The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers (16 page)

“Yes, we do,” he replied eventually, with some emphasis on the “we.” If she was expecting him to prolong the conversation she was sorely mistaken. He couldn’t for a moment forget that her father was not only a grouch with a reported short temper, but also had the power to remove head from shoulders with a wave of his hand. Until he knew a great deal more about local mores, he was going to be as quiet as a monk. This was no place to depend on mestaped information.

Besides, she was as tall as he was and much broader, which made for rather an intimidating personality.

“It’s surprising. You’re not so terribly different from us, it seems,” she said, her flashing yellow eyes fixed on him.

Dammit, if only she weren’t so farking attractive! Now watch that, he told himself. She isn’t even of the same species. Of course, there were aberrant humans who had a thing for other species. He knew one chap who …

Quit
that!

“I think this is all very exciting,” she said finally into the growing silence. The finger paused in its silken whirlpool. “You don’t even have any fur on your bodies, except on top.”

“Actually,” Ethan responded, trying to be scientific, “that’s not entirely true. We do have some elsewhere.” He was about to mention “chest” when she interrupted him.

“Really? Let me see.” She made a spring that carried her halfway across the bed.

In dream-troubles most folk are the epitome of suaveness and sophistication. Ethan was no exception. Reality—cold reality, to say the least—had too many improvisations.

First of all, he couldn’t quite decide whether she was trying to kill him or kiss him. Apparently loveplay on this world was as aggressive as its climate.

He’d have told her to stop it, but his mouth kept getting full of gray fur. It seemed certain she was trying to bite him. At least, those four major canines gave that impression. Now, if someone like that Darmuka fellow or her father were to stroll in, bolt or no bolt …

He redoubled his efforts. Putting both hands out to push her away, his palms encountered something soft and warm. Human or not, it wasn’t a shoulder. She moved even faster. Shifting his hands, he shoved frantically.

The result was both gratifying and educational.

She seemed to fly off the bed, land on her feet, and slam into the far wall, where she crumpled slowly to the floor. For a horrible moment he thought she’d hit too hard. If he’d killed the Landgrave’s only cub, that would remove all the uncertainties from their immediate future.

Fortunately, she was only shaken, and stayed conscious.

“M … my, you
are
strong!”

He was torn between offering her a hand up and refusing further body contact. “Are you okay?”

“Y … yes, I think so, good knight.” She rose slowly and felt the back of her head and neck. Then she did some rearranging on her clothing, which had become delightfully disheveled. With a shoulder against the wall for support, she looked at him oddly.

“I hadn’t expected quite so … overwhelming a rejection,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan replied, unable to forgo some sort of apology. “Our situation is very serious and it’s hard for me to take anything lightly right now. I’m afraid, I, uh, don’t know my own strength.”

“Well,
I
certainly do.” She blinked. “I shall retire and consider this further,” she said cryptically. “I will see you again, Sir Ethan. Good day.”

Putting hand to forehead to wipe away the freezing sweat, he became aware that it was shaking badly. He grabbed the offending member. That only made the whole arm shake. Its companion was none too steady either. He let out a long breath, then put both hands under his backside and sat on them. That stopped the shaking and kept them warm too boot, but now he couldn’t do anything about the sweat.

Hopefully he’d handled the situation correctly. Now he’d worry about Elfa’s reaction and future feelings toward them. It was a damnable thing to have happen.

He was still pondering and sitting when September walked in.

“Well, young feller-me-lad,” he began, glancing back the way he’d come, “I just passed her highness in the hallway. Seems you’ve made something of a conquest, what?”

“Or a mortal enemy. I’m not sure. It was more on the order of an opening skirmish. Hey, how come you’re sure she came from my room?”

“You’ve just confirmed it.”

“It might have been a veiled murder attempt, too, you know.”

“I understand the penalty for playing around with the offspring of nobility is—”

“Dammit, Skua, I wasn’t playing around!” he said indignantly. “She was playing around with me. That is—”

“—death by slow torture, with all sorts of intriguing local variants on time-honored themes. Hunnar’s been filling me in on some blanks, since you were occupied.”

