The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02 (74 page)

Galewing
pointed
over
his
shoulder.
They're
there,'
he said,
trying
to
sound
calm.
They
march
across
the
Plain. We
can
be
fairly
certain
they
didn't
see
us.'

'Let's
attack
them
now,'
Ravan
declared,
causing everyone
to
look
at
him.

Crowrane
fixed
him
with
baleful
eyes.
'You
don't
know what
you're
talking
about.
If
we
come
at
them
across
the open
plain
they'll
have
all
the
time
they
need
to
receive our
charge.
For
any
chance
at
victory,
we
need
surprise.'

'This
is
madness,'
cried
Kyte.
Carnelian
could
see
the way
his
gaze
shifted
here
and
there
among
the
warband
as if
he
were
already
counting
casualties.

'I
have
to
agree
with
Father
Kyte,'
said
Galewing.
'We don't
have
the
numbers
nor
the
training.
We
have
nothing. We
must
forget
this
and
return
to
our
people
while
we
still can.'

Ravan
rode
forward,
regarding
the
Elders
with
a
contemptuous
gaze.
'All
my
life
you've
claimed
to
be soldiers,
but
now
I
can
see
you
never
did
anything
more than
catch
thieves
in
the
marketplace
or
stand
guard upon
a
gate.'

The
voices
of
the
Elders
rose
in
protest
but
Ravan's young
voice
could
still
be
heard
above
them.
'We're
no less
brave,
nor
less
skilled
with
weapons
than
the Bluedancing
and
don't
you
remember
this
morning, Father
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
li
ttle
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.