Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

They jogged easily along the broad top of the wall that sheltered the harbor, protected the city. There seemed to be an archer or pikeman at every slot in the stone. At regular intervals there was a war-tower, through which they ran. Puffing cold clouds, Ethan could see one and sometimes two crossbowmen perched atop each tower. They seemed woefully few.

They were approaching the great gate now. The Great Chain was in place, enmeshed in a spider’s nightmare of antipersonnel netting. Hunnar should be commanding this section.

Halfway down the wall September had grunted with satisfaction and tapped Ethan on the shoulder.

“Have a look, lad, to our left.”

Ethan peered over the wall and saw nothing for a moment but the harbor itself. Then he spotted what the big man was referring to.

Halfway off the ice on the far side of the harbor lay the crumpled hulk of their lifeboat.

“How… ?” began Ethan.

September smiled. “Balavere said he’d see to it. Told him it would be a sensible precaution if they expected to hold on to it, so he ordered out a dozen merchant rafts to drag it in. They must have had a helluva time getting it free. Once it was moving I expect it slid along okay. Thank the No-Spaces for this ice! If they’d had to pull it over any kind of rough country they couldn’t have moved it half a kilometer.”

“I wonder,” mused Ethan as he dodged a long pole designed for pushing off scaling ladders, “if Sagyanak even knows about it.”

“Well, it wouldn’t startle me,” September replied. “You’d think the Sofoldians would have tried to camouflage it from the eyes of that envoy. I suppose they figure it doesn’t matter in the long run.”

“You think Olox saw it, then?”

“Don’t let appearances fool you, lad. That character might have been constructed like a senile grizzly, but he had weasel eyes. I watched him close. While the Landgrave was feeding him insults he was taking in the armor and attitude of every knight and noble in that hall. Probably had time to count the percentage of metal weapons, too. That’s one advantage the Sofoldians do have, a decent supply of bronze and iron weapons. If we get through this…” He paused. “I hear you had a look-see through their foundry.”

Ethan nodded. He was getting winded from the long run. September didn’t seem fazed. The younger man felt an unreasoning discomfort at this and tried to seem fresher.

“Then you know they’ve got plenty of heat available. A lot more than I guessed. Good access to volcanic chimneys, and those windmills, too. I think I might be able to rig an electrodyne forge, by Contusion! Scrap a few parts from the boat… Yes, if we survive this we might leave the Sofoldians a way to work that duralloy after all. Ah, there he is.”

They slowed to a walk. Hunnar was resting at a pikeman’s slot, staring out across the ice. They carefully crossed the ice-path that ran down the center of the wall-top. He turned at their approach.

“Well my friends, before very long we shall discover things.”

“Don’t look so moody. What are they about?” September asked.

Hunnar turned away. “Have a look for yourselves.” He moved over and the two humans were treated to an uninterrupted view of the icefield.

Between the barbarian rafts little white could be seen. The ice was covered with shifting, sparkling, multi-colored furry bodies. Swords, shields, bucklers, and helmets flashed like night sky in the heavy sunlight. The Horde was leaving the rafts.

“There’s a slight crosswind up from the south,” Hunnar informed them, glancing at the sky. “I expect the main body will come from that direction. They’ll slant due west and then up at us. The brunt of the attack will fall on this line.”

Sure enough, clumps of nomad troops began to detach themselves from the main mass and tacking against the wind to gain distance to the west.

Ethan saw that they stood nearly at the end of the wall. The Great Gate Tower was to their immediate left, another battle tower to their right. He looked back the way they’d come. All along the wall, curving back to the castle like a gray snake, there was motion. Knights strove to adjust their men in accordance with the enemy’s movements, made last minute changes, hopeful preparations.

“Will they attack only this section of wall?” asked Ethan a little apprehensively.

“That would be foolish. As they outnumber us by so many, they will assault the entire length of the harbor in strength, hoping to find a point we have vacated or weakened. Otherwise we could concentrate our strength here alone and have a better chance of beating them off. But they can spread themselves thin and still outmatch us four and five to one at every kijat. Tis merely that from this side they will have slightly better wind, therefore better speed and maneuverability… Also, we must keep troops to guard the mountain passes. They may try a thrust there, though I doubt it. Still, some of our strength must stay there, though Sagyanak has no reason to resort to subtlety. They will come to us with great confidence.”

He paused and looked at September. “Friend Skua, you have no weapon.”

“Why bless my soul, so I don’t! Forgot the damn sword.” He turned and hurried to the battle tower on their right.

“I see you carry a sword, friend Ethan. Can you use it?”

“I guess I’m going to learn in a hurry. I’d feel a lot better with a nice new wide-aperture laser.”

“I should feel better if you had one of your magical weapons, too,” the knight replied, managing a slight grin. He stared out across the ice. The raft-head was growing huge horns to south- and northwest. Half to himself, he muttered, “There will be archery fire to cover, despite the wind. Will they try to move in close and shoot linear, or stay above us and fire downwind? Distance or accuracy?” He shook his helmeted, red-maned head uncertainly.

September reappeared, carrying the biggest battle-ax Ethan had ever seen. Of course, he didn’t have a working knowledge of such devices, but it looked godawful big to him. It was double-bladed and made of black iron. September swung it back and forth and over his head and behind his shoulders, mimicking an action of a long-vanished terran sport.

A number of the men-at-arms gave a cheer when they saw the ease with which their alien ally handled the monstrous cleaver.

“You throw that axe around like a cub’s toy, friend September,” said Hunnar admiringly.

“Well,” said September, taking a friendly swipe with it at Ethan and nearly giving the salesman heart failure, “I’m not much on thrusting, but I appreciate finesse. So I tried to select something suitable to my delicate sensibilities.”

Hunnar stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, then let out a jerking trannish laugh.

“I see. You joke. You will tell it in more direct fashion to our verminous friends when they come over the wall.”

“I’ll be as entertaining as possible,” September promised. He took a deep breath. “When are they going to get on about it? Or do we wait until after lunch?”

The answer came several minutes later in the form of a low basso rumbling from across the ice. It sounded like distant thunder. Ethan thought he could detect an odd swirl of motion near the big raft, but it was too far off to make out details.

A weird sound was that deep drone. It reached right down inside a man and caressed the bones.

“The Margyudan,” explained Hunnar quietly. “That means no quarter and no prisoners. Well, we expected no less.”

Hunnar’s men stood frozen at their stations along the wall. Ethan could understand their feelings. Death made its own music.

Surprisingly, it was September and not the memory-stuffed Ethan who was able to identify the sound.