Prisoner 25 & 26
Mar. 22nd, 2007 06:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrAfter this, it's only 27 & the epilogue to go. If I were a tease, I'd wait 'til next week to post those. But because I like breathing am a very nice person I'll post the whole shebang today.
Chapter Twenty Five
Was it possible to feel both safe and trapped in enemy territory?
Possible or not, that’s exactly how Beraht felt. Surrounded by Illussor on one side and Scarlet on the other. On top of all that, the country he’d always called home wanted him dead.
Beraht stared out the window, not really seeing the snow-ridden landscape or the people bustling below. His eyes were more on his reflection, vague and unremarkable save for the faint orange-yellow glow of his eyes. The red arcen in the coliseum had stained them orange for a time, but one dose did not have a permanent effect. Nor did two doses, even though he’d used heavily concentrated red arcen the second time. But if he used it a third time, his eyes would stay orange.
As it stood, eventually his eyes would fade back to yellow, the only color he’d consumed frequently enough to permanently affect his eyes. If he never used arcen again, even that might possibly begin to fade back to his original color – whatever that was.
Breaking away from the staring contest with his weak reflection, Beraht contemplated the vials in his hand. Two more doses of concentrated red arcen. At a glance, the deep red appeared black. Beraht shuddered, to think of what black arcen would do to his body. On his lower back, the Brotherhood star twinged with memory of pain inflicted too recently.
The tattoo on his wrist, concentric circles of increasing size, were done with simple ink. Purple in the center, a small dot, because all citizens, even nameless, were permitted to use violet arcen. Around that was a circle of indigo, followed by blue, green, and yellow. His arcen license, giving him permission to use all colors up to and including yellow.
However, the star on his back was unique to the Brotherhood. They were made from arcen, placed there by magic, and the art of the initial inking had been purposely lost by the Brotherhood so that their numbers could never exceed twenty-one. All that could be done was to pass the stars on, and that only as someone was dying and the magic holding the star weakened. Hence the Brotherhood’s ruthless diligence in keeping track of who had them and seeing that they were returned to the Brotherhood to be appropriately redistributed.
Something Beraht had realized far too late, and with much bitterness. He lived only because the Brotherhood had decided, essentially, to toy with him. Desperate, he’d agreed to their demands.
He’d encountered the Scarlet three days away from the Regenbogen, two weeks after the winter truce had been called – still the most unusual thing he’d ever heard of – and begun to kill them in their sleep.
Now the ones he hadn’t killed passed him by in the hallways, and over the past few days many had shifted from strangers to familiar faces. He even knew a few of their names, and they his. There was suspicion in their glances, he could see it – why should a Salharan have a Krian name? But they did nothing, and Beraht wondered if it was that they knew and wouldn’t dare, or if they simply didn’t care.
But given how much Dieter still hated him, he doubted it was the latter.
Everywhere he went, it seemed, he was despised. Beraht rolled the small glass bottles in his hand, focusing on the scraping and clinking of glass against glass. He’d held them long enough that they were warm, and when the arcen caught the firelight it looked as though he held blood.
With a soft curse, he shoved the vials in a pocket of his dark brown jacket and strode from his room. He hesitated in the hallway, not quite certain where he wanted to be beyond not in his room. Somewhere that required no thought; he was tired of thinking.
Allowing his feet to decide, Beraht wandered the palace halls, surprised when people greeted him – and when he returned it. He still found it hard to believe that when people said ‘Master Beraht’ they were speaking to him.
Reaching an intersection, he glanced down the hall to where a small group of soldiers were gathered, obviously leaving what he realized was Dieter’s office.
The bastard was making himself right at home. Beraht glowered at the group of soldiers, then turned sharply on his heel to stride in the opposite direction.
Debates had been raging for the past three days, as Matthias, Kalan and Dieter waged a small war against the King and Ministers who steadfastly refused to do anything they suggested. Beraht had been involved at first, but he had been painfully aware how ill suited he was to such talks. He was a simple soldier, not a General or Duke or Prince. He took the orders handed down after they debated what should be done.
Though he wasn’t stupid. If this were Salhara, the Brotherhood would have already handed out orders. Assuming he would still be alive in Salhara, had his mission to kill the Scarlet not gone awry, those orders would most likely have gone to him.
The Krian army, including its Kaiser, was marching on Illussor. Had it been marching on Salhara, there would have been two means by which the Brotherhood would have stopped or slowed the army.
One would have been direct and brutal confrontation, the majority of soldiers given leave to use orange and red arcen. The fatalities that would have resulted on their side would have been worth the damage they could do the Krians with so much high-level magic.
The second method would have been more practical, if more difficult. Shadow-killing. Sneak into the Krian camps and kill their leaders while they slept. Easier said than done, even with red arcen.
That no one had taken such an action probably meant Dieter was being his usual bastard self. Let him kill by a multitude of other methods but not by stealth.
Beraht sighed and touched fingertip to his jacket, feeling the hard press of glass hidden within. For him, it would be a relatively simple matter. At least initially; the problem came not with the sneaking in, but in the sneaking around to kill multiple targets and get out before the deaths were noticed.
If he’d been more careful the last time he’d done it, he would not currently be in Illussor bearing a Krian name given by the worst bastard to ever breathe. “Stars refuse him. Stars refuse me.”
“What has he done to offend you this time, Beraht?”
Beraht looked up at Sol. “What?”
Sol quirked a brow and fell into step beside him. “I asked what the General has done to offend you this time.”
“Why in the stars do you think I was talking about him?”
“He’s the only one to ever make you that angry, even when he’s too busy working to bother you.”
Beraht grimaced. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I see you are feeling better.”
