HINTERLAND
For more than one thousand years the Land has been dying. Decline began eight hundred years before that, when population pressure led to the Great Famine. At that time, forced to abandon fallowing, we began the development of irrigation. Consequently, most of the Land has come to yield two crops a year. However, the soil is subject to an ever-declining fertility. We have been able to compensate for this by a variety of methods. With the ongoing refinement of our systems we are confident we can postpone collapse for an indeterminate time.
Red land gave way to green. Through the bone screen Carnelian watched the rolling dust break upon the hri field, then Earth-is-Strong emerged as if they were coming ashore. Ahead of him the line of Osidian’s dragons stretched away into the monotonous grey-green distance patterned to the horizon with sartlar kraals. Several times he detected movement in their overseer towers. The sartlar themselves, who worked the Guarded Land in vast numbers, crawled everywhere like fleas.
As they penetrated ever deeper into the hinterland his command chair rocked Carnelian in and out of sleep. Half awake, he imagined he was coasting along a shore. The pounding rhythm of the dragon’s footfalls seemed the sound of breakers.
A voice woke him. Lifting his masked face, he saw his Lefthand raising his hands to him almost in prayer. ‘Master, a signal’s been passed down the line from Heart-of-Thunder commanding that we should form a laager for the night.’
Outside, the long shadows cast by the overseer towers showed how late it was. ‘Give the commands.’
The Lefthand touched his forehead to the deck before speaking into his voice fork. ‘Hard to port.’
Earth-is-Strong began veering left. Gazing out through the port edge of the screen Carnelian watched the line of dragons sweeping round towards the sun. Far away the massive shape of Heart-of-Thunder was beginning to eclipse it. For moments his tower was a silhouette haloed with gold, then the sun slipped free, so bright Carnelian was forced to squint. Another dragon moved to obscure it. He watched the mesmerizing pulse of dragons passing until his own was moving into that part of the arc in which the sun was permanently obscured. He settled back into his chair feeling the slow pound of Earth-is-Strong’s footfalls as if it were his own heartbeat. Then, suddenly, the cabin was facing due west and he was blind in its radiance. Through his eyelids, he saw only red. Slowly the sun moved to his right until they were moving south and it was possible to reopen his eyes.
At last the constant swaying of the cabin slowed but, at the end of each swing, the deck leaned at a more extreme angle than before, so that Carnelian had to grip the arms of his chair. A couple more swings and then the cabin settled upright.
The Lefthand spoke into his voice fork. ‘Hard to starboard.’
The tower rattled and shook as Earth-is-Strong turned into the sun, flooding the cabin with incandescent gold. The Righthand put his mouth to his voice fork and murmured something. Squinting, Carnelian noticed movement down at the dragon’s horns. Ropes were being cast to the ground. Men grabbing these ran with them to where others were hammering spikes into the earth. Earth-is-Strong’s head was being tethered.
At last the Righthand raised his eyes to Carnelian’s mask. ‘Master, it is now possible to disembark.’
Carnelian gave a nod and both of his officers bent to their voice forks and issued commands into them. He felt more than heard the crew moving about the tower, but he remained in his chair, feeling it was his right to quit the tower last. He heard a creaking sound to port that he guessed was the brassman being lowered. As it came fully down he felt its pull upon the tower. Then there was a jerking vibration as men moved along it. This went on for some time, then, heads bowed, his officers rose from their positions and retreated towards the ladder. Carnelian waited to hear them descend before he himself rose. He climbed down through the empty trumpet deck, glad of the respite its closed ports gave him from the sun. Reaching the lower deck he was forced to stoop. Through the portal he could see the brassman stretched out into space, hanging from its chains. As Carnelian walked out onto it his mask protected him from the glare. The distance to the ground was alarming. Ahead was another dragon tower, half in shadow. He glanced further round and saw he was on the edge of an expanse walled by the ring of dragons. Within this milled the Marula on their aquar and the pack huimur with their frames.
He used the rope ladder that fell from the brassman’s hands to climb down to the ground. His officers and crew were kneeling all around him. Hunched sartlar were jogging towards him in pairs. Between each sagged a pole from which hung a leather box that spilled water with every bounce. He gazed back down the line of these water carriers to the black hole in the earth from which they were emerging burdened. The odour of render released into the air was managing to pierce the nosepads of his mask. At that moment the dragons began a moaning as if they were mourning the dying of the day. Their haunches and the pillared halls beneath their bellies already wallowed in night. Their horns against the purpling sky were crescent moons. Only their towers still held the guttering embers of the sun. He watched as the last gleam of day faded into indigo.
Within one of the pavilions erected for the Masters, Carnelian sat opposite Osidian on the thick mattresses that made a floor. A brazier was pumping myrrh smoke. Though overpowering, it allowed them to be free of their masks. He glanced at its hated shell, face down on a pad of silk. Through the haze he could see the stains Osidian had sweated into his bandages. He too had had his leathers removed. He fingered the mattress, which was thick enough to lift them the prescribed distance from the polluting earth.
Osidian was eating voraciously from the ceramic boxes filled with delicate wafers of hri, saffroned meats, dried fruit like dull, wrinkled jewels. Carnelian nibbled at a wafer; the whiff of render had turned his stomach.
Osidian looked up. ‘Tomorrow we must carry out some manoeuvres.’
‘I thought we had to make for Makar without delay.’
Osidian nodded. ‘But I must get a feeling for coordinating our line.’
Carnelian bit into an apricot as Osidian began sculpting tactical dispositions in the air. ‘You will take the left, I the right.’
Osidian woke Carnelian. Once their Hands had eased them back into their leathers, they emerged from their pavilion. Within the laager, preparations were already being made to leave. Carnelian followed Osidian past Marula saddling their aquar to where the Lesser Chosen commanders were gathered. After Osidian had explained to them what he intended to do he sent them to their towers. As he turned to Carnelian his mask caught some of the pink dawn. ‘Let us see what power there is in these beasts.’
Carnelian could not help feeling a thrill of excitement as he approached Earth-is-Strong. The rising sun was sheathing her rump in copper. Her head and the hills of her shoulders were carved from shadow, but her tower seemed aflame. Men crawled up in the rigging like flies. He felt a momentary unsteadiness as she shifted. He saw a man sitting astride one of her horns ready to release the tether. He mounted the ladder. The brassman was grimacing as Carnelian came up onto it. Entering the tower he was struck by the already familiar mix of naphtha, sweat and leather. Climbing to the upper deck he slipped into his command chair. His Hands came to kneel beside him. He listened out for the commands they were murmuring into their voice forks. He felt the juddering as the rest of the crew scrambled up into the tower. At last his Lefthand raised his eyes. ‘Everyone’s aboard, Master. Everything’s stowed.’