“No one knows, Colette. It could be several malets yet. Or they might be sighted tomorrow morning. Hunnar says they might even decide to pass Sofold completely for another year. I can’t tell whether that possibility pleases or disappoints him. Now let’s have another look at that chap who does the interesting marketable scrollwork on the sword-hilts…”
In the weeks that followed Ethan got to know the people of Wannome as well as those of New Paris, Drallar, or Samstead. Preparations for battle continued apace, but the flow of commerce in the harbor never slackened. There was still no word of the Horde.
One evening he wondered if the whole story of the Horde mightn’t be a gigantic fraud—a cleverly concocted story designed to keep these useful and interesting strangers from the sky in Sofold. He quickly discarded that as a thought not only unworthy of people like Hunnar and Balavere and Malmeevyn, but also illogical. Although he wouldn’t put it past the Landgrave.
No, there’d been too much obvious passion displayed that night when the inhabitants of Sofold had determined to fight their tormentors instead of groveling to them—too spontaneous, too genuine, even in its alien setting, to be a mere dumb show created for such ignoble purpose.
He, Hunnar, and September were seated at a table in the general castle dining hall, down near the scullery. This was where most of the castle folk took their meals. Hunnar then suggested a walk along the sky balcony and the two humans agreed.
The sky balcony was the highest open pathway in Wannome Castle, excepting only the High Tower. From its wind-lashed parapet one could stare down a sheer drop to solid ice below, and far out across the great frozen sea to the south.
Their sojourn was interrupted by the breathless arrival of one of the apprentice-squires. He scraped to a halt, gulping freezing air, and almost forgot to bow to Hunnar. His face was wild.
“N… noble s… sirs…!”
“Take it easy, cub,” Hunnar admonished him, “and catch your breath. Your words ride the wind too far ahead of you.”
“Not thirty or forty kijat to the southwest, noble sirs—the thunder-eater comes!”
“How many?” asked Hunnar sharply.
“On… only one, sir. A Great Old One! A caravan… three ships… blundered into it, hoping to find some shelter in the pika-pedan and then ride the wind-edge in. Only one escaped. Its master sits even now in audience with his Lordship!”
“Come,” Hunnar said curtly to the two men. He started for the stairs without even bothering to see if they followed.
“So one of these ‘thunder-eaters’ finally shows up,” said September. “Excellent! I’ve been listing slowly to starboard sitting on my butt here. At least now we’ll have a chance to see one of these things, what?”
“I don’t know,” Ethan commented carefully. “From Sir Hunnar’s attitude, I don’t think they run out day excursion rafts. And that apprentice did mention something about two ships being lost.”
“Ah, that could have been from the storm,” countered September. “Say, Hunnar!” They hurried to keep up with the knight. Hunnar was being polite in not making use of the downward ice-paths. If he had, they’d have lost him in seconds. “Will we have a chance to see this thing?”
For Hunnar, the reply was unusually curt.
“You must understand that this is not a frivolous matter, my friends. In its own unthinking way, the stavanzer can be as dangerous as the Horde.”
“Oh, come on now,” September replied in disbelief. “It can’t be that big. No land animal on a Terra-type planet can. There’s not even any water to buoy it up. A really big animal couldn’t walk.”
Hunnar halted so abruptly that Ethan bumped into him, bounced off the iron-hard back beneath the furs.
“You have not seen a thunder-eater, stranger from the sky,” he said quietly. It was the first time since their initial meeting he hadn’t used their names. “Do not judge til then.” He started off again as suddenly as he’d stopped. Ethan followed, surprised. The knight was really worried.
“A stavanzer,” Hunnar continued as they descended yet another stairwell, “could destroy the great harbor more completely than any Horde and would do so without thought or compassion for life. A barbarian wishes to conserve in order to enrich himself. The thunder-eater has no such thoughts.”
“I see,” said September, abashed. “Look, I apologize, Hunnar. I shot off my big mouth without having ammunition. Moratorium until I see the thing, okay?”
“You do not know so naturally you cannot imagine,” said Hunnar, mollified. “There is no need to apologize for such.” He didn’t say anything about September’s shooting off his mouth. “There will be no chance to ‘look’—only the Hunt.”
“You mean you’re going to try and kill this thing?” asked Ethan. “After making it sound nothing short of invincible?”
“I did not say ’twas invincible, friend Ethan. Only very big. But no one kills a stavanzer. Not in recent memory, anyway. We must try to drive it off. Were it a herd I should not worry so much.”
“Why not? I’d imagine a herd would be a hundred times worse,” Ethan commented.
“No. A herd would move only for its grazing grounds—the great pika-pedan fields to the south. They migrate on a north-south polar axis, mostly in the empty regions to the west. As a group they have little curiosity. But a lone one, and a Great Old One at that, might investigate Sofold from sheer perversity. It takes something extraordinary to excite a herd. Somehow, we must turn him.”
“You say you can’t kill it, but you speak of turning it,” said September. “How? With pikes?” There was nothing mocking in his voice.
“No. There is one way to fight the thunder-eater. If your souls are sound, you may have a chance to try it. Many who do claim it is the supreme moment of their lives. For some ’tis also the last. Yet it must be tried,” he concluded as they topped a rise in the passageway.
“Just how big is this boojum, anyway,” Ethan finally asked, exasperated.
“The thunder-eater has been granted but two teeth. Do you know the Landgrave’s throne?”
“Yes.” Ethan recalled the chair, inlaid with stones and polished metal set into a tower of pseudo-ivory. It would fetch a fine price from a certain decorator on…
“The back of the throne itself, the white pillar… what did you think it was?”
“Some kind of stone,” Ethan replied. Then he paused. “You aren’t trying to tell me that…?”
He held onto the thought as they left the castle, barely aware that other knights and men-at-arms had joined them. They passed the du Kanes. September barely had time to shout, “We’re a-going a-hunting!” to them. Colette yelled something in return but Ethan didn’t hear it.
Down at the harborfront, kettledrums were droning like fat beetles. A knot of moving, businesslike tran had collected around the Hunnar-nucleus. Ethan caught occasional glimpses of solemn-faced townsfolk.
As they continued downhill, he couldn’t help noticing that the soldiers and knights carefully avoided the ice-paths out of deference to their crippled visitors.
He wondered if anyone else would be able to see what was going to take place. The wizard had a telescope in his rooms, but it might not be able to scan the area they were heading for. But Milliken would be there, and maybe also the Landgrave.
All this fuss over one animal. And it wasn’t even a meat-eater, like the Droom.
They reached the harbor. The crowd parted to reveal three of the oddest craft he’d seen since their landing.
Three small rafts with large sails sat ready by the docks. Their sails and bodies were painted pure white. Arrow-narrow and long, they were clearly designed to stay hidden against the ice.