The two-handed sword flashed, cutting the rope like a gray lightning bolt, and Camilla's legs slapped against the ground. The priestess instantly crumpled. She released the reins. Camilla would certainly have fallen face-first into the road dust if Alexander hadn't caught her just above the ground. Without ceremony, Amon grabbed Camilla by the back of her collar and, with no visible effort, set her back on her feet.
"I thought you'd manage on your own," he said to Alexander, without a hint of a smile.
The girl blushed with embarrassment and lowered her gaze. Amon opened his palm, but Camilla could barely stand from the fear she had just experienced. The Mamono wrapped her arms around the mercenary's shoulders and, with a sniffle, tenderly lowered her head to her chest.
"Well, what are we going to do with you?" Alexander said softly. She hugged the girl back and stroked the illusory fabric that covered her head. At the same time, the mercenary deliberately avoided looking at Amon, knowing that not only the priestess (which could be forgiven), but also she, had made a mistake in tactics. Alexander knew that ingenuity and quick thinking were crucial warrior qualities, and this was far from that...
Finally, the girl decided to look at the knight, who was still standing beside them. She lifted her eyes and was stunned. Amon was smiling, like someone who had lost a coin, searched for it all day, and then found it in the folds of their pocket.
"Wonderful," he said mockingly, with an incomprehensible tone. "Simply wonderful. Good logical chain."
With these words, Amon resumed his walk down the road, leaving behind the bewildered Alexander and the trembling Camilla.
'Now I understand why I've softened up,' Amon thought cheerfully. 'Why I gave in to Alexander and lied to the priestess, yielding to emotions.'
He remembered Camilla, suspended between the two riding animals, and almost burst out laughing.
'I don't see them as a threat. Not at all. It's unusual. In our world, you're forced to stay on edge. Acting on the Imperial planet? At any moment, someone could expose you: Ordo Hereticus, or, if Tzeentch forbid, Ordo Malleus is on your tail. You have to act quickly and decisively.'
Returning to the ship?
'There, you're waiting for slaves and cultists, who have taken on your tactics, dreaming of stabbing you in the back. And sometimes, like that cursed captain, they succeed.'
Landing on the Ocean of Dread?
'The grim bastards from other legions are just waiting for a chance to finish you off. For anything: for a skull to place on the Throne of Skulls, for equipment, for pleasure, or simply for laughs. My "brother" sorcerers expect to either sell me to demons or turn me into their pawn.
You have to think fast, every move is calculated to minimize risk. No room for error—the error means the end of the game, death, and your soul devoured by warp demons.'
'But here? Just a little bit of primitive lying, a bit of humor about islanders and noble knights bringing liberation, and you've got a loyal ally. And on top of that, a child who considers it a great honor to serve you for "universal love." Ha-ha-ha!'
Amon grew a little more serious.
'But that's not all. There's another reason. Other sorcerers who've passed through the Rubric of Ahriman are now competitors in the quest for power and might. Enemies. And the space marine is designed to act in groups, especially in my old legion, where teamwork was highly valued.
It's instinct, embedded at the genetic level. The body craves brotherhood, clinging to any opportunity. It tries to find it—even in an ordinary mortal, united only by painful training. Stupidity, of course. Brotherhood implies equality, and I haven't reached that absurdity yet—and I hope I never will.
But it's no less foolish to deny the mixture of respect and unusual softness toward the mercenary girl. I allow her much more than a simple ally. For example, drinking with a monster, falling asleep on duty. What's that called? There was a word for it, I definitely remember it!
But I can't remember the word. Let's try another approach. When was the last time I used it? Probably a long time ago. Ten, maybe twenty years. It was short, concise! No, I can't remember. Never mind, Tzeentch take it!'
The sorcerer snapped out of his thoughts as the orchards and fields neared their end. The road was narrowing, the lush grass along the irrigation channels turning dry, and the yellow-gray strip ahead was transforming into an endless desert.
Amon glanced back at his lagging companions. Camilla was walking alongside the scowling Alexander, who was leading all the animals. On the way, the priestess tried to grab the piece of rope tied to the donkey's neck from the mercenary.
"Let me help you," the sorcerer heard. "Pleeeease!"
Alexander was looking down at her feet, deliberately ignoring the priestess's persistent pleas. Camilla didn't give up and tugged at her sleeve. Sometimes the priestess would freeze, like a cat before a mouse, and make an awkward, sharp movement to catch the rope. But Alexander was always faster, and Camilla only grabbed at air.
Seeing this, Amon couldn't help but smile, feeling a bubbly wave tickling his throat.
"Please! I'll just hold it for a little bit! Please!"
Amon couldn't resist and laughed briefly, slowing his pace to wait for his clumsy companions.