Each Domain corresponds to a lunar month. Each takes the form of a tree with a Grand Sapient as its root. Each has two direct subordinates; each in turn has two more and so on. The number of Sapients in a major Domain is sixty-three; in a minor Domain, thirty-one. Only the Grand Sapients of the major Domains have Seconds as their immediate subordinates; all other Grand Sapients have Thirds. The major Domains are Legions, Lands, Tribute and Cities; the minor are Mentor, Roads, Law, Immortality, Labyrinth, Gates, Rain and Blood.
‘ Suth Carnelian,’ said the homunculus in a high, unhuman voice that made Carnelian’s scalp crawl. In shock, he stared up at the Sapient. Skin, sallow leather. A cavity gaping where there should have been a nose. Eyepits, empty. Except for the straps that held him upright within the hollow of the capsule, the Sapient appeared to be entirely naked. He seemed to be strangling the homunculus that stood between his legs. Carnelian’s focus snapped back to the finial of the staff the homunculus was holding. Its lurid red stone was in form something like the horned head of a dragon. Though he had never seen the cypher before, he could guess what it indicated. ‘You are of the Domain Legions?’
‘I am Legions.’
Carnelian froze with terror. Standing before him was one of the twelve Grand Sapients and master of by far the greater part of the Commonwealth’s might. ‘What are you doing here… my Lord?’
Behind its silver mask, the homunculus murmured an echo to Carnelian’s words. A coiling around its neck drew Carnelian’s eyes. The corpse fingers came alive like worms. Their fretting at the homunculus’ throat made it speak again. ‘It is you, my Lord, who have need to answer that question. What do you intend to do with the forces you have stolen from the Commonwealth?’
The authority in those words compelled Carnelian to explain himself. The reason Osidian would have given seemed too absurd to voice. How could they hope to remove Molochite, now God Emperor, and set Osidian up in his place? From Carnelian’s heart came what mattered to him: to save his loved ones, the Plainsmen and the Lepers who even now were not far away in direct defiance of the Law-that-must-be-obeyed. Gazing up, he struggled to marshal enough belief to answer the Grand Sapient.
‘You may have managed to defeat that fool Aurum with the rabble of barbarians you conquered with the Ochre tribe, but can it really be that you intend to challenge us directly?’
The mention of the murdered tribe snatched the breath from Carnelian’s lips. How much did the Wise know? Though it felt like a betrayal, he must not hesitate to use the massacre of the Tribe in whatever way he could to save others. As for Osidian, he owed him nothing. ‘Osidian destroyed the Ochre to the last child. It was through this that he terrorized the other tribes into obeying him, but their fear of the Commonwealth turned out greater and they soon deserted him rather than follow him to the Guarded Land.’
‘But not before my Lord Nephron used them to annihilate an entire legion’s auxiliaries.’
Beneath his bandages, sweat ran down Carnelian’s back. The looming Grand Sapient was standing in judgement upon the Plainsmen. Carnelian grasped at various retorts. All seemed dangerous, but silence most dangerous of all. The Grand Sapient’s line of argument must be challenged. ‘Still, they abandoned him as soon as they could.’
As the homunculus echoed Carnelian’s words, the leathery face rose out of the hollow in which it lay. ‘Does my Lord imagine we do not know it is Marula who do my Lord Nephron’s bidding now?’
Carnelian felt panic rising.
‘Not only they, but the vermin recently come up from the land below…’
Carnelian felt as if he were only now becoming aware of the web in which he was caught. He fought to calm himself. To struggle would only ensnare him more completely.
The Grand Sapient creased the horned-ring branded into his forehead. ‘Though we have not yet determined why they would seek such futile and self-destructive defiance.’
This doubt was the first vulnerability Carnelian had detected in his inquisitor. ‘Perhaps they seek revenge against the atrocities recently visited upon them by my Lord Aurum.’
‘So in this case you admit they defy us of their own will?’
Carnelian recoiled. His resistance had served only to condemn the Lepers further. It seemed the ground around him was scattered with broken glass.
More movement at the homunculus’ throat. ‘Though you may have found a way up into the Guarded Land unknown to us, be certain we shall find it, plug it and chastise those who showed it to you.
‘You may have obtained control of one of our legions, but do you imagine it will be enough to defeat us, who have more than forty we can wield against you? Do you really hope to prevail with your one where even Kakanxahe, with all the legions at his back, failed? Have no doubt, Suth Carnelian: your rebellion will end in failure. We seek merely to limit unnecessary destruction and bloodshed.’
The Grand Sapient leaned forward enough that light welled into his eyepits, which were revealed to have a reddish hue. ‘Help me put this madness to an end, child.’
Carnelian stared at the red pits.
‘Though Nephron has been wronged, what has been done cannot be undone. For him there is no hope. The moment his brother donned the Masks, Nephron’s life was forfeit. You, however, can still be saved. Though you have transgressed against the Law, there are loopholes in it that I could help you exploit.’
Carnelian shook his head, mesmerized by the mummy face. He would not save himself if that meant leaving all those he loved to perish.
Though eyeless, the Grand Sapient seemed to gaze at him. ‘The God Emperor might be grateful enough to gift you a bloodpure bride.’
Carnelian’s expression must have been relayed to the Grand Sapient, for it receded up into the shadows of the capsule hollow. ‘I could see to it that you were given the ruling of your House.’
Those words struck at Carnelian’s heart. ‘Would you have me supplant my own father?’
‘No need for that, he has been deposed.’
‘Deposed?’ Carnelian said, feeling pressure in his chest.
‘Ykoriana had the Clave depose him.’
‘In revenge for his opposing her-’ For a moment Carnelian felt relief, thinking that of all possible punishments, deposal was the lightest. Then he realized that, without him there, Spinel and the Second Lineage would have become masters of House Suth. Ykoriana’s revenge was typically cruel.
‘We know you have other reasons to hate the Empress.’
Carnelian stared up at the shadowy mummy.
‘We know, though have been unable to prove, she was behind your kidnapping. She and the Brotherhood of the Wheel who captured you in the Yden.’
The pain of the news about his father was combining in Carnelian with the anguish of that night that seemed now so long ago. Rage rose in him against the agent of all their woes. ‘The Hanuses admitted they were her instrument?’
The Grand Sapient gave a slight nod. ‘There have been reasons to suspect their involvement. How did the Brotherhood remove you from Osrakum?’
‘In funerary urns.’
The Grand Sapient released his hold on the homunculus, who half-turned, perhaps startled at the separation. Watching the pale hands return to coil about the creature’s throat Carnelian realized this was something the Grand Sapient had not known. Again the feeling of being ensnared. What else had he given away?
The homunculus began to speak again. ‘You have good reason to feel grievance against her. She has taken much from you.’
Carnelian gazed at the Grand Sapient, who presently became aware of his wariness. ‘It is she who has coarsened your skin, child. She who has given it the taint of the impure. You will never be free of that scar about your neck.’
Instinctively, Carnelian’s hand rose to touch the scar, but his fingers struck bandages. His scar was concealed. Of course the ammonites of the purgatory had witnessed him naked. His unease flared to horror as he remembered the homunculus at the foot of his bed. Had the Grand Sapient examined him? That thought left him feeling violated.
