Occasionally there would be a sharp dip in the crest of the plateau where a hanging valley emerged.

When the icerigger was on a starboard tack, the lookout in the mainmast basket could see into such gaps in the rock wall. Some held trees that apparently shunned the top of the plateau itself, but none showed any sign of habitation, not of the fabled ship building city of Moulokin or of a single Tran hermit.

Days became a week, the week two, without a break in the cliffs. From time to time the plateau would reach outward or ripple inward, forcing them to alter their heading slightly. But never did it vanish or vary its general eastwest orientation.

By the beginning of the third week, however, the plateau began to curve gradually southward. Ethan mused on the distance they had come to the west. Nor was there any way of telling how far the cliffs extended westward.

"According to the mestapes I took long ago, back on the ship traveling here," Ethan was telling September, "survey work had been very limited on this world. Arsudun was the largest populated island the first team found, so they put the humanx station there. But this," and he gestured expansively at the towering ramparts, "it's either an island-sized continent, or a continent-sized island."

"It's plain enough, feller-me-lad," the giant commented, "that we've found no mere mountaintop stickin' its head above the ocean."

Hunnar joined them, braking to a halt on the star-board icepath, turning his chiv at the last moment so as not to shower them with ice. His excitement was evident from his expression and the fact that he al-most forgot to lower his dan. September caught him as he stumbled forward, nearly fell. He was so preoc-cupied he forgot to produce an excuse for his clumsiness.

"We have found the tracks of a ship! They travel parallel to this high land also, but they approach from the east before turning south."

"Maybe someone else's calculations were a little off," said an equally animated Ethan.

"Mayhap." Hunnar regained some of his usual dignity. "This may mean only that another raft is explor-ing or lost."

"Sure. But if the Moulokinese do most of their trading with peoples to the south and west away from that pressure ridge we crossed, it would explain why we've encountered no tracks before now, and why they're so little known in Poyolavomaar." Hunnar's excitement had proven infectious. "Not to mention in far-off Arsudun."

"All possible, all possible." The knight's eyes flashed in the midday light. "We shall see."

The next day they came across two additional sets of ship tracks. Like the first, these approached from the east before turning south.

"If Moulokin does lie along this plateau," Ethan was saying, "then any shipmaster knows he only has to encounter it before turning south or north."

The actual discovery, when it occurred, was anticlimactic. One moment the _Slanderscree_ was racing southward, its speed faster now that it wasn't running into the wind. The next, the fore lookout was yelling loudly to any who could hear.

Off-duty crew rushed to the port rail for a glimpse of a myth become real. From the day they had first en-countered the cliffs of the plateau, it had taken them nearly a standard month to reach their present posi-tion. Ethan couldn't estimate how far they'd come. But it was far enough to convince him that Tran-ky-ky could now boast at least one true continent in addi-tion to its thousands of islands scattered spice-like across its endless ice seas.

At the same time he understood why those islands rather than this landma.s.s of considerable but inexact extent were chose by the Tran for their towns and cities. Islands offered easy access to fields of pikapina and pedan, access to the ice ocean on which all commerce moved. Everything they had seen of the broad pla-teau hinted at an interior as barren as the lowliest tundra.

Like everyone else, the cries had roused Ethan from his cabin and sent him running to the deck to learn what all the shouting was about. As he snapped his suit closed he noticed sailors up in the rigging taking in sail.

"What is it, Skua?" he shouted at the giant as he ran to the railing. Then he didn't have to ask because he saw it for himself.

As though cleft by the axe of a G.o.d, the cliffs had been split from rim to ice just off the port bow. As they drew nearer, the extent of the chasm could be es-timated. Ethan guessed it was not quite two hundred meters across. It maintained that width as far down the canyon as he could see.

There was no sign of a city, but there were numerous signs of its nearness. September leaned over the railing, pointed wordlessly down to the ice.

Despite the light dusting of ice particles and snow, Ethan could clearly make out many sets of parallel grooves running through the smooth surface. They were the tracks of ships which had pa.s.sed this way.

While they crossed and cut over one another, all converged on the chasm in the plateau wall.

September had his tiny monocular out. He'd flipped up the protective mask of the survival suit and was holding the compact telescope to one eye.

"What do you see, Skua?"

"Sheer rock, feller-me-lad. Rock no different from that forming the cliffs we've been pacing for weeks. Not a sail, not a building, nothing. Maybe the canyon takes a tight turn and hides the town." He slipped the monocular back into the sealocket in his suit, squinted at the plateau. "One thing's certain- all these tracks lead somewhere popular. I wonder at the clouds inland, though. Even if the wind's less there, you wouldn't think they'd linger so thick in one place."

