With the odour of her blood
She seduced him into devouring her.
‘ We can’t wake him.’
Carnelian opened his eyes. It was a moment before he recognized it was Fern’s voice. ‘What?’
‘The Master won’t wake.’
Carnelian rose, hugging his blanket against the cold. The hem of the sky was blue, but the sun had still to rise. He followed Fern to where Osidian was lying. Crouching, he took Osidian’s shoulder and shook it. Only the slight twitches at the corners of Osidian’s mouth and eyes showed he was alive. Darkcloud who had gathered were gazing down at him anxiously. Carnelian sent one to fetch Morunasa.
Fern was regarding Osidian with an expression Carnelian could not read. Carnelian was also in turmoil. If Osidian died they would still be able to draw Aurum north, but his corpse might not be sufficient incentive for the old Master to quit the Earthsky. Aurum might choose to cool his wrath with blood. Carnelian reflected that Osidian near to death might rid them of Aurum even faster: fear of losing his prize would make Aurum speed back to Osrakum in the hope that the Wise might revive him. He became aware of how these calculations were masking his emotions. He was thinking like a Master. He gazed down at Osidian. Feeling the vestige of their love rising in him, he turned away. Poppy was there, watching him. He suddenly had a need to be alone. He made for the northern edge of the summit, wanting to see his enemy.
No predawn light had yet reached Aurum’s camp. Carnelian looked down to the ferngardens. Smoke was rising here and there in lazy spirals. He whirled round and, seeing one of the Darkcloud, cried out: ‘You there.’
The man came running.
‘Go down there and tell them to put out those fires.’
As the man sped off, Carnelian felt a hand on his arm and turned. It was Poppy. What was he going to do with her?
‘They’re only making breakfast to see us off,’ she said.
‘I want this place to seem dead enough that Hookfork won’t believe we’ve left anyone behind.’
Gazing at her he knew what he must do, though it would break his heart. There was no place for her in Osrakum. Besides, he could not afford the vulnerability. ‘I’ll talk to the Elders of the Darkcloud. They’ll take care of you until Fern returns. Then you can both choose to stay there or to join some other tribe.’
Expecting tears he was not ready for her icy anger. ‘You and Fern are the only kin I feel I have left. Do you really think I’ll let you leave me behind?’ Though her body was a girl’s she was glaring at him with a woman’s eyes.
‘Ultimately we’ll have to part. Where I’m going you can’t follow.’
‘Then I’ll stay with you and Fern as long as I can.’
The massacre had changed her. The burials. Carnelian tried to find another argument. ‘We can’t afford to have any rider carry you.’
‘I agree. I’ll need my own aquar. And before you object to that remember I’m a Plainswoman and have been riding longer than you.’
He laughed. ‘I can see that I’m not going to win this.’
Poppy was still girl enough to consider for a moment being offended by his laughter, but his smile reassured her. ‘So that’s settled then. I ride with you.’
Carnelian became grim again, considering what they would be riding into, but he gave a nod.
When Morunasa appeared, Carnelian told the Darkcloud to go down and say their farewells to their kin. They thanked him, clearly relieved there still was time to do so. As Carnelian watched them go he was aware of the pressure of Morunasa’s gaze. He felt deeply the part he had played in the disaster that had overtaken Morunasa’s people, but stood his ground. The Oracles were every bit as rapacious as the Masters.
He led the Maruli to where Fern was standing over Osidian. ‘Will he die?’
Morunasa crouched to peer at Osidian’s face. He looked up. ‘After the twelfth day no initiate has ever died, but then none has ever left the Isle of Flies before the maggots emerged. It was only seventeen days after he was incepted that the Master came here. He’s been pushing himself too hard. I can’t be certain what will happen.’
‘When will the maggots emerge?’
Morunasa shrugged. ‘Most likely…’ His brows knitted as he calculated ‘… it won’t be more than fifty days.’
‘He can’t ride like this,’ said Fern.
‘I’ll wake him.’ Morunasa leaned forward to bring his lips close to Osidian’s ear and began whispering.
Osidian frowned, then slowly awoke. He began mumbling. Carnelian strained to make out words. Morunasa cocked his head to listen. His eyes narrowed as if he disliked what he was hearing. As Carnelian brought his face closer Osidian focused on him. ‘Carnelian.’
The look of love Osidian gave him caused Carnelian to draw back, embarrassed. ‘Can you walk, my Lord?’
Osidian stared up into the sky for some moments then, with a grunt, rolled over, pushed himself up and rose unsteadily to his feet.
Carnelian turned to Fern. ‘He won’t be able to walk far. Could you bring an aquar to the foot of the steps?’
Silently Fern moved off while Carnelian and Morunasa helped Osidian.
As they descended the steps the first rays of the sun caught the patchy canopies of the mother trees below. The jade of new cones glowed among the dark brushes. Carnelian felt the fresh odour of resin cleanse his lungs. Hope surprised him, but only served to make him view the Plainsmen below with an aching heart. Hope was a vulnerability he could ill afford.
Fern was waiting with an aquar. When they reached her they helped Osidian clamber into her saddle-chair. They made her rise and led her down through the grove. Crossing the ditch, they descended to the ferngardens where Marula and Plainsmen crowded between the humps of their kneeling mounts. A Maruli – it was Sthax – brought an aquar over to Carnelian. The man gave him a wary look that took in Morunasa. Warned, Carnelian did not greet him. In Sthax’s face he could see neither accusation nor grief. It seemed unlikely that the Maruli knew anything about the cut-down baobabs.
Once mounted, Carnelian could see the Darkcloud warriors mingling among their people. Men clung to their children as their mothers and wives embraced them, faces tight from holding back tears. Carnelian noticed sartlar there too. He had forgotten them. Then he became aware that the men from other tribes were gazing at him, tense hope on every face. They needed to have faith in him and so he put aside his doubts. His smile made them sit straighter. He rode down through their ranks. As he passed, aquar rose with a great din. Across the ferngarden he rode, raising a quaking in the ground as they followed him. He jumped the ditch into the outer garden, hearing them surging after him. He resisted the temptation of rushing speed. When he reached the fernland, he turned to watch them pouring out from the koppie after him, and sped off towards Aurum’s camp.
The perfect geometries of the military camp were an alien imposition on the fernland. It had none of the yielding curves of a koppie. Its rampart was not softened by living trees but, rather, toothed with stakes. Even the morning gleam of the lagoon behind the camp seemed harsh and brittle. Carnelian’s plan to expose himself as bait now seemed childish. The camp was a mechanism devoid of human weakness. He suppressed a surge of fear that any attempt to defy Aurum was madness. The old Master was there at its centre as its directing mind. He must focus on Aurum and not on the terrible power that was an extension of his will.
