The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02 (78 page)

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 mele
e.
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.