‘Even now she swells powerful on your suffering. We too have cause to hate her, child. Though it is her son who wears the Masks, it is she who rules. This is why we have sought to bring Nephron to Osrakum alive. If he accuses her, we can pull her down.’
‘And then you would have him slain and use his blood to anoint his brother’s Masks.’
‘That is the Law.’
‘The Law.’
‘Without it, there would be chaos.’
Carnelian sensed how the Grand Sapient lusted to have Osidian in his power. Though his heart misgave at what he must do, he could not pass up this chance to negotiate while he still could. ‘I will give him to you, but I have a price…’
‘Name it.’
‘Your vow that the Wise will take no vengeance on the barbarians who have been involved in this affair; not one of them is to be harmed.’
The Grand Sapient leaned forward again as if peering at Carnelian, who endured the regard of those eyepits. The Grand Sapient’s silence was more terrible than his borrowed voice. He remained motionless for so long, hope began to well up in Carnelian that was almost enough to eclipse his ache at the thought of betraying Osidian.
At last the fingers started moving at the homunculus’ throat. ‘You ask nothing for yourself?’
Almost Carnelian answered: This is for myself, but his heart warned him against it. Instead he considered what might happen to him once he had given them Osidian. In the Three Lands, there was only one place he could live. He imagined returning to Osrakum. Hope lit in him that he could save his father. Mentally, he shook his head. It was already too complicated. Ykoriana’s fall would have to be enough upon which to build his father’s return to supremacy in their coomb.
‘Nothing,’ he said.
The Grand Sapient seemed to regard him for an age. Carnelian felt that he could almost see the thoughts flitting through that mutilated head.
‘Of course I cannot accede to your request. The Commonwealth depends for her existence on terror. Without this, her fabric would unravel. Her subjects must know the Law to be absolute. They must have no doubt whatever that their transgressions will be punished mercilessly. To pardon even one of these barbarians their sins would be to put the Commonwealth into greater peril than that which you and the Lord Nephron pose.’
Carnelian’s hope was quenched by flooding disappointment, but he felt also relief. ‘Then you leave me no choice, my Lord.’ He could not pretend to play the game further. ‘I will fight you, though I do not know how or to what end it will bring me.’
The Grand Sapient’s fingers kneaded instructions into the homunculus’ neck. ‘Then Nephron’s fall shall encompass your own.’ The pale hands let go the creature’s throat and the Grand Sapient folded them over his chest.
Carnelian stared. The Grand Sapient resembled nothing as much as he did a huskman. Certainly, he seemed no more alive. Carnelian backed away, then turned and made his way back to the stair. He was relieved that he did not have to betray Osidian, but the greatest comfort was the removal of doubt. At least now he knew exactly who to fight.
‘He has to come,’ Carnelian muttered to himself. He had persuaded Sthax to go and fetch Fern from the cothon. The Maruli had wanted to know what was going on, but Carnelian could not even begin to explain. In the end he had told him that he did not know. He had not lied. The only thing he was certain of was that he could not handle Legions on his own. Osidian must be informed of his discovery. Carnelian had considered making the journey to see him, but he did not dare leave the Grand Sapient unattended. Were Legions to emerge from the vault Carnelian was not confident he could stop Aurum’s household obeying him. He could not trust the quaestor, who was the Grand Sapient’s creature, and to send Sthax with a letter would be to expose him to the scrutiny of Morunasa.
He gazed anxiously towards the outer door. Fern had to come. There was no one else he could trust, no one who had such a good chance to get through to Osidian.
He peered through the haze of myrrh smoke rising from censers into the corner of the chamber. Several times already he thought he had seen movement there. A smothered gleam that might have been a homunculus mask or the shadows coalescing into the sinister form of the Grand Sapient. Carnelian was frantic that Legions would escape. He wished he had had the presence of mind to look for other exits from the vault. He could go down there now, but he feared the Grand Sapient’s voice, his logic, his power of command. He had no illusions. He had managed to withstand the Grand Sapient’s arguments only because his mask of reasonableness had slipped momentarily to reveal the bleak mercilessness behind.
He glanced again towards the outer door. What was taking Fern so long? His gaze was drawn, unwillingly, back to the dark corner. He remembered the capsules. Those could not be native to this fortress. A creeping horror rose in him as he contemplated how the Grand Sapient might have travelled here in one. And who were his two companions? And was it a coincidence that he should have ended up occupying a chamber directly above the vault? He shuddered as again he imagined the Grand Sapient standing over him as he slept. Shuddered as he imagined those pale fingers touching him while he dreamed dark dreams.
When Fern entered, Carnelian could only stare. He seemed smaller than Carnelian remembered. A little older? He reminded himself that it was amazing Fern was there at all. The scars the fire had left on the side of his neck were like the baroquing on Ichorian armour. Carnelian wondered if it was the sartlar salve that had healed them so well. Though he could not see his shoulder and arm, Fern did not seem to him disfigured. Indeed, Carnelian was only too aware of how even the Leper shrouds could not conceal how well made he was.
‘Kneel, barbarian,’ an ammonite hissed.
Carnelian had forgotten the ammonites who had entered before Fern. He must remember where he was; who he was. He dismissed them with a harsh hand. They turned their masks to him, hesitated, but then retreated, bowing. He held his breath until they had left and closed the doors behind them. It was only then he became aware Fern was staring at him. He felt his gaze like a blow. His entire body reacted. He wanted so much to approach him, to touch him. The grim intensity in Fern’s eyes would have been enough to stay him even had he not proceeded to reinforce the difference in their rank. ‘Master.’
He did not even bow his head, so that the word had not a hint of subservience, but only a defiance that filled Carnelian with a wrenching fear for him. Brass glimmering at his throat was even worse. That collar proved Fern a deserter from the legions, which on its own rendered his life forfeit. Carnelian breathed deep, centring himself. The business he had summoned him for must be transacted as briskly as possible. ‘I need you to go to the Master and take him a message.’
Grateful for Fern’s tiny nod, Carnelian found he was remembering how much Osidian hated him. Then there was the second agreement the Lepers had made with Osidian of which Carnelian knew nothing at all. ‘Do you know of any new reason why it might be dangerous for you to go and see the Master?’
Fern’s expression did not change. ‘Should there be?’
‘You know perfectly well how he feels about you!’
Fern scowled. ‘He and I are certainly not the best of friends.’
Carnelian used the fear he felt for him to dowse his anger. He glanced into the dark corner, then, turning back, removed his mask. It was a risk, but he felt that if they did not talk man to man, they risked much more. ‘Tell me what you know about this second agreement the Lepers have made with the Master.’
Fern’s defiance softened and that, for some reason, relit Carnelian’s anger. ‘How can I help them unless I know what’s going on?’
‘They’ve come up to fight Aurum.’
‘But the Master had already promised to give him to them.’
The corners of Fern’s mouth tightened. ‘He persuaded them that he could not succeed without their help.’
Carnelian felt there was more to it than that. ‘He promised them something else, didn’t he?’
