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maderrDear Weird Story,
Shut up until you decide to explain yourself better. I have better things to type than you.
No love,
the Author
*a/n* This story makes no sense to me. It needs editing, cohesion, and I can't give it any of that because I have no idea what it is or where it's going. It's going to go in the folder with that story about the prince & priest/demon and all the others I could't figure out. BLARGH /bitching
Prisoner
Dieter scrubbed at his face, wishing desperately for a shave. Stars, he hated wars. They made him weary, sore and filthy. Irritably he shoved strands of silver-touched black hair from his eyes, looking up at the near-black sky. "Stupid bitch," he muttered under his breath. He snapped his head down at the sound of boots squishing in the muddy swamp that their camp had become. "Yes?" he barked at the private trying not to shake before him.
"G-General, w-w-we caught him."
Gray-green eyes flared with the first sign of pleasure they'd shown all day. "Excellent. Have him brought to my tent."
"Yes, Sir!" the private turned and beat a retreat. Dieter ruefully noted that if they'd move half so fast in battle, more of them would live.
He glared once more at the dark sky before stalking into his tent, the largest and most well kept in the camp. Inside, he shrugged out of the heavy fur he'd been draped in, leaving it to the attendant who scrambled forward to catch it and see that it got as clean as was possible.
"Stars, I hate this weather. The Winter Princess needs to hurry up and succumb to the Spring Lord." A few of his attendants laughed softly in agreement. Dieter's next words were prevented by the sound of shouting and scrabbling, words shouted in a language usually foreign to their camp. A moment later four men came crashing through the front of his tent, three of them falling to the ground.
The prisoner remained standing, sneering contemptuously at the soldiers who could not keep him under control.
Dieter stepped forward, grabbed the prisoner by the scruff of his shirt and swung a hard fist into his stomach. The prisoner crumbled, groaning in pain - but he did not pass out.
"That's more like it." Dieter nodded, brushed off his hands, and resumed his seat. "Now," he glared at his men. "Start talking."
The first soldier nodded, fumbling to straighten his hat as he snapped to attention. "This is the man that led the ambush, General. We have been unable to find any other survivors."
Unadulterated hate clouded the prisoner's face, as he looked at Dieter.
Dieter was not moved. "And how did he manage to take us so unawares?"
"We don't know, Sir." The second soldier started to shrug, then realized what he was doing and froze.
"Well," Dieter stared at the prisoner through hooded eyes. "You certainly have cost us a great many lives." The man gave the word filthy all new meaning. His dark green military breeches were so covered in muck and grime you couldn't tell their original color unless you knew it ahead of time. His hair was a mystery - perhaps blonde or brown. He'd lost his military jacket, making rank impossible to determine, and his shirt was little more than scraps of cloth barely clinging to his form. But beneath the rags and the mud, muscle rippled and tensed as he moved and strained against the chains wound down his arm and locked tightly around his wrists. This was no soldier-in-uniform-only.
Of course, the fact that he'd killed more than a hundred of Dieter's best had proven that. "Do you have a name, prisoner?" He noticed, almost idly, that the man's dark amber eyes turned almost gold in anger.
"Prisoner is good enough for you," the man spat. "You may as well start to kill me, because I'll not tell you a thing."
Dieter smirked, "That remains to be seen." His gaze hardened as he looked at his men. "Do we know anything about him?"
"He lost his jacket struggling against us, but it had the marks of a lieutenant." The third soldier spoke quietly, as if he sensed the General would be displeased and was hoping to escape detection.
Had Dieter felt like moving, he probably would have backhanded him. His vision misted with rage. "A lieutenant. Half my Scarlet is dead now because of a polluted lieutenant?" He reached out and grabbed whatever was nearest to hand - a book of some sort - and pitched at the head of the closest soldier. The private didn't duck soon enough, tumbling back into his fellows and grunting in pain. "Get out! And rest while you can, because tomorrow you're going to wish the Goddess had taken you away. GET OUT!"
The soldiers fled.
