Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [419]
She snatched the glass. ‘It is a Sibornalese ship – of good size. What could it be doing in these waters?’
The deuteroscopist folded his arms and looked grim. ‘You have been provided with no defences here. Let us hope it is making for Ottassol and its intentions are good.’
‘My familiars warned me of this,’ said the queen gravely.
The day wore on. The ship made slow progress. There was great excitement at the palace. Barrels of tar were rolled out to an eminence above the little bay where it was anticipated the ship’s boat would have to land if Gravabagalinien was its destination. At least the crew could be confronted by flaming tar if they proved hostile.
The air thickened towards evening. There was no doubt now about the hierogram on the sail. Batalix sank in concentric aureoles of light. People came and went in the palace. Freyr disappeared into the same hazes as its fellow and was gone. Twilight lingered, the sail glinted on the sea; it tacked now, to keep the wind.
With darkness, stars began to appear overhead. The Night Worm burned bright, with the Queen’s Scar dim beside it. Nobody slept. The small community feared and hoped, knowing its vulnerability.
The queen sat in her shuttered hall. Tall candles of whale oil fluttered on the table by her side. The wine a slave had poured into a crystal glass and topped with Lordryardry ice was untouched and threw blurred gules on the table. She waited and stared across the room at the bare wall opposite, as if to read there her future fate.
Her aide de camp entered, bowing. ‘Madam, we hear the rattle of their chains. The anchor is going down.’
The queen called CaraBansity and they went to the seashore. Several men and phagors were mustered, to ignite the tar barrels if necessary. Only one torch burned. She took it and strode with it into the dark water. To the wetting of her garments she paid no heed. Lifting the torch above her head, she advanced towards the other advancing lights. She felt immediately the smooth kiss of her familiars about her legs.
Mingled with the roar of surf came a creak of oars.
The wooden wall of the ship, its sails furled, was faintly visible as a backdrop. A boat had been let down. The queen saw men straining, barebacked, at the oars. Two men were standing amidships, one with a lantern, their faces caught in the nimbus of light.
‘Who dares come ashore here?’ she called.
And a voice came back, male, with a thrill in it, ‘Queen MyrdemInggala, queen of queens, is that you?’
‘Who calls?’ she asked. But she recognised the voice even as his response came across the diminishing distance between them.
‘It is your general, ma’am, Hanra TolramKetinet.’
He jumped from the boat and waded ashore. The queen raised her hand to those on the eminence not to fire their barrels. The general fell before her on one knee, clasping her hand on which the ring with the blue stone gleamed. Her other hand went to his head, to steady herself. In a half-circle round them stood the queen’s phagor guard, their morose faces vaguely sketched in the night.
CaraBansity stepped forward with some amazement to greet the general’s companion in the longboat. Taking SartoriIrvrash in a great hug, he said, ‘I had reason to suppose you were in hiding in Dimariam. For once I guessed wrong.’
‘You’re rarely wrong, but this time you were out by a whole continent,’ said SartoriIrvrash. ‘I’ve become a world traveller – what are you doing here?’
‘I’ve remained here since the king left. For a while, JandolAnganol conscripted me to your old post, and almost killed me for it. I’ve stayed for the ex-queen’s sake. She’s in a doleful state of mind, poor lady.’
Both men looked towards MyrdemInggala and TolramKetinet, but could see no dolefulness about either of them.
‘What of her son, Roba?’ asked SartoriIrvrash. ‘Have you news of him?’
‘News and no news.’ CaraBansity’s forehead creased in a frown. ‘It would be some weeks ago that he arrived at my house in Ottassol, just after the assatassi death-flight.