He began listing what he knew. Aurum would not imagine Osidian had been overthrown. The fire on the Bluedancing crags he would have seen as a sign of Osidian’s defiance. This was unlikely to daunt him. Aurum would be confident he controlled the situation. His legion was in the heart of Osidian’s Plainsman empire. He could now bring terror to bear on the women of the tribes opposing him, on their children. It was only a matter of time before they would yield Osidian up to him. Yes, Aurum would be confident, but not absolutely so. It was not a barbarian who confronted him, but a Lord of the House of the Masks. Such were not to be casually underestimated.
Carnelian saw with what fear the Plainsmen were surveying the camp. Certain that any movement by Aurum would wake alarm in their ranks, he sank his head and tried to enter the Master’s mind. Try as he might he could imagine nothing specific that would unsettle him. Carnelian could taste despair as he began to doubt that even an attack on the render supply would be enough to cause Aurum to abandon his position of dominance among the tribes. Then it came to him: Aurum could have no clear understanding as to why Osidian had risked so much to delay his southward march. It was unlikely he would know about the Upper Reach salt. Certainly, the delay Osidian had won was too slight to allow him any hope of protecting the koppies that were the source of his power. This point of doubt might be a chink in Aurum’s invulnerability. With growing excitement, Carnelian saw that to ride north would be to signal a complete disregard for the dominance of Aurum’s position. Such an act he might regard as typical of Osidian’s arrogance, but he might also see in it evidence of some factor he was ignorant of. Surely this would cause Aurum’s certainty to crumble? Carnelian almost let forth a whoop. He was sure he had him, but he set himself to check his reasoning. So much hung on its slender links. His confidence grew as he found no flaw. Few Masters, Aurum least of all, could conceivably deduce the real reason behind the movement north: compassion. It would never occur to Aurum that any Master, certainly not Osidian, would carry out such a plan merely with the aim of saving some barbarians.
Consternation around him made Carnelian look up. Though too far away for them to make out any detail, Aurum’s camp was coming alive. He pushed his left heel into his aquar’s neck and she veered away from the camp. The Plainsmen began to wheel behind him.
Fern rode up, angry. ‘You’ve not shown yourself to Hookfork. How will he know the Master is with us?’
Carnelian smiled grimly. ‘He knows and he will follow us.’
The sun climbed high enough to steal their shadows. Ahead, lagoons became blinding shards of light. Tramping through the heat had wilted Carnelian’s confidence. His spirit had been wounded by the charcoal breeze wafting from the Koppie as they passed it. Even before then he had been constantly craning round, hoping to see the dust tide of Aurum’s pursuit, but the shimmering horizon remained stubbornly clear.
A cry brought their whole march to a halt. Carnelian turned his aquar. Thick smoke was rising from the direction of Aurum’s camp. He tried to deduce what new devilment this might portend. Then his heart went cold. The koppie of the Woading was on fire. The same realization was spreading panic among the Plainsmen. Before he had time to think, they were mobbing him. Woading fought their way to the front, baying that he had led their people into this disaster. Stunned, striving to calm his aquar, he could give them no answer. Other voices were making themselves heard. They wanted to return. He watched them arguing, shouting, panicking. Had his plan failed already? If he had given Osidian to Aurum, would he have left? Anger displaced his doubts with a memory of Aurum telling him his uncle Crail had died during the mutilation the Master had insisted on. Carnelian relived Aurum slicing open the throat of a Maruli. Aurum was a monster. Even if he had left immediately for Osrakum with Osidian, he would have made sure to leave behind enough dragons to visit retribution on the tribes.
Carnelian forced his aquar in among the Woading. They turned on him, shrieking. Ignoring their threats he bellowed for silence. The tumult faded.
One of the Woading snarled at him: ‘We’ll kill you. We’ll give you to Hookfork in pieces; you and the Master.’
‘Do that and every single one of your koppies will be set alight.’
One man rolled his eyes up. ‘Father in heaven, but haven’t we heard enough of your threats?’
Carnelian saw the utter despair behind the man’s rage. ‘I don’t know if my plan will work,’ he said. ‘But what choice is there… ?’ He raised his voice. ‘There is no choice. Either we draw the bastard away or else he’ll burn your tribes. He’ll not be argued with and, even if he gets what he wants, he’ll not stop.’
Men gaped at him, bleak-eyed. Several moaned. Tears were blinding them. They turned their backs on him and began to push through the press.
‘Where’re you going?’ Carnelian cried, but they showed no sign they heard. He tried to think what he could do. If they went back to their koppie Aurum was bound to take some of them alive. They would be unable to avoid betraying Carnelian’s plan. Then it would all be over. He glanced around and found Morunasa and the Marula some distance away through the crowd. He could command them to stop the Woading, but that would unleash a bloodbath. Even as he groaned, seeing no way out, his feet were making his aquar slip forward, his hand unhitching his spear. He picked up speed following the Woading. ‘If they return all hope is gone.’
Plainsmen stared at him. He raised his spear, crying: ‘Woading, I will not let you go.’
One of the men turned and went white seeing Carnelian urging his aquar towards him. Other Woading were turning too. One face distorted with rage. ‘Then we’ll kill you now.’ The man’s spear was in his hand. He rode at Carnelian brandishing it. The flanks of their aquar slapped into each other. Their saddle-chairs scraped together. Carnelian ducked and drove his spear into the man’s chest. Both he and the man stared at where the haft sprang from his robe, which was darkening with blood. Carnelian’s anger left him as he watched the man die. Someone was speaking. Recognizing Fern’s voice, he turned. He registered the shock in the faces around him.
‘Let’s give it until morning. If Hookfork’s not come after us by then, we’ll send him a message that we will give him the Standing Dead.’
Everyone agreed they should make for the Backbone, where they might camp safe from raveners. Fern announced he knew a fastness where it had been the custom of his tribe to spend the first night of their journeys to Osrakum. When he described it the Darkcloud gave their support. It was a place they used too.
It was nearing dusk when they reached the serried rocks of the Backbone that rose up from the fernland in a seemingly unscalable cliff. Fern and the Darkcloud found paths winding up into it. Though negotiable by aquar these would be too narrow for a ravener to climb.
When they reached the summits they saw a wide slope falling gently into the west, strewn with black boulders. As the sun swelled raw on the horizon they gathered fernwood for fires. Carnelian helped Fern build theirs among some stunted trees in the lee of the Backbone’s ragged edge. Afterwards he clambered up to survey the road they had crushed through the ferns. Poppy followed him. ‘If Hookfork comes after us he’ll have no difficulty finding us.’
