The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers

  It sat there at the end of the Landgrave’s dock, dwarfing the commercial rafts that skimmed its flanks like waterbugs. Nearly two hundred meters long, with three towering masts, bowsprit, and dozens of tightly furled sails, it radiated enormous power held in check. The tran arrowhead design had been slimmed down to needle-like proportions. Only the two big airfoils marred the raft’s rakish lines.

  There was nothing unusual about the morning set for their departure. A typical trannish day—sunny, windy, freezing to the core. Last-minute supplies and spare parts were being taken on. A considerable crowd had taken time from the unending drudgery of making a living to see them off—or preside at an entertaining crack-up. They lined the shore and-spilled out onto the ice. Cubs ignored mothers and darted in and out around the great duralloy runners.

  Sir Hunnar came on board as nominal commander of their military compliment. But General Balavere was making the journey, too. When he was a cub he’d experienced a rain of ash and hot stone from the Place-Where-The-Earth’s-Blood-Burns. It had darkened the sky over Wannome for four days. Surely it was a holy place—and the general had reached an age when such things took on increasing importance. He was going to see that legendary mountain.

  Old Eer-Meesach, of course, couldn’t have been kept away by a herd of famished krokim.

  The raft had nothing like the carefully arranged chain of responsibility that existed on board a spatial liner. Nor did Williams’ arcane knowledge yield any counterpart for the ancient terran clippers, beyond the rank of captain. So Hunnar’s squires, Suaxus and Budjir, came along as his seconds. Ta-hoding retained much of his own raft crew and worked through them.

  Another side of Hunnar was reflected in his choice of squires. Neither was a type Ethan would choose: Suaxus always dour and suspicious, Budjir laconic to the point of apparent idiocy. However, both were almost severely competent.

  The crew and passengers trooped on board to the accompaniment of tremendous cheers and shouts of encouragement, a few good-naturedly obscene, from the assembled townsfolk. Some had come from as far away as Ritsfasen at the far western tip of Sofold Isle for the departure.

  The Landgrave stood at the dock surrounded by his important nobles and knights. When all were on the raft and the boarding plank had been pulled back, he raised his staff. A respectful silence settled on the crowd.

  “You have come from a strange place and you go to a strange place,” he intoned solemnly. “In the short time between you have done deeds that will be remembered forever by the people of Sofold and myself. You have also said that the universe is a vast place, vaster than we could ever imagine, with thousands of being as different from us as we are different from you living in it.

  “Should these worlds and beings extend to infinity and you were to go among each and every one, you will always find a home and fire for you and your children’s children here, in Wannome.

  “Go now, and go with the wind.”

  “WITH THE WIND,” echoed the crowd somberly. Then someone made a rude noise and they broke into wild yelling and cheering.

  “A predictable sentiment,” commented Hellespont du Kane flatly.

  “Yes? They might be cheering for us, or because their exalted ruler kept his speech admirably short,” September theorized, turning away. But had that been a hint of moisture at the corner of the big man’s eyes? Or was it only distortion from the scratched and battered snow goggles.

  “All right, Ta-hoding!” he bellowed aft. “Let’s see if this firetrap will make it out of the harbor!”

  The strange new commands were issued in modified Trannish sailing terminology, relayed across the deck and up into the rigging to the sailors stationed aloft.

  Just watching the huge natives scramble up the rigging into the shrouds in the continual gale gave Ethan the jitters. And it would be much worse once they left the sheltering bulk of the island. But those powerful muscles and clawed hands and feet held them steady as, one by one, the rust-green sails began to drop and dig wind.

  Slowly, smoothly, the Slanderscree began to slide away from the dock, while the shouts from on shore grew louder and louder. Eyes on the sailors above, September walked over and gave Ethan a sly pat on the back.

  “By-the-by, young feller-me-lad, did you ever manage to get that business of the Landgrave’s offspring straightened out?”

  “It was never out of line,” Ethan riposted. “I thought I did, but she wasn’t exactly in the forefront of the crowd, waving tearfully as we departed. Perhaps not.”

