The Grave thief

CHAPTER 9

Major Amber ducked out of his tent and looked around at the Menin camp. The wind raced over the line of tents and into his face; he flinched as a piece of grit caught him in the eye. He blinked the irritant away and dabbed at his eye with the fox-fur trim of his heavy black cloak. It wouldn't do to attend his lord in tears; this was not a day for the Menin to show any shred of weakness.

The sun lurked sullenly somewhere at the horizon; hiding under a thick grey blanket, as Amber himself should be doing. He pulled his cloak closer as the wind continued to nip at every exposed part of him, including his ears, left exposed by the steel half-helm he wore.

The Menin were camped in the lee of a tree-topped hill, on the western bank of a swollen river Amber didn't know the name of. He'd reached the army only two days previously, meeting it here outside the city of Tor Salan. The Menin were marching northwards; he had fled south from Scree.

'Major!' called a voice over the clatter of the camp. Amber stopped and watched as Captain Hain hurried through the mud towards him. The breastplate and pauldrons Hain wore under his cloak, like Amber himself, made the squat captain look even-bulkier than usual. Hain was carrying his helm under one arm, but as he reached Amber the major gestured pointedly at it and Hain reddened. He dropped the hood of his cloak and put the helm on, trying not to shiver as the wind whipped around him. The order had been clear: they were to look at all times like the fearless warriors everyone knew the Menin to be — and that, unfortunately, meant going armoured and appearing oblivious to hardship, no matter how cold it got, especially while they were in their lord's presence.

'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 solider 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.

That's curious. I wasn't fetched with my troops to stand guard here. Doesn't look like I'll be returning to my usual duties quite yet.

Unlike most legions, the elite 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. 'Our 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. Qods, 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 spy master. 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, shirtless 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."'

'The very words Lord Styrax spoke to me,' whispered Hain beside Amber, 'the day he gave me the assignment.'

'The idea was yours?'

Hain gave a small shake of the head. T wish I could claim it, but he led me to it by his words. Only a fool wouldn't have worked it out.'

And so begin the lessons on how to think like more than a soldier, Amber thought wryly. I remember them well! Sadly, you won't enjoy all of them quite so much.

And further conversation was precluded by a new sound coming from the city. There were faint stirrings of movement on each of the hills. This far away it was hard to make out any detail, but because of what he had heard of Tor Salan's defences, Amber had a good idea what was happening.

Curled up on the ground was an enormous hinged arm of steel, stone and brass, fifty feet long. The 'shoulder' of this arm was connected to a rampart of reinforced stonework, from which ran four narrow passages, like gutters. A throne-like seat of stone was set into the front, where the lead mage would sit facing the plain beyond. There were a dozen more mages in each of the channels, all feeding their power into the lead man, who focused it and used it to animate the arm. As blistering trails of magic ran up and down the arm's brass rods, so the gigantic fingers would begin to twitch, then rise and flex as the arm itself rose up into the air. Within moments it would be ready to start grabbing rocks from the piles stacked untidily around the position and lob them with uncanny accuracy into any approaching army. The Giants' hands would quickly decimate the troops; total destruction would not be far behind.

'Look; there's the first, far right,' Hain whispered.

Amber saw the jerk of movement as one of the arms lifted into the air. From where they stood it looked like a stalk of corn shooting up in a field. No, Amber corrected himself, nothing so meek; a dog raising its hackles, perhaps, or a porcupine its spines.

In quick succession the other Hands rose jerkily into position. Amber couldn't begin to estimate the amount of magic required to lift such weights; he guessed every one of the mages would be stretched to their utmost limits.

As the cavalry regiments cantered towards the Giants' Hands in neat formation, the men in grey bearing their banner of negotiation had reached the halfway point. They were riding hard, as if desperate to keep ahead of the soldiers.

Let's hope the dog doesn't get nervous and snap at the first hand it sees, Amber thought.

The enormous weapons twitched as the grey men passed the range markers and continued. Several dipped, moving with remarkable speed and grace to grasp boulders and twist back into a throwing position, knuckles resting on the ground so the mages didn't have to hold the weight indefinitely.

'Come on, you bastards,' breathed Hain, craning forward, 'wait for your orders before firing, I don't want to have to explain that to Lord Styrax.'

Despite himself, Amber grinned. Seconds passed and Hain's prayers were answered as the group in grey passed unharmed, no hail of enormous bits of rubble filling the sky.

The Bloodsworn and the cavalrymen were still well short of the thousand-yard marker, and they would stop before they reached it, for they were only a feint. The battle — and the siege — would be won by that handful of men in grey cloaks. Amber found himself holding his breath as the delegation reached a safe point and stopped, supposedly waiting for emissaries from the city to come out and negotiate with them one final time.

But before Tor Salan's mercenary captains could organise an official reception, the men in grey produced horns from under their cloaks and began to sound a crisp series of notes. Amber was too far away to hear the tune clearly, but he didn't need to: he'd heard the same notes as they'd marched on Thotel: Chetse army orders, played on the long horns that curled around a man's body.

The call to arms was played twice in quick succession, and in the silence that followed the men threw off their cloaks. For a moment nothing happened, then the horsemen turned and advanced on the nearest Hand. The Land held its breath with Amber, waiting for the tipping point — which came in the form of a sudden flurry of activity around the Giants' Hands as the ranks of infantry defending the mages formed up in protective wedges.

'You have agents in place?' mused Emissary Jerrer, a look of dispassionate curiosity on his face. 'But how to deal with so many mages? And what about the defending soldiers? You surely cannot have an army of agents.'

