Part 8 (1/2)
”I'm sorry- it's hard to see in this light.” Elfa KurdaghVlata put up the sword she was carrying, stared at the pair of startled humans.
”You!” Ethan blurted out.
She turned, glanced back at hidden sights, then looked anxiously from one man to the other. ”I don't see anyone inside. Where are the two sentries?” When neither human replied, she made a curt gesture of understanding. ”Good. I've been huddled inside for ten _vate_, trying to decide what to do. I knew they were out here and could not conceive of how to cut two throats at the same time without raising the alarm. The guard will be changed soon, but now we have time.” She appeared to encounter a sudden thought.
”Forgive my preoccupation, Sir Ethan. I am remiss in manners. My thanks to you both for rescuing me.”
”I wouldn't take credit for somethin' you seem to have practically pulled off by yourself,” September replied. ” Ton my word, you're a resourceful gal.”
”I do my best, Sir Skua.” But she was gazing at Ethan as she spoke, her yellow eyes glittering in the dim light.
He turned away hurriedly. ”We'd better get moving. No sense tempting luck by hanging around.”
”One moment.” While Ethan and September ex-changed questioning glances she vanished into the unseen courtyard. To Ethan's immense relief, she re-turned a moment later. Something bulky and indistinct was slung over her right shoulder. Two extensions hung slackly from the rest. Arms.
”What? who's that?” he asked.
”I was granted the opportunity to take a prisoner.” If the weight of the body was troubling her, she didn't show it. ”I believe he is a squire or higher. Would you not wish to learn who attacked us and why?”
”So you don't think it was common piracy either?” September smiled at her, though she couldn't see his grin behind the mask, not in the poor light.
”I do not know for certain, but I would like to.”
”So would I.” September started toward her. ”Let me take him.”
She glared at him. ”Do you not think I can manage a simple load?”
”I wouldn't be surprised if you couldn't handle any-thing you wanted to, m'ladycat. But you're not de-signed for descending steps, and we've a h.e.l.luva lot of 'em to make our way down in the darkness. If we were on open ice, I wouldn't have opened my mouth. Do you not think,” he finished, mimicking her, ”that we can make better time?”
She hesitated only an instant before pa.s.sing the limp form over. ”Rightness of your words, knight.”
Her attention turned back to Ethan. ”So brave of you to challenge the fortress alone.”
”We were the ones best built for climbing,” he said uncomfortably. ”Let's go.”
It was Elfa who had the foresight to close and bolt the damaged door behind them.
*VI*
”Quiet.” Hunnar made shus.h.i.+ng gestures at the sailors a.s.sembled behind him. He peered around the curve of the pinnacle at the base of the stairway. ”Someone comes.”
The noise of feet on stone sounded for a few minutes more, inaudible to human ears but clear to those of the waiting Tran.
”I recognize Sir Ethan!” one of the squires said, and then they were all rus.h.i.+ng from concealment to greet the Landgrave's daughter and her saviors. As they crowded around her, exchanging words and jokes, Ethan mused again on the informality between ruler and subject that was common among the Tran.
In fact, he thought some of the joyful embraces between Elfa and sailors overly familiar. Hunnar didn't take exception to them, so Ethan kept his peace.
”So keep you all the glory of this adventure to your-self,” the redbearded knight said to Ethan. But there was no anger, only happiness in his voice as he spoke.
”Don't give us credit for anything except clear-ing the way.” He indicated Elfa. ”She was waiting for us at the door.”
”With this.” September dumped the unconscious prisoner onto the ice. At the sight of one of the kidnappers, angry mutters came from the fight-ready a.s.sembly. There was a gentle, dangerous surge toward the motionless shape.
Hunnar motioned them away. ”If it is our pleasure we can kill him later.” He looked down at the unfortunate warrior. ”And I think that _will_ be our pleasure. A wise man can learn even from a burning book.”
A pikapina rope bound the captive's ankles to-gether, a second tied his wrists in front of his groin.
Two Tran picked up ropes attached to his feet, opened their dan, and started back toward the distant _Slanderscree_.
As they picked up speed, Ethan wondered at the strength and toughness of Tran hide. The prisoner's back must be feeling the effect of friction between body and ice. He remarked on his concern to Budjir, who was chivaning alongside. The soft-voiced squire replied solemnly that the skin on the prisoner's back was of no interest to anyone, so long as his mouth re-mained operative.
Considering the mood of the group, Ethan decided it wasn't the time for him to insist on civilized treat-ment of the captive. He had enough to do keeping his balance as two other Tran pulled him over the ice.
He glanced at his wrist. It was sixty centigrade below.
Happy embraces and greetings were exchanged _en ma.s.se_ when the little group reached the s.h.i.+p, greetings made doubly fervent at the news that the party had suffered not a single casualty.
Ethan had been expecting furious cries and shouts from behind for the past ten minutes. Evidently the guard still hadn't been changed back at the unsuspect-ing fortress. Or if it had and Elfa's escape had been discovered, the inhabitants were still debating what to do. By the time they made up their minds to attack again, if they did so, the _Slanderscree_ should be far out of reach.
Tahoding was already directing the recovery of the anchors. While the captain didn't like the idea of ma-neuvering the great s.h.i.+p at night and grumbled about it unceasingly, for once his icemans.h.i.+p took second place to military necessity.
Questioning of the captive began the following morning, when the icerigger was far from the cliffs of Arsudun Isle and the glaring sun showed only clean bare ice behind them.
Though Ethan was interested in most aspects of Trannish culture, he elected to remain far from the bow where the inquiry was taking place. The wind swallowed most of the screams that deck distance didn't. As he fought to ignore those faint, ululating cries he found himself unable not to think of the gap that separated him from his Tran friends. That gap would not vanish, for all that he would have given his life for Hunnar and vice-versa.
Possibly Ethan's great-grandfather many generations removed would have been more empathetic, would have partic.i.p.ated in the questioning process with the same cruel indifference of Elfa and Balavere and the others. Such barbarisms were common enough to man's past, up through the twenty-first century, old calendar.
On reflection, though, he was forced to admit that the differences between modern Commonwealth civili-zation and the feudal methodology employed by the Tran were not so very great. All that distinguished the former from the latter were some informal, mutual understandings known as morals and a few encoded as laws.
There were plenty of citizens in his society who ig-nored the first while trying to subvert the second.
He ought not to raise himself too high, lest the hypocrisy of current civilization make him fall too far. At least the Tran's methods had the virtues of directness and simplicity, even if they were messy. One particularly lengthy, quavering moan reached him across the deck and he found himself unable to repress a shudder.
Troubled, he mounted the steps parallel to the icepath ascending the helmdeck. Tahoding, as always, stood like a part of his beloved s.h.i.+p close by the great curve of the wheel, staring forward. Occasionally he would snap a command to his helmsmen and the wheel would move, or he would shout to the nearest mate some instructions which found their way up the rigging to the sailors working there.
He was the fattest Tran Ethan had encountered, an easygoing, pacifistic sort, less bloodthirsty in manner than the common sailors or professional knights and squires.
”What are they doing to him?”
”The captive?” Tahoding kept his gaze on the ice far ahead, sliding beneath the bowsprit. ”They are questioning him, friend Ethan.”
A faint hissing as of frying bacon sounded above the wind, the noise produced by the five huge duralloy runners slicing across the ice. ”I know that, but- how?”
Tahoding appeared to consider the question seri-ously before finally responding. ”I do not know how it is with your people, or with the people here, but in Wannome and its neighboring cities the procedure for interrogating a war prisoner is quite standard ritual.