Fern’s gaze fell. ‘He’s promised them this city.’
‘Makar?’
Fern looked at him again. ‘He intends to let them sack it. They need some compensation for their losses,’ Fern said, without much conviction.
‘Surely they can see that will only make matters worse.’ Carnelian was only too aware of the doom Legions had pronounced upon the Lepers.
‘They made an agreement and mean to honour it.’
Carnelian recalled a meeting in one of the Leper caves between Osidian and Lily; how she had behaved at the time; her sudden disappearance.
‘Honour is one of the few things they have left.’ Fern must have sensed something of what Carnelian was feeling for he added: ‘I tried to explain to her what had happened to the Tribe, but it was already too late, they had already made the agreement.’
Carnelian saw in Fern’s face something of the hurt he must have felt when he had awoken to find himself abandoned. ‘Are you fully healed?’
‘Well enough.’
Silence fell between them as they shared understanding and sadness and, perhaps, some hopelessness too. Carnelian was reluctant to end that moment, which was the closest they had been for such a long time, but he knew he had to.
He began describing the threat he had discovered in the vault.
Fern’s forehead creased. ‘Legions?’
‘That is his title, his name.’
Fern’s eyebrows rose. ‘And you say he’s more dangerous than Aurum?’
As Carnelian nodded, Fern looked over to the dark corner of the chamber. He turned back. ‘And this is the message you want me to take to the Master?’
Carnelian nodded and told him where Osidian was and how he could get there.
‘All right.’
Carnelian felt pain that Fern asked nothing further. As Fern turned to leave, Carnelian moved forward, awkwardly, and touched his shoulder. ‘I chose you because there’s no one else I trust as much and no one else Osidian would believe.’
Without turning, Fern gave the merest nod and then began the journey back to the outer doors. Carnelian bound on his mask and through its eyeslits he watched him moving away, creating eddies in the myrrh smoke. His heart felt as if it was growing colder. The door opened. Fern went through. The door closed. Carnelian tried to convince himself it was better this way. Whatever was going to happen, they could never again be close. The greater the distance he maintained between them, the safer Fern would be.
He gazed back towards the corner with its tapestry and its secret stair down to the vault. It was hard to believe he would ever be able to prove the defiance he had thrown in the Grand Sapient’s face to be anything more than empty bravado.
Carnelian came awake. His dream was a thorn. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it. He had only meant to lie down for a moment while he waited. Balancing on the edge of shadowy dream and waking, images from his nightmare uncurled in his memory as slowly as smoke. For some reason he was remembering the Marula in the Qunoth purgatory. Had he and Osidian not been there to calm them, they would have slain the ammonites.
He sat up suddenly. The quaestor had claimed that on that first day in Makar the Marula had apparently returned tamely to the cothon leaving him in the hands of the ammonites. Carnelian realized he had never fully determined what had happened then. Why had he not asked Sthax? Almost he rushed off to ask him there and then, but he sensed he knew everything he needed to already. He could remember entering the purgatory. Then he had woken here, late the next day, with the same headache he had now. Unease rose in him like nausea. Here, above the Grand Sapient’s vault. Unease flared into a shocking realization. He had been entirely in Legions’ power. A shudder went down his spine. With his own hand, the Grand Sapient had read the taint scars on his back. Carnelian saw it all. Aurum’s ineffectual attack. The watch-towers signalling back to the city. He had been drugged. When Legions had discovered that it was not Osidian he had captured, he had made sure Carnelian would find him in the vault, calculating that he must then send for Osidian.
Legions wanted Osidian to come so that he could capture him. Blind with panic, Carnelian fumbled for his mask and ran for the outer door.
When, at last, he reached the gates of the purgatory, Carnelian asked Sthax to wait for him with the rest of the Marula they had brought with them from Aurum’s halls. As Sthax talked to his people, Carnelian pulled the doors open. Smoke belched out from the darkness. Cries assailed him. Warnings. Threats. Paying them no heed, he plunged into the gloom. Light streaming in from the gaping doorway behind him found the silver faces of ammonites, the legs of tripods, the curving brass of censers. He kept going, aware of ammonites flitting round him. A glance back showed him the Marula as silhouettes in the doorway. His vision gradually returning, he saw smoke forming blue scythes in the air. He could feel the drug seep into him. His vision was swimming. Was that a huge shrouded body stretched out upon the floor? Ammonites were huddled over it like crows over a corpse. As Carnelian lurched towards it, their masks came up and they backed away, shrilling. It was a body on the floor; a body swathed in Leper shrouds. At first Carnelian thought it must be Fern, but then he saw a sliver of a Master’s mask in the half-closed cowl. It had to be Osidian. Carnelian could feel the drug creeping into his mind. Soon it would overcome him. The smell of blood. A dark shape lay beached on the floor some distance away. What little light there was caught on the long-limbed form of a Marula warrior; a dark pool spreading over the floor from under him. Ammonites were forming a barrier between Carnelian and Osidian, swinging thick strokes of poisoned smoke towards him.
‘Murderers!’ he cried, shoving into their midst, hurling them aside like dolls. Censers clattered to the floor. He reached the shrouded body, reeling. Stooping, he dug his arms under it and, with a groan, swung it up and over his shoulder. Then he staggered towards the wavering incandescence of the door. Ammonites moved to stand in his path. Hysterical with alarm, they wove drugged smoke around him. With his free hand he scooped up a tripod and, swinging it, struck. A clang as a mask flew off. That cleared a path to the open air. Loping, now, he reached it. Light engulfed him. He managed several more steps then stumbled, crying out for fear of hurting Osidian. As he fell onto one knee, he felt the burden lifting off him. He was choking. The mask would not let him breathe. He had good reason to know the risk, but feared he might lose consciousness. So he tore his mask off and gulped fresh air.
As his mind began to clear, he rose, turning. Ammonites streaming out from the purgatory collided with those who were standing motionless. Though they were masked, the stiffness of their poses betrayed their terror. Some had stains darkening the skirts of their robes. Through the eyeslits of their masks they were gazing upon his naked face. Sthax and his Marula too were in breach of the Law. It was a choice between the ammonites and the warriors. He was struck momentarily by pity, but then he remembered the Maruli lying in his own blood. Frowning, he made a sign to Sthax and his men, one they could not help but understand, then pointed at the ammonites. As the Marula advanced on them with lowered lances, the ammonites began keening. Carnelian forced himself to watch their massacre.
Osidian came awake, frowning.
‘Where’s Fern?’ Carnelian demanded. Waiting for Osidian to recover he, Sthax and the other Marula had had time to drag all the bodies they could find in the purgatory out into the open air. There had been more than twenty Marula with their throats cut, but no sign of Fern.
Osidian’s frown deepened as he focused on Carnelian’s face. His eyes widened. ‘We’re unmasked!’
‘There are none left alive to see our faces save for the Marula and to them our faces are nothing new.’
Osidian glowered. ‘Blood and iron, what is going on?’
‘Fern?’ Carnelian almost barked at him.
As Osidian regarded him, Carnelian saw in his face that old familiar pain. ‘He is safe enough, Carnelian. I left him commanding Heart-of-Thunder in my place.’ He lifted his arms to show the dirty Leper shroud. ‘While I came here in his.’
