astonished. He glanced at Thahl and thought, Is this is what you lost? Did a book make you like this?
It was over in a few minutes. Twenty men, chosen by someone very cleverly, had persuaded seventy Sakhrans to move aside and allow the Commonwealth to make its first military entry into the Sakhran highlands in two hundred years.
The Sakhrans stood singly, or in twos and threes, and watched the lowloaders lurch into the clearing. Foord let out a breath and walked back to the landchariot with Thahl, who gestured to the driver. By the time they were inside, the main scanner emplacement had been mostly erected and the particle beam and missile units were being unloaded. Smithson could not have done it much better.
“They were very good,” Foord said.
“Yes, Commander. I was afraid you might be endangered, but they handled it well.”
Foord looked askance at Thahl, a gesture he had learnt from Thahl himself.
“You’re more Worrier than Warrior.”
“It keeps you alive, Commander…and I think we’ll see more of this as we get closer to the lowlands. I think I know what these rumours of evacuations are about.”
“Well?”
“We’ll see more military incursions into the highlands. Later, we’ll see some of the outlying civilian populations being moved into the lowlands.”
“I don’t understand.”
Thahl waited politely until he did.
“You mean they’re gambling that if She defeats us, and comes for Sakhra, She won’t attack the cities if they’ve been turned into civilian targets?”
“Yes, Commander.”
Foord swore to himself.
“I think,” Thahl added, unnecessarily, “this may not be a pleasant journey.”
The driver’s whip exploded and the landchariot clattered out of the clearing and down towards the lowlands.
3
The landchariot hurtled on, now a dark wheeled box full of so many varieties of brooding that even the chimaera fell silent and ran faster as if merely to get away from it.
They passed their first roadsign. It was crooked and untended and read, in blue letters on a rustpocked white background, BOWL BLENTPORT (Pindar, Framsden, Cromer, Meddon). As it flashed past the landchariot, Foord leaned out of the window to look back at it. The reverse side was blank.
The road was wider now and verged with grey-green tussocky grass, the terrain more level and less heavily wooded; they were in the vaguely-defined border between the end of the lower Irsirrha and the start of the foothills, which would eventually slope down and level out at the rim of the Great Lowland Bowl. They were making good time; but all around them, the details which it was Foord’s lifelong habit to note and store were mounting.
It began when they left the clearing. As the road sloped gently downhill and they got closer to the foothills, the forest gradually thinned out, becoming the exception rather than the rule. Fields predominated, with trees—usually smaller varieties, like cloudclaw and armourfern—making borders between them. The fields, of course, were not Sakhran; Sakhrans didn’t farm, though a few did work on the human-owned farms which characterised the foothills and the edges of the Bowl. But Foord had noticed these fields on the way up to Hrissihr, along with occasional farmhouses; there were people and vehicles around them, smoke from chimneys, the sound of engines running. Now they were deserted; the farmhouses showed streams of furniture and possessions vomited out of open windows and doors, and churned tracks in the mud.
There were other figures, however. Every quarter-mile or so there would be a military vehicle, usually a small groundcar, with a couple of soldiers. This seemed to be the message: evacuate to the lowlands now , leave your possessions, go now , this is an emergency, and if you go now, we’ll post guards against looting; an easy task, since no humans would be left to do any looting, and the remaining Sakhrans would be in the highlands.
Sakhra’s diameter is about 1.5 times that
It was over in a few minutes. Twenty men, chosen by someone very cleverly, had persuaded seventy Sakhrans to move aside and allow the Commonwealth to make its first military entry into the Sakhran highlands in two hundred years.
The Sakhrans stood singly, or in twos and threes, and watched the lowloaders lurch into the clearing. Foord let out a breath and walked back to the landchariot with Thahl, who gestured to the driver. By the time they were inside, the main scanner emplacement had been mostly erected and the particle beam and missile units were being unloaded. Smithson could not have done it much better.
“They were very good,” Foord said.
“Yes, Commander. I was afraid you might be endangered, but they handled it well.”
Foord looked askance at Thahl, a gesture he had learnt from Thahl himself.
“You’re more Worrier than Warrior.”
“It keeps you alive, Commander…and I think we’ll see more of this as we get closer to the lowlands. I think I know what these rumours of evacuations are about.”
“Well?”
“We’ll see more military incursions into the highlands. Later, we’ll see some of the outlying civilian populations being moved into the lowlands.”
“I don’t understand.”
Thahl waited politely until he did.
“You mean they’re gambling that if She defeats us, and comes for Sakhra, She won’t attack the cities if they’ve been turned into civilian targets?”
“Yes, Commander.”
Foord swore to himself.
“I think,” Thahl added, unnecessarily, “this may not be a pleasant journey.”
The driver’s whip exploded and the landchariot clattered out of the clearing and down towards the lowlands.
3
The landchariot hurtled on, now a dark wheeled box full of so many varieties of brooding that even the chimaera fell silent and ran faster as if merely to get away from it.
They passed their first roadsign. It was crooked and untended and read, in blue letters on a rustpocked white background, BOWL BLENTPORT (Pindar, Framsden, Cromer, Meddon). As it flashed past the landchariot, Foord leaned out of the window to look back at it. The reverse side was blank.
The road was wider now and verged with grey-green tussocky grass, the terrain more level and less heavily wooded; they were in the vaguely-defined border between the end of the lower Irsirrha and the start of the foothills, which would eventually slope down and level out at the rim of the Great Lowland Bowl. They were making good time; but all around them, the details which it was Foord’s lifelong habit to note and store were mounting.
It began when they left the clearing. As the road sloped gently downhill and they got closer to the foothills, the forest gradually thinned out, becoming the exception rather than the rule. Fields predominated, with trees—usually smaller varieties, like cloudclaw and armourfern—making borders between them. The fields, of course, were not Sakhran; Sakhrans didn’t farm, though a few did work on the human-owned farms which characterised the foothills and the edges of the Bowl. But Foord had noticed these fields on the way up to Hrissihr, along with occasional farmhouses; there were people and vehicles around them, smoke from chimneys, the sound of engines running. Now they were deserted; the farmhouses showed streams of furniture and possessions vomited out of open windows and doors, and churned tracks in the mud.
There were other figures, however. Every quarter-mile or so there would be a military vehicle, usually a small groundcar, with a couple of soldiers. This seemed to be the message: evacuate to the lowlands now , leave your possessions, go now , this is an emergency, and if you go now, we’ll post guards against looting; an easy task, since no humans would be left to do any looting, and the remaining Sakhrans would be in the highlands.
Sakhra’s diameter is about 1.5 times that
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