“Oh God. Does he know too?”

“I don’t think so. Someone was sent to fetch you, tried your door. Finding it bolted, they assumed you wanted privacy. Good thing, too.”

“Phew! Say, I found out something interesting, too. We were right about body composition. Almost certainly their skeletal system is less solid than ours, or whatever the proper medical term is. I gave her what I thought was a sharp shove and ended up throwing her halfway across the room. Scared the hell out of me.”

“Really?” grinned September, the gold ring in his ear flashing. “Tell me more. Are they covered with that fur all over? Or are there certain places where—”

“For Harmony’s sake, Skua!” Ethan said disgustedly, “nothing happened.”

“Then why’d you find it necessary to toss her across the room?” he pressed, leering.

“I didn’t find it necessary,” Ethan continued patiently. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She was so much lighter than I expected.”

“That ought to be interesting.”

“Will you stop, already?”

“Okay, young feller. Relax. I’m just joshing you,” September continued in a serious tone. “So despite their greater size, their actual body weight is less. Then a good-sized human like yourself is probably as strong as most of ’em.”

Not necessarily,” said Ethan. “Just because they’re lighter doesn’t mean they’re not stronger. There’s an awful lot of muscle on those frames. I just took her by surprise.”

“Still,” considered September, “in any kind of wrestling match, you’d have a tremendous advantage. Useful.”

“What did Hunnar tell you?” Ethan sat back on the bed and curled his hands behind his head. “By the way, did everyone get single rooms?”

“Yes. Except the du Kanes. Colette refused to be alone, so they arranged for her to have a bed in with her father. That mold Walther has equally sumptuous quarters—only his door bolts from the outside and there are bars on the windows. Not that he’s going anywhere that way. Have you looked outside? I wouldn’t care to try a descent without a good strong cable and crampons.”

“In this wind?” said Ethan. “I wouldn’t like to try it even then.”

“Hmm. Now according to Hunnar, most of the people on his world, hereabouts anyway, are peaceful. Aside from fun things like swiping someone’s daughter now and then or bashing in a few heads. Fine, upstanding folk.”

“Me, I want a nice quiet bar or nullball course with my old clubs and shooting companions,” said Ethan dreamily. A blast of frozen air cut his cheeks. “Okay, they’re all charming fellows. So?”

“I said most,” September continued, inspecting the wooden chest at the foot of the bed. “There are also, it appears, bands of nomadic barbarians. Usually these do no more than attack an occasional raft, sometimes successfully, sometimes not.”

“There had to be a reason for the castle and the soldiers,” said Ethan.

“Other than protecting everyone from his neighbor, you mean? Sure. Anyway, over many years a couple of these bands have grown large enough to acquire the status of nations in themselves. They migrate on a fairly predictable circuit, living off tribute from the peoples they encounter. Hunnar told me what it’s like when they move in. It doesn’t make for pleasant listening.

“In addition to the standard tribute of money and food and clothing and such, they take over the town or raft or whatever for about a week, local-time. They take what they like from the shops and aren’t above broiling the occasional shopkeeper who might venture an objection. Raping or carrying off the local girls who haven’t been safely hid, killing a few kids for fun … oh, they’re your usual happy primitive innocents, free from the corrupting bane of civilization!

“If there’s any hint of opposition or resistance, the town is put to the torch and the entire populace down to the youngest cub massacred. Excepting a few women, they don’t even take slaves, so they’ve no compunction about killing. No wonder everyone elects to pay tribute.”

Ethan grunted. “They sound almost human.”

“Don’t they? They move in long columns perpendicular to the wind and sometimes three and four ships deep. They’ve dozens of sleds, on which they spend their whole lives. Even carry livestock and feed for same … the males take turns running scouting patrols, but the rafts never stop, except when they’ve moved in someplace.”

“Like army ants on Terra,” said Ethan.

“Yes, or Turabisi Delphius from that new thranx world, Drax IV. Hunnar likens them to other elemental forces they have to endure, like the wind and lightning. The nomads are the same people physically. But culturally and maybe even mentally they’re throwbacks to an earlier, less civilized age.”

