Ethan hefted the weapon uncertainly. He tried the crank but could hardly budge it. “It's impressive, all right. I don't suppose you've succeeded in coming up with maybe a pocket laser or a nice portable thermonuclear device, hmmm? It would make things a lot simpler.”
“I'm afraid not.” Williams smiled slightly. “But we are still working on other developments. I hope one or two will be ready in time to do some good.”
“That's right,” muttered Ethan, “—time.”
“No one's said anything to me about time either,” protested Colette. “When is this Horde or monster or whatever due to arrive?”
“No one knows, Colette. It could be several malets yet. Or they might be sighted tomorrow morning. Hunnar says they might even decide to pass Sofold completely for another year. I can't tell whether that possibility pleases or disappoints him. Now let's have another look at that chap who does the interesting marketable scrollwork on the sword-hilts...”
In the weeks that followed Ethan got to know the people of Wannome as well as those of New Paris, Drallar, or Samstead. Preparations for battle continued apace, but the flow of commerce in the harbor never slackened. There was still no word of the Horde.
One evening he wondered if the whole story of the Horde mightn't be a gigantic fraud — a cleverly concocted story designed to keep these useful and interesting strangers from the sky in Sofold. He quickly discarded that as a thought not only unworthy of people like Hunnar and Balavere and Malmeevyn, but also illogical. Although he wouldn't put it past the Landgrave.
No, there'd been too much obvious passion displayed that night, when the inhabitants of Sofold had determined to fight their tormentors instead of groveling to them — too spontaneous, too genuine, even in its alien setting, to be a mere dumb show created for such ignoble purpose.
He, Hunnar, and September were seated at a table in the general castle dining hall, down near the scullery. This was where most of the castle folk took their meals. Hunnar then suggested a walk along the sky balcony and the two humans agreed.
The sky balcony was the highest open pathway in Wannome Castle, excepting only the High Tower. From its wind-lashed parapet one could stare down a sheer drop to solid ice below, and far out across the great frozen sea to the south.
Their sojourn was interrupted by the breathless arrival of one of the apprentice-squires. He scraped to a halt, gulping freezing air, and almost forgot to bow to Hunnar. His face was wild.
“N... noble s... sirs...!”
“Take it easy, cub,” Hunnar admonished him, “and catch your breath. Your words ride the wind too far ahead of you.”
“Not thirty or forty kijat to the southwest, noble sirs — the thunder-eater comes!”
“How many?” asked Hunnar sharply.
“On ... only one, sir. A Great Old One! A caravan ... three ships ... blundered into it, hoping to find some shelter in the pika-pedan and then ride the wind-edge in. Only one escaped. Its master sits even now in audience with his Lordship!”
“Come,” Hunnar said curtly to the two men. He started for the stairs without even bothering to see if they followed.
“So one of these ‘thunder-eaters’ finally shows up,” said September. “Excellent! I've been listing slowly to starboard sitting on my butt here. At least now we'll have a chance to see one of these things, what?”
“I don't know,” Ethan commented carefully. “From Sir Hunnar's attitude, I don't think they run out day excursion rafts. And that apprentice did mention something about two ships being lost.”
“Ah, that could have been from the storm,” countered September. “Say, Hunnar!” They hurried to keep up with the knight. Hunnar was being polite in not making use of the downward ice-paths. If he had, they'd have lost him in seconds. “Will we have a chance to see this thing?”
For Hunnar, the reply was unusually curt.
“You must understand that this is not a frivolous matter, my friends. In its own unthinking way, the stavanzer can be as dangerous as the Horde.”
“Oh, come on now,” September replied in disbelief. “It can't be that big. No land animal on a Terra-type planet can. There's not even any water to buoy it up. A really big animal couldn't walk.”
Hunnar halted so abruptly that Ethan bumped into him, bounced off the iron-hard back beneath the furs.