“Yes,” Sol said, sliding him a pensive look before shrugging. “I’m still quite tired, but it will pass.” He made a face. “It is humiliating to think that bastard nearly killed me.”
“He was using concentrated red arcen. That could only have come from Jaspar or with Jaspar’s leave. Even with arcen in your blood it would have been near impossible to stop him.” Beraht started to touch the vials beneath his coat, then recalled himself.
“All the same,” Sol said. “It was I who named him.”
Beraht shrugged. “Tawn never played by rules unless they suited him; even in my limited time with the Brotherhood I knew that.” He gave Sol an odd look. “Surely you did not track me down to discuss such an idiotic thing.”
Sol laughed. “No, I merely chanced upon you. But you are the only other Salharan I know now, and it struck me when I saw you that you would understand how I felt.”
“You named him well, he betrayed your faith,” Beraht said flatly. “He died in Illussor at a Krian’s hands. I would say that puts an end to things.” Grimacing, Beraht changed the subject. “So where were you headed, if not to speak with me?”
“Back to my room; I was listening in on the meetings.”
Beraht nodded. “Have they accomplished anything at all? Doesn’t it get boring, saying the same things over and over but never reaching a decision?”
Sol threw his head back and laughed. “Such is the way of politics. I do miss the simple life of merely taking orders, though I don’t think I had that life for very long.” He shrugged. “I think Prince Matthias grows impatient, and time is growing short. The Krians will be here in a matter of weeks and if we do not stop them soon it will be too late. I sense that, if they do not accomplish what they want by tomorrow, Matthias will give Dieter leave to do as he pleases.”
“’Which is what?” Beraht asked scathingly. “Fighting a hopeless but proper battle against an army we’re ill-prepared to fight?”
“Shadow-killing is difficult enough with magic,” Sol said, sensing his thoughts. “It is all but impossible without it. Dieter has, believe it or not, considered that option. But ultimately, it will probably come down to some form of bargaining. With the Scarlet here, we have a position from which to bargain.”
Beraht grimaced. “More talking. Best simply to kill them and be done with it.”
“Do you want to charge in like you did the Crystal Chamber?” Sol looked at him in amusement. “You do rather seem to like trying to get yourself killed.”
“Not all of us, Sol deVry, have a choice if we wish to be acknowledged. Try living nameless and then tell me what you would do to have one.”
“Peace,” Sol said and held up a hand. “I meant no offense. Anyway, you hardly need worry about such things now. For better or worse, Beraht, all know your name now – and they will not be likely to forget it.”
Beraht shrugged and turned away, finished with the conversation. “I will no doubt see you later.” He did not hear Sol’s reply as he continued down the hall and outside, making his way slowly to the graveyard and the mausoleum housing the royal family. He paused in front of Benji’s marker.
Matthias had said Beraht would go down in history. Not simply that, but he would go as a hero. His name would be remembered forever, even if right now most people were not too terribly pleased with any of them.
So his name would be known forever. His name. Was that what bothered him? That he’d worked his whole life to be given a name, only for it to be Krian and picked by the most bastard Krian of all? Hundreds of years from now, if his name was indeed still known – would everyone believe him to have been Krian?
Muttering softly, Beraht turned away and began to walk back to the palace proper. That wasn’t what bothered him.
He just wished he could figure out what did.
Inside, his feet carried him once more to Dieter’s office and he glared at the people still crowding the hallway, coming and going from the General’s office. Too busy glowering at the man he could not yet see, Beraht didn’t notice the way everyone stepped aside to make room for him.
He met Dieter’s eyes as he stepped inside, scowling at the smirk on the bastard’s face. “General,” he greeted coolly.
“Beraht,” Dieter said in that way Beraht hated. Taunting. Possessive. As if he had every right to say it. Stars above!
“You’re sitting rather pretty these days, aren’t you?”
Dieter shrugged. “What do you want?” His eyes flicked past Beraht to the guard stationed outside, jerking his head briefly. The guard nodded, closing the door and leaving Dieter and Beraht alone. “I have work to do.”
“I wanted to know why everyone is dithering over what to do.”
“You mean why we’re not using shadow-killer methods,” Dieter said, standing up and moving around his desk, drawing closer to Beraht but not quite close enough to touch.
Beraht resisted the urge to take a few more steps back. “It would be the most effective,” he said stubbornly. “If I’d had a bit more arcen…”
Dieter’s face clouded, jade-eyes going dark at the mention of the night he and Beraht had met. “If I were you, Beraht, I would not speak further of that. And no, it’s not the most effective. Surely even a foot soldier such as you were would realize that. Ah, but I forget, you are used to your infernal drugs.”
“Sneak in, kill a few generals, they’ll go home.” Beraht refused to back down as Dieter drew close enough to loom. Barely avoiding rolling his eyes, Beraht tilted his head up and glared right back. “I really can’t see negotiations going well if you’re going to be the speaker.”
Rather than punch or throw or merely grab, as Beraht had expected, Dieter merely threw his head back and laughed. “On that we are agreed. Which is why I’m not speaking. I do not represent Illussor, of course I wouldn’t speak for them. Kalan will be handling that part of it. As for sneaking into camp and killing generals? Impossible, or very nearly. Just because Kria does not attack Salhara does not mean they couldn’t. You caught me off guard, Beraht. I do not think you would manage the trick with the majority of the Krian army.”
Beraht resisted the urge to wipe that smirk of Dieter’s face. Why did the man always bring out his most violent urges? Why was he even here? “So that’s it? You’re going to go talk with a country that would just as soon cut everyone down, and a Kaiser that would love nothing more than to cut your head off and you think this is a good idea how?”
Dieter gave him one of those wolfish grins he hated, looming over Beraht more than ever. “Are you worried about me, Beraht?”
