Read Online The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02 by Ricardo Pinto - Free Book Online

hopeless. Let's finish them. What more do we have to lose? If we bury them deep enough, they'll never be found.'
    Stormrane shook his head. 'I agree with Cloud. The risk's too great. Besides, now we have them we may as well try and put them to some use.'
    Ranegale sneered at him. 'And how do my fathers suggest we take them along with us? We've no spare aquar.'
    Cloud looked at him tentatively. 'Some of the lads could double up.'
    'Am I the only one who can see that the Standing Dead are too weak to ride? We barely got them this far,' said Ranegale.
    'We're going to have to make drag-cradles to carry our dead,' said Fern. 'Making a couple more wouldn't delay us much.'
    'Drag-cradles will slow us down.'
    Loskai spoke up: 'My brother's right. Whichever way we go, we'll run into dragons. Pulling drag-cradles, we couldn't hope to outrun them.'
    Stormrane looked murderous. 'I'll not leave my son nor my brother behind.'
    Fern clasped his father's arm but Stormrane tore himself free.
    'I won't have to,' he said, oblivious of the hurt he had just caused his son. 'I'll work out some other way to get us through the line.'
    'It becomes clear how the renowned Elder, Stormrane, achieved the rank of a three-squadron commander,' drawled Ranegale.
    Stormrane's face hardened and he looked away to the horizon as if he had noticed something moving on it. 'Between the South Road and the Ringwall, the land narrows all the way to Makar. It would be preferable if we were to hold back: the longer we wait the more the line will stretch, pulling open the gaps between the dragons.'
    He held up a knotted cord for all to see. This only holds fifteen days. Pulling the drag-cradles through mud we'll need every one of those to reach the meeting in time.'
    'Do you think we'll make it, father?' asked Ravan, hope in his face.
    Stormrane smiled. 'Of course we will, son.'
    Cloud had become sombre. 'Let's hope so. Our tribes sent us to protect our tributaries. Only a few days remain before we're supposed to meet them in Makar. If we're late, they might try crossing the Leper Valleys without us.'
    Ranegale fixed them with a baleful eye. 'And will you, Father Stormrane, and what's left of your line take it upon yourselves to look after the Standing Dead?'
    Grimly, Stormrane glanced at Fern, then gave a nod.
    As he leaned against the neck of Carnelian's kneeling aquar, the youth stared at him without a blink. It was easier to ignore that stare than the constant throbbing ache of his body. Sleep with its grinding, bitter nightmares was a poor refuge. Carnelian tried instead to distract himself by concentrating his attention on the demolition of the kraal tower. More of the barbarian youths were swarming its upper storeys, tearing off the woven matting to get at the scaffolding beneath. Poles that had been worked free were being fed down to the kraal bridge, where the men were splitting them with axes.
    When his aquar stirred and seemed about to rise, Carnelian gritted his teeth, anticipating agony. Through his lidded eyes he watched the youth reach up and caress the creature's eye-plume fans closed. Carnelian looked for what had disturbed the aquar and saw Stormrane and Fern approaching. The older man had the same slow pained walk Carnelian's wounded father had had as they journeyed along the leftway to Osrakum. Snatches of that other life formed and melted before his mind's eye. He glimpsed but would not allow to fully surface the thought of his father exposed to Ykoriana's malice. For a moment it was better to relive what had been. Back on the leftway. It was strange that dark time should now appear so bright. At least then, a few pieces of his world had still remained unscattered.
    Feeling someone beside him, he looked up. Grief sat over Fern 's face like a mask. Carnelian saw the brown eyes registering surprise, perhaps at detecting his compassion, but then they flicked away.
    This one's conscious,' Fern said to his father, in their tongue.
    Carnelian considered