The Third God sdotc-3

by Ricardo Pinto

  ‘I am certain the tower had no chance to send a message into the Guarded Land,’ he said. ‘But there is another tower here beyond this cothon.’

  Osidian nodded. ‘The tower of the Legate.’

  ‘I suspect it has a heliograph of its own.’

  As Osidian turned to him, the power lust dulled in his eyes. ‘That we could keep the Wise blind to what we are doing was only ever a thin hope. Nevertheless, I still believe we have time enough.’

  ‘Time enough for what?’

  ‘To get these huimur ready,’ Osidian said, a gleam coming back into his eyes as he glanced up at the monster, ‘before Aurum arrives.’

  Carnelian wondered at Osidian’s confidence. If an alarm had been sent from the Legate’s tower it would take at least a day to reach Osrakum. Much depended on the nature of that alarm. It was unlikely the Wise could be certain that it was indeed Osidian in Qunoth. Even if the Legate here had known that beyond doubt, which seemed improbable, why would the Wise believe him? By what miracle could Osidian have appeared in the Guarded Land without breaching the Ringwall?

  ‘Are you so certain the Wise will resort to sending Aurum?’

  Osidian nodded. ‘Even if they dared dispatch one of the Lesser Chosen against me they would be reluctant to do so.’

  ‘Because they still hope to conceal all of this from Ykoriana?’

  Osidian frowned and nodded again.

  ‘Most likely, Aurum is still in the Leper Valleys…’ Carnelian said, imagining again the valleys burning. A determination surged in him to save his loved ones and the Lepers from Aurum. He calmed himself. He could not afford to have his mind dulled by emotion. ‘Can we operate a legion without the Chosen commanders?’

  One of Osidian’s eyebrows rose. ‘Why should we choose to do that?’

  ‘Surely they will not agree to fight for us?’

  ‘They are accustomed to obeying the House of the Masks.’

  Carnelian bit back a comment that it was Osidian’s brother Molochite to whom the commanders owed allegiance, and realized he did so because he was reluctant to test Osidian’s confidence in case it should prove brittle. Things were already tenuous enough. ‘Is it not rather the Wise they obey?’

  Osidian’s hand sketched a gesture of agreement. ‘The Domain of Legions to be precise, but we shall make sure to cut their link to each other.’

  Carnelian looked for the Legate’s tower, but it was hidden by the cothon and its mechanisms. ‘You intend that we should storm the other tower?’

  ‘I do not think it will come to that.’ Osidian was smiling. ‘The Legate is the key that will open our way to that tower.’ Carnelian must have betrayed disbelief, for Osidian continued: ‘I shall summon him and he will attend me.’

  Carnelian tried to see behind Osidian’s certainty. ‘What then?’

  Osidian shrugged. ‘I have not lost my power to command.’

  Again, Carnelian chose not to challenge Osidian’s apparent confidence. He eyed the legionaries standing in the shadow of a pier. ‘And the legionaries?’

  Osidian flung a dismissive gesture. ‘They did not hesitate to open the cothon for me. Partly this was because they sensed I was unmasked, but even without their fear of my face they would have obeyed me. Generations of subservience have trained them to serve any and all of the Chosen. I doubt if even with express instructions from a Lord of higher rank they would dare raise a hand against one of the Chosen. Nevertheless, I have made sure to display enough hauteur that they can have no doubts I outrank the Lords they have been used to serve.’

  Carnelian remained unconvinced, but time would tell. ‘What now?’

  Osidian raised his arms to display his filthy shrouds. ‘Would my Lord not like to be cleaned?’

  Carnelian agreed enthusiastically enough to that. Whatever might come to pass, there could be no advantage in confronting it smelling of the Midden.

  Marumaga legionaries were closing the shutters of the windows that looked into the courtyard. Standing with Osidian in the shade Carnelian watched their jerky movements with uncomfortable fascination. Four others kneeling nearby, hunched as they buried their faces between their knees, displayed the terror all were feeling. With his fist Carnelian held his cowl closed against his mouth and nose. He was viscerally aware a glimpse of his face would be fatal to them.

