Prisoner

[maderr]

*yawn* Ever wake up (an hour.5) late and realize it was going to be One of Those Days? Urgh.

Anyway.

Chapter Eleven

Beraht swore, using every vulgar, offensive word in three languages that he could think of. He didn’t shut up until a soldier back handed him. Now he had matching bruises.

At least Dieter’s bruise he’d almost deserved.

He looked around. They’d been muttering about a trial, so he had expected a courtroom. Something similar in nature if not exactly like the ones he’d been in – more than he liked to recall – back in Salhara.

Instead they were back in the room he remembered from his first encounter with the Kaiser.

Only this time, Dieter was on the floor with him and looked as though someone had tried to give him a backhand or two. Beraht looked toward the guards that had taken him, then dismissed them. They hadn’t been the ones to take in the Scarlet General – and he doubted Dieter had cooperated. He shifted his gaze to the two men and one woman assembled around the Kaiser. The Cobalt general was nursing a bloody nose and the Verdant General held his right arm oddly.

Beraht ducked his head before they caught him laughing. How sad and amusing that five people who should be comrades so clearly loathed each other. This was the country they’d been fighting? How did they keep losing?

Perhaps because of the man beside him, he conceded reluctantly.

Which didn’t explain at all why they were probably going to kill him. Beraht alongside him, no doubt. He hoped Sol was working on a few miracles to get him out of this.

“Scarlet General Dieter von Adolwulf,” the Kaiser said once the soldiers had departed. “You are being tried for neglecting your troops.”

Dieter laughed. “You could have at least given me a real trial, Kaiser. Surely even I have earned that much.”

“You earn what I say you have earned, von Adolwulf. Stand up.”

Dieter stood. Beraht noticed suddenly that he still had his sword. Strange. “Why are we even bothering with this?” Dieter asked. “We both know, Kaiser, that you’re just arranging a legitimate way to kill me. Do it already.”

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

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

The Kaiser knocked the words aside. “And yet you live. How did you survive a Scream and not your men?”

“I do not know, Kaiser.”

Beraht started at his words, but said nothing.

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

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

“And his sword,” the Kaiser said, motioning for Ludwig to take it.

Dieter drew his sword, warding them all back. Then he burst out laughing, startling them all. “Do you think you can simply take it, now that you have me where you want me?” he asked. His gray-green eyes, normally pale, darkened with anger.

A deep anger, Beraht realized. An old anger. He knew it all too well. Had always buried his own with arcen.

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

The Kaiser however did not seem fazed in the slightest. “You are being sent to the coliseum. As of now you are exactly as you began – a filthy, worthless peasant.”

Dieter only laughed harder – then stopped, and his hard eyes locked on the Kaiser as he sheathed his sword. “You’re a fool.”

“I am Kaiser.”

“You are still a fool. Did you think I didn’t know, all this time?” He sneered at the Kaiser’s expression. “You did, didn’t you?” Dieter’s laugh was like cracking ice. “I was there. Up above, trying to sleep off too much wine. I watched you kill them. Murder the man who loved you. Watched as you looked for the sword that was not yours to take.”

The silence in the room deepened, and the Kaiser’s face took on a murderous look. But he said nothing.

Dieter continued. “Did his promises mean nothing to you? Why did you stop trusting him?”

“Because he lied,” the Kaiser snapped, his temper shattering. “He married that bitch. Then there was you.”

Dieter’s laugh made Beraht shiver. Behind him he felt Heilwig do the same. What in the stars names was going on?

“He never lied,” Dieter said. “My father loved you. More than anyone or anything. Do you think my mother mattered? Do you think I mattered?” He threw his head back and laughed again. “Benno, he promised to make you the best sword in the world.”

“And he gave it to you!” The Kaiser’s voice shook the room as he shouted. His eyes were wide with anger and hate.

“Wrong,” Dieter snarled back. “My sword is only part of the gift my father was creating for you. Kaiser, I was the sword my father intended for you. It was the sole reason I existed. Who do you think first called me Wolf? My soldiers? Nay – they knew it from my home. My father said I was to be a wolf for the Kaiser, one wolf that would be better than ten thousand dogs.” He drew his sword again, holding it up for the Kaiser to see. “This was meant only for me to serve you, as the finest blade Meinrad ever made. All for his Kaiser.” Dieter lowered the sword. “All my life, that’s what I was raised to be. And I did it. For my father. Only to come home and watch you murder him.” He sneered. “Did you lose your nerve after that? Or did you develop a taste for prolonged torture? Twenty years now I’ve waited for you to kill me.”

A silence fell briefly. Then Dieter spoke again. “Leaving me to die in the coliseum will not make this sword yours. Nor will it undo that you murdered him for it.”

Beraht forced his brain to start working. Then realized he’d failed. Nothing was making sense, except for the part where the Kaiser had been the one to murder Dieter’s parents.

For a sword.

Before he could force his brain to function properly the Kaiser and two generals attacked Dieter. He would not have thought anyone capable of defeating him, but they seemed to be succeeding. Then he realized Dieter wasn’t fighting back.

