The Third God (83 page)

Carnelian frowned, trying to accustom himself to the weight of responsibility he would bear for that. He glanced towards the battlefield. At least those had died quickly. Hunger was a cruel killer.

‘The legions must return to their fortresses, Celestial. They will be needed to quell disturbances among the sartlar.’

Carnelian felt crushed by this new prophecy of disaster.

Osidian was nodding. He raised his head. ‘Six legions shall remain here to herd them away from Osrakum.’

‘As you wish, Celestial,’ said Tribute.

Law’s homunculus gazed at them. ‘And now we must haste back to Osrakum. We have all been too long exposed to the pollution out here.’

Carnelian looked around him, weak with relief at the thought of fleeing all this destruction and death. In his mind’s eye he saw the ordered perfection of Osrakum and yearned for it. At the same time he was ashamed of these feelings. How easily he was allowing himself to think like a Master. How easy it would be to wash his hands of the holocaust he had helped to bring about, then go safely behind Osrakum’s mountain wall, where the disaster that was to come would be hidden from his eyes.

Following the direction of his thoughts, his gaze had drifted north towards Osrakum. He became aware of a darkness creeping towards them along the road. Palanquins. Hundreds and hundreds of them. The Chosen were coming to gather their dead.

The first ranks of palanquins disgorged Masters the colours of butterflies. Their iridescent robes and the sunlight hue of their masks spilled glorious summer out over the grey, puddled road. Carnelian pulled the hood of his brother’s cloak further over his face, peering down its tunnel at this alien spectacle as their bright flood left the palanquins behind and approached, Masters towering above their tyadra. Osidian was lifting his hand, holding it aloft to form gestures of command.
Come alone
.

The Masters left their guardsmen behind and continued to advance on their ranga, their gait measured as they passed along the rows of children, their masks glancing at the dead faces, the sight of which only seemed to quicken their approach.

Carnelian dropped his head as they drew closer, for a moment seeing nothing but the shimmer of their silks, the glitter of their jewels. They slowed as they neared Osidian, trailing their sleeves in the filth of the road as they made obeisance, their greetings of ‘Celestial’ like a whisper of breeze. And in the midst of their pomp Osidian was a spindle of shadow, seeming more a part of the angry sky than anything to do with the mundanity below.

He addressed them, his Quya ringing through their ranks, telling them that, of their Ruling Lords, perhaps only eighty had perished, but that the rest lived still and had accepted him as their master and, further, that he had confirmed the new rights his brother had gifted them. Even if Carnelian had not given half his attention to this speech, he would have known these were only the Lesser Chosen, for he was now watching the approach of a more sombre procession. In more autumnal splendour, the Great were filing out of the raft of palanquins and coming on in stately gravity. Slowly they approached the dead laid out upon the road and, though Carnelian watched for a change in their demeanour as they realized these were their children, they did not flinch, but moved along the rows, searching, with as much decorum as if they were appreciating a display of lilies. Suddenly, one raised a hand, throwing a gesture back towards the waiting guardsmen that stirred up a commotion among them. Other hands began rising, their fine bones obscured by the linen of the ritual wrappings, some seeming to tremble a little, perhaps, so that Carnelian felt a tightening around his eyes, recognizing in that little sign what grief was tearing at their hearts. They might be Masters and of the Great, but they were fathers too and these stiff and sodden corpses on the stone were their children.

Servants filtering through the guardsmen were creeping towards their Masters, their steps slowing, faltering as they drew closer to them. Falling at last to the wet road upon their knees so gingerly it seemed they feared to bruise its stone. Cowering at their Masters’ feet, they received instructions. Some produced blades with which they made cuts beneath their eyes so that down their cheeks began to trickle blood tears. Their Masters allowed their cloaks and outer robes to be removed. The servants bore these to where their Masters pointed and the servants began wrapping the dead children in these borrowed shrouds. Watching this, Osidian and the Lesser Chosen Lords had fallen silent. Only when the servants were carrying the shrouded children back to the palanquins did the Great turn towards Osidian and, slowly, they advanced on him. As they drew nearer, the Lesser Chosen Lords, bowing their heads, moved aside and the Great came on like ships under sail. Among the palanquins, Carnelian could see the dead children in their silk cocoons being stowed away.

