“No, it wasn’t supposed to be made known to the general public,” replied the knight. “Actually, the Landgrave desired it be kept as quiet as possible. However, where money is concerned …” He shrugged, a very human gesture. Ethan was beginning to get an inkling of just how much wealth their ruined lifeboat represented hereabouts.
“I see,” said September. He caught another crate of survival rations the soldiers were passing up and stacked it on the wooden deck. It took two soldiers considerable effort to lift the box up to him. Hunnar watched the operation silently. September wasn’t sure whether or not the knight had caught the ease with which he’d handled the first crate. Damn! The big man strained almost theatrically on the next ones.
“A beacon that will shine …” Ta-hoding was following the other humans around, still spouting hosannas.
“Pardon me,” began Williams, and Ethan gratefully slipped away as the schoolteacher rescued him from the seemingly endless assault of frozen platitudes.
“Why are your vessel’s runners made of stone?” Williams asked.
“Alas,” said the captain, “wood wears away too quickly and metal is beyond the reach of even wealthy men, which I assuredly am not … There is a great raft, owned in whole by the people of Vad Ozero, six times the size of my poor craft. Its sails would cover a large inn and it has runners made from solid stavanzer backbone.” He shook his head mournfully. “The ease with which it turns, yea, even into the wind. The maneuverability, the sensuous ’lide of it under full sail, the speed, the profits … ah, the profits!”
Yes, alien though he may be, here was a being that was one with him in spirit, Ethan reflected. A race of philosophers with long beards who scorned material wealth might exist in the galaxy—somewhere. Thus far they remained undiscovered.
“I think that’s it,” said September with satisfaction, and it was. Ethan found himself looking forward to the sight of Hunnar’s home.
Hunnar watched the last of the humans clamber aboard. “We are ready then?” He turned to the captain.
“Let out, Ta-hoding! We are aboarded!”
“As your boldness commands,” effused the skipper. “I bask in the light of—”
“I’m not one of your customers, Hoding,” Hunnar barked in reply. “The Landgrave is paying you, so don’t waste any of your flattery on me.” He turned to his first squire.
“Suaxus, take Smjör and report in for us. If the wind blows true, we should follow you by ten tuvits. Make also a report to the Longax and see that the wizard is aroused. If he awaits you not already with slavering tongue. Straight this time, with none of your bloodthirsty embellishments, mind.”
“Done, sir,” acknowledged Suaxus, a trifle coldly, Ethan thought. “Thou canst depend on me.”
Hunnar replied with another of those tight-lipped smiles. He exchanged breath with the other. Although there was no obvious difference in their age, Hunnar seemed to Ethan years the eldest.
“I know I can, Suaxus. Wind with you.”
Suaxus clapped his knight on one shoulder. Then he yelled for Smjör and disappeared over the side of the raft. Leaning over the rail, Ethan could see them streaking off at an angle to the southwest. Soon they’d probably begin tacking back against the wind, eating up the distance to their home.
It was no surprise that a single native could move faster than the bulky raft. He turned away from the wind and rubbed at the ice crystals that had formed on his upper lip.
The raft boasted a single wooden cabin. It rested squat against the back of the single thick mast. A summer day to the locals it might be, but he was just plain cold. Inside, the du Kanes were huddled up against a residual pile of trading goods, well away from the tiny windows.
The purpose of some of the objects in the pile was obvious. And what looked like a small stove had a pipe leading into the flat roof. It wasn’t lit.
Williams was sitting by the door. As usual, Walther had crammed himself into the furthest, darkest corner.
“Well, it’s a long way from first class,” Ethan essayed in a feeble attempt at humor, “but on such short notice …”
Colette just glared back at him. Williams said nothing either. He was totally absorbed in examining the interior of the cabin.
“See?” he said, pointing to a joint in one wall. “They use notched logs and wooden pegs, reinforced in the difficult places with iron and bronze nails. Most of the implements on that stove are bronze, but a few are beaten copper and the stove itself is iron. There are one or two steel-tipped spears in that locker, back there. The handles have the most beautiful scroll-work.”
