Carnelian nodded. She would be safer. He glanced again at the bed with the homunculus lying on it. In the past he and Poppy would have shared it, but she was getting too old for that. He thought of giving her the bed and making another for himself on the floor, but this was to set a precedent that could only lead to trouble. He found a cupboard that had some blankets in it. He threw these to her and smiled, indicating the floor. ‘Wherever you want.’
She glanced at the bed, then gave him a nod. As she made herself comfortable, Carnelian lifted the homunculus and transferred him to his nest of blankets. He kissed Poppy good night, then dowsed the lamp and lay back on his bed. The murmur of the camp rose through the night. He wondered if he had done the right thing by letting her join him. He listened for her breathing. When he heard it, it soothed him. It was the most at home he had felt for a long time.
When he set off the next morning, he left the homunculus in Poppy’s care. She had insisted that she could do it. When the little man had woken, they had gazed at each other warily. Carnelian had told the homunculus he had a choice. Either he agreed to her supervision, or else he would have to be drugged. Clearly perplexed by the relationship the Master had with this strange girl, the homunculus elected to remain awake.
As Carnelian led the Lepers out, his body ached all over from the riding on the previous day. He nominated Krow to be his liaison with Lily and Fern. As he gave the youth instructions, he took time to reassure him that Poppy was safe with him. Krow was clearly relieved. ‘I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but you know what she’s like.’
Carnelian wished his mask did not stop Krow seeing that he too was grinning. ‘Yes, I know what she’s like.’
After that, in spite of being on either side of the mask, they were easy with each other. With the help of Krow, Fern and Lily, Carnelian divided the Lepers into two wings. Fern was to command one, Lily the other. Riding with a wing on either hand, Carnelian began the weary process of making them battle-ready.
He had to be content with slow progress. He came to understand that, even had he been able to find an aquar for every one of them, they would never become an effective mounted force. Not enough of them were natural riders. One day, in discussion with Fern and Lily, it occurred to him that perhaps their focus was all wrong. He asked the others if they felt that the Lepers would be happier fighting on foot. Lily said, with some emotion, that her people would be much happier. That evening Carnelian explained his idea to Osidian, who reluctantly agreed. The following day he had the Lepers modify their saddle-chairs so that they were more like those of the Plainsmen. The most important addition was a crossbar, but longer than a Plainsman one. As well as its rider, each aquar could now carry two more Lepers, hanging from either end of its crossbar. These pairs were matched closely in weight so that they would not unbalance their aquar. It took some practice, but soon, for the first time, the Leper force was able to move in a body without leaving stragglers. It was only then that Carnelian began to train them to fight in hornwalls. They improvised spears and shields by tearing apart abandoned sartlar kraals. To his satisfaction, the Lepers took to the new training well. Soon they were forming solid, bristling walls.
One afternoon he returned to the watch-tower well satisfied. That day the Lepers had swept forward in their two wings; at his signal, they had dismounted and, with almost no problems, had formed up into hornwall rings. These were not perfect and were of different sizes as each contained a single settlement contingent, but their shields had locked in an overlapping wall over which their rough spears had bristled, a hedge of fire-hardened points.
Poppy was waiting for him with a smile. These days even the homunculus smiled. Gradually, he and Poppy had lost their wariness of each other. Sometimes, they seemed almost to be friends. With his help, Poppy had transformed their cell. It smelled sweeter. Each day she and the homunculus brought up water with which they could wash a little. She prepared food for them both. Sometimes she would spend the night with Fern and Krow, and Carnelian would miss her. The homunculus perhaps did too. Certainly, one time, he had asked Carnelian when the ‘mistress’ was going to return. Often Carnelian found himself smiling at his strange new ‘family’.
That night when, as usual, he ate with Osidian beside the heliograph, Carnelian told him he thought the Lepers ready to be combined with his huimur. Osidian raised a brow. Carnelian had been resisting his urging for this for quite some time. Osidian gave a nod. Carnelian had some idea of how the training of the dragons had been going. The crews and the new commanders had settled in well enough for Osidian to begin exploring ways in which he could combine the flame-pipes. Carnelian was not certain what it was Osidian was attempting to achieve, but he seemed focused on some particular goal. Sometimes, while with the Lepers, he had noticed some smoke smearing against the heat-white sky. Osidian had been sparing with his naphtha and had made sure to use different dragons for his experiments. It was unlikely that they would have enough time to take them back to Makar to replenish their tanks.
