moaned in relief. For a while all he could remember was stars bursting in his head, the crunch of bones breaking and the death-cry of the man he’d killed. The details eluded him for the moment as his thoughts floundered, lost in a world of hurt.
‘That’s better,’ the woman continued, her voice soothing. Her fingers found his, and this he could feel, a comforting sensation. ‘You’re bound to the bed,’ she told him, ‘you broke a few bones and the surgeons wanted to keep you still.’
He tried to respond, but all that came out was a wheeze.
‘Don’t speak; you’re too weak. I’ll fetch a healer. We’ll talk later.’
Her hand moved away and Amber felt himself slide back into the cool arms of sleep. When he awoke a second time it was better; as he opened his eyes he felt the return of some part of him that before had been trapped in the darkness. He still hurt all over, but now he was aware enough to feel the bed underneath him, and he could tally the individual injuries. His neck was now a dull throb, and he found he could lift his left arm, although moving his right caused him to hiss in pain.
‘Ah, awake at last,’ came the same woman’s voice. ‘I was beginning to worry they’d given you too much there.’
He turned his head gingerly to the left and took a moment as Horsemistress Kirl came into focus. She smiled down at him from a campaign chair and leaned forward. Behind her he saw a white plastered wall and a shuttered window, the only light in the room provided by a small fire and two large pillar candles standing iron lamp-stands.
‘Don’t try to move. Our best healers have been working on you, but there’s only so much a mage can do.’
‘How long?’ Amber croaked.
‘Since the battle?’ She thought for a moment. ‘You woke the first time two weeks back. Another day and a half since then.’
Amber opened his mouth to say something else, but this time the effort defeated him. Instead he bathed in the warmth of the Horsemistress’ lopsided smile. She’d cut her dark hair shorter since he’d last seen her and it hung loose to the raised collar of her unbuttoned tunic.
Amber started: that wasn’t her uniform - he didn’t recognise it at all. Kirl was an auxiliary attached to Amber’s legion, the Cheme Third - so why was she wearing a fitted cavalryman’s tunic? The scarlet adorned with blue and white slashes and gold buttons was more along the lines of Amber’s formal Menin officer’s uniform than Kirl’s usual plain grey outfit.
‘You like it?’ Kirl asked with a coquettish smile. ‘I found it in the Farlan baggage. The Penitent Army left everything and ran; Hain reckons it was made for an officer of the Cardinal Paladins.’
Amber didn’t respond immediately, then he realised he was staring, his mouth open, and he looked away.
‘That good, eh?’ Kirl laughed, ‘I’m glad to hear it!’
He coughed. ‘Aye, not bad,’ he said hoarsely.
His throat was dry and sore, but he ignored the pain. Kirl’s lovely crooked smile was enough to make his breath catch when she wore drab riding leathers; dressed in a fine, narrow-waisted tunic . . . As she bent over him to help him lie back he breathed in her scent and prayed she wouldn’t notice any stirrings under the blanket.
‘You tending to me?’ he rasped. ‘What’s happened since the battle?’
She scowled. ‘Not much that needs my attention. I’ve got all my horses pastured for the moment and I’m just trying to keep my head low. It’s all . . . tense out there right now, but you’re a fucking hero and you’ve got a nice warm room, so I might possibly have stretched the truth a little so I could hide out in here till everyone calms down.’
She gestured around her and Amber realised for the first time that he was in a bedroom large and luxurious enough for a duke, even though it was mostly empty. A wooden partition was drawn up to one side of him to keep the fire’s heat close. He could see nothing around him to tell him who the room normally belonged to, but someone had dragged his kit in - and even managed to retrieve his scimitars from the battlefield! The career soldier in him prayed to Karkarn that same someone would have seen fit to clean the swords and hammer out the nicks before they got rusty.