  The last shutters closed, all but the four men kneeling fled.

  ‘What are your ranks?’ Osidian asked, though he already knew the answer because he had summoned them.

  Without looking up, one whose hair was grey leaned his head to expose his collar. He pulled his sliders round. Three broken rings. ‘Quartermaster General, Master.’

  ‘These others…?’

  There was a clinking as the younger men exposed their necks to present their service rings for inspection.

  ‘… they are the Dragon Quartermaster, the Master of Beasts, the Master of Towers.’

  Carnelian saw that each had two zero rings and a varying number of five-bar and single-stud rings.

  ‘You are responsible for mobilization?’

  ‘We are, Master,’ said the Quartermaster.

  ‘Since we have no slaves of our own you shall wash us.’

  Carnelian watched the colour draining from their necks. Osidian made a barrier sign that forbade Carnelian from interfering, then he glanced over to where bowls of water were steaming beside a stack of carefully folded cloth. ‘Why do you hesitate?’

  The Quartermaster lifted his head a little. ‘We have not the skill, Master.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you will do it.’

  ‘Your… your faces, Master.’

  ‘Your closed eyes will be mask enough for us.’

  Osidian turned his back on them and raised his arms from his sides for them to disrobe him. Carnelian hesitated a moment, then did the same. It had occurred to him to suggest to Osidian that they could wash themselves, each other even, but he had seen this was foolishness. He was now as subject to the Law as those poor creatures. Besides, he understood that this exercise was intended to cow them, to make these legionary officers malleable to Osidian’s will.

  The feeling of being undressed was to Carnelian at the same time strange and familiar. He could not help a sigh of relief as the shrouds slid off. A legionary crept round him, eyes wedged into the crook of his elbow, carefully removing Carnelian’s loincloth. He watched, breathless with fear that the man might stumble and lose his blindfold.

  When he was naked Carnelian looked down with embarrassment at how filthy he was. He was shocked at how tainted his skin had become. He had grown so accustomed to its ruddiness he had thought it white, but in this place his body seemed suddenly that of a barbarian. He glanced over at Osidian. It had been a while since he had seen him naked. His body had changed. The boy had become fully a man. Carnelian liked the barbarian tone of Osidian’s skin though it was much disfigured by the weals where the maggots had exited.

  It was as Carnelian realized he was staring that Osidian caught him and registered that he was being judged. He turned away, but not before Carnelian had seen the pain of humiliation in his face. Carnelian looked across the courtyard, overwhelmed by sadness, confused. Everything there was conspiring to take him back to the time before they had been cast out of Osrakum; to a time when they had been lovers, when Carnelian had wanted nothing more than to protect Osidian. To a time before Osidian had become a monster.

  The touch of wet cloth on his skin brought him out of his reverie and he realized with first surprise then horror how easily he had forgotten the legionaries. He looked down at the one cleaning him. Over forty, he had the solid face of a man used to giving orders. His eyes were scrunched tightly closed. Carnelian could smell his fear, could feel the trembling of his hand as it rubbed away the grime.

  When they had finished cleaning them the legionaries retreated. Carnelian and Osidian stood naked with their backs to them, drying in the hot air.

  ‘Summon ammonites of the highest ranking you can
find. Have them bring parchment and ink,’ Osidian said.

  ‘Instantly, Master,’ said one of the legionaries and then he could be heard running off.

  Carnelian did not dare turn to look at Osidian lest his face be seen. ‘It is a delight is it not, my Lord, to be clean?’

  ‘It is,’ said Osidian.

  As they waited, Carnelian found the temptation to turn to see what was behind him almost overpowering. His skin had dried when he heard a scurry of footfalls approaching.

  ‘Avert your eyes,’ Osidian commanded when silence had fallen.

  From the corner of his eye Carnelian saw him turn and followed his lead. All four legionaries were there. Arrayed beside them on the flagstones were the purple-shrouded forms of ammonites. All had their heads buried between their knees.

