The Grave Thief: Book Three of The Twilight Reign (16 page)

‘Good morning, Captain.’ Amber raised one armoured arm for Hain to smack his vambrace against, the soldier’s greeting, but he was much taller than his subordinate and found himself falling back into old habits, raising his own arm so Hain had to stretch to reach it.

Strange that only some habits are so easy to adopt again
, he thought
. I’ve been wearing heavy armour for half of my life, and yet ever since I got back this has felt like it belongs to another man.

‘Is it a good morning?’ Hain replied. With his helm on he presented the same grim grey face as Amber, although the major could see Hain’s broken front tooth through the vertical slit over his mouth as he grinned. ‘Doesn’t look like either fucking one to me.’

Major Amber slapped him on the back. ‘I don’t know, from the sound of it, it is going to be a good one for you.’ He led the way up the slope. He could see the backs of Lord Styrax and General Gaur as they stared out at Tor Salan through the morning mist.

‘You could be right there - and for that I have you to thank, sir,’ Hain said buoyantly. The glyphs on his shoulder-plate and helm proclaimed Hain one of the Cheme Third, Lord Styrax’s favourite legion, and Amber had recommended Hain for special duties. His first job would have very public results.

‘A soldier makes his own luck, you know that. Anyway, I had a few spare captains - and I couldn’t leave you in charge of my division - the men would’ve spent the summer whoring.’

Hain laughed. ‘Happily married man, sir, don’t know what you mean! Hope you’re right about the day, but I ain’t counting my virgins until I’m dead, as the Chetse might say.’

‘They say that?’ Amber asked with a frown.

Hain shrugged. ‘Mebbe, they’re an odd lot.’

As they reached earshot of Lord Styrax they fell silent. Out of habit Amber scanned the figures arrayed on the rise where Lord Styrax was overseeing his latest piece of audacity, facilitated by a certain captain of the Third. General Gaur was close at his lord’s side, of course, and Kohrad Styrax, the lord’s son, was stationed between them and a group of men clad in fine green and blue cloaks - emissaries from Sautin and Mustet, so Amber had heard.

They were all looking anxiously at the two regiments formed up in blocks at the foot of the slope. Amber’s eyes immediately went to the banners flying at the head of each block. He realised with a start that they were his own men, some two-thirds of his five-hundred-strong division. Above them all fluttered longer banners, the Fanged Skull of Lord Styrax a bloody mark against the dull sky.

Unlike most legions, the élite Cheme Third had half again as many officers. The first division of the Third was Major Amber’s command, and Major Ferek Darn had been seconded to it after some notable deed; the result was that either could be used for special missions without crippling the command structure.

Looking past the various notables, including Amber’s own commander Colonel Uresh standing with General Vrill and a group of grey-swathed men he guessed were part of Hain’s entertainment, he saw a regiment of the Bloodsworn also assembled, still and silent. The fanatical cavalrymen were an intimidating sight, with their armour painted all in black, except for the Fanged Skull, which was bright, bloody red.

So that’s the message to the emissaries then
, Amber thought as he led Captain Hain around Gaur to kneel before their lord.
Inspect us as closely as you like. All you’ll see is that we’re every bit as big and scary as you’ve heard. Here’s another fight we’ll win without much effort. Just imagine what we could do if we tried
. Amber had seen enough of the camp to realise Lord Styrax had only part of the Third Army assembled, probably seven legions’ worth of men.

As he watched, the men in grey cloaks were brought horses. They all looked short and fat to him, some almost too obese to be anywhere near a battlefield - but they all mounted with ease. General Gaur said something to them, a banner of negotiation was handed to one of them and they galloped off towards the city.

‘Gentlemen,’ Lord Styrax welcomed the newcomers, his voice deep and rumbling. Amber felt a flush of pride as he and Hain bowed; few career soldiers would ever be addressed in that way, this was an honour to be earned. ‘Captain Hain, will everything go as planned?’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Hain replied as they straightened up.

Lord Styrax stood the best part of a foot taller than Amber, and he was far broader, but he carried himself with a smooth grace that few large men could manage. His face was pale in the weak morning light, but it looked untouched by time or cares and was marked only by a single faint scar. Even after years of service, Amber couldn’t help feeling awe as he looked upon the massive white-eye.