Carnelian found this news alarming. ‘Do the other commanders know you have left?’
Osidian shrugged. ‘If things go badly they might find out.’
Carnelian saw how precarious things were, but then what had he expected when he had sent his message to Osidian?
‘Tell me what has happened. Why am I lying here?’
Carnelian told him about the drugged smoke; the destruction of the ammonites; Legions’ plot against them.
‘You are sure it is Legions himself?’
Carnelian described the finial on his domain staff and Osidian’s face went pale, his eyes blinded by thought. He shook his head in wonder. ‘Only this morning I chose to reveal myself to the Wise by heliograph. I was awaiting their reply when Fern came with your message.’ He shook his head again. ‘It was hard to believe.’
‘But still you came.’
Osidian focused on Carnelian. ‘So it is to you, once again, that I owe my salvation.’
Carnelian spoke quickly to quench the light of love that was stirring in Osidian’s eyes. ‘The Grand Sapient tried to buy me. Had he promised to spare the barbarians, I would have given you to him.’
Sadness returned to Osidian’s face. He lowered his gaze. ‘He would never promise you that. He could not.’ He looked up. ‘So you continue to fight at my side?’
‘As you said, did I not just save you from falling into his power?’
‘Don’t expect me to make war, Carnelian, without your precious barbarians suffering casualties.’
‘As long as you don’t deliberately cause them to be hurt.’
Osidian held Carnelian’s gaze. ‘We understand each other?’
Carnelian gave him a nod. ‘Release the Lepers from their agreement.’
Osidian made a gesture of negation. ‘I cannot. We need them.’
Carnelian saw there was no moving him. He had not expected to, but had had to try.
‘What did you tell him?’ Osidian said.
Carnelian related what he could remember of his conversation with Legions.
‘Nothing more?’
‘I wasn’t feeling very chatty.’
Osidian seemed blind again. Carnelian watched the muscles working in his jaw as he rehearsed what he would say to the Grand Sapient.
The Grand Sapient was in the vault. In the lamplight he appeared to Carnelian exactly as he had before. Displayed upright in his capsule, seemingly no more alive than a mummy, his homunculus between his legs. As Osidian unmasked Carnelian did the same. Revealed, Osidian’s rapt expression was difficult to read. Wonder tinged with awe, but there was something else. Carnelian nursed an emerging impression, then realized, with shock, what it must be. Love.
‘It is you, Legions,’ said Osidian.
The homunculus murmured behind its blinding mask. Legions’ fingers worked its neck and throat. ‘It is, Celestial.’
‘I feared we would never meet again, my Lord.’
‘We shared your fear.’
Osidian gazed up at the Grand Sapient. ‘You searched for me with your childgatherers, but I made sure to remain well hidden, never guessing you would send a legion. That I had not imagined possible.’
‘We have often had to transcend the possible.’
‘But to send the Lord Aurum, surely that was a terrible risk?’
They waited for Legions to take the sounds from the homunculus’ throat.
‘To use one of the Lesser Chosen would have been no less a risk, Celestial. Besides, we had used him before. He was an instrument who came easily to hand.’
Carnelian wondered if he meant that it was the Wise who had been behind sending Aurum to fetch his father from exile.
‘My brother knows nothing of this?’ Osidian said.
‘Nothing.’
‘That you have come yourself, my Lord, suggests your mind was primary in this affair. It suggests also the Wise are desperate.’
‘It was Suth who kept from us the knowledge of your disappearance until it was too late. Our trust in him led us into error and left us exposed to your mother.’
Though the voice of the homunculus was free from emotion, Carnelian sensed the menace in Legions’ words. So it was not only Ykoriana who had been his father’s enemy. Carnelian would have challenged the Grand Sapient, but Osidian, sensing this, stayed him by touching his arm. As the homunculus continued, Osidian gave Carnelian a look of reassurance.
‘She forced us to gift the City at the Gates to the Brotherhood of the Wheel.’
‘She dared parade her guilt before you thus?’
Once he had understood that, Legions turned his eyepits on Carnelian. ‘Without evidence, we could not touch her. Suth’s sin had made her invulnerable. Though that brought him no gratitude from her.’
Carnelian would no longer be restrained. ‘So you aided her against him?’
‘It was she who had the Clave impeach him. We merely did not raise a finger to defend him.’
‘Aurum was as much her enemy,’ said Osidian.
‘She commuted his deposal to exile, Celestial.’
‘Why, my Lord?’
‘Our thought combined has not yet been able to deduce a reason.’
‘My mother is given neither to whim nor mercy.’
‘Some factor is missing from our computations.’
Osidian frowned at this. Either he was disturbed by this failing of the Wise, or else he sensed the Grand Sapient was keeping something from him. ‘And how did you persuade Aurum to do your bidding?’
‘It has been our experience’ – the eyepits glanced towards Carnelian again – ‘that those of the Great will do almost anything to regain entrance to Osrakum.’
Osidian regarded Legions with a fixed concentration. ‘It seems, my Lord, we have the same enemies, the same goals.’
Once the homunculus had echoed these words, they waited, but Legions’ fingers remained so still that the homunculus could have been wearing a collar carved from alabaster.
Osidian looked up at Legions, uncertain. ‘Join with me, my Lord, give me back the Masks. Once I am They, I will rid you of my mother. .. and make you other concessions besides…’
The alabaster fingers came alive. ‘Surely, child, you know that what you ask is beyond our power to grant. You have been too long in the wilderness, too long free. Even I am a slave to the Law-that-must-be-obeyed and what you ask you must surely know the Law forbids.’
‘But now that your scheme to take me captive has failed you cannot hope to keep your plotting concealed from her and, once she and Osrakum know of that, the power the Wise have to counter hers will be seriously diminished.’
‘I am curious: what caused my scheme to fail?’
‘Carnelian…’ Osidian turned, puzzled, to Carnelian. ‘How did you know…?’
Carnelian shrugged. ‘I was warned of it in a dream.’
Osidian looked incredulous. ‘A dream?’
‘A dream?’ echoed the homunculus.
Carnelian and Osidian turned back to the Grand Sapient. ‘Have there been other dreams of warning, Suth Carnelian?’
Carnelian felt uneasy at having become the object of the Grand Sapient’s interest. His thought became tangled as he tried to work out what to say. In the end it seemed easier to simply state the truth. ‘There have been others.’
‘What does it matter? It did fail!’ cried Osidian. ‘And without me you are exposed to my mother.’
The Grand Sapient seemed to have withered back to a corpse. Carnelian’s unease grew. He turned to Osidian for help, but was shaken by how young he looked, how helpless. Osidian’s face sagged into anguish. ‘It was I, not my brother, who was elected to wear the Masks. Surely my mother’s plot cannot be allowed to overturn the expressed will of the Chosen?’
As the homunculus echoed Osidian’s words, Carnelian regarded Osidian with increasing horror. After everything he had done, after all his claims, he appeared now to be merely a child demanding fairness.
‘Once made, the Gods cannot be unmade,’ said the homunculus.
