Tonx Ghin Rakossa, Landgrave of Poyolavomaar, slouched in his chair at the far end of the triangular table and quietly regarded his commanders. He let the silence grow until many were shifting nervously in their seats.
“Do you have any more good news to give us, my soldiers?” They looked at one another, at the walls, their chairs, anywhere but at the dangerously soft-voiced Landgrave. Most of them despised their hereditary ruler, only a few shared his perverse dreams. There had been mutterings of disloyalty ever since the erratic Rakossa had ascended the throne following the suspicious death of his older brother, but the Poyos were a tradition-minded people. There was no outright rebellion then. There was none now.
None, however, could deny the wealth (however questionable the methods) which Rakossa had brought to their city-state. Many felt guilty at accepting wealth obtained by devices so callous, yet there were none who brought themselves to refuse it when their share was offered them.
Having spoken with quiet control, Rakossa now leaned forward and screamed at them. “Do you think we are blind, like the doublebody Gilirun who travels the ice by feel? Do you believe that as we face the refuge of that unmentionable woman and those off-world interlopers and that knot of fat merchants we cannot feel the wind blowing hard in our face?” He sat back, dropped his voice to an insinuating purr.
“’Twas not we who failed to jam with cable the steering runner of the coveted ice ship.”
One of the other officers held up another crossbow bolt. The tip and shaft were stained brown. “My lord, this came out of my back this morning.” A murmur of support sounded from the other captains.
“We ourselves were also wounded, T’hosjer,” said Rakossa. He had always to be careful. As ignorant and stupid as these warriors were, they were all he had to make reality of his dreams. Though devoid of vision, they could still be dangerous.
“Our soldiers would have jammed that raft’s steering, my lord,” said T’hosjer emphatically, “would have sent it crashing into the cliffs. Would have jammed it so it would have taken forty men a ten-day to untangle it… save for these!” and he snapped the bolt angrily in two,
“’Tis truth sire, save for that—and for this!” A sub-officer guarding the door into the cabin shouldered his way into the assemblage. Facing the Landgrave, he stood on one of the chairs and slammed his right leg onto the table. Triple chiv stuck in the hard wood.
A black line only a few millimeters wide ran from just below the furry knee around to the back, which was bulkier than any human calf. “The offworlders did this.”
Several of the other captains leaned forward, examined the remarkably symmetrical wound. Fur and skin had been burnt away.
“They have strange weapons which shoot pieces of sun,” the subofficer was saying. “They are long and thin and will go through the thickest shield.
“I had a woman in my command hight Zou-eadaa. A good fighter, afraid of nothing. She chivaned almost near enough to throw her cable at the raft’s huge runner. I myself saw what happened next, for I was closest to her.
“One of the offworlders pointed a tiny piece of metal at her. There was a flash of fire, blue instead of red, that was for a moment brighter than the sun.” An awed murmur rose from several officers. “It went through Zou-eadaa’s shield, her war coat beneath, her chest, to come out her back and strike the ice, which melted under it to a deep puddle.
“After the fight today, I went out on the ocean to retrieve her sword and armor and cut a muzzle lock for her family.” He held up his right paw, extended the index claw. “Were this finger long enough, I could have passed it completely through her body, through the hole the light weapon made. I did not watch myself enough this morning, and received this.” He brushed his palm sharply, bitterly, across the black line on his leg.
“’Tis no clean way to fight, against a weapon that makes one’s own leg smell like cooking meat.” He pulled his leg free of the table, stepped down off the chair. “Can we fight those who magic with the sun?”
Angry agreement came from several of the most disgruntled captains. Rakossa let them jabber on for a decent period, then said quietly, “Idiots.”
Conversation ceased, though there remained barely masked stares of rebellion. Rakossa stood up. “Did you know that, that you are all fools and idiots? Your mothers gave water!” He held up a paw. “Before you babble cubbish objections, we will tell you something else. We have already won this battle.”
Strange expressions greeted this ridiculous pronouncement. All knew, even his supporters, that the Landgrave was not the sanest Tran in Poyolavomaar. They wondered if he now might not have entered the region of the humored dead, a development many would have welcomed.
That was not the case. “We have won, because these detested creatures returned here to where we awaited them. We did not know if they would do so. We could not circle this enormous land to find where they might leave it and return decently to the ice. We had thought they might fly off through the sky, as Calonnin Ro-Vijar has told us the offworlders can. But he also assured us that they most likely would not.”
That last prompted a query from the officer who’d first spoken. “Where is the brave Landgrave of Arsudun?”
“Yes,” shouted another “where has he taken himself now that we must fight with blood instead of words?”
“At least you have the brains to note the absence of our valued friend and ally. Now, strain your tiny minds but a little further. Where can he have gone to? Think a moment!” He savored the sudden consternation visible on their faces. “Think of what we just told you, of the offworlders flying through the air.”
Someone finally said, in a stunned voice, “He has gone for offworlder help of our own.”
“A sensible man among you.” Rakossa marked the one who’d spoken for future promotion, provided he continued to behave with proper humility and deference toward the royal person.
“Ro-Vijar has allies among the offworlders, even as that accursed woman does. When it became clear to us that the iceraft and its cargo were elsewhere than in the city of the merchants we dispatched Ro-Vijar at his own suggestion back to his own country. He assures us he can procure offworld help. When he returns, it will be with weapons of battle so terrible that the puny hand knives of the offworlders on that raft will appear as a wooden sword beside one of steel!”
Sitting down, he let the officers mull over that bit of news. “Meanwhile,” he interjected, “the merchants and their offworlders cannot come out. If they dare attack us on the open ice, we will retreat past their wind advantage and cut them up on the sea despite their strange weapons. If they vanish again, they will be found when the Landgrave of Arsudun returns with his aid. They cannot escape us!” He slammed a paw down hard on the table.
“Then will we possess not only the great iceship, but all the riches of this bloated merchant city, which we will strip and then burn to the ground.”
The cabin rang with cheers. Rakossa sat back, smiled inwardly. Once more he had them. Maintaining the loyalty of such peasant was a disagreeable game, but one which great men like himself necessarily had to master.
Yes, he would have the raft with its beautiful, tall runners made from metal of the offworlders. He would have the mysterious short-arrow bows of its crew as well as their blood. His soldiers, who had grown too thoughtful for responsible citizens, would now have the chance to forget idle speculations and drown themselves in the flesh and wealth of Moulokin. His name and the name of Poyolavomaar would spread a little farther over this portion of the world.