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maderrTygati went through and edited this entire thing for me, and by the time I get to the point where I left off the story shall be done (it only has two chapters left). So, Lost Gods on Monday, and for those that want this dratted story, Prisoner on Thursday. Mind you I wrote this more than a year ago now, so general apologies for any lacks this story might have compared to more recent stuff.
Prologue & Chapter One
Chapter Two & Three
Chapter Four
"Lady Esta!" A breathless maid all but fell over in her haste to deliver her message.
Esta smiled at her in the mirror. "A lady walks, Trul."
"That's because if they run, their skirts'll have'em going downside-up."
Laughing, Esta set aside her brush and stood up. "What has you running in here like a cat fleeing the kitchen with a scrap in its mouth?"
"A really tasty scrap," Trul replied. She licked her lips for effect, making Esta shake her head and chuckle. "Rumors have it you're going to be appointed the Grand Lady of the winter ball!"
Esta's amusement died. "I don't want to be the Grand Lady."
Trul rolled her eyes. "But my lady! Everyone knows the prince has his eye on you! Why are you so recalcitrant?"
"Recalcitrant?" Esta quirked a brow. "Have you been slipping into the beds of library boys again, Trul?"
"They're so cute." Trul said, and gave a grand sigh. "You don't know whether to love them or tuck them in and read them stories." She leered. "But they generally make their preference clear."
Esta was forced to laugh. "Trul!" She reprimanded gently. "My delicate ears!"
Trul snorted, then manhandled Esta back into her seat. She grabbed the brush from the dressing table and, completely at odds with her rough mannerisms, began gently to brush out Esta's floor length, white-gold hair. "How did you want it, my lady?"
"Braided and bound. I don't want it getting dirty while I'm out; I won't have time to wash it again before tonight." Esta sighed and began to play with the jewelry spread out across her vanity table. Beautiful, ornate weavings of gold and silver. Gold chain, so delicate in places it looked as though it had been made by a spider of rare ability. Interspersed with silver roses of equal beauty. Her dress for that night would be of frosted pink silk, accented at the raised waist and hem with a slightly darker pink. With her hair decorated with more gold and silver roses, she would make her mark.
And feel utterly nothing for it. She detested the endless parties, and never a man that wanted truly to dance with her. Esta sighed, and studied her face in the mirror.
It was a stern face, but she knew it was also pretty. Features not so delicate as was preferred in women, but the added strength helped lend authority. Her skin was perfect, flawless and fair. Eyes pale blue. She scowled. Behind her Trul chuckled. "Practicing to scare off the men again, my lady?"
"No need," Esta said with a grimace. "They all frighten easily enough anyway, except for the one I want to scare off and he knows all my tricks."
Trul tsked at her. "Only my lady would begrudge having the prince for a friend." She set the brush aside and began to weave the long hair into an intricate braid. Her voice was tart as she continued, "and he's angling for more than that. Yet here you sit scowling!"
"Don't start up again," Esta said tiredly. "Friends do not make for good lovers. He's just too lazy to find someone else. I don't want to be a queen. I would be terrible at it."
An unladylike snort was Trul's only response, her mouth too full of hairpins to reply properly.
Esta frowned and began to toy with bottles of perfume, deliberating on which she would wear that night. Rose, perhaps. Mathis hated her rose perfume.
Honestly, what was he thinking? Her the Grand Lady. She was going to kill him.
Of the five dukedoms that had once existed, only two remained. The other three titles and lands had been reclaimed by the crown. It made sense, then, that the remaining two dukedoms were close to the royal family. Iah and Esta had been the prince’s playmates growing up, alongside Kalan, the only other child of a Duke.
Three boys that had done their very best to torment the only girl in their little group. Later, as the group expanded, they still had done their best to torment her. Though somewhere along the way it had been made clear to all the other boys that they were the only three allowed to do so. And when Kalan had drifted off into government and finances, and her brother had taken himself off to fight, Matthias had remained – perhaps not by choice, but he was there all the same. When her father and Iah had both decided to surrender the title, Matthias had seen it went to her.
It was a pity he was trying to ruin a good friendships with something as silly as romance.
So definitely the rose perfume. That would make it clear where she stood, as her words seldom had any impact. “I really would make an awful queen.”
Trul rolled her eyes. "Yes, my lady." She shoved the last hairpin into place and stood back to admire her handiwork. The braid, done by dividing the hair into seven sections and weaving them slowly together, shortened it by several inches. With judicious use of hairpins and a few ribbons, the mass coiled and looped around the back of her head in an elegant, complicated knot. "You're ready."
"Thank you, Trul." Esta stood up and shook out the skirts of her black riding habit. "Where did I set my jacket?" She smiled as Trul fetched it from the bed, and allowed her maid to help her into it and fasten the gold buttons. "I'll be back before evening bells. Be ready, because I'll have to change in a hurry. Have a quick wash ready, I'm sure I'll need it."
"Of course, of course." Trul shooed her off. "Just see you keep that hair clean!"
Esta laughed as she entered the hallway, nodding politely to a few passing servants. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the colored glass windows, adding strange patterns to the blue carpet lining the hallway. She hummed the tune to her favorite waltz as she walked.
Passing by a window, she paused. Outside was a glaring lack of green. A few trees clung pathetically to a few of their yellow and orange leaves, but overall everything had turned gray and brown and flat. Clouds filled the distant sky, promising that soon all that barren land would be filled with snow. Once it fell, there would be no going anywhere. It also meant the soldiers would be returning, free until spring forced them back to the battlefield.
Sometimes she wondered why they bothered to continue fighting. More often than not it seemed childish, compulsory. Unfortunately, she knew all too well why it continued, and wished she didn't.
Forcefully resuming her humming, Esta continued through the palace. She ran over all that must be done before that evening, silently offering prayers and wishes for a smooth afternoon.
A familiar voice broke into her mulling. "Esta," Prince Matthias said, and bowed. He smiled.
And despite her ongoing frustrations, Esta had to smile back. "Matthias," she greeted. Then she glared. "My servant is spreading unamusing rumors. I assume, of course, that they are merely rumors."
"Of course," Matthias said immediately. “I would never dare to hint that I’m angling to make you the Grand Lady of the Yuletide ball. Not on my life.”
Esta glowered. Had they been alone she might have given into the temptation to hit him. Matthias might be the classic idea of royal beauty, and that smile was lethal on the unsuspecting – even occasionally those who should know better. More than once growing up she'd found a frog in her pocket or a snake in her bed. "It had better be a rumor," she replied. "What are you doing about now, anyway? Court shouldn't be out of session yet. They talk longer than that."
"Don't I know it," Matthias said. Around him his retainers chuckled. "I told them I had more urgent matters."
"Like spreading rumors."
Matthias turned and grinned at the nearest of his retainers. Duke Kalan of Ferra had been his friend nearly as long as Esta. "I'm in trouble."
"It's remarkable you noticed for once," Kalan replied. "I told you extra sleep would do wonders."
Laughter filled the hallway. Esta rolled her eyes. "I will leave you men to amuse yourselves. No doubt I will see you this evening."
"Easy journey, Esta." Matthias grabbed her hand as she passed and squeezed it briefly. They shared a look, and Esta squeezed back.
"Stay out of trouble, Matthias." Esta said, and left them.
She encountered no other interruptions on her way to the back of the castle, and the garden was empty - everyone off preparing for the night's festivities. Humming softly, Esta wove her way through the garden to the very back, slipping out a hidden door and locking it behind her. The gold key - one of only three that existed - was slipped back into its hidden pocket in her black riding skirt. From the pocket of her jacket she pulled out a pair of soft, black gloves. Her fingers trailed lightly along the stone wall as she traveled down a short, set of stairs.
At the bottom was a tunnel. The underground road had taken many men many years to construct. Done in utmost secrecy at the command of Matthias's great-grandfather. From memory and habit Esta lit a torch.
It was damp, and smelled of mold and age and stale air. Not quite as bad as the dungeons she and her friends had sneaked a look at when they were young, but very nearly. Zero light, and no sign beyond the torchlight that the tunnel was ever used. An endless path of shadow. When her mother had first begun to teach her what must be done, Esta had cried the entire four mile journey. Not once in those first trips had she let go of her mother’s skirt. She’d been eight.
The fear never died; it merely shifted from fear of the strange to fear of the all too familiar. Every time she did it, she thought this time I won’t be scared.
And she was always wrong. Humming, Esta forced her feet to move. On and on she walked; the two mile journey always seemed like ten no matter how many times she did.
Usually once a day. Sometimes twice. Always with the hope that each journey would be her last. That someday they would find the Breaker.
But it was a dim hope. After so long, what were the chances?
She continued walking, the unrelenting dark broken only occasionally by torches left burning by the owner of the third key. He did not have access to the door at the tunnel's end, but Matthias had made sure the man was more than capable of taking care of the tunnel. He liked her walking the dark road even less than she did.
The humming shifted between different dance tunes, and mentally she spun around the ballroom on the arm of a mysterious, exotic stranger. Someone different. Exciting. Who liked to dance and didn't care about who her friends were and the power she held. A man who simply wanted to dance and then stroll through the rose garden.
Well, soon enough she would have a suitable dance partner again. Even if she did have to brow beat Iah into it every single time. Her mood cheered as she thought of her brother, who despite his soldiering life never failed to find something to smile about. And who could make her smile no matter what. Every now and then her steps were interrupted by a quick dance step.
By the end of the two mile walk, much of her anxiety had been soothed away. As always, dancing eased everything. Taking a deep breath, Esta set her torch in a sconce and withdrew a silver key from a second hidden pocket.
The door clicked open, the sound resoundingly loud in the dead silence of the tunnel.
Inside was a room full of pale silver light. Rather, a light was at the center and reflected off the crystal lining the chamber.
The source of the light was a large, round crystal - or at least the object looked crystal. What it actually was no one who could know remembered. So many details had been lost. Holding the crystal in place was a man. He sat, unmoving, in a chair carved from the same rough crystal that lined the chamber. His age was hard to determine. Esta knew he was now twenty-eight.
Five years younger than his brother.
His name had been Benji.
Now he was only Keeper.
His pale green eyes were open but saw nothing. In all but fact, the man once called Benji was dead. Were she to touch him, his skin would be like ice. Esta shivered. Never would she grow used to this-this-
Horror. Abomination. To think—
She turned away, and mentally reprimanded herself. Duties. She had duties. To which she must attend until the solution could be found.
