below was evident to all the mates and officers. They felt the ice-pull themselves.

Continuing southward, the icerigger raced parallel to the sheer cliffs. Barren terrain continued to unravel from an infinite brown thread to port, gleaming ice and blue sky above shining daily off to starboard.

Ta-hoding and his crew had grown so skillful in their handling of the ship that Ethan no longer worried or turned away when they hove unnecessarily near to the breathtaking drop. All this activity kept the crew from succumbing to the worst kind of mental fatigue: the kind induced by unrelieved boredom.

“I’m beginnin’ to worry a bit, young feller-me-lad.” September clung to a yard nearby, his face showing disappointment beneath the transparent mask. “Hunnar and the others are starting to feel likewise, and with reason. We haven’t come near findin’ another canyon resembling Moulokin’s. It just don’t make sense, lad.” His tone was tense but quiet. “That there’d be just a single canyon of that type cuttin’ into this continent, I mean. Got to be others.”

“I’m no geologist, Skua, but I admit it seems peculiar to me, too.”

September made a face, an expression centering whirlpool-like on that sharp, hooked beak of a nose. “If we do have to circle back the way we’ve come, it’s a good bet the Poyos will’ve completed their inspection of Moulokin and, not finding us there, gone off elsewhere after us.” He brightened somewhat at the thought.

“At this point that just might be our best course. Think I’ll go have a chat with the captain and Sir Hunnar. Stay sane, lad.” He started to head sternward, halted as Ethan gestured toward the bow.

“We may not have any choice tomorrow, Skua.”

The steep hills that had marked the north and eastern horizons since they’d emerged from the land of the Golden Saia were growing closer, curving around ahead of them and threatening to cut off easy progress to the south. That left them only the path behind.

The slopes ahead looked more precipitous than the ones they’d been running alongside for many days. Signs of erosion, indicating possibly unstable hillsides and talus falls, were becoming visible. They would almost certainly have to turn back unless a clear pass could be found through these new obstacles. The Slanderscree had proven herself landworthy, but she could not climb much of an incline.