Icerigger - Mission To Moulokin Part 22

K'ferr made the Tran equivalent of a laugh. "_Hidden_, my lord Rakossa? Hidden such a great vessel as you describe? Where would we conceal such a craft?"

"You could have dismantled it, moved the sections somewhere."

"In less than four days? I venture, my lord, you have an imagination second to none."

An officer of the Poyolavomaar fleet chose that moment to enter the chamber. "The s.h.i.+p we seek is not anywhere in the harbor, sires. Tis nowhere to be found, nor, as some suspected, is there a cave in the cliffs large enough to hide even part of such a large raft. We also ventured far up the main canyon and saw no sign of it." What he said was true; what he didn't know was that the Moulokinese had used sc.r.a.pers and torches to obliterate the telltale tracks marking the _Slanderscree's_ pa.s.sage.

"I do not think, sire, that?"

"We are not interested in what you think!" a furious Rakossa shouted.

"Did you not see," K'ferr continued, "the great raft we ourselves are building? That is what formed the tracks outside our canyon you seem to find so absorbing."

"We saw," said a different voice. Calonnin RoVijar stepped forward. "Wooden runners of that size will not support a vessel of a size necessary to make them worth constructing."

"Our profession as a citystate, and one for which we are justly famed, is raft building." Mirmib stared condescendingly at RoVijar. "What you say may be true, but we often begin such new raft shapes and sizes by way of experimentation. We learn much that is valuable to us in our trade, even if the actual con-cept eventually proves unworkable. Is this Arsudun from which you come also a specialist in the construction of rafts?"

"No, but-"

"Then do not presume to p.r.o.nounce judgment on a craft with which you are not conversant."

RoVijar started to say something, then hesitated. When he spoke again, it was in a surprisingly apolo-getic fas.h.i.+on. " 'Tis evident we have made an error in offending and accusing these people, Lord Rakossa. We may best continue our hunt elsewhere."

"The tracks lead here!" Rakossa threw arms and words about careless of who they struck. "They are here somewhere, magicked or otherwise."

"Do you think they rose into the air and sailed away thusly, my good friend?" RoVijar asked. The comment, made in jest, inspired a horrible thought in the Landgrave of Arsudun. For an instant he thought the humans might somehow have obtained one of their powerful skyrafts and transported it here. He had been told by the human commissioner, Jobius Trell, that the skypeople possessed vehicles capable of transporting an object even as ma.s.sive as the van-ished icerigger through the air. While he had never seen such a device, he was inclined to believe what-ever Trell told him abut human technological capabil-ities. Trell had undoubtedly lied to him about many things, but not about that.

But if he didn't get this idiot Rakossa out of the throne-room before trouble began, they would waste valuable time in a needless battle.

"She's here somewhere." Rakossa prowled the room, heedless of common courtesy. "We know she is."

"She?" inquired Mirmib puzzledly.

"The concubine, who has bewitched us. We require her. She is present. We sense it!" He took a couple of threatening steps toward the throne. "Where are you hiding her, woman?"

Two burly guards, big even for Tran, stepped for-ward between the throne and the raging Landgrave.

Each held a weighty metal battleaxe before him. One let his sway back and forth just above floor level, a pendulum of death.

"My liege and friend Landgrave," said RoVijar earnestly, stepping forward but remembering not to touch the hypersensitive Rakossa, "we have already heard ample explanation. These good people have ne'er heard nor seen the vessel or woman we seek."

"Again I say, this is truth." K'ferr leaned forward. "Considering your hostile actions toward us, I believe we have been extremely courteous and patient with you. Before any irrevocable insults are exchanged, I suggest you take your leave of Moulokin."

"So it would seem best to do, my gracious lady." RoVijar tentatively reached out, chanced a grip on the wild-eyed Rakossa's left arm. The Landgrave of Poyolavomaar did not react angrily. He turned, seemed to see RoVijar clearly for the first time since entering the throne room. Then he shook off the other's hand, whirled, and stalked out of the chamber, muttering slyly to himself.

"Our pardon for this most grievous mistake, my lady, good minister Mirmib." RoVijar made a gesture of profound obeisance. "It was a matter of great im-portance to us, and we acted in haste instead of good sense. I am convinced of your sincerity."

