Prisoner

by Megan Derr

  "Tits of the Winter Princess—" Dieter said, slipping back into Krian, and let him go. "Who did this?"

  Iah did not reply. He started to shake as the cold air struck where his eyes had once been.

  "A Salharan," Sol said. Dieter threw Iah aside. He landed hard on top of Sol, who wrapped a steadying arm around Iah's shoulders as he tried maneuvering them from the floor. But Sol was yanked away again.

  "You're not fooling anyone," Dieter said, this time speaking Salharan. "Next time you choose to take a midnight stroll, make certain the arcen is well and truly gone from your polluted body. Your eyes hold a shine." Iah heard as Dieter threw Sol back down, wincing in sympathy. "Stay away from my room, or you will find yourself where you do not want to be."

  Sol picked them up off the floor. "You're not—"

  "What do I care?" Dieter said. "Do not touch what is mine. Now go, or I will cease to be tolerant."

  Iah heard him vanish into his room then tugged hard at Sol's sleeve. "Let's go," he said in Krian.

  "Yes," Sol agreed. He had the tone to his voice, like summer dampened by the first winds of autumn, that meant his mind was racing to adjust his schemes to account for the incident. They were back in their room within minutes, with no time spared for Iah to learn the way. "That was not expected." He sounded angry. "I was certain he had not heard or seen us."

  Iah shrugged. "I told you we should not have done it."

  "Yes," Sol conceded, "but I'm more troubled by his reaction."

  Iah dropped his boots, which hit the floor with soft thumps. He bent to arrange them for the morning and stripped off his tunic and shirt. In undershirt and breeches, he counted paces to the desk and sat. From a drawer he pulled out fresh bandages.

  Muttering to himself, Sol approached and took over the task of rewrapping Iah's eyes. "I am sorry."

  "There is no need," Iah replied, though he did not relish that ever happening again. It had felt as though he'd been laid bare for all to see. He stood and climbed into bed, crawling to his side. Sleep now did not seem such elusive prey. "Sleep," he told Sol. "Fret about it in the morning."

  Sol sighed. "You're right. I still cannot believe—" he descended into muttering as he readied for bed and slid under the blankets next to Iah. "I hope I did not just ruin our mission."

  "I guess we'll see in the morning," Iah said peaceably. "Nothing we can do now unless you want to go and try to kill the Wolf."

  "Forget it," Sol said. "He is about my age and not so much taller, and I am no featherweight, but he threw me around like a dog with a rabbit in its jaws. I do not envy Beraht his proximity." Iah felt him shift, and fingers touched his hand where it was curled into his pillow. "I apologize for quite possibly ruining everything."

  Iah turned his hand to grasp Sol's. "You didn't. And even if you did, I'm sure you'll think of a way to fix it come morning. Trust the Goddess, or your stars. And thank you for taking me for a walk." With that, he withdrew his fingers and turned over, heart knocking against his ribs. "Good night," he whispered, asleep even as Sol replied.

  *~*~*

  Sol watched the sunrise. All night he'd been awake, and not a single solution had presented itself. Nor had sleep. He'd let eagerness get the better of him, and that single slip had ruined everything. How long before someone came for them?

  Why in the stars' names had he never known the general was fluent in three languages? Sol let his head drop to thud against the stone of the window. He thought back through everything he'd observed during his winters in Kria or during the rare encounter on the battlefield. Nowhere could he find a missed indication that Dieter spoke anything more than Krian. It was known he had a handful of translators for Illussor and Salharan each.

  It was no damn wonder the man infuriated everyone.

  Why hadn't Dieter killed them? Sol lifted his head again. He was currently suspended. His trial was up before the court in another day or so. If he was fortunate, he would be cleared of all charges and reinstated. If not, he would be executed.

  Sol frowned at the rising run. If the Kaiser really hated Dieter as much as it was said, then would he use this as a chance to kill him? Why not have simply killed him sooner? Sol's hands clenched into fists. What was he missing? There was something—

  He just could not figure out what. The Scarlet General was easily the best of the four. If the people didn't fear falling beneath the Kaiser's wrath, Sol did not doubt Dieter would be extremely popular. He was a skilled soldier and a successful, seasoned general at only thirty-six. Even with the blemish from letting his men die so carelessly in an ambush, he was far superior to the older generals who had gone stale in their stations.

