The Third God (35 page)

HINTERLAND

For more than one thousand years the Land has been dying. Decline began eight hundred years before that, when population pressure led to the Great Famine. At that time, forced to abandon fallowing, we began the development of irrigation. Consequently, most of the Land has come to yield two crops a year. However, the soil is subject to an ever-declining fertility. We have been able to compensate for this by a variety of methods. With the ongoing refinement of our systems we are confident we can postpone collapse for an indeterminate time.

(extract from a beadcord manual of the Wise of the Domain Lands)

RED LAND GAVE WAY TO GREEN. THROUGH THE BONE SCREEN CARNELIAN
watched the rolling dust break upon the hri field, then Earth-is-Strong emerged as if they were coming ashore. Ahead of him the line of Osidian’s dragons stretched away into the monotonous grey-green distance patterned to the horizon with sartlar kraals. Several times he detected movement in their overseer towers. The sartlar themselves, who worked the Guarded Land in vast numbers, crawled everywhere like fleas.

As they penetrated ever deeper into the hinterland his command chair rocked Carnelian in and out of sleep. Half awake, he imagined he was coasting along a shore. The pounding rhythm of the dragon’s footfalls seemed the sound of breakers.

A voice woke him. Lifting his masked face, he saw his Lefthand raising his hands to him almost in prayer. ‘Master, a signal’s been passed down the line from Heart-of-Thunder commanding that we should form a laager for the night.’

Outside, the long shadows cast by the overseer towers showed how late it was. ‘Give the commands.’

The Lefthand touched his forehead to the deck before speaking into his voice fork. ‘Hard to port.’

Earth-is-Strong began veering left. Gazing out through the port edge of the screen Carnelian watched the line of dragons sweeping round towards the sun. Far away the massive shape of Heart-of-Thunder was beginning to eclipse it. For moments his tower was a silhouette haloed with gold, then the sun slipped free, so bright Carnelian was forced to squint. Another dragon moved to obscure it. He watched the mesmerizing pulse of dragons passing until his own was moving into that part of the arc in which the sun was permanently obscured. He settled back into his chair feeling the slow pound of Earth-is-Strong’s footfalls as if it were his own heartbeat. Then, suddenly, the cabin was facing due west and he was blind in its radiance. Through his eyelids, he saw only red. Slowly the sun moved to his right until they were moving south and it was possible to reopen his eyes.

At last the constant swaying of the cabin slowed but, at the end of each swing, the deck leaned at a more extreme angle than before, so that Carnelian had to grip the arms of his chair. A couple more swings and then the cabin settled upright.

The Lefthand spoke into his voice fork. ‘Hard to starboard.’

The tower rattled and shook as Earth-is-Strong turned into the sun, flooding the cabin with incandescent gold. The Righthand put his mouth to his voice fork and murmured something. Squinting, Carnelian noticed movement down at the dragon’s horns. Ropes were being cast to the ground. Men grabbing these ran with them to where others were hammering spikes into the earth. Earth-is-Strong’s head was being tethered.

At last the Righthand raised his eyes to Carnelian’s mask. ‘Master, it is now possible to disembark.’

Carnelian gave a nod and both of his officers bent to their voice forks and issued commands into them. He felt more than heard the crew moving about the tower, but he remained in his chair, feeling it was his right to quit the tower last. He heard a creaking sound to port that he guessed was the brassman being lowered. As it came fully down he felt its pull upon the tower. Then there was a jerking vibration as men moved along it. This went on for some time, then, heads bowed, his officers rose from their positions and retreated towards the ladder. Carnelian waited to hear them descend before he himself rose. He climbed down through the empty trumpet deck, glad of the respite its closed ports gave him from the sun. Reaching the lower deck he was forced to stoop. Through the portal he could see the brassman stretched out into space, hanging from its chains. As Carnelian walked out onto it his mask protected him from the glare. The distance to the ground was alarming. Ahead was another dragon tower, half in shadow. He glanced further round and saw he was on the edge of an expanse walled by the ring of dragons. Within this milled the Marula on their aquar and the pack huimur with their frames.