It did seem that the interior of the plateau immedi-ately behind the canyon was home to a dense ma.s.s of oddly whitish clouds. Blue sky around and above made the cloud-forms stand out sharply. Ethan thought briefly of volcanic smoke, such as could be seen from Sofold's steady-burning peaks. Only this smoke was much too light to be volcanic in origin.

"If it's such a busy port, why don't we see any other ships?"

"That gal Teeliam did say this Moulokin's pri-marily a shipbuilding and manufacturing center.

Poyolavomaar, Arsudun, Sofold-they're all trad-ing ports. Maybe no one visits here unless they've a finished raft waitin' for them. Or maybe the Moulokinese are superst.i.tious and only trade certain times of the year. Be interestin' to see what they make of us."

Cries sounded from the helmdeck immediately be-hind them. Tahoding was gesturing busily to mates and a.s.sistants. Gracefully, sails were drawn up and tied to spars. The _Slanderscree_ continued its cautious ap-proach to the canyon.

Something pressed against the face mask of Ethan's survival suit. He raised it cautiously, then shut it fast. His suit thermometer indicated it was minus twenty outside, but it wasn't the cold that made him hastily shield his skin.

They were traveling almost due east. That meant the untiring westwind was directly behind them. Yet they were making little progress. The icerigger rocked slightly, and he saw that Tahoding was tacking.

That was crazy: n.o.body tacks away from the wind!

"Strong gale blowin' down _out_ of the canyon," observed September with interest. A glance upward showed the sails flapping uncertainly against the spars. Occasionally the wind off the plateau was strong enough to shove pikapina sail material back against the masts. At such moments the ship shuddered as if reluctant to continue. But under Tahoding's careful and expert guidance, they kept making steady progress forward. Very soon they entered the mouth of the canyon.

Walls over a hundred meters high towered on both sides of the ice ship. As they progressed up the chasm, the sheer stone ramparts rose steadily higher, though the canyon showed no sign of narrowing.

At a hundred seventy meters high the cliffs leveled off, only then the canyon walls began to press inward slightly. There was less room to maneuver. Tahoding and his crew worked hard to keep the zigzagging ship from smashing into unyielding canyon sides. He was making shorter and shorter tacks, threatening terribly if a sail crew was seconds too slow in shifting a spar.

Once, the sailors manipulating the foremast tops misinterpreted a mate's order and swung their spars starboard instead of port. With a lurch, the _Slanderscree_ continued on course to starboard instead of swing-ing around to cross the expanse of ice in the channel. Ethan stared, frozen, as they lumbered steadily toward the nearing gray cliff.

Sailors fought frantically to correct the error, com-pensate for the mistake. There was a dull, patient grind-ing noise. Fortunately the icerigger was now traveling so slowly into the headwind that the impact did no more than crack the railing and splinter a couple of deck planks.

The ease with which the planking splintered turned Ethan's attention to the treeless rims high overhead. How stable were they? In the event of a slide there was no room to escape in the narrow confines of the canyon.

He was worrying needlessly again. The crash of ship into stone hadn't loosened as much as a pebble from the clifftop.

Strong comments were relayed from helmdeck to foremast crew via the midship's mate. They were in-tended to relax the atmosphere on board while chasttising the foremast sailors. Instead, the invective only added to the general tension, did not produce the laughter it would have in less threatening surroundings.

The mystery of the mythic citystate, the narrowing canyon walls that shut out the clean sky, the skate-scarred ice they were traversing, in conjunction with their unfortunate experiences at Poyolavomaar, combined to test the mental stability of the crew. Ethan knew it would be better if they encountered _something_ - hostile, friendly or even inexplicable-before many more minutes pa.s.sed.

It occurred to him to wonder what they would do if Moulokin proved as unreal as it had proven elusive and the canyon simply continued to narrow, perhaps to a lonely rockface dead-end. The many ship tracks might signify nothing more than a convocation of religious worshippers at a favorite shrine, or indicate a well-used refuge from storms.

Such visitors would have no trouble turning their ships around and racing back down the icefilled can-yon with the inland wind at their backs. But the can-yon was as narrow as the _Slanderscree_ was long. She could not possibly be turned 'round in so slim a s.p.a.ce. They might have to backsail, traveling sternfirst and steering in a fashion unthought of.

September had theorized a bend in the canyon. All at once it turned sharply southward. The crew had to struggle with lines and spars to swing the icerigger safely around the twisting walls.

The wind continued to buffet them from off the pla-teau, but it was gentler now. The ice raft could proceed up canyon on a softer tack.

Except that the canyon was blocked.

At first he thought it a landslide, tumbled down from those cliffs so stable in appearance. As they drew nearer it was clear that the obstacle was Tranmade, its great stones and blocks neatly piled with mortarless masonry to form a wall stretching across the ice strait like a granite web.

It was perhaps thirty meters high, deeper than he could casually guess without a higher view. As was the custom on Tran-ky-ky, the colossal double gate was constructed of wood. It rose nearly as high as the stone walls themselves and was flanked on either side by a triangular tower.