Grim, they returned to where Fern was coaxing flames from a nest of roots. Osidian had clambered out from his saddle-chair then climbed a few steps to slump against a rock face. Swathed as he was in his Oracle indigos, all Carnelian could see of him was his narrowed eyes. On the horizon nothing was left of the sun but an incandescent filament that branded his vision for a while after it had disappeared. The slopes around him were dotted with huddles of Plainsmen illuminated by the fires in their midst. Further out, on their own, Marula in rings. It was Fern crisping djada in the flames that drew Carnelian’s attention back. The smell evoked times he had spent among the Ochre; happier times. His mind turned reluctantly to the fate of the Woading: another koppie that had suffered holocaust. Hope had once more drained away, leaving nothing but sapping despair.
Poppy called him to eat. As he approached she made a place for him by the fire. She talked brightly, trying to kindle some life in them. ‘Are you sure the raveners won’t come at us up this slope?’
Fern shook his head almost imperceptibly. Without looking up from the flames, he moved his arm vaguely. ‘The Backbone here runs unbroken north and south for a great distance. There’s no water west of here and so no herds. Any raveners will come from the east.’
Carnelian read Fern’s look of misery as he looked around him. The last time he had been camping here it had been with his tribesmen, all now dead.
Carnelian’s eyes snapped open. He could see nothing but the black between the stars. Terror clutched his chest. Raveners had been hunting him in his dreams. Tremors in the ground beneath his back. He sprang up. The slope was peopled by shadow men. The earth under his feet was trembling. A murmur of fear breathed up the slope as if a wind through trees. He scrambled up the incline, slipping, reaching the edge of the Backbone on all fours. Hair rose on his neck. The rising moon was almost blotted out by a spined tower rising black from the earth. Other immensities were sliding forward on either side with a dull clatter of brass. Thin light caught on surfaces, on curves, on infernal machines. The chemical reek of naphtha. Dragons!
Carnelian recoiled, expecting the night at any moment to be turned to day by jetting flame. Losing his footing, he rolled, found his feet, stumbled into their fire, sparking embers into the air. A chaos of rushing figures, men, aquar rising, careering into each other. Poppy tugging at him. Fern was shouting. Carnelian helped him bundle Osidian into a saddle-chair. Then he was clinging to another as its aquar began striding away from him. He heaved himself up. The aquar reeled under him like a boat in a swell. He struggled to find his seat. Flailing around with his feet. Toes found the creature’s back. Both soles slapped onto its warm hide. His feet stroked her calm while he scried the darkness for Fern, for Poppy. ‘Here,’ he heard her cry. He saw her mounted, Fern nearby. Osidian was swept past, carried by his fleeing aquar. Carnelian felt his beast’s desire to follow and lifted his feet to let her run unguided.
The moon peering above the Backbone lit their flight into the west. It was the land that slowed them. Its dry watercourses and hummocks made treacherous footing for the aquar. Carnelian’s voice carried through the night. It took a while, but he rallied them; their leaders finding him in the moonlight.
‘The Backbone’ll not hold him long,’ said a voice and was answered by a murmur of agreement.
‘Hookfork has come after us as Carnie said he would,’ Poppy announced.
‘So now there’s no reason we can’t go home,’ said one of the Woading.
Voices rose in agreement from among the other tribes. Carnelian was dismayed. Without seeing a substantial force Aurum would not feel the threat of their northward march credible. ‘Impossible.’
They answered him with growling anger.
‘If Hookfork brings his whole legion against us it’s to match our numbers. Should these noticeably decrease I fear he’ll leave enough dragons behind to devastate more koppies.’
His argument swayed enough of them to encourage all save the Woading, reluctantly, to agree to go with him. The sight of the Woading riding away reminded many of what it was they might find waiting for them at home when they returned. Resentfully they followed Carnelian north with the sullen Marula.
As the sun rose, Carnelian rode up to a spur of the Backbone, unsure whether he was more afraid of seeing Aurum or of not seeing him. Golden in the dawn, the Earthsky seemed innocent of war. Closing his eyes, he drank in its musky perfume.
‘There,’ said Fern.
Carnelian opened his eyes. Fern was pointing south to where the Backbone undulated away to haze.
‘Dragons?’
Fern nodded. They rode back to join the others.
When they reached a break in the Backbone, they rode through onto the plains then resumed their march. North, always north. Shadows moved round until each aquar was treading on her own. Periodically Carnelian would send scouts up among the rocks to reassure himself Aurum was still following.
They visited a lagoon that lay close to their route. Cautious among the giant saurians drinking there, watching for raveners, they filled their waterskins. Carnelian saw in the dancing incandescence of the water a warning of the dragonfire following them. He soaked his uba then wrung it out. As he rode away, its wet cling cooled his skin, but not his anxiety.
As shadows lengthened eastwards they found, high on the Backbone, another refuge known to one of the tribes: a valley that raised a shield of rock against the Earthsky. Once again, with darkness came fear that they tried to keep at bay by huddling round their fires, their aquar still saddled in a ring around them.
Sitting with Fern and Poppy Carnelian could tell that, like him, they were listening with their bodies for any tremor in the ground. It seemed to him better to confront their fear. ‘He intended to take us all alive. Afraid to hurt the Master, he used no fire.’ He gouged a crescent in the earth with a stone. He placed the stone within the curve. ‘He meant to surround us with his dragons. Probably his auxiliaries would form an outer cordon to seal his trap.’
Poppy shuddered.
Fern looked up. ‘He would’ve taken you and the Master and then.. .’
Carnelian watched the flames dancing in his eyes and nodded.
Poppy patted the earth and smiled. ‘It was the Mother’s Backbone saved us. She’ll keep us safe from Hookfork.’
Carnelian could see how much Poppy wanted to believe that. It seemed strange to him that the Plainsmen should have an ancient fear of the name Hookfork. Could this really be a memory of some Lord of House Aurum campaigning in the Earthsky? If so then this might reflect another aberration in the history of the Commonwealth. Peering into the flames he tried to see deep into the past to another Carnelian, another Osidian fugitive in the Earthsky. He could not. Such parallel events seemed implausible. What then was the answer to this riddle? His fingers recalled some beadcord they had read in the Library of the Wise: a story of a God Emperor making war on the Plainsmen. That They should leave Osrakum was also forbidden. The conclusion to be drawn from this was startling. There had been a time before the Balance of the Powers had been set up. His hand shaped Aurum’s cypher: a horned-ring set upon a staff. A representative of the God Emperor might carry such insignia. He caught glimpses of another world in the flames, of a time before the Great and the House of the Masks were caged in Osrakum by the Law-that-must-be-obeyed. He drew greedily on what comfort there was in that. Perhaps the order of things was not as immutable as he had been taught to believe.
The next morning the dust-cloud Aurum’s dragons were raising could be seen rolling up from the south. In punishing heat Carnelian led his host on.
Some time in the afternoon they lost sight of their pursuers. He called a halt and stood anxiously with others on a bluff of the Backbone, searching. Not even the keenest eye could see any sign of the dragons. Fearing some stratagem of Aurum’s, some outflanking, worried that if Aurum found them waiting for him he would deduce he was being lured north, Carnelian made his host push on.