The Scarlet General fell to the ground unconscious. Beraht watched as the Kaiser resumed his seat, Dieter’s sword in his lap. He stroked the blade, which shimmered oddly in the light.

Something snapped in Beraht’s mind. Stars take them all, Krians made no sense. His eyes burned bright yellow as he faced the Kaiser. He began to struggle, wanting to do something. Anything. “All of it…the hatred, the fear, that he’s going to die…murder…all of it over a sword?”

“Silence, prisoner,” Heilwig said behind him. There was a flash of pain at the back of his head, and then the world went black.



When he woke, everything was still black. Beraht realized it was night. Slowly the light from the fireplace across the room filtered into his awareness, and he began to take in other small details of the room.

The door opened, and the smell of (sulfur?) filled the room as someone struck a match and lit a lamp. Light flared, spilling over what turned out to be a familiar face.

“Burkhard?” Beraht asked.

“You’re awake,” Burkhard replied. “I was coming to check on you.”

“Where?”

“You’re in the Kaiser’s rooms. He’s not letting you out of his sight.”

Beraht shook his head. “Where’s the bastard?”

Burkhard looked at him in surprise. “Dieter’s been taken to the coliseum dungeons. The fights begin tomorrow.”

“Why am I in here?” Beraht asked, and slowly sat up. Was anyone in this wretched country capable of not leaving bruises? Before long his body would not even notice the aches.

“A prize,” Burkhard said tiredly. “I would imagine the Kaiser is loath to let you out of his sight.” He held out a cup, then stood to light more lamps. “Drink.”

Beraht obeyed, mind still too clogged with questions and pain to muster the energy for anything else. Tea. Dark, sweet. “Why?”

“Why what?” The lamps revealed a small room with two windows, both heavily covered. Black and orange, a painting on the wall of a figure who reminded Beraht of the Kaiser. It was also chilly. Beraht wanted nothing more than to find a bed and stay in it for a very long time.

“Why is he dying because of a sword?”

Burkhard froze, then relaxed. But his hand shook slightly as he picked up a tray of food and brought it over to the table near Beraht.

Beraht took a seat. He didn’t touch the food, but continued to sip his tea. What the hell had that bitch hit him with? It felt like he’d overdosed on new color arcen or had too many bottles of wine.

“No one knows why the Kaiser hates Dieter. Or why he’s taken his sword.”

“That’s a lie!” Beraht snapped, regretting it. “You stupid Krians! Why are you letting him kill a man who should be a hero to you? Stars! I hate the man – your country should not. I want to know what sort of stupidity drives people to kill a man over a star forsaken sword!” He rubbed his aching head, feeling the large knot at the back of it. The next time he saw her, he was going to return the favor.

“No one knows,” Burkhard repeated quietly. “No one ever knew about the Kaiser and Dieter’s father.”

Beraht sent him a nasty look. “You do. Why am I not surprised? You’re not a very good liar, Krian.”

“I’ve deceived everyone else. If you recognize a liar, Salharan, it is only because you know your own kind.”

“Like I said – you’re a lousy liar.”

They glared at each other in silence a moment. When Burkhard finally spoke, his voice was heavy, weary. “I was the Kaiser’s watchdog. I made sure the way was clear, and ensured no one noticed his absence at night.”

“It couldn’t have been that interesting that the Kaiser was having an affair. Certainly everyone knows about him and Heilwig.”

Burkhard looked at him like he was idiot. “It is one thing to have an affair with a woman who is just barely removed from the royal lines. It is quite another to love a peasant, famous sword smith or not. And a man on top of that.”

“Is that illegal here?” Beraht asked.

“Yes,” Burkhard replied. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”

Beraht nodded in agreement. “It’s the same in Salhara.” He frowned. “I still don’t see what a stupid sword has to do with anything.”

“You need to learn to speak less and listen more. How a man your age has lived so long with a mouth like that…”

“This mouth can cast magic faster than you can draw a sword, that’s how.” Beraht finished his tea and set the cup down with a bang. He folded his arms across his chest in hopes of keeping some warmth in, and glowered across the table at Burkhard. “Stop lecturing me and finish your star-forsaken story.”

Burkhard glared back. “You are the one who asked the question, Salharan. So listen to your answer before I decided I’m no longer in the mood to humor you.”

Beraht remained silent, and with a grunt of approval Burkhard continued. “Dieter’s father, Meinrad, was a master sword smith. The best in the country, the best there has been in years. He met the Kaiser one summer while he was fresh out of his apprenticeship. Every winter afterwards, when Meinrad traveled in from the mountains, the two continued their affair. I heard the Kaiser say only once that they loved each other, and I have no doubt it was true. Then one winter, Meinrad arrived with a wife. They fought, but things seemed to repair. It all flared up again when the following winter Meinrad arrived with a child. Again, I thought they repaired things. And I learned that Meinrad had promised to make the Kaiser the finest sword in the world. He said nothing would ever compare. But it would take many, many years to complete. And so the years passed, and their affair continued. Then, one year, he made a sword.” He looked at Beraht, hand tight around the goblet of wine in his hand. “I think even you might be able to appreciate the beauty of Dieter’s sword.”