But it still disgusted her, to think of what their ancestors had done. What had continued to be done, until the current King declared enough was enough. Maybe he and Matthias would fix it. At least they were trying.
Until then, she would do as her mother and grandmother had done and care for the Keeper. He did not age; did not move. The crystal that imprisoned him also cared for him. It was Esta’s duty to ensure that crystal and Keeper were never disturbed. Never altered.
Esta knelt and clasped her hands together. Her prayers were soft, as musical as her humming had been. They echoed around the chamber, adding a spark of warmth where usually there was only cold light.
She prayed for the Keeper, and all those who had Kept before him. And she prayed for the Breaker to come.
Eventually she stood, and began to move around the chamber, ensuring that all was as it should be. It was neither warm nor cool in the crystal chamber; not exactly pleasant…it simply was. As a child, she had been enchanted by the crystal. Had thought it magical.
And it was, but not magical the way a child thought of the word. There was nothing good here; only necessity. Desperation. Esta wished bitterly that her ancestors had thought a little harder. But she had not been in their position, so perhaps it was she who erred. Then again, Benji had been a sweet boy and a sweeter man. Now he was merely the newest Keeper.
The last one, the King's brother, had Kept for sixty years. So far Benji had been Keeper for ten years. She hoped there would not have to be an eleventh.
Her humming was somber on her return journey, completely at odds with her ever-increasing pace. She had lingered too long - it must be past evening bell by now.
Ignoring everyone she saw as she reached the palace proper, Esta raced for her room.
"You're late!" Trul howled at her. "Late! Late! Late! What in the world have you been up to?"
"Nothing, nothing. I'm sorry. Come - stop shouting and get me dressed. I'm already late; you needn't make things worse with your scolding."
Trul continued to mutter as they scrambled to get Esta ready. In record time Esta was shaking out the skirts of her gown while Trul arranged her hair.
A knock at the door startled them both. "Answer it," she said, and began to fuss with her own hair.
"Trul, step outside for a few minutes." Matthias's somber voice cut deep, for he was rarely anything but jovial. It was a quality that irked his father’s men to no end. They felt he took nothing seriously. Most days, Esta would agree with them.
But she would also be the first to say the King’s old retainers and advisors needed to remember how to laugh.
“Matti?” she asked when the door had closed, giving up on her hair and turning to face him. “What’s wrong?”
“Essie…”
“Just say it.” Esta started to feel sick. There was only so many things that could make Matthias so uncomfortable – miserable, to be more accurate.
“Esta…” Matthias stepped forward and took her hand. “The latest reports from the field have come in.”
Esta closed her eyes, holding his hand tight. “Please, no. Iah…he’s…is he?” She fisted her other hand to still it’s shaking, focusing on the sting of nails in skin to keep from screaming or crying.
“He’s missing,” Matthias said. “His commander Screamed. No one was left alive, they thought. But Iah was not accounted for. No one knows where he is. By all reports, he was there when the battle started…”
Her mind began to race as she processed the words. Iah wouldn’t abandon his men, nor would he back out of a battle. So unless something else was afoot, he’d been in the fight. Which meant he’d gone missing after.
There was no way to tell what had really happened.
Missing. Iah was missing. Possibly dead. Or worse. Oh, Goddess – if that were the only other option, she would almost rather him be dead. She needed more facts. “Who…who were they fighting?”
“Krians. Scarlet.”
If her eyes had not already been closed, she would have closed them then. Of course they’d been fighting the Scarlet. This close to winter would they waste their time on any other Krian force? “Why did they Scream?”
“We don’t know…” Matthias said. “The report came from a scout sent to search when Iah’s troop did not report at the border checkpoint as expected. He found them all dead, and no few Krians with them. Five hundred, roughly. And no sign of the Wolf.”
That was strange. Esta’s nails dug into Mathias’s hand. “Do you think?”
“I doubt it. Whatever happened, I do not think Iah is with the General. Don’t worry, Essie. I’ll keep pressing for information.”
Esta nodded. “Thank you for coming to tell me?”
“Will you be all right?"
"Yes," Esta said, and let him kiss her cheek. “Of course I will.”
Matthias frowned at her. “You’ll fret all night – or dance yourself sick to avoid fretting.”
“Don’t go all mother on me. Iah went off to war. I knew this was a possibility.” Esta nodded, mostly to herself. “And he’s not dead, right? So there’s no reason to worry…”
“Why don’t you just relax? I’ll make your excuses, if you like…”
Esta pulled her hand away and flicked his nose with her fingers. “You most certainly will not! Do I look like a milkmaid, to hide away crying in my room? Get going right this instant so I can finish getting ready.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Matthias kissed her cheek and slowly limped from the room.
"My lady?" Trul asked as she darted back inside. She immediately set to getting Esta ready, but her movements were automatic. "Is something wrong?"
"My brother is missing," Esta replied. She worried her lower lip.
"Duke Cehka is missing?" Trul drew a sharp breath, and dropped the hairpins she'd been holding.
"He's not a Duke anymore," Esta corrected automatically. "He gave it up, remember?" She sighed, and ignored Trul's questions as memories consumed her attention.
The fight between her brother and father - so fresh in her mind it still seemed as though it had happened only yesterday. Even now her father refused to leave their country estate, unable to bear that both his children had followed in their mother's footsteps.
Duty over all else.
Rescinded by both men, the title had passed to her. Esta didn't want it either, but it only made sense for her to have it. Not once had she ever doubted Iah knew that, though they'd never discussed it.
Esta closed her eyes to ward off tears. Would he come home? Safe? Whole?
What's wrong, Monkey?
Everything, Esta thought.
You're being a silly Monkey. Come on, let's go into town. I'll play a song and you can dance like a good little Monkey - then you'll be happy, I'll be rich and all will be well!
Esta smiled, and opened her eyes. "Trul, do I any of the lavender perfume left?"
Trul snorted. "I wasn't aware, my lady, that you ever let it run out."
"Shush and fetch it."
You smell pretty, mama.
Come close, Essie, and mama will make you smell pretty too and then papa can
admire both his ladies. How do you like that?
"Here you are, my lady." Trul dabbed the perfume on her, then began on the jewelry. The gold and silver necklace, a matching bracelet on her left wrist, a black ribbon for the war on her right, and a small tiara set on her head.
The gold and silver shone, the last perfect touch to her dress.
Esta touched the necklace.
Iah, what's that?
This? I found it, one day. After a battle.
You mean you lifted it off someone.
I did not! Anyway, don't you think it's pretty.
It has gems.
Diamonds are what the white ones are called, and the red one is a...ruby, I think.
You can't have that. It's against the rules.
It wasn't always. And I only kept it because I knew you'd like it.
I don't want it. Gems aren't allowed.
But they will be again someday. When we finally find the Breaker.
If, Iah.
When. Here, hand on to it for me, at least, if you don't want it. Maybe I'll give it to my wife instead someday.
You! With a wife! Don't make me laugh.
Stranger things have happened.
"You're all set, my lady. Best get a move on."
"Thank you, Trul. Take the night off, won't you? I shouldn't need any help undoing all this. But don't drink too much."
Trul winked at her in the mirror. "I only ever drink just enough, my lady."
"Enough to what?" Esta asked.
"To get into trouble."
Esta sighed. "Get on then. I will see you tomorrow. See I'm awake for breakfast."
"Yes, my lady. Don't think too much, hear? All that brooding scares the men away, and if you keep scaring them away you won't have a way to refuse your prince!"
"Oh, yes I will." Esta shooed her maid out the door, then locked it and wandered over to the window.
The sky was pitch black - no moon, no stars. Perhaps there would be snow as early as tomorrow. Esta made a note to double check that Trul had pulled all her winter wear from storage.
Was it cold where Iah was? Did he have a jacket? Somewhere warm to rest? A horse? What was he doing? Thinking? She was going to kill him when he returned. And then she was going to hold him and never let go. Stupid brothers. Her eyes burned and Esta forced her thoughts on the people waiting downstairs. She had duties to attend. There would be time for sentiment and fear later.
Duty before all else.
Chapter Five
Stars above he hated snow.
At least he hated snow in Kria. It was nothing like the snow he knew back home.
Snow in Salhara was soft and fell only briefly. It dusted everything, and usually was gone by the following morning. At worst, it was ankle-deep and lasted a few days. He recalled an ice-storm from when he was a child; but even that had melted away quickly. Snow usually only fell in the northern section of Salhara, so he had seen it only when winter was particularly bad.
Kria was something else entirely. The snow fell thick and heavy; he swore some of the flakes were nearly as large as the tip of his finger. It was a mystery to him how anyone survived in this weather. He shivered, wishing desperately for a fire and a vast quantity of blankets.
Of course, he seemed to be the only one so affected by the weather. He’d swear the bastard and his horse were enjoying themselves. That probably shouldn’t surprise him. Was von Adolwulf even feeling the cold? It certainly didn’t seem like he did. Beraht refused to relax against his captor, the heat that seemed to pour from him was all that kept him from freezing entirely.
Well, that and his cloak. Beraht had secured one of his own, and a great deal more in winter wear besides, from the strange temple they’d rested in for two days. But his cloak, though warm, was nothing like von Adolwulf’s. Where had he obtained it? It was heavy; made from at least two layers of thick wool, the end and shoulders trimmed with what Beraht had realized were at least two or three overlapping rows of wolf fur. It had been made with no small amount of skill. Beraht swore the snow just fell from it.
Maybe it was melting away. The man was certainly enough of a bastard. At least all that rage was good for something.
Beraht hunched his shoulders and glared at the road ahead. Not that he could see it, but he knew it was there.
Or hoped it was, anyway. It was a mystery to him how von Adolwulf knew where they were going. The logical thing would have been to take shelter until the weather cleared. It wasn’t like snow lasted forever. Then again, the Krians and the Illussor were pretty adamant about calling a halt when the snow started. And though it had been suggested, Salhara had never taken advantage of the opportunity to take the Disputed Lands.
Regenbogen, the Krians called it. Not that they ever did anything with it; just left the miles and miles of field to do as they pleased.
And what they usually pleased was to grow arcen. The flowers were fine – or had been before three countries took to fighting over the land. Stars forbid the Krians do something so crass as negotiate. What did they need the land for? They already had more than they knew what to do with.
He turned his thoughts away from the question that had plagued for years, for dwelling on it never did any good. What had started the war? Because the arcen fields had come later. Arcen was hard to grow, for the ground had to be rich and the season just right. The last few seasons had been hard; arcen was not as readily available. The Disputed Lands, even after being ravaged each year, somehow managed to recover over the course of the long Krian winter. If they could drive the Krians out once and for all, the fields would provide them with a reliable place to harvest arcen for years. Whatever was in the soil there, arcen loved it.