“Must be Ta-hoding’s pride and joy,” Ethan commented, mentally guessing at the artifact’s curio value.
“I should not be at all surprised,” the schoolmaster agreed. “I found nothing like pottery. Water would freeze on the potter’s wheel.”
The raft gave a sudden lurch. Colette squeaked.
“Now what’s happening?” she moaned.
“I,” said Ethan with commendable enterprise, “will go and see.”
“I think the captain has turned his vessel slightly into the wind,” informed Williams. “Shortly we should …”
His voice faded as Ethan left the sheltering cabin. He rounded the side and stepped into the wind. He wasn’t used to it but it was no longer unique enough to warrant a curse. September was up near the pointed bow, in conversation with Hunnar.
The sail cracked. They were following the course taken by Suaxus and Smjör, who by now were well out of sight. The two turned as he came up to them.
“Be your companions well?” inquired the knight solicitously.
“As well as can be expected, Hunnar.” He glanced up at September. “Walther sits in his corner and glares at nothing in particular. Colette is alternately brazen and scared, her father says nothing until he has to, and Williams is too busy taking mental notes to notice much of anything.”
“And you, young feller-me-lad?” The wind whipped a single loose strand of white hair across his forehead.
“Me? Well, I’m …” Come to think of it, he’d been so busy he hadn’t had time to consider his own feelings. “I’m cold.”
“A pithy summation, lad.” He moved to clap Ethan on the back again. This time Ethan avoided it, grinning. The wind clawed at his face.
“We’re really picking up speed.” The sail fluttered and rattled between the bracing spars.
One sailor was positioned at either end of the lower spar while Ta-hoding and the other manhandled the double wheel. The captain was carefully trying to match wind speed with desired direction. His eye moved continually from sky to sail to ice.
“Stand ready!” he bellowed above the howling atmosphere. Then, “Hard over!” and he was straining furiously at the wheel, forcing it to the right.
The raft slowly began to move to starboard. There was a split second when it was facing directly into the wind and the mainsail snapped back against the mast with a crack like shattered planking. The two spar men pushed and pulled as one, the sail snapped into a new configuration, and they were traveling at high speed to the northwest.
“Nicely done!” yelled September admiringly. He pulled himself sternward, bracing against the railing. Ethan followed curiously. He wanted to have a closer look at the sail. Anything that could take the kind of continuous pounding it was being subjected to might have commercial value.
It was thicker than sailcloth, a material Ethan had no formal knowledge of. Despite this it seemed flimsy for taming the high winds it had to take on this world. It was a bright yellow—surely not the natural color. Hunnar came up behind him and confirmed it.
“The inside of the pika-pina is soft, but the exterior is tough and thin. When dried, treated, and drawn out through looms, it makes a very strong fiber. Sails, ropes, a dozen useful things.”
“You don’t say?” commented September, who’d returned from his brief examination of the raft’s steering mechanism. Then he did something that almost gave Ethan impetus to scream.<
br />
Gripping the lower edge of the sail in two powerful hands, he wrenched suddenly in opposite directions. At any moment Ethan expected to see the big man go down under a swarm of four angry sailors.
No one paid him the least heed. Ta-hoding didn’t even glance up from his post at the wheel. Neither did the other sailors. Budjir and the other soldiers continued their story-swapping.
Eventually September let out a deep breath and let go. As near as Ethan could tell, he hadn’t made so much as a tiny rip in the material.
“Strong is the word,” September wheezed. ”I’d think that several layers of this stuff, tightly woven and laid over each other, would make a very respectable shield, what?” Hunnar looked at him with new respect.
“You are a military man, then, friend September?”
“Let’s say I’ve had occasion to do some scrapping.”
“It might,” admitted the knight, “except that treated hessavar hides laid to wood or bronze or iron are better. For one thing, they’re harder to burn.”
“Um. I didn’t think of that.”
“Would you like to try my sword?” Hunnar offered, leaning into a particularly violent gust.