“Yes,” Beraht said quietly. “What makes it shimmer?”

“You noticed that,” Burkhard said. He drained his goblet and refilled it. “No one knows – and I mean that. The secret died with Meinrad. No one knows how he did it, only that it makes the sword…special. It has no equal.” He banged his empty goblet down on the table. “A blade fit for a king. And Meinrad gave it to a worthless peasant, a fresh soldier who could not even bear the weight of the cloak his mother made him.”

Beraht blinked, stared.

“But I still don’t get it – why kill him. If they had been lovers for so long…surely the Kaiser should have known or realized something.”

“Only Dieter could say for certain what happened. The night of the murder, the Kaiser ordered me to stay in his room. He went to the small house just outside the palace proper where Meinrad and his family lived. Though he’d commanded me to remain, I followed him. I did not go near enough the house to see exactly how events played out.” Burkhard stood. “But I saw the Kaiser leave, and not long after I found Dieter, half-crazed with anger and grief. Nothing I said seemed to reach him. It never has. They’ve hated each other ever since, and it has turned both of them into something they never should have been.”

He motioned to a bundle by the door. “Clothes for you, altered so that you do not look so ridiculous. The Kaiser wants his new prize to look like a prize. Though I’ve no doubt he will kill you once Dieter is dead. Or perhaps he’ll kill you first.” Burkhard shrugged. “It’s hard to say.”

Beraht said nothing, merely sat and frowned at the table until he heard Burkhard leave.

All he had to do was bide his time until Sol could get them out of here. Surely in the chaos of the coliseum and its new, special contender, escaping should not be so hard.

Slowly Beraht stood, and began to change into his new clothes. Burkhard was right, they did fit. And they were far nicer than anything a prisoner should so much as be looking at.





Sol slammed his fist against the wall, then let his forehead join it. “I’ve lost. Well and truly lost. Even had I not messed up last night, there was no way to prevent this short of attempting to kill Dieter in his sleep and take Beraht away. Which is what I should have done!”

“We would never have made it from the castle.”

“Yes, we would have. That’s what red arcen is for.”

Iah stood and walked slowly toward him. He reached up, hands landing tentatively on Sol’s shoulder, moving up until he reached Sol’s hair – which he then yanked on. Hard.

“Damn it!” Sol jerked his hand away.

“I do not know much about arcen, but I know that your eyes are yellow. Which means you have not progressed far enough to take red so lightly. Am I correct?”

Sol nodded. “Yes. But I would probably manage just fine.”

“There is no sense in doing something stupid and potentially fatal.”

“Life is fatal.”

Iah yanked his hair again. “And what would happen to the Breaker, if you got yourself killed? Be logical, cautious. Like you normally are. All this red arcen nonsense is not you.”

“Stop pulling my hair.”

“It’s how my sister made me behave,” Iah said with a soft smile. “If she was really mad, she’d drag me around by the ear. Just wait until you meet her. I’m sure in no time she’ll be doing the same to you. I think she’d do it to Matti if he didn’t have his own unique ways of getting her back.”

Sol laughed. “Your sister sounds like a woman that rules her household with an iron fist.”

“Steel, really. Nor does it hurt that Matti lets her get away with everything.”

“Matti is…her husband?”

Iah went still, then started laughing so hard he had to lean against Sol to keep his balance. He grinned. “You had better hope I don’t tell her you said that. She’s been dodging his attempts to make her exactly that ever since he was old enough to notice she was a woman.”

Sol smiled down at Iah, reaching up without thought to brush away the hair covering his face – then caught himself and dropped his hand. “And what lady awaits your return?”

“None.” Iah’s smile faded. “My sister, of course. My friends. But even if I had a lover waiting for me, they would not want me now.” He pulled away and stepped back toward the table. “Now that you’ve calmed down, I bet you’ll think of a solution.”

“Thank you,” Sol said. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes slid shut as he began to think. “Dieter has been arrested. He’s set to fight first in the coliseum tomorrow. They say he’s going to fight until death.”

“As opposed to what?” Iah asked.

Sol opened his eyes. “Normal coliseum battles are done in numbers – one against two, then three against four, so on until there are only two opponents left. The one who lives is cleared of all charges and set free – should a Salharan ever win a fight, it’s rumored the Kaiser will have him escorted to the border. But Salharans never win. How could we?” He shook his head, displeased that he’d allowed his thoughts to wander.

“So they’re going to exhaust him to death?” Iah’s lips curled.

“Yes,” Sol replied. He continued listing what information he had. “The Kaiser has Beraht under lock and key. Burkhard tends him, as he’s already familiar with the prisoner.”

Iah frowned, fingers drumming against the table. “What does Beraht matter to the Kaiser?”