Curling his hands into fists, Beraht stepped away before he did something stupid. Giving in to his urge to smash that face in never got him anywhere. “I damn near got myself killed being their stupid Breaker. I’d hate to see all my hard work ruined because someone was dumb enough to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“You, Beraht, are the only one who seems to think me incompetent.” Dieter closed the distance between them, smirking when Beraht back up a step.
Bastard. “That’s because I know just how much of a stars-refused bastard you really are! Do whatever you want.” Not even certain why he’d bothered coming to see the stupid Krian, Beraht turned sharply on his heel and stalked from the office, through the halls to his room.
Stars he hated that bastard! Raking a hand through his hair, Beraht glared around his room, wanting badly to punch a certain smug Krian firmly in the face but knowing he would never in a thousand years actually accomplish the deed. Argh, why did he have to be so smug and infuriating and—and—Beraht swore in three languages as he stomped around his room, pacing in a restless diamond from door to bed to fireplace to window.
Why was he being so stupid? Didn’t Dieter see? Stars refuse the bastard, shadow-killing was the best way to resolve the entire matter. Talking. When did Krians ever talk about anything? It was idiocy. Then again, every last Krian he’d met was an idiot.
Beraht halted before the fireplace and scowled at the flames.
In the pocket of his jacket, the vials of red arcen seemed to burn.
He could show them how necessary shadow killing was. Show that stupid, smug, arrogant, thick-headed, brutal, aggravating bastard that shadow killing had its place. It’d be easy. They wouldn’t be expecting magic. Not one lone soldier believed to be hiding away, half-buried in snow in the heart of Illussor.
What would he have to do? Beraht turned away from the fire as his thoughts raced, moving to gather those things he would need as he thought of them. Winter clothing, though he grimaced as he realized he was pulling out not the stuff provided to him since his arrival, but the gear he had taken from Kria. Quickly he stripped out of his clothes and slid into the heavier, cold-weather clothing. He sat down in the chair by the fire to pull off his palace boots and replace them with sturdy winter boots, pulling the lacing tight.
Food shouldn’t be too big a concern. He could transfer to that weird temple…Beraht shook his head, disconcerted to think so suddenly of that temple. It seemed so long ago… He snorted softly. Snow was obviously freezing what little remained of his mind.
Disgusted with himself, Beraht reordered his scattering thoughts and retrieved a small travel pack from his wardrobe. Quickly he filled it with whatever necessaries were readily accessible – not much, as he dared not leave the confines of his room. Shouldering the bag, he then scooped up his fur-lined cloak from the bed and swung it around his shoulders, fastening it with a plain iron pin. It was heavy, but warm and made to encumber his movements as little as possible. The Krians didn’t know much, but they knew how to fight well no matter what the weather.
Ready, Beraht drew a deep breath to steady himself, then drew out one of the vials hidden in his jacket. The arcen held the barest hints of red in the firelight. Grimacing, knowing what he was in for, Beraht pulled the stopper free and downed the contents in one quick swallow.
He dropped the vial to the carpet, weaving unsteadily as the arcen hit his system. It was hot and cold, bitter, sour. It tasted like bile, and thinking that did not help at all. Pressing one hand to his mouth, forcing himself to think calming thoughts, not about the taste in his mouth, the almost painful, tingling sensation flooding his body, Beraht grasped the back of a nearby chair and hauled himself to his feet.
For several minutes he stood there, taking deep slow breaths and letting the arcen settle into his system. He could feel the effects of it all too well and only knew them for what they were because he had always made a point to understand arcen. It was all he’d ever had.
He ignored the voice that tried to say he had more now. What did he have? A Krian name that would be carved into his Illussor headstone someday. He’d taken away magic, and people wouldn’t thank him for that ‘til he was buried beneath that headstone. Ignoring the stubborn voices in his head, he finally released his tight grip on the chair. Pulling his cloak more tightly around him, Beraht called up in his mind the spell he would need, then cast it.
Vanished.
Stars refuse them all it was cold!
Beraht morosely pondered the merits of taking out a few soldiers to help himself to their tea, and reluctantly conceded that probably wasn’t the best idea. Yet.
As much as he hated to admit it, the cold was working to his favor. With the snow coming down, not quite heavy enough to make travel impossible but enough to muffle his movements, everyone was bedded down or otherwise sheltered. Even Krians, it seemed, could only tolerate so much of the infernal white stuff.
It was dark, which made things problematic, but the various fires, and the fact he wore Krian clothing went a long way toward solving that problem. Slipping through the camp full of cold and miserable soldiers was almost scarily easy. Especially when he considered the last Krian camp he’d snuck into…
Thoroughly disgusted that he’d allowed thoughts of the stars refused bastards to slip in, Beraht refocused on his mission and wended his way through the tents, making his way slowly through the Cobalt camp toward the tent in the center. The brilliant blue standard was caked with snow, hanging limply from its pole before the large tent of the Cobalt General.
Egon von Kortig…according to everyone, even Dieter, this man had a taste for torture. Beraht wasn’t going to feel very sorry about killing him. The dimming spell he used worked like a charm as he bypassed the guards and slipped into the tent.
Inside, a single candle burned. The tent was thick, heavy, enough so that no shadows would be visible to those outside – not that anyone was awake enough to notice him. So he hoped, anyway. This was a lot more dangerous than sneaking into the camp of a single General.
Shunting his thoughts to the side, Beraht focused on the task at hand. He was a shadow killer. Had been trained for it from the very moment he’d shown a talent after helping to kill Krian scouts.
Carefully, slowly, he moved to the cot where von Kortig lay sleeping. He leaned his head down close, listening to the breathing patterns. Wine was heavy on von Kortig’s breath, an unexpected bonus. Nodding, Beraht rose back to his full height and carefully grasped von Kortig, slowly turning him to his side, facing away. Then with a few whispered words and a motion of his finger, he sliced von Kortig’s throat. Beraht grimaced at the wet gurgling sounds von Kortig made and let him fall forward to bleed into his bedding.
