by Megan Derr
"Protect us."
*~*~*
"They were not Salharan." It was not a question, but a statement. Dieter's voice was flat. He cursed himself a thousand times for falling for a trick he should never have let deceive him.
"No," the prisoner said. "I should have realized it sooner."
Dieter shook his head, mind in turmoil. Everyone was dead. Everything was gone. He glared hatefully at the prisoner. "Why did they want you?"
"I don't know."
"Tell me!" Dieter roared and threw himself at the prisoner, pinning him to the ground
"I don't know!" the prisoner cried, chains rattling as he struggled against Dieter's iron hold. "My own people don't care if I live or die. Why would the Illussor?" He lay still, gasping for breath, amber eyes glazed with pain. "I don't know!"
Dieter let him go with a rough cry. "I should kill you."
"It would be a mercy," the prisoner said bitterly.
"Which is why I will not." He looked pensively at the prisoner, who was examining the food over the fire. "Are you hungry?"
"I will never be hungry enough to accept your name." The prisoner looked at him with an angry frown, and Dieter would swear there was something of a pout to it.
Dieter lifted the roasting meat from the fire. He ate heartily for several minutes, offering the prisoner none. "Why are you so touchy about a simple name? It is not as though it would kill you to be called something other than prisoner. You could simply tell me your real name."
"What does it matter!" the prisoner snapped. "I am of no concern to you. At least not important enough that you need my name. A prisoner is all I am, and a prisoner is all I shall be."
Dieter considered him. "You could have escaped in the time you had after using your damned pollutions."
"Those pollutions saved your life," the prisoner replied.
"You are still my prisoner."
The prisoner hefted his chains and sneered. "So I noticed. Whatever happened to a life for a life?"
"You took the lives of my men, and the rest of them died because the Illussor wanted you. Tell me why I should not let them have you?"
"Because though the Krians hate Salhara, they hate the Illussor just as much. You will not give them what they want, especially if you think I can be used against them."
"You think you can be used to hurt them?"
The prisoner snorted, "No. But they were after me for a reason."
"A reason you claim not to know."
"I speak the truth!" the prisoner shouted, his words echoing off the rocks just behind them. "I am rejected by my Brothers and my country. I am nameless. I have no purpose."
Dieter stared at him in surprise. "How is a man nameless?"
"None of your business."
"Why did you kill my men if you have no Brother, no country, no purpose?"
"Kill a hundred of my enemies and I shall welcome thee as friend. Kill a thousand of my enemies and I shall welcome thee as Brother," the prisoner quoted softly. He looked at Dieter, eyes burning hot gold in the firelight and setting sun. "The blood of Kria is my only hope."
"Would that I could kill you," Dieter swore. "That is not what the saying means. Sacrificing my men for so selfish a purpose. I will find a fitting punishment if it is the last thing I do."
The prisoner closed his eyes and laughed. "Do your best."
*~*~*
The prisoner was dying.
Dieter had lost track of the days he had been without food or water. At least three as they traveled and one or two after his Scarlet were slaughtered and however many days they had been on the road. He held the prisoner close, expression intent as he looked at the man barely conscious in his arms. "Do you really want to die?"
"No." The prisoner stared weakly at Dieter. "But I will not accept your name. Let me be called prisoner and be content."
"No," Dieter said fiercely. He wished he could explain to them both why it mattered so much. The prisoner was right: his name should matter little to Dieter. He should not care whether the prisoner lived or died. He should want him dead after the massacre of his entire Scarlet.
Except he wanted the strange prisoner, filthy and weak and enemy that he was, to accept the name that Dieter had chosen. On some level, it mattered. Dieter had learned long ago to trust such feelings, whether he understood them or not.
"Do you want to die nameless?" he asked, sensing somehow this was the right thing to say. "Unwanted by the people who should be welcoming you as a hero? Alone in the woods in the arms of your enemy?"
A hundred emotions flickered across the prisoner's face, pain and rage and misery like shadows in his eyes.
