The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers (40 page)

“Hey, where … where are the others? Milliken and …”

“Our pacific hosts got ’em,” September growled back. “I don’t think for the purposes of advancing the frontiers of beneficent research, either. They nearly got us all. Would have, if Hunnar hadn’t gotten up to put some new wood on the damned fire. So he was awake when the first of them came sneaking in.”

“I don’t understand it,” mused the knight, as stunned as Ethan. “There is no reason for this. They seemed so really decent and—”

“—schizoid,” finished September. “We’ll chat about their unfortunate aberrations later.” He knelt and stuck his head a little ways into the room.

“They’ve gone. I expect they’ll be out on the rooftops after us in a minute. Deity knows they’re more familiar with them than us. Now, there’s only one way down from this rockpile. And while our knowledgeable friends don’t appear to be militarily inclined … witness their performance in that room … sooner or later some bright boy among them’s going to realize that by blocking off the stairway they’ll have us trapped up here.”

The next minutes were a slow-motion dream-scheme of running, hurtling parapets, darting across rooftops, and dropping one level at a time. Hunnar and September assumed the lead. They all had to move fast and carefully. One wrong step in an unfamiliar place and they might step off the side of the mountain.

Ages later the two lead men returned to the group with a sign to keep silent.

“We’re just above the gateway,” September whispered. There’s a single Brother on guard there and he doesn’t look awkwardly tense about things.” Ethan looked past the big man, saw no sign of Sir Hunnar.

A minute later there was a short, sharp whistle from below. They ran to the edge of the building. September didn’t hesitate. He turned, grabbed the coping, and let go. Without thinking, or he might have hesitated, Ethan copied him.

The drop wasn’t bad, and the big man and Hunnar were there to catch him. Suaxus came next, and immediately took up a position next to the closed door. Lanterns burned on either side of the entrance.

Crying mournfully, the slight breeze flowed over the peaks and down into the black abyss.

Carefully, old Eer-Meesach was lowered to the stairs, then Elfa. Budjir hung from the edge for a second and then they were all gathered below. They turned to descend.

Hunnar held back a moment. He picked up the green stone staff of the unconscious brother, stripped off the white robe. Carefully he lifted one of the lanterns from its holder.

Transferring it from the staff to one paw. He whirled it once in a circle, arced it against the wooden door. Flaming oil splattered on the grain, flickered unsteadily for a moment, then sprang up brightly.

“That ought to keep their reasoning minds busy for a while,” he muttered grimly.

They ran as quickly as they dared in the darkness. Eer-Meesach had to be considered, too. The wizard was holding up well under the strain, but there would come a time when his body, no matter how strong his spirit, would fail him.

They made fair speed down the black stairs. Now fully awake, Ethan took a cautious look over the edge. The unending ice sheet shone unreal in the starlight, speckled here and there with ebon spires that were other, friendly islands.

A last glance behind showed a bright glow from the still-burning doorway.

By the time they reached the last stair, Ethan was puffing noticeably. Eer-Meesach, on the other hand, was near collapse. They moved the wizard into the shelter of some big boulders.

Budjir had gone on ahead to the ship. He returned and between gasps told them he’d seen tran moving on board the
Slanderscree
—and too many of them had beards, wore long robes, and carried green staves.

Simultaneous curses passed among the little assembly. Languages differed but sentiments were identical.

“Not quite as naive as I thought,” September murmured. “Gould you see any of our people, Budjir?”

“Not a one of the crew. They must all be trapped below-decks.”

“Couldn’t have been too hard,” the big man mused. “One man on watch, and him not expecting anything.”

“They couldn’t have overcome the whole crew,” said Ethan in disbelief. “Not with clubs.”

“Hah! I doubt if they even had to hit anybody, except maybe the watch. Quietly bolt all the hatches, what, and keep a look-see for anyone trying to break out elsewhere. Balavere and the rest probably still don’t know what hit ’em. How many’d you spot, Budjir?”

“Eight … perhaps nine. There may be more I did not see.”

“Not likely. That much know-how I don’t credit them with.” September looked thoughtful. “Ta-hoding and his bunch weren’t expecting them.
They
won’t be expecting us.”

Durnad was the one who noticed the tiny band coming toward the dock. He started. Fully six of the infidels were in the group. They trooped along, heads downcast, with their hands/paws clasped behind their backs. A single Brother followed behind.