When they stopped to make a camp for the night, the southern horizon was still empty. There was a whispering around the hearths. Sharp in every eye was the fear that Hookfork had turned back towards their koppies.
In the morning the Plainsmen lingered at their breakfasts. Watching them eat in silence Carnelian hoped his face did not betray that he shared their fear. On the rocks above their camp, scouts were gazing south. He would have been there with them if he could. Cries from these lookouts made every Plainsman surge to his feet. Carnelian scrambled up with them onto the heights. Relief moved along the ridge like light released by a passing cloud. Carnelian’s height allowed him to look over the others’ heads to where the Backbone faded into the stirred-up dust of Aurum’s pursuit.
By midday they had once again left Aurum behind. Though the Plainsman commanders urged Carnelian to slow their pace he refused. He wanted to force Aurum to continue his night marches to catch up with them.
Later, consternation up ahead made Carnelian ride to the head of their column with Fern. When they saw him men pointed north. Carnelian’s heart sank as he saw the hazing touching the Backbone. ‘It can’t be,’ he muttered.
‘Not dragons,’ Fern said. He looked Carnelian in the eye. ‘The cloud is smaller, closer.’
Carnelian saw Fern was right. ‘It must be a render convoy.’
Hundreds of pack huimur lumbered by, weighed down by frames like pitched roofs hung with rows of what in size and shape could have been human heads. Their legs were lost in the dust they raised, clouds of which were rolling up into the defiles of the Backbone. Crouching, Carnelian shifted his attention to the escort of riders. Auxiliaries on pacing aquar, lances across their laps, heads sagging. He looked to either side where his men formed a ragged ambush, squatting concealed among the ferns, cradling the heads of their aquar to keep them stretched out upon the ground.
He gave the signal then edged back, clucking to his aquar. He slipped his legs around the pommel and over the crossbar. Grasping his saddle-chair he put his feet onto her back, encouraging her to rise. Her head came up, flicking from side to side as she blinked to look around her. The jerk of her rolling onto her feet wrenched him fully into the chair. She rocked forward, her hands touched the ground, then she rocked back and thrust him into the air. Carnelian could see others rising all around him, but he did not wait. He freed his spear from its scabbard then launched his aquar at the convoy. He chose a target and watched the man becoming suddenly aware of the threat, reining his mount round, swinging his lance up. Carnelian saw how his charge was threatening to impale him on the auxiliary’s bronze blade. Striking the lance with the haft of his spear, he rolled it from his path. He registered the auxiliary’s terror as he realized it was a Master coming at him, but then the spear pierced the man’s leather cuirass. Carnelian felt momentary resistance then his blade penetrating flesh. It jerked in his hand as it struck a rib. His aquar pulled up, trying to avoid colliding with the auxiliary’s. He managed to hold onto his spear. The man grimaced as Carnelian twisted it out. He slumped, blood running down into his lap. Carnelian used his feet to swing his aquar deeper into the melee.
The auxiliary line dissolved into chaos. A few in flight were pursued by Plainsmen but mostly it was riderless aquar that were running away into the ferns. Carnelian turned to the huimur, who were backing away, lowering their heads to present the stumps of their sawn-off horns. Riders astride their necks cowered behind the shields of the monsters’ crests. Plainsmen were throwing themselves onto the sloping sides of the wicker frames. Scrabbling up them they struck at the riders with mattocks. Though some managed to put up a fight with their goads, they soon joined the others tumbling to the ground, where they were crunched, screaming, under the huge feet of the huimur.
Astride the necks of the huimur the Plainsmen managed to bring them under control. More men clambered up the frames and began releasing the objects that Carnelian could now see were like huge leather pomegranates. Plainsmen queued up to catch the things. Grinning, a Darkcloud came to offer Carnelian one. It was a bottle of some kind, of leather held in a net of rope. It had a stumpy neck topped with a crown of bony knobs.
‘A belly,’ the man said.
Another had come up. ‘A sac, Master. Enough render in these two,’ the veteran indicated the bottles, ‘to feed you and your aquar for ten days.’
‘Can we tie them on for you, Master?’ asked the other.
When Carnelian nodded, they moved to fasten the sacs to the rear pole of his saddle-chair, one on each side. Turning, Carnelian could see how comfortably the sacs nestled between the flank and upper thigh of his beast. As he made her walk he could feel by her gait that they were heavy, but they did not impede her movement.
When everyone had a pair of sacs, Carnelian was asked what he wanted done with the rest.
‘Destroy them.’
Whooping, they rode among the huimur slashing at the sacs. The vessels ruptured like stomachs, spilling their soupy contents down the frames. Carnelian curled his nose up at the meaty smell as it soaked into the earth. The Plainsmen struck the haunches of the huimur with the flats of their spears and, bleating, the monsters lumbered off into the plain, spraying ferns brown with render as they went. The poor creatures would not survive long. The odour of the render was sure to draw raveners.
Carnelian gazed south, but could see no evidence that Aurum was following them. Still, without this consignment, Aurum’s host would begin to starve. Aurum would have no choice but to follow him north as fast as he could.
Carnelian unhitched one of the sacs from his saddle-chair. He did not like the feeling of the liquid moving under the leather. He crouched to set it down. He had watched the veterans moving among the Plainsmen and Marula explaining how to open them. Its shape reminded him of the funerary urns. The leather swelled up to form lips: two arcs of bone that bit up through the leather in a series of carved knobs. Within the lips the leather formed a puckered mouth. He pierced this with a flint. The gash released a meaty, salty smell. The knife came out moistened. Gingerly he lifted the sac and held it over a hollow he had scooped in the earth and lined with fern fronds. He tipped the sac and poured render out of a corner of its mouth. Lumps of meat spluttered out, falling into the puddle, splashing him with juice. When he judged there was enough for his aquar he let her feed.
He lugged the sac over to the fire Fern had lit. Sitting down with it between his legs, as he saw others doing, he dipped his flint into the opening and, drawing it out, licked some of the render off it. He grimaced at the salt burn. The taste was even worse than the smell. He forced himself to have some more, but could not manage a third scoop.
Looking up, he saw Poppy and Fern watching him. ‘I think I’ll finish the djada first.’
Poppy made a face. ‘I don’t like it either.’
Fern looked down at his sac grimly. ‘We’ll have to eat it eventually.’
Carnelian nodded. ‘But not until we’ve run out of djada.’ The others agreed. Fern demonstrated how twisting some twine from knob to knob across the gash in his sac pulled its lips closed. Carnelian rehitched his sac to his saddle-chair then returned with some djada which he handed out.
As they chewed contentedly Poppy spoke. ‘Where’s Hookfork?’
Carnelian shrugged. ‘I’m sure we’ll see him again in the morning.’
Poppy nodded and resumed her chewing.
