Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

“Climbing gear? Well… we have rope, of course, but I do not know what you mean by ‘gear.’ ”

“I see. Another problem.” September grunted. “My fault. I should have guessed you wouldn’t know a crampon from a creampuff. Glassfeathers!”

“Strange words,” said Hunnar. “More of your odd devices, friend Skua?”

“In a sense.” The big man stared thoughtfully at the deck for a moment, then back at the knight. “Do we carry any kind of solid, strong hooks on board?”

“Hooks?” The red-tinged mane shook. Then he brightened. “Why surely! We must have a number of fine boarding grapples, taken on the last attack. They would be in the armory.”

“Those would be perfect.”

“Suaxus!” snapped Hunnar. The squire nodded and disappeared down the hatchway.

“What do you think, young feller-me-lad?”

“Well, actually,” replied Ethan, who’d listened to the progress of the conversation with the fascination of a bird watching the approach of a king snake, “I’ve always been kind of afraid of heights and—”

“Nonsense, lad, nonsense! All in your mind. Just don’t look down… course, climbing at night’ll be a little rough, but there’s nothing to it, what?”

“Oh sure.”

September looked at them all intently. “Now, we’ll stop at the last bend in the stairway, just out of sight of the monastery entrance. If we’re lucky they’ll still be occupied with Hunnar’s fire. They won’t be looking for anyone to be dropping in on ’em from above. I’ll plant the first grapple… ”

THE ROOM WASN’T VERY large, and the members of the Brotherhood filled it to capacity. Each pressed close upon the other for a better look at the minions of the Dark One. Real infidels were rarely available for purging and none among the Brotherhood wanted to miss the infrequent, interesting ceremonies.

Light from lamps and lanterns surrounding the curved circular room threw dancing shadows against the dome. High braziers were filled with burning oil and wood. The stars shone brightly through the round skylight.

Three bronze basins with sloping bottoms flashed green-gold on the paved floor. Each contained a single body with head set higher than feet. Hellespont du Kane was the tallest of the three and his head did not reach the top of the basin. Like the others he was tightly bound with his hands fixed to his sides.

Milliken Williams occupied the basin to his right, with Colette to his left. She’d managed to break the bonds on her feet early and leave a number of very sore Brothers in her wake, but to no avail.

The Brothers had slowly been filling the basins with water, a bucket at a time, brought in from the melting room.

Since the room was not heated, the cold night air of Tran-ky-ky was gradually freezing each successive dose of water. The captives were now encased up to the shoulders in a jacket of diamond-clear ice.

Colette continued to rain verbal destruction on the gathering in several languages, none of which the Brothers understood. A small chorus of same continued to moan the same unmelodic drone they’d sung since the water-pouring had begun. Only their superb survival suits had kept the captives from serious frostbite thus far—and these wouldn’t help when the ice rose over their heads.

Colette looked from her father, motionless in both ice and trance, and then up at the watching Brothers.

“We’ve done nothing to you. Why are you doing this thing?”

The kindly Prior stared amusedly down at her. “Tch! That a servant of the Dark One should have the audacity to ask for mercy.”

“Listen,” she sighed tiredly, giving a little shiver. The cold was beginning to exceed her suit’s capacity to withstand it. “We don’t even know what your damned Dark One is! If you’re moronic enough to believe that we’re the disciples of some local devil of yours, I feel sorry for you!”

“No, She, it is I who must be sorry for you ,” replied the Prior righteously. “Tis known to all that the Place-Where-The-Earth’s-Blood-Burns is the home of the Dark One himself. From whatever homeland people come, all know that. Twas fortunate that you inadvertently revealed your destination to us, so that we could take proper steps. We are not ignorant peasants here!”

He looked skyward into the night. “And as you shall partake of the Cold that has held our beloved home, lo, these many centuries, so shall the Time of the Final Warming be brought closer!” He looked back at her. “That is our end and goal.”

“Look here.” Williams was feeling the cold more than any of them and now he was having trouble speaking. “If we’re minions of this Dark One or not, freezing us isn’t going to heat your world.”

“Tis written in the Great Old Books that for every servant of the Dark One who is returned to the primeval cold, our world shall grow a little warmer, a little softer, a little greener. To this end is the Brotherhood pledged!”

“Listen,” continued the schoolmaster desperately, ‘Tran-ky-ky might be made warm and green again. My people know a process called terraforming that could conceivably melt this ice and raise the planetary temperature. But you couldn’t adapt if it were to happen in your lifetime. Besides, you’d all drown.”

“You lie most intriguingly, Evil One, but think not to deceive us.”

Two of the Brothers approached. They carried a large bronze kettle between them. Carefully, they distributed its load of water between the three basins. Colette tried to pull herself higher as they poured the ice water into hers, but it brought the water level up to her neck. The pair left for the melting room for another load.

Almost immediately a crust began to form on top of the water. Another few trips and the ice would be over her head. Or maybe the insulation on her suit would give out before that.

“We come openly, as guests, and you receive us with murder,” she said, a little frightened now. Any kind of reasonable, logical argument she could fend aside and handle. But religious fanatics!… “We needed your help, dammit!”

“We intend to help you,” soothed the Prior. He turned to the shifting, watching mob.

“Brothers! These poor, degenerate minds cry out to us for salvation! Let us pray for them, that their souls may meet in the next plane of existence uncontaminated by illogic and unreason.”

“Let it be so!” hummed the assembled Brotherhood. They joined the uninspired choir in its steady, dissonant drone, the noise broken only by Colette’s hysterical sobbing.

There was a sudden, violent crack from above. A deep voice moaned in terrifying, sepulchral tones…

“LET IT BE KNOWN THAT THE DARK ONE PROTECTS HIS OWN!” Rapidly, it added in Terranglo, “COVER YOUR EYES!”

Immediately all the trannish eyes in the room shot upward, while the trio of imprisoned humans bent their heads and squeezed theirs shut tight.

Explosion. Bodies flying. Those left standing made a concerted, panicked dash for the exit, trampling some of the wounded in an unbrotherly haste to escape. Above, the weird vox boomed.

“I AM THE POWER AND THE GLORY OF DARKNESS AND ALL WHO STAND AGAINST ME SHALL BE SLAIN!”

There was another explosion and more of the Brotherhood fell. A lesser crash sounded from above. It was followed by brilliantine tinkling as the skylight was shattered. A cable ladder snaked into the room. Before the bottom had unrolled, Skua September was already halfway down its swaying length. Ethan, Hunnar, and several soldiers followed.

The big man went immediately to the single doorway. He needed Hunnar’s help to clear away the bodies.

“Thank Deity for small favors!” he breathed. “It bolts from the inside!” Hunnar threw the latch.