"You are Beraht," Dieter said firmly. "Accept it."
"You don't understand—" the prisoner whispered, but the rest of his protest died on his lips. He sighed, nodding feebly. "So be it."
"Say it."
"My name is Beraht."
Part One: Kria
A sword used well will kill its enemies.
A sword used poorly will kill its wielder.
-Krian Saying
Chapter One
"We lost him." Dressed head to toe in clothing that seemed to blend into the room around him, a man with dark yellow eyes knelt at the foot of a dais, bowing his head at the three men seated there. "I told you not paying the ransom would be a risk."
The man seated in the middle, tall and thin and gray, spoke in a booming voice that shook the dark stone chamber in which they were gathered. His eyes were dark red. "Watch your impertinence. What do you mean we lost him?"
The kneeling man shook his head. "We followed him by tracking his magic. He has used it up. Until he takes another dose, we have lost him."
"Nonsense. Yellow lasts for weeks, and we know he took several vials with him when he left. He should have the magic in his systems for weeks yet."
"Not if he pushed himself and burned it all off," the man said quietly.
On the rightmost side, a man with deeply tanned skin and dark orange eyes moved restlessly in his seat. "Why do you think such a thing?"
The dark-clothed man motioned to the door. "I have brought a guest who will help explain."
"Bring him in, Tawn," the last man snarled. He was pale and sickly, and his hand shook as he raised it to motion the guards to open the doors. His eyes were red, so dark as to appear almost black.
Tawn nodded and rose to his feet, moving with cat-like grace to the doors and vanishing into the hallway. He returned a moment later dragging a man who he threw to the floor when he reached the dais. Gasps filled the room, and more than a few of the gathered members stumbled several steps back.
The tall gray man rose to his feet, voice booming in anger and some fear. "Why have you brought an Illussor into our stronghold?"
Tawn grinned, an expression that made those closest to him shudder, and stepped forward to lift the man up so that they could see his face. The Illussor's skin was a pale, almost silvery white in the light of the candelabra that fought off the darkness of the windowless chamber. His hair was the same, shining like fine silver.
The Brothers gasped, breaths hissing out in stunned disbelief. The Illussor had no eyes.
"How did you manage that?"
Tawn laughed, cold and hard. "This one was unconscious and so did not fall to the Scream cast by his superior. He was too weak to use magic." He turned the Illussor's head, stroking a cheek that was still crusted with dried blood. "Take out its eyes, and it will never cast illusions again." Tawn let the Illussor go, and he fell back down upon the stones, trembling.
The three upon the dais all nodded, and the sickly man leaned forward in his seat. "Why do we need an Illussor? What can it possibly tell us?"
"We found several of them in a battlefield amongst a great many dead Krian soldiers. Not just any Krian soldiers." Tawn paused, eyes glowing brilliant yellow.
"Get on with it," the tall man spoke.
Tawn smirked. "They were amongst fallen Scarlet."
"Scar
let?" the dark-skinned man exclaimed.
"Yes," Tawn said, his voice filled with delight. "The nameless lieutenant killed well over a hundred of them, and the Illussor Scream wiped out the rest of the Scarlet bound for the Winter Palace. All that remains of Scarlet now are those snowed into their precious fortress in the Disputed Lands."
All around the chamber the assembled Brothers murmured quietly amongst themselves. The sickly man shook his head slowly back and forth, unable to absorb what he had been told. "Incredible. General von Adolwulf has been our greatest threat for years now. To think he and so many of his men were so suddenly done in by a Scream."
"Yes," the gray-haired man spoke. "He is our nemesis because he is more clever than that. How did he fall for an Illussor trap?"
Tawn pulled hard at the Illussor's hair. "That is a question for you to answer, Deceiver. Speak."
The Illussor trembled, and he licked his dry lips before responding. "I am merely a foot soldier. Our orders were to devastate the Scarlet. I know nothing more than that."
"You lie." Tawn pulled harder until the Illussor cried out in pain. "Speak the truth. There is worse I can do than tear out your eyes."