“Something that was Dieter’s. More importantly, Beraht was important for exacting revenge for the needless deaths of his men. So he is taking both Dieter’s sword and his revenge.” Sol closed his eyes again. “Which means unless we bribe Burkhard, there’s no getting anywhere near Beraht. And there is no bribing Burkhard. He’s a good man, but he has no love for either Salhara or Kria. I have no doubt he would turn us in.”

“There must be some way to reach Beraht.”

Sol dropped his arms and pushed off the wall. He strode over to the window. “None that I can think of.” Outside the snow was thick on the ground. For travel to be possible, they would have to leave no later than tomorrow night. They had less than a day to find a way to rescue Beraht.

“Your arcen can’t get him out?”

“I could try,” Sol said. “But it is unlikely. Right in the heart of Kria? In winter? There are too many things which could go wrong. I do not want to use more arcen than I absolutely have to before we’re well away from here.” He paused. “Though perhaps we have finally reached that point.”

Iah’s head began bobbing. Sol smiled, and wondered how he’d acquired the strange habit. “So we can’t get Beraht out.”

“No.”

“Is there at least some way we could get arcen and a message to him? Arrange to meet somewhere? Surely there must be a servant or someone we can bribe.”

Sol shook his head. “No. How would a servant take it, to be asked to take a message to a prisoner from a Krian -- and a prisoner of the former General and now of the Kaiser.”

“I see your point. Then we are at an impasse.”

“Perhaps there will be an opportunity in the coliseum,” Sol mused aloud. “It’s always so crowded, chaotic…surely there must be an opening there.”

Iah shook his head. “Not unless you’ve got a seat right next to the Kaiser. “And I can’t imagine a country bumpkin and his pathetic blind cousin will be anywhere near him.” He shuddered against being amongst such a crowd, overwhelmed and disoriented. “And I would get lost. There’s no way we would get out of there even if we could get close enough."

“No…” Sol said slowly, and he felt the prickling in his mind that meant it had latched onto something. A second later it struck him. “The prisoners!”

“What?” Iah said. “What do you mean?”

“Von Adolwulf! He’s a special enough prisoner! He can do it.”

Iah tilted his head. “If I could see,” he said, “My eyes would tell you you’re an idiot.”

Sol was surprised into laugher, and smiled at Iah. Before he’d realized it, he’d cupped Iah’s chin in one hand – then he hastily let go, and wondered what in the stars’ names he’d been trying to do.

“Even pretending I know what you’re talking about – why would the Wolf help us?”

“Revenge?” Sol suggested. “I don’t know. But I have to try. He can get the arcen and a message to Beraht if I can convince him to do so.”

Iah smiled, and reached out a hand. Sol took it. Iah held it tight to reassure him. “If anyone can convince the Wolf to do something, it would be you.”

“Thank you,” Sol said, and squeezed his hand briefly before letting go. He hesitated a moment, then shook his head in confusion and turned away. From the case on the desk he pulled out one of the small ink bottles and twisted off the bottom half. Opening one of the desk drawers, he pulled out a bag of what turned out to be small, glass vials. Easily concealed in a boot or belt. He poured arcen into one. It was thick and red, like fresh-spilled blood. Such a small amount would give Beraht nearly three times the power of a normal dose of yellow, and not do more than make him headachy and tired for going two colors higher than his body was accustomed.

Restoring the red arcen, he withdrew another bottle and took a sip from the yellow arcen in it. It tasted sweet. Not quite sugar, but not quite like honey. A strange burning, thrumming in between. Viscous traces lingered on his lips and he licked it away. Felt it spread through his system, richer and deeper than anything alcohol could do. Start a tingling in his mind, stir powers not available until the arcen bid them wake.

Only a sip, but it would be enough to help him get through to Dieter. Not enough for anyone but the sharpest to notice, and even they would have to look a third time to be sure. By then he would be gone, forgotten. He restored the bottle and closed the case. “I’ll be back,” he told Iah. “Lock the door, let no one in.” From the wardrobe he pulled a heavy, fur-trimmed cloak. The hood was deep; he pulled it up over his head, burying his face in shadow.

“Of course.”

Sol hesitated, feeling as though there was something left undone. But he could not figure out what. Stifling a frustrated sigh, he left the room, locking it behind him.



Chapter Twelve

The wind was bitter, and carried the type of deep, damp cold that settled in your bones and didn’t want to let go. Sol pulled his cloak more tightly closed and walked on, head down.

There were stars in the sky, which mean the clear weather would probably hold a while longer. He hoped so – if it snowed they were dead. If his plans did not go awry this time, then they would have to run immediately. There was no room for delay. Stars delay the snow for just a few more days.

He reached the coliseum without incident. It was old; older, some said, than even the palace. Built from dark gray stone, with room for every last person dwelling within the castle walls. Men had been working tirelessly to keep it free of snow; readying it for tomorrow. They went for hours each day; as long as there was daylight by which to see. The first few days would see lots of killing; the days after that would see lots of fighting first.