One down. Two Generals and possibly even a Kaiser to go. Making certain his dimming spell still held, Beraht turned and slipped back out of the tent, past the half-frozen guards – stupid arrogant Krian, it was a wonder no one had managed this successfully before – and slowly made his way out of the Cobalt camp and toward the Verdant.
It took him nearly two hours to make his way through the Verdant camp. The soldiers here were far more alert…though Beraht was forced to concede again that they paled in comparison to the Scarlet. Bastard.
This time he had to slink more carefully to the tent of the Verdant General, Ludwig von Eisenberg. Going through the front wouldn’t work this time, so Beraht gingerly worked his way around to the back, waiting patiently for the patrol to pass, then slipped beneath and into the tent.
He stilled as it became obvious that von Eisenberg was only just asleep – he moved restlessly, like a man that had fallen asleep but was too restless to stay that way for long. Beraht waited several minutes, then finally began to slowly stand up.
Shouts and the blowing of horns abruptly shattered the night. Beraht swore – this late, he had not expected them to find any of the dead Generals this quickly. Stars refuse them all!
On his cot, von Eisenberg twisted around to his back and sat up. He started to speak, and Beraht wasted no time, bolting forward and grabbing von Eisenberg’s head with one hand, raking the fingers of his free hand across Eisenberg’s throat with the other. Hot blood gushed over his hands and arm before he finally dropped the dying general.
The tent flaps flew open, soldiers in dark green shouting for their General to come at once – then froze in shock as they registered both von Eisenberg lying in his own blood and Beraht standing over him.
Beraht had used a very precisely aimed razor spell to slit the throats of the two generals. It was a nasty spell, one the Krians loathed with particular vehemence. Using it the way he did, guiding the movement of the magic with his hand, controlled it and burned as little arcen as necessary.
Now he threw the spell out, attacking the men much as Tawn had attacked Iah and Sol. The men cried out in shock and pain, blood spurting, spilling – but they drew their swords anyway, lunging forward. Beraht threw out another spell, knocking one man down, giving him an opening—
—Pain flashed in his head as he exited the tent, then all he saw was black.
Chapter Twenty Six
Beraht woke with a groan, feeling as though his head had been split in half. What in the stars…
“Well, well, the nasty little Salharan-Illussor scum wakes. My men didn’t hit you that hard. Weak Salharan blood.”
“Stars refuse you,” Beraht snarled through the dizzying pain. He’d hoped not to see the stupid Kaiser again until he was slitting the bastard’s throat. Stars, what had happened? He’d made it out of the tent…and someone had obviously gotten the better of him.
There was still plenty of arcen in his system, however.
“Heilwig,” Benno said.
Beraht tilted his head up, immediately regretting the movement and grateful there was nothing in his stomach to toss up. The beautiful but cold Heilwig von Dresden stood over him. She held a vial of…stars above where had they gotten that!
“Hold him,” Heilwig ordered, and Beraht suddenly found suddenly gripped hard by the shoulders, another hand keeping a hold of his throat, making it impossible to breathe, to talk.
Heilwig grabbed his nose, then pulled the stopper from the bottle she held with her teeth. She shoved the vial into his mouth, filling it with a thick, grayish substance. It had the soured-milk taste of a cleanser, but was much more viscous than it should be. Cleansers were thin, watery. This was like drinking syrup…or concentrated arcen.
The grip on his throat released just as his vision began to go black, and in gasping for breath he was forced to swallow the noxious substance.
Dizziness and nausea washed over him as the substance took effect, confirming that it was in fact a cleanser – concentrated. Potent. Beraht’s stomach heaved and he wretched violently on the ground, emptying his stomach of things he hadn’t thought could still be in it. He heaved until his muscles ached and his throat was raw, wiping bile and saliva from his lips with the back of his hand. “What…”
With dismay he could feel the arcen already dying in his system. His stomach clenched as it tried to empty itself, not realizing it was already thoroughly empty. The potent cleanser was wreaking havoc with his body.
Instead of answering him, Heilwig merely shoved another vial down his throat. Beraht fought, struggled, but he was weak from the first bout and the hands holding him were far stronger than he.
By the time the second vial had been swallowed, Beraht was barely able to see straight. By the time they’d made him swallow a third, he was all but sobbing in pain, bending over, shudders wracking his body, sweat dripping down his face despite the cold.
“Like that, Salharan? Or are you Illussor? It’s so hard to tell…” Benno’s voice was idle, almost lazy in tone, but Beraht knew from experience his eyes would be hard and cold. “A clever little creation of my unfortunate Cobalt General…though I wonder how great a General he could have been to have fallen so easily to filth like you. Obviously he is useless when taken out of his fortress.”
Beraht finally managed to lift his head. “Von Eisenberg wasn’t terribly impressive either.” He grunted as von Dresden backhanded him, and licked the blood from his lips. Lifted his eyes to Von Dresden and sneered. “You would have been next.” This time he made no sound at all as the back of her hand cracked hard and painful across his face.
“That liquid you just drank was, as I’m sure you’ve realized, highly concentrated cleanser. It burns the arcen immediately from your system. What’s more…you’ve swallowed so much of it that I doubt your body will ever again tolerate arcen.” Benno’s smile was infuriatingly smug.
Only the fact that he was too weak to move kept Beraht from punching the expression off his face.
Never use arcen again…surely that was a lie. The cleansers had been potent, and he was going to be sick for weeks after being made to drink so much at once…but he could not believe it had completely destroyed his ability to use arcen. Absurd.
