posts the barbarians had worked into the ground. From there, Carnelian would watch the scouring line draw nearer. He would have a good view of the consternation of the auxiliaries, their terror when they discovered the two Masters. A dragon would approach and one of the Chosen would descend from the tower on its back. The auxiliaries would be slain for having looked upon a Master's face. Perhaps Carnelian might even see them lit like torches by dragonfire. The Chosen commander would find masks for him and Osidian and they would ascend into the dragon's tower. He imagined the commander's reaction. Pity perhaps. A confusion of emotions when he, being of the Lesser Chosen, discovered they were of the Great. The questions, the endless questions all of which Carnelian would refuse to answer. Perhaps the legion would halt the scouring while a message was sent to the nearest watch-tower. From there, if Ranegale had been right, the watch-tower's ammonites might have to wait for nightfall before they could use flares to jump their messages from tower to tower all the way to Osrakum. No later than the next morning the Wise would know that two of the Great had been found naked in the midst of the Guarded Land. How would they react? 'Master?'
Carnelian turned to see Krow, his head bowed. 'Will you send the dragons after us down into the Earthsky?'
Carnelian considered it for a moment. He realized he was already beginning to feel like a Master again. It was almost as if he were towering before the youth in a court robe. He knew that should he demand it, Krow would kneel in the mud and worship him. He shook himself free from that mood and saw standing before him not a slave but a human youth. This could be his brother Tain or many others of his people. He felt ashamed. Krow had shown him kindness even though Carnelian was of the race who oppressed his people.
He reached out to touch Krow's shoulder. 'I'll do everything in my power to make them forget you.'
The youth gave him a trembling smile, a nod, then walked away. Carnelian's gaze fell upon the miserable figure of Ravan regarding his kin lying dead in the mud. Carnelian could not help contrasting this with his own certain hope that soon he would be rejoining his own father and brothers. Compassion made him approach the grieving youth. As he neared the corpses, his disgust at their decay was overcome by pity. In a way these dead were his fault too. He noticed the tattoos Stormrane held in his hand and, crouching down, turned his head to read them. One gave the reign year, Ten Nuhuron appended to which, for some reason, was the number nine. Presumably the first two components showed the year in which Stormrane had enlisted in the legions. Carnelian mused that this was a couple of years after Ebeny had been sent to Osrakum to pay her people's flesh tithe. Below the date glyph was another larger and more complicated one that he was surprised to find he was unable to read. He peered closer, trying to decipher it by reading its syllabic components. Still a reading eluded him. He allowed his eye to wander here and there allowing combinations to release their sounds in his mind. Snatches of almost words but nothing that made any sense. What might the glyph be for? As he considered this, his eye found, scattered through the glyph, the three syllables making up the Quyan word ten; the same as the reign year. He concentrated on the components left and found, similarly scattered, the name Makar. He read the three remaining components aloud.
Ravan spun round eyes and mouth agape. 'How… how do you know?'
'Know? Know what?'
The name of our tribe.'
'You're…?' Carnelian stopped. He pronounced his utterance in the language of the barbarians. 'Ochre,' he said.
Ravan looked as if he were just about to be sick.
Carnelian reached over to lift Stormrane's left hand.
'Don't touch him,' cried Ravan. Before the youth snatched the hand from his grasp, Carnelian saw that it too held glyphs; mostly numbers.
Fern came running up. 'What're you doing to my father?'
Carnelian stood up to face him. 'When you cut out their hearts you must also take their hands.'
Fern looked incredulous. 'Hands?'
Carnelian reached out and took Fern's hand. The barbarian allowed him to splay the palm and read the tattoos there. Fourteen Kumatuya Nine, with, below it, another large glyph which contained 'fourteen' and also 'Makar'. The components remaining once again spelled out the name of Fern's tribe rendered into Quyan sounds.
Carnelian looked into Fern's eyes. 'All those of you who've been auxiliaries carry the name of your tribes tattooed on your hands. If the Masters find these bodies as they are, they'll know they're Ochre and will visit their vengeance on your people.'
Fern paled. 'But you know it and you're a Master.'
'But I won't -'
Carnelian was interrupted by Cloud rushing out from the kraal. They've found us,' he cried. 'Up, up, all of you. We must flee.'
Everything erupted into motion. Aquar squealed and flared their plumes as they lurched up, their riders clinging to their chairs.
Cloud strode forward. 'Auxiliaries riding fast in our direction,' he said quickly. 'A dragon's coming up behind them.'
Fern looked wildly at the dead. He drew a flint knife. 'Don't hurt father,' sobbed Ravan. Carnelian grabbed Fern's shoulder. There's no time.' Fern looked around desperately. 'But you've just told me we can't leave them.' Carnelian grimaced.
Ranegale rode up. 'We'll have to kill the Standing Dead now,' he said in the barbarian language.
Carnelian looked deep into his single eye. 'You're welcome to try,' he said in Vulgate.
Fern gave him a startled glance before turning to Ranegale. 'Would you stay to bury them?'
They're your problem.' Ranegale forced his aquar towards them so that Carnelian and Fern had to throw themselves from its path, then coursed away, followed by the majority of the others.
Carnelian saw the remaining aquar still crouching with empty chairs. 'Fern. Quickly. I'll help you tie their bodies into the saddle-chairs.'
Fern gaped and Carnelian could see the agony of indecision in his face, but then the barbarian gave a violent nod.
'Ravan,' he cried and the youth rushed up to help.
They lugged Stormrane's corpse, then hoisted it into Fern's saddle-chair. The pain in Carnelian's back made him more of a hindrance than an aid. He cast around for some way to help. He saw the blankets lying on the mud. He stooped to take one and was soon tearing it into strips.
Once all the corpses were stowed, Carnelian gave the two brothers some strips and helped them tie the corpses into the chairs.
Krow rode up. 'Hurry!'
Carnelian glanced round. Osidian lay under the russet blanket as if asleep. He frowned, seeing their return to Osrakum; seeing Osidian being bled for ritual. Panic rose in him. He tried to fight it with thoughts of seeing his father, his people. He tried to imagine the meeting with them, but the vision would not come. There was no joy. He told himself they needed him. His return with Osidian would damage Ykoriana's power, perhaps bring her down. He would save his father from her.
Carnelian tried not to look at Osidian, but his eyes would not obey him. He gazed at the face of his beloved. 'You cannot save him,' he muttered.
This reverie was interrupted by Fern grasping his shoulder. 'Well here we part, Master. Thanks.'
Carnelian looked at his friend. The sincerity in his face gave rise to an impossible hope.
Take us with you,' Carnelian blurted before doubt could make a coward of him.
Fern gaped. 'What?'
The man's honest puzzlement set the decision steady in Carnelian's heart. He pointed at Osidian. 'If the Masters take us, they'll kill him.'
Fern took a step back. 'But… but you in the Earthsky… it makes no sense.' 'We've nowhere else to go.'
Fern's eyes took in his kin sitting tied to their chairs, then returned to linger on Carnelian. He spun round. 'Ravan, I'll ride with you.'
Carnelian's panic returned. This was madness. Then he felt as if he was choking. What about his father?