  Osidian approached them and, crouching, he touched two of the yellow heads, causing each of their owners to give a violent start. ‘Give me your masks.’

  The creatures mumbled in confusion. Osidian waited, frowning. ‘I will not ask again.’

  The ammonites fumbled their masks loose and held them, shaking, up to Osidian, who took them, then rose and offered one to Carnelian. He accepted the hollow face and cradled it in his hand. Though it was not the gold of a Master’s mask it evoked strong memories of that other life where he had worn one every day. Slowly he leaned his face into it. Of course it was too small. With the eyeslits where he could see through them, the mask’s lower edge barely covered his mouth. Still, he reached behind his head to tie it on. It was a prison for his face. He turned to look at Osidian, a hand covering his chin. The small silver face superimposed upon Osidian’s gave him a sinister cast.

  ‘Rise and behold us,’ Osidian intoned.

  Reluctantly, the legionaries and ammonites obeyed. Carnelian judged the legionaries the braver, for they were first to dare raise their eyes. The two unmasked ammonites were the last.

  Osidian addressed them. ‘You have the parchment and ink?’

  ‘At your command, Seraph,’ one said and they showed him some creamy sheets folded into panels, an ink jar, some styluses.

  ‘You will write a letter for me.’

  One of the unmasked men sank cross-legged while the other ammonites laid the parchment, ink and styluses on the stone before him. He inked a stylus and turned his tattooed face up expectantly. Osidian began to dictate a summons to the Legate. It was cordial enough though all the verbs were in the requisitive mode.

  When the letter was finished the ammonite looked up. ‘How shall your letter be sealed, Seraph?’

  Osidian held up his hand. ‘As you see, I seem to have mislaid my blood-ring. Perhaps you would be kind enough to seal it yourself.’

  The ammonite looked uneasy. ‘What name shall I write, Seraph, what House?’

  ‘Osidian Nephron of the Masks.’

  The heads of the ammonites jerked up.

  ‘Would you like to verify my taint scars?’

  The ammonites waved their hands in frantic protest. ‘Not so, Seraph… Celestial… Your word is enough… of course.. .’

  Osidian’s small silver face thrust forward. ‘But I insist.’ He pointed at the second unmasked ammonite and gestured for him to approach. Examination tattoos were lost in his wrinkling brow as the man shuffled up. Osidian turned his back for him. The man reached up to touch his flesh as if it were ice. He felt his way down the taint scars running on the right side of Osidian’s spine. It was obvious to everyone the left was smooth.

  The ammonite’s legs seemed to lose their strength as he fell prostrate to crack his forehead on the cobbles. ‘Celestial,’ he murmured.

  His fellows copied his abject abasement. Seeing this the legionaries joined them. Carnelian and Osidian were left like the only trees strong enough to have survived a storm.

  Osidian commanded the ammonites to take the letter and deliver it to the Legate. They complied, fleeing as fast as decorum would allow. Then Osidian came to loom over the Quartermaster. ‘Rise.’

  He had to say it again before the man obeyed. ‘How long would it take for a legion to reach here from Makar?’

  ‘Master?’

  ‘How long?’

  The man narrowed his eyes, thinking. ‘Perhaps six days, Master.’

  ‘How quickly can the dragons here be fully armed?’

  The man shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Ten days, Master, is the standard requirement.’

  ‘You will do it in five.’

  The man blinked up at him as if he was convinced he had misheard.

  ‘Five. Go and wake them now.’ Turning his back on the legionary Osidian held his hand out in a gesture of dismissal.

  Carnelian stepped into the barracks block Osidian had had the legionaries prepare for them. He removed the ammonite mask and rubbed at where it had impressed its rim into his face. He enjoyed the cool limestone, smooth beneath his feet. He ran his fingers along the hairline joints between the stones in the wall. He wondered at the perfect square angles of the chamber. The sleeping platforms were of finely jointed wood. Thick mattresses lay over them, each provided with a blanket of raven feathers. He plucked one up, brought it to his lips, breathed in its clean odour. A ewer was set into a niche, from which he poured a draught of clear water into a bowl. He drank and was surprised at the taste. So pure it seemed sweet. He regarded the chamber in wonder. He had forgotten that such order was possible.