When the Great were close enough for Carnelian to see the glimmer of their eyes behind the perfect gold faces of their masks, they came to a halt, and for a moment they regarded Osidian with serene malice before one, then all, bowed before him.

‘Great Lords,’ Osidian said, his voice lacking its customary power, ‘those of your Houses that served under my brother are most likely also perished. Even now the commanders from the Lesser Chosen seek their bodily remains.’ Osidian made an unnecessary gesture indicating the battlefield behind him. ‘When they bring them here, we shall all return to Osrakum.’

Carnelian’s attention was pulled in the direction of the palanquins by a commotion there among the guardsmen. As he watched, a fanblade rose, then fell. All the way along their line, weapons were being used. Carnelian became aware of things rolling, of dark stains swelling, joining into streams that swirled into the rain-puddles, reddening them. He grew cold with anger. The slaves who had carried the dead to the palanquins were being slaughtered. One knelt, then his head, severed, rolled; his trunk, collapsing, sprayed blood upon the feet and legs of the guardsmen round him. The slaves had looked upon the faces of the children of the Great. Though their crime merited only blinding, their Masters were not feeling merciful.

Carnelian gazed upon the Great, who seemed impassive even though their people were butchering each other. This was how they had chosen to show their grief. Further, he realized, this was how they had chosen to display their displeasure to Osidian even as they paid him homage.

‘My Apotheosis shall be held in seven days’ time,’ Osidian said.

As the Great again bowed to him, Carnelian felt in his marrow that it was Osidian who was the true author of this theatre. Had he displayed the dead children deliberately so as to give the Great an easy opportunity to vent their grief upon their slaves, in the hope of turning their rage away from him?

Carnelian pulled his cowl down further over his face as one of the Great approached him.

‘You are Suth Carnelian returned?’ the Master said.

Carnelian raised his hand in a gesture of affirmation.

‘I am Opalid, of your House.’

Carnelian remembered meeting this Lord a few times. He recalled also that he was the son of Spinel, who had recently usurped Sardian’s place in House Suth. Opalid’s serene, forbidding face of gold turned to the dead children. ‘My own son lies there.’

The gold mask then surveyed the battlefield. ‘I wait for them to bring me my father’s corpse.’ The golden lips and dark eye slits swung back towards Carnelian. ‘The same price have I paid as the others of the Great, but yet, unlike them, I am not to have the compensation of rising to the ruling of my House.’

His bitter tone stung Carnelian, who wished to find words to deflect the man’s grief, to tell him he did not wish to assume the power Opalid felt was his due, to confess the possibility that he would soon die in Osrakum, but he was trapped in a maze of guilt, anger and confusion. ‘I am sorry you are in pain, Opalid.’

The Master seemed to pull back. ‘Spare me your pity, my Lord. You are like your father. Do you think your blood justifies your absence any more than it did his? Your lineage is either in exile or else you seek to rule from a sickbed. For a generation you have permitted the power of our House to wane in the councils of the Great.’

He snapped his fingers in a gesture of contempt. ‘But why should that surprise me when this weakness saps even our coomb. If I had risen to rule, I would quickly beat the ancient discipline into our slaves; cease this disgusting consorting with them that makes us an object of ridicule among those of our peers who should fear us. How shall you rule, my Lord?’

The Master’s rant had freed Carnelian. ‘You seem to forget, my Lord, our Ruling Lord still lives.’

‘No doubt as the . . . the favourite of the new Gods you expect to bring great power to our House?’

‘Enough,’ snapped Carnelian. He sensed Opalid resisting an instinct to bow. ‘Is my father here?’

‘So that he might savour my grief?’

Carnelian grew weary of the confrontation. ‘You little know him if you imagine he would delight in your pain. Please, just tell me if you know if he is here.’

‘Not as far as I am aware, my Lord.’

‘Perhaps he was too weak to make the journey,’ Carnelian muttered, his heart growing heavy with concern.

‘Yes, my Lord, it shall not be long before you wear the Ruling Ring.’

Carnelian stared at the Master, amazed, wondering if it were possible that he really believed what he was implying. It seemed Opalid’s grief might be more for himself than for his fallen father, perhaps even than for his child. ‘I wish to be alone, my Lord.’