"You are excused by your ignorance." K'ferr indi-cated the now vacant exitway. "The actions of your colleague explain much. May your search continue more profitably elsewhere."

"May your warmth remain constant all the days of your life. Rest a.s.sured we will eventually find those we seek." With that, RoVijar turned with the Poyo officer and departed from the chamber.

When they were many minutes gone, K'ferr turned to Mirmib and asked, "What do you think they will do now?"

"If 'twas up to this RoVijar, they would give up and sail home." The minister rubbed the back of an ear, looked thoughtful. "Or perhaps the calmer of the two is in reality the more dangerous. So blinded by hatred, or love, for this Teeliam woman is the other he cannot think straight. If he ever could."

"You saw the woman in question, Mirmib. The scars. Why would this Landgrave risk his power, his armed might, to find and torment her further?"

"Some rulers take not well personal affronts, though rarely do they react in so extreme a fas.h.i.+on as this Rakossa, my lady. Hate can be as powerful an _eldur_ as love. Often is the line between the two indistinct." They exchanged a glance unfathomable to outsiders. "I do not know what transpired between this girl and this Landgrave, and can but speculate. One thing I can say confidently, though. Should they eventually meet again, one or the other will surely die of it."

That petty matter did not occupy Calonnin RoVijar's mind. If they returned to Arsudun now, he would have this second failure to report to Trell.

The critical question was: had the _Slanderscree_ actually been within the harbor of Moulokin? If so, he could envision several fanciful possibilities to explain what had happened to the great icerigger. Though he badly wanted to, his "escort of honor" had kept him from talking to, or bribing, any of the townsfolk.

In the absence of direct information he would have to extrapolate. That was something he was very good at, something which made the games he played with the human Trell interesting.

With stakes as high as they were, he was not about to leave Moulokin until he knew the truth of what had happened to their quarry.

XV.

Enough days pa.s.sed filled with the same rolling gravelly ground and spare vegetation to make Ethan wish for a spirit or two to liven up the journey. Their sole excitement was provided by a two-meter-wide creva.s.se that ran east and west as far as chivsore scouting parties could determine. Numerous methods for traversing the obstacle were proposed. One mate suggested removing the duralloy runners from where they had been secured to the deck and using them to bridge the gap.

For a change it was Tahoding who provided the solution. Though he had only modest confidence in himself, he'd come to feel boundless enthusiasm for his new command. Despite Ethan and Hunnar's appre-hension he ordered all unnecessary personnel off the raft. The _Slanderscree_ sailed in a wide circle and bore down on the creva.s.se with all sail flying, wind directly behind it.

At the last instant, spars and sails were aligned to obtain as much upward lift as possible. Like some obese bird the front end of the enormous raft rose skyward. Only the two fore axles completely cleared the gap before the bow began to settle surface-ward again, but it was enough. Ma.s.s and velocity were sufficient to carry the entire s.h.i.+p across the narrow abyss, though the rear axle and wheels dipped dan-gerously inward.

Tahoding explained that they carried spare axles and, in the event that his ploy had failed, could still repair any damage. The threat of being halted in this chill, moody land was sufficient to inspire even the cautious captain to daring.

They reached the edge of the plateau the following day. The longing of the sailors for the boundless ice ocean out of reach two hundred meters below was evident to all the mates and officers. They felt the icepull themselves.

Continuing southward, the icerigger raced parallel to the sheer cliffs. Barren terrain continued to unravel from an infinite brown thread to port, gleaming ice and blue sky above s.h.i.+ning daily off to starboard.

Tahoding and his crew had grown so skillful in their handling of the s.h.i.+p that Ethan no longer worried or turned away when they hove unnecessarily near to the breathtaking drop. All this activity kept the crew from succ.u.mbing to the worst kind of mental fatigue: the kind induced by unrelieved boredom.

"I'm beginnin' to worry a bit, young feller-me-lad." September clung to a yard nearby, his face showing disappointment beneath the transparent mask. "Hunnar and the others are starting to feel likewise, and with reason. We haven't come near findin' another canyon resembling Moulokin's. It just don't make sense, lad." His tone was tense but quiet. "That there'd be just a single canyon of that type cuttin' into this continent, I mean. Got to be others."

"I'm no geologist, Skua, but I admit it seems pecul-iar to me, too."

September made a face, an expression centering whirlpool-like on that sharp, hooked beak of a nose.

