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Delluth didn’t realize he was falling asleep until he woke, facedown on the reports he’d been reviewing with his adjutant. Someone, probably his aide, had draped a blanket over his shoulders and left him. It was still day, possibly moving into evening.

The camp was quiet, but he’d been wakened, he realized, by the sound of marching feet. Now that had stopped, but someone was approaching his tent. Two someones. The sentry flung open the flap. “My lord –”

Torren Ishtar pushed past him, followed by – Delluth gaped in astonishment – a man whose likeness and description he had encountered only a handful of times. “Lord Doctor Delluth Corrino,” said Ishtar, “Prince Julian of Amber.”

Delluth scrambled foggily to his feet, shedding the blanket, and attempted a bow. Julian interrupted this courtesy: “Where are they?”

The doctor blinked, then caught up. “Oh – I’ll show you, m – your Highness.” He came around the folding table, vaguely aware that he hadn’t bathed since the battles had started, and the surgical scrubs he was still wearing were spattered with dried blood.

His two visitors preceded him out of the tent, and he led them in the correct direction. A moment later his aide approached, carrying a steaming mug of the caffeinated chocolate that he had somehow come to like. Thanking her, Delluth sipped at it while they walked.

The large tent they wanted was at the far end of the hospital camp. The guard that had formerly surrounded it had evaporated, but Delluth supposed no one had told the erstwhile prisoners that their side had won. His aide darted ahead to haul open one of the flaps.

Inside, about twenty of the cots were occupied by soldiers of Amber of various types. Most of them were well enough to look around, and even sit up, staring wonderingly as Julian came into their midst. “We’ve won,” the Prince said, already making for one cot in particular as a murmur of amazement and joy rose from the rescued wounded.

Delluth supposed he might have known, if he’d had time to think about it. This patient was in much worse shape than the others, and heavily drugged against the pain. Still, he struggled to sit up until Julian gestured to him to stop. “My lord!” he breathed, instead.

The Prince studied him for a moment, then turned to Delluth. “Why is he not properly healed, like these others?”

Delluth made a shrugging motion with one hand. “Your Highness, I require a minimal mental contact to do my work. This man refused it, and I … felt it best not to press the matter, since he was not in immediate danger of death.”

The man in question gave a wheezing sort of laugh. “Actually, my lord,” he said, his voice a little slurred, “he said, ‘To the Abyss with all you bloody-minded warrior types, then.’” Delluth winced; he didn’t remember saying that, but it did reflect the frustration he’d felt in the midst of the onslaught of dying and wounded fighters.

Julian regarded the doctor, frowning slightly. “I know of no sorcery that requires such mental contact.”

“It’s not sorcery, your Highness,” Delluth explained. “It’s shapeshifting.”

He absorbed this with an even deeper frown. “You imposed this on these others?”

Delluth looked around the tent. “I … suppose they’re not strong enough for me to notice any resistance, your Highness. I don’t even remember them passing under my hands.”

Julian turned his alarming gaze away to look at the rest of the wounded himself. “Do any of you remember this?”

One man raised his remaining hand. “Yes, your Highness. It was like a blanket over m’ mind. Comfortin’, like.” Several others nodded agreement.

Ishtar said, “It is as I told you, your Highness. I trusted this man to deal honorably with these people.”

Delluth stared at him, then started as Julian spoke to him again. “I would observe this healing process,” the Amberite said, indicating the man he had obviously come to find.

“Of course, your Highness,” Delluth said, relieved. He ordered his aide to fetch his kit and a corpsman with soap and water, and drank off the rest of his chocolate, trying to become more awake. In a few minutes he had scrubbed his hands clean and began removing the patient’s bandages to get at the terrible wounds. He had to shift the innermost layers to get them off without causing more pain and bleeding.

This time, the man’s mental resistance yielded immediately, allowing Delluth to analyze and begin shifting the worst of the injuries. The long delay hadn’t helped, and neither did the fact that the man wasn’t a natural shifter, but he persevered, carefully monitoring the patient’s already depleted energy levels. He was able to pull out a long line of stitches, seal off and clean up several points of blood seepage, and identify and relieve most of the more painful wounds.

When he stopped, the man was visibly tired. “Don’t fall asleep,” Delluth told him, putting clean bandages in place. “You need to eat something; this is hard on you. That’s why I can’t heal everything, your Highness,” he added. “The exhaustion might kill him by itself.”

Julian nodded, his expression unreadable. When Delluth turned to clean his hands again, he said to the man, “Well?”

“I couldn’t hardly tell he was there, my lord,” the man said, and yawned. “Just that he knows what he’s doing and was concentratin’ really hard, and didn’t want me lookin’ over his shoulder, so’s to speak. And I hurt less. A lot less, really.”

Whatever Julian thought of this, it seemed no one was ever likely to know. As Delluth dried his hands, he only said, “Lord Ishtar, we will be removing these people momentarily. Doctor –” Delluth gave the corpsman the towel and turned nervously to face the Amberite. “Thank you for your care of them.”

“You’re welcome, your Highness,” he said automatically, and couldn’t decide whether he should bow again.

Apparently it wasn’t required; Julian glanced around once more and strode out, followed by Ishtar. Delluth made sure his patient had a drink of water, at least, before he was taken away.

When he emerged, the group of Amber’s soldiers was approaching, and Julian was talking to Ishtar off to one side. After a moment Ishtar bowed, and moved off, apparently to watch. Delluth joined him.

“You did well, Delluth,” Ishtar said.

Delluth shrugged. “It doesn’t take any effort to be myself, my lord.” He wanted to ask why Ishtar had dumped this problem on him without telling him, but it was possible he’d simply forgotten or not read whatever message he’d received.

Ishtar glanced at him, then returned his attention to the Amberites. They watched silently as the more ambulatory patients came out of the tent and were passed through a Trump connection by Julian. Delluth said, “I have things to do before we break camp and go home, my lord.”

“Such as sleep for a few more hours,” Ishtar said, his gaze fixed on the tall Prince. “It will be a while before things are coordinated.”

Delluth bowed slightly, though Ishtar still wasn’t looking, and headed for his own tent. A change of clothes, sleep, and then home, he thought wearily. By the Serpent, how he hated war.