Iced On Aran by Brian Lumley Page B

accusations. During the telling at first there’d been the odd question from the men of Inquanok, but as the story progressed they’d listened in silence, their expressions gloomy, then ghastly, finally outraged and fearful. Eldin, too.
    â€œNo wonder,” the Wanderer commented as they entered the copse and made their way through the undergrowth
to where the sky-yacht was hidden, “no wonder you were so up-tight-lipped about it! I’d have felt the same. But you’ll feel better now it’s out of your system.”
    â€œI won’t feel better till we’re aloft!” Hero declared. “ Then I’ll feel better …”
    Assisted by Nort and his friends, they began shifting a camouflage screen of fir branches from the sides of Quester ; she floated inches above the pine-needle floor, anchored to a tree. And it was then that a whey-faced man emerged from the little vessel’s cabin.
    â€œHum Tassler!” said Nort. “Sleeping on the job, eh?”
    â€œI …” said Tassler, his Adam’s apple wobbling. “I mean …”
    Behind him, sprouting suddenly like some strange toadstool from the cabin, stood a priest.
    For a moment the tableau held: the men of Inquanok looked shocked, caught red-handed; their faces fell. Hero went deathly white, drew air in a hiss. Only Eldin seemed unaffected. He laid hands on Quester ’s side.
    â€œWell, then,. and what’s this?” said the Wanderer heartily. “Piracy? And damn me if one of the pirates isn’t a priest! Here’s us, a couple of skyfarers come ashore to provision up and make minor repairs, and we’re boarded like smugglers the minute we lower the gangway!” he winked at Hero, who for his part stood wide-eyed, nostrils flaring, starting up at the priest on board the yacht.
    The priest was masked and hooded, robed in a black cassock that hid all but the curled toes of his black lacquered shoes. Behind his queer mask and under his hood, his flesh seemed a pale pink, but his eyes, where they peered from slits in the mask, were aglitter with avid curiosity—and maybe with more than that. Tall, he was, and his stance peculiar: as if he held himself aloof,
away from commen men, or as if he leaned backward. The sleeves of his cassock were abnormally wide, almost bell-like, and yet were cinched at the wrists. Upon his large hands black gloves, so that no part of him showed except for the eye-glitter and pinkness behind the mask. For a few moments he said nothing, but merely gazed down on the men of Inquanok, examining each in turn. Then:
    â€œThese two questers, whom you believe to be mercenary sellswords,” he began, his voice high and quivering, “are spies of a foreign power. Whether they are here of their own accord or were invited is another matter, one which is to be investigated. For now the Veiled King has ordered that they be taken before him for judgment. Their crime is this: that in order to gain illicit access to Inquanok’s mysteries they invented a monster, Augeren. This supposed ‘evil creature’ is in fact a member or members of a group of subversives opposed to the Veiled King’s rule, a traitor or traitors who have committed vile murder in order to justify the presence here of these so-called ‘questers.’ All shall be dealt with accordingly. I note that you four are with these outsiders, and so assume that you are members of the subversive band. What have you to say?”
    â€œPlenty!” growled Eldin, drawing the priest’s attention.
    â€œCareful!” warned Heger Nort in a hoarse whisper. “Their word is law! In private we can work against them and say what we like, but face to face—these priests are powerful!”
    â€œWhat about my story?” Hero grated from the corner of his mouth. “Are you all daft? Do you think I made it up? You know what must be done!”
    Sheepishly, sullenly, the men of