‘No,’ Amber agreed, ‘that’s just dying early. You can’t stop this?’
‘They’re ignoring me. I know Ozhern can hear me, but his head’s full of bloodlust, nothing more. Amber, don’t risk going out there. I don’t know they’d even recognise you.’
‘I ain’t going,’ Amber said, rising. ‘Let’s get back to our own men. Those lancers may be watching this too. There’s nothing we can do here and evening’s coming on. I want to be in a camp by sundown — with this much blood there’ll be an army of daemons round here, true enough.’
Nai scowled and glanced back towards the Legion of the Damned. ‘Just at nightfall, eh?’
Amber opened his eyes and scowled. ‘Could have sworn you were someone bringing me brandy there.’
The priest of Shotir gave him an anxious smile and looked around as though expecting to see someone doing just that. Then he advanced cautiously on the blood-spattered general, his hands held out before him as though Amber were a growling dog. ‘Just coming to see to your arm, sir,’ the Menin healer said, his voice apologetic. ‘I do not touch liquor myself.’
‘Gods, you’re serious?’ Amber forced himself to sit a little straighter. ‘All the blood and death you people see and you don’t drink? You’ve been seeing to the worst-wounded first, right — I’ve seen enough of them today to need a drink, and you get in much closer than me.’
‘Drink is a mocker,’ the priest intoned solemnly as he knelt by Amber. He was a young man, little more than twenty summers, with a thin face, unusual for his calling, for the work provoked a fierce hunger. This was a man of iron-hard will, Amber surmised.
‘It brought my father low, and his father before him,’ the priest continued as he unfastened Amber’s armour and helped the general get his cuirass off.
Amber grunted in pain as the healer levered his arm up enough to unhitch the pauldron. ‘Brings us all low,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘but after a day like this, that’s the whole idea.’
The darkness was punctuated by the lights of cooking fires and torches lining the freshly dug rampart. If he stood on the top of the rampart, Amber knew he might just about be able to make out the fires of another camp on either side: the Menin straddled the makeshift road, with the ground in between patrolled by those half-mad Narkang Green Scarves.
‘I find other diversions,’ the priest replied as he finally freed the general’s arm. He gently probed the injured shoulder, observing Amber’s discomfort until he found the spot where the pain was worse, at the very top of his arm. He put his fingers flat against the flesh and closed his eyes, and a slight warmth permeated Amber’s skin as he probed the damage.
‘The bone is cracked,’ the priest pronounced after a moment. ‘You’re lucky; I can make it useable for the morning.’
‘Do it,’ Amber said with a nod. He knew it’d hurt like a bastard, and it’d still be fragile in battle, but it was better than nothing, and any improvement, no matter how slight, might just keep him alive. He tried to smile, but he was so exhausted all he could manage was a twitch of the cheeks.
Strange: it’s been a while since I cared much for surviving. But it looks like my body still does, no matter what my mind might think. Training only gets a man so far — I’ve seen even the best soldiers give up — but for whatever reason, it looks like some of me ain’t ready to go.
‘General!’ someone called, and Amber was reaching for a weapon before he managed to catch himself. Three figures were marching towards him, and his one remaining bodyguard immediately placed himself in front of Amber.
‘General, you have a visitor,’ the voice continued, and now Amber placed it: Colonel Dorom, one of the commanders for the legions in this camp.
‘You done?’ Amber asked the priest, starting to struggle to his feet.
‘Done? I haven’t even started yet.’
‘Well, go see to someone else for now,’ Amber said, ‘or get yourself some food. You make me cry in front of that bastard, someone here’ll gut you.’
The priest, taken aback, stared at Amber for a moment before turning to see who the newcomer was. He could make out a broad man, taller than average for the West, with a bald head and the handle of some large weapon sticking out from behind his back. He was flanked by two Menin in heavy armour. Meeting the healer’s gaze, the newcomer bared his teeth and growled like a dog, startling the man.
The priest retreated to the sound of the newcomer’s laughter, melting away into the dark towards the hospital tent.
‘You must be General Daken,’ Amber said wearily in Narkang, not bothering to rise.
‘Fame precedes me, eh?’
The big soldier looked up at the white-eye’s grinning face. ‘Something like that, Mad Axe. Can’t think of many with your reputation willing to walk into the camp of men who’d like to see you dead.’
‘Always had a forgiving nature, me.’ Daken pulled something from his belt and swung it towards Amber. ‘Brought you a present, too. Renowned for kissing up to my commanding officer, I am.’
Amber heard liquid slosh inside a flask and snatched it from the air. Using his damaged arm to pin the flask against his body, he opened it up and took a sniff. It wasn’t anything he recognised, but strong spirits needed no introduction. He took a swig and started coughing hard enough to sent fresh jagged pain shooting down his arm.
Daken laughed, the sound disconcerting amongst the battle-weary troops. ‘Aye, kills a cold stone dead too!’
‘Feels like my throat’s been coated in lime plaster,’ Amber spluttered, waving the flask back at Daken.
‘Take another. Goes down easier the second time.’
Amber did so, and admitted, ‘True enough, but most things probably taste smooth once half your mouth’s been burned out. Drink with me.’
The white-eye took two long pulls on the flask himself and squatted down before his new commander. ‘Now we’re all friends, hey?’
‘Far from friends,’ Amber said with a spark of anger in his eyes, ‘just on the same side for the time being. Forget that and we’ll kill you, orders or no.’
‘Don’t you worry about me; I’m loveable enough until I get some booze inside me.’
Amber couldn’t help but smile. This one was obviously as mad as his nickname suggested. He would cheerfully go through the Ivory Gates of Ghenna, just to have a look round, and then saunter back out again.
‘The priest says strong drink is a mocker,’ he said.
‘Fucking priests, eh?’
‘Indeed.’ Amber slowly levered himself up. ‘Well, General Daken, what can I do for you?’
‘Oh, nothing, just reporting in,’ Daken said. ‘Got me some catching up to do, looks like — we passed a whole lot of bodies on the way here.’
‘We’re making a name for ourselves,’ Amber agreed. ‘The Devoted aren’t so keen to face us in open battle now.’
‘Ah, what’s in a name, eh?’ asked the Mad Axe. ‘Send ’em King Emin’s way — he must be over the border now, and following in your bloody wake. Sends orders that you’re to hold position and let them make up ground; there’s forty legions just itching to get at these Devoted knights.’
‘We’ll hold,’ Amber said. ‘It’ll take us time to clear the rats from this run anyways.’
‘Good, then.’ Daken looked Amber up and down. ‘So: killed one of the Chosen, they say. Lord Tsatach?’
‘I did.’
‘Had to settle for your Duke Vrill myself,’ Daken said. ‘Don’t suppose I’ll get one like Tsatach in this lifetime now, more’s the pity.’
‘No one liked Vrill anyway,’ Amber said, in case Daken was looking to needle him — being a white-eye, he might not even have intended on it. ‘Man was a bastard, and only a half-decent soldier, for all he was a white- eye.’
‘Aye, pisses me off, that does — but you can only kill what’s in front of you, I s’pose.’
‘Is that why you’re in this? To cement your reputation? Or to eclipse older legends who gave you your nickname?’
Daken grinned widely and bowed with surprising grace. ‘We all have our reasons. I’ll leave you to your healing now, General Amber.’ And with that he turned and sauntered away, drinking from his flask and meeting the
