‘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.