The structure puzzled him. Impressive as they were, these could not be the gates to fabled Moulokin.

Behind the barrier the cliffs rose high and close together as ever. There was no room for a city behind the wall. And if any such did exist there, he reminded himself, surely it could be seen from the lookout cage on the mainmast.

The wall itself was a typically solid piece of native engineering. It looked well-nigh impregnable. But something lay behind that gate. The quilt of grooves in the ice now ran straight toward the double gate.

They were very close when the sound of a horn reached them. It brayed three times and then was silent. Ethan ran for the bow, discovered Elfa, Teeliam, Hunnar, September and many others already there, staring forward.

A voice from one of the towers hailed them. Its tone, so crucial to the precise meaning of many Trannish phrases and words, was neither hostile nor openly in-viting. "Who are you, in the great ship?

From whence do you come and what do you wish of the peaceful folk of Moulokin?"

This development produced an excited muttering as word spread through the crew, made its way up the masts and into the cabins. Moulokin existed; Mou-lokin was real! At least, an unseen presence on an impressive wall had laid claim to the reality of a rumor.

Hunnar replied. "We come from a far state, Wannome, to the northeast of you. We desire to par-lay with your Landgrave and council on a matter of great importance to all Tran. And we have three im-portant visitors with us."

"Step forward, lad. Time to show ourselves." Sep-tember slid back his mask so those hidden in the wall would have an un.o.bstructed view of his furless visage. Williams and Ethan duplicated his movement.

"They are from a world other than Tran-ky-ky." Hunnar pointed skyward. "A world from the ocean of black ice."

All at once there was movement on the ramparts. Ethan could see Tran soldiers emerge from conceal-ment, gesturing at the icerigger while talking among themselves with apparent excitement.

So the appearance of the three humans was a surprise to them. Now he could relax some. Calonnin RoVijar had not conjured up a skimmer or other modern vehicle to carry him here in advance of their arrival, to stir up trouble and spread the lies he'd sown so effectively in Poyolavomaar.

"They have much of importance to impart to you, as they have imparted to us," Hunnar continued.

"Im-portant things which can benefit all Tran."

"These Tran are of Moulokin and for Moulokin first," responded the voice from the tower, sounding noncommittal. "But- we will talk with you and may-hap even listen.

"As to your own plans and desires, know that many have tried to sway Moulokin with weighty promises erected on thin ice. We make no promises of our own. Will you still talk, given these words?

We will open the gates to you." A pause, then, "I believe your vessel will pa.s.s between. Marvelous as are the shipwrights of the city, they have created nothing half so grand."

"Happily will we share our knowledge with all." Lowering his voice, Hunnar faced those grouped around him. "What think you, friend Ethan?"

Uncomfortable as always with so many eyes on him, Ethan replied softly. "Everything points to the real Moulokin lying somewhere beyond that gate. Whether it exists or not, we seem to have found some Tran with self-confidence and a willingness to listen. That's a valuable combination we should try and enlist."

"Leastwise they haven't told us to turn around and take us back the way we've come." September was gazing expectantly at the wall barring their path. Shrouds and stays snapped around them, singing in the down-canyon breeze. "We should be careful, and we should go in."

" Tis settled, then." Hunnar called out the command to the midship mate, who relayed it crisply to the helmdeck. A prompt reply came back. Tahoding felt he could negotiate the narrow gateway in the wall.

"We will come in," Hunnar shouted back to the listeners a.s.sembled on the wall and in the two towers, "and with thanks for your friendly welcome." The last was offered as much in hope as certainty.

Like the snores of a restless giant, the thick wooden gates drew back on stone slides. Tahoding rumbled cautious orders. The _Slanderscree_ started forward, tacking minimally under slight sail.

Ethan was too busy to decide whether the anxious expressions of the guards gathered on the walls were due to curiosity, awe, or nervous tension. The stone wall contained a surprise. It was much thicker than he'd expected, varying from ten to twenty meters in depth. Cabins and barracks were built into and on top of the immense rampart.

Tahoding employed his fanciest maneuvering to turn the ship to starboard once her stern had cleared the wall. As the icerigger began to edge slowly around the sharp rightward bend in the abyss, a cry of dismay sounded from the bowsprit lookout. Other cries sounded from the bow.

Intending to discuss the difficulties of negotiating the slim channel with Tahoding, Ethan heard the shouts, stopped, and reversed his course. By the time he reached the bow, the _Slanderscree_ had come to a halt. A glance showed the cause of the crew's con-sternation.

Around the canyon headland and before them lay a second wall. It looked just as impregnable and well-tranned as the one behind them. There was a double gate in it, and the gate was closed.

