K’ferr absorbed this barrage of new ideas and concepts quietly, listening with both pointed ears cocked intently at Ethan. Occasionally she would make a small gesture of agreement or disagreement, or mutter something softly to Mirmib, who stood close on her right. She said nothing to anyone else until Ethan came to the part of their story where they were greeted and then betrayed and imprisoned by Rakossa of Poyolavomaar, who acted in collusion with the Landgrave of Arsudun, Calonnin Ro-Vijar. Before Ethan could finish, K’ferr rose and began pacing the open area between her throne and the assembled visitors. Her chiv clacked on the wooden floor, making her sound like a nervous tapdancer. Ethan studied the inlaid wood, wondering if the chiv marks were polished out after each audience or if the chamber was simply little-used.
When Ethan related the lies Ro-Vijar had employed to sway the mind of the unstable Rakossa, K’ferr’s soft voice angrily launched into a list of old grievances Moulokin held against Poyolavomaar.
“But Moulokin is a half-legend in Poyolavomaar,” said Hunnar.
“And their mendacity is legend in Moulokin! Tis true,” she continued furiously, “we have no contact with them. But they have contact with many peoples who trade with us. Though they cannot match the skill of our shipwrights, out of jealousy they try to keep others from contracting for our rafts. Their merchants are known as arrogant and their traders bully many who would deal with us. They are fat with power, from cheating at every opportunity. Yet we are told others are afraid not to deal with them. The capriciousness and evil of their Landgrave is well known to us.” Teeliam Hoh murmured a comment which none could hear clearly, but Ethan could guess at its substance.
“This Rakossa is famed for the taxes he wrings from his people. However,” she said more easily, lowering her voice, “you are here and not in Poyolavomaar.”
“And grateful for it, my lady,” added Hunnar.
K’ferr slid with a remarkable hirsute sensuousness into her chair, leaned on her left arm. The claws on her right paw appeared, vanished, reappeared, a nervous Tran habit Ethan recognized immediately.
“Tell me of this idea, this plan you have for our world, outlander-man. This—what did you call it, Mirmib? This confederation you call a union of ice.” She glanced sharply at Hunnar. “I have never heard of this Sofold, nor know any who have. Yet you subscribe to this proposition made by a few of another race. You can speak for your city and assure me that you will keep the peace if we eventually agree to become part of this union?”
Confronted abruptly with the reality of an idea coming true, both Hunnar and Elfa looked questioningly at Ethan. He said nothing. Finally, Hunnar replied. “We had not considered that we might so soon have to commit our state to this proposal, my lady.”
“So you are willing to agree in principle, but not with your own selves.”
“I did not say that,” Hunnar hastily corrected her. “’Tis only that I…” He paused, drew himself up impressively as he could. “I am a knight. I have no authority to make treaties.”
“I can.”
K’ferr turned lidded eyes on Elfa. “And you are also a knight of this distant land of Sofold?”
“I am the Elfa Kurdagh-Vlata, daughter of Torsk Kurdagh-Vlata, Landgrave of Sofold. One day I will be Landgrave, upon confirmation of the knights and nobles of Sofold. I give my warmth as forfeiture in the event Sofold should ever act belligerently toward our friends in union, the people of Moulokin. We will join in peace forever, for the betterment not of two small city-states, but of all the people of all Tran-ky-ky.” Aware everyone was staring at her, she continued less imperiously, “In so doing we but implement a larger vision from friends who exist in a greater universe than our own.”
K’ferr came forward, grabbed Elfa’s wrists with her paws. Elfa did likewise to her counterpart, and they exchanged breath, to brief but animated cheering from the others. It had all happened a bit fast for Ethan, used to dealing with the intricacies of Commonwealth bureaucracy. Once more, the informal nature of Tran government had shown its value.
It did not at all feel like a critical moment in the history of an entire world.
XIII
“THERE IS JINADAS, WHICH lies forty-three satch southwest of Moulokin,” Mirmib was telling the now relaxed visitors. “They might well be willing to join in this union, especially if we send representatives along with you to assure them of its efficacy. And we have good friends in Yealleat, a most powerful state lying some hundred satch to the west.”
