The Master of Beasts barked instructions into the vault. Carnelian saw figures scrambling up the walls. He heard a metallic crunching as some windlass pulled the brass chains taut.
‘Was he in danger of coming free?’ Carnelian asked.
The Master of Beasts glanced at Carnelian in surprise. ‘Oh no, Master.’ His eyes strayed back to the tightening chains. ‘He still dreams. His chains were too loose. We let them out slowly to allow his muscles to regain strength enough to hold his head up on their own.’ He pointed into the gloom and Carnelian saw more chains fixed to the monster’s legs and abdomen.
‘Without those he’d collapse. The waking is a delicate business. If he were to break a leg he might not survive.’ That thought was enough to make the Master of Beasts pale. ‘Many would die with him.’
Carnelian imagined that a reference to his keepers. ‘How long before he can have a tower put upon his back?’
The Master of Beasts turned to him. ‘A tower complete, Master?’
Carnelian nodded.
The man shrugged. ‘We dare burden him only in accordance with his returning strength. Perhaps four days, Master.’
‘They recover more slowly than do the Wise,’ said Osidian in Quya.
Carnelian looked round. ‘The Wise take the same drugs?’
‘Something very like,’ Osidian said.
As a child Carnelian had been told stories of how the Wise often sank into a magic sleep so as to extend their lives. This was one of the many things he had dismissed as fantasy.
Osidian took his shoulder and led him away. ‘We must prepare to give audience to the Legate.’
‘Do the Wise live as long as the huimur?’ Carnelian asked.
Osidian made a gesture of uncertainty. ‘It is rumoured that some Grand Sapients have ruled their Domains for generations.’
Carnelian considered this. It made the Wise seem even more alien.
Osidian glanced back at the huimur. ‘Does his name not seem an omen to you?’
Carnelian grew wary. He had heard that tone before. ‘It had not occurred to me…’ He lied. He knew perfectly well that it was the heart of thunder that brought the Black God each year to Osrakum.
Standing in the long shadow of one of the cothon piers Carnelian watched the Masters approach, swinging censers. Amidst the smoke, each was a spire whose gleam was filtering through their escort of Marula. They detached from the escort and came shimmering across the cobbles. Carnelian gazed entranced. They were appallingly tall. Sun flashed from their horned helms, from their faces of gold. They seemed unearthly beings.
Carnelian stepped back into the deeper shadow cast by the dragon tower above him. As the Masters passed between the piers their jewels, their masks brought glimmers of the late afternoon light into the shadows. The clouds of incense they were weaving round them had for a moment the scent of cedar, but he quickly resolved it to be sweet myrrh. Removing his ammonite mask he stepped out to meet them. They overtopped him by a head. Glancing down, he saw they were wearing ranga. It made him aware his own feet were planted firmly on the ground in clear defiance of the Law. Myrrh was not only in the smoke rising from the censers they swung in pendular arcs, but emanated from the dense samite of their robes, from the carapaces of their iridescent armour. He looked at their hands which were spotted with symbols. These Masters were wearing the ritual protection the Wise claimed was proof against the plagues of the outer world. It made Carnelian realize he had forgotten how utterly exposed he and Osidian had been and for so long. He had lived among the Plainsmen, eaten their food, even kissed them. It would seem he was irremediably contaminated. He suppressed a smile. The masks of these Masters might be looking down on him with imperious contempt but, in his heart, he still felt cleaner than they.
‘I am Suth Carnelian.’
Though he knew the Law demanded they could not remain masked in the presence of a Lord of the Great it also declared that no Master should breathe unhallowed air. He was not sure which law took precedence, but thought it likely this was the reason they had taken the precaution of bringing incense. One by one they released their masks to reveal faces that seemed made of chalk. Startled, he remembered that the Chosen were compelled to paint their skin against the sun. Strange he had forgotten that when once it had seemed as natural to him as breathing. He began to feel unease at their predatory beauty.
‘We have come to speak with the Jade Lord,’ one said.
Carnelian saw around his neck a torc of jade and iron that bore four broken rings. ‘You are the Legate here?’
The man raised his hand in elegant affirmation.
Follow me, Carnelian gestured, which in its agreement and requisitive mode made it clear it was only the Legate he was inviting. Walking back through the piers he was pleased to hear the clack of only one set of ranga.
Beneath the arch of Heart-of-Thunder’s beak Osidian seemed a coalescing of the shadows. Carnelian stood aside to let the Legate approach. He watched with trepidation as the exquisitely armoured Master moved to loom over Osidian. Osidian seemed overmatched but, when he spoke, his voice was commanding. ‘Kneel.’
For a moment it seemed as if the Legate might defy him but, after settling his censer before him, shimmering darkly, the Lesser Chosen Lord subsided, spreading his gorgeous train upon the cobbles. Carnelian watched the Master’s grey eyes seeking to pierce the myrrh smoke to make out Osidian’s face in the gloom. ‘We heard, Celestial, you had disappeared.’
‘It seems I have reappeared.’
The Legate began to say something else, but Osidian raised a pale hand that closed his mouth. ‘Where are your auxiliaries, my Lord?’
The Legate raised hands encrusted in gems, fingers vaguely framing evasions. ‘When the Great Lord came he was impossible to resist.’
‘Did he have a mandate from the Wise?’
The Legate did not wholly manage to suppress a grimace. ‘His House is very high, Celestial.’
Osidian’s voice came forth from the abyss of darkness. ‘Is it to House Aurum you owe allegiance, my Lord? I thought you had sworn it to the House of the Masks. Was it not my father who appointed you, my brother who ratified that appointment?’ Then, more severely: ‘How do you imagine They will react to this betrayal of Their trust?’
Suddenly, brass began clattering behind Osidian. He did not flinch as chains collapsed link on link. Even when the prow of Heart-of-Thunder’s head shifted in the air above him Osidian remained motionless.
The Legate had bowed his horned military helm.
‘I will need fitting accommodation.’
‘You shall have my own chambers, Celestial. Though miserable, they are the best I have to offer.’
‘Very well, my Lord, we shall return with you to the sanctum.’
The horned helm rose. ‘Now, Celestial?’
‘Why not?’
As the Legate swept past Carnelian Osidian approached and raised his hand. ‘Come, my Lord.’
‘I shall remain here.’ Carnelian realized the Legate was within hearing and added: ‘Celestial.’
Osidian hesitated. Watching his hand, Carnelian detected a firmness in it that suggested Osidian was about to issue a command. The hand softened. ‘My Lord Legate.’
The Legate turned. ‘Celestial?’
‘Go on ahead, we shall join you presently.’
The man bowed. ‘As you command.’
Carnelian watched the Legate move away, resigning himself to a confrontation with Osidian. He turned to him. ‘Someone needs to keep an eye on things here,’ he said in Vulgate.
‘Morunasa can do that.’