Except with the unexpected addition of Dieter von Adolwulf to the contenders, the style of combat had changed. Dieter would fight contenders until he died or killed them all. One after the other; there would be no break in between.

Sol moved quietly, slowly, as he made his way below the coliseum to the cages. He bypassed the first several rows of cells. Dieter would not be so easily accessed. Men stirred at the sound of a visitor, but no one said anything.

Somewhere a man was praying, and it made Sol feel sick because the prayers were Salharan. It would be so easy…and it would ruin everything. “Forgive me, brother,” he whispered soundlessly to himself.

It was dark below the coliseum. The torches set at corners and throughout the hallways only seemed to make it worse. Sol walked on. At the farthest end of the cells were a set of rooms – pitch black closets for those prisoners who refused to get along with the others until the fighting began.

Though occasionally it was also to protect a contender from his cellmates.

Sol slowed as the guards noticed him.

“You!” One of them barked. “No one is allowed down here.”

From deep in his hood, Sol’s eyes flared sunlight yellow. The guards dropped to the hard-packed floor. His eyes dimmed but continued to shine slightly, like a cloud-covered sun, as he struggled to arrange the men as though they’d fallen asleep on duty. When they woke, they either would not recall his visit or would not be willing to admit to what had occurred. Even if they did, they would not be believed. A Salharan running free in the palace? Using arcen to see von Adolwulf?

Ridiculous.

Sol allowed himself a slight smirk, feeling much better than he had since botching everything the night before. Now was his chance to make up for it. The smirk faded as worries reclaimed his mind. Would he be able to convince Dieter to help?

He grabbed a torch from the wall, and a softly muttered spell and the lock clicked open. He shoved the heavy door open, hinges creaking loudly in the unhappy silence of the cells. It creaked again as he shut it.

Moonlight spilled down into the cell from a small window, the only source of fresh air and light. Dieter was little more than a shadow beneath it. Sol set the torch into a sconce on the wall.

The added light revealed that Dieter was in undershirt, breeches and boots. His hands were in manacles, and even in the dark Sol could see the cuts and dried blood that testified to the fact that Dieter had not gone quietly to his fate. A cut ran the length of one cheek, and his bottom lip was split, bloody.

“If you have come to have your say,” Dieter said. “I have already killed two for attempting to harm me. Did you want to be the third?”

Sol pushed his hood back. “I have no plans to kill you, Lord General.”

Dieter stared at him for moment, then laughed. The sound was as cold as the air in the room. “General?” The words were Salharan. Accented but comfortable. “There is no General in this room. What do you want, Lord Grau? What is your real name?”

“Sol deVry,” Sol said, and sat down next to Dieter on the small wooden bench. It creaked under him, and he stood again, opting to lean against the wall.

He realized he’d surprised Dieter, enough that the shock registered briefly on his implacable face. “General deVry. That would certainly explain why we so seldom are gifted with your presence on the battlefield.” Dieter laughed, in genuine amusement rather than bitterness. “I am impressed, General. All this time…well played.” Dieter nodded his head in concession. “What brings you to see me? You do not strike me was one who would take petty revenge here.”

“I need your help,” Sol said, getting straight to the point. “I need Beraht. Why did you name him?”

“The Salharan obsession with names never fails to amuse me,” Dieter said.

Sol regarded him coldly. “And how would you like it, General, if I told you what the name of your sword was and gave you no choice but to accept that name?”

“I would kill you.”

“For us, death seals the name forever.”

Dieter sneered. “Which just goes to show how stupid Salharans really are. He had plenty of opportunity to avoid the name I gave him. He made his choice.”

“A choice forced upon him.”

“He is neither the first nor the last to be forced to make unhappy decisions. Is this why you came? To lecture me on violating a Salharan’s honor by giving him a Krian name?” Dieter looked at him with tolerant amusement.

Sol cursed himself, thoroughly annoyed. Where had his focus gone? It would be a relief when they reached Illussor and he could finally stop. His edge was clearly dulling. “No,” he replied. “As I said, I need your help.”

“I cannot imagine why, or how, I can help you.”

“Beraht,” Sol said. “We need you to get to Beraht for us.”

Dieter merely lifted his brows.

“What do you know about the Illussor?”

“Eighty years ago they did not have magic such as they do now. No one knows the method by which they acquired it. But like the Salharans, it shows in the eyes. Like sunlight on metal. Unlike your people, they do not seem to require drugs. Nor does it prove deadly over time.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Sol said. “It is killing them. Slowly. Very few so far have noticed anything. And it comes at a price much higher than anything arcen demands.”

Dieter shrugged. “Then I guess that will be one less problem for Kria to deal with. And why does a Salharan General care about the fate of the Illussor?”

Sol was silent.

A moment later Dieter’s laughter filtered through the room again. “A traitor. How long have you been working against your own countrymen?”

“Since they left me to rot and the Illussor saved me,” Sol said quietly. “I do not hate my country, but I was never happy there. Not all of us like what we must do to survive. There is nothing I long for more than the day I never have to touch arcen again.”

