Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

“Not today, friend Hunnar. In the future, in less awkward surroundings, should there be another opportunity—”

“When the Horde comes you’ll have plenty of opportunities,” said the knight grimly. He walked between them and stalked off to chat with the captain.

“What’s this ‘Horde’ he keeps referring to?” September asked Ethan.

“I don’t know.” He stared after the knight. “I’ve got this feeling, though, that we’re not going to get much nearer Arsudun until we find out.”

ACTUALLY THEY MADE SLIGHTLY better time than Hunnar had estimated. The wind rose to a steady 60 kph, but under the skillful paws of Ta-hoding and his tiny crew, the ungainly raft fairly flew across the ice. The merchant might be comically effusive, but he was a master seaman—or iceman, rather.

It was an exhilarating experience just to stand in the sharp prow of the raft and let the wind shriek past your face. It battered at the snow goggles and whipped the too-large hood which now enveloped Ethan’s entire head and face. The angry air had all the softness of a newly minted scalpel. Exhilarating, yes. But how much more exhilarating it would have been to be warm again… would he ever be warm again?

He grew aware that Hunnar was standing next to him. “Wannome,” the knight murmured, “and Sofold Island. My home. Yours, too, for a while, friend Ethan.”

For another moment there was nothing but a blur on the horizon. But as the little raft flew closer, the scene seemed to leap across the ice at him. Before he knew it, they were cruising beneath towering stone walls amidst a swarm of similar craft. All were built along the triangle design. Most were about the same size as their own ship.

There were a few two and three times as long, and one great raft that must have gone at least ninety meters. It had a two-story central cabin with smaller cabins fore and aft.

Decks were piled high with crates and boxes, all securely lashed down against the wind. Many were protected with material made from the same stuff as the sails. The big raft’s fittings were brighter, with here and there decorative flashes of metal and bone. Sails were splashes of rainbow against the ice. Ethan realized that any color other than white or green could be easily spotted many kilometers off.

Moving with the westwind behind them, several ships shot past them at tremendous speed. All were moving from or to the same spot, an opening in the walls. The entrance was flanked by two massive towers of gray stone. Great walls stretched off to right and left, curving into the distance.

Ethan staggered over to the cabin entrance, yelled inside. “Mr. du Kane, Colette, Milliken, you can come and look. We’re here.”

“Wherever that is,” grumbled Colette.

A moment later they were all clustered along the bow of the raft. With delicate handling and elaborate curses, Ta-hoding was maneuvering them skillfully through the swarm of shipping.

Along the tops of the flanking towers patrolling tran were visible. The raft slid between the walls, edging near an exiting merchantman with orange sails and ornately carved handrailing. Once, the merchantman’s low spar, riding higher than their own, almost clipped the raft’s sail. Ta-hoding hurled a stream of invective at the other, of which Ethan managed to understand perhaps half.

Bow in hand, the first mate of the other vessel came to the rail. It was the first indication they’d had that archery was known to the natives. He made threatening gestures with it in their direction until Hunnar walked over and spoke quietly—as quietly as one could above the wind—to the other. That worthy shut up fast and disappeared.

“How do you close off the harbor?” Ethan inquired. “I don’t see anything resembling a gate.”

“With nets of woven pika rope,” replied the knight “A gate would have to rest on the ice.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“A good fire on the ice would easily undermine such. The walls themselves are built deep into the ice but a gate, naturally, could not be so. Also, there is the Great Chain. It is passed from one gate tower to the other and can keep out all but the tiniest ships. The nets serve to keep out men on foot.”

The walls, Ethan observed, were several meters thick, with plenty of room on top for maneuvering troops. They stood about twelve meters high, with battle towers slightly higher.

Once inside the gate he could see that the walls completely encircled the harbor. It was a very respectable feat of basic engineering.

Wannome was ideally suited for an iceport. The island itself lay on the east-west axis, with harbor and city at the eastern tip. Once within the harbor, ice-sailors would have the island to shield them from the constant westwind. On leaving the harbor they would pick up the prevailing gale immediately. Travelers coming from the east would have a more difficult time of it, but would still find the same quiet landing and protective wall.

Ethan took another survey of that impressive construct. He wondered what threat could make an individual like Hunnar worry despite it.

Dozens of rafts, including small pleasure craft, plied the broad harbor. The merchantmen tied up at long, narrow piers which were built directly out onto the ice. Since the ice-ships had no draft and did not bob up and down on nonexistent waves, the piers were barely above the “water.” Wooden cranes and pulley hoists added to the confusion in the harbor.

At the eternally unchanging tide-line where ice met land, a farrago of small buildings began. Tran of all sizes and shapes moved about the ice-front.

The humans were by now turning quite a few heads on passing rafts, but Ethan was too engrossed in the approaching scene to notice. The ground sloped sharply upward from the piers. It disappeared in a crazy-quilt jumble of two- and three-storied stone buildings and houses.

Near the houses, narrow streets paved with smooth flat stones were visible. Each had a broad swath of smooth ice running stripelike down its middle. All of the buildings seemed to sport chimneys of stone or black metal and high gambrel roofs. If Ethan had spent more time thumbing through history recordings instead of sales catalogues, he might have been struck by the town’s resemblance to medieval European cities.

The ice median strips were artificial, having been made by melting ice and then allowing it to refreeze in the desired place and pattern. Even at a distance Ethan could see furry dots dropping harborward at high speed. It was equally clear that the ice ramps were for descent only. It would take a mighty powerful eastwind to permit upward chivaning.

Rapid transit in Wannome, then, was no problem—as long as you were going downhill.

Above the town, steep crags rose to right and left There was a low saddle between them. Clinging to the rocks on the left and seemingly a part of the mountain itself was the great castle of Wannome. It descended in stone levels to merge with the harbor-girdling wall.

The castle, Sir Hunnar informed them, had been founded by a wandering knight, one Krigsvird-ty-Kalstund, in the year 3262 SNC. Ethan’s knowledge of the trannish dating system was nil, but the castle looked awfully old.

The island was built like a doorstop, with the harbor and town of Wannome at the high end. From the town the ground rose abruptly to the island’s high point. From there it dropped in a long, gentle sweep to the ice and a great field of pika-pina. A steady stream of black smoke rose from the mountains.

“The pika-pina,” Hunnar had explained, “protects us from attack from the west out of the wind. The great wall and castle does likewise for the town and the eastern island.”

“What about your north and south?” asked September.