Benno motioned. “Tie him up in front of my tent. See he doesn’t freeze to death, but do no more.” He stood up and approached Beraht, grabbing him by the hair and forcing him to look up. “Your eyes…when we captured you they were red. Now they are merely yellow again. The color of the General you did not kill, and who has helped ruin what was probably the only skill you had.” He laughed coldly. “Though the stupid Deceivers obviously think you worth something. How valuable are you, I wonder? I suppose we shall see.”
“What do you mean?” Beraht demanded, hating the hoarse rasping that was his voice.
He was released roughly, and toed over to lie on his back. Benno loomed over him. Beraht glared hatefully back. “We’ve already sent a ransom demand for you,” Benno explained.
Beraht tried to laugh, but the movement hurt too much. “All you Krians are mad! I once told that bastard what I will tell you now – no one will pay a ransom for me.”
“You had better hope you are wrong,” Benno said, planting one foot on Beraht’s stomach and slowly putting his weight behind it, not letting up until Beraht finally let out a choked gasp of pain. “If they do not bring the ransom I have demanded, you will die slowly and painfully. You killed two of my generals. If you think three vials of that cleanser was bad…wait until we feed you a dozen more and then make you drink this.” He pulled a familiar looking vial from within his dark, heavy cloak.
Beraht paled. His second vial of concentrated red arcen.
“I see you begin to understand. You should not have much to fear, though, Salharan. All I want in exchange is my Scarlet General. No one will mind parting with him, not when they have apparently taken the entirety of my Scarlet.”
What little hope Beraht had held out that someone might rescue him, trade for him, died. It was more painful than he thought it should be, forcing him to the bitter realization that he’d liked the strange life he’d seemed to have acquired in his brief stay in Illussor. There’d been no guarantee it would last…but he had been willing to see it through. Not now.
His role was over. He was of no further use to Illussor, not now that he’d served his purpose as the Breaker. More important to Prince Matthias and all the others – if begrudgingly – was the bastard who could teach them to fight in Krian style. There was no choice there. Better to let him die.
Beraht didn’t bother to resist as men hauled him up and then tied him up in front of the Kaiser’s tent. Though they gave him blankets and aplenty, a bedroll to keep him from the cold ground, and the fires were close enough to provide warmth…all he felt was cold.
“I am going to kill him,” Dieter said slowly, precisely, enunciating every word as though it took great effort to form them.
Given that he was barely unclenching his jaw to do it, Matthias didn’t doubt a great deal of effort was, in fact, required. “I’m sure he meant well…”
Dieter glared at the missive on his desk. “I am certain that idiot never thought it through enough to realize how stupid he was being. He is far too impulsive to be a soldier; I am amazed he’s lived this long.”
Matthias wisely did not point out that it was only because of Dieter that Beraht was still alive. “I think Beraht always intends to do what he feels is best…” He smothered a laugh as Dieter’s glower only darkened further. “So what should we do?”
“I am going to get that fool back so that I can kill him myself,” Dieter said, standing. Nearby, one of his attendants came forward with his heavy cloak. Dieter turned to Reinhard. “Assemble a guard to escort me as far as the border. Make certain that any Illussor willing are included; it is their country being defended.”
“Are you sure it’s wise?” Kalan asked as he walked with deceptive casualness into the room, leaning idly against the wall beside the large map covering most of it. “It seems to me Benno wants nothing less than your head on a spit.”
Dieter grunted. “At the very least. You are suggesting we leave Beraht to die?”
Matthias lifted a brow at the chill that entered Dieter’s voice. Though Dieter was never soft about anything, he was never quite that cold.
“Of course not,” Kalan said calmly. “I simply mean sending you out there is not the best way to handle things. We risk losing both of you.”
“I will be fine,” Dieter said. “This is a matter I should have settled a long time ago. I will end it now.”
Kalan looked at him, eyes sharp. “There is something personal here.”
Dieter did not reply, merely stalked past them out the door, his retainers and attendants falling into step around him, gradually breaking off to attend to some duty or errand. Matthias walked not far behind, Kalan at his side, but cut left where Dieter kept going straight ,moving to the balcony that overlooked the main courtyard.
When Dieter reached the courtyard, Reinhard and what looked to be about a hundred men stood at attention, patiently waiting. More than half were Illussor. Dieter nodded to all of them and mounted his horse as it was brought to him. He turned to face Matthias.
“Be cautious but victorious,” Matthias said. “We have never let the Krian defeat us before, we will not now. Go with the Goddess.”
Dieter saluted him and turned his horse around to lead the way from the courtyard, barking commands in sharp, guttural Krian.
His men were relearning how to fight in the Krian style even down to the language. Matthias chuckled softly.
“This is foolish,” Esta said, coming up behind him. “Can we really trust him? How do we know this is not some trap or—“
Matthias cut her off with a sharp shake of his head. “He is my General, Duchess.”
Beside him Kalan laughed, oblivious to or uncaring of the nasty look Esta shot him “At any rate, I do not doubt for a moment that he intends to rescue Beraht and at the very least beat him senseless before tying him down someplace so he’ll stay out of trouble.”
A strange look Matthias couldn’t place flickered across Esta’s face at Kalan’s words. “There is that,” she finally said. “I suppose I should tell the healers to be ready for trouble of some form or another.” Muttering to herself, Esta tucked a stray bit of hair back into the tidy braid coiled around the back of her head and gathered the skirts of her maroon gown, turning away to tend her duties, not bothering to bid them farewell.
Kalan looked after her, both brows raised. “What does she know that we don’t?”
“Who knows,” Matthias said with a roll his eyes. “Women always know everything; they like to hoard the information until it can be used to maximum effect. Especially Esta.”