September looked tempted. But rather than risk exciting attention, or give away any hidden abilities, or lack of same, he politely declined.
“Not today, friend Hunnar. In the future, in less awkward surroundings, should there be another opportunity—”
“When the Horde comes you’ll have plenty of opportunities,” said the knight grimly. He walked between them and stalked off to chat with the captain.
“What’s this ‘Horde’ he keeps referring to?” September asked Ethan.
“I don’t know.” He stared after the knight. “I’ve got this feeling, though, that we’re not going to get much nearer Arsudun until we find out.”
V
ACTUALLY THEY MADE SLIGHTLY better time than Hunnar had estimated. The wind rose to a steady 60 kph, but under the skillful paws of Ta-hoding and his tiny crew, the ungainly raft fairly flew across the ice. The merchant might be comically effusive, but he was a master seaman—or iceman, rather.
It was an exhilarating experience just to stand in the sharp prow of the raft and let the wind shriek past your face. It battered at the snow goggles and whipped the too-large hood which now enveloped Ethan’s entire head and face. The angry air had all the softness of a newly minted scalpel. Exhilarating, yes. But how much more exhilarating it would have been to be warm again … would he ever be warm again?
He grew aware that Hunnar was standing next to him. “Wannome,” the knight murmured, “and Sofold Island. My home. Yours, too, for a while, friend Ethan.”
For another moment there was nothing but a blur on the horizon. But as the little raft flew closer, the scene seemed to leap across the ice at him. Before he knew it, they were cruising beneath towering stone walls amidst a swarm of similar craft. All were built along the triangle design. Most were about the same size as their own ship.
There were a few two and three times as long, and one great raft that must have gone at least ninety meters. It had a two-story central cabin with smaller cabins fore and aft.
Decks were piled high with crates and boxes, all securely lashed down against the wind. Many were protected with material made from the same stuff as the sails. The big raft’s fittings were brighter, with here and there decorative flashes of metal and bone. Sails were splashes of rainbow against the ice. Ethan realized that any color other than white or green could be easily spotted many kilometers off.
Moving with the westwind behind them, several ships shot past them at tremendous speed. All were moving from or to the same spot, an opening in the walls. The entrance was flanked by two massive towers of gray stone. Great walls stretched off to right and left, curving into the distance.
Ethan staggered over to the cabin entrance, yelled inside. “Mr. du Kane, Colette, Milliken, you can come and look. We’re here.”
“Wherever that is,” grumbled Colette.
A moment later they were all clustered along the bow of the raft. With delicate handling and elaborate curses, Ta-hoding was maneuvering them skillfully through the swarm of shipping.
Along the tops of the flanking towers patrolling tran were visible. The raft slid between the walls, edging near an exiting merchantman with orange sails and ornately carved handrailing. Once, the merchantman’s low spar, riding higher than their own, almost clipped the raft’s sail. Ta-hoding hurled a stream of invective at the other, of which Ethan managed to understand perhaps half.
Bow in hand, the first mate of the other vessel came to the rail. It was the first indication they’d had that archery was known to the natives. He made threatening gestures with it in their direction until Hunnar walked over and spoke quietly—as quietly as one could above the wind—to the other. That worthy shut up fast and disappeared.
“How do you close off the harbor?” Ethan inquired. “I don’t see anything resembling a gate.”
“With nets of woven pika rope,” replied the knight “A gate would have to rest on the ice.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“A good fire on the ice would easily undermine such. The walls themselves are built deep into the ice but a gate, naturally, could not be so. Also, there is the Great Chain. It is passed from one gate tower to the other and can keep out all but the tiniest ships. The nets serve to keep out men on foot.”
The walls, Ethan observed, were several meters thick, with plenty of room on top for maneuvering troops. They stood about twelve meters high, with battle towers slightly higher.
Once inside the gate he could see that the walls completely encircled the harbor. It was a very respectable feat of basic engineering.
