Read The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02 for Free Online Page B

Osidian delirious, fevered, but then he understood and pulled away. He leaned the ache of his back against the wicker fence, exposing his face to the needling rain. The words ran round and round in his head. Osidian could not return. The moment his brother Molochite had been made God Emperor, Osidian's life was forfeit. Osrakum held only death for him. Carnelian tried to imagine a life for them in the outer world. It would have to be somewhere beyond the Commonwealth. A vision of his island home blossomed warm and inviting in his mind. It withered as he remembered the snow falling into the ruins Aurum and the other Masters had made of it when they had come to summon his father back from exile. Besides, there would be the sea to cross, not to mention the vast journey to reach its shore. Where else was there in the world in which the Masters were not hated? Even if he and Osidian found a haven, how could they live without wealth, without servants? The Ichorian needed to take the terrible risk of selling Masters so as to buy himself another life, though he could more easily hide his tattoos than Carnelian and Osidian could their height and pallid skin.
    Lightning brought Carnelian a blinding realization. He could return alone to Osrakum. He saw his father's and his people's joy on the day of his return. He clung to the warmth of that vision but then, quietly, let it grow cold and dark. He opened his eyes to look at Osidian. It was hard to see in this battered creature the boy in the Yden. His love for that boy had been so fierce. Though it still burned, it had become as small in him as the slavers' fire was in the rumbling night:
    Then it is hopeless,' he said, aloud. He would rather tear his heart out than abandon Osidian. Whatever might come, he was determined to share his lover's fate.
    Carnelian lost count of the days as he ran obedient to the rain's relentless rhythm. It drove his heart, his rasping breath, even the blinking of his eyes that saw nothing but two pale feet churning mud the colour of old blood. When he fell, he was up again before the leash pulling his wrists tugged taut. Once he saw stone and, for a moment, recalled the feet were his from the cold, and the impact shuddering up into his head.
    Night would return him to a kraal. As the numbness of the running faded, he would be delivered to the torture of his ropes. Worse was the sight of Osidian suffering. The crusted weal around his neck drew Carnelian's eyes however hard he tried to look away. Even swollen by blood and rain, the rope had worn so deep it had become flush with the ruptured flesh. Waking feverish with agony, Carnelian would find Osidian twitching as he ran on in nightmare.
    But it was Osidian's eyes Carnelian dreaded most. Once he saw a stirring in their depths and fear possessed him that some darkness had climbed down into Osidian's soul and was peering out.
    When something crept across his flesh, Carnelian awoke. He saw the glimmer of the sartlar's eyes and jerked back from the hand it was extending. The rope biting into his flesh squeezed out a moan that closed his eyes. When he opened them again he saw the sartlar open a maw rimmed by rotten teeth.
    'Blood?'
    The word grated from nowhere. Carnelian wondered if he had spoken without knowing it. His eyes fixed on the sartlar, he tried the word but his tongue was leather in his mouth. The creature lifted its hand again, a gnarled wooden thing straying up, extending a finger. He shuddered as it touched his wound, then watched the sartlar draw it back and taste the fingertip. The lips moved.
    'Blood.'
    Carnelian stared. The word had come from the sartlar. He was certain of it. He peered at the creature and saw the empty sags of skin hanging on the chest. Breasts. A female then. A woman even. He saw through her lank hair that her eyes were watching him.
    'But dead,' she said.
    Carnelian tried to soften his tongue by chewing some moisture into it. His first word was just a groan. The second worked.