  “I didn’t see her either. Though I notice you’ve warmed up to du Kane’s daughter.” The lady in question had vanished belowdecks the moment she’d come on board in order to get out of the wind. Raft or boat or castle, that was next to impossible on this world.

  “Glassfeathers,” Ethan countered, leaning over the rail to watch the ice slide past. “She’s human, too. She just had to have someone to talk to, finally. I don’t wonder that she doesn’t chat much with her father. Certainly you and Williams aren’t exactly the most charming conversationalists around.”

  “Sorry, young feller, but when I see her it’s without that fur and survival suit, figuratively speaking. That kind of crimps my inclination to easy banter.” He patted Ethan again in fatherly fashion and sauntered off forward, whistling.

  The Slanderscree was moving out of the lee of the mountains. She picked up speed rapidly as the quickly maturing crew put on more and more sail. Even the moonraker was out by the time they reached the main gate—completely repaired once again. By then they were moving at a respectable 30 kph. But they’d be lucky to hold that, moving to the westward. Moving east, with the wind, however, the Slanderscree’s speed was limited only by the strength of her sails and masts and her ability to keep from becoming airborne.

  The last cheers they heard came from the guards at the gate and the operators of the Great Chain as they shot between the towers. Once free of the harbor’s confining walls, Ta-hoding, praying all the while, swung her in a wide curve designed to bring her back to the southwest and on course.

  Ethan held his breath as the raft came around. No one could predict how the radical new mast-and-sail configuration would respond on a craft and world far different from long-dead Donald McKay’s wildest imaginings.

  The sails cracked like Williams’ crude gunpowder, the masts creaked, but the raft came about neatly. Everything held together as they slammed across the wind. They’d follow a zig-zag course, plodding for thousands of kilometers. Even so, the Slanderscree would make good time whenever she turned southward, building up to a nice 60 kph or so before she’d have to turn west into the wind.

  He turned and scanned the deck in search of September but failed to locate him. The big man had probably gone below to get out of the wind himself for a while. Ethan saw no reason why he shouldn’t do likewise.

  He’d reached the hatch when the sounds of yelling and hooting reached him. It was several seconds before he thought to look skyward.

  There, perched outside of the wicker observation cage at the top of the mainmast, was Skua September, gripping the top of the windswept pole with his legs, waving his arms and braying like a hairy jackass.

  Ethan remained rooted to the deck until the big man finally tired and climbed down. He held his breath all the way, expecting at any minute to see the big man slip or lose his grip and be torn away by the clawing hurricane like the last leaf of autumn.

  But he reached the deck easily enough. He walked over to Ethan, tiny particles of ice coating his snow goggles. A gloved hand brushed absently at them. He was panting heavily.

  “Quite a view, lad, quite a view! A blood-racing experience, what? How about giving it a go?”

  “As you should know by now, I’m not the reckless explorer type, Skua.”

  “All right, lad, all right,” the other sighed. “You’re the feckless metropolitan type. Shame. It’s an exalting experience.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but I’m quite cold enough right here w
ithout having to add fatal exposure and bodily danger to it. I prefer the deck. I’ll prefer my cabin even more.” He turned and opened the sliding hatch door.

  To find a familiar and totally unexpected figure blocking his way.

  “Good morrow, Sir Ethan,” said Elfa Kurdagh-Vlata coquettishly. “It is less cold belowdecks.”

  “Elfa,” he said haltingly, “I don’t find this a bit funny. How did you talk your father into letting you on board ship?”

  She walked out of the hatch, stood on deck. “I didn’t ask him. I hid on board til I thought it was too late for you to turn. It is too late for you to turn, isn’t it?”

  “You didn’t ask him? How the hell did you sneak on?”

  “I hid in an empty crate and the sailors brought me on with the other stores. Only it wasn’t empty.” She smiled prettily. “It was full of me.”

  Hunnar had joined them as soon as he’d recognized Elfa. If anything, he was more stunned than Ethan.

  “Elfa!”

