Read Online The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02 by Ricardo Pinto - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ricardo Pinto
Tags: Fantasy
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a tiller, narrowing to a whip that sometimes stroked his feet. Blankets and leather bands swaddled him to the drag-cradle frame. It quivered with each step the aquar took. Dozing, Carnelian thought he was back on the accursed ship that had brought him with his father and his brothers from their island to the shore of the Three Lands and the Commonwealth of the Masters.
When day began fading to night, the barbarians called a halt. The stillness of the drag-cradle came as a blessed relief. Fern walked out in front of Carnelian, his face haggard, his legs and cloak splattered with mud. He was motioning instructions. Carnelian felt a tremor in the frame. Turning his head, he saw brown hands holding on to the wood.
'What're they doing?' he asked.
Fern glanced down at him. 'Unhitching your drag-cradle from my aquar.'
His dark eyes flicked away. The frame gave a shudder that awoke Carnelian's pain. With a rasping, he felt the poles come free even as the aquar's tail started feeding away over him, its tip dragging up the blankets towards his face. He closed his eyes, anticipating its touch, but then he felt the frame being lowered to the ground.
He opened his eyes and blinked away the rain. 'What news of the dragons?' he said to no one in particular.
Fern loomed over him, issuing instructions in their barbarian tongue. Carnelian could hear the suck and splash of footfalls as the youths moved away.
Fern's face came close enough to Carnelian's that it sheltered him from the rain. He examined Fern's brown eyes. He could smell him and feel the heat of his anger.
Fern bared his teeth. 'Don't imagine they'll rescue you. I'd kill you myself before I let that happen.'
He disappeared. When the constant patter of rain on Carnelian's face had cooled his own anger, he began to wonder if he was going to be left all night in the rain. When Fern returned, it was to force some strips of leather into Carnelian's mouth which he had to chew or else choke. It was only as his mouth began to fill with musty flavour that he realized it was dried meat.
For days, Carnelian was dragged through a constant pelting rain. His blankets clung heavy and sodden. Often the mud grew so deep the poles stuck fast. As Fern's aquar struggled to break loose, Carnelian would suffer with each shudder. Though the barbarians were always hidden from him, he could hear the desperation in their voices as they urged their aquar on. Their march was a monotonous slap and suck amidst the downpour. Carnelian knew they were sending lookouts ahead. A voice would shout something down from the sky. The raiders would not pause but would continue on until the kraal tower would slide into Carnelian's view and he would watch it shrink and fade.
Each evening as the day was squeezed black by the rumbling sky, Fern fed him more strips of dried meat. Carnelian lubricated his chewing by opening his mouth and letting it fill with rain. When asked, Fern would confirm Osidian's condition unchanged. His moroseness discouraged conversation. Ravan was often there, resentful as he helped his brother with the feeding, with the unhitching, with the hitching that every morning freed Carnelian from the blinding rain. As he was angled up he was able to blink his eyes open and peer blearily at the infinite, drear monotony of the Guarded Land.
Against that landscape, Fern and his brother were often the only living things Carnelian could see. He became intuitive in reading their moods, seeing past the masks of fear they wore. Their grief was deepening and he felt he knew the cause: he could not recall the last time he had heard their father's voice.
The raiders pressed on towards Makar. Each day that passed put another twist of dread into their stomachs as they searched the horizon for the scouring line and its dragons.
* * *
The drag-cradle came suddenly to a halt. Carnelian heard Ravan cry out, then Fern. Young voices were making a commotion. Carnelian shook himself out of his stupor, anxious to
When day began fading to night, the barbarians called a halt. The stillness of the drag-cradle came as a blessed relief. Fern walked out in front of Carnelian, his face haggard, his legs and cloak splattered with mud. He was motioning instructions. Carnelian felt a tremor in the frame. Turning his head, he saw brown hands holding on to the wood.
'What're they doing?' he asked.
Fern glanced down at him. 'Unhitching your drag-cradle from my aquar.'
His dark eyes flicked away. The frame gave a shudder that awoke Carnelian's pain. With a rasping, he felt the poles come free even as the aquar's tail started feeding away over him, its tip dragging up the blankets towards his face. He closed his eyes, anticipating its touch, but then he felt the frame being lowered to the ground.
He opened his eyes and blinked away the rain. 'What news of the dragons?' he said to no one in particular.
Fern loomed over him, issuing instructions in their barbarian tongue. Carnelian could hear the suck and splash of footfalls as the youths moved away.
Fern's face came close enough to Carnelian's that it sheltered him from the rain. He examined Fern's brown eyes. He could smell him and feel the heat of his anger.
Fern bared his teeth. 'Don't imagine they'll rescue you. I'd kill you myself before I let that happen.'
He disappeared. When the constant patter of rain on Carnelian's face had cooled his own anger, he began to wonder if he was going to be left all night in the rain. When Fern returned, it was to force some strips of leather into Carnelian's mouth which he had to chew or else choke. It was only as his mouth began to fill with musty flavour that he realized it was dried meat.
For days, Carnelian was dragged through a constant pelting rain. His blankets clung heavy and sodden. Often the mud grew so deep the poles stuck fast. As Fern's aquar struggled to break loose, Carnelian would suffer with each shudder. Though the barbarians were always hidden from him, he could hear the desperation in their voices as they urged their aquar on. Their march was a monotonous slap and suck amidst the downpour. Carnelian knew they were sending lookouts ahead. A voice would shout something down from the sky. The raiders would not pause but would continue on until the kraal tower would slide into Carnelian's view and he would watch it shrink and fade.
Each evening as the day was squeezed black by the rumbling sky, Fern fed him more strips of dried meat. Carnelian lubricated his chewing by opening his mouth and letting it fill with rain. When asked, Fern would confirm Osidian's condition unchanged. His moroseness discouraged conversation. Ravan was often there, resentful as he helped his brother with the feeding, with the unhitching, with the hitching that every morning freed Carnelian from the blinding rain. As he was angled up he was able to blink his eyes open and peer blearily at the infinite, drear monotony of the Guarded Land.
Against that landscape, Fern and his brother were often the only living things Carnelian could see. He became intuitive in reading their moods, seeing past the masks of fear they wore. Their grief was deepening and he felt he knew the cause: he could not recall the last time he had heard their father's voice.
The raiders pressed on towards Makar. Each day that passed put another twist of dread into their stomachs as they searched the horizon for the scouring line and its dragons.
* * *
The drag-cradle came suddenly to a halt. Carnelian heard Ravan cry out, then Fern. Young voices were making a commotion. Carnelian shook himself out of his stupor, anxious to
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