of air, its human vocabulary tumbling into the incoherent chittering of its own tongue. It seemed to Everson that the thing was cursing.
“That’s right. Jeffries. Not us. Jeffries tried to kill us, too. You were there in that chamber. You saw.”
“Yes. The fact that this One owes its life to this urman is one of the few mitigating circumstances in your favour.”
“Yes, Kurda. You said.” Everson looked to Atkins standing beside the creature. Their eyes met briefly. Atkins’ face flushed and he shuffled uncomfortably. Everson felt a glimmer of almost paternal pride. He had been right about Atkins. But to think that their salvation might hinge on that single act of altruism, well, that was a very slender thread indeed.
Chandar took another hoarse breath. “There is yet another reason Sirigar wants you wiped out. Khungarr is mired in tradition. The coming of the Tohmii has ignited an old debate, long feared and unsought by some. The Unguent of Huyurarr warns against the coming of a Great Corruption. When you made your camp on our burri, the Breath of GarSuleth heralded your arrival with the stench of death and putrescence. Sirigar feared that this was the fulfilment of the long-held prophecy.We sought to discover your intentions. You resisted the will of the Ones unlike any other urman herd we had encountered. Then by your actions you declared yourself a threat to Khungarr and your fate was sealed. Now, through your own actions, we are compelled to seek your destruction. This is regrettable.”
“We won’t surrender, you know. This is our land and we will defend it to the last man.”
“You cannot hope to defeat the massed army of Khungarr,” said Chandar.
Scraping his chair back, Everson stood now. “You’re not up against savages here. You’re up against a battalion of His Majesty King George’s army. We’ve faced the worst that Kaiser Bill could throw at us and survived. And you forget,” he added. “We are protected by Skarra, your god of the dead.” That the Khungarrii had mistaken the appearance of His Majesty’s Land Ship Ivanhoe as their god of the underworld was a work of providence and one he had been quite willing to take advantage of at the time, but how long could they keep up the pretence?
“Then where is he?” said Chandar looking around and gesturing to the empty air. “Why does Skarra not come to your aid? The army of Khungarr has retreated. They are waiting to see if he appears. If he does not then they will attack again and carry out the will of GarSuleth as set forth by Sirigar.”
“Thank you, Chandar. You’ve been quite candid. Sergeant, take the prisoner to the guardhouse. Keep to the trenches. Make sure it doesn’t see more than it has to.”
He watched as Hobson, Atkins and Napoo marshalled the prisoner and escorted it from the dugout. He was surprised to see the Padre shaking, as if the chatt had stirred deep, unwelcome memories of his incarceration.
“Padre, go. We’ll talk later.”
The Padre smiled thankfully with an anxious nod, not trusting himself to speak, and hurried from the post.
So it was war, then. And where was that bloody tank? It seemed to Everson that Chandar was not entirely convinced of their claim regarding the tank but was unwilling to question the sanctity of Skarra without further proof. If only he had it. The Ivanhoe should have been back days ago. He pulled out a packet of Woodbines from his pocket and was dismayed to see only two battered cigarettes left. Once they were gone, they were gone. He had no more left. He doubted the men did either, except the hoarders. Evans, his platoon’s best scrounger, could probably lay his hands on some. Maybe he should ask. He pulled one out, tamped it on the desk, lit it and took a long luxurious drag before exhaling, staring absently at the haze of blue smoke, momentarily lost in thought.
Their arrival had set off ripples across this world, and those ripples were still spreading with unforeseen
“That’s right. Jeffries. Not us. Jeffries tried to kill us, too. You were there in that chamber. You saw.”
“Yes. The fact that this One owes its life to this urman is one of the few mitigating circumstances in your favour.”
“Yes, Kurda. You said.” Everson looked to Atkins standing beside the creature. Their eyes met briefly. Atkins’ face flushed and he shuffled uncomfortably. Everson felt a glimmer of almost paternal pride. He had been right about Atkins. But to think that their salvation might hinge on that single act of altruism, well, that was a very slender thread indeed.
Chandar took another hoarse breath. “There is yet another reason Sirigar wants you wiped out. Khungarr is mired in tradition. The coming of the Tohmii has ignited an old debate, long feared and unsought by some. The Unguent of Huyurarr warns against the coming of a Great Corruption. When you made your camp on our burri, the Breath of GarSuleth heralded your arrival with the stench of death and putrescence. Sirigar feared that this was the fulfilment of the long-held prophecy.We sought to discover your intentions. You resisted the will of the Ones unlike any other urman herd we had encountered. Then by your actions you declared yourself a threat to Khungarr and your fate was sealed. Now, through your own actions, we are compelled to seek your destruction. This is regrettable.”
“We won’t surrender, you know. This is our land and we will defend it to the last man.”
“You cannot hope to defeat the massed army of Khungarr,” said Chandar.
Scraping his chair back, Everson stood now. “You’re not up against savages here. You’re up against a battalion of His Majesty King George’s army. We’ve faced the worst that Kaiser Bill could throw at us and survived. And you forget,” he added. “We are protected by Skarra, your god of the dead.” That the Khungarrii had mistaken the appearance of His Majesty’s Land Ship Ivanhoe as their god of the underworld was a work of providence and one he had been quite willing to take advantage of at the time, but how long could they keep up the pretence?
“Then where is he?” said Chandar looking around and gesturing to the empty air. “Why does Skarra not come to your aid? The army of Khungarr has retreated. They are waiting to see if he appears. If he does not then they will attack again and carry out the will of GarSuleth as set forth by Sirigar.”
“Thank you, Chandar. You’ve been quite candid. Sergeant, take the prisoner to the guardhouse. Keep to the trenches. Make sure it doesn’t see more than it has to.”
He watched as Hobson, Atkins and Napoo marshalled the prisoner and escorted it from the dugout. He was surprised to see the Padre shaking, as if the chatt had stirred deep, unwelcome memories of his incarceration.
“Padre, go. We’ll talk later.”
The Padre smiled thankfully with an anxious nod, not trusting himself to speak, and hurried from the post.
So it was war, then. And where was that bloody tank? It seemed to Everson that Chandar was not entirely convinced of their claim regarding the tank but was unwilling to question the sanctity of Skarra without further proof. If only he had it. The Ivanhoe should have been back days ago. He pulled out a packet of Woodbines from his pocket and was dismayed to see only two battered cigarettes left. Once they were gone, they were gone. He had no more left. He doubted the men did either, except the hoarders. Evans, his platoon’s best scrounger, could probably lay his hands on some. Maybe he should ask. He pulled one out, tamped it on the desk, lit it and took a long luxurious drag before exhaling, staring absently at the haze of blue smoke, momentarily lost in thought.
Their arrival had set off ripples across this world, and those ripples were still spreading with unforeseen
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