Which reminded him quite forcefully that he still was feeling the pangs of not having any arcen. The headaches were not as bad as they had been, those he could tolerate. No, it was the crawling sense of needing wanting aching for the tingling burn of arcen in his blood that was slowly driving him mad.
Beraht snorted. Slowly nothing. Between the withdrawal and his intolerable captor, insanity must surely be just a day or so away.
The snow was most definitely not helping. He muttered a few curses under his breath – in Krian, so that von Adolwulf knew exactly how he felt. Let the man beat him, throw him around, continue to force him on in this abominable weather. The last laugh would be his.
Laughter startled him from his grousing.
“Salharans are soft,” von Adolwulf said. “If you think this is bad, wait until winter arrives.”
“This is winter,” Beraht snapped. His voice was eerily loud, because for all that the snow fell in mass quantities around them, there was little noise. Not even a strong wind. Just the relentless fall of soft, thick snow. It muffled their words, but they still seemed loud.
Von Adolwulf laughed again. “Nonsense. This? Is merely the end of autumn. True winter does not begin for nearly another month. We should, in fact, be returning just in time for the festivities.”
“Festivities? To celebrate foul weather? How typically Krian.”
“Think as you like.”
Beraht subsided into silence. On the one hand, an end would mean he didn’t have to endure day after day of von Adolwulf’s company. On the other – what would happen to him once they reached their destination? Would he be back in chains? Locked in a dungeon? Tortured for information?
He couldn’t repress a shudder, and hoped von Adolwulf attributed it to the cold. They’d existed in a sort of stalemate for the past few days. Though he’d said nothing, it was clear that von Adolwulf was more interested in making good time than in torturing his prisoner.
Though he never missed a chance to torment him, either. Just hearing the bastard say his name set his teeth on edge and von Adolwulf knew it. Patience was all it took – one day he’d have the satisfaction of hearing his name rescinded, never to be spoken again. Then von Adolwulf would die, and he would return home to be given a proper name by his Seven Star Brothers.
A name and a place. And more besides, for all the information on the Krians which he would be able to provide. Those thoughts alone made the enduring of the thrice-cursed snow more than bearable.
Well, almost. He’d give a lot for fire and blankets. And something hot to drink.
Ahead of them was a steadily growing darkness, peeking between the flurries. Indistinct, looming. But as they drew closer Beraht realized they were approaching a forest. Only the second he’d seen since their journey had begun. Unlike before, however, these trees were the kind with which he was familiar. Naked, leaves dead and buried in a white grave. But the branches were large enough that the snow was not quite so bad – he could actually see more than unrelenting white.
Not much more, but it was a welcome change.
The silence was worse than ever. They well and truly seemed to be the only living things in the forest. How boring. Perhaps that was von Adolwulf’s goal; to torture him with sheer and abject boredom. Even fear of what lay ahead of him could not dissuade the boredom. Better to be doing something than nothing.
Von Adolwulf’s arm tightened around his waist, and pulled him close. “What—” Beraht’s furiously hissed words were cute off by a gloved hand placed firmly over his mouth.
“Silence,” von Adolwulf hissed in his ear. Beraht obeyed, reflexively. It was the tone of a commanding officer – there was no room for argument. He cursed at himself when he realized what he was doing. But when the hand withdrew, he stayed silent. “Don’t fall off the horse,” von Adolwulf added.
Beraht grit his teeth against a reply, though only because he heard von Adolwulf draw his sword.
None too soon, as shadows came from the snow. Steel sang against steel, breaking the silence of the forest. Then the world erupted into a flurry of movement, and Beraht heard more than saw the sickening sounds of men silenced by a sword.
Then the heat of von Adolwulf was gone as he dismounted, and Beraht realized with a hiss just how warm the man had really been. Stars above, what he would give to be out of the godforsaken cold! He hunched down on the horse’s back and watched as von Adolwulf dealt with what remained of…about six men.
The last he didn’t kill, though. Beraht felt sorry for him, as von Adolwulf yelled at the man. Though the man tried to yell back, Beraht could see he was far too frightened.
The words were nothing like the stiff, correct Krian he’d been speaking. That, he realized suddenly, von Adolwulf had been using as well. Whatever he was speaking to the bandit was completely different. It wasn’t even like the stuff used by the soldiers he used to listen to. They’d spoken roughly, but clearly. Trained soldiers coming from all walks of life, who had settled on a dialect all could understand.
But this…this was guttural and liquid at the same time. Like melting snow or an ice-cold stream. It was completely different from anything he’d ever heard. He couldn’t understand what was being said, though he knew von Adolwulf’s tone well enough by now to know that he was glad it wasn’t him.
He looked on unmoving as von Adolwulf finally killed the man, painting the ground red as he threw the body aside and cleaned his sword.
Beraht eyed the sword. It seemed longer than most, though he couldn’t be sure. The one thing he was sure of was that the sword was of exceptional quality – something about it just seemed to declare that. It also shimmered strangely, but most likely that was merely a combination of melted snow and sunlight. Von Adolwulf sheathed his sword and mounted, and in seconds they were continuing as though nothing had happened.
“Bandits?” He was suddenly glaringly aware of how wretched his Krian truly was. He’d learned from the battlefield, from those few comrades who were fluent and willing to teach, and from listening to Krian soldiers as he snuck around their camps committing sabotage and murder. He’d been proud of it, even knowing he was far from skilled. Now he felt the sting of knowing exactly how awful he was. Which shouldn’t matter, but was one more slap in the face. On top of that, von Adolwulf had been speaking at his level the entire time. A sly mockery he had not bothered to pick up on ‘til now. The bastard had probably been laughing at him the whole time.
“Yes,” von Adolwulf replied. His Krian was what Beraht was familiar with; nothing like what he’d spoken to the dead men. “They thought us traveling nobles.”
Beraht snorted. “What sort of noble travels alone?”
A sneer entered von Adolwulf’s voice. “A real one. They are wealthy enough they need bring nothing but themselves when they travel to the Winter Palace. What sense does it make to travel with wagons and servants in this weather?”
“What sense does it make to travel in this weather? Only a stupid Krian would consider this ideal.” Beraht gave into impulse and drove his elbows back, dissatisfied to hear only a brief grunt.
Then von Adolwulf grabbed the back of his head, pulling hard and turning it so that they were eye to eye. “I have been generous because of the weather, Beraht. Do not think I’ll hesitate to beat you senseless if I feel it necessary. While I’m sure you’re plenty strong for a Salharan,” the words were sneered. “You are little more than a petulant child to me.” The hand tightened in his hair, and Beraht choked on a hiss of pain.
“As to the weather – there is no choice. The snow falls so every year, at about this time. The Winter Princess is cold, but she is dependable.” Von Adolwulf laughed.
Beraht muttered a few choice curses – in Salharan. He did not relish being tossed into the snow, which he suspected would be von Adolwulf’s next method of warning him. “So why on earth do Krians decide to move now?”
“Most move well before now,” von Adolwulf said after a moment. “We are late, not least of all because I am trying to make sure that no one else comes after you.” The hand roughly let go of his hair and Beraht resettled his hood. “And for many, if they did not move to the palace the weather would kill them – usually from starvation.” A pause. “We cannot all be soft Salharans and enjoy the sun all year long.”
“At least it keeps us from turning into blood-thirsty bastards.” Beraht realized too late that he should have kept his mouth shut.
Snow was even colder when you landed in a pile of it – and it was only the snow that probably kept him from breaking or twisting something. Von Adolwulf loomed over him. “Bloodthirsty? Krians?” He grabbed Beraht and shook him hard; the world spun around in drunken circles. “Who is it always seeking to steal our land? At least we fight honestly, instead of hiding behind drugs and slinking around in the dark. Bloodthirsty? Perhaps. But at least I am no coward.”
“Just a bastard,” Beraht hissed, and lashed out to kick von Adolwulf off his feet as he let go. Clearly the cold was shutting down his ability to think, if he’d actually thought that might work. “Let me go!” He thrashed without effect, tangled in his own clothes and pinned by von Adolwulf.
“Behave, Beraht. I would hate to have to tie you up for the rest of the journey. You’ve been behaving so well.” His face said he knew exactly how mad he was making Beraht. “Do you want to travel trussed up and thrown over my saddle like the worthless mongrel you are?”
Beraht snarled a few Salharan curses, which turned into cries of pain as von Adolwulf hauled him roughly to his feet. More bruises. His body was starting to forget what it was like not to have them. “Let me go,” he said sullenly.
“Stupid Salharan,” von Adolwulf said with one of his hard laughs. He all but threw Beraht back up onto the horse.
The gloomy silence that had existed most of the day returned and Beraht was left alone with his thoughts and a fresh set of pains to endure.
And always the unending white. It was a wonder to him they could still move. But von Adolwulf’s horse seemed as unaffected by the weather as his master. Monsters both of them. “How do you even know where we’re going?” he asked when the silence grew too grating. If Adolwulf wanted him to shut up, no doubt he’d let him know. “After your little chat with the cold, starving, bandits there was no telling what our direction was.”
Von Adolwulf snorted in contempt. “The horse knows.”
“Oh, of course. How stupid of me. Trust a horse as equally blinded by the weather as us to know where to go. Too much longer and the snow will be too deep to move.”
“Then it is a good thing that we will be stopping soon, isn’t it? Give it a little longer, Salharan, and you will see our shelter for the evening.”
“Another temple? Or are you going to terrify a farmer’s family out of their home?”
Fingers wrapped around his throat and dug in. The leather was cold and stiff, and the hand beneath it was strong. Beraht found it harder to breathe than ever. “I think it would be healthier for you, Beraht, if you kept your mouth shut. Your suffering does not trouble me at all, but I would be willing to bet it troubles you.” Von Adolwulf pressed tighter for a moment, then abruptly let go.
Beraht coughed and gasped for air, holding his hand to his throat. Already he could feel the bruises forming. As if the cold did not make it hard enough to breathe, now this. “Bastard.”
There was no reply.
Dieter was relieved to see that not all the stores had been depleted. Ludwig was a lazy bastard and he would not have put it past the man to leave the place empty.