“You have not seen a thunder-eater, stranger from the sky,” he said quietly. It was the first time since their initial meeting he hadn't used their names. “Do not judge 'til then.” He started off again as suddenly as he'd stopped. Ethan followed, surprised. The knight was really worried.
“A stavanzer,” Hunnar continued as they descended yet another stairwell, “could destroy the great harbor more completely than any Horde and would do so without thought or compassion for life. A barbarian wishes to conserve in order to enrich himself. The thunder-eater has no such thoughts.”
“I see,” said September, abashed. “Look, I apologize, Hunnar. I shot off my big mouth without having ammunition. Moratorium until I see the thing, okay?”
“You do not know, so naturally you cannot imagine,” said Hunnar, mollified. “There is no need to apologize for such.” He didn't say anything about September's shooting off his mouth. “There will be no chance to ‘look’ — only the Hunt.”
“You mean you're going to try and kill this thing?” asked Ethan. “After making it sound nothing short of invincible?”
“I did not say 'twas invincible, friend Ethan. Only very big. But no one kills a stavanzer. Not in recent memory, anyway. We must try to drive it off. Were it a herd I should not worry so much.”
“Why not? I'd imagine a herd would be a hundred times worse,” Ethan commented.
“No. A herd would move only for its grazing grounds — the great pika-pedan fields to the south. They migrate on a north-south polar axis, mostly in the empty regions to the west. As a group they have little curiosity. But a lone one, and a Great Old One at that, might investigate Sofold from sheer perversity. It takes something extraordinary to excite a herd. Somehow, we must turn him.”
“You say you can't kill it, but you speak of turning it,” said September. “How? With pikes?” There was nothing mocking in his voice.
“No. There is one way to fight the thunder-eater. If your souls are sound, you may have a chance to try it. Many who do claim it is the supreme moment of their lives. For some 'tis also the last. Yet it must be tried,” he concluded as they topped a rise in the passageway.
“Just how big is this boojum, anyway,” Ethan finally asked, exasperated.
“The thunder-eater has been granted but two teeth. Do you know the Landgrave's throne?”
“Yes.” Ethan recalled the chair, inlaid with stones and polished metal set into a tower of pseudo-ivory. It would fetch a fine price from a certain decorator on...
“The back of the throne itself, the white pillar ... what did you think it was?”
“Some kind of stone,” Ethan replied. Then he paused. “You aren't trying to tell me that...?”
He held onto the thought as they left the castle, barely aware that other knights and men-at-arms had joined them. They passed the du Kanes. September barely had time to shout, “We're a-going a-huntingl” to them. Colette yelled something in return but Ethan didn't hear it.
Down at the harborfront, kettledrums were droning like fat beetles. A knot of moving, businesslike tran had collected around the Hunnar-nucleus. Ethan caught occasional glimpses of solemn-faced townsfolk.
As they continued downhill, he couldn't help noticing that the soldiers and knights carefully avoided the ice-paths out of deference to their crippled visitors.
He wondered if anyone else would be able to see what was going to take place. The wizard had a telescope in his rooms, but it might not be able to scan the area they were heading for. But Milliken would be there, and maybe also the Landgrave.
All this fuss over one animal. And it wasn't even a meat eater, like the Droom.
They reach
ed the harbor. The crowd parted to reveal three of the oddest craft he'd seen since their landing.
Three small rafts with large sails sat ready by the docks. Their sails and bodies were painted pure white. Arrow-narrow and long, they were clearly designed to stay hidden against the ice.
To the rear of each was tied a second, even stranger craft. Each consisted of a single tree-trunk, averaging about twenty meters in length and one or two in diameter. A single small sail was mounted on each. The front end was cut and shaped down to a needle-sharp point.
The bottom cross-spar of the sail ended on each side in a tiny wooden ship or large skate, depending on how one chose to view them. Each was equipped with an even smaller runner to its outside, making each into a stubby, one-tran outrigger. The cross-spar was connected to each skate-boat by a single pole.
