He stopped himself in the middle of a thought. Endless days of dull landscape had lulled him into compensating with steadily growing rococo imaginings. There was nothing out there but scattered wire-brushes and poverty-stricken grass.
Nothing.
“Enormous ice-raft? What enormous ice-raft? Truly are your fantasies entertaining, my guests!”
K’ferr Shri-Vehm, Landgrave of Moulokin, eyed her visitors pityingly. “You make senseless demands of me and my people, you attack us at the first gate, and now I find the basis for these actions are only dreams of wandering minds. Your information is false, visitors.”
“Hedge not with us.” The voice was edgy, nervous, dangerous. “Where have you hidden them?” Rakossa of Poyolavomaar sent quick, jerking glares around the modest throne-room, as if the Slanderscree might be tucked in a corner or secreted behind a chest.
K’ferr made the Tran equivalent of a laugh. “Hidden, my lord Rakossa? Hidden such a great vessel as you describe? Where would we conceal such a craft?”
“You could have dismantled it, moved the sections somewhere.”
“In less than four days? I venture, my lord, you have an imagination second to none.”
An officer of the Poyolavomaar fleet chose that moment to enter the chamber. “The ship we seek is not anywhere in the harbor, sires. ’Tis nowhere to be found, nor, as some suspected, is there a cave in the cliffs large enough to hide even part of such at large raft. We also ventured far up the main canyon and saw no sign of it.” What he said was true; what he didn’t know was that the Moulokinese had used scrapers and torches to obliterate the tell-tale tracks marking the Slanderscree’s passage. “I do not think, sire, that—”
“We are not interested in what you think!” a furious Rakossa shouted.
“Did you not see,” K’ferr continued, “the great raft we ourselves are building? That is what formed the tracks outside our canyon you seem to find so absorbing.”
“We saw,” said a different voice. Calonnin Ro-Vijar stepped forward. “Wooden runners of that size will not support a vessel of a size necessary to make them worth constructing.”
“Our profession as a city-state, and one for which we are justly famed, is raft-building.” Mirmib stared condescendingly at Ro-Vijar. “What you say may be true, but we often begin such new raft shapes and sizes by way of experimentation. We learn much that is valuable to us in our trade, even if the actual concept eventually proves unworkable. Is this Arsudun from which you come also a specialist in the construction of rafts?” “No, but—”
“Then do not presume to pronounce judgment on a craft with which you are not conversant.”
Ro-Vijar started to say something, then hesitated. When he spoke again, it was in a surprisingly apologetic fashion. “’Tis evident we have made an error in offending and accusing these people, Lord Rakossa. We may best continue our hunt elsewhere.”
“The tracks lead here!” Rakossa threw arms and words about careless of who they struck. “They are here somewhere, magicked or otherwise.”
“Do you think they rose into the air and sailed away thusly, my good friend?” Ro-Vijar asked. The comment, made in jest, inspired a horrible thought in the Landgrave of Arsudun. For an instant he thought the humans might somehow have obtained one of their powerful sky-rafts and transported it here. He had been told by the human commissioner, Jobius Trell, that the skypeople possessed vehicles capable of transporting an object even as massive as the vanished icerigger through the air. While he had never seen such a device, he was inclined to believe whatever Trell told him about human technological capabilities. Trell had undoubtedly lied to him about many things, but not about that.
But if he didn’t get this idiot Rakossa out of the throne-room before trouble began, they would waste valuable time in a needless battle.
“She’s here somewhere.” Rakossa prowled the room, heedless of common courtesy. “We know she is.”
“She?” inquired Mirmib puzzledly.
“The concubine, who has bewitched us. We require her. She is present. We sense it!” He took a couple of threatening steps toward the throne. “Where are you hiding her, woman?”
Two burly guards, big even for Tran, stepped forward between the throne and the raging Landgrave. Each held a weighty metal battle-axe before him. One let his sway back and forth just above floor level, a pendulum of death.
“My liege and friend Landgrave,” said Ro-Vijar earnestly, stepping forward but remembering not to touch the hypersensitive Rakossa, “we have already heard ample explanation. These good people have ne’er heard nor seen the vessel or woman we seek.”
“Again I say, this is truth.” K’ferr leaned forward. “Considering your hostile actions toward us, I believe we have been extremely courteous and patient with you. Before any irrevocable insults are exchanged, I suggest you take your leave of Moulokin.”
“So it would seem best to do, my gracious lady.” Ro-Vijar tentatively reached out, chanced a grip on the wild-eyed Rakossa’s left arm. The Landgrave of Poyolavomaar did not react angrily. He turned seemed to see Ro-Vijar clearly for the first time since entering the throne room. Then he shook off the other’s hand, whirled, and stalked out of the chamber, muttering slyly to himself.
“Our pardon for this most grievous mistake, my lady, good minister Mirmib.” Ro-Vijar made a gesture of profound obeisance. “It was a matter of great importance to us, and we acted in haste instead of good sense. I am convinced of your sincerity.”
“You are excused by your ignorance.” K’ferr indicated the now vacant exitway. “The actions of your colleague explain much. May your search continue more profitably elsewhere.”
“May your warmth remain constant all the days of your life. Rest assured we will eventually find those we seek.” With that, Ro-Vijar turned with the Poyo officer and departed from the chamber.
When they were many minutes gone, K’ferr turned to Mirmib and asked, “What do you think they will do now?”
“If ’twas up to this Ro-Vijar, they would give up and sail home.” The minister rubbed the back of an ear, looked thoughtful. “Or perhaps the calmer of the two is in reality the more dangerous. So blinded by hatred, or love, for this Teeliam woman is the other he cannot think straight. If he ever could.”
“You saw the woman in question, Mirmib. The scars. Why would this Landgrave risk his power, his armed might, to find and torment her further?”
“Some rulers take not well personal affronts, though rarely do they react in so extreme a fashion as this Rakossa, my lady. Hate can be as powerful an eldur as love. Often is the line between the two indistinct.” They exchanged a glance unfathomable to outsiders. “I do not know what transpired between this girl and this Landgrave, and can but speculate. One thing I can say confidently, though. Should they eventually meet again, one or the other will surely die of it.”
That petty matter did not occupy Calonnin Ro-Vijar’s mind. If they returned to Arsudun now, he would have this second failure to report to Trell.
The critical question was: had the Slanderscree actually been within the harbor of Moulokin? If so, he could envision several fanciful possibilities to explain what had happened to the great icerigger. Though he badly wanted to, his “escort of honor” had kept him from talking to, or bribing, any of the townsfolk. In the absence of direct information he would have to extrapolate. That was something he was very good at, something which made the games he played with the human Trell interesting.