So it was that Carnelian brought the Lepers to join Osidian’s dragons. The Lepers formed in their wings on either end of the dragon line. Day after day he and Osidian laboured to coordinate them, the Lepers learning to respond to simple mirror signals from the towers. Each night the Lepers returned coated red with dust. The dragons too, so that sometimes they seemed carved from sandstone, only their towers remaining pale upon their backs.
One day Carnelian noticed that Morunasa and the Oracles had all disappeared. That night, frowning, Osidian confessed they had retired into the stables to birth their maggots. With a shudder, Carnelian remembered them emerging from Osidian’s wounds. Even high in his cell, Carnelian felt too close to the filthy thing that was going on down in the bowels of the watch-tower.
The manoeuvres had long ago driven the sartlar from a great swathe of land to the west of the watch-tower. Without their labour, the fields were not watered. The hri had yellowed, then dried brown. The constant passage of aquar and dragons had broken its dead grip on the land. Every movement churned up great choking clouds of dust. At first these had drifted slowly into the south-west, but more recently the breeze had failed. After that every day was spent navigating through red mist. From the watch-tower each morning, the land looked like a sea. Carnelian tried not to see in this the sea of blood that inundated his dreams.
Craning forward in his command chair, Carnelian was watching with pride as the Lepers’ line kept pace with Earth-is-Strong. Through the murk he could see its blade curving away with only some nicks along its edge.
His Lefthand spoke. ‘From Heart-of-Thunder. Now.’
At Carnelian’s nod, the man spoke through his voice fork to the mirrorman on the roof. Carnelian imagined how, to Fern down on the ground, the flashing must appear like a star. The blade began dissolving, frothing like a wave reaching a shore. Carnelian watched breathlessly as the Lepers coalesced into rings around their aquar. His cheeks pushed up into his mask as he smiled. The pattern of rings held neatly to the same curve as before. Then they slipped out of view as Earth-is-Strong continued her inexorable advance. Carnelian was about to give the command to bring her to a halt, when his Lefthand spoke again. ‘An urgent message, Master.’
‘From Heart-of-Thunder?’
The man shook his head. ‘The watch-tower, Master.’ He paused, staring.
‘Well?’ Carnelian demanded.
‘Dragons have been sighted, Master, advancing from the north.’
Carnelian’s first thought was of Poppy. She was there, defenceless. ‘Are you sure that’s what it said?’
The Lefthand was half listening to him, half listening to some voice in his helmet. ‘That’s what our mirrorman says.’
‘Send a message to—’
Carnelian broke off, seeing the Lefthand pressing his earpiece into his ear. ‘Battleline.’
Carnelian did not need to ask if that was from Heart-of-Thunder. He had been hearing that command from Osidian for so many days that, wh
enever it came, it was as if Osidian himself were in the cabin issuing the order. Automatically, he sent his instructions to Fern and was soon receiving more from Osidian as they slowed the dragon line to give the Lepers time to mount up and catch them. He was so busy with this it was a while before the realization dawned. They were actually going into battle. Though they had been practising for this for more than a month, it still came as a shock. It was as if he had never really believed there was going to be a battle. He could no longer hide from the reality of what might happen to Fern and the others on the ground.
The road was there in front of them, the wall carrying the leftway forming a pale foundation to the heat-grey sky. Upon that road dragons were marching in a column three abreast. A mass of saurian flesh bearing at least two dozen towers. The monsters filled the road, driving the travellers with their wagons and chariots off into the fields. Carnelian felt a twinge of pity that those innocents were now likely to find themselves in the middle of fire and carnage. His pounding heart seemed to be shaking him. He glanced to starboard to make sure Fern and his Lepers were maintaining their position. The enemy flank was still exposed to them. Carnelian’s anxiety became exasperation. What were they doing? The battleline was churning up a duststorm that must for some while have been visible from the road, never mind from the dragon towers, but the monsters were marching on as if crewed by the blind. More incongruities forced their way through his confusion. If they did not find a ramp soon to get off the road, he and Osidian would catch them, unable to manoeuvre. Their pipes did not even appear to be lit.
