Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [104]
They had relied on the mist for protection. But the sharp eyes of the phagors had found them out. The extreme difficulty of the terrain had cut Yohl-Gharr Wyrrijk off temporarily from the main body of Hrr-Brahl Yprt’s command. His warriors were almost as starved as the pre-humans upon whom they were descending.
They bore clubs or spears. The crunch of their approach over the beds of schist was covered by the snores and snuffles of the Madis. A few more steps. The sentry woke from a dream and sat up, full of terror. Through the dank mist, ugly figures emerged like ghosts. He gave a cry. His companions stirred. Too late. With savage cries, the phagors attacked, striking without mercy.
In almost no time, all the protognostics were dead, and their little flock with them. They had become protein for the crusade of the young kzahhn. Yohl-Gharr Wyrrijk climbed down from his rock to give orders for its distribution.
Through the mist, Batalix arose, a dull red ball, and peered into the desolate canyon.
It was the Year 361 After Small Apotheosis of Great Year 5,634,000 Since Catastrophe. The crusade had now been eight years on its way. In five more years, it would arrive at the city of the Sons of Freyr which was its destination. But as yet no human eye could see the connection between the fate of Oldorando and what happened in a remote and leafless canyon.
VII
A Cold Welcome for Phagors
‘Lord or not, he’ll have to come to me,’ Shay Tal said to Vry proudly, when in a still dimday they could not sleep.
But the new Lord of Embruddock also had his pride, and did not come.
His rule proved neither better nor worse than the previous one. He remained at odds with his council for one reason and with his young lieutenants for another.
Council and lord agreed where they could for the sake of a peaceful life; and one matter on which they could agree without inconvenience to themselves was on the subject of the troublesome academy. Discontent must not be allowed to breed. Needing the women to work communally, they could not forbid them to gather together, and so the prohibition was useless. Yet they did not revoke it – and that vexed the women.
Shay Tal and Vry met privately with Laintal Ay and Dathka.
‘You understand what we’re trying to do,’ Shay Tal said. ‘You persuade that stubborn man to change his mind. You are closer to him than I can manage.’
All that came of this meeting was that Dathka started making eyes at the reticent Vry. And Shay Tal became slightly more haughty.
Laintal Ay returned later from one of his solitary expeditions and sought Shay Tal out. Covered with mud, he squatted outside the women’s house until she emerged from the boilery.
When she appeared, she had with her two slaves bearing trays of fresh loaves. Vry walked in a docile way behind the slaves. Once more, Oldorando’s bread was ready, and Vry set off to supervise its distribution – though not before Shay Tal had snatched a spare loaf for Laintal Ay. She gave it to him, smiling and throwing back her unruly hair.
He munched gratefully, stamping his feet to warm them.
Milder weather, like the new lord, had proved more a convulsion than an actual progression. Now it was cold again, and the moisture beading Shay Tal’s dark eyelashes froze. All about, white stillness prevailed. The river still flowed, broad and dark, but its banks were fanged by icicles.
‘How’s my young lieutenant? I see less of you these days.’
He swallowed down the last of the loaf, his first food in three days.
‘Hunting has been difficult. We’ve had to travel far afield. Now that it’s colder again, the deer may move nearer home.’
He stood alertly, surveying her as she stood before him in her ill-fitting furs.