Such logic was unassailable. Carnelian felt cornered. ‘Why fight the battle at all?’
Osidian frowning, staring blindly, gave Carnelian hope he was considering an alternative. ‘We could retreat back to Qunoth, or down to the Leper Valleys. The longer we deny Jaspar victory, the more time there is for the political situation in Osrakum to destabilize further.’
Light came back into Osidian’s eyes, as if he had climbed up out of darkness. ‘If Imago secures anything approaching a victory, then not only he but also my mother shall conquer… everything. What would remain to stop her pursuing the Wise for their plotting against her? What was left of the Balance would shatter in her hand. Her power would become absolute.’
‘Only in Osrakum,’ said Carnelian. ‘It is the only world that she cares about.’
‘Can you be sure of that?’
Carnelian realized he could not. Apart from himself, or his father perhaps, every Master he had met was so dazzled by Osrakum that, in comparison, the outer world appeared a colourless miasma. Nevertheless, it was likely he and Osidian had drawn Ykoriana’s gaze out past the Sacred Wall. Even if they were delivered to her, could he be certain she would not vent her bile on the subject peoples? Though he might hate the world as it was, how could he be sure the world remade would not be worse?
Osidian interrupted his thoughts. ‘Even were we to adopt this strategy, it could not hope to work. Wherever we went, the rope would tighten around our throats. We would quickly run out of supplies, without which the huimur would soon lose their strength, their fire. What other forces we had would melt away.’
Osidian shook his head, sadness ageing him. ‘What power we have now, we must use or let it wither in our hand. The Wise have us in a trap I can see no way to escape.’
Desperation made Carnelian irritable. ‘Surely it is the Empress who has ensnared us?’
Osidian shook his head again. ‘It is possible she is as ensnared as we are.’
Carnelian frowned. ‘Are you claiming that the Wise wanted the Clave to send the Ichorian?’
‘It would seem so. Perhaps they did not wish to disrupt their military system. Perhaps my edict has reached more Legates than I imagined. It might even be that, without Legions, the rest of the Twelve are loath to operate his Domain. If, as Aurum claims, Lands is regnant, he might wish to keep that Domain weak. The flows of power among the Twelve are too subterranean to fathom.’
Carnelian had grown increasingly frustrated, as if the snares were catching at his limbs and mind. ‘But what you are saying is that they have deliberately collaborated in the breaking of the Balance.’
‘It was already broken. Aurum’s letter to Molochite put the Wise in my mother’s power. How would you seek to heal such a breakage?’
Carnelian imagined the tripod of the Commonwealth with only two legs. ‘Break it further in the hope of putting it back together as it was before. But, then, why would they send Aurum-?’ Carnelian gaped at Osidian. ‘The Wise want us to defeat Jaspar. If we do, Ykoriana will fall.’
Osidian was staring into the ground. ‘Not only she, but the Great would have failed, for they voted for Jaspar; voted to send the Ichorian.’
Carnelian understood. ‘So each of the Powers would be seen to have played its part in undermining the Balance.’
‘More than this, it would be evident that the House of the Masks was in conflict with itself. Threatening another civil war.’
‘To which the Balance was the original solution…’ said Carnelian, dazzled by the elegance of such a scheme.
‘And would be so again.’
Carnelian saw a problem. ‘But we would still be out here, and now victorious, with the Three Gates poorly defended against us.’
Osidian hunched over. ‘Lands does not believe we will triumph.’
‘But I thought-’ Carnelian understood. ‘We are equally matched.’
‘Yes, we and the Ichorian will destroy each other. Even if we survive, we will be maimed, pitifully weak. None would dare give us aid. Some means will be found to stop me reaching Osrakum alive. The Wise will rebuild the Balance, mortaring it with blood from all three Powers: a three-way sacrifice.’
‘You and Ykoriana; Jaspar… and me…’
‘Do not forget our dear friend Aurum.’
‘But of the Wise…? Legions?’
‘Did you not notice how Aurum reacted when I told him we had the Grand Sapient here?’
Carnelian slumped. ‘So we have already lost.’
Osidian glared, nodding, frowning so hard his birthmark foundered among the creases. ‘Unless I can devise a way to defeat Imago and emerge with our legions unscathed.’
Carnelian gazed at him in hope. ‘Do you believe you can…?’
‘Not by myself.’
For a moment Carnelian thought Osidian was asking for his help, but then he saw Osidian was not looking at him, that he had once more retreated into some inner darkness. ‘Who else…?’
Osidian hung his head and Carnelian knew what he meant to do. He shook his head with horror. ‘You cannot mean to submit yourself to the maggots again?’
Osidian lifted his head. ‘Do you believe I want to do it? Only the God can help me now.’
‘But you can’t-’
Rage flashed in Osidian’s eyes. ‘Have you any other suggestion? Well, do you? I would be happy to entertain any alternative.’
Carnelian had none to offer. ‘What am I supposed to do while I wait for you?’
Osidian shrugged. ‘Maintain order?’
Fear and disgust flared to anger in Carnelian. ‘By which you mean, among other things, that I have to keep the Lepers from getting their hands on Aurum?’
‘If we are victorious, there will be plenty of time after the battle to pay them what I owe.’
They climbed back down into the tower. Carnelian eyed the ladder that Osidian would soon descend. Emotions were twisting in him so fast he could not grab hold of what it was he felt. Unexpectedly, Osidian moved across the landing to open the door that gave into the cell in which the Sapients were lodged. Carnelian followed him in. Osidian unmasked. Carnelian anxiously closed the door before removing his own mask. As Osidian looked round at the capsules leaning against the walls, Carnelian watched his face. There was a sadness there, a quietness. He noted how Osidian held his mask against his body with both hands. Stooping, he laid it upon the floor with such care it seemed he feared to wake the Sapients. He approached the capsule containing Legions’ vague shadow form. He grasped its lid. The seal shattered as he pulled it back to reveal the Grand Sapient standing strapped into the leather hollow, arms crossed over his chest. Osidian gave a nod that might have been a bow, then raised his eyes to the Grand Sapient’s silver mask. Carnelian almost cried out when Osidian reached up. His pale fingers closed around its edges. Carefully he worked it off. Carnelian watched the breathing tube sliding out from the mouth. The mask came free. His earlier notion that Aurum looked like Legions had been wrong. This face was monstrous. A skull to which wet vellum had been plastered. The face of a corpse long dead.
He glanced at Osidian and was arrested by the look in his eyes. They were seeing no horror. Instead, Osidian was looking at Legions with love. Carnelian recalled he had seen that look before, but, with everything that had happened, he had forgotten how Osidian felt. He gazed again upon the object of that regard. He allowed himself to look with compassion. Legions was not a monster, only a mutilated man. Pain was written in his tight, leather skin. And he was ancient, like some wizened, lightning-shattered pine. What spirit lay within that shrivelled husk? What life had this man known? What suffering?
Carnelian turned again to Osidian and felt in his heart just how much he loved this old man. This old man who was losing his purpose, when that purpose was his life.