“How often do they have to undergo this?” Ethan asked, staring out the window. He could hear the full-bodied wind howling outside. The window framed an unmarred rectangle of glacier blue.

“About every couple of years, sometimes three.”

Ethan looked away from the sky. “The Horde that everyone keeps mentioning.”

“That’s it,” September nodded. “This group has been taking tribute from the people of Sofold for a hundred years or so. Also most of their neighboring provinces. Seems we arrived at an interesting time. Hunnar and a lot of the younger knights are sick of paying tribute. They want to fight.”

“That sounds like something they’ve been through before,” said Ethan. “Have they got any chance of getting permission?”

“Well, as you would figure, such a proposition has to be approved by this so-called Council. By themselves, Hunnar and his fellow bucks would just amuse the moneybags. But there’s a chap named Balavere the Longax who’s the number-one general-type in this dump and he’s thrown in with ’em. Hunnar says he’s convinced Wannome has a fifty-fifty chance of standing an attack and siege.”

Ethan whistled. “Not very good odds with the survival of your entire people at stake.”

“Maybe not. But this old boy has gone through something like twenty-odd tribute periods himself. He’s good and fed up. As you might guess, the opposition to the fighters is composed of those who have the least to lose. Country mayors and growers, this prefect fella Darmuka, others. Balavere and Hunnar have the support of a lot of the local merchants and traders. During tribute time the country folk are spared much of the burning and rampaging that goes on, since the barbarians naturally concentrate where most of the people and goods are, meaning Wannome.”

“I’m better at haggling prices,” said Ethan. “How do our host’s chances look?”

“Well,” said the big man, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “as is typical in such cultures, most of the able-bodied males on the island have had some sort of combat training, however informal. Hunnar says they can put about eight thousand armed men in the field. Of these, maybe two thousand have had some form of advanced military training. There’s a standing permanent garrison of about five hundred, under the direction of some fifty or so knights aided by about a hundred squires and another hundred squire-apprentices.”

“Three thousand soldiers and five thousand militia,” said Ethan. September nodded.

“And this Horde?”

“At least four times that.”

Ethan said nothing.

“According to Hunnar,” September continued, “this tribe is led by an especially nasty son-of-a-bitch with the charming moniker of Sagyanak the Death, Scourge of Vragan. Vragan was a small hunting community they razed about ten years ago. The Death has the interesting hobby of taking folk he doesn’t care for and nailing them to the ice. They have these short lances mounted on tiny double stone runners, with little sails. The Death and other assorted uppers go upwind until they can barely see the stake-out. Then they set their lances and release them.

“By the time they reach the condemned, those sail-powered lances have built up enough speed to drive halfway up someone’s body. The head of the victim is always propped up so he or she can see the lances coming. Isn’t that cute?”

“I wish you could have saved that little anecdote till after dinner,” Ethan mumbled. He believed he had a reasonably strong stomach, but this world … “Okay, you’ve convinced me he’s not a nice fella. What does Hunnar want from us? He wants something, that’s sure, or he wouldn’t have spent all that time telling you about it. Nor describing what a bastard this Sagyanak is. Sales technique. And he said there was something important he wanted us to know about before dinner tonight.”

“Good lad,” said September approvingly. “Here it is, then: As you would expect, Hunnar and this general Balavere are being very careful about the whole idea. They’d much rather convince the Council that tribute isn’t a paying proposition and it’s more logical to fight. But if they can do it by creating so much emotion for fighting that no one will speak against them, then by the Black Hole, they’ll do it that way.”

“Which means?” asked Ethan, digging his toes into the warmth of a fur blanket.

“That when they put their proposition forward, it would be appreciated muchly if we spring up like good chappies and swear to fight to the last dribble of blood alongside ’em.”

“Umm. Don’t you mean that they want us to support their idea of fighting?”

“No,” said September bluntly. “We are to agree to pick up swords and spears and make suitable hacking motions alongside our Sofoldian brethren.”

Ethan sat up quickly. All thoughts of napping remained stuck to the blankets.