The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers (67 page)

It did seem that the interior of the plateau immediately behind the canyon was home to a dense mass of oddly whitish clouds. Blue sky around and above made the cloud-forms stand out sharply. Ethan thought briefly of volcanic smoke, such as could be seen from Sofold’s steady-burning peaks. Only this smoke was much too light to be volcanic in origin.

“If it’s such a busy port, why don’t we see any other ships?”

“That gal Teeliam did say this Moulokin’s primarily a ship-building and manufacturing center. Poyolavomaar, Arsudun, Sofold—they’re all trading ports. Maybe no one visits here unless they’ve a finished raft waitin’ for them. Or maybe the Moulokinese are superstitious and only trade certain times of the year. Be interestin’ to see what they make of us.”

Cries sounded from the helmdeck immediately behind them. Ta-hoding was gesturing busily to mates and assistants. Gracefully, sails were drawn up and tied to spars. The
Slanderscree
continued its cautious approach to the canyon.

Something pressed against the face mask of Ethan’s survival suit. He raised it cautiously, then shut it fast. His suit thermometer indicated it was minus twenty outside, but it wasn’t the cold that made him hastily shield his skin.

They were traveling almost due east. That meant the untiring westwind was directly behind them. Yet they were making little progress. The icerigger rocked slightly, and he saw that Ta-hoding was tacking. That was crazy: nobody tacks away from the wind!

“Strong gale blowin’ down
out
of the canyon,” observed September with interest. A glance upward showed the sails flapping uncertainly against the spars. Occasionally the wind off the plateau was strong enough to shove pika-pina sail material back against the masts. At such moments the ship shuddered as if reluctant to continue. But under Ta-hoding’s careful and expert guidance, they kept making steady progress forward. Very soon they entered the mouth of the canyon.

Walls over a hundred meters high towered on both sides of the ice ship. As they progressed up the chasm, the sheer stone ramparts rose steadily higher, though the canyon showed no sign of narrowing.

At a hundred seventy meters high the cliffs leveled off, only then the canyon walls began to press inward slightly. There was less room to maneuver. Ta-hoding and his crew worked hard to keep the zig-zagging ship from smashing into unyielding canyon sides. He was making shorter and shorter tacks, threatening terribly if a sail crew was seconds too slow in shifting a spar.

Once, the sailors manipulating the foremast tops misinterpreted a mate’s order and swung their spars starboard instead of port. With a lurch, the
Slanderscree
continued on course to starboard instead of swinging around to cross the expanse of ice in the channel. Ethan stared, frozen, as they lumbered steadily toward the nearing gray cliff.

Sailors fought frantically to correct the error, compensate for the mistake. There was a dull, patient grinding noise. Fortunately the icerigger was now traveling so slowly into the headwind that the impact did no more than crack the railing and splinter a couple of deck planks.

The ease with which the planking splintered turned Ethan’s attention to the treeless rims high overhead. How stable were they? In the event of a slide there was no room to escape in the narrow confines of the canyon.

He was worrying needlessly again. The crash of ship into stone hadn’t loosened as much as a pebble from the clifftop.

Strong comments were relayed from helmdeck to foremast crew via the midship’s mate. They were intended to relax the atmosphere on board while chastising the foremast sailors. Instead, the invective only added to the general tension, did not produce the laughter it would have in less threatening surroundings.

The mystery of the mythic city-state, the narrowing canyon walls that shut out the clean sky, the skate-scarred ice they were traversing, in conjunction with their unfortunate experiences at Poyolavomaar, combined to test the mental stability of the crew. Ethan knew it would be better if they encountered
something—
hostile, friendly or even inexplicable—before many more minutes passed.

It occured to him to wonder what they would do if Moulokin proved as unreal as it had proven elusive and the canyon simply continued to narrow, perhaps to a lonely rock-face dead-end. The many ship tracks might signify nothing more than a convocation of religious worshippers at a favorite shrine, or indicate a well-used refuge from storms.

Such visitors would have no trouble turning their ships around and racing back down the ice-filled canyon with the inland wind at their backs. But the canyon was as narrow as the
Slanderscree
was long. She could not possibly be turned ’round in so slim a space. They might have to backsail, traveling stern-first and steering in a fashion unthought of.