  It made no sense. Or whatever sense existed was not to be found. So Dieter would likely die. But surely locating two spies right in their midst would earn him some manner of favor?

  Though perhaps not. People were already infuriated with the way he treated Beraht. Suddenly identifying Lord Grau as a spy would not go over well, even when it was proved to be true, and he got thrown into the Coliseum with the rest. Still, it was not in the Wolf's nature to let spies live. Sol had heard of his killing for far less.

  He turned away from the window and moved to the desk. His ink case lay open, and Sol traced the bands of silver around the dark blue glass that hid the colors of the arcen inside. The case clicked softly as he shut it.

  No more arcen, not even to reach the Breaker. He touched his throat, feeling the bruises there. There was no doubt in his mind that he had lived simply because Dieter had permitted it. He'd seen Dieter on the battlefield and training with his soldiers, but this had been Sol's first personal encounter with him.

  Sol sighed, sick of thinking on Dieter. Unfortunately, however, he was the man holding the Breaker prisoner; to get to Beraht he would have to get through Dieter. Thanks to his haste the previous night, that had become impossible rather than merely difficult.

  At least Iah had definitively identified Beraht as the Breaker. He'd known Iah could do it. Sol looked toward the bed and smiled faintly at Iah, who remained dead to the world.

  Captain Iah Cehka. Sol had made himself somewhat familiar with many of the prominent Illussor soldiers, sensing the information would prove useful someday when he crossed into Illussor never to leave it again. He had not expected the information to be useful in quite this way. He wondered what sort of life awaited Iah's return. If he would ever see Iah again after they parted ways. Sol frowned at the strange thought.

  The sun was up, and the day begun. He had best fetch breakfast. Until his hand was forced, he would act as if everything were perfectly normal. The kitchens now were his best chance to speak with Beraht again, unless Dieter had mentioned something to Burkhard.

  Slipping on his tunic and pulling on his boots, Sol cast one last look at the bed before leaving the room, locking it behind him. The early hour meant the palace was still quiet. If he knew anything about Dieter, however, then he and Beraht were already awake.

  Sol permitted a small sigh of relief when he proved to be correct upon entering the kitchen. Beraht sat at the table, eating slowly. Sol noticed a bruise on his right cheek. "Fair morning, prisoner."

  Beraht didn't look up. "And you."

  Food was not at all appealing, not while his stomach was knotted with worry, but Sol grabbed a piece of the soft, white cheese he'd long been fond of and forced himself to eat it. After a night without sleep, he could not afford to starve as well. "Where is your keeper?"

  Beraht finally looked up, licking butter from his fingers. "He was called away by another monk. Something about the dungeons and dead people. They speak too fast for me to catch it all."

  "What?" Sol frowned and stored the information away for later. "Well, this works out for us. Why are you here? And named?"

  "I am named because I did not want to die nameless, as I told you before," Beraht said, expression mutinous. "I will make him take it back."

  Sol doubted it. "What is he planning on doing with you?"

&n
bsp; "He wants me to spend the rest of my life here. A peculiar sort of revenge, wouldn't you say?"

  "I would certainly rather die than spend the rest of my life among my enemies," Sol replied. "But I would not count on your living long."

  Beraht looked at him as if he were an idiot. "I never assumed such a thing. It's more a matter of waiting to see how these infernal Krians will finally kill me."

  "Has it escaped you, Beraht, what our Brothers will do to you should you return with a Krian name?"

  "No," Beraht said, his ire vanishing like an extinguished candle. "Wherever I go, someone is waiting to kill me."

  Sol took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His mistake had lost him any time for persuading Beraht slowly. If Beraht didn't agree, then Sol would simply have to find a way to kidnap him. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, and he spoke Salharan. "Have you ever wondered why the Illussor are in this war?"

  "What?" Beraht looked at him. "Why are you asking me that?"

