Helliconia: Helliconia Spring, Helliconia Summer, Helliconia Winter (133 page)

‘We shall sorrow to see you leave us. So will our queen and daughter.’

‘I comply with your request, and poorly I think of it. In return, answer my question. Where is SartoriIrvrash?’

The King of Oldorando showed sudden spirit. ‘You have no right to think poorly of my request. Do you imagine my daughter would be dead today if you had not been espoused to her? It was a political killing – she had no personal enemies, poor girl. Then
you come to my court with your filthy fuggies and expect to be made welcome.’

‘Sayren, I say truly, I grieve for the death of Simoda Tal. If I found the murderer, I would know how to deal with him. Do not increase my sorrow by laying that evil at my door.’

Sayren Stund ventured to rest his hand upon the arm of his brother king.

‘Do not worry yourself about – the man you mention, your ex-chancellor. We have given him a room in one of the monastic hostels which lie behind this palace and the Dom. You will not have to meet with him. And we will not part foes. That would not do.’ He blew his nose. ‘Just be sure you leave Oldorando tomorrow.’

They made each other a bow. JandolAnganol went slowly up to his quarters in a wing of the palace, Yuli following behind.

Indifferent tapestries hung on the walls here, the board floor was filthy. He knocked on his infantry major’s door. No answer came. On inspiration, he went along to Fard Fantil’s door and knocked. The Royal Armourer called to him to enter. The hunchback sat on his bed, polishing his boots; he jumped to his feet when he saw who entered. A phagor guard stood silent by the window, spear in hand.

JandolAnganol lost no time in coming to the point.

‘You’re the very man I want. This is your native city and you know local customs as I don’t. We leave here tomorrow – yes, it’s unexpected, but there’s no choice. We sail to Matrassyl.’

‘Trouble, sire?’

‘Trouble.’

‘He’s tricky, is the king.’

‘I want to take SartoriIrvrash with me, prisoner. He’s here, in the city. I want you to find him, overpower him, smuggle him into these quarters. We can’t cut his throat – it would cause too much of a scandal. Get him here, unseen.’

Fard Fantil began to pace up and down the room, clutching his brow. ‘We can’t do such a thing. It’s impossible. The law won’t allow. What has he done?’

JandolAnganol smacked a fist into his palm. ‘I know that dangerous old crank’s way of thought. He has developed some
mad piece of knowledge to discredit me. It will concern the phagors somehow. Before it gets out I must have him safe, a prisoner. We leave with him tomorrow, shut in a chest. Nobody will know. He resides in one of the hostels behind this palace. Now, I rely on you, Fard Fantil, for I know you as a good man. Do this, and I will reward you, on my word.’

Still the armourer hesitated. ‘The law won’t allow.’

In a steely voice, the king said, ‘You have a phagor here in your chambers. I expressly forbade it. Except for my runt, all ancipitals were to be housed in Whistler Park. You merit a flogging for disobeying my orders – and a demotion.’

‘He is my personal servant, sire.’

‘Will you get SartoriIrvrash for me, as I request?’

With a sullen look, Fard Fantil agreed.

The king threw a bag of gold onto the bed. It was the money he had acquired in the market, two days previously.

‘Good. Disguise yourself as a monk. Go at once. Take that pet of yours with you.’

When man and phagor had gone, JandolAnganol stood for a while in the dark room, thinking. Through the window, he could see YarapRombry’s Comet low in the northern sky. The sight of that bright smudge in the night brought a memory of his last encounter with his father’s gossie, and its prediction that he would meet one in Oldorando who would control his destiny. Was that a reference to SartoriIrvrash? His brain, like a darting glance, looked over other possibilities.

Satisfied that he had done all that might be done in a hostile place, he returned to his quarters, where Yuli had settled himself for sleep before the door as usual. The king gave him a pat as he climbed past.

By the bed, a tray of wine and ice had been placed. Perhaps it was Sayren Stund’s way of showing gratitude to a departing guest. Scowling, JandolAnganol drank off a full glass of the sweet wine, then hurled tray and pitcher into a corner.