September had theorized a bend in the canyon. All at once it turned sharply southward. The crew had to struggle with lines and spars to swing the icerigger safely around the twisting walls.

The wind continued to buffet them from off the plateau, but it was gentler now. The ice raft could proceed up canyon on a softer tack.

Except that the canyon was blocked.

At first he thought it a landslide, tumbled down from those cliffs so stable in appearance. As they drew nearer it was clear that the obstacle was Tran-made, its great stones and blocks neatly piled with mortarless masonry to form a wall stretching across the ice strait like a granite web.

It was perhaps thirty meters high, deeper than he could casually guess without a higher view. As was the custom on Tran-ky-ky, the colossal double gate was constructed of wood. It rose nearly as high as the stone walls themselves and was flanked on either side by a triangular tower.

The structure puzzled him. Impressive as they were, these could not be the gates to fabled Moulokin. Behind the barrier the cliffs rose high and close together as ever. There was no room for a city behind the wall. And if any such did exist there, he reminded himself, surely it could be seen from the lookout cage on the mainmast.

The wall itself was a typically solid piece of native engineering. It looked well-nigh impregnable. But something lay behind that gate. The quilt of grooves in the ice now ran straight toward the double gate.

They were very close when the sound of a horn reached them. It brayed three times and then was silent. Ethan ran for the bow, discovered Elfa, Teeliam, Hunnar, September and many others already there, staring forward.

A voice from one of the towers hailed them. Its tone, so crucial to the precise meaning of many Trannish phrases and words, was neither hostile nor openly inviting. “Who are you, in the great ship? From whence do you come, and what do you wish of the peaceful folk of Moulokin?”

This development produced an excited muttering as word spread through the crew, made its way up the masts and into the cabins. Moulokin existed; Moulokin was real! At least, an unseen presence on an impressive wall had laid claim to the reality of a rumor.

Hunnar replied. “We come from a far state, Wannome, to the northeast of you. We desire to parlay with your Landgrave and council on a matter of great importance to all Tran. And we have three important visitors with us.”

“Step forward, lad. Time to show ourselves.” September slid back his mask so those hidden in the wall would have an unobstructed view of his furless visage. Williams and Ethan duplicated his movement.

“They are from a world other than Tran-ky-ky.” Hunnar pointed skyward. “A world from the ocean of black ice.”

All at once there was movement on the ramparts. Ethan could see Tran soldiers emerge from concealment, gesturing at the icerigger while talking among themselves with apparent excitement.

So the appearance of the three humans was a surprise to them. Now he could relax some. Calonnin Ro-Vijar had not conjured up a skimmer or other modern vehicle to carry him here in advance of their arrival, to stir up trouble and spread the lies he’d sown so effectively in Poyolavomaar.

“They have much of importance to impart to you, as they have imparted to us,” Hunnar continued. “Important things which can benefit all Tran.”

“These Tran are of Moulokin and for Moulokin first,” responded the voice from the tower, sounding noncommittal. “But … we will talk with you and mayhap even listen.

“As to your own plans and desires, know that many have tried to sway Moulokin with weighty promises erected on thin ice. We make no promises of our own. Will you still talk, given these words? We will open the gates to you.” A pause, then, “I believe your vessel will pass between. Marvelous as are the shipwrights of the city, they have created nothing half so grand.”

“Happily will we share our knowledge with all.” Lowering his voice, Hunnar faced those grouped around him. “What think you, friend Ethan?”

Uncomfortable as always with so many eyes on him, Ethan replied softly. “Everything points to the real Moulokin lying somewhere beyond that gate. Whether it exists or not, we seem to have found some Tran with self-confidence and a willingness to listen. That’s a valuable combination we should try and enlist.”

“Leastwise they haven’t told us to turn around and take off back the way we’ve come.” September was gazing expectantly at the wall barring their path. Shrouds and stays snapped around them, singing in the down-canyon breeze. “We should be careful, and we should go in.”

