Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [489]
‘Sire, I will.’
The wallet was pulled from under the arm and held out towards Shokerandit in a blue-gloved hand. It was sealed with the Archpriest-Militant’s seal and addressed to the Supreme Oligarch of Sibornal, Torkerkanzlag II, in Askitosh, Capital City of Uskutoshk.
Shokerandit chose two reliable youths, well-known to him and like brothers back in Shivenink. They left their comrades and their fighting phagors and mounted two shorn yelk, with nothing more than packs of provisions and water at their backs. Within the hour they were off across the grasslands, riding northwards with the message for the dread Oligarch.
But the Oligarch of Sibornal, ruling over his vast bleak continent, had spies everywhere. Already a trusted man of his, placed close to the Archpriest-Militant Asperamanka, had ridden off with the news of the engagement, for one particular interest of the Oligarch’s was the progress of the plague northwards.
It was the time for farewells. The trek northwards began in some disorder. Each unit started off with its carts, supply animals, phagors, and guns. Their noise filled the shallow landscape. They jostled for the course they had traversed only a few days earlier. The settlers leaving Isturiacha, many for the first time in their lives, went in greatest disarray, clutching children and precious possessions which had found no place on their overloaded carts.
Tearful good-byes were called to those individuals who had made the decision to remain behind. Those exiles stood outside the perimeter, stiff and upright, hands upraised. In their bearing was a consciousness of playing the honourable role, of defying fate – a consciousness, too, of the elemental forces slowly mounting against them. From now on, only the Azoiaxic and their own competence would be their defence.
Luterin Shokerandit sat at the head of the Shivenink force, aware of how his status had changed since last he passed this way. He was now a hero. His captive, Toress Lahl, disguised in her cap and breeches, was forced to ride behind him on his yelk, clinging to his belt. The death of her husband still burned inside her, so that she spoke no word.
In her pain, Toress Lahl showed no fear of the yelk, a creature of mild habits but ferocious aspect. Its horns curled about its shaggy head. Its eyes, shielded by furry lids, gave the beast a watchful look. The curl of its heavy underlip suggested that it despised all that it saw of human history.
The settlement fell away behind the procession. A succession of wearyingly similar valleys began to unfold ahead. The wind blew. The grass rustled.
Silence closed over the procession. But one of the elders who had elected to leave Isturiacha was a garrulous old man who enjoyed the sound of his own voice; he urged his mount over until he was riding beside Shokerandit and his lieutenants, and tried to pass the time of day with him. Shokerandit had little to say. His mind was on the immediate future and the long journey back to his father’s house.
‘I suppose it really was the Supreme Oligarch who ordered Isturiacha to be closed,’ he said.
No response. He tried again. ‘They say the Oligarch is a great despot, and that his hand is harsh over all Sibornal.’
‘Winter will be harsher,’ said one of the lieutenants, laughing.
After another mile, the elder said confidentially, ‘I fancy you young men do not see eye-to-eye with Asperamanka … I fancy that in his position you would have ordered a garrison to stay and defend us.’
‘The decision was not mine to make,’ Shokerandit said.
The elder smiled and nodded, revealing his few remaining teeth. ‘Ah, but I saw the expression on your face when he announced his ruling, and I thought to myself – in fact, I said it to the others – “Now there’s a young man with a measure of mercy in him … a saint,” I said …’
‘Go away, old man. Save your breath for the ride.’
‘But to break up a fine settlement just like that. In the old days, we used to send our food surplus back to Uskutoshk. Then to break it up … You’d think the Oligarch would be