Prisoner

by Megan Derr

  And something else—blood, Iah realized, but only the faintest bit. He bit back the part of him that wanted to say Krians, it figures, because in the last two weeks he'd learned what he should have already known: that not all Krians were large, looming men with a seemingly natural-born talent to cut down every threat like so much straw.

  The women especially had been kind, reminding him so much of Esta in the way they did exactly as they pleased and woe betide the man who dared to order them otherwise. He had always thought women in Kria must be softer, weaker, as he had never noticed any on the battlefield. He knew there was one woman in a position of power, but he also knew from overheard gossip that she was not well-liked. When they felt they were safe, the peasant women of Kria made their opinions of that woman quite clear.

  If he'd caught Esta talking like that, he would have knocked her upside the head. Iah almost laughed, but the vanishing of Sol from behind him killed whatever good mood he'd managed to regain.

  Then warm hands reached up to help him dismount, and a summer voice helped him relax. Iah stood quietly by as 'Lord Grau' began to snap orders at the servants Iah heard running up. "You had best make very certain that my cousin is escorted with all care and comfort to my chambers. No, I do not want a separate room for him. He is unfamiliar with the palace; he will stay close to me at all times." After that, the Krian became too rapid-fire for Iah to keep up, and he hoped Sol did not say something that would require his participation.

  His Krian was sufficient for amusing peasant women and complimenting their cooking, however, there was no way he would ever pass muster in the palace. Especially if a soldier wise to the accents of his enemies heard him speak. Fear began to swallow him, and Iah desperately fought a silent battle against it.

  Abruptly the noise died. Laughter and chatter fell like clothes discarded on the floor. Footsteps broke the silence, but added to the tension that suddenly filled the room. He felt Sol touch his arm, and lips ghosted over his ear as Sol whispered in his ear. "Be silent. For now I will say you cannot speak without difficulty. Around them, do not speak."

  The servants and other persons in the room began to murmur; words of respect and greeting. "Good evening," said a noncommittal voice. It sounded slow, bored, but there was menace beneath it. Like a snake resting in the sun. "Lord Grau, yes?"

  "I am humbled the Lord General recalls me."

  "Nonsense," the slow voice said. "Your witticisms always add to the table."

  "The Lord General flatters me. I am glad to find you well for another season."

  Iah heard the man move. "Yes, yes. Who is this?" Iah forced himself not to freeze, but to relax and act calm.

  "Whatever happened to his eyes?" A new voice spoke and drew close enough Iah could smell her—like honey and a bit like sweat. Her voice was both appealing and distasteful, like wine that had not quite soured.

  Sol shifted, as if to cover and protect him. "My cousin suffered a nasty hunting accident. You know how it goes when peasants trespass on their master's land. I have brought him with me for a change of pace; usually he prefers to whittle his time away in the monastery." He referred to a monastery high in the mountains several miles southeast. Those who had no taste for palace life often went there, as did those whose relatives did not want to be humiliated at court by less than shining family members. The implication was that Grau had not had time to take his cousin to the monastery, and since he could not get there under his own power, Grau was forced to endure him for the winter.

  Which meant Iah would be noted and then immediately dismissed. Sol had woven a perfect tale to explain Iah; if there was a flaw in it, Iah had not been able to find it. "He is still a little hard of speech, so I beg your forgiveness for his silence."

  "It is no concern," the woman said, and Iah heard her walk away.

  Sol wasted no time in seeing they were taken to his rooms; a suite on the far end of the east wing. The room spelled sweet and freshly cleaned. A slight breeze blew through, making the room cool but not chilly.

  He heard Sol lock the door and approach him from behind. "Come," Sol said and led him back toward the door. "Starting from this very spot," he arranged Iah with his back to the door, "it is twenty paces to the window. Ten paces and two to the left will take you to a table. On the north and south ends of it are chairs. Seven paces beyond that is the fireplace; you will feel a bear-fur rug beneath your feet. The rest of the floor is covered in woven rugs. Ten paces forward and another ten to your right is the bed. To the south of it is a wardrobe, with a long mirror on its right side. Against the opposite wall is a small writing desk. Do I need to repeat it?"