Morning brought unease when the lookouts declared they could see no sign of Hookfork. Grumbling, the Plainsmen agreed to follow Carnelian north, though they hung back, their march becoming ragged as men took turns to ride up onto the Backbone to gaze south.
Carnelian’s gaze was fixed in the direction they were riding. He dared not turn his head despite being as anxious as the Plainsmen. He feared that if he did so they might refuse to go further.
A rider came up on his flank. Though the man was shrouded against the dust, Carnelian knew it was Fern and saw the worry in his eyes. ‘You must give them a reason to go on.’
Carnelian had run out of reasons. He shared the Plainsmen’s fear that Aurum had returned south. Before he could vent his irritation Fern said: ‘We’re near the koppie of the Twostone.’
Carnelian looked at Poppy to see if she had heard this mention of her birthplace, but she was slumped in her saddle-chair and seemed asleep. He surveyed the route ahead. For a while now the Backbone had sunk so that only knobs of rock rose up out of the earth. These rocks no longer offered decent vantage points nor any place well enough defended to make a camp. The Twostone koppie would provide both, but then there was the matter of the massacre of that tribe. He leaned close to Fern. ‘What about Poppy… Krow?’
Fern frowned. ‘Because it’s abandoned we’d not be endangering another tribe. The men would be glad to spend a night in a koppie.’
Carnelian worried too about how the Plainsmen might feel towards the Marula once they found themselves at the scene of another of their massacres. He said nothing, however. It was not likely to be something Fern had forgotten. He gave a nod and Fern returned it before swinging his aquar away. He gazed at Poppy, remembering the nightmares she had had about the massacre of her people. What would it do to her, or to Krow, who had seen his tribe left as carrion by Marula? Carnelian looked for the youth. The news spreading down the march was making men gaze north with an eagerness that had been absent for days.
The outer ditch had become a waterhole that held a bright sickle of water. Rain had softened the banks to lips, gouged where saurians had slid down to drink, printed with the huge arrowheads of ravener tracks. Some of the magnolias, gripping the banks, leaned, exposing their roots. Others lay fallen, rotting, bearded with moss.
Glancing at Poppy’s fixed expression, at Krow who rode staring at her side, Carnelian led the Plainsmen on a broad front over the ditch into a ferngarden that was being reclaimed by the plain. Once across, Fern rode ahead down the avenue of cone trees towards the two crag teeth that had given this koppie’s tribe its name.
The second ditch was as ruined as the first, but when they reached the one that encircled the cedar grove they found that its walls were still held sheer by the roots of the cedar trees. The rampart of the further bank still rose crenellated with earther skulls. The avenue brought them to the opening in that rampart which was still barred by the wicker gate studded with horns, at which a huskman had failed in his duty by letting in the Marula who had sheltered in the koppie and slaughtered the Twostone when they returned from their migration.
Dismounting, Poppy and Krow were first across the earthbridge to the gate. She pushed at the wicker and, when it resisted her, Krow put his shoulder to it and forced it ajar. The two stood for a moment gazing through the gap, then entered the grove. Carnelian followed them, warily, peering up a rootstair into the gloom beneath the mother trees. Hunched, he listened to their creaking. His shoulders only relaxed once he became aware he was searching for corpses hanging.
Poppy glanced at Carnelian then past him. He followed her gaze and saw Fern by the gate.
‘Please come in, Fern,’ she said.
Almost against his will Fern looked towards Krow, who was surveying the grove as if he were counting each tree, each stone. Poppy reached out and touched Krow gently. When he turned to her, she indicated Fern. Krow flushed when he saw that Fern was waiting for his permission. He gave a nod and Fern entered.
The four of them climbed the hill. They passed the funeral pyre the Marula had made to burn their dead. Its scar lay between the mother trees they had mutilated for firewood.
When they reached the foot of the twin crags, Carnelian eyed the Ancestor House nestling in the fork where they met. He knew that its walls, its floor, its roof contained the bones of Poppy’s and Krow’s grandmothers and grandfathers. There Oracles had camped, lighting fires upon that sacred floor.
They followed Krow up a stair to the summit of the highest crag. There among the bare funerary trestles they stood to survey the plain. South the Backbone ran away to a scratch. They widened their search east along the southern horizon. Of Aurum and his dragons there was no sign.
Poppy and Krow sat together gazing into the flames. Carnelian watched with concern. Earlier they had crept off, whispering as they pointed things out to each other. When they had returned they had seemed empty of themselves.
Fern was gazing at them with a father’s eyes. Becoming aware he was being watched, he focused on kneading his hands. It salved Carnelian’s misery a little that, perhaps, Fern was halfway to forgiving Krow. He looked at the trunk of the cedar under whose branches they were sitting. He felt affection for Poppy’s mother tree. This hearth, the sleeping hollows, even the water jar nestling between the roots, were very like Akaisha’s. He could not remember the last time he had felt so much at home. His gaze lingered on Osidian lying near the fire, twitching.
The whole hill was clothed with Plainsmen. Poppy had given them leave to camp beneath the mother trees and to light fires wherever they could find space. She had even allowed in the small number of sartlar who had managed to keep up with the march. Only the Marula and the aquar were outside the protection of the inner ditch. He was glad Morunasa had accepted this without argument. Even had Poppy been prepared to allow the Marula into the grove Carnelian was sure Krow and Fern would not countenance it.
Carnelian pondered what the next day might bring. If the morning did not reveal some sign Aurum was still pursuing them they would have to return south. He blanked his inner sight to what they might be returning to. He would not allow himself to consider failure until he had to. Instead he clung to the hope that, in destroying the render, he had made it impossible for Aurum not to follow them.
Carnelian was woken by a tremor in the ground. He jumped up, certain Aurum had come for them. Embers lit the shapes of Plainsmen panicking. The grove seemed an ant nest breached. He tried desperately to pierce the cedar canopy to look down into the ferngardens, anticipating at any moment that the night would be lit by dragonfire.
He became aware Poppy was clinging to him. Fern was there in front of him demanding to know what they should do. At his side, Krow looked stunned. Carnelian found his voice. ‘We need to quell this disorder and find out what’s going on.’
Fern jerked a nod. ‘I’ll see to the men.’
Carnelian grabbed his shoulder. ‘No.’ He prised Poppy loose, knelt and looked into her eyes. ‘You do it, Poppy. This is your koppie; they’ll listen to you.’ When she nodded he rose and looked at Krow. ‘You too.’
As they sped away Carnelian grabbed Fern’s arm and pulled him off towards a rootstair. Fern broke free. ‘What about the Master?’
Carnelian glanced back to Osidian, lying like a corpse in the glow of their hearth. ‘Leave him.’
When they reached the rootstair Carnelian stumbled up it, pushing his way through the Plainsmen coming down. He was only distantly aware of Fern barking orders. He was focused on trying to devise a plan that might salvage something. What could they do if dragons were coming across the ferngardens?