The building, two stories and immense, was a resting lodge for soldiers and other large groups traveling westward for the winter. General Ludwig von Eisenberg of the Cobalt army was in charge of protecting the far eastern border, while General Egon von Kortig of the Verdant Army guarded the western. General Heilwig von Dresner of the Saffron Army protected Kaiser Benno and the palace. The Scarlet Army waged the bulk of the war at the south edge, where all three countries intersected. The bulk of the Scarlet, Cobalt and Verdant armies stayed behind in their individual fortresses to continue their duties during the press of winter. Only the Saffron never saw the battlefront, and every winter the Generals were required to attend their Kaiser.
Right now the lodge should be crammed to bursting with the five hundred men who usually returned home with him – something considered a privilege. Instead he had only the man responsible for their deaths to keep him company and a grim homecoming to look forward to. Dieter cast the thought aside as idle and began to prepare to bed down. When they left here in the morning, they would be no more than three days away – and the road heavily traveled, so it would not be as hard a journey as it had been before now.
There would also be people, which he had been avoiding. But it could not be put off forever. Let the bastards come; he’d been waiting far longer than they. “Nothing here will bite you,” he jeered, eyeing the way Beraht lingered in the doorway.
Beraht ignored him, save for a few muttered Salharan curses, and wandered inside. It was, in their long journey, the only building that wasn’t a hole in the ground or an empty farmhouse. No doubt it irked him to see that the Krians were more civilized than he wanted them to be.
“Make yourself at home, Beraht.” Dieter wandered down the hall, past the small rooms for housing soldiers and into one of four special rooms reserved for the generals or whatever lord had decided to stop. He lit the lamps; four of them, scattered around the room.
A proper bed, which was the second thing he most missed about always being on the battlefield. And clean. He was so very tired of being filthy.
The bathing chamber was clean at least – most likely because Ludwig had not troubled himself with something so bothersome as cleanliness. Dieter exited briefly to fetch his erstwhile prisoner, whom he found in one of the smaller bedrooms. “Come,” he said, then strode out and stalked back down the hallway.
He heard Beraht follow, and closed the door behind him. “We will stay here tonight. Tomorrow we will reach the capital.” A vicious grin. “Are you looking forward to it, Beraht?”
Beraht ignored him. He strode across the room and began to remove his winter gear, hanging up the cloak and gloves and extra layers on various hooks intended for the purpose. Then he sat down on a nearby chair and began the laborious process of removing his high boots.
Dieter shrugged out of his own cumbersome cloak. He valued it nearly as much as his sword, but the thing was heavy. When he’d first begun wearing it, at only sixteen years of age – and he was more than double that now, how tiring – it had been too heavy. He’d been forced to damn near freeze to death until he scrounged up something he could wear and fight in.
By eighteen, however, it was perfect, and minimal repair had been required over the years. It had been made by a master of the craft and, like the man who had made his sword, she was no longer alive to make another.
More idle thoughts. Dieter snorted in contempt and unbuckled his sword belt. He carried it with him as he went into the bathing room.
Not a real bathing room, not like the one waiting for him in the palace, but it was better than what he’d endured so far. Discarding his clothes, which reeked of sweat and dirt and too many days spent on a horse – with a Salharan – and cast them aside. Nobles and soldiers kept all they needed in the stops along the way. Something he had tried to explain to the ignorant prisoner with no avail.
Quickly Dieter scrubbed himself clean, steeling himself against the cold water used to rinse off. Ignoring the chill, he sat at the edge of the cold bath to shave. The small mirror showed that he would need a good night’s rest when the journey finally ended.
It was almost impressive that the little Salharan had managed to more or less keep pace. But then again, anger and fear made good motivators and Dieter made sure both persisted in gnawing away at Beraht. Combined with the fact that he did little to keep him confined, the Salharan was no doubt quite off balance.
Dieter intended to keep him that way. It would make for one less problem in the coming days.
At the back of the bathing room was a smaller room used for storing belongings. Several trunks ran the length of three sides. Dieter flipped open one against the back wall and rifled through it for the clothing he needed. Pulling on his underclothes, Dieter then drew on a pair of breeches old enough they fit him perfectly, followed by a white undershirt and then a heavier one of a deep, rich red. Over all this he pulled a sleeveless tunic, black except for fine red trim at the bottom and the crest over his chest – a triad of scarlet and gold leaves.
He reentered the main bedroom. Beraht stood by the window, staring out at the snow. Dieter wondered what he found so fascinating in something he clearly hated. “I don’t recommend running.”
“The snow is more appealing than your company, but I’m not ready to leave quite yet.” Beraht turned to glare at him. “As I’ve said before – you’ll be begging me to leave when I’m done.”
“Words are nothing but noisy air when there are no actions to back them up. Would you like to fight me again?” Dieter goaded. “You’re getting quite good at living without pollution – you can almost swing a punch correctly.”
Beraht twitched but otherwise held still. “When you die, the place where your star should have been will be nothing but an empty space in the sky.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’ve no interest in my soul becoming a star,” Dieter returned. “Get clean.”
Grumbling and muttering, Beraht nevertheless obeyed. Even a Salharan, it seemed, could be taught one or two tricks. All it took was dumping water on his head a few times. Dieter laughed to himself, then turned his attention to other matters.
How to figure out what the Illussor had been up to trying to take a Salharan…prisoner? Or had it been some sort of rescue attempt? His face clouded as the thought occurred to him. What was the name floated about for the rumored Illussor spy? Spiegel. That was it. Could Beraht be Spiegel?
Dieter dismissed the thought in the next instant. No. Excluding how obstinate Beraht had been over the matter of a name, he did not have the temper or control of a spy at all. He could be acting, but Dieter doubted it. The man angered far too easily, and lashed out too quickly for it to be a farce.
He hung his cape on the remaining hooks on the wall, but his boots and sword he carried to the bed – the boots to set beside it and the sword closer to hand.
Outside the world was black. The snow had eased and finally stopped throughout the course of the day. Night fell quickly now; they’d traveled two hours in the dark. Not even the moon had been out to guide them. He’d ensured Drache was well tended and fed before permitting himself rest. Perhaps he could see that he went to a farm, rather than to another soldier, when everything was over.
Dieter’s fingers flitted to his sword, and he rubbed a thumb along the red jewel in the pommel. A moment later he rose and stalked from the room.
The kitchen was mostly barren – no one would be coming through here now, so it would not need to be restocked until the snow melted in spring. Only the basics remained, but it was more than enough. Dieter frowned as he came across a heavy, earthen jug. He pulled the cork and smelled – then threw the bottle across the room and watched as it shattered into pieces. The scent of dark wine filled the room, mingling with the lingering smells of fire and roasted meat and too many men.
Taking the food, Dieter grabbed a jug of water and stormed back toward his room.
Beraht was by the window again, hair dripping onto the clothes he had stolen – brown breeches and a too-long green tunic cinched at his hips. How did such a slight man survive so long at war? Snapping him in half wouldn’t even be a challenge.
He dropped the food on the table and helped himself. “Hoping to be rescued, Beraht?”
“How further have we to go before we reach this wretched palace of yours” Beraht asked, ignoring the mocking question.
“We are only a day from the Winter Palace.”
“Does this palace have a name, or is that giving Krians too much creativity?”
Dieter shrugged. “It is the Winter Palace.”
Beraht rolled his eyes. Wandering over to the table, he helped himself to the bread and sausage set out. “I don’t suppose you heathens keep wine about this place, do you? That’s the least I deserve after all this.”
“A prisoner deserves nothing,” Dieter said. “You should be grateful that I treat you as well as I do.”
“Well? I’ve got bruises and cuts in thirty different places, all because you think the way to end a conversation is with violence.”
Dieter laughed. “It shuts you up, doesn’t it? And I will gladly make it fifty if you do not shut up right now.” He laughed again when Beraht fell silent.
He let his mind wander for a bit, giving it a chance to clear. Gradually he brought his attention back around to the question of Beraht and the Illussor. It was strange behavior for the Illussor, who seemed to fight for no apparent reason. The war over Regenbogen was between Kria and Salhara. Why the Illussor had gotten involved was a reason lost before his time. They appeared infrequently, and usually only to ensure the war was not getting too close to Illussor territory.
Then again, with their nasty little mind-trick, there was really no telling how often they appeared. So basically he knew nothing useful. No doubt it was something that made sense only to magic-tainted minds.
“What is your etiquette on prisoners? I can’t imagine this sort of journey is standard fare, though really you should consider adding it to your repertoire of tortures.”
Dieter continued eating, unfazed. He finished a length of sausage before bothering to answer. “Most are given nothing but water and kept bound. I may yet do the same to you, Beraht.”
“You’re just infuriated that I managed to kill so many of Kria’s best soldiers – well, supposedly the best.”
Dishes and food flew about as Dieter upended the small table and pinned Beraht to the floor with it, resting his weight until he knew the man could barely breathe, and was in excruciating pain. Not quite enough weight to break anything. “How do you like it? Pinned and helpless, your life completely in my control? Feeling angry? Scared? Want to kill me? My men died in their sleep – they had as much chance to save their own lives as you do right now. At least you had some warning. If you killed my men, Salharan filth, it is because you were a coward about it.” In one smooth move Dieter rose, threw the table aside, then reached down and hauled Beraht to his feet. “Do not doubt for one second that I won’t make you suffer. Every day for the rest of your life, you will regret killing my men as you did.”
Though sore and shaken and gasping for breath, Beraht lashed out to drive the man back. It had no effect. Dieter threw him on the bed. “You keep talking about this suffering – but beyond your usual crass behavior, bloodthirsty Krian, I’ve yet to suffer.”
Dieter threw his head back and laughed. “You don’t think it’s punishing enough to spend the rest of your life as my prisoner, Beraht? To know that until the day you die, you are mine. For the rest of your life, you will be in Kria. Under my control. Bearing the name I gave you. I do not understand the Salharan obsession with names, but I know you despise that I named you. That will serve nicely, or at least until I think of something worse.”
He’d expected a fight, but Beraht merely turned away and lay on his stomach in bed, staring out the window on the far side of the room. Dieter sneered at his back, then turned to clean up the mess he’d made of the food. When the table was righted, he blew out the lamps and sat at the table, mulling over events past, present and future.
When he was certain Beraht was fast asleep, he climbed into the empty side of the bed and eventually fell asleep, one hand on his sword.
Prologue & Chapter One
Chapter Two & Three
Chapter Four
"Lady Esta!" A breathless maid all but fell over in her haste to deliver her message.
Esta smiled at her in the mirror. "A lady walks, Trul."
"That's because if they run, their skirts'll have'em going downside-up."
