“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. “’Pon 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 exchanged questioning glances she vanished into the unseen courtyard. To Ethan’s immense relief, she returned 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 anything you wanted to, m’lady-cat. But you’re not designed for descending steps, and we’ve a helluva 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 passing 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 SHUSHING gestures at the sailors assembled 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 rushing 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 yourself,” the red-bearded 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 clearing 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 assembly. 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 pika-pina rope bound the captive’s ankles together, 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 remained operative.
Considering the mood of the group, Ethan decided it wasn’t the time for him to insist on civilized treatment 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 masse when the little group reached the ship, 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 unsuspecting 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.
Ta-hoding was already directing the recovery of the anchors. While the captain didn’t like the idea of maneuvering the great ship at night and grumbled about it unceasingly, for once his icemanship 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 participated 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 civilization 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 ignored 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 ice-path ascending the helmdeck. Ta-hoding, as always, stood like a part of his beloved ship 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.