Part 26 (1/2)
”Before you babble cubbish objections, we will tell you some-thing else. We have already won this battle.”
Strange expressions greeted this ridiculous pro-nouncement. All knew, even his supporters, that the Landgrave was not the sanest Tran in Poyolavomaar. They wondered if he now might not have entered the region of the humored dead, a development many would have welcomed.
That was not the case. ”We have won, because these detested creatures returned here to where we awaited them. We did not know if they would do so. We could not circle this enormous land to find where they might leave it and return decently to the ice. We had thought they might fly off through the sky, as Calonnin RoVijar has told us the offworlders can. But he also a.s.sured us that they most likely would not.”
That last prompted a query from the officer who'd first spoken. ”Where is the brave Landgrave of Arsudun?”
”Yes,” shouted another ”where has he taken him-self now that we must fight with blood instead of words?”
”At least you have the brains to note the absence of our valued friend and ally. Now, strain your tiny minds but a little further. Where can he have gone to? Think a moment!” He savored the sudden consterna-tion visible on their faces. ”Think of what we just told you, of the offworlders flying through the air.”
Someone finally said, in a stunned voice, ”He has gone for offworlder help of our own.”
”A sensible man among you.” Rakossa marked the one who'd spoken for future promotion, provided he continued to behave with proper humility and defer-ence toward the royal person.
”RoVijar has allies among the offworlders, even as that accursed woman does. When it became clear to us that the iceraft and its cargo were elsewhere than in the city of the merchants we dispatched RoVijar at his own suggestion back to his own country. He a.s.sures us he can procure offworld help.
When he returns, it will be with weapons of battle so terrible that the puny hand knives of the offworlders on that raft will appear as a wooden sword beside one of steel!”
Sitting down, he let the officers mull over that bit of news. ”Meanwhile,” he interjected, ”the merchants and their offworlders cannot come out. If they dare attack us on the open ice, we will retreat past their wind advantage and cut them up on the sea despite their strange weapons. If they vanish again, they will be found when the Landgrave of Arsudun returns with his aid. They cannot escape us.'” He slammed a paw down hard on the table.
”Then will we possess not only the great ices.h.i.+p, but all the riches of this bloated merchant city, which we will strip and then burn to the ground.”
The cabin rang with cheers. Rakossa sat back, smiled inwardly. Once more he had them.
Maintain-ing the loyalty of such peasant was a disagreeable game, but one which great men like himself neces-sarily had to master.
Yes, he would have the raft with its beautiful, tall runners made from metal of the offworlders. He would have the mysterious shortarrow bows of its crew as well as their blood. His soldiers, who had grown too thoughtful for responsible citizens, would now have the chance to forget idle speculations and drown them-selves in the flesh and wealth of Moulokin. His name and the name of Poyolavomaar would spread a little farther over this portion of the world.
There was something still more important he would gain. More vital than the conquest and rape of the city, than gaining the greatest ices.h.i.+p on all of Tran-ky-ky, than the power and prestige the coming de-struction would bring to him. His eyes narrowed and double lids nearly closed, giving the Landgrave of Poyolavomaar a glazed, sleepy look. He would have the concubine Teeliam.
Let his officers and men gain the riches of the city. His desire was for a possession much smaller. He could not live knowing a possession had defied him.
The excited buzz of conversation around him faded to a dull hum as he envisioned for the thousandth time what he would do to her when his paws again touched her skin.
It would be her last escape.
One of Mirmib's underlings was showing Ethan and Skua the outskirts of Moulokin. They were on the far southwestern side of the city now, where dense stands of coniferous forest ran inland up the shallow subsidiary canyon. Looking behind them they could see small rafts skittering back and forth within the bowlshaped harbor. Smoke drifted from stone chim-neys. Gentle breezes m.u.f.fled distant s.h.i.+pyard and city sounds. The blockading Poyolavomaar fleet and the possibility of violent death seemed very far away.
”These trees,” the official pointed out proudly, ”are among the oldest and largest in the canyon. We do not cut them indiscriminately, but reserve them for special endeavors, such as the mainmast of an es-pecially large raft. They serve also to break the rare severe winds that come off the plateau above the city.”
The official dropped his arms, slowing his speed on the icepath to a crawl to accommodate the two hu-mans who plodded uphill alongside him. But they never did get to visit the saw mills and lumberyard which lay further upcanyon.
A shout sounded behind them. An anxious-looking young Tran was chivaning uphill after them. He came to an abrupt halt, tongue lolling, panting like a winded runner. Throughout his subsequent monologue his arms gesticulated wildly, usually in the direction of the harbor.
