"Before you babble cubbish objections, we will tell you some-thing else. We have already won this battle."

Strange expressions greeted this ridiculous pro-nouncement. All knew, even his supporters, that the Landgrave was not the sanest Tran in Poyolavomaar. They wondered if he now might not have entered the region of the humored dead, a development many would have welcomed.

That was not the case. "We have won, because these detested creatures returned here to where we awaited them. We did not know if they would do so. We could not circle this enormous land to find where they might leave it and return decently to the ice. We had thought they might fly off through the sky, as Calonnin RoVijar has told us the offworlders can. But he also a.s.sured us that they most likely would not."

That last prompted a query from the officer who'd first spoken. "Where is the brave Landgrave of Arsudun?"

"Yes," shouted another "where has he taken him-self now that we must fight with blood instead of words?"

"At least you have the brains to note the absence of our valued friend and ally. Now, strain your tiny minds but a little further. Where can he have gone to? Think a moment!" He savored the sudden consterna-tion visible on their faces. "Think of what we just told you, of the offworlders flying through the air."

Someone finally said, in a stunned voice, "He has gone for offworlder help of our own."

"A sensible man among you." Rakossa marked the one who'd spoken for future promotion, provided he continued to behave with proper humility and defer-ence toward the royal person.

"RoVijar has allies among the offworlders, even as that accursed woman does. When it became clear to us that the iceraft and its cargo were elsewhere than in the city of the merchants we dispatched RoVijar at his own suggestion back to his own country. He a.s.sures us he can procure offworld help.

When he returns, it will be with weapons of battle so terrible that the puny hand knives of the offworlders on that raft will appear as a wooden sword beside one of steel!"

Sitting down, he let the officers mull over that bit of news. "Meanwhile," he interjected, "the merchants and their offworlders cannot come out. If they dare attack us on the open ice, we will retreat past their wind advantage and cut them up on the sea despite their strange weapons. If they vanish again, they will be found when the Landgrave of Arsudun returns with his aid. They cannot escape us.'" He slammed a paw down hard on the table.

"Then will we possess not only the great iceship, but all the riches of this bloated merchant city, which we will strip and then burn to the ground."

The cabin rang with cheers. Rakossa sat back, smiled inwardly. Once more he had them.

Maintain-ing the loyalty of such peasant was a disagreeable game, but one which great men like himself neces-sarily had to master.

Yes, he would have the raft with its beautiful, tall runners made from metal of the offworlders. He would have the mysterious shortarrow bows of its crew as well as their blood. His soldiers, who had grown too thoughtful for responsible citizens, would now have the chance to forget idle speculations and drown them-selves in the flesh and wealth of Moulokin. His name and the name of Poyolavomaar would spread a little farther over this portion of the world.

There was something still more important he would gain. More vital than the conquest and rape of the city, than gaining the greatest iceship on all of Tran-ky-ky, than the power and prestige the coming de-struction would bring to him. His eyes narrowed and double lids nearly closed, giving the Landgrave of Poyolavomaar a glazed, sleepy look. He would have the concubine Teeliam.

Let his officers and men gain the riches of the city. His desire was for a possession much smaller. He could not live knowing a possession had defied him.

The excited buzz of conversation around him faded to a dull hum as he envisioned for the thousandth time what he would do to her when his paws again touched her skin.

It would be her last escape.

One of Mirmib's underlings was showing Ethan and Skua the outskirts of Moulokin. They were on the far southwestern side of the city now, where dense stands of coniferous forest ran inland up the shallow subsidiary canyon. Looking behind them they could see small rafts skittering back and forth within the bowlshaped harbor. Smoke drifted from stone chim-neys. Gentle breezes m.u.f.fled distant shipyard and city sounds. The blockading Poyolavomaar fleet and the possibility of violent death seemed very far away.

"These trees," the official pointed out proudly, "are among the oldest and largest in the canyon. We do not cut them indiscriminately, but reserve them for special endeavors, such as the mainmast of an es-pecially large raft. They serve also to break the rare severe winds that come off the plateau above the city."

The official dropped his arms, slowing his speed on the icepath to a crawl to accommodate the two hu-mans who plodded uphill alongside him. But they never did get to visit the saw mills and lumberyard which lay further upcanyon.

A shout sounded behind them. An anxious-looking young Tran was chivaning uphill after them. He came to an abrupt halt, tongue lolling, panting like a winded runner. Throughout his subsequent monologue his arms gesticulated wildly, usually in the direction of the harbor.

