‘It’s me, Lily.’
Her hands fumbled at him, pushing him away. She sat up, staring around her, confused. There was a lack of comprehension in her eyes as she gazed upon the blacks and scarlets of the Ichorians interleaved with the greys of her people patterning the earth as far as she could see.
A vibration was approaching like a downpour. Lifting his head, Carnelian saw a wall of dust sweeping towards them. He offered her his hand. She took it. Carefully he pulled her up. He watched with concern as she stood, shakily, then together they turned to meet the riders.
The wall of dust began collapsing as it scudded thinning away into the north-east. A mass of riders were revealed scraping to a halt. A few of them were still coming on. When they reached the edge of the fallen they dismounted. Carnelian recognized Fern by his height and gait. He looked for and found, with relief, Krow at his side. As Fern drew closer Carnelian began to notice how dark his hands were, how stained his sleeves. Brown swathes across his chest and his right shoulder. Across his face. Dried blood – though, by the way he moved, not his own. His eyes seemed over-bright in his blood-crusted face as he took in the scale of the carnage. At last his gaze fell on Lily. ‘Are you hurt?’
She did not answer, still blind with shock. Krow had thrown back his cowl. His shrouds too were bloodstained, but only as if he had been too close when Fern had dived into a lake of blood. The rest of their companions were the same; all were staring around them at the dead. Carnelian gazed at Fern. ‘You’ve defeated the Bloodguard?’
Fern refused to look at him. Krow, gazing at him, had pity in his face, but also anger. ‘We drove them onto the road and there, against its wall, we butchered them.’
The skin around the youth’s eyes twitched as if he were seeing it again. Carnelian considered Fern’s averted gaze, wondering what it was Krow was not saying; then Fern glanced up at him and Carnelian knew how it had been. Fern’s shame connected with his own. He understood Krow’s expression. What had just happened was bound up with the massacre of the Ochre. Carnelian knew that Fern had reason to hate the Bloodguard. One of them had killed his father. It was that death and the woundings suffered that day on the road that had led to Carnelian and Osidian being taken into the Earthsky and, ultimately, to the massacre of the Ochre. Still, what a lone Ichorian had done back then could not justify such merciless destruction of his fellows; Carnelian knew in his heart that the rage Fern had unleashed on them should have fallen on Osidian, perhaps even upon himself. And now Fern recognized that he had acted like Osidian: unable to take revenge on those he truly hated, he had vented his fury on those within reach. Almost Carnelian said: But it’s different; Osidian acted in cold blood. He held his tongue. Even if he had wanted to condone massacre, Fern was in no way prepared to hear it condoned. He sought in vain for a way to offer comfort. Finally, it was his heart that spoke. ‘Fern, among this mess many are still alive. Get your men to come and search with us for those we can take back to camp. As for the dying, we can at least release them from suffering.’
Fern and Carnelian connected, wordlessly, but in a way that threatened to overwhelm them with pain. The Plainsman turned and strode back towards his men. Krow jerked Carnelian a nod and a pale smile, then followed him.
Smoke from the burning Marula dead drifted above the camp, smearing out the stars. Their casualties had been relatively light, but Carnelian, sitting at Lily’s side unmasked, was concerned Sthax’s body might be in that pyre. Morunasa had survived; Carnelian had seen him moving among his people.
Consternation among Aurum’s auxiliaries was now spreading to the Lepers. Carnelian glanced round, wearily. What he saw caused him to jump up and cover his face with his mask. Darkness was rolling towards them from the west. His heart pounded as he waited. Vast black shapes were looming up out of the night. If these were dragons the whole camp lay defenceless before them. As the campfire light found horns and bellies, their towers too became clearer. Carnelian counted their tiers, then released a sigh.
‘They’re ours,’ said Krow.
Carnelian announced he must go and talk to the Master and would be back when he could, gave Lily one last look of concern, then made for the watch-tower.
When the two Masters walked out onto Heart-of-Thunder’s brassman, Carnelian’s immediate impression was that the one holding a staff must be Osidian. The weakness evident in the other’s gait seemed more characteristic of Aurum, but as he watched them climb to the leftway, he realized the stronger of the two was Aurum.
Slightly hunched, Osidian raised his mask to Carnelian. ‘You left your legion leaderless, my Lord.’
‘Was I needed for what remained? I assumed you could handle the pursuit without my help. Is Jaspar dead?’
It was Aurum who answered. ‘Whether he is or not makes no difference. Even if he has survived, the stump that is all he has left of the Ichorian poses little threat to us.’
Carnelian regarded the old Lord. Though he still walked with his staff, he no longer leaned on it. He seemed taller and much more like the man who had come to the island. Even his voice had regained its brazen resonance.
Osidian’s hand flew up, shaping a ragged sign: Silence! ‘You left your appointed place, my Lord.’
Carnelian was in no mood to apologize for anything. ‘I sought to do what could be done for our left wing that you caused to be trampled and incinerated by the fleeing huimur.’
‘The destruction of our enemy was my prime concern,’ Osidian said, icily.
‘As it was mine; however, I still managed to direct the flight away from my wing.’ He extended his hand, inviting Osidian to gaze over the camp. It was clear just how many fewer campfires there were than there had been before the battle. It would have been still fewer had he not brought back the wounded. His heart lingered on how the life seemed to have gone out of Lily and sadness quenched his anger. He turned to Osidian. ‘Was all this carnage worthwhile?’
‘With Imago’s failure, my mother will fall. The Great who supported her in this perilous adventure will be discredited. The Wise, already weakened, will be only too aware of what damage we could do to them should we reveal the part they played in this. This defeat is as much theirs as it is my mother’s. The Powers have no choice but to negotiate with me. Even were they not in disarray, they cannot be unaware of how exposed they are to my threat.’
‘You intend, then, that we shall march upon Osrakum?’
Osidian sketched a vague gesture. ‘I do not believe it will come to that. Once they learn of my victory, they will be able to read the board as well as I.’
Carnelian pondered this. ‘How do you intend to communicate the news to them?’
For answer Osidian raised his arm, slowly. ‘I shall send them this and its brothers.’
Hanging from his trembling fingers, a thick band of metal caught the light. It seemed a bracelet, but if so, for an arm of a girth greater even than a Master’s. A waft of iron coming off it made Carnelian look closer. Surely it was gold? He noticed the rings threaded onto its curve. Sliders. A legionary collar, then, with three broken, zero rings.
Aurum’s mask glinted in his cowl. ‘It belonged to a huimur commander. Our commanders will bring us the rest. The Lesser Chosen have little love for the Ichorians.’