Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [286]
After he was wounded in the Cosgatt, after he had managed to find his way back to the capital, he lay in the state of weakness which recalled to his mind the past he wished to shut away. Again he was powerless. It was then he had observed the handsome young captain, TolramKetinet, smile at MyrdemInggala, and receive an answering smile.
As soon as he had managed to crawl from his bed, he promoted TolramKetinet to general, and sent him off to the Western Wars. There were men in the scritina who believed – with good reason – that their sons were much more deserving of promotion. Every setback in the stubborn jungles to the west reinforced their belief, and their anger with the king. He knew he needed a victory of some kind very soon. For that he found himself forced to turn to Pannoval.
The next morning, before meeting formally again with the diplomats, JandolAnganol went early to see Prince Taynth Indredd in his suite. He left Yuli outside, where the runt settled down comfortably, sprawling like a dog by the door. This was the king’s concession to a man he disliked.
Prince Taynth Indredd was breakfasting off a gout cooked in oatmeal, served with tropical fruits. He listened, nodding assent, to what JandolAnganol had to say.
He remarked, with seeming irrelevance, ‘I hear that your son has disappeared?’
‘Robay loves the desert. The climate suits him. He often departs, and is away for weeks at a time.’
‘It’s not the proper training for a king. Kings must be educated. RobaydayAnganol should attend a monastery, as you did, and as I did. Instead, he’s joined the protognostics, so I hear.’
‘I can look after my own son. I require no advice.’
‘Monastery is good for you. Teaches you that there are things you have to do, even if you don’t like them. Bad things loom in the future. Pannoval has survived the long winters. The long summers are more difficult … My deuteroscopists and astronomers report bad things of the future. Of course, it’s their trade, you might say.’
He paused and lit a veronikane, making a performance of it, breathing out the smoke luxuriously, sweeping the cloud away with languorous gestures.
‘Yes, the old religions of Pannoval spoke truth when they warned that bad things came from the sky, Akhanaba’s origins were as a stone. You know that?’
He rose and waddled over to the window, where he climbed up on the sill and looked out. His large behind stuck out in JandolAnganol’s direction.
The latter said nothing, waiting for Taynth Indredd to commit himself.
‘The deuteroscopists say that Helliconia and our attendant sun, Batalix, are being drawn nearer to Freyr every small year. For the next few generations – eighty-three years, to be precise – we move ever nearer to it. After that, if celestial geometries prove correct, we draw slowly away again. So the next generations are the testing ones. Advantage will go increasingly to the polar continents of Hespagorat and Sibornal. For us in the tropics, conditions will become steadily worse.’
‘Borlien can survive. It’s cooler along the south coast. Ottassol is a cool city – below ground, much like Pannoval.’
Taynth Indredd turned his froglike face over one shoulder in order to inspect JandolAnganol.
‘There’s a plan, you see, coz … I know you have little affection for me, but I’d prefer you to hear it from me than have it from your friend, my old holy advisor, Guaddl Ulbobeg. Borlien will be all right at near-point, as you say. So will Pannoval, safe in its mountains. Oldorando will suffer most. And both your country and mine need to see Oldorando remain intact, or it will fall to barbarians. Do you suppose you could accommodate the Oldorandan court, Sayren Stund and his like – in Ottassol?’
The question was so startling that JandolAnganol was for once at a loss for words.
‘That would be for my successor to say …’
The Prince of Pannoval