Carnelian and his father stood on the weir and looked down the valley to the sea.
'Behold Thuyakalrul,' said Suth.
There it lay, beguiling like a ring: the Grand Harbour a paler region of the sea within its circle; the inner harbour of the tower a tiny winking jewel.
This sea is a strange wealth,' his father said.
Carnelian wrinkled his nose as he thought of the stinking purple dye.
Suth pointed to where the coast, curving round into hazy distance, was inlaid with tiny mirrors. There lie the pans in which the yellow-salt is made with which we buy soldiers from the Lower Lands. The sun's ardour distils it from the sea and the Chosen use its currency to buy barbarian blood. Is it not a paradox that a few holes in the ground should yield up such conquest?'
Carnelian played with his fingers.
The Quyans came to these lands across that sea,' his father said. The Wise maintain it was the sea that was the mother of the Quyan race. They claim for evidence the colours of our Chosen eyes that constantly reflect her.'
Behind them there was a mutter of voices. The aquar were fidgeting.
His father looked back at the other Masters. 'We cannot risk being divided, you and I.'
Carnelian stared seawards but saw nothing. His eyes were searching inwards, seeking a way out of the prison of his anger.
'I did all I could to save Crail,' Suth said quietly.
'If you did, my Lord, it was evidently not enough,' said Carnelian. The words were out before he could recall them. He felt his face burning against the metal of his mask. He could taste his words' venom. He felt his father turn towards him.
'Henceforth, my Lord, always wear your gloves. A single pale, symboled hand could betray us all.'
As his father strode off to join the others, Carnelian lingered frozen by the coldness in his voice. He knew it was unfair to blame him but he could not help it. The bile rose in him as he told himself that it was his father's weakness that had consigned Crail to his terrible death.
The Marula had returned and were standing in the deepest shade. Apart from their outlines all that could be seen of them was their amber sliver eyes. Carnelian watched his father move towards them. He could not hear his words but saw the way the black men quaked. They scurried out among the aquar and began to unbale baggage from one of them.
Carnelian walked carefully back on his ranga shoes, avoiding his father. The Marula were tying all kinds of shoddy objects to the saddle-chairs. Carnelian came up to his chair and fingered the gourds, the filthy feathered bags, coils of rope, a wood harpoon.
The barbarian has such a childish liking for clutter and whimsy,' said Jaspar as he gingerly poked the objects hanging round his chair. Carnelian watched him wipe his gloved hand against his cloak. Vennel was standing looking up the valley. His mask gave him a look of contemptuous detachment.
Carnelian managed a better vault into his saddle-chair than he had before. He cursed when he found that he had trapped a corner of his cloak under him. Some contortions were needed to release it before, at his signal, his aquar rocked him back into the air. He made sure to see Tain scrambling back up into his place amongst the baggage.
As they set off Carnelian took a good look at the bracelets that covered the forearms of the Marula. After what his father had said, he decided that they were not bone but bitter salt.
A hundred days to the sea
Along the high white road
But I shall fly there with the wind
To leave behind this land of dusts.
Shoals of people slipping past, scraping, scuffling. Dense rafts of bales, of poles and palanquins, floated in the flow. Wheels taller than men drove irresistibly round like mill stones. At a command, the Marula scrabbled down the slope, making the throng a shadow procession behind their kicked-up dust.
'Conceal yourselves,' cried Aurum, 'sit low in your chairs to disguise your height.' Then his aquar was stumbling down into the rolling ochre air. In front of Carnelian, a cloud billowed up. He pulled his cowl forwards as it broke over him. His aquar's plumes rustled as he urged it down into the haze. Every step jarred the saddle-chair. The grind and creaking grew louder with the babble of voices and the clatter of stone bells.
He broke through the dust and pulled his aquar up. The river had faces. He peered from one to another. Some were dark, some painted, some cried, some laughed. Across the eddy of heads something floated like a broken ship: a wreckage of wood and canvas held together with ropes. He watched it totter back and forth, waving above it a tatter of flags.
'Hey, you! Get on or get out of the way,' came a cry from behind him.
Carnelian peered round the edge of his saddle-chair but could make no sense of what he saw. A huge wedge of bone swayed ponderously from side to side, tapering down to a cruel beak. Horn stumps curved out from the four corners of the wedge. Behind all this more bone fanned out into a fluted crest.
'Out of the way, barbarian, or by the horns I'll run you down.'
A small man was creasing his belly against the crest's mottled edge. A tarpaulined mound rose behind him, criss-crossed with thongs. The man was piercing-eyed and grimacing as he shook his hooked goad at Carnelian.
Something impacted the side of his saddle-chair. Carnelian whisked round. The reins were snatched from his hand. He saw the cowled figure of one of the Masters lean back into his seat to yank them taut. Carnelian's aquar went with the tugging.
Try and be more careful,' his father said angrily in Vulgate.
The rebuke stung Carnelian. A smell like malt distracted him from any outburst. He turned to see bronzed hide flexing. His chair shook as he watched the monster lumber by. A wagon pole juddered past like a battering ram. Then the edge of a solid wheel of wood rolled into view, its splintered rim turning slowly. It lurched into a rut, causing Carnelian's aquar to flare its eye-plumes. He was shaken around in his chair as the creature recoiled.
Carnelian saw the other Masters nearby, waiting for the wagon to pass. He moved towards them, recognized Jaspar by his gloves and drew close to him. 'Was that a dragon?' he shouted in Vulgate over the noise.
'What?' the Master shouted back. 'No, no, only one of its smaller cousins.'
The movements of their aquar separated them. Suth was making the party form up. Carnelian was directed into place with curt gestures. Resentment burned up in him. His father was treating him like a child.
The Marula sculled a way into the throng with the hafts of their lances. The Masters and baggage animals waded in after them. The Marula dug a space in the middle of the road then fell back to shield the Masters with their bodies. The inexorable march swept them all in its tide off into the south.
Drab drifts of barbarians jabbered like birds. Chariots studded with shell buttons snaked streamers. Strings of smaller half-feathered aquar carried nests of clutter. Sawn-horned huimur clacked stone bells, their backs like upturned boats. Some had howdahs, some were snail-shelled with trussed goods, some pulled carts or painted wagons. Carnelian's mood brightened. He indulged his curiosity and looked at everything. It surprised him that the road's two streams slid so smoothly past each other. One was going to the sea, the other coming from it, penetrating deeper into the Naralan. He peered to front and back to see their march swallowed at both ends by hazing horizons. Swarthy hawkers clamoured at the edges of the road waving their meagre wares. Children threw stones, stared, pointed laughing. The sun-baked land behind was patterned with spaced trees. Boulder-bordered tracks scratched off into the hinterland. The land folded distantly into vague hills or crusted here and there into