  "No," Iah said. Taking a deep breath, he counted paces silently as he traversed the room. He fumbled three times, and walked into the wall once, but an hour later, he felt relatively secure about the lay of the room.

  It was hard. Every morning he woke up thinking it had all been a bad dream. Every day he lived the nightmare over again, and there were always more nightmares when he slept. Giving up was not an option, however. There was Tawn and the Breaker, and he could not leave Esta alone. Though she would probably be horrified—all of them would be. Would he have any friends left? Or would his blindness—the complete absence of his eyes—scare them all away? He clenched his fists and walked the room again until hands fell upon his shoulders and held him still.

  "You are doing wonderfully," assured that summer voice. That voice he ached to trust, but couldn't for too many doubts. He shoved the doubts aside and voiced one of his questions. "The two from earlier?" His Krian was slow, but faster than when he was around Krians.

  Sol's hands slid from his shoulder, and he guided Iah to sit. "There is wine here, if you want it." He placed Iah's hand on the goblet, then Iah heard the rustle of clothes, the scrape of his chair, as Sol took his own seat. "The man was Ludwig von Eisenberg, the Verdant General. The woman was—"

  "The Saffron General," Iah interrupted. He remembered all the names the peasant women had used. "Heilwig—"

  "Heilwig von Dresden."

  Iah took a sip of wine. It was potent, rich, dark and surprisingly sweet—nothing like the light, bitter wines back home, which went so well with the spicier Illussor foods. "Is there not a single good general?"

  "They are all good generals," Sol said levelly. "Whether they are good people or not is something else altogether."

  "Shouldn't they be, though?" Iah asked then laughed at himself. Who was he kidding? War wasn't about nice.

  War isn't about heroics. It's about getting yourself killed for one stupid reason or another. You're not going!

  Yes, I am. You can't stop me. I won't sit here drinking tea and discussing the weather while the boys I played with are sent away to die.

  You played with a prince, you're a duke, and you have obligations here.

  Esta can handle those, you know she can. Mother would let me go!

  Your mother was a fool. Why do you think she's dead?

  Take your title back, father. I don't want it. Tomorrow I'm leaving.

  Then don't come back.

  Oh, I'll come back. But it'll be either when the war concludes, or when it's time to put me beside my foolish mother.

  "There are many who would agree with you. More than a few wonder why he appointed the four he did. Why he drove his father's men into retirement."

  "And what do they suggest?"

  "No one knows what the Kaiser thinks. He is mercurial, and his favors are dispersed strangely."

  Iah took another sip of wine. "Strange how?"

  "He seems to be friends with the Verdant General, though most say he is lazy. Egon von Korbit, the Cobalt General, also finds favor, though he is little more than a ghost. And of course you are well acquainted with the popular opinion of the Saffron General."

  "Yes," Iah said, shaking his head. "Are Krian women always so crude?"

  "Only in regards to each other," Sol said dryly.

  Iah pushed his wine aside, liking it far too much to trust himse
lf. Now was no time for alcohol. "What about the Wolf? The Kaiser must think highly of such a notorious general."

  "Actually, most say the Kaiser hates the Scarlet General."

  "Why?" Iah asked.

  "No one knows."

  "How can no one know?" Iah asked, reaching once more for his wine.

  "Perhaps because that would require knowing something about the Wolf, but no one knows anything about him, not really. He was born a peasant to a well-known and highly skilled sword smith. He signed up for the army and prospered. One winter he came home, and not two days later, his parents were brutally murdered. That is all anyone knows about the boy who later became General Dieter von Adolwulf."

  "I see."

  *~*~*

  Sol smiled faintly, pleased for no good reason, content not to question it too closely.

