“Alright,” he said. “How’s this done?”
“Cerath’s a herd animal,” Braddon said a short time later. He led Clay towards the herd with a purposeful stride, making no effort at concealment. “The bull’s the leader and the rest are so loyal they’ll follow him over a cliff. Curious thing about these beasts is they get all docile-like once you’re on their back. Met a naturalist fella in Carvenport once, said it was to do with their size. They’re so big nothing of any weight ever sits on them. Even the drakes don’t land on them when they hunt the herds. Blacks’ll pin them to the ground and Reds’ll roast their legs so’s they can’t run off. So when something gets astride them they get set in a state of scared confusion. Thing is”—he paused and came to a halt, turning and handing Clay a length of coiled rope—“only ever seen this done by a Blood-blessed. Us normal folk are just too slow.”
Clay looked at the bull, which by now had noticed their approach. The other Cerath were slowly gathering behind him as he stared at the two small interlopers, jaws grinding on a mouthful of grass and one foreleg stamping the ground. “That’s a warning sign,” Braddon said, although Clay hadn’t really needed the explanation. At this remove the bull seemed much larger than his first estimation and it was hard to credit being able to control such a beast just by virtue of landing on its back.
“It has to be him, huh?” he asked Braddon, reaching for his wallet.
“Yep. Try landing on one of the smaller ones and the others’ll just run off and leave it. Be sure to loop that rope around his neck soon as you can.”
Clay took a vial of Green from his wallet, drank it all then, after a moment’s consideration, drank another. He waited for the product to flood his system, feeling his limbs thrum with it as he focused on the bull. The animal clearly sensed an increased level of danger for it let out a bellow, head lowering and fore-hooves pawing. Clay set off at a sprint, Green-enhanced speed making the grassland blur around him as he sped towards the bull. It bellowed again and charged to meet the challenge. Time seemed to slow as Clay closed with the animal, the dust it raised from the plain ascending in gentle clouds and the huge muscles of its legs quivering. After covering the last few yards it planted both fore-hooves on the ground and spun, lashing out with its hind legs. Clay dived and rolled under the flailing hooves, coming to a halt as the bull whirled to face him.
They stared at each other for a second, separated by a distance of barely ten feet. The Cerath shook its mighty head, eyes narrowed in wary contemplation of its foe. Unwilling to allow it the time to launch another attack, Clay surged into a sprint once more, covering the distance in two strides and leaping as high as his enhanced strength would allow. He turned head over heels in mid air, twisting with an acrobat’s precision to bring himself down squarely on the bull’s back . . . then let out a painful grunt as the bull dodged aside and he landed hard on the ground.
The bull roared and reared above him, hooves rising for a killing stamp, then froze. The beast’s roar choked off in its throat as it continued to stand there on its hind legs, immobile as a statue.
“Looked like you needed some help.”
Clay looked round to see Sigoral standing a short distance away, his gaze locked on the bull with the kind of concentration that only came from use of Black.
“That’s the truth.” Clay got to his feet, unslinging the coiled rope from his shoulders. “Probably should’ve thought of this in the first place.” He leapt onto the bull’s back, swiftly looping the rope over its neck before the elevated angle caused him to slip off. “Alright,” he told Sigoral, who nodded and withdrew his Black before wisely retreating several yards.
The bull let out a strange sound as it settled onto all four legs. It was somewhere between a sigh and a whinny and spoke of a deep, primal distress. Clay had expected it to buck or stamp, but true to his uncle’s word it just stood there, its sighs becoming more shrill by the second.
“Easy, big fella,” Clay said, smoothing a hand along the beast’s leathery hide. The bull twitched in response, craning its head to view the thing on its back with wide, fearful eyes. Clay continued to try and soothe it without much success before it occurred to him he had no notion of how to get it to move.
“Lay the rope on the right side of his neck,” Braddon said a short while later. “Gentle like, no need to whip him.” Clay did as he said, the muscles of the bull’s right shoulder shuddering in response as the animal shifted to the left. It came to a halt when he removed the rope from its hide. Clay tried the same trick with the left side with similar results. “Lay it on his rump to get him to walk,” Braddon said. “A couple of taps and he’ll run, but don’t try that just yet. Gotta get the rest of them in line.”
The other Cerath continued to stand a short way off, voicing sighing whinnies of distress but displaying no sign of any violent action. It was as if the immobility of the bull cast some sort of spell over them, robbing them of their will. A few grew skittish as the rest of the company approached, some shying away. At Braddon’s direction Lieutenant Sigoral used Black to hold a chosen few still long enough for them to be mounted and the gear securely strapped in place.
“Compass bearing, if you please, Lieutenant,” Braddon said once they had all mounted up. “East-north-east.”
Sigoral rode behind Loriabeth, who had hold of the reins of their Cerath, a young male only a few inches shorter than the bull. Unlike the herd leader, however, this beast was prone to continually turning about so it took awhile for the lieutenant to get a compass bearing. “That way,” he said finally, pointing towards a stretch of open plain.
“Once he starts he won’t stop till he’s tired,” Braddon called to Clay. “And that may take a good long while so hold tight.”
It took Clay a few minutes to manoeuvre the bull into position, the rest of the herd growing more agitated as he did so. Once he was reasonably sure the beast was facing the required direction Clay slapped the rope twice against his rump, whereupon the bull let out a throaty roar of alarm and spurred into a gallop.
Clay gave an involuntary laugh of exhilaration as the Cerath sped across the grasslands. Its speed far outstripped that of any horse he had ever ridden and the joy of acceleration came close to matching the feeling of riding atop Lutharon’s back. A thunder of hooves caused him to look over his shoulder to be greeted by the sight of the rest of the herd following, the earth seeming to tremble as they raced to keep up with their leader. Dust rose high enough to obscure the sun so that it felt like they were galloping through a foggy void. Clay turned his gaze to the front where the plains stretched away like a yellow-green sea. Taking a firm grip on the rope coiled about the bull’s neck he wondered if it might have been a good idea to drink some more Green before setting off.
CHAPTER 17
Lizanne
Lizanne blinked and found herself back in the hold, Makario retreating from her in surprise and lowering the mirror he had been holding close to her mouth. “Checking for breath,” he said. “You were gone a long time.”
Lizanne realised she had been placed on a bunk and concluded she must have collapsed. Usually a Blood-blessed would remain in the same seated pose whilst trancing. This one had evidently been different. Jermayah, Tekela and her father stood close by, all staring at her with worried faces. Lizanne swung her legs off the bunk, groaning a little at the lingering fog in her head. The Artisan’s trance had been the deepest and most vibrant she had experienced and leaving it rather felt like stepping from one world to another.