Dieter did not look convinced. “You are the first Salharan I have met to say such a thing. Certainly your Brother—” Sol started when he realized Dieter used the word reserved for the Seven Star Brothers “Is too fond of the stuff.”

“It’s all he’s ever had, I think.” Sol shook his head, bewildered. “How did you know I was a Brother? I gave no indication of it. There was no evidence that I even knew Beraht was.”

“Your eyes,” Dieter said. “The shine a deeper yellow than normal soldiers.”

Sol conceded the point with a nod. “Because I am slowly advancing toward orange. You are the first Krian I’ve known to note the nuances of the colors.”

“I do not know much,” Dieter said. He leaned back against the wall, and Sol noticed for the first time how exhausted Dieter look. How still and…not quite defeated, but almost. It did not look natural for him, and while he knew he should be relieved this man would no longer be around to dominate the battlefield…he should not be going out this way. What was it the Krians said? His leaf should fall from the tree; instead it was being ripped away. “But one should know his enemies better than his friends.” He switched back to the matter at hand. “So you want me to help you get Beraht? Never mind that’s impossible – for what purpose and why should I?”

Sol slid down to sit on the ground, wanting to be more comfortable while he began to explain. “A hundred or so years ago, the Illussor had magic that was sufficient, but nothing like it is now. They were the equal of the Salharans, and now they are far superior. If we’ve survived encounters with them it is only because we know enough tricks to avoid the worst of what they can do.”

“Shadow killers,” Dieter said scathingly.

“Salhara does what it must. I did not come here to argue with you over the rights and wrongs of the war. The Illussor found a way to make their magic stronger, including giving them a trick that changed even what they are now called.”

Dieter nodded. Though he’d fought the illusions all his soldiering life, there had been a time when that trick did not exist. Back when the Illussor fought only to keep their own hold on the Regenbogen – a part Kria took over shortly before the Illussor displayed the skill that gave them their new name.

“It was meant to only last for a few years, through one generation. Something to give Illussor an edge they desperately needed, back when the war had a clearer purpose. But it didn’t die with the soldier who had it. They passed it on to their children. So too the others who acquired it – royalty and a handful of nobles. And now it has somehow spread to the entire nation. What was meant to be limited to a few has become something upon which the entire country is dependant.”

Sol breathed out on a slow sigh. “It is beginning to kill some of them. Headaches, at first, and only in the very old or very young. No one has made the connection to magic except those who know its deepest secrets. In order to stop it, to get rid of the magic and keep it from killing the Illussor, they need a Breaker.”

“A Breaker,” Dieter repeated.

“Yes.” Sol looked up at him. “Someone of uncorrupted Illussor blood. Who does not have the magic that the rest of the Illussor possess. He’s the only one who can break that which gives Illussor its magic.”

“Beraht,” Dieter said. “The Kaiser was the one to notice he looked half Illussor.”

Sol nodded. “I did not notice it either, until I learned he was the Breaker.”

“And you came here hoping to find him? But how did you know I had him?”

“I didn’t. I came here to learn what had happened to the Scarlet. A Brother was supposed to find Beraht and bring him to me – ostensibly to learn why the Illussor attacked the Scarlet to get to a Salharan. My comrade does not know the game I play.”

Dieter laughed. “And you want me to help you get your Breaker out of the Kaiser’s claws? Is that it? I don’t see how.”

Sol stood up and pulled the small glass vial from where he’d stowed it in his belt. In the weak light of torch and moon, the liquid inside looked black. “Give him this,” Sol said. “And tell him to meet us at the crossroads a mile beyond the castle. He’ll manage the rest.”

“Arcen,” Dieter said, sneering in contempt. “How do you propose I get it to him?” He lifted his hands, bound by heavy manacles. Already they were making his wrists raw. “I have less access than you.”

“So you’ll help?” Sol asked in disbelief laced with hope.

Dieter snorted. “No. I’m merely curious as to what you’re planning. Why should I? It matters little to me what becomes of the lot of you. Twenty years I did my duties and more. I have ceased to care. Nor will I turn traitor with my last moments. He will not get that satisfaction.”

“You’ll stay loyal to a country that has done nothing but betray you? Why?”

“If you think such logic will sway me, Sol deVry, you are mistaken.”

Sol held the vial tight, mind racing for something that would sway the stubborn general. “Is this the revenge you wanted for Beraht?”

Dieter, for once, did not come back with a scathing reply. “The coliseum I did not anticipate. I should have. Beraht was meant to die with me in a formal execution. It has been done before, with soldiers and the prisoners they claim for personal vengeance.”

“So you’re perfectly willing to leave him to whatever the Kaiser devises? Knowing full well he’ll take out on Beraht what he could not inflict upon you?”

“He will kill him.”

“Yes, but only after he does what?” Sol pressed, sensing he’d gained the advantage. “It’s unacceptable for him to kill your men in their beds but you can leave him to suffer the tortures you always avoided?”

