Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [430]
Esomberr said nothing. He plucked a grass blade to suck, suddenly self-conscious under the king’s stare.
After a moment, JandolAnganol jumped up, to stand with his feet planted apart.
‘Here stand I. While I press upon the earth, the energies of the earth surge up through my body. I am of the Borlienese soil. I am a natural force.’
He raised his arms, fingers tensed.
The phagors, armed with their matchlocks, lay about at a short distance, like shapeless cattle, looking over the plain. Some rooted under stone and found grubs or rickybacks, which they ate. Others stood without movement beyond the occasional swing of the head or a flick of the ears to ward off flies. Winged things buzzed in the shade. Made uneasy, Esomberr sat up.
‘I don’t understand what you mean, but do enjoy yourself.’ His voice was dry.
The king scrutinised the horizon as he spoke. ‘An example for you, so that you understand well the kind of man I am. Although I may have rejected my Queen MyrdemInggala for whatever reason, nevertheless she remains mine. If I discovered that you, for instance, had dared to enter her bedchamber to consort with her while we were in Gravabagalinien, then, notwithstanding our friendship, I would kill you without compunction, and hang your eddre from this tree.’
Neither of them moved. Then Esomberr rose and stood with his back to one of the trunks of the denniss. His narrow handsome face had grown as pale as a dead leaf.
‘I say, did it ever occur to you that those damned phagors of yours, well armed with Sibornalese weapons, strike fear into ordinary chaps like me? That they will most likely meet with an ill reception in Sayren Stund’s capital, where a holy drumble is in progress? Are you ever afraid that you might … well, grow to be a bit like a phagor yourself?’
The king turned slowly, with an expression denoting total lack of interest in the question.
‘Watch.’
He screwed his face into a mixture of grimace and smile, and snorted breath through his nose. He broke into a run, gathered himself, and leaped clear over one of the trunks of the tree, a full four feet above the ground. It was a perfect jump. He recovered himself, turned, and jumped the trunk in the opposite direction, with a force which carried him almost against Esomberr.
The king was half a head taller than the envoy. The latter, alarmed, reached for his sword, then stood without movement, tense against the king.
‘I am twenty-five years of age, in fine condition, and fear neither man nor phagor. My secret is that I am capable of going with circumstances. Oldorando shall be my circumstance. I gain energy from the geometry of circumstance … Do not vex me, Alam Esomberr, or forget my words about the sanctity of what was once mine. I am one of your circumstances, and not vice versa.’
The envoy moved to one side, coughed as a reason for moving his hand from his sword hilt to his mouth, and managed a pale smile.
‘You’re terribly fit, I see that. That’s tremendous. By the beholder, but I envy you. It’s a wretched nuisance that I and my little rabble of vicars aren’t in such fine trim. I’ve often thought that praying vitiates the muscles. Therefore, I must request that you proceed ahead with your party and your favoured species – at your breakneck pace – while we follow on behind at our own feeble pace, eh?’
JandolAnganol regarded him without change of expression. Then he gave a fierce grimace. ‘Very well. The country hereabouts is peaceful, but guard yourselves. Robbers have scant respect for vicars. Remember you carry my bill of divorcement.’
‘Strive ever onwards, if you will. I shall deliver your bill to the C’Sarr in good time.’ He gave a wave of his hand and left it dangling in front of him. The king did not take it.
Instead, JandolAnganol turned away without further word and