  “Really, the powers of observation of this expedition’s leaders amaze me. You are the second person, Sir Hunnar, to identify me right away.”

  “What,” continued Ethan doggedly, ignoring the sarcasm, “is the Landgrave going to say when he finds out you’re missing?”

  She looked thoughtful. “I expect he’ll be furious. He’ll rave and curse and threaten and break things and turn Wannome upside down. Eventually he’ll find my note—”

  “Note?”

  “—and know I’ve gone with you. Then he’ll really get mad.”

  Ethan turned to September. “What are we going to do with her, Skua?”

  “Well, we could turn back,” he considered, admiring the fur-clad Elfa openly. “With the wind behind us it wouldn’t take that long. But I hate like hell to give up the time and distance we’ve already made just to return this hot adolescent to her daddy, what? And there’d be all sorts of awkward recriminations and explanations and such … more time gone. No, tell the steward there’ll be another for supper and let’s keep on our merry way, hey? We can always find a place for her … eh, Hunnar?”

  “What?” replied the startled knight He looked at the big man unsurely.

  They were a thousand kilometers out of Wannome. Even as they breathed, another few meters of ice slid beneath the duralloy runners and vanished astern. Now they were gliding over strange ice that none of Hunnar’s men or Ta-hoding’s sailors had ever traversed before.

  They’d passed few islands during the last hundred kilometers, none of them inhabited. The sense of desolation touched everyone.

  “An empty land,” Hunnar commented quietly, subdued.

  “Yes,” agreed Ta-hoding. “Tis plain to see there’ll be no trading here. Yet, some of the land we passed looked hospitable.”

  “The volcano might have something to do with it,” said September. “I shouldn’t wonder that at this distance these islands might receive periodic rains of hot ash and pumice.”

  “Even so,” mused Ethan idly, “the possibility of establishing a few trading centers with an eye towards expanding inter-surface commerce might—” He paused at a cry from the mainmast that froze both tran as thoroughly as a hundred below.

  “Gutorrbyn! Nor’east!” Hunnar, Ta-hoding, and dozens of sailors and soldiers rushed for the rail.

  “What’s happening?” yelled Colette from a hatchway. Hunnar beat Ethan to the answer.

  “Get thee below, lady du Kane!” It was uttered as an order, not a suggestion. Colette bristled.

  “Now, wait a minute—” she began hotly.

  September’s tone was menacing and devoid of humor. “Do just as he says, Miss du Kane.”

  She hesitated, looked at him uncertainly. Still muttering, she disappeared belowdecks.

  “I see ’em,” the big man mumbled, shielding his eyes with a hand.

  “So do I,” concurred Ethan.

  Far off to the northeast, a small cloud of tiny brown specks had come into view. The cloud of gnats grew to fly-size, changed into a mass of dark T-shapes.

  “Can we outrun them?” asked September. Hunnar’s reply was terse.

  “No, my friend. Perhaps with the wind behind us … but they would still have the angle. Tis certain they’ve seen us. We may have to fight, though there is always the chance they will not be interested in us.”

  There was a querulous bellow from across deck. Ethan recognized the voice of General Balavere.

  “Dragons, sir!” Hunnar called back.

  “How close?” barked the general, buckling on his sword.

  “Five, maybe six kijat, and closing on us.”

  Balavere cursed, strode to the forehatch, and absently yelled into it. Almost immediately, soldiers came gushing out of the hole as though it was a disturbed anthill. Meanwhile, the general hurried to join them astern.

  “We’ll never keep them out with this rigging,” observed Hunnar, staring worriedly aloft. “We’ll put the archers in the center in a group, and spearmen along the rails.”

  Ethan watched the flock grow larger. “How smart are these things?”

  “Less so than a k’nith,” Hunnar replied. “They hunt by vision, sound, and smell, not their brains.”

  “Here’s a thought,” began September. “We might try this … ”

  No one moved on board the Slanderscree. Everyone tried to dig himself into the rail or one of the makeshift barrel-and-crate barricades. Not even the bravest of the ship’s pilots could be persuaded to stand at the wheel while the dragons attacked and neither Hunnar nor Balavere would force anyone. So steering was being handled from belowdecks with a crude tug-and-pull system of ropes.