  Though his work was unsettling—indeed this time he wondered, more than ever, if he would live to see it through to the end—being in Kria was more relaxing than the strains of Salhara, living constantly under the shadow of the Brotherhood that ruled his country while the king behaved like a good puppet. Here the games were open and easy to play. And he was a minor player, so far as all others were concerned.

  His rooms were simple and well appointed, but not overdone. The rooms of a minor noble who could afford to play at real nobility and had no aspirations, so was considered safe by those who would otherwise cut him down as a threat. The room was soft, brown and black and gold. And warm, because he never would get how anyone could stand the merciless cold that seemed to plague both Kria and Illussor.

  All that aside, the company did not hurt. It was nice not to be alone, and despite everything, Iah was hardly a chore. So many men would break in Iah's situation, but here Iah sat—learning, asking, persevering.

  "Who killed his parents?" Iah asked, continuing the conversation which had momentarily lapsed.

  "A question never answered, or at least I could never find the answer." Which, he liked to think, meant that no one knew. "Many say it was a robbery gone afoul. For peasants, they were rather affluent. As I said, his father was highly regarded as a sword smith. The fond like to say he was the best one in history. Rumors abound, of course. The only thing more interesting than a terrible and frightening general are the stories that theorize what made him so."

  Iah began to move his head in that peculiar fashion which meant he was thinking. Like a bird, bobbing on a branch as it contemplated what song it wanted to sing. "So what are you planning?" he asked finally. Sol wondered what he'd really been thinking.

  He took a deep swallow of wine then set his goblet down and strode over to the window, moving aside the tapestry to peer down at the people below. It was a massive crush as the lower classes mixed and melded, celebrated and jostled as they prepared for the long winter months ahead. To leave after the really heavy snows fell was nothing less than suicide. Within the palace walls, most of the snow could be kept out or to a minimum, and inside the palace was a vast network of interconnected hallways and tunnels.

  Very little drove the Krians outside once winter set in.

  Sound exploded in the courtyard, and whereas before people had looked busy, now they looked frenzied. Sol dropped the tapestry and returned to the table, though he remained standing. "What's wrong?" Iah asked.

  "Soldiers are returning; it looks like the last of them. Minus the Scarlet." Sol poured another glass of wine and sat down. "There is something about the Krians I have not yet told you."

  Iah took a healthy swallow of his own wine. "Because I'm not going to like it."

  "No. I still don't like it. In this, it is a blessing you cannot see." He picked up his goblet then set it down again, rubbing a thumb over one of the small green jewels set below the rim. "The soldiers are dragging several prisoners along with them, all Salharan. The Illussor are lucky they're considered too dangerous to be taken prisoner."

  "What?"

  Sol sighed. "The winter festivities here are begun in the Coliseum, where every prisoner, every major criminal and whosoever else the Kaiser sees fit, is made to fight until there are no more left. It can last for days."

  "That's awful. Don't they do enough killing every time the weather warms?"

  "It is the way Krians do it. And what do the civilians know of war? They see only that their men die every year because two other countries are trying to steal Krian land. To them, the Coliseum is a way to see prisoners and criminals get what they deserve. I'm sure the nobility find it useful for their own reasons."

  "How do you endure it?" Iah asked.

  Sol drank deeply from his goblet. "I don't have a choice." He sat through it and acted as though he wanted to be there. But forever he would hear the screams for help, the pleas and desperate cries. All in a language which Lord Grau did not understand, but which Sol heard clearly every time he went to sleep.

  He stood up again. "There is a case on the table. Large, square, and covered and lined in velvet. It contains all my inks, and I wanted to show you how they worked.

  "Very well."

  Sol retrieved the case and brought it to the table. He flipped it open, revealing two neat rows of small, fat bottles of dark blue glass. Around the middle of each was a band of silver. He carefully picked one up and pressed it into Iah's hands. "Feel the band?"

  "Yes."

  "Hold it tight, then twist hard on the bottom half of the glass." Iah obeyed, and the bottle in his hand became two. "The one with the band," Sol said and touched it, "is just ink. The other one—"

  "Arcen," Iah whispered.