Flinging off his clothes, he climbed in among the rugs and immediately slept. He always slept soundly. This night, his sleep was heavier than usual.

*

His dreams were many and confused. He was numerous things, and at last he was a fire god, paddling through golden fire. But the fire was less flame than liquid. He was a fire god of the sea, and MyrdemInggala was riding a dolphin just ahead of him. He struggled mightily. The sea clutched him.

At last he caught her. He held her tight. The gold was all about them. But the horror that had tagged along on the margins of the dream was moving in rapidly upon him. MyrdemInggala was other than he thought. An immense weight and sickliness emanated from her body. He was crying as he wrestled with her. The gold ran about his throat and eyes. She felt like—

He broke from the dream into waking. For a moment, he scarcely dared open his eyes. He was in the bed in the Oldorandan palace. He was clutching something. He was trembling violently.

Almost against his wish, his eyes opened. Only the gold from the dream remained. It stained the rugs and silken pillows. It stained him.

Crying out, he sat up, flinging back the skins that covered him. Yuli lay close against him. The runt’s head had been severed. There was only the body. It was cold. Its copious golden blood had ceased to flow and lay congealing in a pool beneath the corpse, and beneath the king.

The king flung himself down on the bare floor, face to the tiles. He wept. The sobs rose from some inner recess and shook his whole stained body.

It was the custom in the Oldorandan court for a service to be held every morning at the tenth hour, in the Royal Chapel, which was under the palace. King Sayren Stund, to honour his guest, invited JandolAnganol each day to read – as was his custom – from the revered ‘Testament of RayNilayan’. Much whispering and speculation filled the chapel on this morning, as the royal members of the faith gathered. Many doubted that the Borlienese king would appear.

The king came down the stairs from his chambers. He had washed himself over and over and dressed, not in a charfrul, but in knee-length tunic, boots, and light cloak. His face was of an
extreme pallor. His hands shook. He walked deliberately, taking step by step, and was in control of himself.

As he descended the staircase, his armourer came at the run after him, and spoke.

‘Sire, I had no response to my knock at your door earlier. Forgive me. I have the prisoner you named in my room, tied in the garderobe. I will watch him till the ship is ready. Tell me only what time I can smuggle him aboard.’

‘Plans may be changed, Fard Fantil.’

The king’s manner as much as his words alarmed the armourer.

‘Are you ill, sire?’ Said with an ill-favoured glance upwards from under his brows.

‘Go back to your room.’ Without a backward look, the king continued to descend, down to the ground floor and down again to the Royal Chapel. He was the last to enter. The introit was playing on vrach and drums. All eyes turned upon him as he walked stiffly, like a boy on stilts, to mount into the box beside Sayren Stund. Only Stund remained gazing towards the altar, eyes blinking rapidly, as if unaware of anything amiss.

The royal box was set apart, in front of the congregation. It was an ornate affair, its carved sides decorated with silver. Six curving steps led up to it. Ranking just below it was a plainer box, reached by only one step, where Queen Bathkaarnet-she sat with her daughter.

JandolAnganol took his place beside the other king, staring ahead, and the service proceeded. Only after the long hymn of praise to Akhanaba did Sayren Stund turn and gesture to JandolAnganol, just as he had done on previous days, to read a part of the Testament.

With slow pace, JandolAnganol descended the six steps, walked across the black and red tiles to the lectern, turned, and faced the congregation. Absolute silence fell. His face was as white as parchment.

He confronted their massed stoney regard. He read curiosity, covert smiles, hatred. Nowhere did he detect sympathy, except on the face of the nine-year-old girl, who shrank down beside her mother. She, he observed, as he directed his full regard at her,
mustered the old Madi Look of Acceptance, as she had when first they met.

He spoke. His voice sounded surprisingly feeble but, after a faltering start, gathered strength.