Breathing heavily with rage, Dieter surged to his feet and grabbed a fistful of the prisoner's filthy hair. "How? How did you kill all my men?"
"I’m polluted, remember?" The prisoner sneered in contempt. "A little pollution is all I need to send you all to your damnable goddess."
Dieter swung out, once more punching him hard in the gut. He glared, enraged, as the prisoner crumpled to the ground and lay still. Using one booted foot, he shoved the prisoner until he lay flat on his stomach. Crouching down, he examined the chains that bound him. It would not do to injure him overmuch until they could determine a use for him. Grimacing at the layers of stars only knew what covering him, he shoved away dirt and scraps of cloth to ensure he had not suffered serious injury.
His explorations uncovered a strange, unnatural black mark at the small of the his back. Dieter frowned and wiped away more of the grime, breath hissing between his teeth when he realized what he had uncovered.
Seven thin triangles, shaped in a circle to form a seven-pointed star. Dieter was torn between annoyance and glee. "That would certainly explain how a mere lieutenant killed all my men." Rising to his feet, he stormed from his tent to start giving orders.
*~*~*~*
"After all the trouble you've caused," Dieter folded his arms across his chest. "It's good to know you're worth a pretty ransom."
The prisoner shook his head, too exhausted and uncomfortable to offer more of a protest. His arms had had been chained to the ground behind him, forcing to sit always slightly tilted back, that the chains wrapped from his neck and down his arms didn't choke him. "They will pay nothing for me."
"If you are going to lie, prisoner, then at least tell a good one. I know a Seven Star when I see one, and I know they will be eager to get you back." Dieter unfolded his arms as an attendant approached with a steaming goblet, accepting the mulled wine and promptly banishing the man who brought it to him. He turned back to his prisoner. "But tell my why a Brother of the Seven Stars was made merely a lieutenant? Did they think that would keep you from being detected."
Amber eyes regarded him with hot rage, but it was not the bright gold that Dieter had seen before. The prisoner was growing weaker by the hour, and the strain had dulled his bright eyes. Dieter found he almost felt disappointed. "They thought it would get me killed sooner."
"Not very intelligent of them," Dieter said with amusement. He took a sip of his wine, deciding to play along with the prisoner. "Why not simply kill you themselves?"
This time the eyes did turn gold, though only for a moment. Then prisoner sneered, "Do not think you'll get any information from me."
Dieter smirked, "Think you I truly need such information from you? The Brotherhood of the Seven Star, the most polluted men in all of Salhara. There is always twenty-one, three sets of seven. Seven for the Church, Seven for the Government, Seven for the Battlefield." He knelt, to look the prisoner in the face. "Yet, they have always been generals and commanders. Not mere lieutenants - unless of course we are wrong about your rank."
The prisoner made a motion that would have been a shrug had be been unbound, "You are correct. I am a Lieutenant. Or was."
"Nor did you use the sort of pollution to which I am accustomed."
The prisoner gave a vicious smile, "If I'd done that, you would have been able to defend yourselves."
Dieter narrowed his eyes, sorely tempted to backhand him. But he'd finally gotten clean, and was loathe to dirty himself just to bruise the face of a mouthy prisoner. He rose to his feet. "You're only alive because of my orders."
Giving another of his awkward shrug, the prisoner tossed his head to stare him in the face. "You'll be killing me soon anyway. What do I care for your threats?"
"It is not my threats of which you should be wary," Dieter said. "It is my promises. And I promise that once the ransom is paid, you will suffer greatly for what you've done."
The prisoner threw his head back and laughed, the sound of it bitter, half wild. "Then I guess I have nothing to fear at all." His eyes were dampened gold. "Never will they pay a ransom for me."
Dieter crushed the missive in one large fist, glowering at everyone and everything within his sight. The soldiers fled, each fearing they would be the one to take the brunt of their General's anger.
The prisoner laughed at him, though he did not sound happy so much as bitterly amused. "I told you so."
"Be silent, Prisoner. Unless you would care to explain to me why your Brothers do not desire your safe return."
