The Third God (54 page)

The Lefthand was half listening to him, half listening to some voice in his helmet. ‘That’s what our mirrorman says.’

‘Send a message to—’

Carnelian broke off, seeing the Lefthand pressing his earpiece into his ear. ‘Battleline.’

Carnelian did not need to ask if that was from Heart-of-Thunder. He had been hearing that command from Osidian for so many days that, whenever it came, it was as if Osidian himself were in the cabin issuing the order. Automatically, he sent his instructions to Fern and was soon receiving more from Osidian as they slowed the dragon line to give the Lepers time to mount up and catch them. He was so busy with this it was a while before the realization dawned. They were actually going into battle. Though they had been practising for this for more than a month, it still came as a shock. It was as if he had never really believed there was going to be a battle. He could no longer hide from the reality of what might happen to Fern and the others on the ground.

The road was there in front of them, the wall carrying the leftway forming a pale foundation to the heat-grey sky. Upon that road dragons were marching in a column three abreast. A mass of saurian flesh bearing at least two dozen towers. The monsters filled the road, driving the travellers with their wagons and chariots off into the fields. Carnelian felt a twinge of pity that those innocents were now likely to find themselves in the middle of fire and carnage. His pounding heart seemed to be shaking him. He glanced to starboard to make sure Fern and his Lepers were maintaining their position. The enemy flank was still exposed to them. Carnelian’s anxiety became exasperation. What were they doing? The battleline was churning up a duststorm that must for some while have been visible from the road, never mind from the dragon towers, but the monsters were marching on as if crewed by the blind. More incongruities forced their way through his confusion. If they did not find a ramp soon to get off the road, he and Osidian would catch them, unable to manoeuvre. Their pipes did not even appear to be lit.

He turned to his Lefthand. ‘Ask the lookout if he can see their auxiliaries.’

As the man muttered into his voice fork, Carnelian returned to his staring. An abrupt silence brought his attention back. ‘What is it?’

The Lefthand pointed towards the head of the dragon column. Carnelian grew angry, not knowing what he was supposed to be looking at. Then he spotted a twinkling on the summit of one of the foremost dragon towers. They were being sent some message. Carnelian waited impatiently for it to be relayed down by the mirrorman. At last, the Lefthand glanced up. ‘I have come to join my strength to yours – Orum.’

‘Aurum!’ Carnelian stared at the dragons. Whose could they be but Aurum’s? What did the message mean? Carnelian waited for Osidian’s commands while, all the time, they drew closer to the road.

A movement from his Lefthand made him aware they were receiving another message.

‘From Heart-of-Thunder, Master. Stand down.’

Carnelian began composing a reply. He had to know what Osidian’s intentions were. A glittering made him look up. Aurum was transmitting again. He glanced down at his Lefthand. The man’s lips mouthed some syllables, then he looked up at Carnelian. ‘“I will speak to you alone.”’

On the ground, Carnelian watched the escort of auxiliaries approaching. He glanced back at his dragon line. The dust had settled, revealing its massive, unbroken wall. There at its furthest end was Heart-of-Thunder, still in his position in the battleline. That Osidian had chosen to remain there made it clear he believed Aurum capable of treachery. Though he no doubt was itching to come himself to meet the old Master, Osidian had delegated the task to him.

Carnelian looked around at Fern, dismounted behind him, holding the reins of both their aquar. Ranged around him was a detachment of mounted Lepers: squalid mounds of rags filling saddle-chairs of all kinds that had been brutalized by the crossbars which now projected on either side. The Lepers who had arrived clinging to those crossbars had unhitched their makeshift spears and were forming up into a hornwall. He wished he could see their faces to know what they were feeling. Surely they must know this legion to be the one that had devastated their land.

Drumming footfalls heralded a group of Marula coming to join them. Carnelian was glad of them and turned to face the auxiliaries, who were now near enough for the dust they raised to be falling upon him like hail. They halted and a single rider rode through. Carnelian stiffened. Though swathed in black robes, there was no doubting this was a Master. The apparition pulled on his reins and his aquar settled to the ground. Servants who had dismounted sped forward and plunged knees first into the dust. They placed ranga ready and then the Master swung his legs out from the saddle-chair, put his feet into them, lifted out a staff and, leaning on it, levered himself erect. Rising to his full height he dwarfed his servants utterly. His black robe fell to the dust so that he seemed to have no legs. The Master stirred a rusty miasma from the earth as he came forward, using the staff as a walking aid.

Carnelian advanced to meet him with trepidation. He knew this Lord. As he neared he caught glimpses of an exquisite face of gold. The Master loomed before him. ‘Celestial.’

‘It is Suth Carnelian you address, my Lord Aurum.’

The gloved hand of the old Lord jerked a sign of irritation. ‘It was Nephron I asked to speak with, my Lord.’

The voice stirred in Carnelian a visceral loathing. ‘Nevertheless it was his wish – and mine – that you should speak to me.’

He regarded the towering shape, possessed by hatred. There before him was the murderer of the Lepers, the murderer of his uncle Crail. Carnelian heard the Lepers stirring behind him. He no longer cared how they might react. He welcomed their hatred to swell his own. They were there at his back like raveners he had trained himself and leashed. It would take only a word from him and they would fall on the monster that had inflicted indescribable suffering on their people. The Lepers would have their payment and Carnelian would have his revenge.

‘Very well,’ said the monster, his tones of condescension sweetening the lust Carnelian had for his destruction. ‘I have come to join my legion to the Celestial’s.’

‘You wish to take arms against his brother, my Lord?’ Carnelian said, his voice a knife.

A gloved hand rose and made an elegant gesture of negation. ‘Against the Ichorian Legion that is only a few days behind me and that has been sent to destroy him.’

