“I feel tolerable now,” he lied. “How long have I been out?”
September grinned. “Off and on, about a week.”
“A wee—!”
“’Twas a near thing, I don’t mind telling you, lad,” he said solemnly. Then, more cheerfully, “Sure didn’t hurt our standing with these folk, though. I expect they consider you the greatest thing to come along since warm.” He scratched at his pants. “But it’s just as well you’re up… if not exactly about. It seems it’s time.”
If they’d just take the anvil off his head he’d feel almost decent.
“Time? What time?”
September slapped his head with a blow that would have taken an ordinary man’s head off.
“Idiot! Forgot you couldn’t understand anything while you were mumbling. Mumbled some weird things, too, you did. The Horde’s coming, of course. Captain from someplace called Yermi-yin pulled into the harbor yesterday on his way to somewhere unpronounceable. Stayed just long enough to give the Landgrave the word before skimming out again. Poor fella was as white as the ice. He headed due south and didn’t seem inclined to change course even when we told him he might run into a mad stavanzer. Alien or no, anyone could see he was plenty scared.”
Ethan determinedly heaved himself up on his elbows and found that without warning the room had gone triplicate… just like everything at the home office.
“Then I’ve got… to get ready. We’re going to fight, too…”
Again September eased him down into the mattress.
“You just lie there… alone, I’m afraid… and take it easy, young feller. They’re at least a week’s fast sail away. So there’s no need to run around screeching and squawking like a plucked poonu. Hunnar and Balavere are organizing the militia. The populace is storing grain, pika-pina, vol, and suchlike like crazy, for a siege. Everyone is doing what they’re supposed to. You’re supposed to rest.”
“Can they really stand a siege, Skua?”
September looked thoughtful. “Hunnar seems to think so. Says the enemy’s sure to crack mentally before the Sofoldians run out of anything vital. The general agrees with him, though he’s not as vocal about it. Crafty old bird… They’re even stockpiling firewood… although with those natural fur coats they’ve got they can do without it. Yes, when you start stockpiling luxuries I’d say that indicates a certain modicum of confidence… No, I don’t think there’ll be much of a siege. Just one double-helluva fight.”
“Hunnar seemed sure he could beat them.”
“According to that captain,” September mused, “they cover the ice from one end of the horizon to the other. I’ve been talking tactics with the general staff. I think I’ve made a few points. Frankly, any change in normal procedure ought to confuse that bunch. If this Sagyanak’s as stubborn as some of Sofold’s best, then we shouldn’t expect much new from the Horde… But it’s a new situation for the Sofoldians. They’re willing to try new ideas. Just takes a little subtle convincing, a bit of reasonable explanation. Also, Balavere threatened to crack a few heads… If I were in the spot they’re in, I’d be willing to experiment too. Wouldn’t you, me lad?”
“We are in their place,” replied Ethan quietly. September grunted.
The battle armor was clumsy and too large, but Hunnar had insisted Ethan wear it. The leather leggings jolted and pulled at each step and the bronze breastplate was an unrelenting drag at his chest.
He’d absolutely refused one of the flaring, ornate helmets, though. Even a child’s size wouldn’t have fit well. His head would ring around inside like a clapper in a bell. While it wasn’t designed for fighting, the parka at least wasn’t a burden.
The wind whistled around him. He walked back over to where Hunnar and September stood together at the edge of the High Tower. September was pointing into the distance.
They might have had a better and clearer view from the wizard’s telescope. But then they would see only one thing at a time. Besides, the learned miasma of the wizard’s chambers palled after a while, along with the very real one from aromatic chemicals and half-vivisected animals.
According to their long-since-departed informant, the Horde would appear out of the northeast. But for now there was only the invisible thread that divided cold-ice land from ice-cold sky.
“No sign of them, Hunnar?”
The knight paused in conversation with the big man and looked down at Ethan. “Your eyesight ’tis good as my own, Sir Ethan. Yet I do detect naught of the assembled swine.”
“Could they be circling to take you from the rear?” asked September. He scratched at a persistent itch with the edge of a big double-bladed sword.
Hunnar dropped a deprecating hand.
“No. They might try such a maneuver later, to annoy us if for naught else. But Sagyanak is unlike many barbarians. Nothing will be done without purpose… or so we are told. Still, any nomad is unpredictable.”
“Like you,” suggested Ethan.
“Perhaps, like me,” the knight replied, not upset by the comparison. “As I said, all it would accomplish would be to anger us—hardly a sound motive. No, they’ll parade up to the gates and make a fine show of themselves. They’ve no reason to think we’d be so foolish as to offer resistance.” He grinned wolfishly.
“What a surprise the Death is going to get! Perhaps the Scourge will rave and rant enough to burst a skull-side blood vessel. That would spare us the necessity of a formal execution.”
“Ah, there,” said September. “Isn’t that a sail? Or have I been dipping too deep into the reedle again?”
No, certainly that was a spot of blue far, far out on the ice. It grew, was joined by others of different size and shape and color. Every imaginable shade was represented in the concatenation of sails. Soon the far ice was a rainbow of barbaric coloring: magenta, umber, jet, crimson—there was a lot of crimson and other reds—azure, carnelian, sard…
Some of the sails were dyed in swatches of random color. Others boasted intricately designed motifs and mosaics. Some were woven, others painted—all of a bloodcurdling nature.
A few sported railings decorated with dull white trannish skulls.
They didn’t cover the ice as the captain had warned. But they filled a disconcerting portion of it.
“Must be nearly a thousand rafts out there,” murmured September. But the big man’s nonchalance fooled no one. Even he was a little awed.
“More than we expected,” Hunnar admitted. “Yet it only makes me gladder, for there will be more of the vermin to dispose of.”
Beating into the wind, the nomad fleet moved closer. One by one they took up position along four-deep lines. One by one the sails came down and ice anchors went out.
“Settling in for a relaxing stay,” September said.
Even at this distance, Ethan thought he could detect some rafts that were crowded with livestock, others with crates and supplies. It was a mobile city.
Soon all the sails were furled but one, which belonged to a small, rakishly set little raft. It lay alongside a huge ship with a double-storied, garishly painted central cabin. The small raft broke off and skimmed slowly for the harbor gate.
Ethan could make out toy figures straining at the mechanism that raised the obstructing nets and the Great Chain barrier.
“Parley raft,” said Hunnar with satisfaction. “The Landgrave and members of the Council should be preparing to receive it. Let’s go.”
They followed him down the winding stairs into the castle proper.