Shaking in pain and fear, the Illussor nevertheless shook his head. "I cannot tell you what I do not know!"
"You had best tell us something, Illussor," the central man spoke sharply, coldly. "Your life is only as valuable as the information you give us."
The Illussor turned toward the sound of his voice, hissing in pain at Tawn's hold. "You will kill me anyway. I swear to you, there is nothing I can tell you."
The man with orange eyes motioned impatiently. "Lock him up. He will talk after a few days, when dark and cold and hunger begin to take their toll." Tawn nodded and departed the room, dragging the Illussor behind him like a sack.
The Brothers turned to one another, discussing the matter in whispers and mutters. The three men on the dais called them to silence. The sickly one spoke. "The Illussor do not simply kill an army; it is not their way. If it were, we would all be dead by now. General Sol, attend!"
A man in the dark gray uniform of the Royal Army stepped forward. His eyes were bright yellow. Though he was only thirty-eight years old, his ash blonde hair was almost completely gray. Combined with his uniform, the man had an austere, almost melancholy air about him. When he stepped forward, the whispering in the room faded. "Yes, my Lord Jaspar?"
"You still have access to Kria?"
"Of course, your Grace." His yellow eyes took on a speculative gleam. "What are your orders?"
"I want to know the fate of the Scarlet, and if they were carrying anything of importance that managed to slip by us."
"Your will be done."
"Excellent," Jaspar said with what could almost be considered glee. On either side of him, his compatriots expressed their own satisfaction. "See that you gather as much information as possible. The Illussor have been behaving oddly for some time now. To massacre the entire Scarlet is a drastic measure. I want to know why they resorted to it."
Sol bowed low. Turning sharply, He strode from the room to carry out his orders. Behind him, the Brothers continued to argue and suppose. Outside in the hallway, his respectful mien fell away. He cast his eyes toward the shadow lurking between the torches. "How did you happen to be so near that battle, Tawn, yet know nothing of what occurred or why?"
Tawn chuckled and pulled away from the shadows. "What makes you think I know something?"
"You always hold something back. It's a wonder the Brothers have not figured that out yet."
"They're too busy reveling in their Illussor captive."
Sol strode close and caught Tawn by the scruff of the neck. "Desist, Tawn. I've little patience for your games today."
"You never have patience for my games."
"Then why do you persist in playing them?"
Tawn laughed, but it was not a pleasant or happy sound. "If you enjoyed them, what would be the point in playing them?"
Sol slammed him against the wall. "I said desist."
"Yes, yes." Tawn shoved him away and brushed off his shirt. "You need to develop a sense of humor, General Sol. Or should I call you Lord Grau? It's so hard to remember who you are and when."
Sol backhanded him. "Must I tell you a third time?"
"You will pay for hitting me, General."
"Idle threats. We both know that you will not kill me for a long time yet."
Tawn's eyes were bright with anger and barely repressed magic. "And on that day, you will pay for every abuse you've laid upon me. Make no mistake." He stepped back into the shadow and away from Sol's anger.
"So you've said before. Now tell me."
Tawn glared, but began to explain. "Shortly before the Illussor attacked, the Scarlet was struck a hard blow by our nameless Brother. He took out more than a hundred men with his own magic, and further damage was done by the Illussor who were killed shortly after the Scarlet began to fight back. The nameless was captured some minutes later and taken as a personal prisoner of General von Adolwulf. When the Illussor attacked, it slowly became apparent that they were after nameless. He and the general were not seen after the Scream; it is presumed von Adolwulf was killed. The star on the nameless' back tells us he lives, but we know nothing beyond that. No doubt surviving the Scream is why his magic burned out so rapidly. It would have taken every ounce he possessed to resist a Scream."
"Why would they want a lousy peasant? I doubt the Illussor know he is a Seven Star." Sol frowned in thought. "Keep searching for him, and when you find him bring him to me in Kria. I will take care of matters from there."
