“Would it not be simpler, my lord,” asked the same knight who’d spoken a moment ago, “to take a new and more willing consort?”
“Who speaks? Who tells Rakossa what to do and how to judge?” The knight did not answer, bent his knees to sink a little lower into the crowd.
“No sheslug defies us or gains our better. We will instruct her in the meanings of Hell.”
Another official whispered that after serving as consort to the Landgrave for several years, the vanished woman no doubt knew the meanings of hell already. Fortunately, Rakossa did not hear or he might have been inspired to begin a mass murder of all assembled merely to insure the disposal of his single insulter.
“It is only just that you pursue her—and them,” said a comfortingly acquiescent Ro-Vijar. Rakossa’s anger subsided somewhat, the Mad which had held him fully let clearer thoughts have room in his twisted brain.
“That is truth, friend Ro-Vijar. We must follow her and those who aided her.” How neatly, thought Ro-Vijar with distaste, he changes things in his mind to fit his mind’s bent. Now it is the escapees who are guilty of assisting the woman, not the other way around. Then he grew tense, aware that the madman was eyeing him coldly.
“We have taken your word in much of this, Landgrave of Arsudun. Of the three offworld devils’ intentions and of their Tran friends.”
“I tell only the truth, sire, of what needs doing. You defend all of us. Your name will be remembered as mighty.”
“We wonder,” Rakossa muttered calculatingly, while Ro-Vijar strove to appear unaffected by his ferocious stare, “just whose purposes are truly being served in this.
“However,” he said more briskly, taking his gaze from the silent Ro-Vijar, “We will have that witch back. As she is served by those you believe need be destroyed, it seems to pursue one we must pursue all.”
“They are devils and destroyers, Lord Rakossa.”
“Devils they are. Destroyers seek destruction, not escape. Yet only a few died in trying to prevent their flight. We wonder—we will have her back!”
He turned on a stiffly posed officer. “Talizeir, ready the fleet for pursuit. All ships, all officers, all crew to the ready, for we leave by first light.”
“As my Landgrave commands,” the tall, dignified Tran replied. He pushed through the others toward the door.
“You are dismissed,” Rakossa told the rest. “Those who are to chase, prepare yourselves.”
“We will have her back,” he murmured, alone now in the ornate chamber. “And we will have that ship, that magnificent ice ship for our own, though this strange Landgrave Ro-Vijar wishes it for himself.”
As for the outworld devils, perhaps when they were recaptured he would listen a little more to their words and a little less to those of the Landgrave of Arsudun. He was older, this Ro-Vijar, more experienced, his words as devious as his true aims. His purposes clashed somehow with his speech.
Blood and bone awash in a sea of shrieks inundated his thoughts, and he thought again only of the consort Teeliam Hoh, as the thick blood bubbled from her laughter.
Wind howled mournfully across the deck of the Slanderscree. Ethan blinked behind his face mask as he emerged on deck, shutting the cabin door tightly behind him. Elfa, Hunnar, and September stood conversing near the mizzenmast. As he drew nearer he saw Teeliam among them, hidden partly by September’s bulk.
“Warmth and wind this morning to you, friend Ethan,” Hunnar called happily. “We debate on what to do next.”
“We still can’t return to Arsudun.” September spoke through the diaphragm of his own mask.
“Our first try at establishing a confederation certainly didn’t work out very well.” Ethan sounded depressed.
“What confederation speak you of, friend Ethan?” asked Teeliam. He explained their idea to her.
“That gives meaning to the lies of the false Landgrave Ro-Vijar,” said the former royal consort of Poyolavomaar. “The only Tran he seeks to protect is himself.”
“We could return to Wannome,” Hunnar suggested. Everyone looked to him with varying expressions of dismay or shock and he hastened to protest. “Not I, ’tis not I who wishes to do so. But I felt it but fair to certain of the crew to relay their desires.
“For myself, I admit I was skeptical at first, my friends. Now, the more we travel across my world and the more I see how such as Ro-Vijar and Rakossa conspire for their own benefit, pitting Tran against Tran, state against state, the more convinced am I of the Tightness of this plan. This union you have outlined is a worthy end to be fought for of itself, no matter what distribution of trade and benefits it also produces with your government, friend Ethan.”
September commented approvingly. “Nothin’ like some outright treachery and double-dealing by politicians to convince the citizenry they need a new form of government.”
“There are still many good men and women of the crew who feel differently.” Hunnar gestured at the ship around them, the populated rigging above. “They became homesick long since and talk more of mates and cubs and mistresses than confederations and politics. Adventure is growing wearisome to them, nor has our failure at Poyolavamaar inspired aught but despair. They wish for familiar faces and home hearths.”
“They’re not alone,” Ethan said, feeling a tug toward a hearth more distant than the knight could imagine. “Are you suggesting the possibility of mutiny?”
Hunnar executed a violent Tran gesture indicating absolute negativity. “Ta-hoding is too observant and too good a captain for that. Never would he permit dissension to advance that far. Where other captains might put disgruntled crew members in chains, he can disarm them with a laugh or a sailor’s jest.
“I wish merely to say that for this journey to show profit, we will have to have some success capable of raising the spirits of our less far-sighted shipmates.”
Ethan studied the parallel grooves the runners cut in the ice behind them. “We can outdistance any pursuit from Poyolavomaar. The question is, where do we go now?”
“Your pardon.” All eyes turned to Teeliam. “I care not whither you go so long as it is not back to Poyo. But I have listened well to your talk and believe you have the best interests of all in mind. As you have failed at Poyolavomaar through the wiles of its ruler and not its people, so should you try another state at least as wealthy and powerful, if not as aggressive.” She nodded forward.
“I am no sailor, but I know directions and locations.” She made a spitting sound as she spoke. “This is necessary when escape to elsewhere becomes one’s obsession. Less than two hundred satch to the (Tran equivalent for south-southwest) lies fabled Moulokin.”
“Two hundred satch—a fair journey to seek a myth.” Hunnar laughed and even Elfa looked dubiously at her savior. “There is no such state as Moulokin.”
“You’ve heard of this place?” Ethan eyed the knight in amazement. “You never heard of Arsudun, yet this place which sounds still farther from Sofold is familiar to you?”
“Moulokin is a mystic name on Tran-ky-ky, friend Ethan.” The knight was still grinning. “Many of the finest ice ships were supposedly built there, in its shipyards. Yet not I nor any I know of have conversed with has ever seen Moulokin, nor even a Moulokinese.”
“If they’re only a myth, what about the ships?”
“Friend Ethan,” Hunnar said as one to a cub, “all owners are proud of their vessels. The finer the vessel, the greater the pride. To claim Moulokinese origin for a raft is to claim a credit few dare to match. ‘Moulokin’ may be naught but an honorary title given the best ships built in many shipyards and bestowed at their launching.”