A creaking noise turned his attention to the stern. Working frantically, the guards on the first wall had succeeded in closing the portal they'd just pa.s.sed through, after having oiled the stone slides to keep the ponder-ous gates from screeching and warning the icerigger's crew. Now they were draping thick green-red cables across the gate and securing them to the bracketing towers. Spears, lances, and bows formed a threaten-ing fringe along the wall top. Expectant yellow eyes gleamed behind them, shining brightly in the dim can-yon light of afternoon.

"So much for local hospitality." September studied a furious Sir Hunnar. The knight was showing clenched teeth, examining the armed walls, instinc-tively gauging an opponent's strength. "Much as it pains me to admit it, friend Hunnar, I'm tempted to come 'round to your way of thinking'. First Poyolavomaar and now here. Doesn't look like Tran folk even like to speculate on cooperatin'."

"Raft coming!" called the mizzen lookout, stimulat-ing a rush toward the stern. Everyone cl.u.s.tered at the icerigger's widest point, over the starboard stern runner.

A very small icecraft was fluttering toward the _Slanderscree_ from behind, having emerged from a dock at-tached to the inside of the first wall. It looked like a brown leaf scudding uncertainly across the hard white-ness. Three Tran manned it: one steering, one han-dling the single sail, the last standing at the bowpoint gazing curiously at the icerigger which towered above him.

One of the sailors peering over the railing growled. "They carry no weapons."

"And fly no pennant," said Hunnar, adding admir-ingly: "They said they would let us past _this_ gate, and that we would talk. Talk we will, though 'tis not the setting for a parley I would prefer." He glanced over at one of the a.s.sistant mates. "Vasen, what are our chances of backing sail and breaking through that gate?"

The mate replied as if he'd already considered the question carefully. "As thick as the wall is, Sir Hun-nar, I would care not to try. We might crack the wooden gates despite lack of room to build up proper speed. But the pikapina cables appear well secured to the stone towers. They would not snap, and I would not care to chance pulling their moorings free from the wall." He thought a moment before speaking further.

"With the aid of our crossbows and the light weap-ons of our human friends, we could perchance over-power the guards on the wall. But we would still have to unkey and drop the cables barring our retreat." He gestured toward the bow and the second wall up can-yon. "I cannot judge how many soldiers might be waiting out of sight behind that wall. They could at-tack us from behind and overwhelm us with num-bers." He executed a Tran gesture of disappointed negativity. " 'Twould be prudent to talk first. We can then always slit the envoy's throat before attempting to escape."

Hunnar responded with a snarl. He disliked having to wait. Patience was not a Tran trait. The humans had chided him about that before. Well, he could be as patient as any hairless human, and would chat pleasantly and politely with this envoy.

As Vasen said, they could always cut his throat later.

Someone finally thought to throw over a boarding ladder. It clattered against the side of the icerigger.

The tiny raft pulled up alongside. Clasping the ladder cables in both hands, the Tran in the bow climbed toward them, moving smoothly for a biped balancing awkwardly on three sharp chiv instead of a flat foot.

Then the Tran was standing on the deck, confront-ing half a hundred hostile stares with an aplomb and air of a.s.surance Ethan could only admire.

He was skinny to the point of emaciation, being no broader than Ethan himself, though he appeared healthy enough. After surveying his audience with a rigorous halfsmile, his gaze settled on the three humans. Double eyelids blinked against wind-driven par-ticles of ice.

" 'Tis true? You are truly from a world other than this?"

"It's so," Ethan shot back. "We prefer not to be thought of as strangers, however. We'd much rather be thought of as friends, though appearances suggest you feel otherwise."

"Contrary-so, offworlder. We would wish it similarly. I night Polos Mirmib, Royal Advisor and Guardian of the Gate."

"Which gate?" Hunnar's tone made his response sound like much more than a question. "The one we were invited to pa.s.s safely through, or the one that has been used to entrap us?"

"The gate to Moulokin, of course," replied Polos, appearing unaffected by Hunnar's hostility and avoid-ing his insinuations diplomatically. "That is a gate made not of stone or wood, but a gate mostly of the mind."

A belligerent voice sounded from close by Hunnar: SuaxusdalJagger. "I'd heard that the Moulokinese were famed as shipbuilders, not philosophers."

Mirmib executed a smile. "Recreational metaphors are a personal affectation. Do not ascribe such word-play to my people as a whole. They are for the most part stolid, honest, not especially imaginative folk, who wish nothing more of life than to enjoy a good day's work, a hearty meal and warm fire at day's end, and the love of their mates between days."

His voice took on a slight sharpness as he contin-ued. "To outsiders, Tran and otherwise, these things may seem a peasant's way of life, simple and unin-spiring. We enjoy being uncomplicated." The sharp-ness disappeared. "Enjoy we also guests, visitors who bring to us news of the strange places to which we of Moulokin rarely venture."