Opalid hesitated, then began a bow, terminated it abruptly and, off-balance, moved away. As he watched him, Carnelian froze. He was all that stood between Opalid and the ruling of House Suth. He could not bear the thought of his family at the mercy of such a man, but, as things were, Carnelian knew his chances of surviving long enough to thwart Opalid were slim.

Carnelian found Osidian with Morunasa and several syblings watching some dragons on the road approaching from the south. No doubt they were bringing the corpses of the Ruling Lords they had salvaged from the battlefield. He felt a pang of urgency. ‘I am going to return to Molochite’s camp, my Lord.’

Osidian’s mask turned to regard him.

‘To seek my father.’

‘Take Earth-is-Strong.’

‘What danger could the camp hold?’

‘None if you take the huimur.’

Carnelian realized there would be other advantages to complying. ‘Is she close by?’

‘Not very far. I kept her close to me during the battle.’ He indicated the gutted mass of the Iron House. ‘In the attack on that, her pipes were second only to mine.’

Carnelian wondered why Osidian had told him that. He disliked being reminded of the way the children had died. Was his real reason for seeking his father to escape the scene of so much death?

‘Take the Quenthas with you.’

Carnelian looked round and saw, with relief and joy, that among the syblings nearby were the sisters who had been his companions at court. Their heads came up, grief hardening their faces. There was shock in Right-Quentha’s eyes at seeing his naked face. He needed to know Osidian’s intentions. ‘What is it that you fear, Celestial?’

Osidian laughed in a way that to Carnelian sounded unnatural. ‘What have I to fear now? Take them. I give them to you. They themselves confessed to me how they disobeyed my brother.’

Carnelian had to defend them. ‘To save me.’

‘And for that I am grateful but, having once betrayed the trust of one God Emperor, how can I be certain they will not betray another?’

Carnelian glanced at the sisters and saw how pale Right-Quentha looked, how both sisters lowered their heads, inclining them towards each other.

‘If you do not take them, they shall have to be destroyed.’

Carnelian saw that the sisters did not flinch at this threat. ‘I shall be glad to have them with me if that is their wish.’

Right-Quentha glanced up at him, in her sad eyes acceptance of their fate. He felt their shame and wished he could tell them that, in truth, he too was of the House of the Masks, so that there was no dishonour in serving him, but he could not speak and, as he walked away, the sisters followed him.

‘How was Grane blinded?’

His brothers, Poppy and Krow stared past him. Carnelian glanced round at the syblings. Right-Quentha was countering their stares with proud aloofness. Her sister’s tattooed face bore an uncertain frown. Carnelian turned back to his family. ‘These are the Quenthas, right and left. They saved my life’ – he glanced at Fern, who was nodding – ‘and, henceforth, are part of our household.’

He looked into every face to make certain everyone understood he wanted the sisters welcomed. All concurred. Only Fern’s gaze did not soften, disturbed beneath his troubled brow; he was concerned not at all with the syblings, but only with Carnelian. They needed to talk, but this was not the time.

‘Grane’s eyes?’ he said to Keal.

His brother began a shrug. ‘While Father still ruled, Grane was his steward.’ His mouth tightened. ‘When they stole the power away from Father, the new master had Grane flogged, then blinded.’

Tain’s eyes flashed. ‘Spinel removed his mask in front of him!’

Carnelian caught his meaning. Spinel had done the same to Grane as had Jaspar to Tain on the road to Osrakum. Grane had been used to make clear to Sardian and the rest of the House exactly who was now master. Carnelian could see in his brothers’ faces something of what they had had to endure in the subsequent years of Spinel’s rule.

Tain’s smile startled Carnelian. ‘But everything will change, now you’re back, Carnie.’

Carnelian’s first reaction was anger. Almost he reprimanded him for his dangerous familiarity. But, realizing his anger was really fear, he let it go. He could not bear their hope, for it was sure to founder in bitter disappointment. Desperation rose at the thought they might spend the rest of their lives under Opalid’s tyranny.

A tremor in the ground steadied him. Another. Up on the road a dragon was approaching. With relief he recognized Earth-is-Strong and he threw himself into getting his family up into the safety of her tower.