Wannome was ideally suited for an iceport. The island itself lay on the east-west axis, with harbor and city at the eastern tip. Once within the harbor, ice-sailors would have the island to shield them from the constant westwind. On leaving the harbor they would pick up the prevailing gale immediately. Travelers coming from the east would have a more difficult time of it, but would still find the same quiet landing and protective wall.
Ethan took another survey of that impressive construct. He wondered what threat could make an individual like Hunnar worry despite it.
Dozens of rafts, including small pleasure craft, plied the broad harbor. The merchantmen tied up at long, narrow piers which were built directly out onto the ice. Since the ice-ships had no draft and did not bob up and down on nonexistent waves, the piers were barely above the “water.” Wooden cranes and pulley hoists added to the confusion in the harbor.
At the eternally unchanging tide-line where ice met land, a farrago of small buildings began. Tran of all sizes and shapes moved about the ice-front.
The humans were by now turning quite a few heads on passing rafts, but Ethan was too engrossed in the approaching scene to notice. The ground sloped sharply upward from the piers. It disappeared in a crazy-quilt jumble of two- and three-storied stone buildings and houses.
Near the houses, narrow streets paved with smooth flat stones were visible. Each had a broad swath of smooth ice running stripelike down its middle. All of the buildings seemed to sport chimneys of stone or black metal and high gambrel roofs. If Ethan had spent more time thumbing through history recordings instead of sales catalogues, he might have been struck by the town’s resemblance to medieval European cities.
The ice median strips were artificial, having been made by melting ice and then allowing it to refreeze in the desired place and pattern. Even at a distance Ethan could see furry dots dropping harborward at high speed. It was equally clear that the ice ramps were for descent only. It would take a mighty powerful eastwind to permit upward chivaning.
Rapid transit in Wannome, then, was no problem—as long as you were going downhill.
Above the town, steep crags rose to right and left There was a low saddle between them. Clinging to the rocks on the left and seemingly a part of th
e mountain itself was the great castle of Wannome. It descended in stone levels to merge with the harbor-girdling wall.
The castle, Sir Hunnar informed them, had been founded by a wandering knight, one Krigsvird-ty-Kalstund, in the year 3262 SNC. Ethan’s knowledge of the trannish dating system was nil, but the castle looked awfully old.
The island was built like a doorstop, with the harbor and town of Wannome at the high end. From the town the ground rose abruptly to the island’s high point. From there it dropped in a long, gentle sweep to the ice and a great field of pika-pina. A steady stream of black smoke rose from the mountains.
“The pika-pina,” Hunnar had explained, “protects us from attack from the west out of the wind. The great wall and castle does likewise for the town and the eastern island.”
“What about your north and south?” asked September.
“There is wall around much of the island, but far lower and weaker than this. But the granaries, ships, and foundry are all at this high end of Sofold, protected by the wall and by steep cliffs. An attacker could come from north or south and make a successful landfall. Then he could devastate the fields and herds, the country downs. This would gain him naught but pleasure. Fields can be replanted, houses rebuilt especially with the wealth of the province intact.
“Wannome can support and shelter the entire population of Sofold should it prove necessary.”
“What about an attack on the city from the landward side,” continued September.
Hunnar gave him a patronizing look. “I see you do not understand us. No tran will fight on land when he can maneuver four times as effectively on the ice. It must be different with you, since you have no chiv or dan. That is why ships and caravans are at their greatest danger when out at ice. Few can move faster than a fighting man with a good westwind behind him. To try and take a high position from land … no, such an attack could never succeed.
“A landing might be made as part of a siege-plan, to prevent the townsfolk from getting supplies from the rest of the island. But never with the thought of taking the city from that side. No one could move fast enough. For one thing, there are ice paths running all around the island. They give us the ability to move rapidly on land. These would be destroyed before any invader could make use of them. We would still retain those in the heights and the town. Thus we would have great mobility while an invader would struggle clumsily about in the dirt.” He pointed at the encircling harbor wall as they pulled up to an empty pier.
The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers Page 10