“Come here, Brother Tydin.” Another white-robed figure joined Durnad at the head of the landing ramp.

“What, Durnad … oh!” He’d also spotted the approaching procession. “What means this?”

“Hail, Brother!” shouted Durnad. “What has happened at the Home? We saw a great light.”

The Brother’s reply was low, but intelligible.

“All fairs well. These are to be kept aboard their ship until the morrow.”

“That is strange, Brother,” said Tydin, clearly puzzled. The group marched up the ramp. “I had heard that all the infidels were to be dealt with in the great dome this very night. Why do you hide your face? Have you been hurt by these devils?” Tydin took an uncertain step backwards.

“There’s been a change in plans, Brother,” yelled September. He brought his clasped hands around and came down hard with the rock concealed in them. Tydin collapsed without a sound.

“Help, Brothers!” shouted Durnad. “We are tricked!”

As it developed there were nine of the Brotherhood guarding the
Slanderscree
—less Tydin. The odds were bearable.

The Brothers fought furiously, wielding their clubs and green staves like madmen. You’d have thought they were battling the devil himself. But they were not trained fighters. Without the advantages of surprise and overwhelming numbers, such as they’d possessed in the monastery, they were only a good exercise for the likes of Budjir, Suaxus, and Hunnar. Elfa swung a broken staff with as much skill as any of them.

Ethan used his surprising mass to bowl over a pair of opponents. It would be more even in an honest fight with a knowing tran, but this time the surprise was his. September had thrown one Brother halfway across the deck and was dismantling another like a pale chicken.

Ethan stooped and grabbed up a club dropped by one of the Brothers. His attacker pursued him and swung his staff again. Ethan ducked to one side, rammed the club blunt-end-first into the other’s midsection.

The Brother whoofed and doubled over. Ethan brought the club down hard and whirled to face the next attacker.

There was no next attacker.

Suaxus stood to one side, panting heavily. “What shall we do with them, Sir?” The expression on the squire’s face was typically noncommittal. But if he were asked, Ethan didn’t doubt he’d have a ready suggestion or two.

“Tie them up and dump them belowdecks,” Hunnar ordered. He paused, startled. “Belowdecks!” A sharp turn and he was over the nearest hatchway.

A simple pin and loop arrangement sufficed to dog the hatch cover down. Hunnar pulled the pin, released the loop. Up came the cover.

The anxious face of captain Ta-hoding stared up at him, blinking in the torchlight.

“We heard sounds of struggle above,” he grunted as he exited the hold. “We had hoped twould be you and our friends, Sir Hunnar.”

Sailors and soldiers streamed out on deck. They set about binding the white-robed figures. A few of the Brothers were beginning to regain consciousness. The men who’d been locked in the dark hold all evening were not particularly careful in their handling of the bodies.

“We were embarrassedly surprised, but none were hurt,” Ta-hoding informed them. “All is well now, then.”

“All is
not
well,” countered Hunnar as the two tran walked over to where Ethan and September stood. “Three of our friends are held still in the lair of these monsters.”

Ta-hoding sputtered. “Counterwind! We must mount an expedition, then! Besiege the place and—”

September shook his head slowly. “No, my good captain. It cannot be done that way.”

“Sir Skua is right, Ta,” said Hunnar. “Those virians above will probably assume we’ve been taken by their minions here.” Said minions were now being unceremoniously hauled below. “But even so, they will post guards upon the stairway. Not to do so would be an act of such cub intelligence that I cannot think they would fail to do it. A few could hold the entrance to the monastery against an army. Which,” he continued, turning to September, “worries me greatly, friend Skua. How are we to rescue our companions?”

“Frankly, Hunnar, I’d been too busy the last hour to give it much thought. Let’s see, now …”

“I suppose we’ll have to find a way around them,” said Ethan hesitantly.

“Sir Ethan,” reminded Hunnar a bit impatiently, “there
is
no way around. There is but the single carefully watched entrance, with a sheer drop on one side and, I venture to say, equal precipitousness on the other.”

“I agree,” said September. “It will have to be a small group in any case. Too many people … too much noise and movement.” He turned to Ta-hoding. “Captain, is there any climbing gear on board?”

Ta-hoding was obviously contused, and with reason. Mountaineering was not an art practiced by his folk.

“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 … ”

T
HE 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.”