He used the rope ladder that fell from the brassman’s hands to climb down to the ground. His officers and crew were kneeling all around him. Hunched sartlar were jogging towards him in pairs. Between each sagged a pole from which hung a leather box that spilled water with every bounce. He gazed back down the line of these water carriers to the black hole in the earth from which they were emerging burdened. The odour of render released into the air was managing to pierce the nosepads of his mask. At that moment the dragons began a moaning as if they were mourning the dying of the day. Their haunches and the pillared halls beneath their bellies already wallowed in night. Their horns against the purpling sky were crescent moons. Only their towers still held the guttering embers of the sun. He watched as the last gleam of day faded into indigo.

Within one of the pavilions erected for the Masters, Carnelian sat opposite Osidian on the thick mattresses that made a floor. A brazier was pumping myrrh smoke. Though overpowering, it allowed them to be free of their masks. He glanced at its hated shell, face down on a pad of silk. Through the haze he could see the stains Osidian had sweated into his bandages. He too had had his leathers removed. He fingered the mattress, which was thick enough to lift them the prescribed distance from the polluting earth.

Osidian was eating voraciously from the ceramic boxes filled with delicate wafers of hri, saffroned meats, dried fruit like dull, wrinkled jewels. Carnelian nibbled at a wafer; the whiff of render had turned his stomach.

Osidian looked up. ‘Tomorrow we must carry out some manoeuvres.’

‘I thought we had to make for Makar without delay.’

Osidian nodded. ‘But I must get a feeling for coordinating our line.’

Carnelian bit into an apricot as Osidian began sculpting tactical dispositions in the air. ‘You will take the left, I the right.’

Osidian woke Carnelian. Once their Hands had eased them back into their leathers, they emerged from their pavilion. Within the laager, preparations were already being made to leave. Carnelian followed Osidian past Marula saddling their aquar to where the Lesser Chosen commanders were gathered. After Osidian had explained to them what he intended to do he sent them to their towers. As he turned to Carnelian his mask caught some of the pink dawn. ‘Let us see what power there is in these beasts.’

Carnelian could not help feeling a thrill of excitement as he approached Earth-is-Strong. The rising sun was sheathing her rump in copper. Her head and the hills of her shoulders were carved from shadow, but her tower seemed aflame. Men crawled up in the rigging like flies. He felt a momentary unsteadiness as she shifted. He saw a man sitting astride one of her horns ready to release the tether. He mounted the ladder. The brassman was grimacing as Carnelian came up onto it. Entering the tower he was struck by the already familiar mix of naphtha, sweat and leather. Climbing to the upper deck he slipped into his command chair. His Hands came to kneel beside him. He listened out for the commands they were murmuring into their voice forks. He felt the juddering as the rest of the crew scrambled up into the tower. At last his Lefthand raised his eyes. ‘Everyone’s aboard, Master. Everything’s stowed.’

‘Take her into the west,’ Carnelian said. ‘Order the rest of the cohort to follow.’

The man gave a nod and began issuing instructions into his voice fork. The cabin lurched as Earth-is-Strong’s head came free. The capstan brought her head under control. The tower tilted right then left as she began to move forward. Soon it levelled as Earth-is-Strong found her pace. Through the bone screen Carnelian could see other dragons following as he had commanded. He gave his Lefthand further instructions and, as these were relayed down below, they began veering south-west. When messages arrived that convinced him he had reached the leftmost position in Osidian’s line he had his dragon turn due west.

Sartlar scurried among the hri-spikes like ants fleeing a flood. In his command chair Carnelian was elated by the rushing speed, by the majesty of the dragon line half-masked by dust. The sartlar in flight had, at first, evoked dark memories of the time he and Osidian had been slaves among them. Remembering Kor he had felt pity, but the subtle way in which he and Osidian, though so far apart, could manage to control the horizon-spanning line of dragons was intoxicating.