“We forget ourselves, Polos.” K’ferr Shri-Vehm looked solemn yet pleased with herself. “You must all remain several days now. An event of this magnitude and importance cannot be consummated properly without much feasting and celebration.” Topaz eyes flickered in the torchlight. “We Moulokinese seize readily upon any excuse for a holiday.”
“I don’t know.” Ethan tried to sound apologetic. “It might be a good idea if we hurried on our—”
“We’d be glad to stay awhile,” September cut in anxiously, with a sharp look in Ethan’s direction. “After the last couple o’ months, we could do with a bit of celebratin’. Couldn’t we, feller-me-lad?”
“Skua, don’t you think we ought to—”
“That’s settled, then.”
“’Tis agreed.” Mirmib entwined his fingers in a gesture indicating extensive satisfaction. “Preparations will commence. Meantimes, I would inspect this wondrous vessel of yours.” He directed his next query to Elfa.
“How did you manage such an enormous raft?”
“’Twas made possible by the special metal which our human friends call dur’loy, and which Sir Ethan insists can be supplied to us in quantity and at fair trade rates.”
The diplomat swung his fur-framed gaze toward Ethan. “Is this truth, outlander Ethan?”
“Commerce is the life-blood of the Commonwealth, friend Mirmib.” As he spoke it, Ethan wished for something less trite than that ancient government aphorism. He was better dealing with specific items than generalities. At the same time he wondered at Polos. Mirmib’s title. He’d called himself Guardian of the Gate, but his presence as K’ferr’s sole advisor here hinted at a much more powerful role. Was he chief minister, perhaps? Or father, or consort? Given the uncertainties, Ethan thought it best not to risk a breach of courtesy by inquiring. At least, not until the new Trannish confederation had been in existence somewhat longer than a few minutes.
“I’m sure something can be worked out,” he added.
“It promises abundances for the peoples of Moulokin and Sofold,” the Lady K’frr agreed. “And to our friends in Yealleat and Jinadas if they too will join, as I believe they will.” Her easy-going manner and beatific expression lulled Ethan completely, so that her next words were twice the shock they’d have been if he’d been expecting them.
“There is one thing, an obvious trifle, that all should agree to, of course. The treacherous inhabitants of vile Poyolavomaar must naturally be excluded from this.”
Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. Hunnar shook his woolly head and regarded the salesman with eloquent silence. The slant of his lips, the narrowing of double lids, said as plain as words, “See now? No matter how accommodating or friendly these folk of Moulokin are toward us, there will always be hatreds among the Tran which a mere idea cannot obliterate.”
“Details of the confederation can be worked out later, my lady.” It was a desperate attempt to forestall a possibly crippling argument. “For now we should return to our ship and prepare properly for Sir Mirmib’s visit.”
Either K’ferr sensed his discomfort or else he’d genuinely taken her mind off the subject of Poyolavomaar. “There is no need for you to trouble yourselves with special preparations for us, for I am coming also.” Mistaking his attitude of discomfort, she added, “But if you desire to rest yourselves and warn your crew, I fully understand. We will await word of your readiness.”
They made formal gestures of leave-taking and were preparing to exit the room when a Moulokinese soldi
er came running in.
The mere action was indicative of the importance of his message, for the Tran disliked running and avoided it except in extreme situations. Their sharp, long chiv were magnificently adapted for chivaning, or skating, across the ice. Running was awkward and dangerous, but this soldier came clip-clopping into the room at an impressive pace.
While the visitors stood grouped to one side and politely pretended to ignore the soldier’s anxious words, Ethan strained to overhear. Not only the soldier’s method of locomotion, but his manner and the rapidity of his speech hinted at news of some urgency.
As was the case with all Tran they’d observed thus far, the panting soldier did not prostrate himself before his ruler, or perform other time-consuming obsequious gestures. He simply approached the throne and began talking, pausing every so often only to catch his breath.
“My Lady—outside the first gate… a ship. And beyond, near the mouth of the canyon, many ships!”