Osidian seemed close to tears, exhausted. ‘I too was anointed with blood. The God came to me not once, but many times. He spoke to me. He acted through me. I am His instrument.’
Carnelian felt his horror turning to contempt. He expected the Grand Sapient to swat Osidian with more relentless logic, but was disappointed when, instead, the homunculus began to question him, probing his claims. He watched the interrogation, incredulous that the Grand Sapient could be finding anything of interest in Osidian’s deranged beliefs. Then, as Osidian unwound their story, Carnelian became mesmerized with fear that Osidian was betraying the Plainsmen, then the Marula. Carnelian reassured himself, first that Legions knew most of this already, then that the Marula were most likely already lost and, finally that, come what may, the Grand Sapient was in their power; that whatever Legions was learning from Osidian they would make sure he would remain unable to communicate it back to his brethren in Osrakum.
Osidian was done. He gazed up expectantly at the Grand Sapient. The homunculus spoke. ‘I do not deny the signs, the portents, but they change nothing, Celestial.’
The change that came upon Osidian’s face Carnelian had had reason many times to fear. ‘We shall see if the rest of the Twelve shall be as intransigent as you, my Lord.’
‘How do you imagine, Celestial, that you will fare better with them who are free, than you have with me, who am your prisoner?’
Osidian’s eyes burned. ‘Then I shall march upon Osrakum.’
Legions lowered his head, causing his eyepits to flood with shadow that poured down to his lipless mouth. ‘You hope to overthrow the Commonwealth with a single legion?’
Osidian looked round as if for allies, but Carnelian was in no mood to give him support. Osidian looked up into the dark curves of the ceiling as if searching for something. Then his gaze returned to the Grand Sapient. ‘I will enfranchise the Lesser Chosen and they will follow me to the Three Gates.’
The leather of Legions’ face formed into an expression that might have been contempt. ‘And how do you imagine you will communicate with them?’
Osidian’s face reddened. ‘No doubt, my Lord, you did not come here without reconfiguring the watch-towers to your needs. It would profit you nothing to be here more blind, more mute than if you had remained in Osrakum.’
The horned-ring was lost in Legions’ frown. ‘After your message reached the first few legions, we would lock down the system. Isolated, the commanders would not dare rise.’
Legions loomed forward, his fingers digging instructions into the neck of the homunculus. ‘Do you really believe, child, that even with a dozen legions you could overcome our systems? You would dash yourself ineffectually upon the cliff of our defence. Why do you think we have named this the Guarded Land? However many legions you might gather to your rebellion, we would have more. The web of roads has been constructed to our specifications. Their walls dissect the Land and bind it. Our towers give us the vision of the Gods Themselves. Through them we speak with light, faster than the wind.
‘And even should you break through the host that we would muster against you, have you forgotten the Three Gates? A thousand years have we had to perfect them. No force in the Three Lands could hope to breach them.’
The evident truth of this overwhelmed Carnelian, who had seen the Gates with his own eyes. He had watched Osidian bend beneath the weight of the Grand Sapient’s statements. It seemed incredible that Osidian should find any more resistance, but he did. He looked up. ‘I could rule at my brother’s side.’
The Grand Sapient regarded them with his dead face, his fingers mute. Osidian’s gaze clung to that face. ‘Are we not twins like the Gods? Was I not marked for the Black God as Molochite was for the Green?’
The silence stretched, then, at last, the homunculus spoke. ‘Long ago were the Two made One. It is upon this foundation that the Balance of the Powers stands. You know this.’
Seeing Osidian defeated, so drained, Carnelian felt almost unable to breathe. So much death, so much pain; for what? So that their rebellion should simply run dry? He had to release some of his bile. ‘And what of you, my Lord Legions? Why should we not slay you?’
A languor came over the Grand Sapient that, strangely, made him seem more alive. ‘It would profit you nothing. My brethren would simply elect another to stand in my place.’
As Osidian began to move away, Carnelian stood for some moments gazing at the Grand Sapient. At that moment, Legions did not seem a monster, but only a mutilated man. Carnelian knew what tyranny the Wise were responsible for but, seeing Legions powerless, he could not help feeling pity, though even that seeped away. Empty of all feeling, he turned and, taking the light away with him, followed Osidian.
Behind him an unhuman voice spoke. ‘Ultimately, only the Commonwealth is immortal.’
Carnelian caught up with Osidian in Aurum’s bedchamber. Seeing his dull eyes, his face still flushed, Carnelian’s heart sank. If Osidian had lost his will to fight, it was all over. In spite of Sthax, Morunasa and the Marula were sure to become unmanageable. Worse, the Lesser Chosen commanders would desert. Poppy, Fern, Lily and the Lepers, all would be left exposed to the full wrath of the Masters. He could see the fire, could smell the blood and crucifixions. He stared at Osidian, realizing with shocked amazement how much he had come to rely on his relentless drive for revenge. It had become such a solid part of his world that, without knowing it, he had built all his strategies on it.
‘Things are not hopeless,’ his voice said.
Osidian’s eyes remained dull. Carnelian had to lead them back to solid ground. ‘We still have a legion. A city. In spite of anything the Grand Sapient said, it is we who have him in our power.’
Life came back into Osidian’s face, then an expression of exasperation. ‘Have you still not understood? This chamber, this fortress, the whole of the Guarded Land, all have been fashioned by the sort of mind down there.’ He began wringing his hands. ‘They were the basis of all my hope. They ratified my election.’ He glanced at Carnelian, looking child-like, frightened. ‘And it was obvious how much they were prepared to risk to unseat my mother.’
Carnelian searched around for something he could say that would reassure Osidian, but Legions’ logic seemed inescapable. That made him boil. ‘For all his wisdom, the Grand Sapient is still a man and, like all other men, he is prey to fear. He knows we have the power to do what we will with him. Cornered, is it any surprise he should have said the things he did?’
Osidian frowned, but gazed at Carnelian, hungry for more.
‘You left the watch-tower, my Lord, before receiving a reply from Osrakum. Surely the rest of the Twelve will be nervous. At any moment the other two Powers could discover what they have been up to. At this moment of crisis they can have, at the very best, an imperfect idea of what is going on here. They probably know they have lost a legion. Perhaps they know we hold Makar. But, worst of all, they will have lost contact with he who among them is the master of their defence. Perhaps they already fear we have him in our power. If they do not, you could confirm this.’
‘Wouldn’t they just elect a replacement?’ said Osidian, shifting into Vulgate.
‘Perhaps, but consider how reluctant they might be to do that. The Gods know how long he’s been the mind that’s shaped the defences of the Commonwealth, but I warrant it must have been a considerable time. Is it likely that in such a crisis they’d wish to put their trust in someone less experienced? For the moment at least they’re likely to hesitate and, surely, such hesitation is a weakness we can exploit?’
Carnelian could see the embers of belief he had rekindled in Osidian’s eyes. ‘With less leverage your mother managed to bend them to her will.’
Osidian observed him. ‘But dare I go to the watch-tower leaving Legions unwatched?’