  "They're in it," Sol continued, ignoring him, "because they're searching for someone." He began to explain.

  Beraht listened in silence, food forgotten in front of him. When Sol finished, he picked up his teacup and downed the contents. He stared at Sol. "You're a traitor."

  "Yes." Sol said it levelly, but his eyes flickered briefly behind the drugs that made them brown.

  "If I turned you in, they'd forgive my name." Beraht stared into his empty teacup. "Then again, probably not."

  "You cannot tell me you feel any loyalty to men who declared you would not be worthy of a name until you had murdered a thousand men."

  "More than that die every day on the battlefield," Beraht said. "The only difference was that I did it in the dark while they slept. I'm not proud of it, but it's what I did."

  "You know it's different," Sol said sharply. "Why do you think Dieter hates you so much? For all that he is feared and despised, the Wolf has never been accused of cowardice. He fights honestly."

  Beraht slammed his cup down. "I am not a coward!"

  His words rang through the kitchen. Thankfully no one was about. An oddity Sol needed to look into. He half wondered if it was a trap, but they would have been taken long before then if that were the case. And Beraht would have warned him. "I never said you were," he said, "but if you come with me, you can be something more than you have been so far."

  "You're insane," Beraht said. "There's no way I'm this Breaker you speak of."

  "Iah confirmed it last night," Sol replied. "If you do not come willingly—"

  "By force, I know." Beraht touched the bruise on his cheek. "So I can stay here and die in Kria—either by being beaten, freezing, or in that star forsaken Coliseum I keep hearing about. Or I could somehow make my way back to Salhara, stars willing, and turn you in to earn myself a painless death for daring to give a Krian power over me. My last option is to turn traitor and save an enemy that will, in all likelihood, hate me for both being foreign and taking away the only edge they have over both Kria and Salhara. Choice, choices, choices."

  Sol looked at him in disapproval. "You are not the only who has had a rough life."

  "Rough?" Beraht laughed bitterly. "You have no idea."

  "Nor do I care," Sol said ruthlessly. "I am offering you a chance to start fresh and possibly become a hero, though reaching that point will be difficult."

  Beraht shrugged. "Difficult is all I know." He sighed, resting his head across folded arms. After a moment he sat back up. "How do I know you're not testing me or something?"

  "Don't insult me," Sol said.

  "How long have you been a traitor?"

  "Since my Brothers left me for dead and a poor Illussor family pulled me from a river and brought me back to life."

  Beraht stared at him for several minutes. "Fine. Why not? It's not as though I've anything to lose."

  "That was easier than I had thought."

  "You're persuasive, Sol deVry. Have you never heard your soldiers when they talk about your bewitching voice?"

  Sol shook his head. "No."

  Beraht laughed. "So how are we getting out of here?"

  "I am still working on that. But expect word from me in—"

  "Prisoner!" A guard bellowed as several burst into the kitchen.

  Beraht stood up, backing away. "Get away from me!" he snapped as the men in saffron uniforms bared down on him. "You're not allowed to touch me."

  "Von Adolwulf has ordered no one touch him," Sol shouted over the commotion, "and sworn to kill whoever does."

  A guard laughed nastily. "The Scarlet General has been placed under arrest and is currently about to stand trial. His orders are null and void."

  Sol swore. "Why? His trial is not for some time yet." The guards did not bother to answer him, merely subdued the struggling Beraht and dragged him from the room.

  Sol stormed from the kitchen and snagged the first person he saw. "What is all this commotion about General von Adolwulf being arrested?"

  "Haven't you heard yet?" the man asked. "Five prisoners died in the night—two from the cold, and another Salharan killed himself. The last two apparently decided to start early and wound up killing each other. So that's five trials that were dropped, and they moved the Scarlet General into the available spot. The Kaiser had him arrested."

  Sol thanked the man and then bolted up the stairs, mind awhirl. Arresting Dieter wouldn't have been necessary; the Kaiser was rubbing salt in the wound. Beraht was no doubt intended to be another blow. Stars curse them all! He should have just dosed on red arcen and taken them all away when he'd had the chance. Now he had a mess on his hands.

