“In due time we will revive your crew.” He waved at the transit pool behind him. Pelio’s yacht floated near the far end, the hull tilting at an unnatural angle against the pool’s wall. The boat’s hatches were sealed. “But for now they are better off asleep.”
Pelio shot to his feet. “You” (unknown word) “liar! You’ve killed my men.” His glare turned upon the Snowking. “How dare you allow such treachery, Tru’ud? Do treaties mean so little to you?”
King Tru’ud started to sneer, then controlled himself and simply looked away from the prince. Bre’en was a good deal less cordial when he responded to the boy. “You are impertinent, Prince Pelio. No one has been murdered. We used the least force possible—and that only when it became clear that the Summerkingdom did not intend to share our visitors’ knowledge. If we had killed your crew, why would we spare you? With your suspicions unspoken wouldn’t it be easier to win over your two friends?”
The argument didn’t appeal to Pelio. “I don’t know why you didn’t finish me off with the others. But I do know you can never let us go. Only as long as you can tell my family that a ‘terrible accident’ destroyed my yacht will you have any chance of avoiding war with the Summerkingdom.”
Bre’en shrugged, and turned to the Novamerikans with an apologetic smile. “Anyway, we hope you will see the truth of what we say. At the Summerfest you claimed that you were somehow going to travel across the Great Ocean. We aren’t sure if you were bluffing or not, but we do know that King Shozheru gave you only a few days to prepare for the attempt, and that he had secret plans to betray you in case you seemed close to success. You will find my king more lenient. He is prepared to give you protection, time, and personal comfort… if you will share your magic with us.
“And we know that magic is powerful, perhaps more powerful than the Guild itself. We had men in the hills north of Bodgaru at the time of your capture. One saw the flying monster come to your aid, and others saw it burning down through the sky, hundreds of miles north of you; the creature was making better time than most road boats do in those latitudes. We believe that if you had not been completely ignorant of the Talent, you might have succeeded in fighting off the troops that Prefect Moragha sent against you.
“Since that time, several of your talismans have come into our possession, and these further strengthened our notion of your importance.” He gestured at the maser and other pieces of equipment that had been stolen from the Summerpalace.
“Yes,” interrupted Pelio, “just how did you get these things out of the Keep?”
“That, of course, is our secret,” said the Snowman. Then his egotism got the better of him and he grinned at Pelio. “But I can say that we did it even as you and Ionina looked on.”
How was that possible? When she saw Bre’en and his men at the Keep, they had been empty-handed. The maser and the pistols were not large—none measured more than eighty by twenty centimeters—but you could hardly conceal them in your leggings. Or could you? Suddenly she remembered the strange, stiff-legged gait of Bre’en’s servants, and a ghastly thought occurred to her; what if those men were amputees? If they could fool the guards’ density sense… each stolen object could fit easily within the stubby outline of an Azhiri’s lower leg. Of course, the men would be crippled for the rest of their lives, but that might not bother the Snowking. It was obvious he played rough.
“As I was saying,” Bre’en resumed, “these devices only increased our respect for you. We lost two good men learning that this”—he pointed at one of the machine pistols—“rengs metal pebbles as fast-moving as anything our soldiers can reng. With this weapon, an untraveled recruit can be as deadly as a trooper who has spent years on pilgrimage.” Ah, the armies you could raise, eh, Bre’en? thought Leg-Wot.
The Snowman reached across the table to touch the maser. “And this device proved almost as deadly. One of our men looked down the glassy end, while turning these knobs. He died in seconds, almost as though he had been kenged—yet the fellow was alert and fully Talented.”
Bjault’s voice was hesitant. “What exactly do you want from us?”
“The secret of your magic. Failing that, we want you to build us more of these things. We’d like to catch some of those sky monsters, too. In return you will have our assistance in your efforts to travel across the sea. Or, if you decide to remain in our kingdom permanently, we will offer you an honored place in our peerage.”
Ajão nodded, and Leg-Wot wondered angrily if the old man really bought such promises. “May I talk with Yoninne?” he asked.
Pelio growled a curse under his breath.
“Certainly,” said Bre’en, but the Snowman made no move to give them privacy.
Leg-Wot looked across the piled furs. “Well?” she said in Homespeech.
“Well,” said Ajão in the same language, his voice as tremulous as before, “we’re going to have to make this quick. Pelio’s right; they murdered the crew. You just don’t suffocate people with CO, and then leave them ‘asleep’ until you need them. You either revive them immediately or else they die.”
Samadhom, poor Samadhom. It wasn’t right, but somehow the tubby watchbear’s death hurt the most.
“These are clever people, Yoninne. I think they revived Pelio just so they could make the points they did. Tru’ud’s court has the taint of a ‘modern’ dictatorship—like we had at the end of the Interregnum. Those servants—no, don’t turn to look; Bre’en and the others don’t understand our language but they might be able to read your face—those servants are alike enough to be brothers. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Snowking breeds witlings like cattle.
“I suspect Tru’ud will eliminate us the moment he thinks we’ve given him a decisive advantage over his enemies—though we’ll die of metallic poisoning long before that happens.”
Perhaps Bjault wasn’t quite the ivory-tower man he seemed. “Well then, damn it, what are we going to do?” Out of the corner of her eye she saw that the Snowmen were becoming restless.
“I … I don’t know, Yoninne,” he said and Leg-Wot knew that here, at least, the indecision in his voice was real. “It looks as though we’ll have to play along—for the moment.”
“Hmf.” Yoninne turned back to the Snowking and his ministers. “We will cooperate, but Prince Pelio must not be harmed,” she said in Azhiri.
Bre’en nodded, and Pelio’s expression froze in an implacable glare. Pm so sorry, Pelio, the thought came unexpectedly into her mind. She was still selling him out, even though she had secured him—temporary—safety.
Bre’en was all smiles now, and even Tru’ud’s grim face seemed to hold a bit of triumph. “What you ask is only what we intended,” said the Snowman diplomat. “Your quarters have alreadv been prepared and heated to the temperature Summerfolk find comfortable.”
Yoninne felt unwilling gratitude at this. Her body ached from the constant cold, and her sweat-soaked parka was like a clammy hand on her skin. A room temperature around freezing might be pleasant indoor warmth for Bre’en, but it was hideously uncomfortable for the likes of Pelio and Yoninne Leg-Wot—and it was probably hell for Bjault.
The three witlings stood, painfully aware of the cramps in their muscles. As they walked slowly down over the piled furs, Snowman troopers closed in around Ajão and Yoninne. Behind them, Pelio followed without so much as a single guard. It’s Ajão and me they fear, thought Leg-Wot. The two Novamerikans were wizards who must be carefully watched, especially when they came near their magical gadgets. Pelio, on the other hand, was less than no threat to the Snowmen.