Something flickering in the corner of his eye made Carnelian turn to see a flashing from the furthest end of the line. His Lefthand frowned, hearing the signal decoded in the earpiece in his helmet.

‘Sickle,’ he said and looked up for confirmation from Carnelian.

At his nod, the legionary grunted a command into his voice fork. The swaying motion of the tower smoothed further as they picked up even more speed. Earth-is-Strong began to outdistance the other dragons in their cohort. Glancing round, Carnelian saw those in the centre had slowed, hanging back so that the whole line was becoming a crescent with its horns thrust forward. He craned to peer ahead into the murk that hid his dragon’s lumbering gait. Down on the plain the sartlar were tiring; the dragons in the horns of the crescent were overtaking them.

Another flash came down the line from Osidian. An order to close the trap. At Carnelian’s command Earth-is-Strong began veering to starboard, pulling the left half of the line round with her. For a while he watched his dragons curving in towards the sartlar. Then he saw another tide of dust coming straight towards them. Heart-of-Thunder emerged from it, horns spread like wings, tower gleaming, leading the other arm of their envelopment to close with his. The sartlar slowed to a stumble, began milling, as the encirclement grew ever tighter. More flashing that his Lefthand received through his helmet. The legionary turned to Carnelian. ‘Light the furnaces.’

Carnelian regarded the man, a look of horror hidden behind his mask. Osidian was intending to unleash fire upon the sartlar.

‘Master?’

Carnelian shook his head. Heart-of-Thunder and Earth-is-Strong had swung round to move in parallel as they closed upon the sartlar. He lunged forward to grab his Lefthand’s shoulder. ‘Send a signal along the line in both directions: desist!’

The man looked at him, his face stiffening with panic.

‘Send it,’ Carnelian roared.

The man’s mouth approached his voice fork, muttered the commands. Carnelian peered out of the port screen, straining to make out Osidian’s tower in the eddying dust-clouds. He waited for some response. Then he noticed smoke beginning to wisp from Osidian’s chimneys. To starboard, more was hazing up from every tower within eyeshot. The ring of dragons tightened, training the spikes of its flame-pipes on the sartlar mass, which was darkening as they huddled closer. Without taking his eyes off them, Carnelian leaned to his Lefthand. ‘No signal?’

‘None, Master,’ the man replied, his voice breaking.

Black smoke was pumping up all around the ring. Carnelian felt numb. Already it was too late. Nauseated, he gazed down upon the cowering, waiting sartlar. A command flickered round the ring. A sound like coughing issued from Heart-of-Thunder’s flame-pipes. Then a whining that rose to a screaming. The sunlight made the fire arcs invisible until they hit the sartlar. Smoke erupted in their midst. Fire was there, incandescent in the darkness overwhelming them. More pipes were screaming. The blackness oozed out, feathering skywards. At its heart, man-shaped flames cavorted as they burned.

Leaden with horror, choking on a rage he did not want to vent on those around him, Carnelian sat frozen as they moved away from the pyre. All the rest of that day he remained thus, speaking only to give his Lefthand the minimum instructions to keep their place in the line as Osidian took them ever further westwards. A voice spoke within him that he could not shut out. It accused him of once again having become Osidian’s fool. That it was only sartlar who had been destroyed did not make him feel better. The only thin comfort came from his father’s voice, speaking quietly within him, telling him he must play the long game.

The sun was low when they spiralled the dragons into another laager. Carnelian descended from his tower feeling brittle but determined. As legionaries erected pavilions, he stood aloof, watching the dragons being fed. He noticed Osidian talking to Morunasa. His gold face remained serene as Morunasa’s folded into a frown. The Oracle glanced over to his fellows then, turning back, he gave a nod. Carnelian was curious, but had other priorities. Osidian was heading towards the pavilion that had been set up at the centre of the camp. Carnelian followed, told their Hands to remain outside, then entered.