”More-more skypeople have come.” Ethan and September exchanged glances, said nothing. ”They say-” He looked at both humans warily as he paused for a breath, ”they say that you are renegades among your own people, evil ones come to work evil among us. That the Tran of Poyolavomaar are but do-ing all Tran a service by trying to take you into cus-tody, and that we of Moulokin should surrender you immediately.”
”I see.” September regarded the downy-maned messenger easily. ”What do Mirmib and the Lady K'ferr say to this?”
The other grinned in that peculiar Trannish way. ”Many things that it would not be right to say in the presence of young cubs. They believe you. All we of Moulokin believe you. Those who could join with the treacherous Poyos could be naught but liars, no matter their powers or origin. A faster raft or stronger sword does not make a stranger's words right.”
”I think,” September said approvingly, ”you folks are gonna make good additions to the Commonwealth. Did you happen to see these new skypeople yourself?”
”I did.”
”Was one of 'em just a little shorter than myself, with a self-important manner about him?”
”I know naught of the mannerisms of you offworlders,” the messenger replied honestly. ”I was sent only to inform you. But there were three skypeople and the one you may describe gives orders to the other two. They have come in a craft most marvelous and magical. It has no runners at all,” he murmured in astonishment, ”but floats above the ice the height of my chest.”
”A skimmer,” explained Ethan, adding, ”they can come right over the wall with that if they want to. But three?”
”Trell wouldn't leave Arsudun without a bodyguard of some sort,” September said reasonably.
”Probably peaceforcers. They'll take orders from the Resident Commissioner without question, unless we can talk sense to 'em. And if Trell's told them we're dangerous criminals or some such, we won't have a chance to get near them. But a skimmer doesn't frighten me. Trell would guess that much. Let's go see what else they've brought.”
Trell had indeed brought much more than a skim-mer. Ethan and Skua stood on the wall sealing off the canyon. In the distance they could see the furled sails and masts of the Poyo fleet. Considerably closer, float-ing two meters above the ice, was a rectangular metal shape with a curved prow. The back third of the ob-ject was irregular and composed of the same dullantimonyhued metal as the body, the b.u.mps and rises giving it the look of a diseased animal. The front two-thirds were normally encased in a metal and gla.s.salloy canopy, which was presently retracted. A steady, mellow hum came from within the skimmer.
One survival-suited man sat at the controls. Trell stood behind him. Slightly to the left and still further back a third figure sat in a flexible seat. The seat was attached to a device consisting of a narrow, tapering tube two and half meters long that nested in a webbing of opaque ceramics, gla.s.salloy, and spun metal. Ethan experienced a sinking feeling. The abstract sculpture was a beam cannon. One of modest size, but of suffi-cient capability to turn any fortification of Tran-ky-ky to a mound of molten rock.
Its operator was sitting easily in the seat, running a hand through her long red hair and waiting for instruc-tions from the Commissioner.
The proximity of the skimmer rendered the use of voice amplifiers unnecessary. ”Ethan Frome Fortune, Skua September, Milliken Williams!”
Ethan recognized Trell's voice immediately. ”Where's Milliken?”
”Off with the wizard someplace. Never mind, feller-me-lad.” September roared over the wall. ”We're here, Trell!”
”You are engaged,” the Commissioner began officiously, ”in unauthorized, unpermitted, and illegal dip-lomatic endeavors among the natives of this Cla.s.s V unstatused world.”
”We're trying to help them form something re-sembling a planetary government,” Ethan yelled back, ”so they can make the jump to Cla.s.s II. That's a good thing. You said so yourself, Trell.”
”You do not have official permission,” Trell replied sweetly. ”As Resident Commissioner I share your concern. But I cannot countenance unauthorized activities of such delicacy.”
”We're willin' to cooperate,” countered September. ”Give us permission.”
”I'm not empowered to do so, Mr. September. I'm only an administrator, not a policymaker. If you will return with me to Arsudun, I will help you fill out the proper forms and put the request through correct channels.”
”That would take years.” Ethan didn't try to hide the sarcasm. ”You know how the bureaucracy works. We're not recognized diplomats, missionaries, anything but private citizens. We'd never get permission.”
”That is not for me to say. But you must go through official channels! As Resident Commissioner I am empowered to enforce the law. No law permits amateur meddling in native affairs.”
”You call it meddling. We call it somethin' else.”
”Evidently, Mr. September. However,” and he nodded toward the waiting cannon, ”whatever lies you've managed to foist on your native allies will not resist modern weaponry. For the last time, I implore you to return peacefully to Arsudun-.”
”Where we might get our bellies slit- accidentally,” September cut in.
”-to pursue your endeavors through proper author-ities.”