“Yet you want to marry her,” Kalan said, shaking his head and giving a dramatic sigh.
Matthias grinned. “What’s not to love about a woman who is more than willing to beat sense into me and could probably manage it?”
“I prefer the sweet ones myself,” Kalan said idly. “Come on, while your general is wreaking havoc on his homeland we can go terrorize the council.”
“Couldn’t I go count snowflakes instead?” Matthias asked with a sigh, but obediently limped slowly alongside Kalan through the halls.
Beraht fell to the snow with a wet thump, too tired and sick to really feel the cold. He was past caring anyway. Let him freeze a bit; it would dull some of the pain he was about to start feeling. Though why they brought him out here to do the deed, he didn’t know. Benno was obviously the sort who preferred an audience.
“As promised,” Benno said, his voice cutting sharply across the quiet, snow-smothered field.
“Barely,” a familiar voice rumbled. Realization struck Beraht like a fist to the gut. He forced open his sore eyes and with an effort lifted his head.
Dieter.
What…what was Dieter doing here?
Surely the stars-refused bastard hadn’t actually come out here to pay the ransom?
Beraht’s thoughts stuttered, stopped, and dizzily he let his head fall back down. When he was reasonably certain he would not once again try to heave up his empty stomach, he lifted it again.
Arrayed behind Dieter, forming a half-circle of at least fifty men, matching the half-circle behind the Emperor, was a mixture of Illussor and Scarlet. All were still, quiet; even the Illussor did not look as nervous as they probably felt.
Snow crunched loudly as Dieter dismounted. He drew his sword and stepped forward, stopping about six or so paces away. Glared at Beraht, but said nothing. Shifted his gray-green eyes, dark with anger, back to Benno. “If you think simply to trade one for the other, I am afraid you are quite mistaken.”
“Oh, I plan to kill you here and now,” Benno replied, and motioned. “I have not decided if I want to kill your prisoner or keep him. He’s quite useless now, but it would please me to have him.”
Dieter sneered. “If you had not murdered my father, you would have something of your own and would not need to steal from others.”
“Be silent,” Benno hissed, drawing his own sword. Beraht looked at it, willing his eyes to focus, longing to sleep and never wake. This sword was nearly a match for Dieter’s…same length, with a hilt that was dark, set with a crystal in the pommel. The metal, however, did not shimmer. Beside Dieter’s sword, it was dull.
If he were not feeling so wretchedly, miserably ill, he would be disgusted with himself for thinking that.
“You have been nothing but the bane of my existence since your birth, son of Meinrad.”
“You think he chose us over you?” Dieter asked, tensing as Benno stepped forward. “He wanted me only to mould into that which would most please you. What will you do after I am dead?”
“Leave your carcass for the dogs as I did with your father!” Benno snarled and lunged, sword arching, steel ringing as their blades clashed.
Dieter returned the snarl with one of his own, easily blocking the swing as well as the next.
Beraht could not keep from staring. The last time he’d seen Dieter fight had been in the coliseum, and that had been completely different. Then, there’d been no real challenge until the end and Dieter had been put in a weaker position by Benno.
This was entirely different.
It was making him even more dizzy to watch them. A perversion of the dances Esta had been attempting to teach him…but instead of a turn at the end of each step, another smear of blood was added to the ravaged snow.
Morning sunlight reflected off Dieter’s arcen-rich blade, and Benno flinched slightly from the unexpected flash of light, the low cut he swung faltering slightly. A heartbeat later he stumbled back, clutching at his left arm, which was bleeding profusely.
“Bastard,” Benno hissed, and hefted his heavy sword in his right hand.
Dieter sneered but made no reply, moving on the offensive as Benno lifted his sword.
The Kaiser grunted and blocked the swing, but with his left arm disabled there was no contest. Blood gushed as Dieter’s sword plunged through his chest. Benno grunted, his face going gray, but gave no other indication he was dying.
Disgusted, Dieter yanked his sword free and watched dispassionately as Benno collapsed to the ground. “Pathetic. I will never understand…” He shook his head and turned to Beraht and Heilwig. “Let him go, whore, or you will join Benno.”
Heilwig stepped up behind Beraht and yanked his head back, pressing a dagger to his throat. “You would not reach me before I slit his throat,” she said calmly.
Dieter hefted his sword. “Kill him and I kill you. What would you rather do, von Dresden?”
“Return home,” Heilwig said flatly. “I advised him against this.” She shrugged. “Perhaps he wanted you to leave him cold and dead out here in the middle of the nowhere. I bedded the man but his thoughts seldom made sense to me. I do not think even he understood his own thoughts.” Her eyes were speculative as she stared at Dieter. “You are of course completely and utterly a traitor to the crown.”
“By all rights I could take the crown,” Dieter said dispassionately.
“That crown belongs to his unborn son,” Heilwig said.
Dieter sneered. “You are a calculating whore.”
“I am the Saffron General, and now Regent until my son comes of age.” Heilwig replied. She abruptly removed the dagger from Beraht’s throat and kicked him forward into the snow. “Take your Salharan and go. If you ever step foot in Kria again, traitor, your life is forfeit.”
Dieter said nothing, merely cleaned his sword and sheathed it, then strode forward and yanked Beraht to his feet. He nodded once to Heilwig, then turned and led Beraht to his horse, all but throwing him into the saddle before swinging up behind him.
Beraht swayed dizzily, aware of only two things – Dieter had rescued him, and Dieter was incredibly warm. “Bastard,” he muttered as Dieter’s heavy cloak settled around them. He heard a rumbling, anger-laced reply, but slipped into unconsciousness before the words could register.
He woke up feeling as though he’d been dragged through the streets and run over by a wagon several times.
