“We forget ourselves, Polos.” K’ferr Shri-Vehm looked solemn yet pleased with herself. “You must all remain several days now. An event of this magnitude and importance cannot be consummated properly without much feasting and celebration.” Topaz eyes flickered in the torchlight. “We Moulokinese seize readily upon any excuse for a holiday.”
“I don’t know.” Ethan tried to sound apologetic. “It might be a good idea if we hurried on our—”
“We’d be glad to stay awhile,” September cut in anxiously, with a sharp look in Ethan’s direction. “After the last couple o’ months, we could do with a bit of celebratin’. Couldn’t we, feller-me-lad?”
“Skua, don’t you think we ought to—”
“That’s settled, then.”
“’Tis agreed.” Mirmib entwined his fingers in a gesture indicating extensive satisfaction. “Preparations will commence. Meantimes, I would inspect this wondrous vessel of yours.” He directed his next query to Elfa.
“How did you manage such an enormous raft?”
“’Twas made possible by the special metal which our human friends call dur’loy, and which Sir Ethan insists can be supplied to us in quantity and at fair trade rates.”
The diplomat swung his fur-framed gaze toward Ethan. “Is this truth, outlander Ethan?”
“Commerce is the life-blood of the Commonwealth, friend Mirmib.” As he spoke it, Ethan wished for something less trite than that ancient government aphorism. He was better dealing with specific items than generalities. At the same time he wondered at Polos. Mirmib’s title. He’d called himself Guardian of the Gate, but his presence as K’ferr’s sole advisor here hinted at a much more powerful role. Was he chief minister, perhaps? Or father, or consort? Given the uncertainties, Ethan thought it best not to risk a breach of courtesy by inquiring. At least, not until the new Trannish confederation had been in existence somewhat longer than a few minutes.
“I’m sure something can be worked out,” he added.
“It promises abundances for the peoples of Moulokin and Sofold,” the Lady K’frr agreed. “And to our friends in Yealleat and Jinadas if they too will join, as I believe they will.” Her easy-going manner and beatific expression lulled Ethan completely, so that her next words were twice the shock they’d have been if he’d been expecting them.
“There is one thing, an obvious trifle, that all should agree to, of course. The treacherous inhabitants of vile Poyolavomaar must naturally be excluded from this.”
Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. Hunnar shook his woolly head and regarded the salesman with eloquent silence. The slant of his lips, the narrowing of double lids, said as plain as words, “See now? No matter how accommodating or friendly these folk of Moulokin are toward us, there will always be hatreds among the Tran which a mere idea cannot obliterate.”
“Details of the confederation can be worked out later, my lady.” It was a desperate attempt to forestall a possibly crippling argument. “For now we should return to our ship and prepare properly for Sir Mirmib’s visit.”
Either K’ferr sensed his discomfort or else he’d genuinely taken her mind off the subject of Poyolavomaar. “There is no need for you to trouble yourselves with special preparations for us, for I am coming also.” Mistaking his attitude of discomfort, she added, “But if you desire to rest yourselves and warn your crew, I fully understand. We will await word of your readiness.”
They made formal gestures of leave-taking and were preparing to exit the room when a Moulokinese soldier came running in.
The mere action was indicative of the importance of his message, for the Tran disliked running and avoided it except in extreme situations. Their sharp, long chiv were magnificently adapted for chivaning, or skating, across the ice. Running was awkward and dangerous, but this soldier came clip-clopping into the room at an impressive pace.
While the visitors stood grouped to one side and politely pretended to ignore the soldier’s anxious words, Ethan strained to overhear. Not only the soldier’s method of locomotion, but his manner and the rapidity of his speech hinted at news of some urgency.
As was the case with all Tran they’d observed thus far, the panting soldier did not prostrate himself before his ruler, or perform other time-consuming obsequious gestures. He simply approached the throne and began talking, pausing every so often only to catch his breath.
“My Lady—outside the first gate… a ship. And beyond, near the mouth of the canyon, many ships!”
“Conserve thy warmth, soldier,” said Mirmib quietly. “Now, how many is many?”
“Twenty to thirty, minister,” the exhausted messenger poured out, ignoring Mirmib’s admonition to relax. “All filled to the railings with armed soldiers.”
Ethan’s imperative whisper broke into the conversation between Hunnar and September.
“What is it, feller-me-lad?”
“Just listen.” He gestured surreptitiously toward the throne. Elfa, Teeliam and the others also stopped chatting, strained to hear.
“They say they come from Poyolavomaar,” the soldier continued.
“Speak of the devil.” September looked atypically upset.
“They say they know that—” he looked around the room and finally focused on Ethan and his companions, “—they are here.”
“How can they know that?” K’ferr’s nape hairs were bristling.
“From the depth and sharpness of the marks their ship’s runners leave in the ice, my lady.” Mirmib nodded sagely. “They demand that these visitors, their great raft, and the woman among them hight Teeliam Hoh be turned over to them. This done, they will quit their position and leave us in peace. Otherwise, they threaten to take the city.” At the close of this the soldier’s voice, despite his evident fatigue, took on a note of disbelief.
K’ferr stood abruptly, raked the left arm of her chair with sprung claws. “The arrogance. To come thus to our gate and demand by virtue of arms that we surrender any visitor. I would not turn over to such children an injured k’nith!”
The soldier unabashedly admired his ruler’s stand. “It seems incredible, my Lady. He insists he will destroy us if we do not comply.”
“He? Who is he?”
“Their Landgrave, Tonx Ghin Rakossa, leads them, my Lady.”
“Does he deign to allow us time to consider his generous offer?” she asked sarcastically.
“Four days, my Lady.”
“So much time? Why do they grant us so much?”
Taking her question literally, the soldier explained. “They realize, their representative told us at the gate watch, that it may be a difficult decision for us to make, going as it does against traditional laws of hospitality. We should be permitted time to consider. However, it was made clear to us that as long as their fleet blockades the canyon entrance, no ship of ours nor any other can move in or out to trade.”
“Or to escape,” added an unperturbed Mirmib. “Tell me, soldier, what is your name and profession?”
“Cortundi, minister. I am a leathersmith by trade.”
“What would you do, Cortundi?”
Common soldier regarded ruler and minister. His paws tensed into digging mode. “I wish only to return to the first gate, my lady and sir. I expect I will be needed there.”
“A siege would be long Cortundi.”
The soldier-craftsman smiled, showing pearly fangs. “There mayhap be better hides to cure, sir.”
“A pleasant thought.” K’ferr returned the panther-grin. “Wait outside, Cortundi.” The soldier turned and left.