Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

Crying mournfully, the slight breeze flowed over the peaks and down into the black abyss.

Carefully, old Eer-Meesach was lowered to the stairs, then Elfa. Budjir hung from the edge for a second and then they were all gathered below. They turned to descend.

Hunnar held back a moment. He picked up the green stone staff of the unconscious brother, stripped off the white robe. Carefully he lifted one of the lanterns from its holder.

Transferring it from the staff to one paw. He whirled it once in a circle, arced it against the wooden door. Flaming oil splattered on the grain, flickered unsteadily for a moment, then sprang up brightly.

“That ought to keep their reasoning minds busy for a while,” he muttered grimly.

They ran as quickly as they dared in the darkness. Eer-Meesach had to be considered, too. The wizard was holding up well under the strain, but there would come a time when his body, no matter how strong his spirit, would fail him.

They made fair speed down the black stairs. Now fully awake, Ethan took a cautious look over the edge. The unending ice sheet shone unreal in the starlight, speckled here and there with ebon spires that were other, friendly islands.

A last glance behind showed a bright glow from the still-burning doorway.

By the time they reached the last stair, Ethan was puffing noticeably. Eer-Meesach, on the other hand, was near collapse. They moved the wizard into the shelter of some big boulders.

Budjir had gone on ahead to the ship. He returned and between gasps told them he’d seen tran moving on board the Slanderscree —and too many of them had beards, wore long robes, and carried green staves.

Simultaneous curses passed among the little assembly. Languages differed but sentiments were identical.

“Not quite as naive as I thought,” September murmured. “Gould you see any of our people, Budjir?”

“Not a one of the crew. They must all be trapped below-decks.”

“Couldn’t have been too hard,” the big man mused. “One man on watch, and him not expecting anything.”

“They couldn’t have overcome the whole crew,” said Ethan in disbelief. “Not with clubs.”

“Hah! I doubt if they even had to hit anybody, except maybe the watch. Quietly bolt all the hatches, what, and keep a look-see for anyone trying to break out elsewhere. Balavere and the rest probably still don’t know what hit ’em. How many’d you spot, Budjir?”

“Eight… perhaps nine. There may be more I did not see.”

“Not likely. That much know-how I don’t credit them with.” September looked thoughtful. “Ta-hoding and his bunch weren’t expecting them. They won’t be expecting us.”

Durnad was the one who noticed the tiny band coming toward the dock. He started. Fully six of the infidels were in the group. They trooped along, heads downcast, with their hands/paws clasped behind their backs. A single Brother followed behind.

“Come here, Brother Tydin.” Another white-robed figure joined Durnad at the head of the landing ramp.

“What, Durnad… oh!” He’d also spotted the approaching procession. “What means this?”

“Hail, Brother!” shouted Durnad. “What has happened at the Home? We saw a great light.”

The Brother’s reply was low, but intelligible.

“All fairs well. These are to be kept aboard their ship until the morrow.”

“That is strange, Brother,” said Tydin, clearly puzzled. The group marched up the ramp. “I had heard that all the infidels were to be dealt with in the great dome this very night. Why do you hide your face? Have you been hurt by these devils?” Tydin took an uncertain step backwards.

“There’s been a change in plans, Brother,” yelled September. He brought his clasped hands around and came down hard with the rock concealed in them. Tydin collapsed without a sound.

“Help, Brothers!” shouted Durnad. “We are tricked!”

As it developed there were nine of the Brotherhood guarding the Slanderscree —less Tydin. The odds were bearable.

The Brothers fought furiously, wielding their clubs and green staves like madmen. You’d have thought they were battling the devil himself. But they were not trained fighters. Without the advantages of surprise and overwhelming numbers, such as they’d possessed in the monastery, they were only a good exercise for the likes of Budjir, Suaxus, and Hunnar. Elfa swung a broken staff with as much skill as any of them.

Ethan used his surprising mass to bowl over a pair of opponents. It would be more even in an honest fight with a knowing tran, but this time the surprise was his. September had thrown one Brother halfway across the deck and was dismantling another like a pale chicken.

Ethan stooped and grabbed up a club dropped by one of the Brothers. His attacker pursued him and swung his staff again. Ethan ducked to one side, rammed the club blunt-end-first into the other’s midsection.

The Brother whoofed and doubled over. Ethan brought the club down hard and whirled to face the next attacker.

There was no next attacker.

Suaxus stood to one side, panting heavily. “What shall we do with them, Sir?” The expression on the squire’s face was typically noncommittal. But if he were asked, Ethan didn’t doubt he’d have a ready suggestion or two.

“Tie them up and dump them belowdecks,” Hunnar ordered. He paused, startled. “Belowdecks!” A sharp turn and he was over the nearest hatchway.

A simple pin and loop arrangement sufficed to dog the hatch cover down. Hunnar pulled the pin, released the loop. Up came the cover.

The anxious face of captain Ta-hoding stared up at him, blinking in the torchlight.

“We heard sounds of struggle above,” he grunted as he exited the hold. “We had hoped twould be you and our friends, Sir Hunnar.”

Sailors and soldiers streamed out on deck. They set about binding the white-robed figures. A few of the Brothers were beginning to regain consciousness. The men who’d been locked in the dark hold all evening were not particularly careful in their handling of the bodies.

“We were embarrassedly surprised, but none were hurt,” Ta-hoding informed them. “All is well now, then.”

“All is not well,” countered Hunnar as the two tran walked over to where Ethan and September stood. “Three of our friends are held still in the lair of these monsters.”

Ta-hoding sputtered. “Counterwind! We must mount an expedition, then! Besiege the place and—”

September shook his head slowly. “No, my good captain. It cannot be done that way.”

“Sir Skua is right, Ta,” said Hunnar. “Those virians above will probably assume we’ve been taken by their minions here.” Said minions were now being unceremoniously hauled below. “But even so, they will post guards upon the stairway. Not to do so would be an act of such cub intelligence that I cannot think they would fail to do it. A few could hold the entrance to the monastery against an army. Which,” he continued, turning to September, “worries me greatly, friend Skua. How are we to rescue our companions?”

“Frankly, Hunnar, I’d been too busy the last hour to give it much thought. Let’s see, now…”

“I suppose we’ll have to find a way around them,” said Ethan hesitantly.

“Sir Ethan,” reminded Hunnar a bit impatiently, “there is no way around. There is but the single carefully watched entrance, with a sheer drop on one side and, I venture to say, equal precipitousness on the other.”

“I agree,” said September. “It will have to be a small group in any case. Too many people… too much noise and movement.” He turned to Ta-hoding. “Captain, is there any climbing gear on board?”

Ta-hoding was obviously contused, and with reason. Mountaineering was not an art practiced by his folk.