‘I wish to say – that is. Your Royal Highnesses, Nobles, All, I would say – you must excuse me if I do not read, but instead take this opportunity to address you direct in this holy place, where the All-Powerful hears every word, and looks into every heart.

‘I know he must look into your hearts and see how much you wish me well. Just as much as I wish you well. My kingdom is a great and rich one. Yet I have left it to come here almost alone – almost alone. We all are in quest of peace for our peoples. That quest has long been mine, and my father’s before me. My life’s quest is for the prosperity of Borlien. So I have sworn.

‘And there is a more personal quest. I am without that thing which a man most desires, even above his service to his country. I lack a queen.

‘The stone I set rolling half a year ago still rolls. My resolve was then to marry the House of Stund’s daughter; that intention I shall now carry out.’

He paused as if himself alarmed by what he was about to say. Every eye in the chapel lit on his face to search out the story of his life inscribed there.

‘It is therefore not only in response to what His Royal Highness, King Sayren Stund, has done that I announce here, before the throne of one who is above all earthly power, that I – King JandolAnganol of the House of Anganol – intend to unite the nations of Borlien and Oldorando in a blood bond. I mean to take in marriage as soon as is possible the prized and beloved daughter of His Majesty, Princess Milua Tal Stund. The solemnisation of our nuptials will take place, Akhanaba willing, in my capital city of Matrassyl, since I am desired to leave for there today.’

Many in the congregation jumped up, in order to see how Sayren Stund responded to this astonishing news. When JandolAnganol ceased speaking, they became like statues under his chill gaze, and again there was absolute silence in the chapel.

Sayren Stund had slipped gradually from his seat and could no longer be seen. The tableau was broken by a cry from Milua Tal,
who recovered fast from her initial surprise and rushed across the floor to clasp JandolAnganol.

‘I will stand by you,’ she said, ‘and perform as your nuptial wife in all things.’

Firecrackers exploded. Crowds gathered. Rathel was drunk. Prayers were said in the holier parts of the city.

The population of Oldorando City rejoiced at the news of JandolAnganol’s engagement to Princess Milua Tal. They had no logical reason for rejoicing. The royal house of Stund and the church with which it was involved lived well at the populace’s expense. But chances for rejoicing are few, and wisely taken.

The royal family had won general sympathy when Princess Simoda Tal was assassinated. Such horrendous events contributed to the emotional life of the people.

That the younger sister was now affianced to the man previously engaged to her dead sister was an enjoyable coup de théâtre. There was prurient speculation as to when Milua Tal experienced her first menses and – as usual – debate about the sexual habits of the Madis. Were they totally promiscuous or entirely monogamous? It was a question never settled, though most male opinion was in favour of the former alternative.

JandolAnganol met with general approval.

In the public view, he was a dashing figure, neither offensively young nor distastefully old. He had married and divorced one of the most beautiful women in all Campannlat. As to why he should now marry a girl younger than his son … such dynastic couplings were not rare; while the numbers of child prostitutes in East Gate and Uidok provided one easy answer to the question.

On the subject of phagors, the population was more neutral than the palace supposed. Certainly, everyone knew their folk history, and the famous time when phagor hordes destroyed the city. But that was long ago. There were no marauding fuggie
bands now. Phagors had become a rare sight in Oldorando. People liked to go and view them in Whistler Park, gazing across the Valvoral at the First Phagorian Guard. They were, after a fashion, popular.

None of which appeased the bitter resentment of King Sayren Stund.

Never a determined man, he had let the moment slip by when he might have banned the match. He inwardly cursed himself. He cursed his queen. Bathkaaraet-she approved the match.

Bathkaarnet-she was a simple woman. She liked JandolAnganol. As she put it, singing, she ‘liked his looks’. Although she had no fondness for the ancipital kind, she saw in the constant drumbles a sort of intolerance which might easily spill over against her own kind; indeed, the Madis were not popular in Oldorando, and incidents of violence against them were frequent. Therefore she considered that this man who protected phagors would be kind to her sole remaining daughter, a half-Madi.