Carnelian lost his focus on the glyphs. His worst fears had come to pass. Molochite had taken the Three Gates as Legions had prophesied. He had removed any possibility of the Lesser Chosen supporting Osidian by enfranchising them himself and had summoned them all to Osrakum with their legions, so as to use their overwhelming strength to crush Osidian’s rebellion. Carnelian suppressed a sweating surge of panic. Most terrible of all, news of this disaster had reached Osidian while the Lepers were still here, within reach of his flame-pipes. Carnelian prepared himself, then looked round. So great was Osidian’s wrath, it seemed to be streaming from his body as dark pinions. Carnelian feared that anything he might say could unleash a massacre. His first instinct sickened him. Murder. No. Osidian dead, Aurum would be unchained, Morunasa too. He could not hope to control them both. Somehow, Osidian had to be engaged, his black passions turned away from bloodshed. ‘What are we going to do?’
Osidian spoke, staring blindly. ‘He sent this to me.’
‘Who?’
‘It is in his own hand.’
Carnelian glanced at the glyphs then back at Osidian. His fear grew as he sensed the madness in him rising. ‘Surely this was meant for a Legate?’
Osidian’s eyes sharpened and fell ravenously upon Carnelian. ‘Look at the seal!’
Carnelian disengaged from that glare with difficulty. He folded the parchment, bringing the two halves of the seal together. Each half of the seal bore a face. Carnelian looked up, agonized at not understanding him.
Osidian’s face dissolved into an exasperation that seemed close to tears. ‘It has been turned on its side, deliberately, so that the heads would be separated by the opening of the letter. His is the green head; mine the black. It is his declaration of war.’
Carnelian glanced back at the seal, certain of Osidian’s madness. If anything it seemed a splitting in two of the Twins. Osidian mumbling made Carnelian look up again. Words were escaping from Osidian in a shapeless, meandering rant. Carnelian tried to make sense of it: claims that he had always bested his brother; resentment that Molochite had always been his mother’s pet.
Osidian shook his head. ‘This time will be no different. I shall overcome him.’
Relief released Carnelian. ‘So we are still going to march on Osrakum?’
Osidian gave no sign that he had heard. ‘He will have overwhelming force, but I shall have my Father with me.’
Carnelian’s dread returned with redoubled strength. Osidian was nodding, leering. ‘I shall feed Him and He will inhabit me.’
Carnelian felt he was drowning, flailing. ‘We’re tired,’ he heard himself say, ‘exhausted. We will see more clearly in the morning. Now we need sleep.’
His tone soothed them both and so he kept it up, smoothing his speech into a lullaby of persuasion. Slowly, the madness drained away from Osidian’s eyes. His face softened until he looked more like himself. Carnelian helped him up, digging his shoulder into Osidian’s armpit, maintaining a constant, droning flow of words as, with the homunculus’ help, he began to half drag, half carry Osidian back to his cell.
Carnelian watched Osidian drift into a troubled sleep, thinking how easy it would be to kill him. The same logic as before would have been enough to stay his hand, but there was added poignancy in how much Osidian, glazed with sweat, twitching, resembled the fevered boy Carnelian and Fern had nursed down from the Guarded Land. Carnelian bore a share in all his crimes. He was glad he had that logic to lean on, to justify him avoiding an act he had no stomach for – not now, nor ever before when it might have saved the Tribe. He was glad he had not been lying to Osidian: it would be easier to face what had to be done in the morning. He had a focus. He had to nurse Osidian’s rage against his brother enough to get them all – dragons, Masters, auxiliaries, Morunasa and Marula – north and safely away from the Lepers before anyone else learned what had happened in Osrakum.
He turned away from Osidian, exhausted. Something was crouching in a corner. The homunculus.
‘Master, my masters have not yet been drugged.’
Carnelian hung his head and wondered if he cared. What if Legions and the other Sapients should awake? For a moment that thought brought hope. The Grand Sapient might know something that could be done. Had he not asked to return to Osrakum? At the very least he would be someone to whom he could talk, someone who would understand. He shook his head. This was not some friendly uncle. This was a creature soaked through with guile and unfathomable motives. Carnelian’s only remaining hope was that he would be able to contain and guide Osidian. An intervention by the Grand Sapient could send the whole situation careering even further out of control.
Heavily, he rose. ‘Let’s do it, then.’
He took the homunculus’ hand to guide him out of the cell. Once they came into that of the Sapients Carnelian masked, to allow the homunculus to see. He leaned against a wall watching the little man advance upon the Grand Sapient’s capsule. He broke the seal and pulled the lid open. He reached up to coax a yellow bead into his hand and climbed up, reaching for the chin of the long silver mask.
Legions’ hands struck like snakes. Carnelian let out a cry of shock even as the homunculus pulled himself free and fell to the floor. The pale, bony fingers combed the air and then, slowly, came back to settle their heels upon the Grand Sapient’s ribs, open, facing each other.
The homunculus turned to stare at Carnelian, a rictus of horror fixed deep into the wrinkles of his face. ‘Master?’
Carnelian willed his heart to slow, tried to list all the dangers, but it was a desire to talk to someone, anyone, that made him nod. The homunculus frowned, jerked a bow, then backed towards the capsule, clambered up and settled his neck into the waiting hands. Immediately they snapped closed around his throat with such force the homunculus let out a choked cry, his hands jumping up as if to tear the fingers away. The grip loosened and the homunculus relaxed and gave out a long gasp that did not seem his own. The sound a man might make reaching air after a desperate struggle in drowning depths.
‘What has happened?’ the homunculus said.
Still alarmed, Carnelian was trying to make sense of this. ‘Have you just woken?’
Legions’ hands jerked instructions. ‘For three days I have been awake, listening for the vibration of your tread, Suth Carnelian.’
The homunculus’ eyes had a spider gleam that seemed to belong to his master. Carnelian’s mind raced, trying to understand. ‘Homunculus, is it possible he could avoid swallowing the drug?’
The homunculus began an answer, but Legions strangled it. ‘What has happened?’ he demanded.
Carnelian tried to work out what to do, but his thoughts slipped and fell against each other. He was too tired to think properly. In the end, he began to relate the content of the letter. As he did so, he watched a tremor creep into Legions’ pallid fingers. The homunculus’ echoing murmur ceased and he looked confused. He raised a hand to ask Carnelian to wait. Then he lost focus as he listened to the play of fingers upon his neck. He began murmuring again, then indicated for Carnelian to continue.
When he reached the end of what he had to relate, he fell silent. The murmuring continued for a while, then abruptly ceased. The Grand Sapient’s grip released. His hands and arms fell away, to dangle lifelessly.