"Because they would rather die than call me Brother." The prisoner slumped over in his chains, no longer seeming to feel the pain caused by his long hours of awkward confinement.
Dieter buried his hand in the man's filthy hair and yanked his head up. "Then what am I to do with you?"
"Kill me."
"No, I think not. All the trouble you've caused, death is too kind a measure." Dieter released him, scowling as he thought.
"General!" A lieutenant approached, touching his right shoulder with his left hand in saluate as he snapped to attention. "We are ready to depart."
"Then have the prisoner secured to my horse and we shall leave."
"Yes, General!" The lieutant saluted again and then barked orders to several nearby grunts.
Several minutes later, Dieter mounted his horse and sneered down at the man chained to the pommel. "I hope you can keep up, Prisoner. If you fall, I will not help you up."
"Think I care?" The Prisoner sneered. "At this rate, I will die."
"No, I think not." Dieter gave the orders for his men to march, then continued to speak to the prisoner. "There is too much fight in you. A few days without water and food and you will be begging for the chance to live."
"I would rather die than beg you for anything." Gold eyes flared in anger and challenge.
Dieter merely laughed, his own blue-violet eyes flaring in pleasure at the thought of proving the stubborn prisoner so very, very wrong. "We shall see, prisoner, we shall see." He urged his horse to increase its pace, summoning his captains to discuss the routes they would take to get home.
Staying together the length of the journey was foolish - they would be safer if they split into smaller groups. He's already lost more of the Scarlet than he liked; he would not lose more. Beside him, walking along the uneven, rocky ground, the prisoner ground his teeth to hear information that he could not make us of. Dieter saw the frustration and was pleased. Ordering his men away, he spoke once more to the prisoner. "Thirsty, prisoner? We have been traveling for nearly two hours."
The prisoner said nothing.
Dieter chuckled. "You will beg me before the journey ends."
"I will let Misfortune claim me first."
"I will not let her have you." Dieter watched him for a moment, ordering his thoughts and considering his questions. "How do you know our language?"
Silence.
"Ah, but you are a Brother."
Still the prisoner did not reply.
Dieter laughed, "But no - you said they would rather die than call you brother. Then why do you bear the mark of the Seven Star?"
"Why would you think I'd tell you?"
"You will eventually. Shall we start with your name?"
"Prisoner will suffice."
Dieter laughed, "So stubborn. I will enjoy watching you crumble. But I grow weary of calling you 'prisoner.' If you will not tell me your name, perhaps I should give you one."
"NO!" the prisoner shouted loud enough to startle most of the assembled men. He lowered his voice, and it was full of hate and a shred of panic. "I will never accept a name from you. Prisoner is all that you need call me."
Narrowing his eyes, Dieter spoke briefly with his aide before pulling off to the side of the camp. He dismounted and strode up to the prisoner, grasping him by the throat and pressing just hard enough for it to be painful without inhibiting his breathing. "You are my prisoner and I shall call you what I like."
"No," the prisoner snarled, desperate and angry. "I will never respond to anything but prisoner."
Dieter used his other hand to shove filthy, tangled strands of hair from the prisoner's face, forcing his head up for a closer examination. Beneath a sweaty, dirty face amber eyes shone bright with anger - and the slightest bit of fear. Dieter smiled in a way that made most men shiver. "Beraht," he said softly. "Your name is Beraht."
"I do not accept," the prisoner said. "Never will I accept a name from you. I would rather die."
"I don't believe you," Dieter said. He released the prisoner and mounted his horse once more. "You will grow tired, and hungry and weary. Already you are suffering from the lack of your precious drugs. By the time we reach camp, you will be begging me. If you want to live, accept your new name or tell me your real one."
"Never."
*~*~*~*
"Attack!" a scout called as he crested the hill and raced toward the traveling army. "Salhara soldiers, take cover!"
Dieter wasted no time giving orders to his troops, but the orders came too little too late to avoid disaster. In mere seconds his army was a mess, and it was all Dieter could do to keep them from being overwhelmed completely. Everywhere around him were the screams and cries of men and horses, the smell of blood and steel and fire, the air thick with fear and anger and hate.
