‘Take her into the west,’ Carnelian said. ‘Order the rest of the cohort to follow.’
The man gave a nod and began issuing instructions into his voice fork. The cabin lurched as Earth-is-Strong’s head came free. The capstan brought her head under control. The tower tilted right then left as she began to move forward. Soon it levelled as Earth-is-Strong found her pace. Through the bone screen Carnelian could see other dragons following as he had commanded. He gave his Lefthand further instructions and, as these were relayed down below, they began veering south-west. When messages arrived that convinced him he had reached the leftmost position in Osidian’s line he had his dragon turn due west.
Sartlar scurried among the hri-spikes like ants fleeing a flood. In his command chair Carnelian was elated by the rushing speed, by the majesty of the dragon line half-masked by dust. The sartlar in flight had, at first, evoked dark memories of the time he and Osidian had been slaves among them. Remembering Kor he had felt pity, but the subtle way in which he and Osidian, though so far apart, could manage to control the horizon-spanning line of dragons was intoxicating.
Something flickering in the corner of his eye made Carnelian turn to see a flashing from the furthest end of the line. His Lefthand frowned, hearing the signal decoded in the earpiece in his helmet.
‘Sickle,’ he said and looked up for confirmation from Carnelian.
At his nod, the legionary grunted a command into his voice fork. The swaying motion of the tower smoothed further as they picked up even more speed. Earth-is-Strong began to outdistance the other dragons in their cohort. Glancing round, Carnelian saw those in the centre had slowed, hanging back so that the whole line was becoming a crescent with its horns thrust forward. He craned to peer ahead into the murk that hid his dragon’s lumbering gait. Down on the plain the sartlar were tiring; the dragons in the horns of the crescent were overtaking them.
Another flash came down the line from Osidian. An order to close the trap. At Carnelian’s command Earth-is-Strong began veering to starboard, pulling the left half of the line round with her. For a while he watched his dragons curving in towards the sartlar. Then he saw another tide of dust coming straight towards them. Heart-of-Thunder emerged from it, horns spread like wings, tower gleaming, leading the other arm of their envelopment to close with his. The sartlar slowed to a stumble, began milling, as the encirclement grew ever tighter. More flashing that his Lefthand received through his helmet. The legionary turned to Carnelian. ‘Light the furnaces.’
Carnelian regarded the man, a look of horror hidden behind his mask. Osidian was intending to unleash fire upon the sartlar.
‘Master?’
Carnelian shook his head. Heart-of-Thunder and Earth-is-Strong had swung round to move in parallel as they closed upon the sartlar. He lunged forward to grab his Lefthand’s shoulder. ‘Send a signal along the line in both directions: desist!’
The man looked at him, his face stiffening with panic.
‘Send it,’ Carnelian roared.
The man’s mouth approached his voice fork, muttered the commands. Carnelian peered out of the port screen, straining to make out Osidian’s tower in the eddying dust-clouds. He waited for some response. Then he noticed smoke beginning to wisp from Osidian’s chimneys. To starboard, more was hazing up from every tower within eyeshot. The ring of dragons tightened, training the spikes of its flame-pipes on the sartlar mass, which was darkening as they huddled closer. Without taking his eyes off them, Carnelian leaned to his Lefthand. ‘No signal?’
‘None, Master,’ the man replied, his voice breaking.
Black smoke was pumping up all around the ring. Carnelian felt numb. Already it was too late. Nauseated, he gazed down upon the cowering, waiting sartlar. A command flickered round the ring. A sound like coughing issued from Heart-of-Thunder’s flame-pipes. Then a whining that rose to a screaming. The sunlight made the fire arcs invisible until they hit the sartlar. Smoke erupted in their midst. Fire was there, incandescent in the darkness overwhelming them. More pipes were screaming. The blackness oozed out, feathering skywards. At its heart, man-shaped flames cavorted as they burned.
Leaden with horror, choking on a rage he did not want to vent on those around him, Carnelian sat frozen as they moved away from the pyre. All the rest of that day he remained thus, speaking only to give his Lefthand the minimum instructions to keep their place in the line as Osidian took them ever further westwards. A voice spoke within him that he could not shut out. It accused him of once again having become Osidian’s fool. That it was only sartlar who had been destroyed did not make him feel better. The only thin comfort came from his father’s voice, speaking quietly within him, telling him he must play the long game.
The sun was low when they spiralled the dragons into another laager. Carnelian descended from his tower feeling brittle but determined. As legionaries erected pavilions, he stood aloof, watching the dragons being fed. He noticed Osidian talking to Morunasa. His gold face remained serene as Morunasa’s folded into a frown. The Oracle glanced over to his fellows then, turning back, he gave a nod. Carnelian was curious, but had other priorities. Osidian was heading towards the pavilion that had been set up at the centre of the camp. Carnelian followed, told their Hands to remain outside, then entered.
A shape in the gloom greeted him. He was in no mood for pleasantries. Unmasking, he waited until Osidian did the same. ‘Why was it necessary, my Lord, to torch the sartlar?’
Osidian frowned. ‘I would have thought that obvious enough.’
‘The flame-pipes could have been tested as effectively on empty ground.’
Osidian’s frown deepened. ‘It was more the commanders’ willingness to obey me that I wished to test.’
Carnelian stared. ‘You really believe their willingness to cremate sartlar proves they would make war upon the forces of the Commonwealth?’
Osidian’s face hardened.
‘Was this test worth betraying our position to the Wise? At least one of their watch-towers must have seen the smoke.’
Carnelian was undaunted by Osidian’s glare.
‘Examine your heart, Osidian. Look there for your hidden purpose. Are you sure you were not merely seeking to burn yourself clean of the taint of slavery?’
Osidian’s eyes flashed. ‘How dare-’
‘Have you forgotten I shared it? No amount of killing will ever remove the humiliation. Your failure to deal with how you feel endangers the very goals you claim you seek.’
The contempt Carnelian felt for Osidian’s self-deception made it easy to withstand the wrath burning in his eyes. Still, when Osidian disengaged, Carnelian was left feeling sick to his stomach. The nausea warred with an unfamiliar triumph. As their Hands were called in and began undoing their suits, Carnelian wrestled with his emotions. Triumph was the one he distrusted: it was altogether too Masterly. Still, he must seek victory wherever it might be found.
‘I leave tomorrow,’ Osidian said, suddenly.
Carnelian looked up. ‘Leave?’
Osidian’s eyes were focused on some inner vision. ‘I need to know what our enemies are up to. I need to gaze upon Makar.’
Carnelian felt uneasy. ‘But you might be seen, perhaps captured.’
Osidian shook his head, slowly, still lost in his vision. ‘I shall travel with but one companion, humbly, upon the road.’
‘Morunasa?’
Osidian nodded. ‘With him at my side, my height will not mark me as more than just another Marula.’