Carnelian felt trapped. Every moment that passed exposed Fern to discovery by the Lesser Chosen commanders. Never mind the disaster that would ensue should Aurum return. Osidian had to return to the dragons immediately. Carnelian knew what this was going to take. He tried to keep dismay from his face and voice as he said: ‘I’ll deal with Legions.’
Osidian looked uncertain. ‘How?’ He gazed at the floor as if he were trying to see through it. ‘I know more about them than perhaps they suspect, but I’m not fool enough to imagine I know a fraction of their secrets. Who knows what powers Legions may have to wield against us?’
Carnelian put on a smile. ‘Much of the power of the Wise comes from the awe in which they are held. Can you think of anyone in the Three Lands who’s less likely to be impressed than I?’
Osidian regarded him with a frown, thin hope warring with doubt. At last he shook his head. ‘Have it your own way.’
As he masked, Carnelian copied him with relief. Behind his mask he could release his face into what he knew must be an expression of near despair.
As he opened the door leading to the vault, Carnelian was overwhelmed by an odour that, for some reason, made him recall his wounded father. It was only myrrh. He could see its smoke creeping up the steps. He listened out for what might be happening below. Though he feared it might be sorcery he dared not give in to that fear. If anything, it was even more reason for him to confront it. He began a careful descent of the stair.
Smoke hung like mist in the vault, pierced by rays emanating from some lamp. Creeping towards the light he began to see a small figure hunched before Legions’ open capsule. Within its hollow stood the Grand Sapient, arms folded across his chest, ribbed bands across his abdomen, thighs and shins holding him fast. His face seemed a skull set above his cadaverous frame. Carnelian dared go no further. As he watched, the homunculus raised a bowl to the Grand Sapient’s groin from which liquid began emanating in a stream. For a moment Carnelian was startled by the thought that Legions was a woman. Then, with disgusted fascination, he recalled that the Wise were castrated. It had not occurred to him the mutilation might be so complete. Feeling he was observing something shameful and forbidden, he wished to retreat. Such delicacy was inappropriate. When the Grand Sapient ceased urinating the homunculus stooped to put the bowl down. One of his master’s arms unfolded and its four-fingered hand reached out, questing. Seeing it, the homunculus clambered up into the capsule, raising its chin to facilitate the coiling of its master’s fingers around its throat. Its gaze found Carnelian and it began murmuring. A shiver went up his spine as he felt that Legions was looking at him through the creature’s eyes. The murmuring ceased. The pale fingers moved. The homunculus spoke. ‘I have already been too long awake.’
Carnelian stared, not knowing what to say. The fingers released the homunculus and the arm folded back across the Grand Sapient’s chest. With a gloved hand, the homunculus reached into an array of amber beads set into the rim of the capsule. It plucked one out and, clambering up the capsule, it touched the bead to Legions’ lipless mouth, which opened to receive it.
As the homunculus climbed back down to the floor, Carnelian crept to its side. ‘How often does that drug need to be administered?’
Stooping to retrieve something from the shadows, the homunculus rose to regard him with its old man’s eyes. ‘Every day, Seraph.’ It raised the thing it had in its hands. A silver mask from whose single eye gleaming tears ran down the long tapering cheek. As the homunculus adjusted the mechanisms on its reverse, Carnelian peered at the creature, reassuring himself it was fully detached from its master. It seemed unnatural that it should be speaking on its own behalf. ‘You will do this every day for him?’
The homunculus shook its head and indicated the triangular space between the Grand Sapient’s legs. ‘Normally I sleep there, with my master. Ammonites administer the elixir, overseen by a Sapient of Immortality.’ The homunculus regarded the chamber with hooded eyes. ‘We dare not entrust my masters to the ammonites here.’ He made a gesture asking Carnelian for permission to disengage from their conversation. At Carnelian’s nod, the creature scaled the capsule again. He leaned in to peer at his master’s face. ‘He sleeps.’ He placed the mask carefully over the skull face, fitting the mechanisms into the cavities. He pressed the mask back, and its crowning lunar crescent gripped the central sphere of three that were set beneath the upper rim of the capsule and hung above Legions’ brow like planets.
Back on the floor, the homunculus closed the lid of the capsule. Legions formed a dark core in the ivory vessel. The homunculus raised a stick of wax and melted some to fall into a circular recess on the edge of the lid. Then he pressed a seal into it. Carnelian craned over the creature and saw the impression of a cross that had been left in the wax. The nearer of the other two capsules was similarly sealed. ‘Is that to protect him?’
The homunculus jumped, startled, and did not calm down until Carnelian had backed away. ‘It shows who was responsible for the last feeding, Seraph.’
‘You have sole responsibility for the Grand Sapient?’
‘And for his servants, Seraph.’
‘Who are they?’
‘His Seconds, Seraph.’
Carnelian did not understand what the creature meant. Something else sprang to mind. ‘Will they wake?’
‘Only when the effect of the elixir wears off, Seraph.’
‘How long will that be?’
The little man frowned. ‘Around midday tomorrow. I shall have to feed them then.’
Carnelian could not believe his luck. It seemed his problem of overseeing the Grand Sapient had solved itself. ‘You will come with me.’
The homunculus paled and his eyes widened. ‘Seraph, my master has bidden me guard his sleep.’
‘You can stand guard upstairs, but, henceforth, you will remain always at my side.’
Carnelian saw how fearful the creature was. He began walking back towards the stair. Not hearing footfalls following him he turned. ‘Obey me,’ he said, putting an edge into his voice that all not Chosen were right to fear. Reluctantly, the homunculus obeyed.
In the bedchamber, head bowed, its mask hanging from its hand, the homunculus seemed so like a child Carnelian found he was beginning to feel paternal towards it, but then it looked up. That wizened face was not a child’s, nor its ancient, rheumy eyes.
Carnelian looked away. Finally, he had time to think. His mind blanked. He tried to focus on the issues, but his attention kept slipping from them. Exhaustion washed over him. Feeling under observation by the homunculus, he yearned to be alone. He glanced towards the outer door. Dare he trust the creature to the care of Aurum’s household? He preferred to keep it where he could see it: the homunculus was the key that kept the Sapients locked in sleep, safe within their capsules.
He longed for the oblivion of sleep, but once he was asleep who was there to stop the creature creeping back to its master’s side? He imagined the Grand Sapient, woken, coming up the stairs to loom over him as he dreamed. He shuddered and looked around for some solution to the problem. In the end he dragged some feather blankets into the corner and made himself a bed in front of the door to the vault. He told the homunculus that it would have to find itself a place to sleep. The creature bowed low, then crept away into the gloomiest part of the chamber. Standing over his makeshift bed Carnelian watched it make a nest. This arrangement would have to do.
‘I am about to unmask,’ he announced. The homunculus immediately put on its blinding mask. Carnelian hesitated. The silver child face was staring at him across the room more intently than had the homunculus’ own. He turned his back on the creature and released his mask with a sigh of relief. It was a struggle to free himself from his robes. He did this all as quietly as he could. At one stage, he realized how ridiculous he must look and could not help laughing. The sound echoed around the chamber. When he was free he slipped under a blanket, his heart beating as he listened for any furtive sounds the homunculus might be making.
