Above the town, steep crags rose to right and left There was a low saddle between them. Clinging to the rocks on the left and seemingly a part of the mountain itself was the great castle of Wannome. It descended in stone levels to merge with the harbor-girdling wall.
The castle, Sir Hunnar informed them, had been founded by a wandering knight, one Krigsvird-ty-Kalstund, in the year 3262 SNC. Ethan’s knowledge of the trannish dating system was nil, but the castle looked awfully old.
The island was built like a doorstop, with the harbor and town of Wannome at the high end. From the town the ground rose abruptly to the island’s high point. From there it dropped in a long, gentle sweep to the ice and a great field of pika-pina. A steady stream of black smoke rose from the mountains.
“The pika-pina,” Hunnar had explained, “protects us from attack from the west out of the wind. The great wall and castle does likewise for the town and the eastern island.”
“What about your north and south?” asked September.
“There is wall around much of the island, but far lower and weaker than this. But the granaries, ships, and foundry are all at this high end of Sofold, protected by the wall and by steep cliffs. An attacker could come from north or south and make a successful landfall. Then he could devastate the fields and herds, the country downs. This would gain him naught but pleasure. Fields can be replanted, houses rebuilt especially with the wealth of the province intact.
“Wannome can support and shelter the entire population of Sofold should it prove necessary.”
“What about an attack on the city from the landward side,” continued September.
Hunnar gave him a patronizing look. “I see you do not understand us. No tran will fight on land when he can maneuver four times as effectively on the ice. It must be different with you, since you have no chiv or dan. That is why ships and caravans are at their greatest danger when out at ice. Few can move faster than a fighting man with a good westwind behind him. To try and take a high position from land… no, such an attack could never succeed.
“A landing might be made as part of a siege-plan, to prevent the townsfolk from getting supplies from the rest of the island. But never with the thought of taking the city from that side. No one could move fast enough. For one thing, there are ice paths running all around the island. They give us the ability to move rapidly on land. These would be destroyed before any invader could make use of them. We would still retain those in the heights and the town. Thus we would have great mobility while an invader would struggle clumsily about in the dirt.” He pointed at the encircling harbor wall as they pulled up to an empty pier.
A large gray pennant fluttered at the end of the pier. It was divided into four squares. A large tusk occupied the upper right-hand corner, crossed by a sword. An anvil and hammer decorated the lower left, while the opposing squares were a solid red and yellow, respectively. An exquisitely carved and appointed raft with an unusually tall mast was tied up at the pier nearby.
“The Landgrave’s yacht,” Hunnar explained.
“About the wall,” prompted Ethan.
“Yes. An ice path also runs along its top. So the men above have equal mobility with those on the ice below. And except on unusual days, an enemy has the wind in his face and side at best, and the sun in his eyes in the evening. Not the best conditions under which to pursue an assault.”
The two spar men reefed in the single sail. One side of the triangular raft struck the pier with the slightest of jars. Immediately young tran appeared beneath the raft. They placed large stones in front of and behind the triple stone runners.
Suaxus was there to greet them.
“I have given your messages and my report to the Protector,” he intoned, after he and Hunnar had exchanged breath and shoulder-claps. “You are to bring them to his presence immediately.”
“Has the Council been informed?” Hunnar asked. Ethan thought he detected more than mere curiosity in the knight’s voice. It was hard to tell. Mestaped language was hard on inflection. Still, there was something going on here that was being kept from them.
Suaxus grinned tightly. “The Landgrave in his wisdom felt that a private audience might better serve the present needs of the province… at the first. No point is there in shocking the other nobles with the sight of these strange ones.”
“Come along, my friends,” said Hunnar. “It is a substantial walk, although perhaps not for you.”
The harborfront had an easy familiarity to Ethan. He’d worked in dozens of such on half a hundred worlds. Some had been more, some less, civilized. All were concerned with the task of acquiring material wealth.
Business proceeded all about them. Trading, bargaining, loading of rafts, unloading, fighting, pickpocketing, with everywhere masses of children somehow finding space to play. A seething mob of sentient greed. Oh well. The universe was not physically perfect, either. Hundreds of furry tran filled the harborfront with a warm, musky smell. It was not unpleasant, but in hot or humid air it could have been overpowering.
Many of the locals paused in their business and chatter to eye the alien procession. But no one ventured to stare very long, or to pose comment that might be overheard. This was probably due, Ethan considered, to the presence of Hunnar and his soldiers.
The children, however, were not so shy. Miniatures of the adults, many clad in just jackets or short coats in the gentle breeze, stopped and stared at them with wide cat eyes, compact fluffs of light gray fur. He had to forcibly resist an urge to cuddle them, contenting himself with an occasional pat on an adolescent head.
“The townsfolk don’t seem overly friendly,” September finally commented.
“Being in my care,” Hunnar replied, “it is apparent to all that you are royal guests. It would not be seemly for you to mingle with the common folk.”
“Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to mingle for a minute, tradition notwithstanding.” And before Hunnar or anyone else could make a move to stop him, he’d broken away from the tight little group and sauntered over to halt before a small open shop.
Stal Pommer, the elderly proprietor, looked across at the smooth-skinned alien, then helplessly to right and left. His normally loquacious neighbors studiously ignored him.
“How much?” asked September, pointing.
“I… uh, that is… noble sir, lord, I don’t know that—”
“You don’t know?” September interrupted, aghast with mock outrage. “A shopkeeper who doesn’t know the price of his own merchandise? How do you stay in business?” He tugged at his doubled-up shirtfront “I, as you can clearly see, desperately require a good warm coat. I’d like to purchase that one.”
“Yes, lord,” Pommer stammered, regaining a little of his composure. He looked in vain for September’s wings, then gave up in disbelief when he finally realized there was nothing between the big strange one’s wrist and waist but empty air.
“Don’t just stand there gaping,” urged September impatiently. “Take it off the rack and let me try it on.”
“Surely, lord, surely!” Pommer went over to the revolving wooden rack, drew off the indicated coat. He handed it to September. The latter stepped into it and drew the back half up over his shoulders. Then he bent and brought up the front. Holding it closed with a hand at the shoulder, he tied first the right and then the left side with the leather ties. The length was all right but it was a mite too broad. Ethan would have swum in it.
“A little loose at the sides. As I have no need of a wing-slit why don’t you just sew them shut? That should bring it in enough. Leave me just enough room to get my arms through, eh? The leg holes are fine.”
“Ye… yes, lord.”