BALAVERE LONGAX FINALLY STEPPED forward. His presence quieted the crew. “From where I was raised and have lived a long life, no Tran will enter yea even the home of a neighbor without retaining at least a knife.”
“You must be mistrustful of your neighbors.” Mirmib sounded unperturbed, but did not modify or drop his demand.
“Suppose,” Hunnar ventured pragmatically, “we refuse?”
Mirmib made the equivalent of a shrug. “I will be saddened by what might happen. You are trapped here between walls even this wonderful vessel cannot break. In seconds I, or others if I am unable, can call on large numbers of waiting soldiers to rally against you. You may still be able to escape, though I think not. In any case, many would die, of mine and yours. I would rather not speak of such unpleasantness. As Guardian of the Gate, I give my warmth in promise: none of you will be harmed and you will be welcome as proven friends.”
He turned to near-pleading. “Surely this custom seems strange to you. ’Tis a requirement for strangers we insist upon. On subsequent visits to Moulokin such will be not required. You are an unknown and judging by this ship, powerful factor. My people are insular and suspicious. This request has preserved us in the past when prevaricating, jealous visitors would have pillaged us. Please, I implore you, execute this gesture of good will! We wish your friendship, not your blood.”
Hunnar seemed ready to reply. Ethan hastily put a restraining hand on the knight’s arm, felt the tenseness beneath the fur. “It’s time for us to take a chance, Hunnar. If they really wanted a fight, why send a single unarmed representative to advise us of their intentions? That’s poor salesmanship. They could have attacked as soon as we passed through the first gate.”
“Why attack if they can win the Slanderscree without a fight?” the knight protested. “This thing is unheard of. To enter a strange city is difficult enough, but to do so without weapons is to invite justified murder of all of us, fair retribution for such stupidity.” He growled at the human. “No, it is not a thing to be considered!”
Ethan spoke anxiously. “Hunnar, this whole long trip we’ve taken together, from Sofold to Arsudun to here, was not to be considered either. Yet we’ve done it. The idea of a confederation of Tran city-states was not to be considered, and here we are trying to implement that. Each day you, Balavere and the rest of the crew do things none of your people imagined doing.
“Now is the time for boldness and risk-taking, not for reverting to primitive superstitions and dying customs.” He paused, aware that Balavere, Elfa, and the rest of the assemblage were watching him steadily, some without affection. He kept his poise, and kept his eyes on Hunnar’s.
Mirmib spoke into the ensuing silence. “I understand not all of what you refer to, offworlder, but your position I can naught but concur with. I believe strongly that we will be friends.”
“Spoken firm if not well.” Hunnar shook Ethan’s clinging hand off, turned to glare at Mirmib. “Be this an excuse for treachery, know that my companions and I have walked into Hell itself and have returned after spitting at the inside of the world. Even unarmed, we would not go like k’nith to the slaughter.”
“You talk too much of slaughter.” Mirmib looked sad. “Having much to protect, we of Moulokin are no strangers to killing. But we are less fond of it than outsiders seem to be.”
“Where do you want them?”
Mirmib looked across at Elfa. She had her own sword out, ready to turn it over. The diplomat’s voice turned deferential.
“Here will be sufficient, noble lady.” He indicated the section of deck in front of him.
Sailors and knights trooped by, dropping off bows, crossbows, swords, axes, weapons of every kind. Ta-hoding invited Mirmib to inspect cabins and below-decks storage holds for additional weapons. The Moulokinese declined politely, accepting Hunnar’s word that the entire armory of the crew was being deposited at his feet.
Ethan reflected that while Polos insisted he belonged to a simple working people, they were more than sophisticated enough to have evolved an inflexible, efficient procedure for dealing with potentially bellicose strangers. He didn’t doubt the diplomat’s claim that his people were no strangers to killing. Mirmib had likely overseen this turning in of weapons many times in the past.
As steel and bone rattled unmelodiously on the ever-mounting heap, Hunnar moved to stand next to Ethan and whisper. “Your proposed confederation and your own life may end with your blood steaming on the streets of this city, Sir Ethan.”
“Even in my business, you eventually reach a point where you have to trust someone, Hunnar.”
“You speak highly of trust, Sir Ethan,” Hunnar said wryly, “yet I notice that neither you nor your companions have stepped forward to place your weapons of light on the pile before us.”
“As long as this fellow doesn’t recognize them as weapons, there’s no need to overextend ourselves where we don’t have to.” Ethan’s rationalization sounded unwieldy as he muttered it. “In my business, it’s also a good idea to have an ace in the hole.”
“Would that we had a hundred such aces,” Hunnar agreed, expanding on the analogy without understanding it. “’Tis interesting to note that you do not regard trust as an absolute, but as a term with definitions which vary according to the situation.”
“I didn’t mean—” Ethan started to argue. But Hunnar, trying hard to conceal his evident pleasure at this revelation of human morality, walked away before the salesman could reply.
Polos Mirmib studied the imposing heap of weapons as the last sword was laid atop the metal and bone pile. Edges and points gleamed in the dim canyon light.
“For those who profess to offer naught but friendship, you travel well-armed.”
Elfa offered a candid response. “We also have much to kill for.”
“Well put, my lady.” Mirmib executed a light gesture of modest admiration.
“What now?” September’s impatience made him sound nervous, which he wasn’t. “We just push the lot over the side? Or do you have somebody waitin’ to come pick them up and tag them for us?”
“Neither.” Mirmib showed the giant his widest non-tooth smile. “Your willingness to so comply with a custom of gravest imposition is sufficient proof of your good faith and, I hope, true intentions,” He gestured idly at the armory. “You may repossess your weaponry. Your actions have told us what we wished to know.” While those of the crew standing around stared stupefied at the diplomat, he turned and walked to the railing. A mild gust of Tran-ky-ky’s unceasing, arctic winds made him stumble and Ethan reflected again on the other’s fragility. Like many sentients of great character, Mirmib wore his steel and iron inside.
He shouted to the two Tran waiting on the tiny raft alongside. Ethan caught only isolated scraps of sentences. The accent used here was thick and slippery.
One of the Tran blew several indelicate notes on a horn. This mournful baying was answered by a jubilant blare from a horn on the first wall. Another horn sounding from the second wall, up ahead, was followed by several more, until the canyon reverberated like a thranx concert at mating jubileejee.
When the final mellow flat had retreated into crevices too small to return it with audible force, Ethan was able to make out cheers from the Moulokinese soldiers lining the massive walls ahead and behind. The small raft moved away from the Slanderscree’s shadow to assume a waiting position near her bow.
“Where is your captain?” Mirmib asked. Sliding his own sword back into its sheath, Hunnar used his free hand to point to the high helm deck. Ta-hoding stood staring curiously down at them. “I will join him, to aid in directing you to our city.”