But there was something strange about it all. Dieter fought off attacker and attacker as his mind tried to put together the pieces that were not fitting together as they should.
As he slew yet another foot soldier from atop his mount, he suddenly realized what was odd. They weren't trying to get him.
They were trying to get past him.
Dieter fought with the chains that had been secured to his pommel, then all but threw himself off his horse and shoved the prisoner to the ground as more Salhara foot soldiers attacked. His sword found its mark in the chest of the first, the throat of the second. The last were taken out by his second-in-command as Salhara trumpets sounded a retreat.
"Get me the counts!" Dieter snarled to his second.
Pushing himself to his feet, he yanked the prisoner up hard and shook him. "Why?" he raged. "Why are my men dying for you? Why are your own people trying to kill you?" he shook the man hard, over and over until they both were gasping for breath.
The prisoner stared at him with eyes that had darkened with fear. "We have to go. Now."
Dieter narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"NOW!" the prisoner screamed. In a burst of strength Dieter hadn't expected him to have, the prisoner grabbed him and turned, using Dieter's own wait to throw the general into the scrubby forest that hid separated the road from a small, muddy river. Without pause, he grabbed the reins of Dieter's horse and followed the general into the trees.
Dieter struggled to his feet, but before he could the prisoner threw himself on top of the general and held him down as best he could. Dieter continued to struggle, until a thin, high-pitche whining sound filled the air. Until that moment, he had not noticed the stark, unnatural silence. "No…" he whispered. He ceased struggling, and instead began to silently recite the prayers for peace in death.
Above him, still holding the still general down, the prisoner chanted words of his own. Not a prayer, but a spell. One last pill he'd had hidden in his boot, and it was just enough to cast a single spell.
"Protect us."
*~*~*~*
"They were not Salharan." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Dieter's voice was flat, defeated. He cursed himself a thousand times, for falling for a trick he should never have let deceive him.
"No," the prisoner said softly. "I should have realized it sooner."
Dieter shook his head, mind in turmoil. Everyone was dead. Everything was gone. Nothing remained of the Scarlet save him and his horse.
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 futily against Dieter's iron hold. "My own people don't care if I live or die. Why would the Ilussurs?" He lay still, gasping for breath, amber eyes glazed with pain. "On my mother's grave, 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 rolled his eyes and 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. Or 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 Illusors wanted you. Tell me why I should not let the devils have you?"
"Because though the Krians hate Salhara, they hate the Illusors more. 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 cave 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 the Kria is my only hope."
"Would that I could kill you," Dieter swore. "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 with which he'd been without food or water. At least three as they traveled, one or two after his Scarlet was slaughtered and however many days they had been on the road.
Ever under cover, traveling at night when the Illussors were at their weakest.
Dieter held him close, expression intent as he looked the man barely conscious in his arms. "Do you really want to die?"
"No…" Pale gold 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. Because the prisoner was right - a name mattered little to him. He shouldn't care whether the man 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 desperately, 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 flickering like shadows in dying amber 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."
Shut up until you decide to explain yourself better. I have better things to type than you.
No love,
the Author
*a/n* This story makes no sense to me. It needs editing, cohesion, and I can't give it any of that because I have no idea what it is or where it's going. It's going to go in the folder with that story about the prince & priest/demon and all the others I could't figure out. BLARGH /bitching
Prisoner
Dieter scrubbed at his face, wishing desperately for a shave. Stars, he hated wars. They made him weary, sore and filthy. Irritably he shoved strands of silver-touched black hair from his eyes, looking up at the near-black sky. "Stupid bitch," he muttered under his breath. He snapped his head down at the sound of boots squishing in the muddy swamp that their camp had become. "Yes?" he barked at the private trying not to shake before him.
"G-General, w-w-we caught him."
Gray-green eyes flared with the first sign of pleasure they'd shown all day. "Excellent. Have him brought to my tent."
