the view and he found that his head was wedged too tight against his chest for him to turn it. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied two youths squeezed one behind the other into a wicker saddle-chair.
'I won't allow you to accuse Ravan,' Stormrane was saying.
Forcing life into his hands, Carnelian swivelled them until they caught the edges of the saddle-chair. Gripping as hard as he could, he strained to pull himself up. The resulting spasm caused him to roll his eyes up into his head. Nausea surged in waves. Everything from neck to thighs was aching pulp.
'I don't recall you warning us of danger when my son spotted the Bloodguard among the slavers nor any complaints when we went in to rob them.'
The words pulsed with the blood hammering at Carnelian's temples.
'Sky and Earth! What's that got to do with anything?' Ranegale replied. 'It was only when Fern found the Standing Dead among the sartlar that the Bloodguard began to kill us.'
Sartlar? That word made the memory of his suffering seep in like rain through a cloak. He fumbled his hand up to his neck and trembled as it touched the raw crusty edges of his wound. He endured the agony as his fingers probed for and did not find the rope. That he felt naked without it made him weep bitter tears.
A voice carried from the distance and Carnelian heard creakings as the barbarians turned to look. He tried peering down the tunnel between his knees and saw that his saddle-chair curved up into a basketwork prow. Beyond stood his aquar's neck, past which he could make out, against the brooding sky, a giant from which the voice appeared to be coming.
Thank the Skyfather that at least we're not pursued,' said Cloud, the man with Grane's voice.
'What need have they to chase us,' said Ranegale, 'when they know the dragons will do their work for them?'
'We must get back onto the road then?' A youthful voice taut with fear.
There we'd have no chance at all, thanks to you, boy.'
'Ravan…' said Cloud, gently. The fight was sure to have been seen from the watch-tower. Our descriptions will have been sent all the way down the road. Patrols will already be on their way up from Makar as part of the scouring. On the road they'd trap us as easily as if we were on an earthbridge.'
Then we must hide deeper in the fields,' said the youth.
'Without the watch-towers to steer by we'd soon be lost.' Cloud gazed out, sadly. This enslaved earth has no trees, no hills, no landmarks at all save only kraals, each identical to every other.'
'How far are we from the road?' bellowed Ranegale in the direction of the giant.
'We'll still see the tower flares,' a reply came back.
The voice seemed to Carnelian ludicrously thin for such a giant. He was still dazed. He focused on thoughts of Osidian, desperate to know if he still lived. Fearing another spasm, he gingerly applied pressure with his thighs and, gritting his teeth, slid himself back and up his saddle-chair.
Squinting against the pounding in his head, Carnelian saw there were perhaps twenty aquar ranged around him. A few were riderless, the others bore men and youths enveloped in black hri-cloth, their legs hooked over the peculiar transverse crossbars that formed the front of their saddle-chairs. Most of the raiders had their heads turbaned by more of the cloth so that only their faces were exposed. Save that these were free of the chameleon tattoo, the raiders could have been from his own household. Searching among them, he found a saddle-chair into which a patchy black body had been folded. Carnelian's heart leapt. He did not need to see the face to know it was Osidian.
The raiders were looking into the distance and, when he followed their gaze, he saw a man riding towards them behind whom rose the giant that Carnelian now realized was nothing more than the overseer tower of a kraal.
'You saw no one in any direction, Loskai?' Ravan again. Carnelian located the youth standing on the ground, a slash of dried blood across his forehead and cheek, his face sweat-glazed, bruised.
Loskai shook his head. Ravan turned to look round at another rider who was hunched forward gripping his ankles, his loosely-turbaned head almost resting on his knees. Ravan sank his chin.
'You're right, Ranegale, this is all my fault. I was the one who noticed the Bloodguard.'
'Don't speak like that, son.' It was Stormrane reaching out to grasp Ravan's shoulder. The man had a grey mane worked through with feathers, peppered with pale beads. Deep grooves around his mouth and eyes made him seem an old man, but if so, a strong one, though his sickly pallor showed how serious was the wound he bore. Stormrane had so much the look of one of Carnelian's people he was lost for a moment trying to work out which one he might be.
Ravan, looking up at his father with adoration, forced from him a grim smile. 'Son, you fought bravely. You made me proud. You'll have a good scar to show your hearthmates.'
Ravan tried a grin, but the corners of his mouth dragged it down. His eyes strayed to where two bodies were stretched out on blankets on the ground.
'Your brother and your uncle were warriors who brought the Tribe much salt,' said Stormrane, misery dulling his eyes.
Ravan was no longer seeing the dead but rather something in his mind. 'How was the Bloodguard able to kill them both?'
They were overmatched,' said Cloud. Next to Stormrane, he seemed to be the oldest there. Wisps of greying hair framing his cowled face threaded beads similar to Stormrane's that Carnelian judged to be some of their precious salt.
The youth turned to look at Cloud. Standing over the corpses, he shook his head and frowned. 'I'd heard but not believed how fast the Bloodguard are, how skilled.'
One of the other youths stuttered something and, suddenly, Carnelian found the barbarians jerking round to gape at him. He watched the colour drain from their faces. Some were trembling.
Ravan made some comment about Carnelian's eyes.
'Angels or not, I say we kill them now,' shrilled Loskai. He darted looks at the other men, making sure to always keep Carnelian in view as he might a serpent. 'Kill them both, before they get their power back, before they bring the dragons down on us.'
Carnelian cared for nothing but the use of plurals, the pronouns that proved Osidian must be alive.
'What makes you so sure they can be killed?' asked Stormrane.
Carnelian's awareness of their fear, their hatred, was washed away by the warm relief of knowing Osidian lived.
Cloud lifted his hands and quietened the youths.
'Well, Fern,' said Ranegale, 'I'll ask you in the hope you'll stop hiding behind your father.' He let go of his ankles and straightened up to point at Carnelian. 'Why've you landed us with the poison of these Standing Dead?'
Carnelian wondered why they referred to Masters thus. He noticed Ranegale had only a single eye, the other being concealed by a leather band. Hidden beneath the windings of his head cloth, the lower half of his face seemed unnaturally flat.
Another man stepped into view. Young, slender, he was taller than Stormrane, much darker skinned. He looked quite unlike the other barbarians.
'I'm not hiding behind my father.'
Fern's voice was husky. He turned dark eyes on Carnelian, who was forced to bear their sharp hatred. Fern frowned and his stare lost its intensity.
'I don't know,' he said, sounding surprised. He seemed to be examining Carnelian for a sign who, in turn, registered the livid welt cutting along Fern's jaw line.
'Because of them my brother and my uncle are dead; my father's wounded, my little brother.' Fern glanced at Stormrane and Ravan and then back at Carnelian, his eyes slitting. Then he looked at Ranegale, his face becoming haunted with uncertainty.
'How can I answer you when I don't know myself. Finding them has brought death to my kin. Perhaps I just couldn't ride away with nothing to show for so much loss.'
Ranegale, who had cupped his hands to the sides of his shrouded face to listen, dropped them. 'You mean the way you ran away from the legions?'
Snarling, the young man sprang forward but Cloud caught him in a hug. Carnelian's aquar threw back its