AURUM

Not everything, once broken, can be mended.

(a proverb from the City at the Gates)

‘
WHAT
?’
CARNELIAN SAID, EXASPERATED. HE HEARD THE LEPERS BEHIND
him reacting to the tone of his voice.

‘I will say nothing further except directly to the Lord Nephron.’

Aurum, the very image of unbending arrogance, stoked the fires of revenge in Carnelian’s heart. He imagined turning to address the Lepers. Announcing to them that he whom they most hated stood there before them, within their power. They would seize him. He would watch as the Unclean put their hands upon a Ruling Lord of the Great. Perhaps they would tear his black cloak from him, his mask. Stripping the monster of his terrible, unholy power. Exposing him to their pitiless stares. For a moment Carnelian savoured it. The humiliation of the old Master he loathed; but then Aurum’s words began to soak through his fantasy. Could it really be possible that the Ichorian Legion was bearing down on them? If so it presaged immense political upheaval in Osrakum. He tried to get hold of the politics, but his mind glanced off the complexities. He could not resolve how such a thing could have come to pass. This failure further weakened his confidence. Aurum’s capture by the Lepers might lead to chaos. What if his legion reacted to defend him? Osidian would launch the attack. Lily and her people on the other flank could have no idea what had happened. The situation would ignite into a fiery holocaust. Even if Osidian were victorious, they would be maimed – and then have to deal with the Ichorian. If, that was, Aurum spoke the truth; but if not, why was he here? What could he hope to achieve with such an implausible lie?

‘Your silence, my Lord, does not impress me,’ said Aurum, seeming to rise even taller, holding his staff as if he were wearing a court robe in the Halls of Thunder.

Carnelian regarded him, lusting to tear down this imperious presence. If he did not destroy him now, what would come of his decision? Thrice before he had spared those in his power: the Maruli on the road to Osrakum, Ravan, Osidian. The consequences had been death and massacre.

He glanced round at Fern, who had suffered the greatest loss from his decisions. A movement from Aurum made him turn back. The Master was already starting towards his aquar. ‘My Lord.’

The Great Lord looked round, his mask catching fire from the sun down its right-hand side.

‘Return with me to my huimur, my Lord. Do this as an act of good faith and Nephron will talk to you.’

Reluctance was written in the cast of Aurum’s shoulders. Anger rose in Carnelian. Here at least he had a battle he could fight to win. ‘Nephron suspects treachery or else he would be here himself. He has no reason to love you, my Lord. It might be better if you were to remember that neither have I.’ There was a Master’s authority in Carnelian’s voice that surprised him. Nevertheless, he meant what he said.

For some time they faced each other in what he felt was a contending of wills. He had drawn his line and would not retreat. At last he noticed Aurum’s shoulders relaxing a little. His mask scanned the ranks of Lepers behind Carnelian as if he were seeing them for the first time. ‘What manner of creatures are those?’

‘Inhabitants of the valleys below.’ Carnelian took pleasure in telling Aurum this. He hoped it would stir fear in his black heart. Instead the Great Lord reacted with a gesture of disgust.

‘I had hoped I had succeeded in destroying all the vermin.’

The rage boiling up in Carnelian overflowed. Almost he forgot his decision and threw the Master to his victims, but he mastered himself. ‘My Lord should take care. These people have reason to hate him, bitterly.’

Aurum laughed. ‘Since when do we who are Chosen concern ourselves with the feelings of inferiors?’

Carnelian smiled a cold smile behind his mask. Let the monster feel invulnerable, for the moment. ‘My Lord is free to return to his host. We can settle this business with fire.’

Aurum’s free hand rose in a half-formed gesture of appeasement whose speed belied its casual framing. ‘I shall come with you, my Lord.’ He summoned his aquar and his slaves. They brought the creature and made it sink to the red earth. As Aurum climbed back into his saddle-chair, Carnelian watched how heavily the old Lord leaned upon his staff.

‘Who is this Master?’ Carnelian turned to Fern, who it was had spoken, hearing the suspicion in his voice. ‘Aurum,’ he said, then had to endure the look Fern gave him of shocked disbelief.

Once more aboard Earth-is-Strong, Carnelian stood behind his command chair in which the Lord Aurum was sitting. He had offered it to him in pity for his condition. He resented feeling any sympathy for the old bastard but, after watching with what difficulty he had scaled the ladders up to the command deck, Carnelian could not bring himself to force the old man to stand leaning on his staff against the sway of the cabin. Besides, he preferred not to have the monster behind him.

He had had his Lefthand send a message to Heart-of-Thunder telling Osidian he had Aurum in his cabin. Osidian’s only reply had been: ‘Stand fast in the battleline.’

Attar of lilies was rising from Aurum’s black-shrouded form. As always, Carnelian’s gorge rose at the smell. It brought forcibly to mind the days of his near imprisonment in the old man’s chambers with their clocks and mirrors. Other, earlier memories seeped in unbidden, of his father, wounded, on their journey to Osrakum. Carnelian realized he was reminded of the sickening odour of rotting blood that had come off his father then. Though he could not consciously smell it now, he became convinced Aurum was using perfume to disguise some similar decay.

He had to stop being distracted. Quite apart from Aurum’s news, they had a crisis threatening here. How long would it be before the Lepers demanded to have their enemy delivered to them? It seemed to him unlikely Osidian would comply.

A command came from Heart-of-Thunder, demanding Aurum send instructions to his huimur. For some moments the old Master sat motionless as if he had not heard the Lefthand but then, without turning, he began to speak. His commands were broadcast from the roof towards his dragons, bidding his commanders descend from their towers and, leaving their crews, take all further orders from the Lord Nephron. Aurum terminated his message with his command code. Carnelian felt a surge of relief.