He turned to his Lefthand. ‘Ask the lookout if he can see their auxiliaries.’
As the man muttered into his voice fork, Carnelian returned to his staring. An abrupt silence brought his attention back. ‘What is it?’
The Lefthand pointed towards the head of the dragon column. Carnelian grew angry, not knowing what he was supposed to be looking at. Then he spotted a twinkling on the summit of one of the foremost dragon towers. They were being sent some message. Carnelian waited impatiently for it to be relayed down by the mirrorman. At last, the Lefthand glanced up. ‘I have come to join my strength to yours – Orum.’
‘Aurum!’ Carnelian stared at the dragons. Whose could they be but Aurum’s? What did the message mean? Carnelian waited for Osidian’s commands while, all the time, they drew closer to the road.
A movement from his Lefthand made him aware they were receiving another message.
‘From Heart-of-Thunder, Master. Stand down.’
Carnelian began composing a reply. He had to know what Osidian’s intentions were. A glittering made him look up. Aurum was transmitting again. He glanced down at his Lefthand. The man’s lips mouthed some syllables, then he looked up at Carnelian. ‘“I will speak to you alone.”’
On the ground, Carnelian watched the escort of auxiliaries approaching. He glanced back at his dragon line. The dust had settled, revealing its massive, unbroken wall. There at its furthest end was Heart-of-Thunder, still in his position in the battleline. That Osidian had chosen to remain there made it clear he believed Aurum capable of treachery. Though he no doubt was itching to come himself to meet the old Master, Osidian had delegated the task to him.
Carnelian looked around at Fern, dismounted behind him, holding the reins of both their aquar. Ranged around him was a detachment of mounted Lepers: squalid mounds of rags filling saddle-chairs of all kinds that had been brutalized by the crossbars which now projected on either side. The Lepers who had arrived clinging to those crossbars had unhitched their makeshift spears and were forming up into a hornwall. He wished he could see their faces to know what they were feeling. Surely they must know this legion to be the one that had devastated their land.
Drumming footfalls heralded a group of Marula coming to join them. Carnelian was glad of them and turned to face the auxiliaries, who were now near enough for the dust they raised to be falling upon him like hail. They halted and a single rider rode through. Carnelian stiffened. Though swathed in black robes, there was no doubting this was a Master. The apparition pulled on his reins and his aquar settled to the ground. Servants who had dismounted sped forward and plunged knees first into the dust. They placed ranga ready and then the Master swung his legs out from the saddle-chair, put his feet into them, lifted out a staff and, leaning on it, levered himself erect. Rising to his full height he dwarfed his servants utterly. His black robe fell to the dust so that he seemed to have no legs. The Master stirred a rusty miasma from the earth as he came forward, using the staff as a walking aid.
Carnelian advanced to meet him with trepidation. He knew this Lord. As he neared he caught glimpses of an exquisite face of gold. The Master loomed before him. ‘Celestial.’
‘It is Suth Carnelian you address, my Lord Aurum.’
The gloved hand of the old Lord jerked a sign of irritation. ‘It was Nephron I asked to speak with, my Lord.’
The voice stirred in Carnelian a visceral loathing. ‘Nevertheless it was his wish – and mine – that you should speak to me.’
He regarded the towering shape, possessed by hatred. There before him was the murderer of the Lepers, the murderer of his uncle Crail. Carnelian heard the Lepers stirring behind him. He no longer cared how they might react. He welcomed their hatred to swell his own. They were there at his back like raveners he had trained himself and leashed. It would take only a word from him and they would fall on the monster that had inflicted indescribable suffering on their people. The Lepers would have their payment and Carnelian would have his revenge.
‘Very well,’ said the monster, his tones of condescension sweetening the lust Carnelian had for his destruction. ‘I have come to join my legion to the Celestial’s.’