Laughing, Esta set aside her brush and stood up. "What has you running in here like a cat fleeing the kitchen with a scrap in its mouth?"
"A really tasty scrap," Trul replied. She licked her lips for effect, making Esta shake her head and chuckle. "Rumors have it you're going to be appointed the Grand Lady of the winter ball!"
Esta's amusement died. "I don't want to be the Grand Lady."
Trul rolled her eyes. "But my lady! Everyone knows the prince has his eye on you! Why are you so recalcitrant?"
"Recalcitrant?" Esta quirked a brow. "Have you been slipping into the beds of library boys again, Trul?"
"They're so cute." Trul said, and gave a grand sigh. "You don't know whether to love them or tuck them in and read them stories." She leered. "But they generally make their preference clear."
Esta was forced to laugh. "Trul!" She reprimanded gently. "My delicate ears!"
Trul snorted, then manhandled Esta back into her seat. She grabbed the brush from the dressing table and, completely at odds with her rough mannerisms, began gently to brush out Esta's floor length, white-gold hair. "How did you want it, my lady?"
"Braided and bound. I don't want it getting dirty while I'm out; I won't have time to wash it again before tonight." Esta sighed and began to play with the jewelry spread out across her vanity table. Beautiful, ornate weavings of gold and silver. Gold chain, so delicate in places it looked as though it had been made by a spider of rare ability. Interspersed with silver roses of equal beauty. Her dress for that night would be of frosted pink silk, accented at the raised waist and hem with a slightly darker pink. With her hair decorated with more gold and silver roses, she would make her mark.
And feel utterly nothing for it. She detested the endless parties, and never a man that wanted truly to dance with her. Esta sighed, and studied her face in the mirror.
It was a stern face, but she knew it was also pretty. Features not so delicate as was preferred in women, but the added strength helped lend authority. Her skin was perfect, flawless and fair. Eyes pale blue. She scowled. Behind her Trul chuckled. "Practicing to scare off the men again, my lady?"
"No need," Esta said with a grimace. "They all frighten easily enough anyway, except for the one I want to scare off and he knows all my tricks."
Trul tsked at her. "Only my lady would begrudge having the prince for a friend." She set the brush aside and began to weave the long hair into an intricate braid. Her voice was tart as she continued, "and he's angling for more than that. Yet here you sit scowling!"
"Don't start up again," Esta said tiredly. "Friends do not make for good lovers. He's just too lazy to find someone else. I don't want to be a queen. I would be terrible at it."
An unladylike snort was Trul's only response, her mouth too full of hairpins to reply properly.
Esta frowned and began to toy with bottles of perfume, deliberating on which she would wear that night. Rose, perhaps. Mathis hated her rose perfume.
Honestly, what was he thinking? Her the Grand Lady. She was going to kill him.
Of the five dukedoms that had once existed, only two remained. The other three titles and lands had been reclaimed by the crown. It made sense, then, that the remaining two dukedoms were close to the royal family. Iah and Esta had been the prince’s playmates growing up, alongside Kalan, the only other child of a Duke.
Three boys that had done their very best to torment the only girl in their little group. Later, as the group expanded, they still had done their best to torment her. Though somewhere along the way it had been made clear to all the other boys that they were the only three allowed to do so. And when Kalan had drifted off into government and finances, and her brother had taken himself off to fight, Matthias had remained – perhaps not by choice, but he was there all the same. When her father and Iah had both decided to surrender the title, Matthias had seen it went to her.
It was a pity he was trying to ruin a good friendships with something as silly as romance.
So definitely the rose perfume. That would make it clear where she stood, as her words seldom had any impact. “I really would make an awful queen.”
Trul rolled her eyes. "Yes, my lady." She shoved the last hairpin into place and stood back to admire her handiwork. The braid, done by dividing the hair into seven sections and weaving them slowly together, shortened it by several inches. With judicious use of hairpins and a few ribbons, the mass coiled and looped around the back of her head in an elegant, complicated knot. "You're ready."
"Thank you, Trul." Esta stood up and shook out the skirts of her black riding habit. "Where did I set my jacket?" She smiled as Trul fetched it from the bed, and allowed her maid to help her into it and fasten the gold buttons. "I'll be back before evening bells. Be ready, because I'll have to change in a hurry. Have a quick wash ready, I'm sure I'll need it."
"Of course, of course." Trul shooed her off. "Just see you keep that hair clean!"
Esta laughed as she entered the hallway, nodding politely to a few passing servants. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the colored glass windows, adding strange patterns to the blue carpet lining the hallway. She hummed the tune to her favorite waltz as she walked.
Passing by a window, she paused. Outside was a glaring lack of green. A few trees clung pathetically to a few of their yellow and orange leaves, but overall everything had turned gray and brown and flat. Clouds filled the distant sky, promising that soon all that barren land would be filled with snow. Once it fell, there would be no going anywhere. It also meant the soldiers would be returning, free until spring forced them back to the battlefield.
Sometimes she wondered why they bothered to continue fighting. More often than not it seemed childish, compulsory. Unfortunately, she knew all too well why it continued, and wished she didn't.
Forcefully resuming her humming, Esta continued through the palace. She ran over all that must be done before that evening, silently offering prayers and wishes for a smooth afternoon.
A familiar voice broke into her mulling. "Esta," Prince Matthias said, and bowed. He smiled.
And despite her ongoing frustrations, Esta had to smile back. "Matthias," she greeted. Then she glared. "My servant is spreading unamusing rumors. I assume, of course, that they are merely rumors."
"Of course," Matthias said immediately. “I would never dare to hint that I’m angling to make you the Grand Lady of the Yuletide ball. Not on my life.”
Esta glowered. Had they been alone she might have given into the temptation to hit him. Matthias might be the classic idea of royal beauty, and that smile was lethal on the unsuspecting – even occasionally those who should know better. More than once growing up she'd found a frog in her pocket or a snake in her bed. "It had better be a rumor," she replied. "What are you doing about now, anyway? Court shouldn't be out of session yet. They talk longer than that."
"Don't I know it," Matthias said. Around him his retainers chuckled. "I told them I had more urgent matters."
"Like spreading rumors."
Matthias turned and grinned at the nearest of his retainers. Duke Kalan of Ferra had been his friend nearly as long as Esta. "I'm in trouble."
"It's remarkable you noticed for once," Kalan replied. "I told you extra sleep would do wonders."
Laughter filled the hallway. Esta rolled her eyes. "I will leave you men to amuse yourselves. No doubt I will see you this evening."
"Easy journey, Esta." Matthias grabbed her hand as she passed and squeezed it briefly. They shared a look, and Esta squeezed back.
"Stay out of trouble, Matthias." Esta said, and left them.
She encountered no other interruptions on her way to the back of the castle, and the garden was empty - everyone off preparing for the night's festivities. Humming softly, Esta wove her way through the garden to the very back, slipping out a hidden door and locking it behind her. The gold key - one of only three that existed - was slipped back into its hidden pocket in her black riding skirt. From the pocket of her jacket she pulled out a pair of soft, black gloves. Her fingers trailed lightly along the stone wall as she traveled down a short, set of stairs.
At the bottom was a tunnel. The underground road had taken many men many years to construct. Done in utmost secrecy at the command of Matthias's great-grandfather. From memory and habit Esta lit a torch.
It was damp, and smelled of mold and age and stale air. Not quite as bad as the dungeons she and her friends had sneaked a look at when they were young, but very nearly. Zero light, and no sign beyond the torchlight that the tunnel was ever used. An endless path of shadow. When her mother had first begun to teach her what must be done, Esta had cried the entire four mile journey. Not once in those first trips had she let go of her mother’s skirt. She’d been eight.
The fear never died; it merely shifted from fear of the strange to fear of the all too familiar. Every time she did it, she thought this time I won’t be scared.
And she was always wrong. Humming, Esta forced her feet to move. On and on she walked; the two mile journey always seemed like ten no matter how many times she did.
Usually once a day. Sometimes twice. Always with the hope that each journey would be her last. That someday they would find the Breaker.
But it was a dim hope. After so long, what were the chances?
She continued walking, the unrelenting dark broken only occasionally by torches left burning by the owner of the third key. He did not have access to the door at the tunnel's end, but Matthias had made sure the man was more than capable of taking care of the tunnel. He liked her walking the dark road even less than she did.
The humming shifted between different dance tunes, and mentally she spun around the ballroom on the arm of a mysterious, exotic stranger. Someone different. Exciting. Who liked to dance and didn't care about who her friends were and the power she held. A man who simply wanted to dance and then stroll through the rose garden.
Well, soon enough she would have a suitable dance partner again. Even if she did have to brow beat Iah into it every single time. Her mood cheered as she thought of her brother, who despite his soldiering life never failed to find something to smile about. And who could make her smile no matter what. Every now and then her steps were interrupted by a quick dance step.
By the end of the two mile walk, much of her anxiety had been soothed away. As always, dancing eased everything. Taking a deep breath, Esta set her torch in a sconce and withdrew a silver key from a second hidden pocket.
The door clicked open, the sound resoundingly loud in the dead silence of the tunnel.
Inside was a room full of pale silver light. Rather, a light was at the center and reflected off the crystal lining the chamber.
The source of the light was a large, round crystal - or at least the object looked crystal. What it actually was no one who could know remembered. So many details had been lost. Holding the crystal in place was a man. He sat, unmoving, in a chair carved from the same rough crystal that lined the chamber. His age was hard to determine. Esta knew he was now twenty-eight.
Five years younger than his brother.
His name had been Benji.
Now he was only Keeper.
His pale green eyes were open but saw nothing. In all but fact, the man once called Benji was dead. Were she to touch him, his skin would be like ice. Esta shivered. Never would she grow used to this-this-
Horror. Abomination. To think—
She turned away, and mentally reprimanded herself. Duties. She had duties. To which she must attend until the solution could be found.
But it still disgusted her, to think of what their ancestors had done. What had continued to be done, until the current King declared enough was enough. Maybe he and Matthias would fix it. At least they were trying.
Until then, she would do as her mother and grandmother had done and care for the Keeper. He did not age; did not move. The crystal that imprisoned him also cared for him. It was Esta’s duty to ensure that crystal and Keeper were never disturbed. Never altered.
Esta knelt and clasped her hands together. Her prayers were soft, as musical as her humming had been. They echoed around the chamber, adding a spark of warmth where usually there was only cold light.
She prayed for the Keeper, and all those who had Kept before him. And she prayed for the Breaker to come.