As he reached the crag, Fern said: ‘Why Poppy?’
Carnelian answered him without turning. ‘She’ll shame them.’
It took them a while to find the steps they had climbed earlier. Carnelian scaled them on all fours so as not to fall. Reaching the top he almost tripped over one of the funerary trestles. Then he was standing on the edge surveying the night. At first he was tormented by a certainty he could see shapes creeping towards them across the ferngardens. Gradually he convinced himself he was imagining it. Then he noticed a flickering circle to the north. Campfires. It was puzzling. ‘It’s too small to be a camp.’
‘There’s another there,’ said Fern.
Carnelian saw another circle to the south. Neither was large enough to be a dragon encampment. He walked along the edge gazing out. When he had made a complete circuit, he turned to Fern. ‘Earlier, when you woke, you felt it too?’
‘Dragons… perhaps earthers, though I’ve never known a herd move in darkness.’
‘Raveners?’ Carnelian tensed. ‘The Marula!’
‘The Plainsmen are safe within the ditch,’ Fern said, coldly; but then added: ‘If there was a ravener among the Marula, we would’ve heard their screams.’
Carnelian nodded and returned his attention to the fernland. ‘He must be out there somewhere.’
Fern walked to the edge and gazed down. The din from the Plainsman panic was ringing out into the night. ‘Perhaps he’s waiting for the dawn. You said yourself he wants the Master alive. He’d not risk a night attack.’
Carnelian became lost in pondering what they should do. It would be foolish to assume Aurum had learned nothing from his previous attempt at encirclement. The handover was now being forced on them. Were they far enough north to be certain Aurum would choose to immediately quit the Earthsky with his prize? What about the Plainsmen? Would Aurum let them go?
‘Why did you want me up here? I’d be more use down there.’
Carnelian had a notion. Perhaps he could negotiate with Aurum. If he went in person the auxiliaries would have no choice but to take him to their master. He suppressed sympathy for those men who, for setting eyes on him, would suffer death. Perhaps he might be able to convince Aurum that he had come to betray Osidian. Betrayal was something Aurum might believe. Besides, it was not so far from the truth. Could Carnelian persuade Aurum to let the Plainsmen go by saying it was more likely he would get Osidian alive? It was a narrow hope. Then there was the problem of the Marula. The warriors might let Osidian go; Morunasa would not.
‘I’ll go down then,’ Fern said, his voice tinged with anger.
Carnelian rose, apologizing. It was instinct that had made him bring Fern. He now knew why. ‘Fern, the only hope we have to save the Plainsmen is through you.’
Fern gave a snort. ‘How?’
Carnelian explained his plan. ‘They’ll follow you out of the trap. I don’t know if Hookfork will let them go, but you’ll have a chance to break out. I might even be able to send you a signal.’
Fern’s head dropped. Carnelian waited, knowing he was talking about them separating for ever. Fern looked up again. ‘And Poppy?’
‘Take her with you. I’ll slip away… not say goodbye… She wouldn’t go with you if I said goodbye.’ Carnelian was surprised he was feeling nothing.
‘And the Marula?’
‘Leave them to me.’
At that moment they heard a scrabbling from the steps and a figure appeared. It was Morunasa. Carnelian’s first feeling was outrage that the man had chosen to defy the ban set on him and his people from entering the grove. His next feeling was anxiety: how much had Morunasa heard? With relief, he realized that he and Fern had been talking in Ochre. Fern was regarding Morunasa with anger, but, since he chose to say nothing, Carnelian decided that, in the circumstances, it was best to let Morunasa’s defiance pass.
Morunasa was surveying the night. ‘Are we surrounded?’
‘I imagine we are,’ Carnelian said. He gazed eastwards. ‘Dawn’s not near yet. We’ve time to prepare a breakout. Go ready your men.’
‘And you?’ Fern asked.
‘I’ll remain here a while alone.’
Carnelian watched them leave before returning to sit upon the rock, where he fell prey to his doubts, his failures and the contemplation of unavoidable loss.
On the summit of the crag, sitting among funerary trestles, Carnelian saw the brightening east. He rose but, however much he strained his tired eyes, he could see nothing of his enemy.
As he waited for dawn others came up, Fern and Morunasa among them. They joined him anxiously watching the creep of light across the land.
‘There,’ cried one.
All eyes followed his finger south to an encampment of men and aquar. Carnelian scanned the land in an arc. The other encampment was there to the north; but of Aurum and his dragons nothing.
As the Plainsmen began arguing among themselves Carnelian turned desperately to Fern. ‘Can you see them?’
Fern shook his head. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question, but Carnelian had no answer for him. He had no idea whatever where Aurum might be. He regarded the two encampments, noting they were equidistant from the koppie. Such a precise deployment had the flavour of a trap. He searched again for the dragons, this time more carefully, seeking out rocks or any fold in the ground where Aurum might be concealed. He gave up, exasperated. A dragon would be hard to hide anywhere, never mind a legion of them and on this plain. He considered that Aurum might have sent his auxiliaries forward to hold them until he arrived. But then what was it that had passed them in the night if not dragons? A saurian herd?
Carnelian gazed north then south. Estimating how far the auxiliaries were from the koppie brought understanding. Their deployment was actually an encirclement. There was no direction in which he and the Plainsmen and Marula could ride out that could avoid them being caught between the two forces of auxiliaries.
One of the Plainsmen confronted him. ‘We leave now.’
His fellows echoed him with much nodding. ‘Nothing you can say, Master, will change our minds. We’re going home.’
When Carnelian turned away, Fern stepped in to argue with them. Carnelian lost awareness of them as he pondered the position of the auxiliaries and the ground that lay between them. East, a lagoon was beginning to burn in the dawn. A breeze seemed to flow from it that was caressing his face with the earth’s musk. As he breathed it, an idea began growing in his mind. He let it blossom. He controlled his excitement as he checked it through. Only then did he turn back to the Plainsmen. The look on his face made them fall silent. ‘If you go south you’ll be caught between them like this.’ Clapping his hands made them blink. He silenced their protests with a gesture. ‘If you ride east there may be a way to confound them.’
If there was doubt in their faces, there was also a wary hope. As Carnelian explained how they could use the Earthsky against the invaders, the Plainsmen began frowning. They looked at each other for support, but none voiced opposition. Fern was looking at him, then he glanced at Morunasa. Carnelian had not forgotten the problem of the Marula. However much Plainsman blood was on their hands, the fate he had in mind for them saddened him. Morunasa had good reason to look uneasy but, for now, he would have no choice other than to go along with the Plainsmen.
