sank to the ground. He bowed his head as he mustered the endurance to climb out.
'Fern sent me to help,' a voice said in a thick Vulgate. Carnelian lifted his head and saw it was a youth he did not know.
'I'm…' The youth hesitated, then smiled. 'Krow, from Father Cloud's tribe.'
In the uncertainty of that smile Carnelian could see the fears that had been haunting everyone for days. He let the youth take his weight and slowly they managed to get him standing. Carnelian lent back against the saddle-chair fearing he might faint.
'She's a good one,' said Krow.
Carnelian looked at him not understanding.
'This aquar…' said the youth, patting the creature's neck.
'Yes,' said Carnelian.
'I could try and adjust her chair for you, if you'd like.'
'You're kind but I'll not have much further need of it.' He indicated the flickering sky.
When Krow turned to look, Carnelian saw fear peeping through.
'You've never seen it before?'
The youth turned to look at him, then shook his head. 'Neither have I,' Carnelian admitted. Krow looked incredulous. 'No, really.'
They waited for the sky to light up again and then watched it until Carnelian noticed Fern approaching. He looked so morose Carnelian felt compelled to say something. Pointing he called out: 'No doubt you've seen dragonfire often before.'
As Fern blushed, Carnelian remembered his legionary collar had no sliders and he regretted his clumsiness.
Fern locked eyes with him. 'We're going to have to remove the bitumen from your skins. Krow here will help.'
'And Ravan?'
Fern sent Krow away to fetch some water. 'My brother and his father are very close.'
'He blames me,' said Carnelian, sadly. 'Does that surprise you?'
Carnelian held Fern's gaze. 'I can't regret that you saved our lives but I do regret at what cost.'
Fern looked down at his hands. 'Do you need help walking?'
'I'll manage, thank you.' They moved off, Carnelian enduring the awkwardness of each step.
'How far away are the dragons?' he asked to distract himself from the prospect that he was soon going to look upon Osidian.
'We'll meet the line tomorrow. That's why we've got to wash you now.'
'Of course.'
As they had reached the drag-cradles, Osidian's bitumen-mottled face came into view all glazed with sweat. Carnelian helped Fern undo the bands. Though a faded black, the blanket covering Osidian was woven with blue patterns that reminded Carnelian uncannily of those Ebeny had woven. He stared at it for a moment, remembering her. It strengthened his belief she had come originally from the same stock as the raiders. He reached out to touch the blanket but it was too damp for him to be able to tell if it had the same texture as Ebeny's. What he did feel were the tremors coursing through the body beneath.
'Fever,' said Fern.
'Yes,' said Carnelian.
'Soon you'll both be free.'
Carnelian glanced at Osidian's face.
'You don't seem overjoyed,' said Fern.
Carnelian looked up. 'He'll die.'
'You can't know that.' Fern frowned as he saw the certainty in Carnelian's face. 'How did you come to be among sartlar?'
That's too long a tale for now,' said Carnelian. He busied himself peeling the blankets from Osidian's body. The rags the slavers had put on him could not conceal the shivering in his limbs and chest.
Fern put his hand on Carnelian's arm. 'At least tell me why you gave up your drag-cradle for my father?'
Carnelian looked into the barbarian's dark eyes. 'I remembered my own father who once was wounded and near to death.'
'Compassion?' Fern said with such disbelief that it made Carnelian ashamed to be a Master.
They crouched on either side of the drag-cradle. It was Krow appearing with a leather bowl that rescued Carnelian's composure. The bowl regained its shape as the youth put it down and Carnelian saw it was filled with brackish water. They removed Osidian's rags and all three began to wash him.
Carnelian could not help but contrast this with the time he had cleaned him in the Yden. To do for him what only slaves did had been a proof of love. Carnelian tried to hide his tears by leaning over Osidian, rubbing at the brown-edged bitumen patching his face.
'He's so bright,' said Krow in wonder.
'Angelic beauty,' breathed Fern.
Carnelian wiped his eyes and muttered, 'You've not seen the green fire of his eyes.'
'Can they differ much from yours?' Fern asked.
Uncomfortable, Carnelian busied himself with cleaning one of Osidian's stained eyepits. He could not help feeling he was preparing him for the tomb. Carnelian imagined Osidian and himself naked, gleaming bait for the dragons. Of course they would be taken back to Osrakum. No doubt the Wise would come themselves to the Three Gates to oversee a special purification before they should be let in. They would bleed Osidian; embalm him with myrrh. Carnelian leaned to kiss the cold stone lips. He could not bear that the Chosen should see him thus. Osidian's pride would have baulked at appearing so dishonoured; a piece of meat. Carnelian grew angry wishing to keep him from their eyes, their sneers. What delight they would take in witnessing one who had been almost the Gods, brought so low. Come what may, Carnelian determined he would find a way to bury Osidian in the Guarded Land's red earth where they would never find him.
Slowly, carefully, he straightened his back. He watched Fern rubbing away at Osidian's birthmark and he put his hand on his arm.
'He was born with that.'
The barbarian looked at Osidian with a strange intensity of which Carnelian was hardly aware. His life was a bitter taste in his mouth. Could he deny Osidian the second waking of the tomb, however high the price? What else then could he do but take him back to be slain in Osrakum?
He became aware Fern and Krow were staring at him.
'Couldn't you make two masks of leather to hide our faces?' he asked and saw they did not understand. The auxiliaries who look on us tomorrow will be killed.'
Fern's eyebrows rose but then he shook his head. 'It's your white faces Ranegale is hoping to use as bait.'
Carnelian stood naked in the midst of the barbarians, who were getting their aquar ready to make the dash through the scouring line. Ranegale and Cloud were up in the kraal tower trying to spy the dragons. Carnelian's gaze fell on Osidian. The bruised marble of his body had been laid out on a blanket. His legs stretched beyond it into the mud. Carnelian had covered him with another to shield him from any rain, though there had been none since dawn. His gaze lingered on this second blanket. Its indigo-patterned russet was so like Ebeny's it was hard to believe she had not woven it. Beside Osidian lay the corpses of Fern's uncle and brother, weighing the air with the sickening stench of their decay. Stormrane lay beyond them. He had died some time in the night. Fern was crouched over him, mourning, the misery of the decisions that would soon come upon him clear on his face. His back turned, Ravan was gouging a channel in the mud with his heel. Several times Carnelian had seen him glancing at his father, his face sick with sorrow. Around them, already in their saddle-chairs the youths sat, some staring at nothing, others intensely checking knots, testing the tension of ropes or, absentmindedly, caressing the necks of their aquar with their feet. Sometimes one would sneak a glance up at the tower.
Carnelian knew that when Ranegale came down it would be time to help them carry Osidian round to the other side of the kraal; the side exposed to the dragon line. Carnelian and Osidian would be bound to the two