"Yes, Sir!" the private turned and beat a retreat. Dieter ruefully noted that if they'd move half so fast in battle, more of them would live.
He glared once more at the dark sky before stalking into his tent, the largest and most well kept in the camp. Inside, he shrugged out of the heavy fur he'd been draped in, leaving it to the attendant who scrambled forward to catch it and see that it got as clean as was possible.
"Stars, I hate this weather. The Winter Princess needs to hurry up and succumb to the Spring Lord." A few of his attendants laughed softly in agreement. Dieter's next words were prevented by the sound of shouting and scrabbling, words shouted in a language usually foreign to their camp. A moment later four men came crashing through the front of his tent, three of them falling to the ground.
The prisoner remained standing, sneering contemptuously at the soldiers who could not keep him under control.
Dieter stepped forward, grabbed the prisoner by the scruff of his shirt and swung a hard fist into his stomach. The prisoner crumbled, groaning in pain - but he did not pass out.
"That's more like it." Dieter nodded, brushed off his hands, and resumed his seat. "Now," he glared at his men. "Start talking."
The first soldier nodded, fumbling to straighten his hat as he snapped to attention. "This is the man that led the ambush, General. We have been unable to find any other survivors."
Unadulterated hate clouded the prisoner's face, as he looked at Dieter.
Dieter was not moved. "And how did he manage to take us so unawares?"
"We don't know, Sir." The second soldier started to shrug, then realized what he was doing and froze.
"Well," Dieter stared at the prisoner through hooded eyes. "You certainly have cost us a great many lives." The man gave the word filthy all new meaning. His dark green military breeches were so covered in muck and grime you couldn't tell their original color unless you knew it ahead of time. His hair was a mystery - perhaps blonde or brown. He'd lost his military jacket, making rank impossible to determine, and his shirt was little more than scraps of cloth barely clinging to his form. But beneath the rags and the mud, muscle rippled and tensed as he moved and strained against the chains wound down his arm and locked tightly around his wrists. This was no soldier-in-uniform-only.
Of course, the fact that he'd killed more than a hundred of Dieter's best had proven that. "Do you have a name, prisoner?" He noticed, almost idly, that the man's dark amber eyes turned almost gold in anger.
"Prisoner is good enough for you," the man spat. "You may as well start to kill me, because I'll not tell you a thing."
Dieter smirked, "That remains to be seen." His gaze hardened as he looked at his men. "Do we know anything about him?"
"He lost his jacket struggling against us, but it had the marks of a lieutenant." The third soldier spoke quietly, as if he sensed the General would be displeased and was hoping to escape detection.
Had Dieter felt like moving, he probably would have backhanded him. His vision misted with rage. "A lieutenant. Half my Scarlet is dead now because of a polluted lieutenant?" He reached out and grabbed whatever was nearest to hand - a book of some sort - and pitched at the head of the closest soldier. The private didn't duck soon enough, tumbling back into his fellows and grunting in pain. "Get out! And rest while you can, because tomorrow you're going to wish the Goddess had taken you away. GET OUT!"
The soldiers fled.
Breathing heavily with rage, Dieter surged to his feet and grabbed a fistful of the prisoner's filthy hair. "How? How did you kill all my men?"
"I’m polluted, remember?" The prisoner sneered in contempt. "A little pollution is all I need to send you all to your damnable goddess."
Dieter swung out, once more punching him hard in the gut. He glared, enraged, as the prisoner crumpled to the ground and lay still. Using one booted foot, he shoved the prisoner until he lay flat on his stomach. Crouching down, he examined the chains that bound him. It would not do to injure him overmuch until they could determine a use for him. Grimacing at the layers of stars only knew what covering him, he shoved away dirt and scraps of cloth to ensure he had not suffered serious injury.
His explorations uncovered a strange, unnatural black mark at the small of the his back. Dieter frowned and wiped away more of the grime, breath hissing between his teeth when he realized what he had uncovered.
Seven thin triangles, shaped in a circle to form a seven-pointed star. Dieter was torn between annoyance and glee. "That would certainly explain how a mere lieutenant killed all my men." Rising to his feet, he stormed from his tent to start giving orders.