As silence settled he fell victim to misery. He was playing a game he did not believe he could win, for stakes he could not bear to lose. The Grand Sapient had made it clear what would happen should he and Osidian admit defeat. Only an outright victory over the Commonwealth would give him any chance of stopping the Wise meting out retribution upon his loved ones, upon all those others who were already victims of what he and Osidian had brought about – but could he hope for such an implausible outcome when even Osidian no longer believed it possible? And even were they to continue doing what they could to widen their rebellion, would this not serve only to bring more innocents under the shadow of inevitable punishment?
These arguments swung back and forth in his mind like the pendulums of Aurum’s clocks. Back and forth. Back and forth. Until he became a slave to the click of the escapements and, weary to his bones, he hung suspended in despair, denied the comfort of sleep.
Akaisha, bloated, her dear face ochred for burial. Earth, or is it dried blood, on his hands? ‘Eat me,’ she sighs, fire peeling her skin. Carnelian breaks off a charred curl and puts it into his mouth. Too salty. Tears, perhaps? Flames in a black mirror find the contours of a face. A mask with green eyes. He fits his face into the hollow. Sees an emerald lagoon. Breathes with rapture its mossy air. Green water laps at white feet. He looks up. Osidian sitting on a throne. A black living face in his left hand, a green in his right. Osidian’s own, lifeless, eyeless. The pits well tears. Wet on his lips. Tasting the sea. Liquid-iron blood running down white legs into the ebb. Roaring makes him turn to see a cliff of it avalanching to drown them all.
Carnelian came awake, gulping, tasting iron in his mouth. He sat up, choking, and spat blood into his hands. He rolled his tongue, making sure he had not bitten it through, swallowed it.
‘Seraph?’ The homunculus was there with its metal child’s face. It called again from the other side of its blinding mask as if it were a door.
Carnelian reassured the creature. ‘Bit my tongue in my sleep.’ His voice was distorted by his swollen tongue.
In his mind’s eye, Osidian sat eyeless on a throne, the Masks of the God Emperor in his hands. Carnelian could not rid himself of the conviction that he had had such dreams before and had always ignored their warnings. Why were his dreams always awash with blood? He could still taste its metal in his mouth. Osidian enthroned, but eyeless like the Wise. Why had Akaisha wanted him to eat her? He had to think clearly. At any time, Osidian might lose his grip on the Lesser Chosen commanders. The memory of what had happened to the Ochre unmanned him. He could not bear making such a mistake again. He dared not act until he was certain.
He sought distraction in some books he found. The titles were uninspiring. It seemed that Aurum was interested in nothing but war and intrigue. Dry treatises on strategy and manuals written for the Lesser Chosen by the Wise on correct legionary operation were only marginally alleviated by memoirs of Lords of the Great that were all about the minutiae of Clave politics, blood-trading and the elegant exercise of power over minions.
Abandoning these, he fell back into turmoil. At one point he determined to quit Makar and go to meet Osidian, but immediately his mind began listing the difficulties in getting there and the vital reasons why he should not go. Besides, what would he say to Osidian once he reached him? He feared sharing his dreams with him.
Then he remembered the interest Legions had shown in his dreams. If anyone could interpret them it would be the Grand Sapient. Madness. Any such consultation would lead only to manipulation. Legions would tell him what he wanted to hear.
Back and forth the battle raged in him, between doubt and hope. As he grew weary almost to tears, the vision of Osidian eyeless, enthroned, hung in his mind like an ache.
When the homunculus came to ask if he might go down to minister to his masters and their homunculi, Carnelian saw from one of Aurum’s clocks that it was long past nightfall. The sun-eye hidden beneath the iron earth seemed a defeat. A whole day had passed and still he was as trapped in indecision as a fly in amber. The opportunity to accompany the homunculus was a blessed relief. At least it gave him something to do. Something real.
In the vault, the first lid they opened was Legions’. When the homunculus climbed up to remove his mask, Carnelian saw the faint misting in the mirrored hollow above the mouth spike. His gaze fell on the Grand Sapient’s skull face. He wondered at the mind behind such hideousness and was tortured by the temptation that it might make the solution to his problems clear, shedding upon his dilemma the terrible, cool clarity of the Wise.
He was glad when he saw the elixir bead melt into the lipless mouth and was relieved when Legions’ skull face was rehidden behind the shell of his mask. The homunculus closed and resealed the capsule. Each of the other two capsules contained not only a Sapient, but also a homunculus. Carnelian made sure to observe that all were fed an amber bead. He plucked a bead from its cavity on the capsule rim. When he brought it up to the nostrils of his mask, he could detect no odour. The eyes of the homunculus had grown round. Amused by the creature’s alarm, Carnelian made a smiling gesture. ‘I had no intention to eat it.’ He replaced it where he had found it and the homunculus closed the capsule.
‘What does it contain?’
‘Mostly nectar, Seraph.’
‘To mask the bitterness of the elixir?’
Busy sealing the lid, the homunculus shook its head. ‘I do not imagine so, Seraph. My masters cannot taste sweetness. I believe its function is to supply the necessary sustenance.’
Leaving the Sapients and homunculi sleeping in their cocoons, they climbed the stair. As Carnelian came up into the chamber, he felt the vision of his dream coalescing around an interpretation he realized he had been resisting all day. Lying on his makeshift bed staring at the ceiling, he could no longer deny that, whatever else the dream might portend, one part of it seemed clear enough. Wading through blood, Osidian would win a throne, but how much blood and whose?
He came fully awake as if washing ashore. The ritual windings clung to him like flayed skin. He longed to escape their sickly embrace, to feel clean sun on his bare back, his face, to have the wind caress his skin. More, he wanted to be free of the dreams. Their omens oppressed him like the pressure of a coming storm. He had preferred hopelessness to a promise of a victory bought at the cost of the Gods only knew how much suffering.
He had crossed and recrossed this territory so many times that it had become a churned sump. What chance was there to pick a single path through such a morass?
He needed to externalize it; to talk to someone. There was no one, except perhaps Osidian, and Carnelian knew, with a bleak certainty, that his dreams would almost certainly mesh with the bloody conviction Osidian drew from his dark god.
He rose from the bed, fumbled and found his mask, ignored the homunculus’ questions and went in search of a window. Even the night sky might restore him to some balance.
When he found some shutters he drew them back and was blinded. Squinting, he went out into the light. The sun was risen. He could feel its touch beginning to warm the gold against his cheeks. The land’s bony limestone blazed in the morning, but shades of night still haunted the Pass below.
Returning to the shadows, Carnelian considered what he could do. When he contemplated a visit to Osidian, anxiety pulled like a barb in his flesh. Dare he leave Legions unsupervised? A feeling of being trapped produced a surge of anger. Why not kill him and his staff and be done with it? Dread soaked into him. At first he thought it was horror at the idea of slaying even a Sapient in his sleep, but he decided it was something else. Some kind of superstitious fear. The kind that thrills a child at the unknown consequences of killing a sorcerer in a fairytale. There were good reasons against a meeting with Osidian, in any case. Not least how they affected each other. Besides, there were many practical difficulties.
