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.At last, the others would rouse, and they’d break their fast with leftovers from the previous night’s meal.Once or twice, Nico brought down some small game, but much of the meat went to waste.Emilio ate very little—his usual response to tension.Pacing restlessly until their journey resumed, he would lose himself in the silent chant: It will be well.Eight days’ travel south of the mountains, they saw the glint and flash of equipment in the sunlight, flaring now and then on the horizon.By late afternoon, they could pick out a dark mass at the base of a dust plume when the rolling land lifted the army into sight."We’ll be there tomorrow," Tiyat said, but she looked west and added, "unless the rain comes sooner."That night they all slept badly, and woke to haze and sultry air.Leaving the others to their breakfast, Emilio walked up a low rise, gazing out toward the army bivouac.The first sun had barely begun to climb, but even now the heat was making the ground dance and shimmer, and he was already sweating.Screw it, he thought, and called back to his companions, "We’ll wait here.""Good idea," said Kajpin, joining him."Let them come to us!"They spent the morning sitting on the little hill, Nico and the Runa eating and chatting like picnickers waiting for a parade.But as the army grew closer and they saw the numbers, they fell as silent as Sandoz, ears straining for the first sounds.It was hard to tell if they truly heard or only imagined the thudding of feet, the clank of metal, the caroling of commands and commentary from the ranks; storm clouds now hid the western horizon with columns of black rain, and the breeze carried away all but the nearest noises."This is going to be a fierce one," Tiyat predicted uneasily, standing with her tail braced against a stiffening wind.The lightning in the west was nearly continuous, illuminating the underside of the thunderheads.Kajpin stood as well."Rain falls on everyone," she said without concern, but then added the more ominous phrase, "lightning strikes some." Tramping down the hillock to a small dip in the ground, she sat again, lowering her profile, calmly contemplating the soldiers’ ranks before remarking cheerfully, "Glad I’m not wearing armor.""How long do you think before the storm comes?" Nico asked.Emilio looked west and shrugged."An hour.Maybe less.""Do you want me to go to them and ask for Signora Sofia?""No, Nico.Thank you.Wait here, please," Sandoz said.He joined Tiyat and Kajpin, and repeated, "Wait here." Then, without looking back, he walked without hurry down the road until he’d halved the distance and stood alone: a small flat-backed figure, silver and black hair lifted and blown by the breeze.By this time the vanguard had also come to a halt, and before long these ranks parted to make way for a curtained sedan chair borne from the bivouac by four Runa.Emilio tried to prepare himself for the sight of her, the sound of her voice, but gave up and simply watched as the bearers set the chair down gently.With dispatch, they unfurled a temporary shelter like a veranda around the litter, its waterproof fabric the color of marigolds, bright in the sunlight east of the approaching storm.There was a short delay while an ingeniously designed folding chair was brought forward from an equipment wagon, snapped into shape and placed in front of the conveyance.Finally a staircase, hinged at the base of the litter’s entrance, was tipped outward, and he saw a tiny hand as it separated the curtains and took a proffered arm as support in her descent.He had expected her to be altered but still lovely; he was not disappointed.The raking scars and the empty socket were a shock, but the harsh suns of Rakhat had rendered her face so finely creased that it seemed made of gauze; the seams of scar tissue were now merely three lines among many, and her remaining eye was lively and observant, and seemed to sweep her surroundings in continual compensation for her halved field of vision.Even the arc of her spine seemed graceful to him: a curve of curiosity, as though she had bent to examine some object on the ground that had caught her attention on her way to the camp chair.She sat, and looked up, her head tilted almost coyly, waiting for him.Delicate as a wren, with her small spare hands in her lap, she had in repose a skeletal purity: elegant and fleshless and still."Thou art beautiful," he thought, "comely as Jerusalem, terrible as an army with banners.""Sofia," he said and held his hands out to her.Her’s remained quiet."It’s been a long time," she observed coldly, when he drew near [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]