  Sol nodded then rolled his eyes at himself. "Yes." He took the bottle back and reassembled and replaced it. Taking Iah's hand, he guided it over each of the fourteen bottles. "Five yellow, two orange, two red, one white, and the rest are green—to be used if I must because such weak arcen will not affect me visibly." He left unsaid that green was only weak to someone well and truly addicted, someone who used yellow as though it were nothing.

  At least he'd never had to progress to orange. That was a fate he would leave to his Brothers. He wanted no part of it. "Hopefully I won't need this for anything other than ink."

  Returning the case to the desk, Sol wandered back to the window. Outside the crowd had calmed again, but eager tension was still thick in the air. Another week and the bloodshed would begin.

  "Would you like to go downstairs for dinner or remain up here?"

  Iah shrugged. "I suppose I should go downstairs, yes? But—"

  "Why not stay up here? Too much at once will not help anything. I doubt much will be occurring tonight. I'll poke around and make our excuses, and we can dine up here. Don't drink too much wine; I'll be back in a short while."

  Sol slipped out of the room, absently smoothing his hair down. He severely disliked Krian court wear. There were so many layers and folds. At least he could get away with not wearing the hose that seemed all the rage. His own clothes were predominantly gray, with a green tunic stitched with the snowflakes of the winter princess, though not the same as those that made up the crest of the Cobalt General.

  Around him people milled. The halls of the palace were packed. In a few days everything would settle down, but for now there was little in the way of calm or quiet. All buzzed with excitement, dressed in rainbows of color that would severely confuse most Salharans, who were used to the somber blacks of the army broken only by the red and blue of the two Sacred Armies they encountered.

  Women, noting his arrival, began to beckon to him. They smiled in welcome and drew him into their fold, murmuring and chatting and feeding Sol all the gossip and information he could want. Of course the greatest rumor was that of the Scarlet. Scouts had apparently found all of the returning forces dead, killed by an Illussor Scream.

  No one knew what had become of the Wolf, whose body had been noticeably missing amongst the dead. That didn't keep them from making all manner of guesses, most of them bloody and in no small way vindictive. Sol shook his head, wondering how a man could ex
cel at being so universally disliked. Didn't it make more sense to be a well-liked general? But, the same could be said of all the generals.

  There was much about Krian politics did not make sense to him. The Kaiser held all the power, and below him were his council and the generals. There were some who said the generals would hold the power if not for the fact that the Kaiser had purposely chosen men who the people would never accept.

  The Kaiser was not a stupid man. Not entirely.

  "Hale! Is that Lord Grau I see?"

  Sol looked up. "Hale, Burkhard. You are looking well."

  Burkhard smiled and grabbed Sol's hands, shaking them enthusiastically. "And you, my friend. I am glad you're back."

  "It is good to be back," Sol said as he made his farewells to the women and led Burkhard away to a quieter corner. "Tell me all that I've missed. Life in the mountains is so very dull."

  "Dull is something I should like to experience sometime." Burkhard was large. At one point in time he had no doubt been as strong and muscular as so many Krian men were, but time had taken his strength. It had also taken his sword after his right hand had been too badly damaged to ever hold one again. Rather than despair, as would have been expected, however, Burkhard had taken up the robes of a monk and given over to dwelling at the fringes of court life.

  Like Grau, he was eccentric enough to be tolerated, and as a wounded soldier, he'd earned a degree of respect. "You've not missed much. The fun doesn't start until everyone is around to watch. What good is being a spectacle if there is no one about to see it? They say Heilwig is finding it harder and harder to hold the Kaiser's attention."

  "She is getting on in years," Sol replied levelly. "General von Dresden is beautiful, but there are younger women nearly as beautiful and much more easily manipulated."

  Burkhard bobbed his head in a quick nod. "Yes. But he's put himself in rather an awkward position by making his mistress a general. One cannot simply fire the leader of the Saffron. Anyway, they say she hasn't quite lost his attention yet."