As they slaughtered enough aquar Carnelian took Poppy aside to say goodbye to her. He expected tears when he told her that the time for their parting had come, but she gazed at him steadily, saying nothing. So much loss and horror had perhaps made her woman enough to accept the inevitable. When he told her she would be returning south with Fern she gave a slight nod. He felt too numb to kiss her. He was thankful that neither of them cried. Tears might thaw their hearts to grief.
Together they returned to watch the Plainsmen tearing strips from their robes then steeping these in aquar blood. What the Plainsmen did not catch pumping from the creatures’ severed throats soaked dark into the earth.
Osidian’s back arched as he convulsed, eyes rolling back into his head. Fern gave Carnelian a look he understood. There was something in Osidian’s condition that recalled the time they had carried him across the swamp. Carnelian sensed that Fern was seeing an omen in this. He dismissed doubt and crouched to slip his arms under Osidian’s back. As Fern took his feet Morunasa appeared. He looked down at Osidian.
‘They are eating their way out of him,’ he said, pointing.
Carnelian saw with disgust a shape like a finger moving under the skin of Osidian’s neck.
‘It is always the moment of greatest pain… and of the deepest communion with our Lord.’
Carnelian made no attempt to keep from his face his contempt for Morunasa’s god. He gave Fern a nod and together they lifted Osidian and carried him to the waiting saddle-chair. When they had settled him in they stepped back and looked at each other. Carnelian searched Fern’s face for feeling and saw only confusion. In a short time they would part for ever, but they had lost the ability to talk, never mind touch. He turned away. Besides, neither wished to make a display of their emotions before Morunasa.
The Plainsmen swarmed across the whole arc of the outer ditch from north to south. Hoping to conceal his intentions from the auxiliaries Carnelian had first marshalled them in the inner ferngardens. Once everyone was mounted they had begun to leap the second ditch and fan out over the outer gardens towards the final ditch.
Carnelian glanced over at Osidian convulsing in his saddle-chair. He had made sure to put himself between Osidian and Morunasa. Around them were ranged the Oracles. Marula formed a wall of beaded, gleaming flesh on either side.
As he saw the last Plainsmen scramble up out of the ditch, Carnelian urged his aquar forward and the Marula lurched into movement. The feet of their aquar drummed a rumble into the earth. He held onto his chair as his aquar stumbled down into the ditch. As she scrambled up the other side, he kept an anxious eye on Osidian being shaken around as if he were a full waterskin. Then they were striding over the plain. Turning, he saw the Marula emerging up between the magnolias. He rocked his feet on his aquar’s back and she picked up speed. He was relieved to see Osidian’s beast keeping pace with his. Ahead, black against the incandescent blade of the lagoon, the Plainsman line was thinning as it widened to shield the body of Marula in its crescent. Fern was there at its centre with Poppy and Krow. Carnelian glanced to his right. Morunasa showed no sign he suspected anything. His yellow eyes trained north then south to where the auxiliaries were moving towards them. Judging their speed, Carnelian gave a grunt of satisfaction. The auxiliaries were not racing to intercept them, but seemed content merely to match their pace. So far so good.
As shadows shortened, Carnelian had watched the two lines of pursuing auxiliaries join. North and south their new line now stretched to match that of the Plainsmen, whose wavefront was separating and reforming around what appeared to be rocks but Carnelian knew to be raveners lazing in the heat. Soon he and the Marula were moving through this region. He too eyed the striped dark mounds nervously. Fear rippled through their ranks whenever one of the monsters stirred. Carnelian breathed more freely when he and the Marula reached the relative safety of the clear ground between the raveners and the earther herds. He watched the wall of Plainsmen encouraging the earthers to lumber off towards the lagoon. It was their experience with herding the creatures that he had used to justify to Morunasa why the Marula must ride behind the Plainsmen. An earther stampede now could wreck his dispositions.
Satisfied that events were proceeding as he had hoped, Carnelian led Morunasa, his Oracles and Osidian back through the ranks of the Marula warriors until there was nothing but open fernland between him and the auxiliaries. He watched their line being disrupted by aquar shying away from raveners. He chewed his lip. He needed the auxiliaries safely on this side of the raveners. Glancing round, he saw Fern had brought the Plainsmen to a halt. Their line now stretched so far that, at either end, the heat made its thread waver away to nothing.
Carnelian resumed watching the auxiliaries approach. Their commanders probably believed they had their quarry trapped against the lagoon. His heart became a war drum as he watched their line smooth. The raveners were now behind them. He made sure everyone was in place. Death was in his hands as he raised them to comb the breeze flowing over him towards the auxiliaries. Behind him there was a flutter like flamingos taking to flight. Glancing round, he saw the Plainsmen holding aloft red pennants, scarlet and russet banners, all tainting the wind with the iron smell of blood.
The auxiliaries were now close enough for their brass collars to stitch a glint along their line. As time stretched, Carnelian began to fear his plan was failing. Suddenly a section of their line buckled as something forced some riders forwards. Then another eruption at a different part of the line. Two more. Squinting, he saw the dark shapes looming up behind each focus of disturbance. Thinned by the distance, he could hear the screaming of men and aquar. Military order dissolved as more and more raveners, woken by the odour of blood in the air, came in to feed. Raggedly, the auxiliary line fled towards him. He looked round the back of his saddle-chair. The Plainsmen seemed ready to leave. He tried to pierce their ranks to see Fern and Poppy one last time. Of course it was hopeless. The Marula were gaping at the oncoming auxiliaries. Carnelian was getting ready to charge when he noticed Osidian’s eyes were open, staring. He hardly had time to register this before Osidian’s aquar lunged forward. Cries erupted around him. He glimpsed Morunasa’s face, frozen in a silent scream as the whole mass of the Marula began sliding forward. Carnelian sent his aquar after Osidian, riding the thunder of the Marula charge.
Osidian struck the auxiliaries like a thunderbolt. Two aquar were flung on their backs. One staggered to her feet with a shattered mess of flesh and wood on her back. Carnelian noticed too late he had not unsheathed his spear. An auxiliary was bearing down on him, bulging eyes in a face marbled with dirt, teeth bared. Carnelian reached to deflect the bronze spearhead slicing towards him. Felt the burn of the shaft rasp his wrist. Then it jammed into the wicker back of his chair. His aquar, turning, snapped the spear, flaring splinters in Carnelian’s face. He caught the broken haft and yanked. The auxiliary snarled as his arms pulled taut, trying to keep hold. Carnelian forced the spear butt back into the man’s belly, grinding it in until the blood came.
Nearby, Osidian’s white Master’s face was instilling terror in the auxiliaries as he slid through them gouging, impaling, disembowelling. Carnelian tore his uba from his face. It seemed unfair to unleash such a weapon, but it was necessary he be taken alive. Auxiliaries cringed away from him, shielding their eyes as if blinded by his skin. He pushed his aquar through a space roofed with splintering spears. Snarling, the Marula were breaking them with their hands or lunging at the auxiliaries with their blades. Carnelian watched flesh slice open. Blood drizzled warm onto his forearms, then his face. He reached Osidian easily. The terror of their faces made them invulnerable.