Again he was reminded of his drill instructor’s words on his very first day of training in the army. ‘
If you remember nothing else of today, remember this: there’s always someone better than you. However strong and quick you are, there’s always someone better, so being cocky is the fastest way to get dead.’

One young recruit had nervously asked, ‘
What about Lord Styrax?
’ Instead of cuffing the boy, as Amber might have expected, the instructor had nodded. ‘O
ur lord is the exception to every rule; he’s the one who stands above us all
.’ Amber had never forgotten that moment, and the instructor’s words were as true now as they were then.

‘Major Amber, good to have you back - even if things didn’t quite go as we’d hoped.’

Lord Styrax’s words jerked Amber back to the present day. ‘Ah, no, my Lord, not at all as planned, but I learned a lot all the same.’

‘Excellent. We should always be open to instruction, even old men like me.’ The white-eye gave Amber a brief smile before turning to the men from Sautin and Mustet. ‘Emissary Jerrer, High Priest Ayel, don’t you agree?’

Kohrad shifted slightly to allow the two men past to converse with his father. Amber scrutinised their faces; Jerrer was obviously still trying to fathom why he’d been brought here to watch a siege, but it was impossible to tell what was going through the mind of the High Priest of Vasle. Amber had heard contradictory rumours about what was happening to the Land’s priests, but nothing that made sense to him.

‘What is the instruction you offer us today?’ snapped High Priest Ayel. He was a tall, proud-looking man, young for his position, not yet withered by years of service. ‘Cardinal Afasin will not fear this display of strength, such as it is. Your army looks remarkably small for one about to lay siege to a city as rich - and as full of mercenaries - as Tor Salan.’

‘Hah! A city full of as much cooperation as a bag of cats,’ snapped Kohrad Styrax as Amber felt his own hand twitch towards his scimitar’s hilt. The young white-eye appeared to be back to his normal bristling, belligerent self, a great improvement from the last time Amber had seen him, lying unconscious in Thotel, the Chetse capital . . . where the Menin had been forced to slaughter their own, that dreadful night.

‘Well, Scion Styrax,’ Ayel continued, his eyes wide with anger, ‘I invite you to march on Mustet if you wish instruction in how to conduct a defence; the Knights of the Temples will be happy to provide you with an edifying lesson.’

Amber felt his breath catch.
Gods, this priest is insane. You don’t show you’re not afraid by riling white-eyes!

‘
As the seal on that scroll has been broken, I must assume you have already read my offer,’ said Lord Styrax without a trace of anger as his son squared up to the mage.

‘I have read it, and my—’

‘Do not reply yet,’ Styrax said sharply, cutting the high priest off before he could make too great a mistake.

Flushed with anger as he was, Ayel still hesitated in the face of Lord Styrax’s glare. ‘Do not say something you cannot take back. You will leave today to take the offer to Cardinal Afasin.’

Cardinal Afasin?
Amber smiled grimly to himself.
Bastard was
General
Afasin last time I heard. Never a good sign when a white-eye gets religion. I doubt Knight-Cardinal Certinse will be much amused either. What does it say about the state of the Knights of the Temples when Afasin prefers to call himself priest rather than soldier?

‘Today?’ said Emissary Jerrer. ‘We’ve been here a week - why do you release us now?’ The Sautin diplomat was a nondescript man: greying, middle-aged, with weak blue eyes. His clothes were functional, not elegant, which meant he was either a lackey and sent as an insult, or he was some sort of spymaster. After a few moments of scrutiny, Amber decided on the latter; he couldn’t possibly be as harmless as he looked.

‘Why today?’ Styrax repeated. ‘Because today is the day I hang my standard from the Sky Pillars.’

‘Today?’ spat Ayel, stepping in front of his compeer. A growl from General Gaur stopped the high priest moving any closer, but he continued to speak. ‘You have yet to even besiege the city; it is caution alone that has made the Council of Patriarchs bar their gate!’ He jabbed a scarlet-gloved finger in the direction of Tor Salan. ‘I have seen the Giants’ Hands at work; it will take them little time to decimate your army.’