*~*~*~*
"After all the trouble you've caused," Dieter folded his arms across his chest. "It's good to know you're worth a pretty ransom."
The prisoner shook his head, too exhausted and uncomfortable to offer more of a protest. His arms had had been chained to the ground behind him, forcing to sit always slightly tilted back, that the chains wrapped from his neck and down his arms didn't choke him. "They will pay nothing for me."
"If you are going to lie, prisoner, then at least tell a good one. I know a Seven Star when I see one, and I know they will be eager to get you back." Dieter unfolded his arms as an attendant approached with a steaming goblet, accepting the mulled wine and promptly banishing the man who brought it to him. He turned back to his prisoner. "But tell my why a Brother of the Seven Stars was made merely a lieutenant? Did they think that would keep you from being detected."
Amber eyes regarded him with hot rage, but it was not the bright gold that Dieter had seen before. The prisoner was growing weaker by the hour, and the strain had dulled his bright eyes. Dieter found he almost felt disappointed. "They thought it would get me killed sooner."
"Not very intelligent of them," Dieter said with amusement. He took a sip of his wine, deciding to play along with the prisoner. "Why not simply kill you themselves?"
This time the eyes did turn gold, though only for a moment. Then prisoner sneered, "Do not think you'll get any information from me."
Dieter smirked, "Think you I truly need such information from you? The Brotherhood of the Seven Star, the most polluted men in all of Salhara. There is always twenty-one, three sets of seven. Seven for the Church, Seven for the Government, Seven for the Battlefield." He knelt, to look the prisoner in the face. "Yet, they have always been generals and commanders. Not mere lieutenants - unless of course we are wrong about your rank."
The prisoner made a motion that would have been a shrug had be been unbound, "You are correct. I am a Lieutenant. Or was."
"Nor did you use the sort of pollution to which I am accustomed."
The prisoner gave a vicious smile, "If I'd done that, you would have been able to defend yourselves."
Dieter narrowed his eyes, sorely tempted to backhand him. But he'd finally gotten clean, and was loathe to dirty himself just to bruise the face of a mouthy prisoner. He rose to his feet. "You're only alive because of my orders."
Giving another of his awkward shrug, the prisoner tossed his head to stare him in the face. "You'll be killing me soon anyway. What do I care for your threats?"
"It is not my threats of which you should be wary," Dieter said. "It is my promises. And I promise that once the ransom is paid, you will suffer greatly for what you've done."
The prisoner threw his head back and laughed, the sound of it bitter, half wild. "Then I guess I have nothing to fear at all." His eyes were dampened gold. "Never will they pay a ransom for me."
Dieter crushed the missive in one large fist, glowering at everyone and everything within his sight. The soldiers fled, each fearing they would be the one to take the brunt of their General's anger.
The prisoner laughed at him, though he did not sound happy so much as bitterly amused. "I told you so."
"Be silent, Prisoner. Unless you would care to explain to me why your Brothers do not desire your safe return."
"Because they would rather die than call me Brother." The prisoner slumped over in his chains, no longer seeming to feel the pain caused by his long hours of awkward confinement.
Dieter buried his hand in the man's filthy hair and yanked his head up. "Then what am I to do with you?"
"Kill me."
"No, I think not. All the trouble you've caused, death is too kind a measure." Dieter released him, scowling as he thought.
"General!" A lieutenant approached, touching his right shoulder with his left hand in saluate as he snapped to attention. "We are ready to depart."
"Then have the prisoner secured to my horse and we shall leave."
"Yes, General!" The lieutant saluted again and then barked orders to several nearby grunts.
Several minutes later, Dieter mounted his horse and sneered down at the man chained to the pommel. "I hope you can keep up, Prisoner. If you fall, I will not help you up."
"Think I care?" The Prisoner sneered. "At this rate, I will die."
"No, I think not." Dieter gave the orders for his men to march, then continued to speak to the prisoner. "There is too much fight in you. A few days without water and food and you will be begging for the chance to live."