"More-more skypeople have come." Ethan and September exchanged glances, said nothing. "They say-" He looked at both humans warily as he paused for a breath, "they say that you are renegades among your own people, evil ones come to work evil among us. That the Tran of Poyolavomaar are but do-ing all Tran a service by trying to take you into cus-tody, and that we of Moulokin should surrender you immediately."

"I see." September regarded the downy-maned messenger easily. "What do Mirmib and the Lady K'ferr say to this?"

The other grinned in that peculiar Trannish way. "Many things that it would not be right to say in the presence of young cubs. They believe you. All we of Moulokin believe you. Those who could join with the treacherous Poyos could be naught but liars, no matter their powers or origin. A faster raft or stronger sword does not make a stranger's words right."

"I think," September said approvingly, "you folks are gonna make good additions to the Commonwealth. Did you happen to see these new skypeople yourself?"

"I did."

"Was one of 'em just a little shorter than myself, with a self-important manner about him?"

"I know naught of the mannerisms of you offworlders," the messenger replied honestly. "I was sent only to inform you. But there were three skypeople and the one you may describe gives orders to the other two. They have come in a craft most marvelous and magical. It has no runners at all," he murmured in astonishment, "but floats above the ice the height of my chest."

"A skimmer," explained Ethan, adding, "they can come right over the wall with that if they want to. But three?"

"Trell wouldn't leave Arsudun without a bodyguard of some sort," September said reasonably.

"Probably peaceforcers. They'll take orders from the Resident Commissioner without question, unless we can talk sense to 'em. And if Trell's told them we're dangerous criminals or some such, we won't have a chance to get near them. But a skimmer doesn't frighten me. Trell would guess that much. Let's go see what else they've brought."

Trell had indeed brought much more than a skim-mer. Ethan and Skua stood on the wall sealing off the canyon. In the distance they could see the furled sails and masts of the Poyo fleet. Considerably closer, float-ing two meters above the ice, was a rectangular metal shape with a curved prow. The back third of the ob-ject was irregular and composed of the same dullantimonyhued metal as the body, the b.u.mps and rises giving it the look of a diseased animal. The front two-thirds were normally encased in a metal and gla.s.salloy canopy, which was presently retracted. A steady, mellow hum came from within the skimmer.

One survival-suited man sat at the controls. Trell stood behind him. Slightly to the left and still further back a third figure sat in a flexible seat. The seat was attached to a device consisting of a narrow, tapering tube two and half meters long that nested in a webbing of opaque ceramics, gla.s.salloy, and spun metal. Ethan experienced a sinking feeling. The abstract sculpture was a beam cannon. One of modest size, but of suffi-cient capability to turn any fortification of Tran-ky-ky to a mound of molten rock.

Its operator was sitting easily in the seat, running a hand through her long red hair and waiting for instruc-tions from the Commissioner.

The proximity of the skimmer rendered the use of voice amplifiers unnecessary. "Ethan Frome Fortune, Skua September, Milliken Williams!"

Ethan recognized Trell's voice immediately. "Where's Milliken?"

"Off with the wizard someplace. Never mind, feller-me-lad." September roared over the wall. "We're here, Trell!"

"You are engaged," the Commissioner began officiously, "in unauthorized, unpermitted, and illegal dip-lomatic endeavors among the natives of this Cla.s.s V unstatused world."

"We're trying to help them form something re-sembling a planetary government," Ethan yelled back, "so they can make the jump to Cla.s.s II. That's a good thing. You said so yourself, Trell."

"You do not have official permission," Trell replied sweetly. "As Resident Commissioner I share your concern. But I cannot countenance unauthorized activities of such delicacy."

"We're willin' to cooperate," countered September. "Give us permission."

"I'm not empowered to do so, Mr. September. I'm only an administrator, not a policymaker. If you will return with me to Arsudun, I will help you fill out the proper forms and put the request through correct channels."

"That would take years." Ethan didn't try to hide the sarcasm. "You know how the bureaucracy works. We're not recognized diplomats, missionaries, anything but private citizens. We'd never get permission."

"That is not for me to say. But you must go through official channels! As Resident Commissioner I am empowered to enforce the law. No law permits amateur meddling in native affairs."

"You call it meddling. We call it somethin' else."

