Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

Blocks of basalt and granite weighing a hundred tons or more tumbled majestically into the gulf. They struck hard enough to splinter the ice, though not crack it all the way through to the bottom of the solidly frozen inlet.

One gigantic irregular stone, a black iceberg that must have massed a hundred fifty tons, landed with a thunderous broom on the ice. It bounced once, rolled over and made the rear half of a Poyolavomaar raft into matchwood. Screaming sailors abandoned their craft in mindless panic instead of trying to navigate an escape.

Only a few rafts located at the rear of the fleet managed to back sail fast enough and with sufficient discipline to retreat. Then two rafts became jammed in the ruined first wall entrance, sealing the single path of escape.

A different roar sounded as the massed militia and sailors from the Slanderscree came chivaning through the gate in the second wall to engage the remaining demoralized and scattered Poyo troops who hadn’t been killed outright by the awesome power of the collapsing cliffs. Their only thoughts were of flight. They scrambled over rocks, ruined rafts and ruined comrades in their haste to flee. Moulokinese and Sofoldians pursued with bloodthirsty delight. Arrows, crossbows, and spears rapidly gave way to swords, axes, and other more intimate methods of destruction.

Ethan recognized one figure in the forefront of the carnage: Teeliam Hoh, wreaking murder with more enthusiasm than any warrior. He knew September would be out there also, slipping and sliding on his skates as he butchered alongside Sir Hunnar and the rest of the Tran.

He didn’t share their appetite for slaughter. Thanking the Tran who’d given him a tow, he skated over to where a gleam of light on metal showed beneath a boulder. From the looks of it, the huge stone had hit the ice, bounced once, and struck the skimmer broadside. Not having been designed to handle that kind of impact, the flotation craft’s compensators had blown and it had fallen to the ice.

Circuitry protruded from numerous gashes in the skimmer’s flanks, and molecular storage modules lay like dead bugs on the ice. Several smaller rocks had made scrap of the beam cannon. For an overview, he clambered up the chill sides of the stone.

Standing atop the boulder, he was able to see down the canyon—no longer a smooth white river, but a landscape of isolated dark shapes resting on a plain dusted with smaller rock fragments. His gaze went higher. Smaller bits of stone continued to loosen and fall from the cliff tops, which were no longer smooth and regular but deeply notched for a thousand meters on each side. Explosives were among man and thranxkind’s oldest weapons. They still had occasional uses.

Williams had reached the cliff top opposite Eer-Meesach. Below, ants slaughtered one another among pebbles.

One of the Moulokinese chemists who’d helped him stood nearby. “’Tis a marvelous thing you have conjured for us, Wizard Williams.”

“I’m not a wizard, and I certainly didn’t invent or conjure the powder. We didn’t get as much out of the charges as I’d hoped to. If we can find purer nitrates I’m sure we can manufacture a better grade.” He was performing calculations as he spoke.

Watching him, the Moulokinese was at once awed and afraid. The distance between scientists and the sometimes destructive results of their science is often more terrifying to the average being than the inventions themselves.

Williams noticed the Tran’s expression. To his great horror, he discovered it made him feel good.

It was late afternoon and the temperature was falling with the sun when the Moulokinese fighters chivaned wearily back to the canyon. Blood had frozen in copious quantities between the two walls, giving the inlet the look of quartz littered with crystals of vanadinite.

“’Twill require much time and effort to clear our canyon so that ships may travel it again.” Landgrave Lady K’ferr looked quite magnificent in battle dress, Ethan thought.

“We shall rebuild the damaged outer wall,” said one of her officers from nearby, “higher and stronger than before, with the same stones that have crushed our enemies.”

“’Tis truth. We will have the help of our friends of Sofold.” K’ferr gazed fondly at several weapon-laden sailors from the Slanderscree as they returned with prizes from the massacre. “I wish only,” she continued, looking saddened, “that I could congratulate your Sir Hunnar Redbeard, friend Ethan. Of all who fought, he was bravest.”

Ethan stared down the canyon at the stragglers returning to the canyon. “He could still be out there, cutting down one last Poyo.”

“I’m afraid not, feller-me-lad.” September had skated over to join them. “I was out on the ocean with him. Saw him go down myself. He didn’t get up again.”

There was a wail from behind them. Ethan wished the Tran were capable of fainting. Then he wouldn’t have had to see the look of anguish September’s words had produced in Elfa Kurdagh-Vlata’s eyes.

September laid down his heavy, stained axe, pulled his beamer from his waistband and tossed it to Ethan. After inspecting the reading on a certain small gauge, Ethan nodded, handed it back to the giant.

“Mine’s dead too, Skua. I don’t know about Milliken’s, but I think he used it up drilling holes for the charges.”

“Well, let’s hope we won’t need ’em on the way back to Brass Monkey, feller-me-lad. We’ll take Trell’s body and the two peaceforcers back with us. Been thinkin’ on what we ought to tell the port authorities. No need to get complicated about it. Unfriendly native attack, wandering bandit types.” Ethan nodded slowly, eying the three gashes on the left side of the giant’s neck. Someone had patched the survival suit with local materials. Since September chose not to mention the wound, Ethan ignored it.

“They’ll accept that story because they won’t have a choice, lad. Just as they’ll accept the artifacts and new interpretation of this world we’ll bring ’em. The next Commissioner sent here won’t have any ideas about illegal profit skimming, not with a civilization to help organize. But we’ll play it safe and tell the padre first anyway.”

“Once the Church stirs a theological finger in here, the bureaucracy will monitor its people more tightly,” concurred Ethan. “Poor Trell. He created the conditions for his own murder.”

“Sorry, feller-me-lad. I got no sympathy for him. I’ve seen this sort of thing happen on too many primitive worlds. And he made the old mistake of forgetting that primitive folks can be just as crafty-treacherous as the most jaded technological sophisticate.”

“You said the portmaster and others will accept our story because they’ll have nothing to compare it with. What if Ro-Vijar managed to get away?” Turning his face away from the blast of ice crystals streaming down the canyon, he looked toward the distant frozen sea. “I didn’t go looking for his body, but I didn’t notice it among the dead.”

“Assumin’ he ain’t lying under one of these rocks, we’ll just have to deal with his lies when we get back to Arsudun,” said September. “Be our word against his. I’m inclined to think Xenaxis will side with us.”

“That’s not what worries me, Skua. Ro-Vijar’s clever enough to settle for maintaining the status quo on Arsudun. By telling some story about his last minute alliance with us, for example. Xenaxis may not believe him, but he hasn’t got the authority to prosecute a native leader on our word alone.”

“I hadn’t considered that, lad. Be tough to prove anything if he agrees with us instead of attackin’ us. Let’s worry about that on the way back to Brass Monkey. We’ve a long way to go. Maybe we’ll get lucky and overtake him.”