Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [586]
One night, when Freyr was lost behind dense gales of snow blowing from the north, the Tenth put a desperate plan into action.
The ice was strong enough to bear wolves. It would also bear men with kites flying above them, supporting much of their weight, making them no heavier than wolves, and as ferocious.
The officers encouraged their men by telling them tales of the voluptuous women of Rattagon who stayed by their men in the fortress, keeping their beds warm.
The wind blew, strong and steady. The kites tugged and lifted the shoulders of the men. Bravely they ran onto the thin ice. Bravely they permitted themselves to be carried across the ice, right up to the grey walls of the fortress.
Inside the fortress walls, even the sentries slept, huddled in any warm nook to shelter from the storm. They died with hardly a cry.
The volunteers of the Tenth cut away their kite cords and ran to the central keep. They slew the commander of the garrison in mid-snore.
Next day, the flag of the Oligarchy flew over fallen Rattagon.
This dreadful story, related with great drama over camp fires, persuaded Harbin Fashnalgid that there was wisdom in returning to Noonat and seeking a way southwards.
It’s always painful to become involved in history, he told himself, and accepted a bottle that was making the rounds of the pilgrims.
XIII
‘An Old Antagonism’
The night was alive. So thickly was the snow falling that, brushing against a human face in its descent, it resembled the fur of a great beast. The fur was less cold than suffocating: it occupied space normally taken up by air and sound. But when the sledge stopped, the staid brazen tongue of a bell could be distantly heard.
Luterin Shokerandit helped Toress Lahl down from the sledge. The churn of snowflakes had confused her. She stood with bowed shoulder, sheltering her eyes.
‘Where are we?’
‘Home.’
She saw nothing, only the animal dark, rolling, rolling towards her. Dimly, she made out Shokerandit, a bear walking, as he staggered towards the front of the sledge. There he embraced both Uuundaamp and the Ondod mother, clutching her infant into the coloured blanket.
Uuundaamp lifed his whip in farewell and flashed his unreliable smile. Came the jar-jar of his warning bell, the slice of his whip over the team, and the outfit was swallowed immediately by the whirling murk.
Bent almost double, Shokerandit and Toress Lahl made their way to a gate beyond which a dim light burned. He pulled a metal bell handle. They leaned exhaustedly against the stone pillar of the gate until a muffled military figure appeared from a shelter somewhere beyond the bars. The gate swung open.
They sheltered, panting, saying nothing to each other, until the guard returned after securing the gate and scrutinised them under his lantern.
The guard’s lineaments were those of an old soldier. His mouth was tight, his gaze evaded other eyes, his expression gave nothing away. He stood his ground and asked, ‘What do you want?’
‘You’re speaking to a Shokerandit, man. Where are your wits?’
The challenging tone made the guard look more closely. With no change of expression, he said finally, ‘You wouldn’t be Luterin Shokerandit?’
‘Have I been away that long, you fool? Will you stand there and have me freeze?’
The man allowed his glance to take in Luterin’s metamorphosed bulk in one mute, insulting glare. ‘A cab to take you up the drive, sir.’
As he turned away, Luterin, still nettled at not being recognised, said, ‘Is my father in residence?’
‘At present not, sir.’
The guard put his free hand to the side of his mouth and bawled to a slave lurking at the rear of the guardhouse. In a short while, the cabriolet appeared through the blizzard, drawn by two yelk already encrusted