Commonwealth 3 - The Dreaming Void by Peter F. Hamilton

Author:Peter F. Hamilton [Hamilton, Peter F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, General, Adventure, Fiction
ISBN: 9780330443029
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 2008-05-01T23:00:00+00:00

Inigo’s fourth dream

After breaking camp just after dawn the caravan was on the road for three hours before it finally topped the last ridge and the coastal plain tipped into view. Edeard smiled down on it with an adrenaline burst of enthusiasm. With nearly a year spent travelling he was finally looking at his future. Riding on the ge-horse beside him, Salrana squealed happily and clapped her hands together. Several pigs in the back of O’lrany’s cart grunted at the sudden noise.

Edeard ordered his ge-horse to stop. The caravan pushed on inexorably, wagon after wagon rolling down the stony road. Directly ahead of him the foothills of the Donsori Mountains fell away sharply to the awesome Iguru Plain below. It stretched away for mile after long mile. A flat expanse of rich farmland, almost all of which was under cultivation; its surface marked out in huge regular fields filled with verdant crops. A massive grid of ditches fed into wide, shallow rivers delineated by protective earthen embankments. Forests tended to sprawl around the lower slopes of the odd little volcanic cones which broke the plain’s uniformity. As far as he could see there was no pattern to the steep knolls. They were dotted purely at random.

It was a strange geography, completely different to the rugged surrounding terrain. He shrugged at the oddity and squinted to the eastern horizon. Part imagination, part horizon-haze, the Lyot Sea was just visible as a grey line.

No need to imagine the city, though. Makkathran bestrode the horizon like a sunwashed pearl. At first he was disappointed by how small it was, then he began to appreciate the distance involved.

‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ Barkus said as he rode his aged ge-horse level with Edeard.

‘Yes, sir,’ Edeard said. Additional comment seemed superfluous. ‘How far away are we?’

‘It’ll take at least another half a day for us to get down to the plain; this last stretch of road down the mountains is tricky. We’ll make camp at Clipsham, the first decent-sized town on the Iguru. Then it’ll be near enough another day to reach Makkathran itself.’ He nodded pleasantly and urged his ge-horse onward.

Almost two days away. Edeard stared entranced at the capital city. Allegedly, the only true city on Querencia. The caravan had visited some fabulous towns on their route, large conurbations with wealthy populations; several had parks bigger than Ashwell. At the time he’d thought them grand, sure that nothing could actually be larger. Lady, what a bumpkin I am.

‘Doubts here, of all places?’ Salrana asked. ‘Those are some very melancholy thoughts you’ve got growing in your head there.’

‘Just humbled,’ he told her.

Her thoughts sparkled with amusement, producing a teasing smile. ‘Thinking of Franlee?’

‘Not for months,’ he answered with high dignity.

Salrana laughed wickedly.

He’d met Franlee in Plax, a provincial capital on the other side of the Ulfsen Mountains. A spree of bad luck on the road, including broken wheels and sick animals, as well as unusually early autumn storms meant the caravan was late reaching Plax. As a consequence, they’d been snowed in for over six weeks.

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