Aoz Roon turned angrily. “Don’t you call me drunk, you shrimp! I saw her, I tell you. Naked, tall, thin-shanked, hair from slit to chin, fourteen dugs—coming towards me.” He ran about the roof, waving his arms.
Klils appeared through the trapdoor, staggering slightly, holding a femur of deer on which he was gnawing. “You two have no business up here. This is the Big Tower. Those who rule Oldorando come here.”
“You scumble,” Aoz Roon said approaching. “You dropped the axe.”
Klils coshed him savagely on the side of the neck with the deer bone. With a roar, Aoz Roon grasped Klils by the throat and tried to throttle him. But Klils kicked his ankle, pummelled him under the heart, and drove him back against the parapet surrounding the roof, part of which crumbled and fell away. Aoz Roon sprawled with his head hanging over into space.
“Dathka!” he called. “Help me!”
Silently, Dathka came up behind Klils, took him with a firm grasp about the knees, and lifted his legs. He swung the man’s body, angling it across the wall, and over the seven-floor drop.
“No, no!” cried Klils, fighting furiously, locking his arms about Aoz Roon’s neck. The three men struggled in the green dark, accompanied by the sound of singing from below, two of them—both befuddled by rathel—against the willowy Klils. Eventually they had him, prizing away his grip on life. With a last cry, he fell free. They heard his body strike the ground below.
Aoz Roon and Dathka sat gasping on the parapet. “We got rid of him,” Aoz Roon said finally. He hugged his ribs in pain. “I’m grateful, Dathka.”
Dathka answered nothing.
At last, Aoz Roon said, “They’ll kill us for this, the scumble. Nahkri will see to it they kill us. People hate me already.” After another wait, he burst out angrily, “It was all that fool Klils’ fault. He attacked me. It was his fault.”
Unable to endure the silence, Aoz Roon jumped up and paced about the roof, muttering to himself. He snatched up the gnawed femur and flung it far out into the gloom.
Turning on the impassive Dathka, he said, “Look, go down and speak to Oyre. She’ll do what I say. Get her to lead Nahkri up here. He’d wear a pig’s nose if she suggested it—I’ve been watching the way that scumb’s eyes go to her.”
Shrugging his shoulders, saying nothing, Dathka left. Oyre was currently working in Nahkri’s household, much to Laintal Ay’s disgust; being well-favoured, she had an easier time of it than other women.
After Aoz Roon had hugged himself and shivered and paced the roof and projected oaths into the darkness, Dathka returned.
“She’s bringing him,” he said shortly. “But it’s ill-advised, whatever you have in mind. I’ll have no part in it.”
“Keep quiet.” It was the first time anyone had ever given Dathka that order. He slouched back in deepest shadow when figures started climbing through the trapdoor—three figures, the first of them being Oyre. After her came Nahkri, mug of drink in hand, then Laintal Ay, who had decided to stay close to Oyre. He looked angry, and his expression did not soften when he looked at Aoz Roon. The latter scowled back.
“You stay downstairs, Laintal Ay. You need not be involved in this,” said Aoz Roon harshly.
“Oyre’s here,” replied Laintal Ay, as if that was sufficient, not budging.
“He’s looking after me, Father,” said Oyre. Aoz Roon brushed her aside and confronted Nahkri, saying, “Now, you and I have always had a quarrel, Nahkri. Prepare to fight it out with me directly, man to man.”
“Cet off my roof,” ordered Nahkri. “I will not have you here. Below’s where you belong.”
“Prepare to fight.”
“You were ever insolent, Aoz Roon, and you dare to speak up again after your failure in the hunt. You’ve drunk too much pig’s counsel.” Nahkri’s voice was thick from wine and rathel.
“I dare and I dare and I do,” cried Aoz Roon, and he flung himself at Nahkri.
Nahkri threw the mug in his face. Both Oyre and Laintal Ay took Aoz Roon by the arms, but he shook himself free, and hit Nahkri across the face.
Nahkri fell, rolled over, and brought a dagger from his belt. The only light to be had was a glow coming up from a fat wick burning on the floor below. It glinted on the blade. The green folds in the sky lent nothing more than a tincture to human affairs. Aoz Roon kicked at the knife, missed, and fell heavily on Nahkri, winding him. Groaning, Nahkri began to vomit, making Aoz Roon roll away from him. Both men picked themselves up, panting.
“Give it up, both of you!” cried Oyre, clinging to her father again.
“What’s the quarrel?” Laintal Ay asked. “You provoked him over nothing, Aoz Roon. The right’s on his side, fool though he is.”
“You keep quiet if you want my daughter,” roared Aoz Roon, and charged. Nahkri, still gasping for breath, had no defence. He had lost the dagger. Under a rain of blows, he was carried to the edge of the parapet. Oyre screamed. He tottered there for a moment, then his knees buckled. Then he was gone.
They all heard him strike the ground at the foot of the tower. They stood frozen, guiltily regarding one another. Drunken singing came up to them from inside the building.
Aoz Roon hung over the edge of the parapet. “That’s done for you, I imagine, Lord Nahkri,” he said in a sober voice. He clutched his ribs and panted. He turned to survey them, marking each with his wild eye.
Laintal Ay and Oyre clung silently together. Oyre sobbed.
Dathka came forward and said to them in a hollow voice, “You’ll keep silent about this, Laintal Ay, and you, Oyre, if you care for your lives—you’ve seen how easily life’s lost. I shall give out that I witnessed Nahkri and Klils arguing. They fought, and went over the edge together. We could not stop them. Remember my words, see the scene. Keep silent. Aoz Roon will be Lord of Embruddock and Oldorando.”
“I will, and I’ll rule better than those fools did,” said Aoz Roon, staggering.
“You see you do,” said Dathka quietly, “for we three here know the truth about this double murder. Remember we had no part in it: this was your doing, all of it. Treat us accordingly.”
The years in Oldorando under the lordship of Aoz Roon were to pass much as they had under previous leaders; life has a quality rulers cannot touch. Only the weather became more freakish. But that like many other things, was beyond the control of any lord.
The temperature gradients in the stratosphere altered, the troposphere warmed, ground temperatures began to climb. Lashing rains fell for weeks at a time. Snow disappeared from lowlands in tropical zones. Glaciers withdrew to higher ground. The earth turned green. Tall plants sprang up. Birds and animals never seen before came bounding over or past the stockades of the ancient hamlet. All patterns of life were reforming themselves. Nothing was as it had been.
To many older people, these changes were unwelcome. They recalled untrammelled vistas of snow from their youth. The middle-aged welcomed the changes, but shook their heads and said that it was too good to last. The young had never known anything different. Life burned in them as in the air. They had a greater variety of things to eat; they produced more children; and fewer of those children died.
As for the two sentinels, Batalix appeared the same as ever. But every week, every day, every hour, Freyr was growing brighter, hotter.
Set amid this drama of climate was the human drama, which every living soul must play out, to his own satisfaction or disappointment. To most people, this weaving of minute circumstance was of the utmost importance, each seeing himself the centre of the stage. All over the great globe Helliconia, wherever small groups of men and women struggled to live, this was so.