Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [256]
The next day, Darvlish struck.
As the Fifth Army approached a deep ravine, forward scouts sighted the Driat host drawn up in battle lines on the far bank. The ravine ran from northeast to southwest, and was choked with jungle. It was more than four times a javelin’s throw across from one bank to the other.
Using hand signals, the king mustered his army to face the enemy across the ravine. The Phagorian guards were stationed in front because the ranks of motionless beasts would bring anxiety into the dim minds of the tribesmen.
The tribesmen were of spectral aspect. It was just after dawn: twenty minutes past six. Freyr had risen behind cloud. When the sun broke free of the cloud, it became apparent that the enemy and part of the ravine would be in shadow for the next two or more hours; the Fifth Army would be exposed to Freyr’s heat.
Crumbling cliff slopes backed the Driat array, with higher country above. On the royal left flank was a spur of high ground, its angles jutting towards the ravine. A rounded mesa stood between the spur and the cliffs, as if it had been set there by geological forces to guard the Skull’s flank. On top of the mesa, the walls of a crude fort could be seen; its walls were of mud, and behind the ramparts an occasional pennant was visible.
The Eagle of Borlien and the colour-major studied the situation together. Behind the colour-major stood his faithful sergeant-at-arms, a taciturn man known as Bull.
‘We must find out how many men are in that fort,’ JandolAnganol said.
‘It’s one of the tricks he learnt from his father. He hopes we’ll waste our time attacking that position. I’ll wager no Driats are up there. The pennants we see moving are tied to goats or asokins.’
They stood in silence. From the enemy’s side of the ravine, under the cliffs, smoke rose in the shadowed air, and an aroma of cooking drifted across to remind them of their own hungry state.
Bull took his officer to one side and muttered in his ear.
‘Let’s hear what you have to say, sergeant,’ the king said.
‘It’s nothing, sire.’
The king looked angry. ‘Let’s hear this nothing, then.’
The sergeant regarded him with one eyelid drooping. ‘All I was saying, sire, is that our men will be disappointed. It’s the only way a common man – by which I mean myself – can advance himself, sire, to join the army and hope to grab what is going. But these Driats aren’t worth looting. What’s more they don’t appear to have females – by which I mean women, sire – so that the incentive to attack is … well sire, on the low side.’
The king stood confronting him face to face, until Bull backed away a step.
‘We’ll worry about women when we have routed Darvlish, Bull. He may have hidden his women in a neighbouring valley.’
KolobEktofer cleared his throat. ‘Unless you have a plan, sire, I’d say we have a nigh-on impossible task here. They outnumber us two to one, and although our mounts are faster than theirs, in close combat our hoxneys will be flimsy compared with their yelk and biyelk.’
‘There can be no question of retreat now that we have caught up with them at last.’
‘We could disengage, sire, and seek for a more advantageous position from which to attack. If we were on the cliffs above them, for instance—’
‘Or could capture them in an ambush, sire, by which I mean—’
JandolAnganol flew into a rage. ‘Are you officers, or she-goats? Here we are, there stands our country’s enemy. What more do you want? Why falter now, when by Freyr-set we can all be heroes?’
KolobEktofer drew himself up. ‘It is my duty to point out to you the weakness of our position, sire. The smell of some women as booty would have encouraged the men’s fighting spirits.’
In a passion, JandolAnganol said, ‘They must not fear a subhuman rabble – with our cross-bowmen we shall rout them in an hour.’
‘Very good, sire. Perhaps if you would address Darvlish as filth it would increase our men’s fighting spirit.’
‘I shall address him.’
A dark look was exchanged between KolobEktofer and Bull, but no more was said, and