  The flock came on, gaining steadily on the big ship.

  “Must be close to a hundred of ’em,” whispered September conversationally. “Ugly looking devils, aren’t they, young feller?”

  There was the twang of a bow and Balavere’s voice reached them from up near the bow.

  “Hold your fire, there! Make those arrows count, idiot!”

  The gutorrbyn did not attack. The leader veered off at the last moment and began to circle the raft. The Slanderscree continued to plow wind, her decks devoid of motion, while a halo of squealing, squawking monstrosities danced round her masts.

  Broad and bat-like, the leathery wings were attached to furry, streamlined bodies which ended in long, forked tails. There were claws halfway up each wing and great taloned feet coiled like springs under soft bellies. Each head was a nightmare cross between crocodile and wolf, with a long, wrinkled snout stuffed with double rows of razor-sharp triangular teeth. Huge tarsier-like eyes glared down with blank, mindless malevolence.

  “Watch the leaders,” warned Balavere. “If they come it’ll be in a curve.”

  There was no point in holding your breath. Might freeze if you didn’t keep it moving. The ship moved on, quiet, with the rustle of a hundred pairs of wings drumming against the wind and the creak of spars and sail.

  A hatch opened. Colette du Kane walked halfway out.

  “When is something going to hap—?” She happened to look skyward, saw the mass of circling demons. One hysterical scream.

  “Trinska!” cursed Hunnar. “They might have lost interest!”

  Colette screamed again.

  September suddenly shouted, “Ware zenith!” in Terranglo, hurriedly translated it into Trannish as a single line of gutorrbyn folded their wings, dipped to their right, and dove for the isolated frozen figure on deck.

  “Loose, loose!” screamed Hunnar at the archers. Bows began to sputter.

  Nearly as big as a man and twice as powerful, one of the monsters crumpled to the deck not a meter from Ethan. He thought he heard the neck snap when the creature hit the planking. It had three arrows imbedded in its chest.

  Colette had apparently recovered her senses. Ethan heard the hatch cover slam shut. He didn’t see it because teeth flashed suddenly in front of his face and there was a clack like a beartrap. He slashed half-blindly with his swor
d, felt it bite something soft. There was a hoarse giant-rat scream and a sticky substance covered his bare wrist. A foul, fetid odor assailed his nostrils. Then it was gone and his sword was free.

  It was hard to tell the screams of tran from dragon. He swam through an alien nightmare of blood and teeth. He saw one dragon skimming low over the ice, the limp corpse of a sailor firmly caught in its talons. Once the toothed maw dipped low, slashed almost indifferently at the lolling head.

  Dead gutorrbyn bodies matted the clean wood. Small bunches of spearmen kept the attackers away while protected archers took a terrible toll among them.

  A wounded dragon flashed by, screaming, and smashed into the ice below. It was feathered with arrows. Ethan spun, cut at a spinning, snapping horror that dove at his back. He ducked, and another pair of claws missed his head by centimeters, their owner shrieking in frustration. It backed air, started to pull up for a turn over the deck.

  Something slammed it violently sideways and it crashed into a mast. Ethan now could see that a fair proportion of the mounting pile of dragon-corpses on deck were studded with short, thick darts. He spared a glance upward.

  Wicker cages were bound at the top of each towering mast to protect lookouts from the wind. Now they served a pair of crossbowmen in each. They’d kept still until the fight was joined. Now they were beginning to make their presence felt, picking off the gutorrbyn below and those crawling in the rigging. In the confusion, none of the dragons looked to find where the stubby, deadly bolts were coming from. They dropped in pairs and threes, now.

  Ethan thrust his sword forward again, but by now there was little to strike at. Screeching defiance, the remnant of the fatally mauled flock abruptly lifted with the wind and shot away to the westward.

  Panting heavily, he walked over to where Hunnar was trying to bind up the arm of a badly gashed spearman.