"Evidently, Mr. September. However," and he nodded toward the waiting cannon, "whatever lies you've managed to foist on your native allies will not resist modern weaponry. For the last time, I implore you to return peacefully to Arsudun-."

"Where we might get our bellies slit- accidentally," September cut in.

"-to pursue your endeavors through proper author-ities."

"If we don't?" Ethan asked.

Trell managed to look pained. "If I am compelled to employ modern weapons against primitive peoples it will go very harshly with you."

"What he's sayin'," September muttered, "is that if we and the Moulokinese resist, he can blow the whole city to fragments and blame it on us. If we go back with him, you know what'll happen. If he doesn't kill us outright, he'll just have us put on the next ship outsystem. That'd be the end of any attempt to organize the Tran and lead 'em out of their self-destructive feudalism. You know how far any official request will get."

"What say you, friends?" They looked back, saw Hunnar standing expectantly behind them. Ethan switched from the symbospeech he and September had been speaking back to Trannish and repeated most of their conversation for the knight and for Mirmib, who had chivaned over to join them.

Hunnar hefted the crossbow he'd taken from the _Slanderscree's_ armory. "What happens if I put a bolt through the chief human's chest? Will he not die quickly as any Tran?"

"Just as quickly," September admitted. "But we'd have to kill all three of them simultaneously." He glanced over the wall. "Near impossible. If one of 'em survives, they'll move back out of range and reduce the whole city, or worse, return to Bra.s.s Monkey and report what happened here. Then Moulokin would be listed as an outlaw city full of belligerents, and RoVijar and Rakossa would go down as the finest leaders on all Tran-ky-ky. Too risky except as a last resort. Like jumpin' a creva.s.se, it's an all or nothing proposition.

"Besides, Trell's no dummy. He knows we've got a couple of beamers. Probably the skimmer's beamshielded right now. Anything we fired at 'em would just get bent into the ice."

"We've got one other thing to fight with, Skua." Ethan looked from man to Tran. "The new history of an entire race."

September let go a derisive sniff. "I'm not sure Trell's the sort of man to whom that would make much difference, feller-me-lad."

"Don't judge him too fast, Skua. You said yourself once you're used to dealing in extremes. Let me try and sell him, first. Before we try any all or nothings." September looked undecided.

"Maybe I'm wrong, but I think he might be the sort of educated functionary who likes to steal so long as it can be done quasi-legally. There's a difference between a professional killer and an immoral opportunist."

"You spin words mighty fine, lad."

"It's my business. Let me at least try talking to him. If he ignores me, well," he shrugged and eyed Hunnar's ready crossbow, "we can always try blunter methods."

"Why not slay him," Hunnar suggested blithely, "when he comes to parley?"

"In the first place, Hunnar, we're not that kind of folks," September replied sternly. "In the second, Trell will come by himself. May sound paradoxical, but he's safer with his bodyguard behind him, runnin'

the skimmer and the gun. Kill him and we lose."

"We agree then. Friend Ethan, try your words." Hunnar's tone left no doubt what he thought Ethan's chances were.

He showed himself at the wall's edge. "Will you meet us at the gate? We have a lot to tell you that you don't know, Trell."

"I will," came the response, "provided I can bring a couple of bodyguards!"

September's jaw sagged. If Trell were fool enough to leave the skimmer and cannon unattended-.

He was not. When the towering wooden gates were lugged slightly askew, the opening admitted Trell, two huge Tran, and Calonnin RoVijar, looking like a great gray Cheshire cat.

Trell had come thoroughly prepared. He wore skates similar to those manufactured for Ethan and his friends.

"So you and Trell were together in this all along," said Ethan.

"In what?" Trell looked as innocent as the man who claimed his garrote was a handkerchief. "As Land-grave of Arsudun, naturally RoVijar would be inter-ested in anything affecting the peoples of his world."

"Such as personal profit?"

"We are all businessmen and traders here." RoVijar did not sound offended by Ethan's intended in-sult. "As a trader, I would be most gratified if this could all be resolved quietly, with no dyings. You should do as your leader requests and return with him to your out-post."

"That might settle things between outworlders." Hunnar leaned against the wall nearby and inspected the edge of his sword. "After the humans depart, there would remain many things to be settled among peo-ple."

"As you wish, so may it be." RoVijar gestured im-perceptibly in the knight's direction, and Hunnar stiffened angrily.