Movement caught his eye as he sat up, and Beraht just barely caught sight a soldier bolting from…he was in a tent. Surprisingly warm, thanks to the little stove in the center. A large table was across the way, neatly arranged with rolled up maps and sheaves of paper, an inkwell and blotter. A familiar cloak was draped over the back of the chair.
Everything came crashing back to him.
Rescued.
He’d been rescued by the bastard Wolf himself. Beraht frowned, unable to pin down his roiling emotions long enough to figure out why they were in such turmoil. He felt…unsettled.
Further thought was spared him as an all too familiar large, dark form blew into the tent, Dieter’s gray-green eyes immediately landing upon him. Filled with fury. “Tits of the Winter Princess, I am going to kill you.”
Beraht glared right back. “If you’re hoping for a thank you, issuing threats is not the best way to see you get one. Stars refuse you, I think I’ll just go back to sleep.”
“You are not going to sleep until I knock you unconscious for being a complete imbecile,” Dieter snapped. “Do you ever think, Beraht?”
“I think you’re a stars-refused bastard,” Beraht retorted. “I think my head hurts too much for me to feel like putting up with you. I think food would be a splendid idea and wine a divine one. I think—“
Dieter crossed the room like a wolf approaching his prey, grabbed Beraht by the scruff of his shirt, and dragged him bodily from the cot. He held him close, so close that for a moment Beraht had the insane, wild thought that Dieter was going to kiss him—
—Then just as abruptly Dieter let him go. Beraht wobbled precariously on the cot, but a moment later it steadied. He dug his fingers into the blanket and watched Dieter in a bemused, befuddled silence.
Why in the stars had he thought such an absurd thing? Dieter wouldn’t kiss him, not – well, perhaps if his life depended on it…
Which made Beraht frown. Dieter had kissed him before, though it was something he’d made every effort not to think about. He shivered and tugged his blankets up, glaring at the man standing over the table. “Why?” he demanded. “I can hardly think Matthias approved of sending out his General. You’re irreplaceable. To him.”
Dieter spun around sharply and stalked back toward the bed, and Beraht once more felt as though he were prey. “You’re a fool!” Dieter snarled, reaching out to grab the front of his shirt and drag him close again. “The greatest fool I’ve ever met. What were you thinking, Beraht?”
“Stop saying my name that way!” Beraht snarled, shoving him back, ignoring the waves of nausea that rolled over him. “I’m not going to be sorry for solving your problems with a bit of shadow-killing! It worked far better than your stupid negotiations would have.”
“Until you got caught,” Dieter retorted, letting him go. “Slitting the throats of sleeping men is nothing to commend.”
“Neither is mincing words when neither party means what they say,” Beraht snarled. “I know how politics work, and I know how empty the words are. Nothing but lies, and it would have ended in killing. This way I only killed a few, you killed the Kaiser, now we can go home.”
Dieter sighed and stalked back to the table, bracing his hands upon it, staring at something Beraht could not see. “Your eyes are yellow.”
Beraht stilled. “Yes.”
“They were orange when last I saw you, and if you used the arcen you took from Tawn’s corpse, they should be red.” Dieter turned around again, solemn and curious, and Beraht noticed suddenly that Dieter looked tired. His clothes fell in a way that said he’d probably been wearing them for at least a couple of days straight – and he’d noticed right from the start that Dieter detested being filthy. His hair too was mussed, and for some reason it only made the touches of silver more prominent. In a man as young as Dieter, those silver touches should look odder than they did.
Beraht wondered just how horribly the concentrated cleanser had ruined his mind that he was thinking about such stupid shit. “I was force fed concentrated cleansers. They flushed the arcen from me, and made me sick in the process.” He didn’t bother to mention that they’d ruined his ability to use arcen.
Dieter once more approached the bed, and Beraht was struck with the realization that Dieter was restless. Finger and thumb grasped his chin, forced his head all the way up. “They’re precisely the color they were when I first captured you. I’ve never known anyone to regress.”
“It was concentrated,” Beraht said, wondering why his chest felt so tight suddenly. Stars, he wished the bastard would go away and leave him in peace. “Heavily concentrated. The equivalent of concentrated red arcen.”
“No wonder you have been so feverish,” Dieter said, and Beraht once more had the wild thought that Dieter was about to—
“Lord General!” A voice said sharply from outside, the words Illussor.
Dieter growled low and strode to the tent entrance. “What?”
“We’re ready to move out, Lord General.”
“What are the final numbers?”
“Half the Verdant, two thirds of the Cobalt.”
Dieter laughed low. “His Highness will not know where to put them all. My instructions were conveyed?”
“Yes, Lord General,” the unseen man replied.
“Good. Appoint men to have my things packed. Send Reinhard to me.”
“At once, Lord General,” the man replied, and Dieter turned back to Beraht a second later.
Beraht glared. “You still have not answered my question.”
“What question was that?” Dieter asked idly, picking up his cloak and swinging it up and around his shoulders. Beraht could tell from the carefully blank expression on his face that the bastard was being purposely obtuse.
He bit back a retort and simply repeated his question. “Why did you bother saving me?”
Dieter looked at him, eyes holding something Beraht could not even remotely understand. Then he turned away, headed outside. “Because you are mine,” he replied before vanishing.
What in the stars did that mean? He wasn’t Dieter’s prisoner anymore, stars refuse the bastard if he thought that!
Snarling, Beraht threw back the covers and slid awkwardly from the cot, scrambling into the clothes he found after a moment’s search. His body protested all the quick movements but Beraht grit his teeth and endured.
Stars if he’d let the bastard get away with such strange words and no explanation.
But when he got outside, Dieter was barely discernible all the way across camp, surrounded by soldiers, obviously handing out orders.