Tawn laughed. "Of course."
Sol did not reply, but turned on his heel to finally escape the dungeon where the Seven Star meetings always took place. He traveled up a long set of stairs until he reached a door of dark, heavy oak. From a heavy ring of keys at his waist he selected a large, plain iron one. The door opened soundlessly into a large wine room. Moving around the barrels that hid the door, he left the wine room.
From there he ascended into the kitchens, slipping out the back door and working his way around the white stone palace to the royal gardens. Several minutes and winding hallways later, he was back safe and sound in his own room. He woke his sleeping manservant with a sharp clap to the head. "Pack my things, Dal. We leave this very night for Kria. Where are the cleansers?"
Dal, long used to such rough awakenings, clambered to his feet and set to work. He lifted a small leather case from the dresser and opened it, holding out a small glass vial filled with a milky grayish substance. "Here, General."
"Thank you." Sol drank the liquid in one swallow. He swayed for a moment, feeling nauseous as the cleanser began to take effect. Dal regarded him politely, blandly, though his pale green eyes were attentive. "Perhaps you should sit down, Lord General?"
"I'll be fine." And several minutes later he seemed to be, though Sol knew he would not feel like eating or drinking much for the next three days while the cleanser finished the job it had only begun.
By the time they reached Kria, he would be nothing more than a familiar face at the royal court, a peasant-turned-noble from unexpected fortune. No sign of his Salharan pollution would remain.
*~*~*
Still far below the palace, Tawn strolled into the small dungeon where the blind Illussor was chained to the wall. "Are you ready to talk now?" He spoke in Illussor, his accent nearly flawless.
"There is nothing I can tell you."
"Let's start with your name."
Despite the blood that caked his face, the dirt and grime that covered him from head to toe, there was steel in the Illussor's voice as he turned his head toward the sound of Tawn's voice. "No. I know the power that Salharans place in names. All the power to control a man lies in the name he is given. If you want my name, you will be wanting for a long, long time."
"A name only holds power if you are the one to give it—or not give it, as it were." Tawn grinned maliciously. "You're awf
ully stubborn for a blind Illussor. Especially one who spent his journey here trembling and crying."
The Illussor curled his lip in contempt. "Say what you will, but I know that even blind and chained, I am far superior to a man who must drug himself to do his job."
Tawn reached out and kicked him hard in the groin, good mood restored when the Illussor tried to bend over in pain, gasping and unable to cry. "You know nothing about it." He turned to leave, and switched back to Salharan so the guards just outside would understand him. "I'll be back in a few days. In the mean time, I'll leave the guards to teach you manners befitting a blind prisoner."
*~*~*
Nothing but darkness surrounded Iah. After beating him, the guards had taken the only torch in the room. Not that he could see it, but he had felt it and taken the meager comfort it had offered. Now he sensed there was nothing at all. He could not hear even the shuffling and skittering of the things that thrived in dark, moldy places. The guards hadn't bothered to chain him again. What would have been the point?
Iah cried quietly, the pain coursing through his body paling in comparison to the fact that his eyes had been torn out. Nothing but empty holes now, in the place where his eyes had once been. Not even a strip of cloth to hide his shame. If only he could die. But suicide was admired only when Screaming, and he was no longer capable of that.
He wanted revenge against the one they had called Tawn. Iah remembered his face, thin and tight, cruel lines etched around the mouth and sick yellow eyes. The drugs had gone far with that one, but not quite past the point of no return.
The voices, though, the ones from the damp room. He would wager his life on their eyes being red—or even black. It made him smile; a dark, unhappy smile, but a smile all the same.
The sound of something heavy hitting the floor broke into his black thoughts. A second thump followed, then he heard the scrape of a key in a rusted door and a screech as the door was pulled open. Iah bit his lip, refusing to speak, because if he did, he might finally lose control. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" A voice he didn't recognize spoke softly, barely above a whisper. In Illussor. There was no trace of an accent. "Of course you're not. Are you at least well enough to move?"