Eventually she stood, and began to move around the chamber, ensuring that all was as it should be. It was neither warm nor cool in the crystal chamber; not exactly pleasant…it simply was. As a child, she had been enchanted by the crystal. Had thought it magical.
And it was, but not magical the way a child thought of the word. There was nothing good here; only necessity. Desperation. Esta wished bitterly that her ancestors had thought a little harder. But she had not been in their position, so perhaps it was she who erred. Then again, Benji had been a sweet boy and a sweeter man. Now he was merely the newest Keeper.
The last one, the King's brother, had Kept for sixty years. So far Benji had been Keeper for ten years. She hoped there would not have to be an eleventh.
Her humming was somber on her return journey, completely at odds with her ever-increasing pace. She had lingered too long - it must be past evening bell by now.
Ignoring everyone she saw as she reached the palace proper, Esta raced for her room.
"You're late!" Trul howled at her. "Late! Late! Late! What in the world have you been up to?"
"Nothing, nothing. I'm sorry. Come - stop shouting and get me dressed. I'm already late; you needn't make things worse with your scolding."
Trul continued to mutter as they scrambled to get Esta ready. In record time Esta was shaking out the skirts of her gown while Trul arranged her hair.
A knock at the door startled them both. "Answer it," she said, and began to fuss with her own hair.
"Trul, step outside for a few minutes." Matthias's somber voice cut deep, for he was rarely anything but jovial. It was a quality that irked his father’s men to no end. They felt he took nothing seriously. Most days, Esta would agree with them.
But she would also be the first to say the King’s old retainers and advisors needed to remember how to laugh.
“Matti?” she asked when the door had closed, giving up on her hair and turning to face him. “What’s wrong?”
“Essie…”
“Just say it.” Esta started to feel sick. There was only so many things that could make Matthias so uncomfortable – miserable, to be more accurate.
“Esta…” Matthias stepped forward and took her hand. “The latest reports from the field have come in.”
Esta closed her eyes, holding his hand tight. “Please, no. Iah…he’s…is he?” She fisted her other hand to still it’s shaking, focusing on the sting of nails in skin to keep from screaming or crying.
“He’s missing,” Matthias said. “His commander Screamed. No one was left alive, they thought. But Iah was not accounted for. No one knows where he is. By all reports, he was there when the battle started…”
Her mind began to race as she processed the words. Iah wouldn’t abandon his men, nor would he back out of a battle. So unless something else was afoot, he’d been in the fight. Which meant he’d gone missing after.
There was no way to tell what had really happened.
Missing. Iah was missing. Possibly dead. Or worse. Oh, Goddess – if that were the only other option, she would almost rather him be dead. She needed more facts. “Who…who were they fighting?”
“Krians. Scarlet.”
If her eyes had not already been closed, she would have closed them then. Of course they’d been fighting the Scarlet. This close to winter would they waste their time on any other Krian force? “Why did they Scream?”
“We don’t know…” Matthias said. “The report came from a scout sent to search when Iah’s troop did not report at the border checkpoint as expected. He found them all dead, and no few Krians with them. Five hundred, roughly. And no sign of the Wolf.”
That was strange. Esta’s nails dug into Mathias’s hand. “Do you think?”
“I doubt it. Whatever happened, I do not think Iah is with the General. Don’t worry, Essie. I’ll keep pressing for information.”
Esta nodded. “Thank you for coming to tell me?”
“Will you be all right?"
"Yes," Esta said, and let him kiss her cheek. “Of course I will.”
Matthias frowned at her. “You’ll fret all night – or dance yourself sick to avoid fretting.”
“Don’t go all mother on me. Iah went off to war. I knew this was a possibility.” Esta nodded, mostly to herself. “And he’s not dead, right? So there’s no reason to worry…”
“Why don’t you just relax? I’ll make your excuses, if you like…”
Esta pulled her hand away and flicked his nose with her fingers. “You most certainly will not! Do I look like a milkmaid, to hide away crying in my room? Get going right this instant so I can finish getting ready.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Matthias kissed her cheek and slowly limped from the room.
"My lady?" Trul asked as she darted back inside. She immediately set to getting Esta ready, but her movements were automatic. "Is something wrong?"
"My brother is missing," Esta replied. She worried her lower lip.
"Duke Cehka is missing?" Trul drew a sharp breath, and dropped the hairpins she'd been holding.
"He's not a Duke anymore," Esta corrected automatically. "He gave it up, remember?" She sighed, and ignored Trul's questions as memories consumed her attention.
The fight between her brother and father - so fresh in her mind it still seemed as though it had happened only yesterday. Even now her father refused to leave their country estate, unable to bear that both his children had followed in their mother's footsteps.
Duty over all else.
Rescinded by both men, the title had passed to her. Esta didn't want it either, but it only made sense for her to have it. Not once had she ever doubted Iah knew that, though they'd never discussed it.
Esta closed her eyes to ward off tears. Would he come home? Safe? Whole?
What's wrong, Monkey?
Everything, Esta thought.
You're being a silly Monkey. Come on, let's go into town. I'll play a song and you can dance like a good little Monkey - then you'll be happy, I'll be rich and all will be well!
Esta smiled, and opened her eyes. "Trul, do I any of the lavender perfume left?"
Trul snorted. "I wasn't aware, my lady, that you ever let it run out."
"Shush and fetch it."
You smell pretty, mama.
Come close, Essie, and mama will make you smell pretty too and then papa can
admire both his ladies. How do you like that?
"Here you are, my lady." Trul dabbed the perfume on her, then began on the jewelry. The gold and silver necklace, a matching bracelet on her left wrist, a black ribbon for the war on her right, and a small tiara set on her head.
The gold and silver shone, the last perfect touch to her dress.
Esta touched the necklace.
Iah, what's that?
This? I found it, one day. After a battle.
You mean you lifted it off someone.
I did not! Anyway, don't you think it's pretty.
It has gems.
Diamonds are what the white ones are called, and the red one is a...ruby, I think.
You can't have that. It's against the rules.
It wasn't always. And I only kept it because I knew you'd like it.
I don't want it. Gems aren't allowed.
But they will be again someday. When we finally find the Breaker.
If, Iah.
When. Here, hand on to it for me, at least, if you don't want it. Maybe I'll give it to my wife instead someday.
You! With a wife! Don't make me laugh.
Stranger things have happened.
"You're all set, my lady. Best get a move on."
"Thank you, Trul. Take the night off, won't you? I shouldn't need any help undoing all this. But don't drink too much."
Trul winked at her in the mirror. "I only ever drink just enough, my lady."
"Enough to what?" Esta asked.
"To get into trouble."
Esta sighed. "Get on then. I will see you tomorrow. See I'm awake for breakfast."
"Yes, my lady. Don't think too much, hear? All that brooding scares the men away, and if you keep scaring them away you won't have a way to refuse your prince!"
"Oh, yes I will." Esta shooed her maid out the door, then locked it and wandered over to the window.
The sky was pitch black - no moon, no stars. Perhaps there would be snow as early as tomorrow. Esta made a note to double check that Trul had pulled all her winter wear from storage.
Was it cold where Iah was? Did he have a jacket? Somewhere warm to rest? A horse? What was he doing? Thinking? She was going to kill him when he returned. And then she was going to hold him and never let go. Stupid brothers. Her eyes burned and Esta forced her thoughts on the people waiting downstairs. She had duties to attend. There would be time for sentiment and fear later.
Duty before all else.
Chapter Five
Stars above he hated snow.
At least he hated snow in Kria. It was nothing like the snow he knew back home.
Snow in Salhara was soft and fell only briefly. It dusted everything, and usually was gone by the following morning. At worst, it was ankle-deep and lasted a few days. He recalled an ice-storm from when he was a child; but even that had melted away quickly. Snow usually only fell in the northern section of Salhara, so he had seen it only when winter was particularly bad.
Kria was something else entirely. The snow fell thick and heavy; he swore some of the flakes were nearly as large as the tip of his finger. It was a mystery to him how anyone survived in this weather. He shivered, wishing desperately for a fire and a vast quantity of blankets.
Of course, he seemed to be the only one so affected by the weather. He’d swear the bastard and his horse were enjoying themselves. That probably shouldn’t surprise him. Was von Adolwulf even feeling the cold? It certainly didn’t seem like he did. Beraht refused to relax against his captor, the heat that seemed to pour from him was all that kept him from freezing entirely.
Well, that and his cloak. Beraht had secured one of his own, and a great deal more in winter wear besides, from the strange temple they’d rested in for two days. But his cloak, though warm, was nothing like von Adolwulf’s. Where had he obtained it? It was heavy; made from at least two layers of thick wool, the end and shoulders trimmed with what Beraht had realized were at least two or three overlapping rows of wolf fur. It had been made with no small amount of skill. Beraht swore the snow just fell from it.
Maybe it was melting away. The man was certainly enough of a bastard. At least all that rage was good for something.
Beraht hunched his shoulders and glared at the road ahead. Not that he could see it, but he knew it was there.
Or hoped it was, anyway. It was a mystery to him how von Adolwulf knew where they were going. The logical thing would have been to take shelter until the weather cleared. It wasn’t like snow lasted forever. Then again, the Krians and the Illussor were pretty adamant about calling a halt when the snow started. And though it had been suggested, Salhara had never taken advantage of the opportunity to take the Disputed Lands.
Regenbogen, the Krians called it. Not that they ever did anything with it; just left the miles and miles of field to do as they pleased.
And what they usually pleased was to grow arcen. The flowers were fine – or had been before three countries took to fighting over the land. Stars forbid the Krians do something so crass as negotiate. What did they need the land for? They already had more than they knew what to do with.
He turned his thoughts away from the question that had plagued for years, for dwelling on it never did any good. What had started the war? Because the arcen fields had come later. Arcen was hard to grow, for the ground had to be rich and the season just right. The last few seasons had been hard; arcen was not as readily available. The Disputed Lands, even after being ravaged each year, somehow managed to recover over the course of the long Krian winter. If they could drive the Krians out once and for all, the fields would provide them with a reliable place to harvest arcen for years. Whatever was in the soil there, arcen loved it.
Which reminded him quite forcefully that he still was feeling the pangs of not having any arcen. The headaches were not as bad as they had been, those he could tolerate. No, it was the crawling sense of needing wanting aching for the tingling burn of arcen in his blood that was slowly driving him mad.
Beraht snorted. Slowly nothing. Between the withdrawal and his intolerable captor, insanity must surely be just a day or so away.
