Ricardo Pinto - The Third God

‘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.