“ ’Tis settled, then.” Hunnar called out the command to the midship mate, who relayed it crisply to the helmdeck. A prompt reply came back. Ta-hoding felt he could negotiate the narrow gateway in the wall.

“We will come in,” Hunnar shouted back to the listeners assembled on the wall and in the two towers, “and with thanks for your friendly welcome.” The last was offered as much in hope as certainty.

Like the snores of a restless giant, the thick wooden gates drew back on stone slides. Ta-hoding rumbled cautious orders. The
Slanderscree
started forward, tacking minimally under slight sail.

Ethan was too busy to decide whether the anxious expressions of the guards gathered on the walls were due to curiosity, awe, or nervous tension. The stone wall contained a surprise. It was much thicker than he’d expected, varying from ten to twenty meters in depth. Cabins and barracks were built into and on top of the immense rampart.

Ta-hoding employed his fanciest maneuvering to turn the ship to starboard once her stern had cleared the wall. As the icerigger began to edge slowly around the sharp rightward bend in the abyss, a cry of dismay sounded from the bowsprit lookout. Other cries sounded from the bow.

Intending to discuss the difficulties of negotiating the slim channel with Ta-hoding, Ethan heard the shouts, stopped, and reversed his course. By the time he readied the bow, the
Slanderscree
had come to a halt. A glance showed the cause of the crew’s consternation.

Around the canyon headland and before them lay a second wall. It looked just as impregnable and well-tranned as the one behind them. There was a double gate in it, and the gate was closed.

A creaking noise turned his attention to the stern. Working frantically, the guards on the first wall had succeeded in closing the portal they’d just passed through, after having oiled the stone slides to keep the ponderous gates from screeching and warning the icerigger’s crew. Now they were draping thick green-red cables across the gate and securing them to the bracketing towers. Spears, lances, and bows formed a threatening fringe along the wall top. Expectant yellow eyes gleamed behind them, shining brightly in the dim canyon light of afternoon.

“So much for local hospitality.” September studied a furious Sir Hunnar. The knight was showing clenched teeth, examining the armed walls, instinctively gauging an opponent’s strength. “Much as it pains me to admit it, friend Hunnar, I’m tempted to come ’round to your way of thinking. First Poyolavomaar and now here. Doesn’t look like Tran folk even like to speculate on cooperatin’.”

“Raft coming!” called the mizzen lookout, stimulating a rush toward the stern. Everyone clustered at the icerigger’s widest point, over the starboard stern runner.

A very small icecraft was fluttering toward the
Slanderscree
from behind, having emerged from a dock attached to the inside of the first wall. It looked like a brown leaf scudding uncertainly across the hard whiteness. Three Tran manned it: one steering, one handling the single sail, the last standing at the bow-point gazing curiously at the icerigger which towered above him.

One of the sailors peering over the railing growled. “They carry no weapons.”

“And fly no pennant,” said Hunnar, adding admiringly: “They said they would let us past
this
gate, and that we would talk. Talk we will, though ’tis not the setting for a parley I would prefer.” He glanced over at one of the assistant mates. “Vasen, what are our chances of backing sail and breaking through that gate?”

The mate replied as if he’d already considered the question carefully, “As thick as the wall is,” Sir Hunnar, I would care not to try. We might crack the wooden gates despite lack of room to build up proper speed. But the pika-pina cables appear well secured to the stone towers. They would not snap, and I would not care to chance pulling their moorings free from the wall.” He thought a moment before speaking further.

“With the aid of our crossbows and the light weapons of our human friends, we could perchance overpower the guards on the wall. But we would still have to unkey and drop the cables barring our retreat.” He gestured toward the bow and the second wall up canyon. “I cannot judge how many soldiers might be waiting out of sight behind that wall. They could attack us from behind and overwhelm us with numbers.” He executed a Tran gesture of disappointed negativity. “ ’Twould be prudent to talk first. We can then always slit the envoy’s throat before attempting to escape.”

Hunnar responded with a snarl. He disliked having to wait. Patience was not a Tran trait. The humans had chided him about that before. Well, he could be as patient as any hairless human, and would chat pleasantly and politely with this envoy.