Battlecries, then a shuddering crash as a front of riders struck. Grimly, he turned. Now, enveloped by the auxiliary wings, the Marula would be slain. He sensed the auxiliaries faltering, then gaped in disbelief. It was Plainsmen who had charged into the fight. This was not supposed to happen. Scanning their fury, his eyes snagged on Fern’s face. He looked deranged, shouting something, pointing. Carnelian searched in that direction. It was Poppy in the midst of the auxiliaries. He dug his toes so hard into his aquar’s back it bucked, but then leapt forward. Unhitching a mattock he swung it, bludgeoning a bloody path, his gaze fixed on Poppy in the very throat of carnage. She saw him coming and cried out. He veered his aquar as he closed on her so that their saddle-chairs slid side by side. He reached over and pulled her onto his lap. As he did so, something stung his arm. He cleared a space around them with his Master’s face.
‘Krow,’ she cried and Carnelian saw the youth had been there protecting her.
‘Take her to safety,’ cried Krow.
Carnelian longed to help the Plainsmen, but he could feel Poppy warm against his chest. He gave Krow a nod. Behind him the Plainsmen were pressing forward four ranks deep. He groaned, knowing there was only one way out, and urged his aquar into the auxiliaries.
Using their terror of his face to open a path, Carnelian rode with Poppy through the auxiliaries, as untouched as if they had been lepers, but, as they came through into open ground, the aquar suddenly reared up, blinding them with her eye-plumes. He leaned forward and saw a ravener not far away with an aquar in the talons of one foot at which it was tearing. Poppy slipped her feet to the aquar’s back, stroked her, soothed her and coaxed her past the monster. More raveners were being drawn by the odour of blood that even Carnelian could now smell wafting on the wind. As he watched the monsters lope towards the heaving wall of the battle, he was desperate to return, to share Fern’s fate, Krow’s and that of the other Plainsmen. First he had to carry Poppy to safety. That meant taking her back to the koppie.
Soon they were coursing through the ferns having left the raveners behind. As they rode Carnelian grew calm enough to be able to talk. ‘Why did Fern lead them in?’
Her head gave a tiny shake against his chest. There was something in the smallness of that movement that made him probe further. He felt her hand upon his arm. Looking up at him she focused on first one of his eyes then the other.
‘It might have been my fault, Carnie.’
He must have looked confused for she added: ‘When I saw you riding away, I decided that, after all, I would prefer to go with you to the Mountain.’
Some figures were waiting for them on the half-collapsed earthbridge that led into the koppie. Carnelian was surprised to see they were sartlar. As he swept up they fell prostrate on the earth. He made his aquar kneel. Poppy climbed out, then he followed her. As he stood over the sartlar one glanced up. He knew the face. ‘Kor?’
The sartlar abased herself. He wondered at her being there, but was relieved. ‘Get up.’
The hag rose painfully to stand, head bowed.
‘I’m going to leave this girl in your care.’
The sartlar looked up at him. ‘Yes, Master.’
The skin of her branded forehead almost made her eyes disappear as she frowned. She was looking at his wrist. He raised it and saw the wound there. It was just a graze. Quick as a snake she reached out and touched him. The graze stung. He raised his hand to strike her, but she cowered back to her knees. Her fear of him made him ashamed of his anger. She raised her face through her lank hair. She had her finger in her mouth. She withdrew it. She indicated his graze. ‘Blood.’
Her face had resumed its passive mask. What was she after? The scar around his neck itched. He recalled another sartlar woman, on the road when he had been a slave. He ran his fingers over his scar and remembered the soothing salve she had put on it. Kor was wiping her finger on her rags. Carnelian was anxious to get back to the battle, but he became worried, imagining what might happen to Poppy if they should be defeated. He dismissed this fear. There was nothing else he could do.
Poppy tugged his hand. He could see in her face that she knew where he was going. He bent to kiss her.
‘Come back,’ she said.
He nodded, told Kor that she and the sartlar must protect Poppy with their lives then, mounting, rode back towards the battle.
He slowed his aquar when he saw riders approaching. Among the indigo of the Oracles, Osidian’s pale face seemed made of bone. Beyond them raveners prowled the battlefield. Carnelian felt sick. There was no sign of living Plainsmen nor Marula warriors. He could not believe them all perished. He would not. He waited as calmly as he could for Osidian to reach him.
The Master’s legs, arms and face were streaked with gore. His eyes burned. ‘Be joyous, Carnelian, we are victorious.’
Osidian was shivering. Carnelian could not tell if the agony he was suffering was from a wound or from the maggots. ‘The Plainsmen and the Marula?’
Osidian closed his eyes and sank back into his chair. Beside him, Morunasa fixed Carnelian with a baleful look. ‘They hunt what remains of the auxiliaries.’
‘And you don’t?’
Morunasa indicated Osidian. ‘The Kissed will soon give birth to the servants of our Lord.’
Carnelian saw with unease the reverence with which the Oracles were regarding Osidian. As Morunasa led them past him, Carnelian searched the horizon, then turned his aquar to follow them back to the koppie. His plan lay in ruins. He dared not consider how many men might have been slain. He no longer knew what was happening.
Carnelian stood guard on the gate waiting for Fern and Krow, counting the survivors. All day they came in, Plainsmen and Marula, exhausted and bloody, but with the stiff backs and raised chins of victors. He asked the Plainsmen for news of Fern. Many told him that, when they had last seen him, he had been dealing death to the auxiliaries.
Carnelian was sitting, morose, when another group came in. He rose and saw with joy that Fern was among them. He ran forward to greet him, but was warned off by the look in his eyes.
‘Many good men fell today.’
Carnelian nodded. ‘But most have survived.’
‘And Poppy?’ The speaker was so begrimed with blood that Carnelian did not at first realize it was Krow.
‘Safe and unhurt.’
‘And the Master?’ asked Fern.
‘He returned with Morunasa.’
‘What now?’
‘I don’t know.’
Scowling, Fern dismounted and, leaving his aquar in Krow’s care, he strode into the grove. Carnelian and the youth exchanged glances, then Carnelian followed Fern.
Ravener screeches carried through the night as the monsters feasted on the wounded and the dead. The Plainsmen cowered, sick with shame that they had abandoned their brethren to such a fate. Poppy whispered to Carnelian that it reminded her of the sounds coming from the Isle of Flies.
Morunasa and the Oracles clustered around Osidian as he groaned, like crows around a corpse. Nauseated, Carnelian watched them minister to Osidian like midwives. When the moon had set, pale maggots as thick as thumbs began wriggling out from the sticky mouths of his wounds. The Oracles cherished them as if they were babies.