The snow was most definitely not helping. He muttered a few curses under his breath – in Krian, so that von Adolwulf knew exactly how he felt. Let the man beat him, throw him around, continue to force him on in this abominable weather. The last laugh would be his.
Laughter startled him from his grousing.
“Salharans are soft,” von Adolwulf said. “If you think this is bad, wait until winter arrives.”
“This is winter,” Beraht snapped. His voice was eerily loud, because for all that the snow fell in mass quantities around them, there was little noise. Not even a strong wind. Just the relentless fall of soft, thick snow. It muffled their words, but they still seemed loud.
Von Adolwulf laughed again. “Nonsense. This? Is merely the end of autumn. True winter does not begin for nearly another month. We should, in fact, be returning just in time for the festivities.”
“Festivities? To celebrate foul weather? How typically Krian.”
“Think as you like.”
Beraht subsided into silence. On the one hand, an end would mean he didn’t have to endure day after day of von Adolwulf’s company. On the other – what would happen to him once they reached their destination? Would he be back in chains? Locked in a dungeon? Tortured for information?
He couldn’t repress a shudder, and hoped von Adolwulf attributed it to the cold. They’d existed in a sort of stalemate for the past few days. Though he’d said nothing, it was clear that von Adolwulf was more interested in making good time than in torturing his prisoner.
Though he never missed a chance to torment him, either. Just hearing the bastard say his name set his teeth on edge and von Adolwulf knew it. Patience was all it took – one day he’d have the satisfaction of hearing his name rescinded, never to be spoken again. Then von Adolwulf would die, and he would return home to be given a proper name by his Seven Star Brothers.
A name and a place. And more besides, for all the information on the Krians which he would be able to provide. Those thoughts alone made the enduring of the thrice-cursed snow more than bearable.
Well, almost. He’d give a lot for fire and blankets. And something hot to drink.
Ahead of them was a steadily growing darkness, peeking between the flurries. Indistinct, looming. But as they drew closer Beraht realized they were approaching a forest. Only the second he’d seen since their journey had begun. Unlike before, however, these trees were the kind with which he was familiar. Naked, leaves dead and buried in a white grave. But the branches were large enough that the snow was not quite so bad – he could actually see more than unrelenting white.
Not much more, but it was a welcome change.
The silence was worse than ever. They well and truly seemed to be the only living things in the forest. How boring. Perhaps that was von Adolwulf’s goal; to torture him with sheer and abject boredom. Even fear of what lay ahead of him could not dissuade the boredom. Better to be doing something than nothing.
Von Adolwulf’s arm tightened around his waist, and pulled him close. “What—” Beraht’s furiously hissed words were cute off by a gloved hand placed firmly over his mouth.
“Silence,” von Adolwulf hissed in his ear. Beraht obeyed, reflexively. It was the tone of a commanding officer – there was no room for argument. He cursed at himself when he realized what he was doing. But when the hand withdrew, he stayed silent. “Don’t fall off the horse,” von Adolwulf added.
Beraht grit his teeth against a reply, though only because he heard von Adolwulf draw his sword.
None too soon, as shadows came from the snow. Steel sang against steel, breaking the silence of the forest. Then the world erupted into a flurry of movement, and Beraht heard more than saw the sickening sounds of men silenced by a sword.
Then the heat of von Adolwulf was gone as he dismounted, and Beraht realized with a hiss just how warm the man had really been. Stars above, what he would give to be out of the godforsaken cold! He hunched down on the horse’s back and watched as von Adolwulf dealt with what remained of…about six men.
The last he didn’t kill, though. Beraht felt sorry for him, as von Adolwulf yelled at the man. Though the man tried to yell back, Beraht could see he was far too frightened.
The words were nothing like the stiff, correct Krian he’d been speaking. That, he realized suddenly, von Adolwulf had been using as well. Whatever he was speaking to the bandit was completely different. It wasn’t even like the stuff used by the soldiers he used to listen to. They’d spoken roughly, but clearly. Trained soldiers coming from all walks of life, who had settled on a dialect all could understand.
But this…this was guttural and liquid at the same time. Like melting snow or an ice-cold stream. It was completely different from anything he’d ever heard. He couldn’t understand what was being said, though he knew von Adolwulf’s tone well enough by now to know that he was glad it wasn’t him.
He looked on unmoving as von Adolwulf finally killed the man, painting the ground red as he threw the body aside and cleaned his sword.
Beraht eyed the sword. It seemed longer than most, though he couldn’t be sure. The one thing he was sure of was that the sword was of exceptional quality – something about it just seemed to declare that. It also shimmered strangely, but most likely that was merely a combination of melted snow and sunlight. Von Adolwulf sheathed his sword and mounted, and in seconds they were continuing as though nothing had happened.
“Bandits?” He was suddenly glaringly aware of how wretched his Krian truly was. He’d learned from the battlefield, from those few comrades who were fluent and willing to teach, and from listening to Krian soldiers as he snuck around their camps committing sabotage and murder. He’d been proud of it, even knowing he was far from skilled. Now he felt the sting of knowing exactly how awful he was. Which shouldn’t matter, but was one more slap in the face. On top of that, von Adolwulf had been speaking at his level the entire time. A sly mockery he had not bothered to pick up on ‘til now. The bastard had probably been laughing at him the whole time.
“Yes,” von Adolwulf replied. His Krian was what Beraht was familiar with; nothing like what he’d spoken to the dead men. “They thought us traveling nobles.”
Beraht snorted. “What sort of noble travels alone?”
A sneer entered von Adolwulf’s voice. “A real one. They are wealthy enough they need bring nothing but themselves when they travel to the Winter Palace. What sense does it make to travel with wagons and servants in this weather?”
“What sense does it make to travel in this weather? Only a stupid Krian would consider this ideal.” Beraht gave into impulse and drove his elbows back, dissatisfied to hear only a brief grunt.
Then von Adolwulf grabbed the back of his head, pulling hard and turning it so that they were eye to eye. “I have been generous because of the weather, Beraht. Do not think I’ll hesitate to beat you senseless if I feel it necessary. While I’m sure you’re plenty strong for a Salharan,” the words were sneered. “You are little more than a petulant child to me.” The hand tightened in his hair, and Beraht choked on a hiss of pain.
“As to the weather – there is no choice. The snow falls so every year, at about this time. The Winter Princess is cold, but she is dependable.” Von Adolwulf laughed.
Beraht muttered a few choice curses – in Salharan. He did not relish being tossed into the snow, which he suspected would be von Adolwulf’s next method of warning him. “So why on earth do Krians decide to move now?”
“Most move well before now,” von Adolwulf said after a moment. “We are late, not least of all because I am trying to make sure that no one else comes after you.” The hand roughly let go of his hair and Beraht resettled his hood. “And for many, if they did not move to the palace the weather would kill them – usually from starvation.” A pause. “We cannot all be soft Salharans and enjoy the sun all year long.”
“At least it keeps us from turning into blood-thirsty bastards.” Beraht realized too late that he should have kept his mouth shut.
Snow was even colder when you landed in a pile of it – and it was only the snow that probably kept him from breaking or twisting something. Von Adolwulf loomed over him. “Bloodthirsty? Krians?” He grabbed Beraht and shook him hard; the world spun around in drunken circles. “Who is it always seeking to steal our land? At least we fight honestly, instead of hiding behind drugs and slinking around in the dark. Bloodthirsty? Perhaps. But at least I am no coward.”
“Just a bastard,” Beraht hissed, and lashed out to kick von Adolwulf off his feet as he let go. Clearly the cold was shutting down his ability to think, if he’d actually thought that might work. “Let me go!” He thrashed without effect, tangled in his own clothes and pinned by von Adolwulf.
“Behave, Beraht. I would hate to have to tie you up for the rest of the journey. You’ve been behaving so well.” His face said he knew exactly how mad he was making Beraht. “Do you want to travel trussed up and thrown over my saddle like the worthless mongrel you are?”
Beraht snarled a few Salharan curses, which turned into cries of pain as von Adolwulf hauled him roughly to his feet. More bruises. His body was starting to forget what it was like not to have them. “Let me go,” he said sullenly.
“Stupid Salharan,” von Adolwulf said with one of his hard laughs. He all but threw Beraht back up onto the horse.
The gloomy silence that had existed most of the day returned and Beraht was left alone with his thoughts and a fresh set of pains to endure.
And always the unending white. It was a wonder to him they could still move. But von Adolwulf’s horse seemed as unaffected by the weather as his master. Monsters both of them. “How do you even know where we’re going?” he asked when the silence grew too grating. If Adolwulf wanted him to shut up, no doubt he’d let him know. “After your little chat with the cold, starving, bandits there was no telling what our direction was.”
Von Adolwulf snorted in contempt. “The horse knows.”
“Oh, of course. How stupid of me. Trust a horse as equally blinded by the weather as us to know where to go. Too much longer and the snow will be too deep to move.”
“Then it is a good thing that we will be stopping soon, isn’t it? Give it a little longer, Salharan, and you will see our shelter for the evening.”
“Another temple? Or are you going to terrify a farmer’s family out of their home?”
Fingers wrapped around his throat and dug in. The leather was cold and stiff, and the hand beneath it was strong. Beraht found it harder to breathe than ever. “I think it would be healthier for you, Beraht, if you kept your mouth shut. Your suffering does not trouble me at all, but I would be willing to bet it troubles you.” Von Adolwulf pressed tighter for a moment, then abruptly let go.
Beraht coughed and gasped for air, holding his hand to his throat. Already he could feel the bruises forming. As if the cold did not make it hard enough to breathe, now this. “Bastard.”
There was no reply.
Dieter was relieved to see that not all the stores had been depleted. Ludwig was a lazy bastard and he would not have put it past the man to leave the place empty.
The building, two stories and immense, was a resting lodge for soldiers and other large groups traveling westward for the winter. General Ludwig von Eisenberg of the Cobalt army was in charge of protecting the far eastern border, while General Egon von Kortig of the Verdant Army guarded the western. General Heilwig von Dresner of the Saffron Army protected Kaiser Benno and the palace. The Scarlet Army waged the bulk of the war at the south edge, where all three countries intersected. The bulk of the Scarlet, Cobalt and Verdant armies stayed behind in their individual fortresses to continue their duties during the press of winter. Only the Saffron never saw the battlefront, and every winter the Generals were required to attend their Kaiser.
Right now the lodge should be crammed to bursting with the five hundred men who usually returned home with him – something considered a privilege. Instead he had only the man responsible for their deaths to keep him company and a grim homecoming to look forward to. Dieter cast the thought aside as idle and began to prepare to bed down. When they left here in the morning, they would be no more than three days away – and the road heavily traveled, so it would not be as hard a journey as it had been before now.