There were two wooden runners under the tree itself, a single solid one near the bow, and a third skate-boat at the rear.
The sails on each of these massive lances — for such they clearly were — were furled. Three wind-powered spears suitable for battling a goliath.
Ethan had a thousand questions. Hunnar was already on board the first raft, giving directions and inspecting lashings. Ethan followed September on board. Almost immediately the strange little convoy started toward the harbor gate. All other ships gave them respectful clearance and some of their sailors carne to the rail to watch quietly.
A moment later they were through the great gate tower. As they rode out of the Ice of Wannome and its sheltering mountains they picked up speed. The sails crackled and the helmsman set course slightly into the wind, to the southwest.
“We must circle well behind the beast,” Hunnar explained; “to allow the lightnings to build up speed. When they have, the towing raft casts free and moves clear.”
“Those spears are maneuverable, then?” asked September over the howl of the wind. Sailors fought the rigging.
“Only a little,” Hunnar replied grimly. “Once set on course, they can be turned only to right or left, and only with the wind. There is no turning about.”
“What happens,” asked September finally, “when you make contact with the creature?”
“Here Jaipor, take over!” Another tran hurried over to take a rope from the knight. Satisfied, he led them toward the stern of the fast-moving raft. Ethan could feel the tension building among the crew. They stood behind the helmsman and Hunnar pointed to the following raft.
“A strong but simple latch ties the lightning to the three skate-boats. Each is a tiny raft in itself, but without sails. See the high, padded back? That is to protect the rider and to catch a little of the wind.”
“They look like big wooden shoes,” commented Ethan. He recalled Ta-hoding mentioning that wooden skates wouldn't hold much of an edge on the ice. But then, these weren't intended for long journeys.
“Momentum should carry the three steersmen clear of the thunder-eater,” Hunnar continued, “and to safety.” Ethan peered closely at the tiny boats.
“Once you've released from the main lance, how do you steer the things?”
“With your body weight. The skates are well balanced. The release should take place in plenty of time to give the rider ample opportunity to veer wide of the target.”
“Of course, the closer you get before giving up control,” said September, “the more accurate the strike.”
“Of course,” agreed Hunnar.
“Then if you've no objection, I'd like to be one of your spearmen.”
“I would be honored, Sir September.” They exchanged shoulder clasps.
“Oh, well,” said Ethan, “I suppose I'll have to take the other, then.”
“Blow young feller, this is no game, what? If you don't really want—”
“Oh, shut up, Skua. I'll take the opposite spar.” He felt like a fool, but he'd be damned if he'd back away when September had volunteered.
“'Tis settled then.” Hunnar turned and pointed toward their companion rafts skimming alongside. “Sir Stafaed will command the first bolt and Sir Lujnor the second. We will have the last.”
“Does this thing have a weak spot?” asked September over the roar of the wind.
“It may. If so, none have found it. There is no hide protecting the eyes and they are nerve-centers if naught else. 'Tis best to strike there. They are small and set low. If we could blind him, that would be better than turning him from the city.”
“If he has good vision it means he'll see us coming,” added September thoughtfully.
They continued to swing in a wide curve, until Ethan realized all at once that they were now running with the wind. He looked over the sharp prow of the raft. Somewhere far ahead was a wavering green blur, the huge field of pika-pedan. They'd come a long way fast.
The sailors brought in the sail. Sharpened ice-anchors of dark iron stabbed ice. The three rafts with their trailing death slowly skidded to a halt, shaking and straining in the wind.
“Now we ride the lightning,” said Hunnar solemnly. He scrambled over the side of the raft.
According to the surviving merchantman's report, the stavanzer was moving northeast. They would try to turn him southward again.
“You take the port side, lad, and I'll have at the starboard,' September shouted to him.
“What?”
“The left side, the left! And don't let loose your latch-piece 'til Sir Hunnar gives the sign.”