Dieter glared. “Do not preach to me, Salharan. A man who plays three sides has no right to lecture anyone. Nor is it my duty to help you with your treachery. Let the Illussor take care of their own problems. How weak that they need two Salharans to rescue them from a mess of their own devising.”

“How weak that you’re content to sit here and let everyone suffer when you could help. Did you spend your whole life hating one man that you can’t see past that?”

Chains rattled as Dieter shifted, nearly standing up. He calmed himself at the last, and sat back on the small, creaking bench. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sol realized he finally had a chance to ask the question that had burned from the moment he realized the situation. “Why the hatred? It makes no sense. I’ve never been able to learn the reason. Why does he hate you?”

Dieter laughed again. It was slow, tired, and sad. “Do you know, Sol deVry, that you are the first one to ever ask me? No one ever dared question. Too scared that by not hating the Wolf, they would turn the Kaiser’s hatred their way – and they have not the protection of being the Scarlet General. The Kaiser hates me because he was jealous. He thought I took what belonged to him.”

“I see,” Sol said, not really seeing at all. But he had indulged himself as much as he would permit. “Is there no way I can convince you to help us? What would it cost you to do so?”

“What would it gain me?”

Sol set the vial down on the bench and drew his hood up. He was done. There was nothing more he could really say. “A life not completely wasted. If you choose, give it to him when you say goodbye.” The torch he left, unable to bring himself to take it away. The door creaked as it opened and closed, and then Sol was leaving as quietly as he had come.

The wind howled as he made his way back across the field to the palace, deeper, colder, snatching at his cloak, whipping the hood away. After the third time, Sol gave up keeping it up. Only the howling wind offered any sound; perhaps in anticipation of the next morning, everyone had bedded for sleep. If there were games afoot, they were quietly played.

But he was not the only one up, Sol realized as he reached the top of the stairs and turned down the hallway to his room. He nodded politely to Burkhard. “Fair evening, Burkhard. Can’t sleep?”

“Yes. And yourself?”

“I think the walk took the energy out of me. The cold saps it. My bed sounds good right about now. So I will see you in the morning.” Sol smiled, nodded a good night, and continued on his way.

He didn’t see Burkhard stop and turn around, eyes wide and body rippling with shock.

Sol knocked softly on his door, and at Iah’s demand for identity offered his in Salharan. When the door opened he smiled at Iah, reaching out a hand to greet him with a touch on the shoulder.

“How did it go?” Iah asked, stepping back to let him in.

The sound of boot scraping stone was the only warning he had, and Sol turned just in time to avoid the dagger that would have been fatal.

Burkhard’s eyes were dark, feverish with hate. “Salharan!”

Biting down hard against a scream of pain, Sol wrenched free, the dagger still in his shoulder, and grabbed hard, shoving Iah aside and throwing himself and Burkhard into the room. “Lock the door!” he snapped, speaking in Krian.

“You’re Salharan.” Burkhard picked himself up. “Your eyes. How did I never notice them?”

Sol swore. He’d thought the glow past, the tiny sip of magic used up by the evening’s tricks. His edge really was gone. With a rough cry he wrenched the dagger from his shoulder, holding it tightly as Burkhard approached. “Burkhard, stop! Please! I don’t—“

“You’ve lied. All this time! I called you friend.”

“I am—“ Sol dodged away, holding the dagger close, reluctant to go that far. His shoulder burned with agony, and he could feel the blood soaking through his clothes, making them sticky. He fell for a feint, and the punch sent him reeling, tripping. Reaching out to catch himself on a chair, he instead only sent it crashing to the ground with him. The dagger went skittering away, and then his world was a blur of fists and angry words as he tried to block Burkhard’s assault.

Even considered vulgar for a Salharan, he was woefully inadequate for a Krian. Sol continued to struggle, but the wound in his shoulder worked against him.

And he did not want to resort to arcen.

Then Burkhard stilled above him, eyes wide. He collapsed on top of Sol, who struggled for a moment before throwing him off.

There was a dagger in his back. Holding his shoulder, Sol struggled to his feet and crossed the room to where Iah stood. “Thank you,” he murmured, and held Iah in a loose embrace.

“You’re bleeding,” Iah said. His fingers sought and found the wound at Sol’s shoulder, as he turned his face up. He frowned.

“A minor wound,” Sol said, and slid his arm from around Iah shoulders, holding his hand over Iah’s own on his wound, letting Iah feel as he cast a spell to close the gash. “I’ll be fine.” He made to pull away.

Iah wouldn’t let him. “You should be more careful.”

“I know,” Sol said quietly, fingers reaching up of their own accord to touch Iah’s cheek. “I’m sorry. Thank you for saving me.”

Iah leaned closer, and Sol tried not to notice how he smelled – like soap and wine, but also fresh, like the beginning of spring. “It’s funny,” Iah said, voice unsteady. “I was raised as a Duke, and even when I gave that up I was quickly promoted to Captain. I’ve been in command of others for as long as I can remember. People lean on me. I don’t like that for the rest of my life, I will have to lean on others.” He tilted his head a bit more, leaned in a little closer. “But I don’t mind leaning on you. As terrified as I am of being blind, it scares me more that I almost lost you.”