There would also be people, which he had been avoiding. But it could not be put off forever. Let the bastards come; he’d been waiting far longer than they. “Nothing here will bite you,” he jeered, eyeing the way Beraht lingered in the doorway.
Beraht ignored him, save for a few muttered Salharan curses, and wandered inside. It was, in their long journey, the only building that wasn’t a hole in the ground or an empty farmhouse. No doubt it irked him to see that the Krians were more civilized than he wanted them to be.
“Make yourself at home, Beraht.” Dieter wandered down the hall, past the small rooms for housing soldiers and into one of four special rooms reserved for the generals or whatever lord had decided to stop. He lit the lamps; four of them, scattered around the room.
A proper bed, which was the second thing he most missed about always being on the battlefield. And clean. He was so very tired of being filthy.
The bathing chamber was clean at least – most likely because Ludwig had not troubled himself with something so bothersome as cleanliness. Dieter exited briefly to fetch his erstwhile prisoner, whom he found in one of the smaller bedrooms. “Come,” he said, then strode out and stalked back down the hallway.
He heard Beraht follow, and closed the door behind him. “We will stay here tonight. Tomorrow we will reach the capital.” A vicious grin. “Are you looking forward to it, Beraht?”
Beraht ignored him. He strode across the room and began to remove his winter gear, hanging up the cloak and gloves and extra layers on various hooks intended for the purpose. Then he sat down on a nearby chair and began the laborious process of removing his high boots.
Dieter shrugged out of his own cumbersome cloak. He valued it nearly as much as his sword, but the thing was heavy. When he’d first begun wearing it, at only sixteen years of age – and he was more than double that now, how tiring – it had been too heavy. He’d been forced to damn near freeze to death until he scrounged up something he could wear and fight in.
By eighteen, however, it was perfect, and minimal repair had been required over the years. It had been made by a master of the craft and, like the man who had made his sword, she was no longer alive to make another.
More idle thoughts. Dieter snorted in contempt and unbuckled his sword belt. He carried it with him as he went into the bathing room.
Not a real bathing room, not like the one waiting for him in the palace, but it was better than what he’d endured so far. Discarding his clothes, which reeked of sweat and dirt and too many days spent on a horse – with a Salharan – and cast them aside. Nobles and soldiers kept all they needed in the stops along the way. Something he had tried to explain to the ignorant prisoner with no avail.
Quickly Dieter scrubbed himself clean, steeling himself against the cold water used to rinse off. Ignoring the chill, he sat at the edge of the cold bath to shave. The small mirror showed that he would need a good night’s rest when the journey finally ended.
It was almost impressive that the little Salharan had managed to more or less keep pace. But then again, anger and fear made good motivators and Dieter made sure both persisted in gnawing away at Beraht. Combined with the fact that he did little to keep him confined, the Salharan was no doubt quite off balance.
Dieter intended to keep him that way. It would make for one less problem in the coming days.
At the back of the bathing room was a smaller room used for storing belongings. Several trunks ran the length of three sides. Dieter flipped open one against the back wall and rifled through it for the clothing he needed. Pulling on his underclothes, Dieter then drew on a pair of breeches old enough they fit him perfectly, followed by a white undershirt and then a heavier one of a deep, rich red. Over all this he pulled a sleeveless tunic, black except for fine red trim at the bottom and the crest over his chest – a triad of scarlet and gold leaves.
He reentered the main bedroom. Beraht stood by the window, staring out at the snow. Dieter wondered what he found so fascinating in something he clearly hated. “I don’t recommend running.”
“The snow is more appealing than your company, but I’m not ready to leave quite yet.” Beraht turned to glare at him. “As I’ve said before – you’ll be begging me to leave when I’m done.”
“Words are nothing but noisy air when there are no actions to back them up. Would you like to fight me again?” Dieter goaded. “You’re getting quite good at living without pollution – you can almost swing a punch correctly.”
Beraht twitched but otherwise held still. “When you die, the place where your star should have been will be nothing but an empty space in the sky.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’ve no interest in my soul becoming a star,” Dieter returned. “Get clean.”
Grumbling and muttering, Beraht nevertheless obeyed. Even a Salharan, it seemed, could be taught one or two tricks. All it took was dumping water on his head a few times. Dieter laughed to himself, then turned his attention to other matters.
How to figure out what the Illussor had been up to trying to take a Salharan…prisoner? Or had it been some sort of rescue attempt? His face clouded as the thought occurred to him. What was the name floated about for the rumored Illussor spy? Spiegel. That was it. Could Beraht be Spiegel?
Dieter dismissed the thought in the next instant. No. Excluding how obstinate Beraht had been over the matter of a name, he did not have the temper or control of a spy at all. He could be acting, but Dieter doubted it. The man angered far too easily, and lashed out too quickly for it to be a farce.
He hung his cape on the remaining hooks on the wall, but his boots and sword he carried to the bed – the boots to set beside it and the sword closer to hand.
Outside the world was black. The snow had eased and finally stopped throughout the course of the day. Night fell quickly now; they’d traveled two hours in the dark. Not even the moon had been out to guide them. He’d ensured Drache was well tended and fed before permitting himself rest. Perhaps he could see that he went to a farm, rather than to another soldier, when everything was over.
Dieter’s fingers flitted to his sword, and he rubbed a thumb along the red jewel in the pommel. A moment later he rose and stalked from the room.
The kitchen was mostly barren – no one would be coming through here now, so it would not need to be restocked until the snow melted in spring. Only the basics remained, but it was more than enough. Dieter frowned as he came across a heavy, earthen jug. He pulled the cork and smelled – then threw the bottle across the room and watched as it shattered into pieces. The scent of dark wine filled the room, mingling with the lingering smells of fire and roasted meat and too many men.
Taking the food, Dieter grabbed a jug of water and stormed back toward his room.
Beraht was by the window again, hair dripping onto the clothes he had stolen – brown breeches and a too-long green tunic cinched at his hips. How did such a slight man survive so long at war? Snapping him in half wouldn’t even be a challenge.
He dropped the food on the table and helped himself. “Hoping to be rescued, Beraht?”
“How further have we to go before we reach this wretched palace of yours” Beraht asked, ignoring the mocking question.
“We are only a day from the Winter Palace.”
“Does this palace have a name, or is that giving Krians too much creativity?”
Dieter shrugged. “It is the Winter Palace.”
Beraht rolled his eyes. Wandering over to the table, he helped himself to the bread and sausage set out. “I don’t suppose you heathens keep wine about this place, do you? That’s the least I deserve after all this.”
“A prisoner deserves nothing,” Dieter said. “You should be grateful that I treat you as well as I do.”
“Well? I’ve got bruises and cuts in thirty different places, all because you think the way to end a conversation is with violence.”
Dieter laughed. “It shuts you up, doesn’t it? And I will gladly make it fifty if you do not shut up right now.” He laughed again when Beraht fell silent.
He let his mind wander for a bit, giving it a chance to clear. Gradually he brought his attention back around to the question of Beraht and the Illussor. It was strange behavior for the Illussor, who seemed to fight for no apparent reason. The war over Regenbogen was between Kria and Salhara. Why the Illussor had gotten involved was a reason lost before his time. They appeared infrequently, and usually only to ensure the war was not getting too close to Illussor territory.
Then again, with their nasty little mind-trick, there was really no telling how often they appeared. So basically he knew nothing useful. No doubt it was something that made sense only to magic-tainted minds.
“What is your etiquette on prisoners? I can’t imagine this sort of journey is standard fare, though really you should consider adding it to your repertoire of tortures.”
Dieter continued eating, unfazed. He finished a length of sausage before bothering to answer. “Most are given nothing but water and kept bound. I may yet do the same to you, Beraht.”
“You’re just infuriated that I managed to kill so many of Kria’s best soldiers – well, supposedly the best.”
Dishes and food flew about as Dieter upended the small table and pinned Beraht to the floor with it, resting his weight until he knew the man could barely breathe, and was in excruciating pain. Not quite enough weight to break anything. “How do you like it? Pinned and helpless, your life completely in my control? Feeling angry? Scared? Want to kill me? My men died in their sleep – they had as much chance to save their own lives as you do right now. At least you had some warning. If you killed my men, Salharan filth, it is because you were a coward about it.” In one smooth move Dieter rose, threw the table aside, then reached down and hauled Beraht to his feet. “Do not doubt for one second that I won’t make you suffer. Every day for the rest of your life, you will regret killing my men as you did.”
Though sore and shaken and gasping for breath, Beraht lashed out to drive the man back. It had no effect. Dieter threw him on the bed. “You keep talking about this suffering – but beyond your usual crass behavior, bloodthirsty Krian, I’ve yet to suffer.”
Dieter threw his head back and laughed. “You don’t think it’s punishing enough to spend the rest of your life as my prisoner, Beraht? To know that until the day you die, you are mine. For the rest of your life, you will be in Kria. Under my control. Bearing the name I gave you. I do not understand the Salharan obsession with names, but I know you despise that I named you. That will serve nicely, or at least until I think of something worse.”
He’d expected a fight, but Beraht merely turned away and lay on his stomach in bed, staring out the window on the far side of the room. Dieter sneered at his back, then turned to clean up the mess he’d made of the food. When the table was righted, he blew out the lamps and sat at the table, mulling over events past, present and future.
When he was certain Beraht was fast asleep, he climbed into the empty side of the bed and eventually fell asleep, one hand on his sword.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-11 01:52 pm (UTC)I like ^-^
Date: 2007-01-11 02:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-12 02:04 am (UTC)I less than three you. Totally. *______________________________* This is one kick ass world that you have here.
1) Sol as Speigel and Lord Grau? Ah, I love him. Seriously. And I like the way he and Iah are slowly circling around each other. And I do wonder at Sol's motives too, though it seems to that he wouldn't do anything to Iah that would harm him. At least, I hope.
2) The emphasis on names and the power that they have and the complications in having none or more than one? *____________* You. Are. So. Cool.
3) I have to admit, I want to know what started this war too. And I'd like for poor Benji to get out of the crystal too. ;_;
3) Esta and Mathias? *__________* I'm seriously wondering how that's going to end up.
4) Also, Trul makes me giggle like a fiend. *hearts*
La! *twirls you around* Totally less than three you. ^_________________^!!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-14 04:09 pm (UTC)I eagerly await the next riveting chapters!