'A handful, no more,' Lord Styrax replied, riever taking his eyes off the city. It was clear that there was fighting going on. In no more than a minute the main gate of Tor Salan was opening and more troops were flooding out.

'I confess you have me perplexed, my Lord,' the emissary said. Amber could hear a hint of admiration in Jerrer's voice.

'It's simple, Emissary, the defenders of Tor Salan quite rightly considered their newly recruited Chetse mercenaries to be ideal for the job of defending their most important weapons.'

'And they were wrong to do so?'

'Under normal circumstances, no. However, these are not normal circumstances, are they? The advance group I sent were not messengers, Emissary, but the tachrenn of the Ten Thousand, led by General Dev himself.'

'The Ten Thousand?' gasped Jerrer, suddenly realising what was going on. 'You allowed those Chetse soldiers to travel north to become mercenaries, ensuring enough of the Ten Thousand were among them to carry opinion? And once they see their generals under your banner, they will turn on the remaining troops, their erstwhile comrades, and slaughter the mages? But there are hundreds of mages out there! Lord Styrax, surely your losses will be vast?'

'Captain Hain?'

Hain flinched; he hadn't been expected to be called upon to explain the plan, but when all faces turned to him he rallied and took up the explanation.

'Lord Styrax suggested to me that such an expenditure of energy as would be required for the Giants' Hands would require many rituals, and a careful bonding of power. Investigations showed that the mages are linked to each other, and thus cannot break those links quickly or easily.' He cleared his throat noisily, his discomfort evident.

Amber felt a certain sympathy for the man: he'd been trained to combat; he'd not been taught how to lecture an audience of dignitaries in front of the tribe's heroes. No one was looking at him, so he gave his captain a thumb's-up sign.

Hain nodded very slightly, gave himself a metaphorical shake and continued, 'The magical energy is largely contained within the arm itself. It flows from the linked mages and is stored within the brass rods. With sufficient troops on the field the mages can be neutralised before they have started any significant defence.'

'Neutralised.' Jerrer looked startled by the word, as though 'slaughtered' would have sounded more acceptable.

'This is war,' said General Gaur in his deep, growling voice. 'Unless the Patriarch of the Mosaic Council is more of a fool than our intelligence suggests, he will surrender the city and it will cost only a few hundred lives.'

'But still, Tor Salan is a haven for mages — they are crucial to the city at all levels of society…' Jerrer's voice tailed off.

Mages were the backbone of many societies. The rest of the Land would take note of what happened in Tor Salan.

'This will serve as a lesson,' Gaur replied. 'To oppose Lord Styrax is folly; the extent of damage done to any city-state will be dependent on how long it takes them to accept that.'

The beast-man was impassive as always. Amber had shared more than a few skins of wine with the general, but he had never been able to guess Gaur's mood from his demeanour. You could tell when the half-human was thinking, because his jaw worked constantly, pushing his long lower canines through the tangled fur on his cheeks, but beyond that Gaur surpassed even the Dharai, the Menin warrior-monks, for impassiveness.

Looking back down to the action, Amber could see only a blurred mass of movement, presumably the Chetse mercenaries cutting down their former allies. Here and there flashes of light indicated at least a handful of mages had had the time to disengage and fight back, but the magical lights were only sporadic. One by one the Giants' Hands wavered, then crashed to the ground.

The Menin cavalry had split in two, leaving a channel down the centre of the flood plain. Once they'd crippled the city's principal defences, the Chetse would simply march away, with any pursuit held at bay by the Menin cavalry.

'Captain,' General Gaur called, 'have our lord's horse brought up.'

Hain saluted and signalled to someone, and in just a few moments horses for the whole group appeared, led by an enormous grey draped in Lord Styrax's colours. The horse was fully nineteen hands, and bore a steel head-covering that had long fangs hanging on each side to mimic Styrax's standard.

As they mounted up, Amber took the chance to whisper to Captain Hain, 'Are you now going to tell me how you're sure they'll surrender so quickly?'

All 'special duties' carried an obligation of secrecy that transcended rank; Hain had been delighted to be forced to keep the details of his full operation a surprise for his superior. He grinned. 'The Patriarch will give the order without consulting the entire council; he'll be with his most important advisors already. Once he sees his six thousand Chetse kneel to Lord Styrax he'll realise he has no choice.'

'It will still be no simple task to take the city, even with this shifting of the balance.'

'And so we don't want to give him time to think too hard.'

'Can we force it?'

'Once we're on the way, the message will be delivered. I hear the Raylin called Aracnan was in Scree, which is why we couldn't find him for this task, but Lord Larim will manage just as well.'

'Larim's already in the city?'

'The white-eye in him is looking forward to getting his hands dirty for a change!'

Amber pictured Lord Larim, the young Chosen of Larat, God of Magic, as they followed Lord Styrax out onto the plain. Larat's devotees tended to leave the killing to others; no doubt Larim would consider this mission high entertainment.

'What if the Patriarch doesn't do as he's told?'

Hain shrugged and Amber realised he'd asked a stupid question. 'Then Larim will kill him and signal the attack. Wherever Lord Styrax intends to go next — west to Narkang or north to Tirah — we must control both of the great trading city-states, and if Tor Salan doesn't surrender we'll inflict such destruction upon it that the Circle City will not contemplate opposing us for even a minute.'

'Sautin and Mustet won't cause trouble unless we march to their doorsteps,' said Amber, 'and that leaves Embere and Raland, both controlled by the Devoted — and both no doubt already preparing for us.'

'Exactly, sir,' Hain said cheerfully, 'so we'll get a fight this year after all!'

And we will build another monument to our lord with their skulls, Amber added privately.