‘You wish to take arms against his brother, my Lord?’ Carnelian said, his voice a knife.
A gloved hand rose and made an elegant gesture of negation. ‘Against the Ichorian Legion that is only a few days behind me and that has been sent to destroy him.’
AURUM
Not everything, once broken, can be mended.
(a proverb from the City at the Gates)
‘WHAT?’ CARNELIAN SAID, EXASPERATED. HE HEARD THE LEPERS BEHIND him reacting to the tone of his voice.
‘I will say nothing further except directly to the Lord Nephron.’
Aurum, the very image of unbending arrogance, stoked the fires of revenge in Carnelian’s heart. He imagined turning to address the Lepers. Announcing to them that he whom they most hated stood there before them, within their power. They would seize him. He would watch as the Unclean put their hands upon a Ruling Lord of the Great. Perhaps they would tear his black cloak from him, his mask. Stripping the monster of his terrible, unholy power. Exposing him to their pitiless stares. For a moment Carnelian savoured it. The humiliation of the old Master he loathed; but then Aurum’s words began to soak through his fantasy. Could it really be possible that the Ichorian Legion was bearing down on them? If so it presaged immense political upheaval in Osrakum. He tried to get hold of the politics, but his mind glanced off the complexities. He could not resolve how such a thing could have come to pass. This failure further weakened his confidence. Aurum’s capture by the Lepers might lead to chaos. What if his legion reacted to defend him? Osidian would launch the attack. Lily and her people on the other flank could have no idea what had happened. The situation would ignite into a fiery holocaust. Even if Osidian were victorious, they would be maimed – and then have to deal with the Ichorian. If, that was, Aurum spoke the truth; but if not, why was he here? What could he hope to achieve with such an implausible lie?
‘Your silence, my Lord, does not impress me,’ said Aurum, seeming to rise even taller, holding his staff as if he were wearing a court robe in the Halls of Thunder.
Carnelian regarded him, lusting to tear down this imperious presence. If he did not destroy him now, what would come of his decision? Thrice before he had spared those in his power: the Maruli on the road to Osrakum, Ravan, Osid
ian. The consequences had been death and massacre.
He glanced round at Fern, who had suffered the greatest loss from his decisions. A movement from Aurum made him turn back. The Master was already starting towards his aquar. ‘My Lord.’
The Great Lord looked round, his mask catching fire from the sun down its right-hand side.
‘Return with me to my huimur, my Lord. Do this as an act of good faith and Nephron will talk to you.’
Reluctance was written in the cast of Aurum’s shoulders. Anger rose in Carnelian. Here at least he had a battle he could fight to win. ‘Nephron suspects treachery or else he would be here himself. He has no reason to love you, my Lord. It might be better if you were to remember that neither have I.’ There was a Master’s authority in Carnelian’s voice that surprised him. Nevertheless, he meant what he said.
For some time they faced each other in what he felt was a contending of wills. He had drawn his line and would not retreat. At last he noticed Aurum’s shoulders relaxing a little. His mask scanned the ranks of Lepers behind Carnelian as if he were seeing them for the first time. ‘What manner of creatures are those?’
‘Inhabitants of the valleys below.’ Carnelian took pleasure in telling Aurum this. He hoped it would stir fear in his black heart. Instead the Great Lord reacted with a gesture of disgust.
‘I had hoped I had succeeded in destroying all the vermin.’
The rage boiling up in Carnelian overflowed. Almost he forgot his decision and threw the Master to his victims, but he mastered himself. ‘My Lord should take care. These people have reason to hate him, bitterly.’
Aurum laughed. ‘Since when do we who are Chosen concern ourselves with the feelings of inferiors?’
Carnelian smiled a cold smile behind his mask. Let the monster feel invulnerable, for the moment. ‘My Lord is free to return to his host. We can settle this business with fire.’
Aurum’s free hand rose in a half-formed gesture of appeasement whose speed belied its casual framing. ‘I shall come with you, my Lord.’ He summoned his aquar and his slaves. They brought the creature and made it sink to the red earth. As Aurum climbed back into his saddle-chair, Carnelian watched how heavily the old Lord leaned upon his staff.
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