“Conserve thy warmth, soldier,” said Mirmib quietly. “Now, how many is many?”
“Twenty to thirty, minister,” the exhausted messenger poured out, ignoring Mirmib’s admonition to relax. “All filled to the railings with armed soldiers.”
Ethan’s imperative whisper broke into the conversation between Hunnar and September.
“What is it, feller-me-lad?”
“Just listen.” He gestured surreptitiously toward the throne. Elfa, Teeliam and the others also stopped chatting, strained to hear.
“They say they come from Poyolavomaar,” the soldier continued.
“Speak of the devil.” September looked atypically upset.
“They say they know that—” he looked around the room and finally focused on Ethan and his companions, “—they are here.”
“How can they know that?” K’ferr’s nape hairs were bristling.
“From the depth and sharpness of the marks their ship’s runners leave in the ice, my lady.” Mirmib nodded sagely. “They demand that these visitors, their great raft, and the woman among them hight Teeliam Hoh be turned over to them. This done, they will quit their position and leave us in peace. Otherwise, they threaten to take the city.” At the close of this the soldier’s voice, despite his evident fatigue, took on a note of disbelief.
K’ferr stood abruptly, raked the left arm of her chair with sprung claws. “The arrogance. To come thus to our gate and demand by virtue of arms that we surrender any visitor. I would not turn over to such children an injured k’nith!”
The soldier unabashedly admired his ruler’s stand. “It seems incredible, my Lady. He insists he will destroy us if we do not comply.”
“He? Who is he?”
“Their Landgrave, Tonx Ghin Rakossa, leads them, my Lady.”
“Does he deign to allow us time to consider his generous offer?” she asked sarcastically.
“Four days, my Lady.”
“So much time? Why do they grant us so much?”
Taking her question literally, the soldier explained. “They realize, their representative told us at the gate watch, that it may be a difficult decision for us to make, going as it does against traditional laws of hospitality. We should be permitted time to consider. However, it was made clear to us that as long as their fleet blockades the canyon entrance, no ship of ours nor any other can move in or out to trade.”
“Or to escape,” added an unperturbed Mirmib. “Tell me, soldier, what is your name and profession?”
“Cortundi, minister. I am a leathersmith by trade.”
“What would you do, Cortundi?”
Common soldier regarded ruler and minister. His paws tensed into digging mode. “I wish only to return to the first gate, my lady and sir. I expect I will be needed there.”
“A siege would be long Cortundi.”
The soldier-craftsman smiled, showing pearly fangs. “There mayhap be better hides to cure, sir.”
“A pleasant thought.” K’ferr returned the panther-grin. “Wait outside, Cortundi.” The soldier turned and left.
“My fault, ’tis on me alone.” Ethan heard the disconsolate whimper, turned to see its source—a downcast Teeliam standing back against the wall. Torchlight turned the fur on her head and shoulders to singed silver.
“I should not have come with you when I helped you to escape,” she continued. “I ought fair to have killed myself cleanly then and prevented this. Rakossa is mad.”
“He is mad indeed,” said K’ferr, “to think he can take Moulokin. He cannot reach the city, nay, cannot breach the first wall. Truly he is driven not by common sense but by insanity.” Ethan forebore from mentioning that some of Terra’s greatest generals, ancient and modern, had been thought quite mad.
“’Tis me alone he seeks out,” Teeliam went on sadly. “He cannot stand the thought I may finally have escaped him. I would kill myself here save that he would be more furious still at being deprived of the pleasures he doubtless has spent these past days planning.” Fur rippled nervously as muscles tensed.
“Come what will, in fairness I must go back to him.” Her gaze rose, traveled from human eyes to Tran. “If I do this, he may depart.”
“I do not understand,” said K’ferr slowly, gaining more knowledge from something behind Teeliam’s eyes than from her words. “It was said that Rakossa demands also crew and ship of you.”
“Yes, he desires them, but will be satisfied with me.”
