‘He mourns his fallen colleague,’ Carnelian said and was aware of Tribute’s and Law’s homunculi murmuring so that he knew their masters heard his words.
Some moments later Osidian gave a slight nod, as if he had only just registered what Carnelian had said. ‘We have been negotiating my Apotheosis. It shall be held in seven days’ time. They have kept the tributaries waiting in the City at the Gates. Tribute’s primary concern is that the awe of witnessing my ascension should replace what they have seen of our disunity and strife. He hopes that thus, at least for the moment, the outer ring of the Commonwealth will hold without need of further intervention.’
The murmuring of the homunculi continued a while and then fell suddenly silent.
‘Celestial, the sartlar must be sent back to the Land,’ said Tribute.
Osidian turned to the Grand Sapients. ‘Will this avoid the cities being visited by famine?’
‘With rationing it can be hoped they will suffer little degradation.’
‘And the sartlar?’ Carnelian asked.
The two Grand Sapients stood motionless long after their homunculi had completed their echoing of Carnelian. Then Law’s fingers stirred, causing his homunculus to sing out: ‘They will starve in vast numbers.’
Carnelian frowned, trying to accustom himself to the weight of responsibility he would bear for that. He glanced towards the battlefield. At least those had died quickly. Hunger was a cruel killer.
‘The legions must return to their fortresses, Celestial. They will be needed to quell disturbances among the sartlar.’
Carnelian felt crushed by this new prophecy of disaster.
Osidian was nodding. He raised his head. ‘Six legions shall remain here to herd them away from Osrakum.’
‘As you wish, Celestial,’ said Tribute.
Law’s homunculus gazed at them. ‘And now we must haste back to Osrakum. We have all been too long exposed to the pollution out here.’
Carnelian looked around him, weak with relief at the thought of fleeing all this destruction and death. In his mind’s eye he saw the ordered perfection of Osrakum and yearned for it. At the same time he was ashamed of these feelings. How easily he was allowing himself to think like a Master. How easy it would be to wash his hands of the holocaust he had helped to bring about, then go safely behind Osrakum’s mountain wall, where the disaster that was to come would be hidden from his eyes.
Following the direction of his thoughts, his gaze had drifted north towards Osrakum. He became aware of a darkness creeping towards them along the road. Palanquins. Hundreds and hundreds of them. The Chosen were coming to gather their dead.
The first ranks of palanquins disgorged Masters the colours of butterflies. Their iridescent robes and the sunlight hue of their masks spilled glorious summer out over the grey, puddled road. Carnelian pulled the hood of his brother’s cloak further over his face, peering down its tunnel at this alien spectacle as their bright flood left the palanquins behind and approached, Masters towering above their tyadra. Osidian was lifting his hand, holding it aloft to form gestures of command. Come alone.
The Masters left their guardsmen behind and continued to advance on their ranga, their gait measured as they passed along the rows of children, their masks glancing at the dead faces, the sight of which only seemed to quicken their approach.
Carnelian dropped his head as they drew closer, for a moment seeing nothing but the shimmer of their silks, the glitter of their jewels. They slowed as they neared Osidian, trailing their sleeves in the filth of the road as they made obeisance, their greetings of ‘Celestial’ like a whisper of breeze. And in the midst of their pomp Osidian was a spindle of shadow, seeming more a part of the angry sky than anything to do with the mundanity below.
He addressed them, his Quya ringing through their ranks, telling them that, of their Ruling Lords, perhaps only eighty had perished, but that the rest lived still and had accepted him as their master and, further, that he had confirmed the new rights his brother had gifted them. Even if Carnelian had not given half his attention to this speech, he would have known these were only the Lesser Chosen, for he was now watching the approach of a more sombre procession. In more autumnal splendour, the Great were filing out of the raft of palanquins and coming on in stately gravity. Slowly they approached the dead laid out upon the road and, though Carnelian watched for a change in their demeanour as they realized these were their children, they did not flinch, but moved along the rows, searching, with as much decorum as if they were appreciating a display of lilies. Suddenly, one raised a hand, throwing a gesture back towards the waiting guardsmen that stirred up a commotion among them. Other hands began rising, their fine bones obscured by the linen of the ritual wrappings, some seeming to tremble a little, perhaps, so that Carnelian felt a tightening around his eyes, recognizing in that little sign what grief was tearing at their hearts. They might be Masters and of the Great, but they were fathers too and these stiff and sodden corpses on the stone were their children.
Servants filtering through the guardsmen were creeping towards their Masters, their steps slowing, faltering as they drew closer to them. Falling at last to the wet road upon their knees so gingerly it seemed they feared to bruise its stone. Cowering at their Masters’ feet, they received instructions. Some produced blades with which they made cuts beneath their eyes so that down their cheeks began to trickle blood tears. Their Masters allowed their cloaks and outer robes to be removed. The servants bore these to where their Masters pointed and the servants began wrapping the dead children in these borrowed shrouds. Watching this, Osidian and the Lesser Chosen Lords had fallen silent. Only when the servants were carrying the shrouded children back to the palanquins did the Great turn towards Osidian and, slowly, they advanced on him. As they drew nearer, the Lesser Chosen Lords, bowing their heads, moved aside and the Great came on like ships under sail. Among the palanquins, Carnelian could see the dead children in their silk cocoons being stowed away.
When the Great were close enough for Carnelian to see the glimmer of their eyes behind the perfect gold faces of their masks, they came to a halt, and for a moment they regarded Osidian with serene malice before one, then all, bowed before him.
‘Great Lords,’ Osidian said, his voice lacking its customary power, ‘those of your Houses that served under my brother are most likely also perished. Even now the commanders from the Lesser Chosen seek their bodily remains.’ Osidian made an unnecessary gesture indicating the battlefield behind him. ‘When they bring them here, we shall all return to Osrakum.’
Carnelian’s attention was pulled in the direction of the palanquins by a commotion there among the guardsmen. As he watched, a fanblade rose, then fell. All the way along their line, weapons were being used. Carnelian became aware of things rolling, of dark stains swelling, joining into streams that swirled into the rain-puddles, reddening them. He grew cold with anger. The slaves who had carried the dead to the palanquins were being slaughtered. One knelt, then his head, severed, rolled; his trunk, collapsing, sprayed blood upon the feet and legs of the guardsmen round him. The slaves had looked upon the faces of the children of the Great. Though their crime merited only blinding, their Masters were not feeling merciful.
Carnelian gazed upon the Great, who seemed impassive even though their people were butchering each other. This was how they had chosen to show their grief. Further, he realized, this was how they had chosen to display their displeasure to Osidian even as they paid him homage.
‘My Apotheosis shall be held in seven days’ time,’ Osidian said.
As the Great again bowed to him, Carnelian felt in his marrow that it was Osidian who was the true author of this theatre. Had he displayed the dead children deliberately so as to give the Great an easy opportunity to vent their grief upon their slaves, in the hope of turning their rage away from him?