“Are you certain you can operate the offworlder’s great weapon?” he asked Calonnin.
“I tried in many ways most subtle on our journey here to induce Trell to show me, but he was too clever for that. However, when we confronted the humans before the wall, I watched intently as the female prepared the machine. I am sure she was ready to protect Trell, so the weapon should have been ready to fire. I memorized the procedure required as best I could.”
“Excellent. What will happen now that we have slain the offworlders’ leader?”
“He is but the leader of the single small town they maintain on our world,” Ro-Vijar explained thoughtfully, scratching at one ear where a persistent mite had been troubling him for days. “If you or I were to die, the knights and nobles would rise our offspring or one of their own to the throne. I suspect it is much the same with the skypeople. They will choose one among them to replace Trell until a new leader can be sent from beyond the sky to take his position.
“Whoever they send will know naught of what transpired here. Those in their outpost who know me will believe me, will believe my account of his death and that of his companions, as there is naught else for them to believe.”
“And you will remain secure as the only go-between twixt skypeople and Tran.”
“’Tis truth, friend, Rakossa.” Ro-Vijar has sloughed off a slight feeling of apprehension. He knew to a certain extent the powers the offworlders possessed. But what of powers he knew nothing about?
Trell had bled and died as readily as any Tran when the arrows transfixed him. No offworlder had arrived to save him or revenge him. It seemed likely none would. He was feeling much, much better now.
“I will control all the trade. As promised, you will receive your recompense for this day’s work.”
“And the raft. Do not forget the raft.”
“Yes, the great iceraft shall be yours also.” Ro-Vijar conceded the ownership of the icerigger easily. And why not? There was the skypeople’s skimmer which needed no runners to travel across ice or land faster than any ice ship. There were doubtless other devices he could purchase or steal from the human traders. He could blame any such thefts on others. The Poyos, for example. All knew of their ruthless treacheries. What need had he of an iceship, no matter its size?
“We will still strive to persuade the three offworlders in the city to surrender,” he told Rakossa. “They have the small light weapons.”
“Do we not have three of our own now, in addition to the great one in the sky raft?”
“True, friend Rakossa. But we are not experienced in their use. Best to avoid trouble if possible.”
“If they surrender, we will have six instead of three. They will inquire about Trell. Then they must die.”
“That is obvious,” agreed Ro-Vijar calmly. “’Tis good that we agree.”
Ethan leaned against the wall. He was watching several Moulokinese soldiers play a game familiar in a thousand manifestations throughout the galaxy. On ancient Terra it had been known as sunka, kalaha, and in a dozen other incarnations. One soldier had just collected seven of his opponent’s pebbles when the horribly familiar sound of paper tearing was heard.
Across the gate from his present position a gap had appeared in the top of the wall. It was roughly three meters long and three and a half deep, almost perfectly circular save for the jagged edges of a few stones sticking into it. Within that circle everything: stone, soldiers and weapons, had vanished. Or more properly, had become either part of the molten debris lying at the bottom of the cut or of the ashy vapor drifting downcanyon. Mist formed above it as the cold air of Tran-ky-ky contacted the superheated rock.
He hadn’t seen the bolt from the cannon, not that he had to. A frantic look over the wall showed the skimmer still floating in place in front of the nearest Poyo raft. September put a hand on his shoulder, stared alongside him.
“Feller-me-lad, that’s no man at the controls.”
As the skimmer started toward them, moving awkwardly in fits and jerks, Ethan was able to confirm the giant’s observation. The skimmer held several Tran, but no survival-suited humans.
“I recognize Ro-Vijar. He’s the one operating the gun.”
The skimmer halted just out of hand beamer range. The Landgrave of Arsudun rose behind the weapon. “I do not form phrases so pretty as offworlders. You will all surrender: now. Or I vow every man, woman and cub in Moulokin will die.”
Ethan shouted across the ice. “Where’s the human Jobius Trell?”
“Trell has traveled the path destined for all traitors, offworld or otherwise. He cannot help you now.”
Several Tran chivaned forward. They carried between them three feathered bodies, which they unceremoniously dumped on the ice. The corpses were not so far away that Ethan and the others on the wall couldn’t distinguish the limp forms of the former Resident Commissioner of Tran-ky-ky and his two attendant peace-forcers.
An anxious voice sounded behind him. “What means this, friend Ethan?”
He did not try to evade minister Mirmib’s question. “It means that our enemies now control weapons more powerful than our own. They’ve killed the humans who brought those weapons. I had doubts the man Trell would use such power against you and your people. I have no such doubts about Rakossa and Ro-Vijar.”
“We cannot surrender.” Mirmib looked adamant and worried simultaneously. “We cannot let them into the city.”
“I know.” Ethan considered. “Maybe if we three gave ourselves up…”
“Easy, feller-me-lad. Ro-Vijar might be sittin’ behind the convincer, but it’s that fella Rakossa who’s in control out there.”
“Teeliam would give herself up to save the city. She’s already tried to, once.”
“Use your head, lad. We didn’t let her do it before for the same reasons we won’t now. Rakossa’s got control of something that can level this whole town. He’s tryin’ to control a bunch of angry, embarrassed and bloodied troops. Do you think he’s going to let Ro-Vijar leave anyone alive here, maybe to tell the next Commissioner what really happened? Not a chance. We’ve got to fight.”
“Use your own head, Skua.” Frustration made Ethan sound angrier than he was. “We can’t fight a beam cannon.”
“Let’s fake a retreat. Pull back, maybe even let ’em into the city proper. We can split up, some of us head up the main canyon and hide in the mists, then come down and try and take the cannon on the chance they’ll relax. A few thousand would die, but better that than the whole population.”
“I have a better idea, gentlemen.”
Ethan and September turned to see a puffing Williams mount the last of the ramp leading to the wall top.
“Where the hell have you been, Milliken?” September growled.
“We thought it best to keep one beamer in reserve,” replied Milliken, ignoring the big man’s tone.
“I’ve been working on an idea with Eer-Meesach and some of the local craftsfolk,” the teacher continued, “ever since the Poyolavomaar fleet began their blockade.” Williams’s shyness passed for self-control at a time when everyone around him exuded an air of imminent defeat.
“I ain’t too proud o’ mine,” said September. “Let’s hear yours.”
“Have you forgotten the battle of Sofold? Have you forgotten, Sir Hunnar?”
“Nice thought, Milliken, but that won’t work this time.” September jerked a thumb back in the direction of the waiting fleet of rafts. “There was no beam cannon at Sofold, and Sagyanak traveled by raft, not on a skimmer above the ice.”
“I am aware of that,” Williams replied, with just a twinge of reproval. “I did not think we could repeat the battle of Sofold here.”
“Then why ask us to remember it?” wondered Ethan confusedly.