  If the trial went poorly, it was all too possible that Beraht would die right alongside Dieter.

  Chapter Eleven

  Beraht swore, using every vulgar, offensive word in three languages that he could think of. He didn't shut up until a soldier back handed him. Now he had matching bruises. At least von Adolwulf's bruise he'd almost deserved.

  He looked around. They'd been muttering about a trial so he had expected a courtroom. Something similar in nature if not exactly like the ones he'd been in—more than he liked to recall—back in Salhara. Instead they were back in the room he remembered from his first encounter with the Kaiser.

  Only this time, von Adolwulf was on the floor with him and looked as though someone had tried to give him a backhand or two. Beraht looked toward the guards who had taken him then dismissed them. They hadn't been the ones to bring in the Scarlet General, and he doubted von Adolwulf had cooperated. He shifted his gaze to the other three generals assembled around the Kaiser. The Cobalt general was nursing a bloody nose, and the Verdant General held his right arm oddly.

  Beraht ducked his head so they would not catch him laughing. How sad and amusing that five people who should have been comrades so clearly loathed each other. This was the country they'd been fighting? How did they keep losing?

  Perhaps because of the man beside him, he conceded reluctantly. Von Adolwulf was the reason Kria achieved victory time and again, and yet they were probably going to kill him—and Beraht alongside him, no doubt. He hoped General deVry was working on a way to get him out of this. He had no faith whatsoever in all that Breaker nonsense, but he would take the chance for escape.

  "Lord General Dieter von Adolwulf, leader of the Scarlet Army." the Kaiser said once the soldiers had departed. "You are being tried for neglecting your troops."

  Von Adolwulf laughed, "You could have at least given me a real trial, Kaiser. Surely even I have earned that much."

  "You earn what I say you have earned. Stand up."

  He stood. Beraht noticed suddenly that he still had his sword. Strange. Shouldn't they have taken his weapon away? "Why are we even bothering with this?" von Adolwulf asked. "We both know, Kaiser, that you're just arranging a legitimate way to kill me. Do it already."

  "So eager to die, von Adolwulf?" The Kaiser asked. "Don't you realize I'm doing you a favor by giving you a private trial with only
your peers to judge you?"

  "My peers?" von Adolwulf repeated. "Where do I see any such thing? In a whore who slept her way to the top? A man too lazy to even practice with his troops in the morning? A man who gave up living except for the occasional malicious torture of peasants 'trespassing' onto Krian land? A King who murders in cold blood? I see no peers here. My peers were the men you claim I neglected—which I did not. Illussor tricks got the better of me. We were miles away from the Regenbogen, snow was eminent, and the winter stalemate had been called two weeks prior. My men had just suffered significant loses because of a Salharan shadow killer. The Illussor used all that to their advantage. I did the best I could, but even I cannot defend against a Scream."

  The Kaiser knocked the words aside. "You survived the Scream. How did you survive a Scream and not your men?"

  "I do not know, Kaiser." Beraht started at his words, but said nothing.

  "I rather figured." The Kaiser motioned toward Beraht. "Bring him to me," he commanded, and Heilwig moved forward. Beraht stiffened, but when von Adolwulf did nothing, he muttered curses in Salharan and cooperated.

  The tension in the air was not unlike what he had felt before he began slipping into tents to ensure soldiers never woke from their slumber. Except this time he knew he was the sleeper.

  "Bring me his sword," the Kaiser said, motioning for Ludwig to take it.

  Von Adolwulf drew his sword, warning them all back. He burst out laughing, startling them all. "Do you think you can simply take it now that you have me where you want me?" he asked. His jade eyes, normally pale, darkened with anger. A deep anger, Beraht realized, startled. It was an old anger, the kind that ran so deep it could never be uprooted. He knew it all too well; he had always buried his own with arcen.

  "Killing me will not make this sword yours," von Adolwulf said. "It was made for me; it was given to me. It is mine." He began to laugh again, but there was a dark, sad sound to it. Beraht realized it was the only sound in the room. Around him, the generals looked as confused and wary as he.