broke before them. Osidian had seen that marshy ground had formed a trough along that part of the shore. Aquar screamed as their legs buckled and they tumbled forward. The whole front shivered and broke and his vision was filled with the twisting necks of aquar, eye-quills flaring like hands to stop their fall, the looks of dismay as their riders were sucked down into the collapse. In front of Carnelian, an aquar twisted, falling before the feet of another who tried to leap it, failed, and the two became entangled, rolling in a turmoil of thrashing legs, saurian screeching and then the death cries of their riders as they were folded into the mangling, threshing mass.
Some of the riders made it through the soft ground to crash their aquar into the Ochre's wavering front. The spears of the hornwall impaled one beast: others waded in, snake necks writhing with splayed plumes. The air was filled with a splintering of spears. In a nest of these a blue-painted man fallen from his saddle-chair was thrashing around him with a stone axe, but was quickly cut down by a dozen, fevered blows. Another man was hurled forward as his aquar fell. He struck the shieldwall like a boulder, rolling right through their ranks where he was set upon and butchered.
Carnelian bellowed at his men that they must heal the breaches in the hornwall. In the comer of his eye he was aware of Bluedancing rising from the wreckage of their charge. They threw back their hair and snarled. Still they far out-numbered the Ochre. Avoiding the death-kicks of the aquar, they came on at a lope in twos and threes. Some who had lost their weapons tore shards of splintered wood from the saddle-chairs that were sinking into the soft mud. Those who had to clamber over the debris to get at the Ochre hissed curdling promises of what they would do when they reached them. They fell upon the hornwall clawing, shrieking, tearing at the wicker with bladed stone, with their hands. One man came at Carnelian from his exposed side so that he was forced to abandon his spear. The man swung a blade that Carnelian heard singing through the air. Though he ducked, it still scraped along his skull. He swung his own axe up and buried it beneath the man's ribs. Frantic, he worked it free, aware more Bluedancing were pushing into the hedge, heaving against the wicker shieldwall seemingly oblivious to the spears snapping off in their flesh. Blood arced through the air. Enraged Bluedancing chopped at them like demons.
Pulling the encumbrance of his torn uba from his head, Carnelian tried to order his men back, to reform their line, but the hornwall had dissolved into a confused melee. A blackened face came close enough for him to see the veins in its eyes that gaped at him in frozen disbelief. He swung his axe. Blood seemed to be thickening the air so that, as hard as he pushed, his blade took time to reach them. He watched its scalloped edge puncturing blacked skin scarlet. Teeth and foaming gore. Carnelian poured his strength into the killing, ploughing through the thicket of their flesh. Each impact sent a slow judder up his arms. He felt a cut opening his face; a remote bruising impact to his shoulder. He clubbed a man from his path and saw more of them leaping towards him through the carnage of their beasts. Counting them, Carnelian began turning his head, despair rising in him like vomit. His voice erupted even as his people slid into sight. He saw them set upon, harried, too far away for him to help. Other cries were rising above the din of chopping. He could not understand the expression of surprise in the faces he knew. Slow, drawn-out battle-cries were rising from behind their enemies. They faltered. Recognizing the voices as Ochre, new vigour shot from Carnelian's heart down his arms. He could sense the enemy tide turning. Aquar were coming up behind them. He glimpsed the fierce black faces of their rescuers. The Bluedancing were turning away, their faces flaccid with dismay. He saw several collapse under a succession of blows. Some were in full flight. Their backs drew Carnelian on with a lust for slaughter. He surged forward snarling in pursuit. He was in a forest of wounded aquar and shattered saddle-chairs. The earth was trying to suck him down. Through a red haze a man fleeing drew him on. He ducked under a swinging huge clawed foot. First his victim, then Carnelian, reached more solid ground. Carnelian careered in pursuit. Judged the distance. Raked his axe blade down the length of the man's back. The body fell forward vomiting blood. Carnelian slipped on gore. Regaining his footing, he came to a halt, swaying, his mind seeping free of fury. Panting rasped his throat. The axe felt suddenly unbearably heavy in his hand so he let it go.
