"John Maddox Roberts - Stormlands 03 - The Poisoned Lands" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts John Maddox)

NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this
book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the
publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment
for this "stripped book."
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this
book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely
coincidental.
THE POISONED LANDS
Copyright ┬л 1992 by John Maddox Roberts
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions
thereof, in any form.
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
49 West 24th Street
New York, N.Y. 10010
Cover art by Ken Kelly
ISBN: 0-812-50631-6
First edition: February 1992
Printed in the United States of America
0987654321
ONE
The spies lay motionless, belly-down on a crag of rock overlooking endless
miles of desolation. Each was covered by a blanket mottled in gray and brown,
so that they were all but invisible from just a few yards away. Only the
snouts of their telescopes poked from beneath the blankets, each lens shaded
by a piece of leather against the chance of casting a reflection. The rising
sun was behind them, but these men took no chances. They had taken this
position during the hours of darkness and had remained motionless since first
light. Soon the heat beneath the blankets would be terrible but exposure meant
certain death, and the scene before them was worth a day of discomfort. "This
is it in truth!" said one, his voice little more than a whisper, for there was
always a chance of a roving sentry passing near. "It can be no other!"
"I am sure of it," said the cooler voice. "But calm yourself. The time for
excitement is when we claim our reward."
2 John Maddox Roberts
The sight before them was enthralling only to one who could interpret its
significance. In the distance a camp sprawled on the desert floor, close
against the raised lip of an ancient crater. Many such craters pocked this
vast desolation, but only this one was a center of human activity. Indeed, the
desert was nearly void of humanity except for scattered nomads and this one,
strange operation.
From the camp, files of men climbed the crater rim and descended into the
depression beyond. Those in the returning files trudged under weighty loads,
which they deposited somewhere in the camp. Columns of smoke rose from within
the crater, but these were not volcanic in origin. Along the rim mounted
sentries paced, the morning sun casting reflections from their lance points.
Even with telescopes, the distance was too great to discern details of dress
or equipage.
All day long the two men lay motionless, their attention sharpening at each
new activity below them. The rise on which they lay was not high enough to see