"I would rather die than beg you for anything." Gold eyes flared in anger and challenge.
Dieter merely laughed, his own blue-violet eyes flaring in pleasure at the thought of proving the stubborn prisoner so very, very wrong. "We shall see, prisoner, we shall see." He urged his horse to increase its pace, summoning his captains to discuss the routes they would take to get home.
Staying together the length of the journey was foolish - they would be safer if they split into smaller groups. He's already lost more of the Scarlet than he liked; he would not lose more. Beside him, walking along the uneven, rocky ground, the prisoner ground his teeth to hear information that he could not make us of. Dieter saw the frustration and was pleased. Ordering his men away, he spoke once more to the prisoner. "Thirsty, prisoner? We have been traveling for nearly two hours."
The prisoner said nothing.
Dieter chuckled. "You will beg me before the journey ends."
"I will let Misfortune claim me first."
"I will not let her have you." Dieter watched him for a moment, ordering his thoughts and considering his questions. "How do you know our language?"
Silence.
"Ah, but you are a Brother."
Still the prisoner did not reply.
Dieter laughed, "But no - you said they would rather die than call you brother. Then why do you bear the mark of the Seven Star?"
"Why would you think I'd tell you?"
"You will eventually. Shall we start with your name?"
"Prisoner will suffice."
Dieter laughed, "So stubborn. I will enjoy watching you crumble. But I grow weary of calling you 'prisoner.' If you will not tell me your name, perhaps I should give you one."
"NO!" the prisoner shouted loud enough to startle most of the assembled men. He lowered his voice, and it was full of hate and a shred of panic. "I will never accept a name from you. Prisoner is all that you need call me."
Narrowing his eyes, Dieter spoke briefly with his aide before pulling off to the side of the camp. He dismounted and strode up to the prisoner, grasping him by the throat and pressing just hard enough for it to be painful without inhibiting his breathing. "You are my prisoner and I shall call you what I like."
"No," the prisoner snarled, desperate and angry. "I will never respond to anything but prisoner."
Dieter used his other hand to shove filthy, tangled strands of hair from the prisoner's face, forcing his head up for a closer examination. Beneath a sweaty, dirty face amber eyes shone bright with anger - and the slightest bit of fear. Dieter smiled in a way that made most men shiver. "Beraht," he said softly. "Your name is Beraht."
"I do not accept," the prisoner said. "Never will I accept a name from you. I would rather die."
"I don't believe you," Dieter said. He released the prisoner and mounted his horse once more. "You will grow tired, and hungry and weary. Already you are suffering from the lack of your precious drugs. By the time we reach camp, you will be begging me. If you want to live, accept your new name or tell me your real one."
"Never."
*~*~*~*
"Attack!" a scout called as he crested the hill and raced toward the traveling army. "Salhara soldiers, take cover!"
Dieter wasted no time giving orders to his troops, but the orders came too little too late to avoid disaster. In mere seconds his army was a mess, and it was all Dieter could do to keep them from being overwhelmed completely. Everywhere around him were the screams and cries of men and horses, the smell of blood and steel and fire, the air thick with fear and anger and hate.
But there was something strange about it all. Dieter fought off attacker and attacker as his mind tried to put together the pieces that were not fitting together as they should.
As he slew yet another foot soldier from atop his mount, he suddenly realized what was odd. They weren't trying to get him.
They were trying to get past him.
Dieter fought with the chains that had been secured to his pommel, then all but threw himself off his horse and shoved the prisoner to the ground as more Salhara foot soldiers attacked. His sword found its mark in the chest of the first, the throat of the second. The last were taken out by his second-in-command as Salhara trumpets sounded a retreat.
"Get me the counts!" Dieter snarled to his second.
Pushing himself to his feet, he yanked the prisoner up hard and shook him. "Why?" he raged. "Why are my men dying for you? Why are your own people trying to kill you?" he shook the man hard, over and over until they both were gasping for breath.
The prisoner stared at him with eyes that had darkened with fear. "We have to go. Now."