“Think I'll freeze at the wrong moment and let go early?” Ethan stared up at that buttressed visage. The eyes twinkled.
“No man can deny the possibility, young feller.”
“Well ... I might,” he replied, almost defiantly. “But it won't be from fear. It'll be from this delightful climate.”
The wind was blowing harder than usual for midday. That meant he had to grab twice at the wooden rail of the raft to keep from being blown away like an empty sack. It was bitterly cold out here, divorced from the castle's sheltering walls.
He was relieved just to scramble into the comparative shelter of the skate-boat.
The broad wooden back of the skate was thickly padded. It vibrated steadily in the perpetual gale, but the worst winds howled harmlessly past. Leaning forward slightly, he could see just over the central trunk. September waved and he waved back.
He leaned out, sticking his face into the wind again, and waved back at Hunnar. The knight would steer while he and September managed the sail.
The latch-piece that held the skate-boat to the lower cross spar was a simple wooden pull. It was set into a pole which was based in the floor of the skate and the bottom of the spar. He noticed with satisfaction that it had been well greased. There would be no last-minute frantic tugging. The sail was harder to work, with only the single rope to keep it steady.
Two sailors from the big raft were on the tree-lance itself. They raised the lightning's own sail in unison with the sail on the raft. Both began moving together. Somehow the two sailors kept their balance in the wind until the pure white lance-sail was up. They moved carefully to the sharpened end of the log, jumped free, and chivaned up to the raft where ready hands pulled them in. Since both raft and tow-raft were now moving at appreciable speeds, it was a delicate bit of work.
The sailors and soldiers on the raft carried pikes and bows, more for their psychological value than out of any expectation of usefulness. It wouldn't do for a tran to go into battle weaponless. Not even if his only task was to watch and pray.
On the other hand, Ethan didn't feel the need for even a very small dagger. Despite Hunnar's expositions, he had only the vaguest idea what to expect. They were going to strike the stavanzer broadside. Hunnar would aim for the head. At his signal, a loud, sharp whistle, they would each release their skate-boats and shear off, to be picked up by the trailing, waiting rafts.
That was the theory.
Despite the obvious danger, Ethan couldn't contain a certain perverse curiosity. He wanted very much to see what sort of land animal could take
the wind-driven impact of a twenty meter sharpened tree that weighed maybe half a ton without being killed outright. There was a certain wealthy collector of rare animals on Plutarch who might conceivably...
But, he reminded himself, they would break off long before that. His only glimpse of the thing would probably be brief and distant.
Still, stavanzers did die, Hunnar had informed them. Of what? Old age? How long did the virtually indestructable thunder-eaters live?
There was a jerk and he looked up. The raft had cast them loose and was already swinging south to get out of their path. The other two lances had cast off seconds earlier and were speeding down the unyielding sea ahead of them. He squinted through his goggles, isolated in a world of ice, wind, and wood.
Ahead, a green blur gradually took form and substance, grew larger. Their speed continued to increase as they ran wildly before the wind. Now he could make out the size of the pika-pedan compared to its pygmy cousin. His breath froze in his throat then. It wasn't from the cold.
There was something moving on the outer edge of the green. Then he saw the thunder-eater, and was afraid.
The Great Old One was over a hundred meters long — a gigantic slate-gray mountain that heaved and pulsed like a great slug on the clean ice. Its back and sides were studded with grotesque ridges and spines, a bizzarre living topography.
There were no legs, no arms, no visible limbs of any sort. The belly of that awesome bulk was a horny pad thicker than the skin of a starship, as tough, and worn smooth as glass. A mouth as wide as a driveship dock inhaled air which was expelled through two lifeboat-sized valves near the tail, moving it like a squid.
It moved slowly now. But Hunnar had told them tales of stampedes, like steel-gray storms. A herd would strike a small island and leave nothing but a greenish-brown stain against the ice.
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