Sol drew a breath. “Iah…” Before he could say anything more, Iah had closed the remaining space between them, kissing him with an assurance he rarely showed for anything else. He tasted liked mulled wine, dark and spiced, laden with cloves. But there was something else too, a lighter flavor. Something that was Iah. Sol opened his mouth to take the kiss deeper, hand sliding down Iah’s spine before wrapping around his waist.

Perhaps Burkhard had killed him, and this was a dying dream. His life was not one that permitted such things. “Sol…” The voice that whispered his name, breathing against his mouth, sounded real enough. “I hope I didn’t just offend you…”

“No, Iah.” Sol dared to lean down and take a second kiss, this one softer, slower. “It is…unexpected. Certainly nothing to which I’m entitled.”

Iah laughed. “Things seldom happen because they should. More often, it’s only the things that shouldn’t happen which do.”

“True enough.” Sol let him go, before he lost his focus completely. “I have to take care of Burkhard, and make plans for tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Iah cocked his head, frowning. “What will you do with him?”

Sol folded his arms and though, looking at Burkhard’s body. It hurt. Lord Grau had counted Burkhard a friend. He’d never wished the man ill. Had hoped he’d live to a ripe old age. And now he was dead, had died feeling betrayed. Sol wondered if he’d be the last. Wearily he moved to the desk, and took a large dose of yellow arcen. As sweet as it was, he loathed it. Moving back toward Burkhard, be began working.

A spell to transfer; one of the harder spells. It would be easier if he used red, but that was one thing he did not want to do until he had absolutely no other choice. His eyes were yellow, he did not want to see them turn to orange…slowly to red.

He had given red arcen to Dieter, but Beraht would need the additional power to get out. And one small dose would not have disastrous effects.

Sol steeled himself, then cast the spell. Focused on the body, and on the field between palace, library, cathedral and coliseum. Several minutes later, the body vanished. Gasping, tumbling forward, Sol took a long, slow breath and then forced himself up. “They will find him in the morning,” he said aloud. “And think he was involved in some quarrel. It is not unheard of. There will be no way of knowing we were involved. Now I must pack our things, because our best chance to slip away will be when everyone departs for the coliseum first thing in the morning. We will be spending most of the day out in the cold.

Though he guessed he shouldn’t have been, Sol was still surprised when Iah stepped close to embrace him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know Burkhard was a friend of yours here.”

“Yes,” Sol said, allowing himself to hold Iah briefly. It was a foreign feeling, and one the Salharan in him screamed was wrong…but he had not felt Salharan for a very long time. One more strike against him in that it did not matter overmuch. “Let me pack…and then I guess we had best talk.”

Iah smiled sadly. “I wish I could see you.”

“I’m not much to look upon. My sister used to tell me to stop walking around like some sort of grave keeper. My Brothers used to jeer that I was poorly named.”

“I don’t think so,” Iah said. “You have eyes like the sun. Gray hair. Silver and gold. It’s a prized combination in Illussor.”

Sol stroked his cheek briefly, lightly. “You honor me.”

Iah leaned up and stole a quick kiss. “Pack.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Iah laughed, then slowly made his way to bed to get out of Sol’s way.

Sol set to work, packing up their few belongings into saddlebags which he would take down to their horse in the morning. He would also have to see a horse was made ready for Beraht…assuming the man escaped.

In all the upheaval, he’d forgotten that his attempts to persuade Dieter had not necessarily succeeded. Would they be racing toward the Illussor border tomorrow with the Breaker? Or without him?

He shoved the worries aside. There was nothing he could do now. If they failed, he had tried his best. There was always the red arcen. One full dose and he could manage a great many strong spells. The jump from yellow to red would likely overstrain his heart, but not before he ensured that Iah and Beraht were safely on their way. He would make sure Beraht took care of Iah.

How quickly his priorities had changed. Shaking his head at himself, bemused, Sol sat at the desk and began to transfer the arcen from the small ink bottles to the corked vials. Tomorrow morning he would disperse them among his person, with several set aside to give to Beraht. There was no way they would make it to Illussor without some sort of edge. Especially if things went wrong and they were followed.

Clothes packed. Arcen moved. Boots by the bed. Sol crossed the room and added more wood to the fire. The light of it made his yellow eyes look orange, added to the glow that lingered in them.

He would have to remember to treat his eyes in the morning. Though after the dose he had taken to get rid of Burkhard’s body, he doubted there was any way to really hide the glow. He would simply have to be careful.

Locking the door, checking once more that all was ready for tomorrow, Sol allowed himself to declare all finished. It was late; dawn was only a handful of hours away. He sat to pull off his high boots, and set them to be easily grabbed in the morning. Finally he extinguished the lamps, and climbed into bed where Iah waited.