“He may be,” Ethan admitted, sounding more heartless than he intended, “but Calonnin Ro-Vijar will not.” He tossed a brief explanation over his shoulder to the staring Mirmib and K’ferr: “Ro-Vijar is Landgrave of distant Arsudun, an ally of Rakossa’s in spirit if not material.”
“It is not right that an entire city risk war for one person.” Teeliam sounded resigned. “I will suffer whatever Rakossa has concocted for me.” She made the Tran equivalent of a resigned shrug. “It cannot be worse than what I have endured before.”
“We will not,” Hunnar said tensely, “turn you over to the madman. Sofold does not sacrifice the innocent for the sake of expediency. Besides, as Ethan says, doing so may not sate Rakossa anyway. Of course,” and he turned to face the throne, “’tis not properly our decision to make.”
K’ferr had left the throne and was pacing once again. Almost absently she said, “This business of turning over your companion to Rakossa is a waste of time. We would never consider such a thing, nor permit you to do it even should that be your wish. There are more important matters to discuss.” She looked to her minister.
“So the Poyos would challenge us here, at our own door, in our canyon, on our ice. Further proof of this Rakossa’s insanity. Arrogance dilutes sense as vouli thins strong drink. If they are in truth foolish enough to attack the gate, we will give them a welcome they will not outlive.”
“If you’re determined to fight, we’d better ready our own people,” Ethan said. “With your permission, and our deepest thanks, my Lady, we’ll return to our raft.”
“Do we permit them to enter the first gate and trap them between, or stop them at the first with arrows and spears?” The compassionate Landgrave was deep in discussion of life-shortening methods with her minister. Mirmib had presence enough to dismiss the visitors.
Ethan rose from his place at the long table in the Slanderscree’s galley-cum-conference room. “We can’t let them have Teeliam, and it doesn’t seem right to let the Moulokinese fight and die over something they’ve had nothing to do with.” Teeliam was not present to object to the first part of his statement, having been excluded from the meeting over her protests. She was too biased to render objective suggestions, Hunnar had informed her, a bias which even extended to condemning herself to death.
“Me, I’d rather welcome a chance to dally with this Rakossa and his pack.” September leaned back in his Tran-sized chair. Not designed for his greater weight, it creaked alarmingly beneath him. He rubbed his pinnacle of a proboscis.
“I know you would, Skua. Sometimes you act m
ore Tran than human.”
September grinned, moving the hand from nose crest to white mane, and scratched. “Lad, when you’ve seen as much of the galaxy as I, you’ll know there’s nothin’ especially flattering about laying claim to being part of mankind.”
“No, friend Skua.” September looked with surprise at Elfa. The Landgrave’s daughter had seemed anything but pacific. Now was an odd time for appeasing attitudes to surface.
Appeasement was not what Elfa had in mind, however. “Ethan is correct when he says this is not the Moulokinese fight. We cannot ask them to die for us.”
“But didn’t you see the way that K’ferr cat was actin’?” September argued. “She’s spoilin’ for a confrontation and bloodshed.”
“Surely, my lady,” said a disbelieving Hunnar, “you cannot be thinking of turning Teeliam over to the monster?”
“Quite so, noble knight. I cannot be.” Elfa’s eyes swept over the table. “But suppose Rakossa and Calonnin knew the Slanderscree was not here?”
“Not wishin’ to appear condescendin’, gal, but you heard what that soldier said back in the throne room.” September’s nails were mere stubs compared to Tran claws, but he etched a shallow groove in the hardwood table nonetheless. “No ship could make the chiv marks in the ice outside the canyon that the Slanderscree could.”
“No known ship,” admitted Elfa. “Yet there are many regions of this world that the Poyos, much as ourselves until recently, know nothing of. This would be true also of distant Arsudun. How could they be certain our tracks are not those of another ship, say a great towed barge long since dismantled for its wood by the Moulokinese?”
“Not impossible, my lady,” put in Ta-hoding. “But how could we convince the attackers of this?”
Elfa looked embarrassed. “I had not considered that far. Could we not hide our craft while representatives of the Poyolavomaar fleet inspect Moulokin’s harbor?”
The Icerigger Trilogy Page 55