A letter? It would not be difficult to obtain parchment, pen and ink, but once written, how could he convey it safely to Osidian? Sealed, even the quaestor might not dare open it, but he had no seal.
His cogitations were cut short by a rapping at the outer door. He put his mask to his face and bade the homunculus go and see who it was. The creature was soon back. ‘The quaestor, Seraph. He claims to have a letter for you.’
Carnelian was startled by the coincidence. ‘Let him come.’
The homunculus returned with the quaestor, who came forward, inscrutable. Carnelian took the parchment the man offered with both hands. Raising it, he saw it was unsealed. He turned his mask on the quaestor. ‘You read this?’
The man fell to his knees, shaking his head. Carnelian opened the parchment. The glyphs were Osidian’s. They read: Send me that which will allow me to communicate with those who would follow me.
‘Quaestor, who brought this?’ Carnelian said.
The man did not raise his eyes, but said: ‘A Maruli, Seraph.’
‘He waits for a reply?’
‘Just so, Seraph.’
Carnelian read the letter again and thought he understood: Osidian wanted Legions’ seal. Using it might enable him to send messages along the roads to the Legates. After what the Grand Sapient had said, this seemed an act of desperation. Carnelian grew morose as what little faith he had in Osidian waned further. Not that he had an alternative strategy. All he had was dreams. He felt sick with self-disgust. He looked down at the quaestor. ‘Go.’
The man turned up his number-spotted face. ‘Your answer, Seraph?’
‘I said, go.’
Carnelian felt drained. Since he could think of nothing better, he might as well do as Osidian asked. He decided against asking the homunculus for the ring. Once before he had asked someone for a seal and that had brought her a terrible death. He found a lamp and lit it. ‘Stay here,’ he said to the homunculus.
As the creature knelt, Carnelian headed towards the corner of the chamber.
‘Seraph!’ said the homunculus.
Turning, Carnelian saw how the colour had drained from its wizened face. ‘I intend your masters no harm.’
He left the creature kneeling on the stone and descended to the vault. When he reached it, he made his way to Legions’ capsule. Finding a grip on the lid, he pulled it back, breaking the wax seal. He raised the lantern so that its light crept up the Grand Sapient. He jumped when gleams in his silver mask made it seem as if Legions was waking. He searched every part of the capsule he could reach, but found nothing save for the cavities in which were stored the elixir.
‘What do you seek, Seraph?’
Carnelian spun round and saw that, in defiance of his command, the homunculus had followed him. ‘Your master’s seal. Tell me where it is.’
Pale as alabaster, the homunculus climbed the capsule and, leaning across, he worked at opening one of his master’s fists. When he had clambered back down, he offered Carnelian something that glimmered luridly upon his palm. Carnelian stared at the ring, reluctant to touch it.
‘Take it, Seraph. My punishment is already unavoidable. My master appointed me guardian of his sleep.’
Carnelian saw the sharp determination in those ancient eyes and took the ring. As he watched the homunculus reseal the capsule, Carnelian wondered at the little man’s motives for helping him.
Back in Aurum’s chamber, Carnelian raised the ring and turned it in the light. An exquisitely carved ruby set in a bezel of precious iron. The head of the Horned God wrought as if into a large blood drop. Filigrees of rust bled from the fiery jewel.
Carnelian read his letter through one last time. It described his dream. He folded the parchment carefully. He placed a wax frame over the join and filled it with spluttering gobbets of molten wax. He thrust the Ring of Legions into the wax, then pulled it free. Lifting the letter, he saw that the seal looked like the arms of a crucifixion cross. The wax ridges had a look of branded flesh.
He closed the still warm ring in his fist and sent the homunculus to return with any Maruli who was not the first to approach him. When the man came Carnelian was relieved to see he was not Sthax. Sthax was, potentially, too valuable an ally to risk bringing to Osidian’s or Morunasa’s attention.
Carnelian gestured the Maruli to approach and offered him the letter. When the man reached out to take it, Carnelian caught hold of his hand and thrust into it Legions’ ring. He forced the black fingers to close around it. The Maruli gazed up into Carnelian’s mask, grimacing. Still holding the man’s hand, Carnelian made him take the letter with his other hand.
‘The Kissed,’ he said, using the name they called Osidian. He would not let the Maruli go until he had repeated the name.
Carnelian had hoped that the sending of the letter and the ring would bring him peace of mind. Far from it. He fretted until it was time to accompany the homunculus down to the vault to administer the elixir. When they returned, he had something to eat. Upon a floor of mother of pearl he sat surrounded by the quivering of Aurum’s clocks. The homunculus sat nearby with his silver child’s face. Carnelian realized he was chewing carefully so that the creature would not hear him. He had tried to make conversation, but the silver mask had responded with single syllables.
Though wary of his dreams, he retired early. When he woke, he could recall nothing save perhaps for a lingering dread, like the taint blood left in the air even after it had been wiped away. The day stretched interminably. He tried to distract himself with books, with examining the treasures Aurum had left behind. Their beauty was cold and sterile. They seemed tomb goods which he fingered as if he were a soul denied rest. He was waiting for some communication from Osidian. His wanderings several times took him near the outer doors. He lingered in their vicinity, yearning for them to be struck from without.
That night he woke drenched in sweat. He had the impression he had been trying to climb up out of a pit. He lay trapped between the nightmare and waking as if between two walls of glass. When he could bear it no longer, he slid from the bed, then paced back and forth, harried by fear. A glint catching his eye drew him. It was the mask of the homunculus. The creature’s child body lay slight and fragile on the floor. Dull in the dim light, its metal face seemed a device of torture. Carnelian tried to imagine what the creature’s life had been like. Asleep, the homunculus appeared a child uncared for. Carnelian stooped and pulled a blanket over the blades of its shoulders.
A clanging echo made him lurch upright. He had been waiting for that sound, it seemed, for days. As the homunculus went off towards the outer doors, it was all Carnelian could do not to run after it. He waited, kneading his fingers. The homunculus seemed a long time returning. Then it appeared, bearing a letter. He waited for the creature to kneel and offer it to him. Taking it, he saw it was sealed with the curved crucifix of Legions’ ring. He broke it open, unfolded the panels and read. For days the Wise have refused to reply to my communications. Now they have closed down both the courier and the heliograph systems. They have left me no choice. Tomorrow I march against Aurum. Hold Makar for me. If your dream was true, you will have no need to fear for me.
Carnelian regarded the glyphs. Each face seemed Osidian’s. A host of them, defiance in every eye. It seemed his letter had had a stronger effect even than he had hoped. Osidian sought to regain his certainty in the way he had done before: by making war. In battle there was no room for doubt, but only the struggle for victory. Carnelian felt no triumph. He did feel some relief but, mostly, exhaustion. While he waited, far from danger, those he loved would go to confront Aurum and his fire.
‘Bad news, Seraph?’
Carnelian gazed down at the homunculus. His first impulse was to deny it any answer, but he could see no malice in its ancient eyes, only curiosity.
‘The Lord Nephron marches forth to make war upon the Lord Aurum.’
‘I see,’ said the homunculus, leaving Carnelian with an uneasy impression it was playing a game of its own.