"If we do have to circle back the way we've come, it's a good bet the Poyos will've completed their in-spection of Moulokin and, not finding us there, gone off elsewhere after us." He brightened somewhat at the thought.

"At this point that just might be our best course. Think I'll go have a chat with the captain and Sir Hunnar. Stay sane, lad." He started to head sternward, halted as Ethan gestured toward the bow.

"We may not have any choice tomorrow, Skua."

The steep hills that had marked the north and eastern horizons since they'd emerged from the land of the Golden Saia were growing closer, curving around ahead of them and threatening to cut off easy progress to the south. That left them only the path behind.

The slopes ahead looked more precipitous than the ones they'd been running alongside for many days. Signs of erosion, indicating possibly unstable hillsides and talus falls, were becoming visible. They would al-most certainly have to turn back unless a clear pa.s.s could be found through these new obstacles. The _Slanderscree_ had proven herself land-worthy, but she could not climb much of an incline.

As Ethan predicted, they reached the first of the low but steep-sided hills that evening. They decided to make a semi-permanent camp in the sheltering lee of the tallest mini-mount. Scouts would be sent out on the morrow in wheeled lifeboats to try and find a pa.s.sage to the west that the icerigger could negotiate. Both scout groups would be gone a maximum of five days. In that time, the crew would busy themselves with making minor but bothersome and necessary re-pairs to the s.h.i.+p, and try to keep busy until the scouts returned.

Sinahnvor was patrolling his foredeck position, cold in the near cloudless night, when something flickering on the hillside caught his eye. He blinked double lids, but the flickering remained. It looked like a fat eye winking in the night.

Fortunately Sinahnvor was not particularly imaginative. Nevertheless he s.h.i.+vered with something other than cold. Who would be off the s.h.i.+p this time of no-light? There'd been rumors of one of the humans and the Landgrave's daughter, but such tales propelled more rafts than did the winds.

The watchman lifted his oil lamp slightly higher, extending the pole to which it was slung over the side of the raft. It was his imagination after all-no, there it was again! A definite intermittent gleam part way up the steep slope, no higher than the topmost spar of the foremast.

Rumors of a less amusing kind filtered through his brain. If this were truly a land of spirits, might that not be some night-wraith come to s.n.a.t.c.h him from the deck? And who would know the manner or time of his abduction?

It made him glance around anxiously. The two moons were high aloft, an indication that it was nearer morning than evetime. He saw no movement any-where. Would his relief find only lamp pole, clothing, and weapons? Surely a spirit would be interested only in his body.

Monont should be on center deck watch now. He could remain silent and confront that mysterious glint, waiting for his soul to mayhap be stolen out his mouth, or he could seek the comfort of a comrade's company. Lamp pole swinging, he descended from the bowsprit to the deck and moved past the fore cabins.

"Clean ice and wind on your neck," came a husky voice in the darkness. Sinahnvor swung his pole around. It lit the face of a curious Tran.

"What are you doing away from your post, Sinahn-vor?" asked Monont, concerned. "Should the night-mate catch you, he could make you?"

"Be silent, Monont!" Sinahnvor whispered hastily. "There is an eye in the mountain!"

The other lookout studied his colleague carefully. "You have been chewing too much _bui_ extract."

There was conviction in Sinahnvor's voice, how-ever. "As you doubt me, come and see for yourself."

"I should not leave my post."

"Who is to know? The night-mate will not appear until watchchange time, and our nearest enemies are at least a hundred satch behind us."

"That is true. I will come, but only for a moment. Foolishness," Monont muttered as he followed the other sentry to the foredeck.

Motioning his companion to silence, Sinahnvor ex-tended his light pole over the railing, moved it about slowly as he searched the mountainside. For several seconds there was no sign of the s.h.i.+ning and he was more afraid of the story Monont would tell the others come the morn than he was of any spirit they might arouse. But then the spark showed once more, un-mistakably. It remained as steady as the lamp pole.

"See? Did I not tell you?"

The more prosaic Monont eyed the speck of light. "Truly is there something, but I think it is no spirit.

Who ever heard of a spirit with only one eye? They have at least four each."

"Shss.h.!.+ Do not insult it!"

"That is no spirit, idiot-friend." Monont mounted the railing, swung a clawed foot over the side.

Sinahnvor watched him worriedly.

