Ricardo Pinto - The Third God

Carnelian gazed off to what he had thought a brass wall. The Quartermaster said something else, but Carnelian was not listening. He had not noticed before how much that wall resembled the bronze forest surrounding the Chamber of the Three Lands in Osrakum.

Mast and tower shadows were reaching across the cothon when the Quartermaster came to tell him Heart-of-Thunder’s tanks were full and that his tower would now be sealed. Carnelian followed him back and found a place near the dragon where he could watch everything. Slaves greased the piers, counterweights were released, the upper, pyramid-shaped part of the tower rose from its supporting beams. When these were slid away the pyramid was left swinging gently like some vast but silent bell, men clinging to its sides. Chanting to keep their rhythm, gangs pulled the pyramid down, even as the counterweights rose in their niches in the piers. As the two parts of the tower came together, the men on its sides began threading ropes through blocks and rings. When the pyramid and base were sewn together, one by one the counterweights were coaxed onto holding shelves. Heart-of-Thunder groaned as his shoulders bulged under the increasing burden of the completed tower. Men ran around him, gazing up anxiously, testing his sinews with poles. Slowly smiles lit faces, eyes brightened, as they grew confident he was strong enough. At the Quartermaster’s command they unhitched the cradle ropes. The tower was now completely free of the piers. It and Heart-of-Thunder were one.

Legionaries escorted two flame-pipes across the cothon: each a trumpet as massive as a fallen tree. Setting guards on the piers, one of the legionaries first sent his fellows clambering up, then gave a command to the beastmaster sitting astride one of Heart-of-Thunder’s lower horns. Carnelian took a step back as the tower rocked. Under instruction, the dragon was shuffling sideways towards the pier. Legionaries began crossing to his tower. Clambering around on its sides, they threw down ropes to be hitched to one of the flame-pipes. Slowly it was hoisted towards the tower.

A commotion across the cothon made Carnelian turn to see that riders were pouring in through the outer gate. Osidian and the Marula had returned.

Carnelian waited for Osidian by Heart-of-Thunder’s pier. He watched him consult the Quartermaster and then approach, accompanied by another Master. ‘It seems, my Lord,’ Osidian called out, ‘it will be at least another day before we can leave. Some of the huimur are not yet strong enough to bear their towers.’

Carnelian tried to deduce something of Osidian’s mood from his tone, from the set of his shoulders. He sensed Osidian was putting on a show for the other Master. They all turned to gaze up at Heart-of-Thunder. The first flame-pipe was already attached. Legionaries were working on the second. Osidian was nodding. ‘I shall command the first cohort from his tower.’

He turned to Carnelian. ‘I hope that you, my Lord Suth, shall condescend to command the second.’

Carnelian had not thought about it, but raised his hand in affirmation.

‘The third we shall leave in your hands, my Lord.’ Osidian indicated the other Master, who bowed.

‘As you command, Celestial.’

Something about this man disturbed Carnelian, but he could not work out what it was. Then it occurred to him. His voice was not that of the ex-Legate. As the most senior of the Lesser Chosen it should have been he who took next place after Osidian and himself.

Later, as he followed Osidian to where the other Lesser Chosen were waiting, Carnelian searched among them for one who might be behaving differently from the others, perhaps showing some resentment. It was then he noticed ammonites unloading a body from a saddle-chair. He glimpsed an arm that was wrapped in ritual bindings.

‘You murdered him, didn’t you?’ Carnelian asked, the moment they were alone and unmasked.

Osidian gazed at him. ‘He defied me.’

‘You needed to kill him as an object lesson to the other commanders.’

Osidian held Carnelian’s glare for a while before turning away as he divested himself of his military cloak. ‘We shadowed the road far to the west and saw no sign of Aurum.’

Carnelian was remembering how Osidian had killed Ranegale so as to take control of the Ochre raiding party. He focused his attention on what Osidian had said. ‘What if he does not come by road?’

‘He must if he is to have any hope of getting here before we complete our mobilization.’

Carnelian realized something. ‘If you could see the road, then the watch-towers must have seen you.’

Osidian threw his hand up in a gesture of dismissal. ‘The time for hiding has passed.’

For a moment Carnelian became lost in a maelstrom of anxiety. So they had finally passed the point of no return. He marshalled his thoughts. ‘You have a plan?’

‘We penetrate deep into the hinterland beyond the seeing of the Wise. Then we shall turn towards Makar.’

Carnelian saw it in his mind. ‘You wish to outflank him.’

‘And snatch his base from him.’

To capture Makar would put them astride the South Road that ran north to Osrakum.

Osidian’s eyes went opaque. ‘That should get the attention of my Lords the Wise.’

Even though he did not believe they would give Osidian anything, Carnelian felt uneasy.

Osidian’s eyes brightened. ‘Aurum will be forced to come to me.’

Could it be he still hoped the old Master would join him? Carnelian felt a need to put a crack in Osidian’s certainty. ‘How can you be so certain of that?’

‘How else is he going to keep his legion supplied?’

Carnelian paused. ‘Surely he will find all he needs here.’

When Osidian smiled, Carnelian could already see Qunoth burning.

Carnelian stood upon a low dais within a raised ring of stone. The curved alabaster wall suffused the chamber with soft white light. An ammonite entered, bearing a casket of ribbed ivory. He put this on the floor, broke its seals and opened it. Pulling back layers of parchment, he reached in and drew forth a pale garment. The torso was of a piece with the legs that followed, which another ammonite swept into the crook of his arm so that the suit would not touch the floor. Together they carried it towards Carnelian, climbed up onto the stone ring then let the suit fall, dangling its toed feet and fingered hands. It opened up the middle, inner edges fringed with ties and hooks. It seemed the skin flayed whole from a man. The ammonites asked him to raise his arms, then they fed them into those of the suit. The soft leather poured like silk, rucking at Carnelian’s elbows. The gloves that formed the extremity of the arms were slipped over his hands. He helped the ammonites by worming his fingers into each pocket. They tightened the gloves along their outer edges with delicate ties like tendons. They did up the paired green and black buttons on the back of each wrist. Flexing his hands Carnelian was hardly aware of their covering. The ammonites smoothed the leather up his arms, fitting his elbows into the ridged joints, slicking it over the muscles of his upper arms and easing the shoulders of the suit over his own. As they pulled the leather over his chest, the dangling, empty head flopped down under his throat. The legs of the suit hung nudging at his shins. The ammonites lifted his left leg and fed it into the suit. His foot slipped into the leather foot as easily as had his hands into the gloves. They squeezed his big toe into one pocket and the other toes into another wide enough to accommodate them all. When he put his foot down he could feel soft calluses under his toes, the ball and ridge of his foot, his heel. Once his other leg was clothed he raised it, turning his foot up to see the sole. The heel was red, the ball and ridge black, the toes green. It was a ranga shoe integral to the suit. He felt the leather slide and grip his body as the ammonites began to engage the ties and hooks up his back.