They… will… escape… us,' he said, between breaths as he watched the Bluedancing streaming away.
'No they won't,' said a voice nearby.
Carnelian turned, beginning to feel the pain of his wounds. It was Fern, heavily lifting his arm to point. Carnelian followed the finger. At first he could not understand what he saw. A rushing, dark, many-legged mass. Then he saw the huge figure at its apex and heard a cold voice raised in a Quyan paean. It was Osidian, bearing down upon the luckless, routing Bluedancing.
Carnelian and Fern approached the mob of Ochre cavorting around Galewing and Osidian. Ravan detached himself from the others and threw himself on Fern, hugging him hard. Fern pushed his brother away, holding him at arm's length to see his face; a laughing mask of sweat and gore.
'It's unbelievable,' the youth said. He spun round, hanging on his brother's arm. 'Just look at what we've done…'
Seeing the carnage, Carnelian was back on the ship that had brought him to the Three Lands, reliving the massacre he had caused when its crew had seen his face unmasked. Nausea gripped him, forcing him to double up while, all the time, Ravan kept pouring out his gloating chatter. Amid the universal glowing mood of celebration, others interjected details of the fighting, laughter, jests.
Coming up for air, Carnelian saw Fern surveying the field upon which the Bluedancing had been turned into so much butchered meat and was relieved to see his friend sickened by what he saw. Krow crouched, vomiting. Carnelian realized how similar this looked to the massacre of the Twostone.
Osidian towered severe among the youths, each vying with the others for the privilege of his attention, but he seemed unaware of them. His gaze was gliding across the dead as if he could not believe they were real.
Carnelian walked towards him and the youths made way as they might have done for Osidian himself.
'You knew this would happen,' Carnelian said in Quya.
Osidian's eyes had lost their over-bright look. He shook his head slowly, narrowing his eyes as he gazed out.
'You are in error, Carnelian, I did not know.'
Carnelian became aware Ravan and others were keenly watching their exchange. Carnelian sensed Ravan's resentment, but chose to ignore it. He felt compelled to address Osidian in Quya, even though it was turning all those around them into barbarians.
'But you promised it when you left us there.'
As Carnelian lifted his arm to point he became aware of the blood staining it to the elbow. His mind was drawn back to the slow dance of the battle. He saw past the vision to the marshy ground littered with the broken remnants of men and aquar; spears and saddle-chairs. The men of the hornwall were slogging towards them. With some effort, Carnelian wrenched his gaze back to Osidian's serene face.
'You promised us this… this victory,' he said, spitting out that last word because it felt filthy in his mouth.
Osidian turned his green eyes on him. 'I would have promised anything, anything at all for this chance. The dead would not have reproached me in defeat.'
'Chance? What do you mean, chance?'
Osidian turned away, seemingly distracted by the moaning of the dying. An aquar that had been felled lay intermittently screeching, its tail lifting then subsiding, its taloned foot feebly gouging the bloody mud. The youths' excited chatter seemed to be mocking the poor creature's attempts to rise. Then they quietened. Following their gaze, he saw the Elders approaching, faces sagging with age.
Ravan stepped up to welcome them. 'My fathers, is this not a vast victory the Master has given us?'
Kyte surveyed the carnage. 'Yes, vast.'
Fern's eyes were welling tears. He grew suddenly enraged. 'What are you all doing behaving as if this were a wedding?'
Then everyone saw Crowrane, bowed, the body of his son in his arms. A silence fell which allowed them to hear the dying.
'Are you all deaf?' Kyte demanded. He seemed to have become ancient since the morning. His hand shook out. 'Go finish what you've begun.'
Sullenly, in ones and twos, taking their flint axes, the Plainsmen wound off across the battlefield.
Tears were rewetting the blood on Kyte's face as he watched them. This is an abomination.'
'What?' shouted Ravan. 'Haven't we been delivered from destruction? Wouldn't this have been our own fate if the Master hadn't saved us?'
