among the dark brushes. Carnelian felt the fresh odour of resin cleanse his lungs. Hope surprised him, but only served to make him view the Plainsmen below with an aching heart. Hope was a vulnerability he could ill afford.
Fern was waiting with an aquar. When they reached her they helped Osidian clamber into her saddle-chair. They made her rise and led her down through the grove. Crossing the ditch, they descended to the ferngardens where Marula and Plainsmen crowded between the humps of their kneeling mounts. A Maruli – it was Sthax – brought an aquar over to Carnelian. The man gave him a wary look that took in Morunasa. Warned, Carnelian did not greet him. In Sthax’s face he could see neither accusation nor grief. It seemed unlikely that the Maruli knew anything about the cut-down baobabs.
Once mounted, Carnelian could see the Darkcloud warriors mingling among their people. Men clung to their children as their mothers and wives embraced them, faces tight from holding back tears. Carnelian noticed sartlar there too. He had forgotten them. Then he became aware that the men from other tribes were gazing at him, tense hope on every face. They needed to have faith in him and so he put aside his doubts. His smile made them sit straighter. He rode down through their ranks. As he passed, aquar rose with a great din. Across the ferngarden he rode, raising a quaking in the ground as they followed him. He jumped the ditch into the outer garden, hearing them surging after him. He resisted the temptation of rushing speed. When he reached the fernland, he turned to watch them pouring out from the koppie after him, and sped off towards Aurum’s camp.
The perfect geometries of the military camp were an alien imposition on the fernland. It had none of the yielding curves of a koppie. Its rampart was not softened by living trees but, rather, toothed with stakes. Even the morning gleam of the lagoon behind the camp seemed harsh and brittle. Carnelian’s plan to expose himself as bait now seemed childish. The camp was a mechanism devoid of human weakness. He suppressed a surge of fear that any attempt to defy Aurum was madness. The old Master was there at its centre as its directing mind. He must focus on Aurum and not on the terrible power that was an extension of his will.
He began listing what he knew. Aurum would not imagine Osidian had been overthrown. The fire on the Bluedancing crags he would have seen as a sign of Osidian’s defiance. This was unlikely to daunt him. Aurum would be confident he controlled the situation. His legion was in the heart of Osidian’s Plainsman empire. He could now bring terror to bear on the women of the tribes opposing him, on their children. It was only a matter of time before they would yield Osidian up to him. Yes, Aurum would be confident, but not absolutely so. It was not a barbarian who confronted him, but a Lord of the House of the Masks. Such were not to be casually underestimated.
Carnelian saw with what fear the Plainsmen were surveying the camp. Certain that any movement by Aurum would wake alarm in their ranks, he sank his head and tried to enter the Master’s mind. Try as he might he could imagine nothing specific that would unsettle him. Carnelian could taste despair as he began to doubt that even an attack on the render supply would be enough to cause Aurum to abandon his position of dominance among the tribes. Then it came to him: Aurum could have no clear understanding as to why Osidian had risked so much to delay his southward march. It was unlikely he would know about the Upper Reach salt. Certainly, the delay Osidian had won was too slight to allow him any hope of protecting the koppies that were the source of his power. This point of doubt might be a chink in Aurum’s invulnerability. With growing excitement, Carnelian saw that to ride north would be to signal a complete disregard for the dominance of Aurum’s position. Such an act he might regard as typical of
Fern was waiting with an aquar. When they reached her they helped Osidian clamber into her saddle-chair. They made her rise and led her down through the grove. Crossing the ditch, they descended to the ferngardens where Marula and Plainsmen crowded between the humps of their kneeling mounts. A Maruli – it was Sthax – brought an aquar over to Carnelian. The man gave him a wary look that took in Morunasa. Warned, Carnelian did not greet him. In Sthax’s face he could see neither accusation nor grief. It seemed unlikely that the Maruli knew anything about the cut-down baobabs.
Once mounted, Carnelian could see the Darkcloud warriors mingling among their people. Men clung to their children as their mothers and wives embraced them, faces tight from holding back tears. Carnelian noticed sartlar there too. He had forgotten them. Then he became aware that the men from other tribes were gazing at him, tense hope on every face. They needed to have faith in him and so he put aside his doubts. His smile made them sit straighter. He rode down through their ranks. As he passed, aquar rose with a great din. Across the ferngarden he rode, raising a quaking in the ground as they followed him. He jumped the ditch into the outer garden, hearing them surging after him. He resisted the temptation of rushing speed. When he reached the fernland, he turned to watch them pouring out from the koppie after him, and sped off towards Aurum’s camp.
The perfect geometries of the military camp were an alien imposition on the fernland. It had none of the yielding curves of a koppie. Its rampart was not softened by living trees but, rather, toothed with stakes. Even the morning gleam of the lagoon behind the camp seemed harsh and brittle. Carnelian’s plan to expose himself as bait now seemed childish. The camp was a mechanism devoid of human weakness. He suppressed a surge of fear that any attempt to defy Aurum was madness. The old Master was there at its centre as its directing mind. He must focus on Aurum and not on the terrible power that was an extension of his will.
He began listing what he knew. Aurum would not imagine Osidian had been overthrown. The fire on the Bluedancing crags he would have seen as a sign of Osidian’s defiance. This was unlikely to daunt him. Aurum would be confident he controlled the situation. His legion was in the heart of Osidian’s Plainsman empire. He could now bring terror to bear on the women of the tribes opposing him, on their children. It was only a matter of time before they would yield Osidian up to him. Yes, Aurum would be confident, but not absolutely so. It was not a barbarian who confronted him, but a Lord of the House of the Masks. Such were not to be casually underestimated.
Carnelian saw with what fear the Plainsmen were surveying the camp. Certain that any movement by Aurum would wake alarm in their ranks, he sank his head and tried to enter the Master’s mind. Try as he might he could imagine nothing specific that would unsettle him. Carnelian could taste despair as he began to doubt that even an attack on the render supply would be enough to cause Aurum to abandon his position of dominance among the tribes. Then it came to him: Aurum could have no clear understanding as to why Osidian had risked so much to delay his southward march. It was unlikely he would know about the Upper Reach salt. Certainly, the delay Osidian had won was too slight to allow him any hope of protecting the koppies that were the source of his power. This point of doubt might be a chink in Aurum’s invulnerability. With growing excitement, Carnelian saw that to ride north would be to signal a complete disregard for the dominance of Aurum’s position. Such an act he might regard as typical of
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