Following the direction of Ayel’s pointing finger, Amber looked out over the fifteen regular humps, each surrounded by heaps of rubble, that dotted the ground outside Tor Salan. From that distance they looked far from threatening, but if the Menin camp had been much closer, the threat would have been significantly clearer. He pictured Lord Styrax’s fortress in the Menin homeland in his mind: even from a distance the Black Gates of Crafanc were a terrifying sight; up close they just got worse.

Lord Styrax raised a hand to stop Ayel. ‘I must confess I have not seen the Giants’ Hands in action, but I have studied accounts carefully. Tor Salan: city of a thousand mages - and some unique defences. It must be quite a sight indeed, those great arms of brass, steel and stone, surpassing the range and accuracy of any trebuchet - all driven by the magic of Tor Salan’s mages.’

‘And they have more ammunition to hand than they’ll need for this small force,’ Ayel added complacently.

‘I would quake with fear,’ said the massive white-eye solemnly, ‘but I have a city to conquer. General Gaur, signal the advance.’

Amber gave a start as the deep horns were sounded. He had not expected any troops to be put in the firing line. The horns were followed a moment later by the heavy thump of Menin war drums. Two teams of drummers working in unison, shirt-less despite the cold weather, were clustered around the eight-foot high drums carried by massive ox-like beasts from the Waste. He felt a shudder run through his body at the hypnotic rhythm, the insistent background to all his years of fighting.

On his left he saw Captain Hain, grinning even wider than before.

‘Put that broken tooth away,’ Amber advised quietly as the Bloodsworn trotted off at a canter. He was unsurprised to see his own troops held position; even with Major Darn to command them it was unthinkable that he’d be excluded from their ranks in battle.

The two men looked out towards Tor Salan, straining to catch sight of movement there as the Menin cavalry regiments answered the call to advance and started out towards the city. In less than a minute there came from the city an answering call, a reply to their challenge.

‘Here comes your instruction,’ Ayel spat. ‘Mark it well!’

Amber saw a flicker of irritation cross Styrax’s face, a rare thing, and enough to warn those who knew the white-eye lord. In the blink of an eye Lord Styrax had taken a long stride back, drawn Kobra, his broadsword, turned with blinding speed and lunged forward, all in one smooth movement.

Captain Hain was unable to stifle a gasp at his lord’s unnatural speed, but no one moved as Lord Styrax stood with his arm fully extended over the high priest’s shoulder . . .

Then Ayel reeled away, clutching his head, and a girlish shriek cut the air as he fell to his knees. Amber looked at his lord’s sword: there, caught between the hand-length fangs at the sword’s point, was the high priest’s ear, severed as cleanly as if by a surgeon.

‘Kohrad,’ growled Lord Styrax to his son, ‘pick him up and explain a few things to him, would you?’ A practised flick sent the ear bouncing over the scrappy tufts of grass; what little blood remained on the magical blade was swiftly and greedily absorbed by the metal.

The younger white-eye bounded forwards and grabbed Ayel by the scruff of the neck and hauled him to his feet. He proceeded to slap the man around the face until his cries of pain quietened into sobs. ‘That you are still alive is a gesture of goodwill towards your lord,’ Kohrad snarled, his face barely three inches from Ayel’s, ‘but I promise you, if I ever see you again after you’ve carried our message to Afasin, I’ll feed you to the minotaurs.

‘Now, stand up and bear witness to what happens here today so that you may report every detail faithfully. Perhaps this will teach you about underestimating the Menin. You think we’re savages because we crossed the Waste? You think we’re fools, just because we’re not natives of these parts?’

Amber caught some garbled words of protest, some begging, but it was cut short when Kohrad smashed a mailed fist into the High Priest’s gut.

‘Heard of Eraliave? The Elven general? No? Some say he was even better than Aryn Bwr, because he survived to old age.’

Amber could see the burning intensity in Kohrad’s eyes. When Amber had left the Menin Army to travel north last summer, surgeons and mages had been trying to remove the magical armour that had been driving Kohrad insane with bloodlust. Amber had heard the experience had left Kohrad a shadow of his former self, but he saw now a spark still remained.

‘In that old age, Eraliave wrote the classic treaties on warfare,’ Kohrad continued, hauling Ayel forward to a good vantage point. ‘One of his favourite sayings is particularly appropriate for this current situation: “A good general identifies his enemy’s weakest point and attacks it; a genius identifies his enemy’s strongest point and destroys it.” ’