Dieter narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"NOW!" the prisoner screamed. In a burst of strength Dieter hadn't expected him to have, the prisoner grabbed him and turned, using Dieter's own wait to throw the general into the scrubby forest that hid separated the road from a small, muddy river. Without pause, he grabbed the reins of Dieter's horse and followed the general into the trees.
Dieter struggled to his feet, but before he could the prisoner threw himself on top of the general and held him down as best he could. Dieter continued to struggle, until a thin, high-pitche whining sound filled the air. Until that moment, he had not noticed the stark, unnatural silence. "No…" he whispered. He ceased struggling, and instead began to silently recite the prayers for peace in death.
Above him, still holding the still general down, the prisoner chanted words of his own. Not a prayer, but a spell. One last pill he'd had hidden in his boot, and it was just enough to cast a single spell.
"Protect us."
*~*~*~*
"They were not Salharan." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Dieter's voice was flat, defeated. He cursed himself a thousand times, for falling for a trick he should never have let deceive him.
"No," the prisoner said softly. "I should have realized it sooner."
Dieter shook his head, mind in turmoil. Everyone was dead. Everything was gone. Nothing remained of the Scarlet save him and his horse.
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 futily against Dieter's iron hold. "My own people don't care if I live or die. Why would the Ilussurs?" He lay still, gasping for breath, amber eyes glazed with pain. "On my mother's grave, 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 rolled his eyes and 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. Or 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 Illusors wanted you. Tell me why I should not let the devils have you?"
"Because though the Krians hate Salhara, they hate the Illusors more. 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 cave 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 the Kria is my only hope."
"Would that I could kill you," Dieter swore. "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 with which he'd been without food or water. At least three as they traveled, one or two after his Scarlet was slaughtered and however many days they had been on the road.
Ever under cover, traveling at night when the Illussors were at their weakest.
Dieter held him close, expression intent as he looked the man barely conscious in his arms. "Do you really want to die?"
"No…" Pale gold 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. Because the prisoner was right - a name mattered little to him. He shouldn't care whether the man 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 desperately, 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 flickering like shadows in dying amber 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."
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 02:51 am (UTC)Prisoner, or Beraht on the other hand, is fascinating in another way since we know so little about him and
you're so stingy with the details ;_;he's so reluctant to tell Dieter about himself. I like too that Beraht's stubbornness really gets on Dieter's nerves. ^-^Wah! I really like the weird story! (And I so want to know more about the Brotherhood and how it operates and how Beraht does or does not fit into it.)
*glomps* You rock. :3
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 03:07 am (UTC)Dude, I'm not trying to be stingy. ^_~ Beraht's a close mouthed bastard. Maybe Dieter will beat it out of him...
^_^ I'm glad you like it so much. I really really wish they'd tell me more...
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 03:10 am (UTC)WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY did you have to produce this when I was in school? WHY? T________________________T
Spotted one mistake. You used "us" in "use", I believe. I'll pick it out when I get home. (something about "information he could not use" there)
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 10:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 03:23 am (UTC)I feel so sorry for the prisoner. Beraht now, I suppose. How do you come up with such incredibly cool stories that catch me so?
*love, love, love*
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 08:39 am (UTC)Since your betas are asleep <3 he used his weight.
I like this story, though! And I hated Dieter through most of it (shocking, me hating one of your characters!) but I'm starting to like him. It's not his fault he's a pigheaded bastard. And I like the Prisoner and I really want to see more even though I actually like where you left off. XDD
And I always liked the Prisoner (now Beraht). I hope he doesn't die. How would you pronounce that, btw?
*loves* I hope this weird story doesn't leave you alone XD Any day when I can come home and read something you wrote is a good day <33
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 01:49 pm (UTC)All in all pleasing. But Dieter's a righteous bastard, and I find myself suffering a moral dilema, because, damnit, I like the prick anyway, and I so shouldn't.
I hate you. But not really, cause you at least write shit like you always intend to--unlike some of us here *coughcough*. Damnit, now I have to go to work. And then Russian.