Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

The second Poyo ship hit sections of ice temporarily melted by the hot oil and slid awkwardly sideways as its runners lost purchase. Two more rafts piled up behind it, doing their best to avoid smashing into their out-of-control companion.

All this contributed immensely to the enjoyment of Moulokinese and sailors, who added hoots of derision and some especially choice Trannish insults to the confusion taking place in their wake.

Balavere permitted himself a crusty smile. “If all their attacks prove as ineffectual, we will have no trouble with these.”

“’Tis clear—I mean, it’s clear now why the Moulokinese didn’t report the Poyo fleet’s presence,” Ethan said thoughtfully. “Any neutral merchant raft was likely captured or frightened off, and those two rafts Minister Mirmib said were still out scouting will probably never return home.”

Balavere’s smile disappeared at Ethan’s words. He studied the scene behind them. Their pursuers were untangling and beginning to tack laboriously upcanyon after them. “They still owe much, friend Ethan. I fear that once we are safe behind the Moulokinese walls, they will give up for good this time.”

Ethan happened to see two figures conversing by the entrance to the main cabin: Teeliam and Elfa. “I don’t think so, Balavere. So long as this Rakossa has control, I don’t think they’ll ever give up. We may be here for a long, long time.”

THE SLANDERSCREE AND ITS Moulokinese escort slid in through the massive gate in the outer wall. Word of their return and the Poyo attack had resulted in full mobilization of the city. The wall was packed with armed Tran. Others waited in casual but still disciplined formation on the ice between the two walls, while rafts shuttled supplies out from the city itself. Ta-hoding brought the icerigger to a halt, reefed in most of her sail. “Why are we stopping here?” Ethan asked.

“Sir Hunnar has conveyed to me a wish to disembark, friend Ethan.”

Moving to the railing, Ethan saw that the knight and a majority of the icerigger’s crew was swarming iceward. To help defend the wall, naturally. Ethan ran to join them. September was already on the ice, moving awkwardly without his skates. Williams looked up as Ethan neared a boarding ladder.

“Aren’t you coming too, Milliken?”

“No, Ethan.” The teacher didn’t look at him. “You know I’m not much good in a fight.”

“I’ve seen you in combat, Milliken. You handle yourself as well as anyone.”

The teacher smiled gratefully. “Better one of us retain a partly charged beamer. Sure, I can fight with it. But when the charge is gone, I’d be an encumbrance. Swordplay’s not for me, Ethan.”

Unable to decide whether Williams was making a good strategic point or merely an excuse, Ethan said, “You’re probably right, Milliken. We’d better keep a beamer in reserve. Maybe you and Eer-Meesach can think of something to help.”

The schoolteacher appeared relieved. “We’ll try our best, of course.”

Ethan went over the side, bumping against the hull of the raft, the soft chunk, chunk of a sailor’s chiv sounding above him. His friend Williams, he knew, was no coward. He was perfectly right in insisting they keep a beamer aboard the ship. And he wasn’t much good with a sword.

Then he was down on the ice, where he promptly fell flat on his fundament, much to the amusement of the nearby Moulokinese. Elfa dropped down the ladder ahead of him. She held a crossbow. Sword and bolt quiver were slung at opposite hips. She smiled at his fall but did not laugh.

In the midst of a situation where he might soon find his throat slit, Ethan found himself staring deep into those topaz Tran eyes and thinking unthinkable thoughts. Here and now, he scolded himself, hundreds of kilometers from the nearest outpost of humanx civilization, parsecs from the closest civilized world.

What better place to think uncivilized thoughts?

“Thank you, Elfa,” he said as she gave him a hand up, for once not caring what Sir Hunnar made of his words.

Looking down the canyon from the crest of the wall, he could watch as Poyo rafts and soldiers formed a solid line across the ice. Arrows began to fly from the ranks of Poyolavomaar archers kneeling on the ice, from their counterparts aloft in the rigging of many rafts. All sails had been furled and ice anchors held the attackers’ rafts steady against the down canyon wind.

Military sophistication wasn’t necessary to identify a completely untenable position. Those Poyo arrows which did have enough force to reach the top of the wall had been slowed by the wind to where they could do little more than nick flesh. On the other hand, having the wind behind them drove crossbow bolts and Moulokinese arrows out and down with sufficient power to penetrate a hide shield.

The officers aboard the Poyo rafts quickly realized the hopelessness of their present position. Drawing in anchors, they let their rafts drift downcanyon and out of range.

Soon shouts of “Down, down!” sounded along the wall.

“That must mean catapults,” Elfa explained from nearby. Ethan was acutely conscious of her proximity. While the Tran did not sweat, they exuded a powerful musk which was individually distinctive. None was more so than Elfa’s.

“’Tis to be hoped they are as accurate with stones as they were with oil sacks.” She grinned a battle grin, showing delicate, pointed fangs.

That ferocious, toothy smile was enough to erase the absurd scenarios he’d been dwelling on for the past half hour. At the same time he discovered that the tension which had gripped him during the same period had less to do with combat than he’d thought. Now he relaxed a little.

Some distant heavy thumps sounded muffled by the wind. Ethan chanced a glance over the wall. Several man-sized boulders lay on the ice below. The massive stone rampart was barely chipped. War cries and obscenity-flavored laughter were the defenders’ response.

An audible whoosh, and a slightly smaller boulder sailed over the wall to land on the ice behind. After a few minutes. Ethan recognized the futility of his new assault. With perfect accuracy and no misses it would take the Poyos a dozen years to breach the wall which was far too massive to succumb to bombardment from such modest-sized stones. Nor could the Poyo fleet carry an endless supply of such ammunition, and bone and primitive metal tools would not suffice to cut new material from the dense basalt cliffs.

In the crowded canyon, they could not bring enough catapults to bear to drive the defenders off the wall. They had ample time to spot each arriving stone and get out of its way on the rare occasion when one would actually land atop the parapet.

When the Moulokinese arrived from the city with their own artillery and began using catapults to hurl wind-blown boulders back at the attacking rafts, the despair of the Poyo soldiers could almost be felt. They retreated again, still further down the canyon, and sat there. Meanwhile the Moulokinese soldiers and the sailors off the Slanderscree held an informal competition to see who could concoct the most degrading insult to hurl in their attackers’ direction.

Despite the situation, the Poyo rafts gave no sign of departing. It was to be a siege, then.

“I don’t think they’ll try that again for a while, young feller-me-lad.” September’s leathery skin was flushed, giving him the look of a man generating an internal sunset. No doubt he’d enjoyed the brief battle. Privately, Ethan suspected the giant was disappointed at the absence of any hand-to-hand fighting. His enormous battle-axe dangled from one burl-sized fist.

“Their arrows got here slowed down enough to pluck out of the air,” he commented, sitting down with his back against the wall. “Can’t hurt this wall with their rocks, and they don’t know enough ballistics to put every stone on top.”