"Where are you going?"

"To that hillside."

"You are mad! Don't do it, Monont. The spirits will draw you into the mountain and drown you in dirt."

"I thought the spirits of h.e.l.l would take us when we went under the ice and down to the inside of the world. The humans and Sir Hunnar Redbeard said such tales were mere superst.i.tion. Then they killed the devil that came up from the waters of the night. It stunk like a slaughtered hessavar. I find it hard now to believe as I once did in spirits and daemons."

He slipped over the side, used a boarding rope to drop quickly to the ice.

"Monont?_Monont_!" Sinahnvor raised his lamp higher. In its shallow glow he saw the dim outline of his friend reach the hillside and begin an awkward ascent. The outline faded to shadow, then a memory of a shadow. Moments pa.s.sed, silent moments broken only by the moan of the tired wind. But while he heard no cries of triumph, neither did any screams drift back to him.

It was with considerable relief that he picked out the returning figure of the other sentry, apparently unharmed.

"What was it, then?" He extended an arm and helped Monont back on deck.

"Here is your spirit eye. I had to dig it out." Sinahnvor, much to his surprise, recognized the object immediately. "Why, 'tis only a _purras_, a common mixing bowl much as my own mate uses. Odd how it s.h.i.+nes. The wood must take a very high polish."

"Take it," urged Monont. " 'Tis not wood."

Sinahnvor accepted the object- and nearly dropped it. It was made of thick, dense metal, badly tarnished in places, still flashy in others. He did not recognize the metal.

Both sentries exchanged glances. What people lived here in this iceless desert who could afford to make common, everyday kitchen utensils out of solid metal? Metal was h.o.a.rded for use in weapons and nails and tools, not mixing bowls.

Sinahnvor did not understand. Not understanding, he said, "I think we had best wake the night-mate early."

The officer was no less startled by the bowl than the two lookouts had been. He chose to wake the second mate, who in turn roused Tahoding, who alerted the three humans and Sir Hunnar and the others of the icerigger's informal decision-making body.

Before long most of the crew was awake and hack-ing at the nearby hillside, their lamps looking to those remaining on the _Slanderscree_ like a convocation of stultified fireflies.

None of the humans took part in the digging. Their survival suits could barely cope with the nighttime temperature of seventy below, with a windchill factor nearing instant death. A crude digging tool could make a substantial gash in a survival suit. Insinuating itself into the cut, the outside air could freeze human skin solid almost as efficiently as a spray of liquid helium.

With such a large party working, it wasn't long be-fore several bags of trophies were being examined on deck. Peering through his mask (no need of the sec-ondary goggles during the night), Ethan saw spread out among wood and soil a treasure trove of metal objects. On most worlds these would have been dis-missed as nothing remarkable, but on metal-poor Tran-ky-ky they hinted at a vanished civilization of immense wealth. There were knives, utensils of all kinds, buckles and braces, engraved and broken drinking vessels, even metal b.u.t.tons and pins. Hunnar fingered several of the last. Until now he'd never seen a pin made of anything but bone.

"Enormously rich or enormously wasteful," he mur-mured, letting oil lamp light create argent patterns on the ornamental steel. "We will dig with more discipline in the morning."

"Who could have lived here?" Ethan wondered aloud.

"Not Tran nor Saia." The knight turned his atten-tion to a delightfully intricate metal bottle wrapped in fine wire scrollwork. " Tis too desolate and iceless for us and too cold for the Saia. But this is not spirit work." Cat-eyes strove to penetrate windswept darkness. "Someone lived here?"

The next day different sections of the hillside were marked off according to how promising they'd proven the night before. The excavation parties turned up a steady stream of new artifacts. Some were made of familiar materials, wood and bone, but most were various alloys, including several neither September or Williams could identify.

Unexpectedly, the wooden artifacts were what the teacher found most intriguing. When Ethan asked him why, he replied, "Because they mean this region cannot have been deserted very long, in geologic time. While it's true the cold air would preserve cellulose materials for a while, it is not desertdry. Nor is the soil devoid of minute organisms and bacterial agents, which would also act to break down the wood-though they are scattered through the soil and nowhere very populous.

"This wood is in far too good condition to have lain buried for any great length of time."

They decided to remain several days and unearth all they could. But a new discovery soon altered their plans.