"It doesn't matter," Trell said hastily. He pointed to Ethan's waist. "In case you're wondering, the skim-mer's not beam shielded. No need for it to be so on this world. But we're just out of range of your hand beamers. They can't reach a tenth the distance of that cannon.

"While I'd dislike having to kill you, if you refuse to return peaceably with me and persist in these il-legal actions, I will regretfully do just that. Now what is it you wish to tell me?" He sounded impatient.

It was cold in the shadow of the wall and his survival suit did not fit properly.

Ethan gestured to Sir Hunnar. The knight went to the door of a chamber built into the base of the wall.

Several sailors from the _Slanderscree_ trooped out. They carried pikapina fiber sacks. Carefully the con-tents of the sacks were removed, laid out on the ice in front of Trell. Knives, plates, bas-reliefs, all manner of relics removed from the buried metropolis they'd discovered inland.

Wishing Williams were present to offer a more scientific and comprehensive explanation, Ethan launched into an a.n.a.lysis of what they had discovered. His narrative produced a more p.r.o.nounced reaction from the Tran bodyguard and RoVijar than it did from Trell.

That didn't mean the Commissioner was unaware of the significance of the artifacts spread out before him. He knelt, examined a strange tool made of native steel finer than any he'd ever seen. "I admit I've seen nothing like this before. All this means is that these Mulkins of yours are superb craftsmen."

"You don't believe that, Trell. You don't have to be an expert to tell how old this stuff is. With Commonwealth help, the Tran would be able to preserve their accomplishments and heritage from one warm cycle to the next."

"These Golden Saia you spoke of?"

Ethan continued enthusiastically. "Warm weather versions of the Tran we see around us, survivors in their thermal region of the previous warm period. Plants and animals from that era have survived there also. Living proof, Trell, of what I've told you. The Tran live together on the continents in large social organizations during the warm cycles. Give them communications technology and you'd have a real planetary government. Only the periods of terrible cold force them into city-states competing for habitable territory.

"Don't you see, Trell? There's much more than just a.s.sociate Commonwealth status at stake for the Tran here. They'll have full status in a few millennia, and they'll keep it, once they're a.s.sured of a cultural foundation that's not going to be shattered by a new ice age every time it gets started." He paused, continued with more solemnity than he thought he possessed.

"If you take us back to Arsudun, shunt us off on the next ship through and forget all this, you're condemn-ing an entire race, hundreds of millions of sapient beings, to an existence of periodic crisis, starvation, and death that can all be avoided. You'd be personally responsible for denying them their rightful heritage."

"Leastwise you got a simple choice, Trell," September said pointedly. "A few credits in your own ac-count against the future of an entire world. 'Course, if you decide for the former, you wouldn't be the first to do so."

Ethan could see the Commissioner was sweating in-side. It was one thing to skim a little illegal profit off the trade of a quarrelsome, primitive people, quite an-other to do so at the expense of an entire civilization's future. Trell was just moral enough, just civilized enough, in fact just enough of a Resident Commissioner to be thrown into a real quandary by the problem.

Sensing uncertainty, Ethan searched desperately for some additional semantic weapon to throw at Trell. "You'd still be in charge, still be Commissioner. You could still take a legal percentage, however much smaller, of the local trade. Think of the boom in that trade when the Tran organize themselves on a planetwide basis. We've already started them on that path here in Moulokin.

"And if that's not inducement enough, consider the fame a few stolen credits can never buy. You'd go down in the Church histories as the Commissioner who recognized the cyclic nature of this world's civilization and its importance and took the first steps to aid a climactically impoverished people. How much is a footnote in immortality worth, Trell?" He went quiet. Having appealed to Trell's morality and now to his ego, Ethan had nothing left to fight with.

"I don't-I'm not sure-" Trell's unctuous man-ner had vanished along with his confidence. He'd come in expecting to hear pleas or defiance. Instead he'd been confronted with artifacts and a new world history.

He was badly shaken, needed time to recover his balance.

"I've got to think on this, consider it carefully. We-" He halted, turned abruptly to RoVijar. "Let us go and talk, friend Landgrave." RoVijar simply gave acknowledgement, accompanied Trell to the opening in the gate.

The Commissioner looked back at Ethan. "I'll give you an answer in less than an hour."

"All we ask is that you consider the obvious," said Ethan. "We'll give you our answer at the same time." Trell didn't appear to have heard the last, sunk in thoughts deeper than outside communication could penetrate.