  Osidian was drawn back to the door by a man begging audience. He returned holding a letter. Carnelian watched him read it. Osidian passed the letter to him. Carnelian paused for a moment, startled by the beauty of the glyphs on the parchment. Then he turned them into sounds. When he was finished he looked up. ‘He is not coming.’

  Osidian smiled. ‘Oh, he will.’

  Carnelian woke on the floor of the chamber. He had started the night on the bed, but it had made his back ache. He became aware of Osidian gazing down at him.

  ‘Why are you on the floor, my Lord? We no longer have need to live like barbarians.’

  Carnelian rose and wrapped himself in his raven-feather blanket. He indicated the mattress with his chin. ‘After so long sleeping on the earth that seems too soft. Did you manage to sleep comfortably on yours?’

  Osidian frowned, but gave no answer. ‘Tonight we shall have no need of these primitive arrangements.’ He took in the chamber with an elegant gesture. ‘We shall resume our proper place among the Chosen.’ His frown deepened. ‘We must be ready.’

  Breakfast was hri cakes and water. The delicate wafers crumbled as they bit into them. Carnelian was amazed at their flavour. In his memory they had been so bland. Now the hri seemed rich, with a nutty, lingering finish. The taste was, at the same time, familiar. Each mouthful brought back more memories of the life that had been his before exile. Disturbing images mixed with joyous ones. Osrakum still seemed a fairytale, but his father was becoming real again – and Ebeny and his brothers. Wounds of loss he had long ago thought cauterized were opening.

  A Maruli coming into the chamber was a welcome distraction. In his hand the man had a folded parchment. Carnelian was struck by the man’s odour and wondered that he had not noticed it before. Osidian seemed uncomfortable as he accepted the letter. Carnelian looked from him to the Maruli and saw, with a jolt, how the man’s bloodshot eyes were gazing at Osidian’s face. The Maruli’s stare had already earned him a terrible death. When the man had left, Carnelian tried in vain to read Osidian’s impassive expression, and decided he must confront the issue openly. ‘We will have to do something about them.’

  Osidian looked at him.

  ‘The Law will take them all from us.’

  Osidian frowned.

  ‘Perhaps we should adopt them into our Houses.’

  Still frowning, Osidian broke eye contact to concentrate on the letter. He unfolded it and read. The corners of his mouth rose perceptibly. ‘It seems our dear Legate is deigning, after all, to pay us a visit.’

  Carnelian nodded. He had had time to th
ink about it and was not surprised. One of the Lesser Chosen, even a Legate, would find it impossible to ignore a summons from a Lord of the House of the Masks. He was trying to imagine the meeting between Osidian and the Legate when he realized something. ‘What shall we wear?’

  Osidian shrugged. Carnelian hunted around. The best he could find were some robes of coarse black cloth. He showed them to Osidian, who gave a grimace of distaste, but then flung out a gesture indicating he did not care. He smiled humourlessly. ‘A difference in rank inhabits the mind more completely than does the impression of proper state.’

  Wearing the black robes and ammonite masks they returned to the cothon. Osidian had decided it was there he would receive the Legate. Carnelian was content with this, being curious to watch the dragons being woken.

  It was the Master of Beasts who guided them to one of the vaults in the cothon wall. ‘The Legate’s own dragon, Master, and our strongest.’

  A vast presence filled the vault. Horns gleamed faintly. Stripes of sun sculpted the contours of its head. Its reek oppressed Carnelian with memories of the Earthsky and corpses. In the depths of the vault, brass toppled in massive links. Instinctively Carnelian took a step back. ‘Is it already awake?’

  ‘Not fully so, Master,’ said the Master of Beasts. ‘Normally the waking takes many days as we wait for the drugs to wear off, but-’ He glanced at Osidian. ‘The command for haste means we’ve had to resort to administering waking drugs.’

  Carnelian wondered if he was detecting a tone of reproach, but decided the man was only expressing genuine concern for his dragon.