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the roadside so many weeks before.
Whufff... chufff... whufff..
. With the slight coating of slippery mud dust on the highway stones, all the
steamers began to strain once they reached the beginning of the incline.
Ccccrrrruuunnnch...
Even with the freighter partway up the lower section of the hill, I could hear
the sound of the bridge gate finally closing behind the armored steamer.
"Lookouts! Number one and four, rifles on standby. Two and three, cover the
brush out there under the trees, out to the side."
Using my ability to slide out of the here and now to check the area from
behind the non-time black curtain would have been safer scouting. It would
also have revealed my secret and had me killed as one of the witches of
Eastron. So
I focused the scope out to my right, trying to see who or what might be
hiding. One grossjay, patches of winter leaves on closed branches, and browned
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grasses flashed through the lens at me. We weren't supposed to use the scopes
until after we spotted something. The restricted vision told me why.
Wuhhujff... chufff... skreee
... The freighter lurched again as the driver overcorrected on one wheel.
Clunk!
My head connected with the hard wooden railing of the sentry box.
"Verlyt!"
"Quiet!" snapped Carlis from beneath.
As I swallowed the blood from my just-bitten tongue, I steadied myself with my
left hand and stowed the telescope.
Whuuuujff... chuuujff... whuff
... In approaching the crest of the hill, the freighter lurched forward,
ponderously, swaying side-to-side with each lurch. And with each lurch and
each sway, my stomach lurched also.
Whhuuujff... skreee... whuff... chuff...
By now I could smell old oil and bitter steam. Had I eaten that morning, that
food would already have found its way elsewhere.
"Don't eat if you've got freighter lookout," Selioman had told me. "If you
puke on the freighter, Carliss'll make you clean all the puke out of the belts
and gears after you get there. It took Marin a week."
So I had stuffed some hard bread and an unripe but squishy pearapple into my
pack for later. The cooks had just nodded.
Whhhuuujff . . . wkafff . . . whuff.
The lurching died down, and the engine sound steadied as we crested the hill
and reached the flatter part of the road heading to and through Bremarlyn.
Swallowing hard, twice, I leaned out into the breeze, trying to take in some
fresh air. What I inhaled had no scent, no steam, but the bitter odor of mold
and dust, of death and destruction.
"Bandit at quarter one!"
I swiveled to the left to track Rarden's call, but the tarp-covered supplies
blocked my view. Belatedly, I swung back to scan the quarter three area,
trying to see if we were heading into an ambush.
Nothing moved except one gray bird on a a limb without even winter leaves and
a dark ground dog hole.
"Fire at will!" shouted Carlis.
I unstrapped the rifle, lifted it into the swivel, and released the bolt lock.
Crump! Crump!
Rarden let fire. One of the ceramic shells plowed up the ground not a dozen
rods from the freighter.
"Hold your fire!" Carlis sounded disgusted. "Did you hit that ground dog,
number one?"
"No, sir."
"Next time... never mind." Carlis waved the green flag from the cab to the
freighters behind and to the bewildered lead steamer.
None of it made sense. Scattered bandits wouldn't attack an armed convoy with
even one or two lookouts. And nothing, including spaceships and lasers, had
been effective in stopping the enemy.
"Stow arms!"
After replacing the rifle, I studied trees, grass, holes in the ground, and
occasional birds usually grossjays.
By mid-morning, we were passing the site of the old inn, just flat mud and
plastered dust, not quite covering the blackened and split foundation stones.
The one time I had eaten there on my birthday after leaving first childhood,
father had ordered me a blue chyst tart as a special treat. So splendid I had
looked at it and looked at it, not really wanting to eat it.
"Go ahead," he had said.
Mother had smiled her mysterious smile.
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So I had eaten it bite by bite, forcing the last bites into an unwilling
stomach. While the tart had been tasty, I still wished I hadn't eaten it, and
mother knew that.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" Father had mumbled with his mouth full of his own
tart.
I swallowed as the freighter continued its lurching past another memory and
another place destroyed, past the two stones that were all that remained of
the best meal in the region, and past the inn that led back toward Bremarlyn
itself. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]