Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

“My lord,” he began, “these folk crave mercy for intruding upon the province of the people. They seek protection and mayhap service. They are on a… ” he hesitated for a second, “a pilgrimage to far parts of the world. Their metal sky-ship was disabled as though by the Father of Rifs and they are cast upon us for deliverance.”

An old, tall tran with solid gray fur put both hands on the arms of his throne. The Landgrave stood erect. Ethan noticed that the back of the throne was carved from what seemed to be a single unbroken pillar of ivory that rose all the way to the high roof. It was inscribed with symbols and etching as far up as he could see. The thing was as big as a good-sized tree.

The Landgrave was dressed in flowing leather and silks. Hammered metal plate decorated with silver thread formed a complex, flashing breastplate. A single leather band with a bright metal rectangle of gold set in the forehead was all that passed for a crown. He did, however, wield an elaborately carved wooden staff nearly two and a half meters tall. It was thin, a polished mahogany-color, studded with cabochons in red and bright blue. A few faceted gems adorned the knob at the top.

“Sir Ethan Frome Fortune,” declaimed Hunnar, pointing Ethan out before he could protest the undeserved title, “I present you to the right-true-and-just Torsk Kurdagh-Vlata, Landgrave of Sofold, and True Protector of Wannome.”

“We are honored in the presence of your father’s father and self, son-of-the-wind,” Ethan intoned, giving the rehearsed speech his best sales pitch.

“You are welcome, outlanders,” the Landgrave replied. His voice was startlingly high for a tran, compared to those they’d already encountered. The Landgrave gestured to his right at an incredibly shriveled but bright-eyed old individual dressed entirely in black silks. He wore a black headband.

“My personal adviser, Malmeevyn Eer-Meesach.”

“The honor is mine, noble sirs,” responded the wizard smoothly. He was eyeing them with such obvious naked anticipation that he made Ethan a little nervous. That same stare had been applied to laboratory rats with uncertain futures. As it developed, he was doing the old tran an injustice.

“And this,” continued Kurdagh-Vlata, turning to his left, “is my daughter and only cub, the Elfa Kurdagh-Vlata.”

The gesture was directed at a surprisingly lissome and nearly naked female tran. She gazed down at Ethan with a stare far more disconcerting than the wizard’s. Considering the temperature in the great hall, her garb seemed an open invitation to pneumonia.

Something hit him a sharp rap in the shin and he spun. September smiled at him.

“Time enough later for sight-seeing, me lad,” he murmured in Terranglo. “No wonder friend Hunnar was convinced of our similarity.”

“What?” he said brilliantly. He returned his gaze to the throne, found the Landgrave watching him impatiently.

“Your companions,” whispered Hunnar urgently.

“Oh, yes.” He stepped to one side and made a grand sweeping gesture. “Um, Sir Skua September…”

September performed a bow full of intricate hand gestures. It confused Ethan but the Landgrave appeared delighted.

“Hellespont du Kane, a… ah… merchant of great renown on his world. His daughter, Colette du Kane…”

Du Kane executed a marvelously supple bow that surprised both Ethan and September. Colette hesitated, then followed with an awkward curtsey.

“And Walther, um… ”

“You’re still not going to learn my last name, buddy, until it’s too late to do you any good,” the kidnapper muttered in Terranglo.

“Yes?” prompted the Landgrave.

Ethan looked uncertainly to September.

“A criminal in our custody,” said the big man easily. “One not to be trusted and to be watched every moment. He secreted himself aboard our ship and…”

“It’s all a lie!” shouted Walther abruptly. “They’re the criminals, not me! I was taking them all to justice, when—”

September turned on him. “Quiet, punk,” he said in Terranglo. “I can break your head right now. The Landgrave and I can argue about who was telling the truth afterwards. I’ll let your spirit know how it comes out.”

The little kidnapper shut up.

“Sir Hunnar?” queried the Landgrave. “What means this outburst?”

“I believe what Sir Ethan and Sir Skua say to be the right truth, your Lordship. The hysterical one is evil and clever.”

“Well then, can we not do our new-welcomed guests a service? Order him dispatched out of hand!”

“Ah, that is not the way of our people, your Lordship,” put in Ethan hastily. “He must present himself and his crimes before a special machine. The machine, being impartial and unemotional, will give justice fairly.”

“Where is justice if your emotions are not involved?” the Landgrave countered. “Not to mind. We have but just met and here find I discussing the fine points of jurisprudence. Other matters attend. I welcome you as friends and allies. You shall be given rooms and whatever you need for personal comfort. Tonight dine with my knights and I. Your home is here now.” Whereupon he sat down with great dignity and obvious satisfaction.

Ethan paused. “There is one matter we should discuss now, your Lordship. The question of aid for our continuing journey westward.”

“Journey? Journey? What is this, Sir Hunnar?” said the Landgrave gruffly. “Squire Suaxus, you said nothing to me of a journey.”

“I did not have time, my Lord, for—”

Sir Hunnar broke in “They do not understand, my Lord. Remember, they are truly from another world.”

“Be that as it may,” said Kurdagh-Vlata stiffly, “we know nothing of moving from one world to another.”

“That is so, my Lord,” continued Hunnar. “Yet they say their folk have a town aways from Wannome. ’Tis there they wish to travel. Some eight or nine thousand satch.”

“An afternoon jaunt, yes.”

“But if they could reach their friends, Lord, they might bring more metal and perhaps other—”

“Enough!” snorted the Landgrave. “They would no doubt require a raft for this journey, perhaps several?”

“Possibly more than one, Lord.”

“With full crews, and provisions, and soldiers to protect from pirates?”

“True, my Lord, but—”

“Tis out of the question!”

“But your Lordship—” began Ethan.

“They are gifting us with their vessel, my Lord,” said Hunnar. “A veritable mountain of metal. Without obligation. ’Twould pay for such a trip many, many times over.”

“Yes it would. Tis generous of them, to give away what they can no longer use. Nor protect.”

Ethan started to protest, but guessed rightly that was just what the Landgrave was hoping he’d do. He kept silent.

“Absolutely impossible—at the moment. Perhaps in a malet or so. After we have treated with the abominators.”

“Yes, my Lord!” boomed a huge voice from the back of the hall. “How are we to deal with the abominators?”

Everyone turned to the source of those stentorian tones.

A tran they hadn’t seen before was striding toward them. He was resplendent in azure and emerald silks, overlaid with fine leather bindings and straps. His beard was longer than Hunnar’s and tinged with white over the steel-gray.

The eyes were sunken deep under hairy brows. As he drew closer another aspect of his person was made clear. Here was the first really fat tran they’d encountered.

“Darmuka Brownoak,” announced the herald, rather after the question. “Prefect of Wannome!”

“What’s all this mean?” September whispered to Hunnar.

“Darmuka is prefect of the city and a powerful member in Council besides,” the knight replied. “A very forceful and stubborn individual. Also ambitious and greedy. And very wealthy, which in the long run ’tis more important than all the others. There are few richer than he. The Landgrave is one, of course. Of the others, some support him, some Darmuka.”