Crowrane, when you declared their raid the work of a few hotheads? If they could do it, so can we.'
'Ravan's right,' a man cried. 'I say we get the bastards. They took my son. How could I face my wife if I don't bring him back?'
Many agreed.
'Could any of us live with the shame of returning without even having tried?' someone said.
'Is this how you all feel?' cried Galewing and was answered by a swell of affirmation. As the hubbub died away, the Elders looked at each other grimly.
'If we go in, it must be at night,' said Crowrane. To hide how few we are.'
'How will I find my son in the darkness?'
'We can't hope to find him or any of the captives whether we attack by day or by night. We snatch some of their children and then make a trade,' said Crowrane.
There was a lot of nodding. Carnelian felt a wash of relief that at least they had postponed the terrible moment.
For the rest of that day they rode parallel to the march of the Bluedancing. With each step their aquar took, Carnelian saw their spirits fail a little more. Despair was growing in his stomach. Their proud demeanour had faded. Bedraggled, their warpaint now made them look like the jugglers Carnelian had seen in the marketplace before the gates of Osrakum.
When next they stopped Carnelian approached Fern. This delay has turned into a fatal error.'
His friend turned bloodshot eyes on him, grimaced, but said nothing.
Crowrane looked resolute, but his son betrayed him with every doubtful glance he gave him.
The rain continued to lash them. Carnelian felt more than saw the approach of night. As it closed about them it seemed to be their dread. He saw the queasy looks everyone was trying to hide. He yearned then for Osidian's certainty as he tried to dismiss the fear that he and many others might well not live to see another morning.
Carnelian was thankful of the darkness that hid his fear. The night was filled with furtive whispering. The old were remembering their hunts, the good, long years of their lives: the young their sweethearts, their mothers, their dreams for the future. When a voice spoke, it seemed very loud. Carnelian felt everyone turning to listen with desperate hope.
'We'd better go now… while we still dare.' It was Fern.
This is a mistake,' said Galewing. 'We go,' rumbled Crowrane.
'Perhaps we should listen to Father Galewing,' said Ravan.
'We must go or return to the Tribe as cowards,' said Fern.
Affecting strength, voices added their agreement and the Elders tried as best they could to marshal the war-band. They rode out under a black sky dead of moon or stars. Carnelian let his aquar follow the others as they crept towards where they thought the camp of the Bluedancing lay. Stone spearheads clinked against each other. Leather sighed against aquar hide. The tiny sparks of their enemy's fires came alive in the night and drew them on. Moths to a flame, thought Carnelian.
When they had come close enough to hear the voices of their enemy, it was Fern who stopped them turning back. He gave a battle-cry and sent his aquar careering in a charge. As his voice rode away from them, fear was swept away by shame. They would not allow one of their own to die alone. Carnelian sat startled as he heard their shrieks sweep by on either side. With his heels, he held his aquar where it was and heard their voices thin as they sped away. He was almost unmanned imagining the mayhem lying there waiting for him. Fern's battle-cry sounded again and, cursing, Carnelian coaxed his beast to furious speed desperate to catch him up.
They huddled in the black heart of the night. A gash ached in Carnelian's forearm. A whimpering, wounded boy was trembling against his thigh. The darkness was filled with shaky breathing and moaning. Many must have been wounded. Some had been lost. Voices were whispering names insistently. Someone pushed in beside him. 'Carnie?'
'Fern,' he replied, dazed, glad to his core to have him near.
'Are you bleeding?'
Carnelian fumbled and grabbed his friend's trembling arm. The solid feel of it opened a way for his voice. The whirling.'
'It was my first battle too.'
'It's like the darkest dream. I felt the soft give of flesh, the screaming… Oh, dear mother, the screaming.'
They crushed into each other. A shadow loomed beside them.
'It will pass,' said Galewing in a strange remote voice. 'It's always hard to kill a man, even if he's your enemy.'
'Were we victorious?' a childish voice asked suddenly.
It was Galewing who answered: 'We were routed. They were ready for us. They were too many.'
'Even the Skyfather fought against us,' someone said, his tone incredulous, recalling the rain that had flung its needles at their faces.
'Are we safe now?' pleaded a boy.
Over Fern's shoulder Carnelian scanned the darkness for their enemy.
They'll begin their hunt for us with the morning light,' said Galewing.
'We must flee,' said Loskai.
'We can't.' It was Ravan. Too many of us are wounded. We've lost too many aquar. Even if some of us escaped, do you think they'd be enough to defend the Tribe against the revenge of the Bluedancing? We must wait here until dawn.'
Groans were the only answer.
'No, it's best we wait,' said Ravan, insistently. 'If we can get some sleep then at least we might be able to sell our lives dearly.'
They might spare us,' said Crowrane.
'Would you beg them for mercy? Would we have given any if our situations were reversed?'
Fern disengaged himself gently from Carnelian. They'll show mercy, Ravan. We're all Plainsmen. No tribe has ever destroyed another.'
'Go and tell that to the hearthkin of those we killed and maimed,' said Ravan. They'll show no mercy. We must make an end of it here. At least the sons and daughters of the Tribe might live. The Bluedancing might adopt them to swell their strength. The most we can do is to make sure our people don't remember us with shame.'
Sobbing broke out here and there. Carnelian despaired for Poppy. She had lost so much already. At that moment something like the moon came out from the clouds and, drifting towards them, resolved into a ghostly face.
The Master,' gasped several voices.
Carnelian saw it was Osidian who stood before them, personifying the darkness. He spoke.
'In my right hand I hold defeat: in my left, victory. Which will you have me open?'
As Ravan translated Osidian's words, even through his relief, Carnelian was overwhelmed by a sickening foreboding, for the Wise taught that the left was the hand of darkness.
THE BLUEDANCING
The most elegant system of domination is one in which the dominated are unaware of their state: they believe the world has always been and always will be as they know it; that the order under which they toil is as immutable, as unassailable as the sky.
War is a clumsy means of enforcing such dominion. Not only is it costly and wasteful of resources, but it is difficult to control and subject to catastrophic and unforeseeable changes of fortune.
Famine is a surer tool of statecraft, with the crucial proviso that it must be seen to arise naturally from the
