Lockstep

Начало книги

TWO BRIGHT MOONS CHASED each other across a butterscotch sky. Down on the plain, something big was galloping, its feet touching down only once a second. It was too far away to make out what it was, but the broad-shouldered man on the balcony could see each puff of dust it left and the long line of them leading away.

Whatever it was, it was drawing that line at an angle to a much bigger mark—an ancient canal, dry now for thousands of years, that swept in from one horizon, passed this lonely peak with its crumbled towers and collapsed stairs, and exited the scene over the opposite horizon. Dunes were trying to erase the canal, but they’d never succeed.

The gray-haired man smoothed his hand along the stone banister. It had amused him to leave its ancient worn stone intact when he renovated this palace. He’d done the same with the rest of the mountain peak—balcony, tower, and dome had all been preserved where they could be. The result was a jarring mix of sharp new edges and worn, almost natural curves, but he liked that.

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