Heaving a sigh, Beraht turned away in disgust to find food and see if it would stay on his stomach. He’d deal with the stars refused Wolf when they returned home.
That was the third time he’d thought of Illussor as home.
Muttering curses, Beraht gave up thinking of anything but food.
Chapter Twenty Five
Was it possible to feel both safe and trapped in enemy territory?
Possible or not, that’s exactly how Beraht felt. Surrounded by Illussor on one side and Scarlet on the other. On top of all that, the country he’d always called home wanted him dead.
Beraht stared out the window, not really seeing the snow-ridden landscape or the people bustling below. His eyes were more on his reflection, vague and unremarkable save for the faint orange-yellow glow of his eyes. The red arcen in the coliseum had stained them orange for a time, but one dose did not have a permanent effect. Nor did two doses, even though he’d used heavily concentrated red arcen the second time. But if he used it a third time, his eyes would stay orange.
As it stood, eventually his eyes would fade back to yellow, the only color he’d consumed frequently enough to permanently affect his eyes. If he never used arcen again, even that might possibly begin to fade back to his original color – whatever that was.
Breaking away from the staring contest with his weak reflection, Beraht contemplated the vials in his hand. Two more doses of concentrated red arcen. At a glance, the deep red appeared black. Beraht shuddered, to think of what black arcen would do to his body. On his lower back, the Brotherhood star twinged with memory of pain inflicted too recently.
The tattoo on his wrist, concentric circles of increasing size, were done with simple ink. Purple in the center, a small dot, because all citizens, even nameless, were permitted to use violet arcen. Around that was a circle of indigo, followed by blue, green, and yellow. His arcen license, giving him permission to use all colors up to and including yellow.
However, the star on his back was unique to the Brotherhood. They were made from arcen, placed there by magic, and the art of the initial inking had been purposely lost by the Brotherhood so that their numbers could never exceed twenty-one. All that could be done was to pass the stars on, and that only as someone was dying and the magic holding the star weakened. Hence the Brotherhood’s ruthless diligence in keeping track of who had them and seeing that they were returned to the Brotherhood to be appropriately redistributed.
Something Beraht had realized far too late, and with much bitterness. He lived only because the Brotherhood had decided, essentially, to toy with him. Desperate, he’d agreed to their demands.
He’d encountered the Scarlet three days away from the Regenbogen, two weeks after the winter truce had been called – still the most unusual thing he’d ever heard of – and begun to kill them in their sleep.
Now the ones he hadn’t killed passed him by in the hallways, and over the past few days many had shifted from strangers to familiar faces. He even knew a few of their names, and they his. There was suspicion in their glances, he could see it – why should a Salharan have a Krian name? But they did nothing, and Beraht wondered if it was that they knew and wouldn’t dare, or if they simply didn’t care.
But given how much Dieter still hated him, he doubted it was the latter.
Everywhere he went, it seemed, he was despised. Beraht rolled the small glass bottles in his hand, focusing on the scraping and clinking of glass against glass. He’d held them long enough that they were warm, and when the arcen caught the firelight it looked as though he held blood.
With a soft curse, he shoved the vials in a pocket of his dark brown jacket and strode from his room. He hesitated in the hallway, not quite certain where he wanted to be beyond not in his room. Somewhere that required no thought; he was tired of thinking.
Allowing his feet to decide, Beraht wandered the palace halls, surprised when people greeted him – and when he returned it. He still found it hard to believe that when people said ‘Master Beraht’ they were speaking to him.
Reaching an intersection, he glanced down the hall to where a small group of soldiers were gathered, obviously leaving what he realized was Dieter’s office.
The bastard was making himself right at home. Beraht glowered at the group of soldiers, then turned sharply on his heel to stride in the opposite direction.
Debates had been raging for the past three days, as Matthias, Kalan and Dieter waged a small war against the King and Ministers who steadfastly refused to do anything they suggested. Beraht had been involved at first, but he had been painfully aware how ill suited he was to such talks. He was a simple soldier, not a General or Duke or Prince. He took the orders handed down after they debated what should be done.
Though he wasn’t stupid. If this were Salhara, the Brotherhood would have already handed out orders. Assuming he would still be alive in Salhara, had his mission to kill the Scarlet not gone awry, those orders would most likely have gone to him.
The Krian army, including its Kaiser, was marching on Illussor. Had it been marching on Salhara, there would have been two means by which the Brotherhood would have stopped or slowed the army.
One would have been direct and brutal confrontation, the majority of soldiers given leave to use orange and red arcen. The fatalities that would have resulted on their side would have been worth the damage they could do the Krians with so much high-level magic.
The second method would have been more practical, if more difficult. Shadow-killing. Sneak into the Krian camps and kill their leaders while they slept. Easier said than done, even with red arcen.
That no one had taken such an action probably meant Dieter was being his usual bastard self. Let him kill by a multitude of other methods but not by stealth.
Beraht sighed and touched fingertip to his jacket, feeling the hard press of glass hidden within. For him, it would be a relatively simple matter. At least initially; the problem came not with the sneaking in, but in the sneaking around to kill multiple targets and get out before the deaths were noticed.
If he’d been more careful the last time he’d done it, he would not currently be in Illussor bearing a Krian name given by the worst bastard to ever breathe. “Stars refuse him. Stars refuse me.”
“What has he done to offend you this time, Beraht?”
Beraht looked up at Sol. “What?”
Sol quirked a brow and fell into step beside him. “I asked what the General has done to offend you this time.”
“Why in the stars do you think I was talking about him?”
“He’s the only one to ever make you that angry, even when he’s too busy working to bother you.”
Beraht grimaced. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I see you are feeling better.”
“Yes,” Sol said, sliding him a pensive look before shrugging. “I’m still quite tired, but it will pass.” He made a face. “It is humiliating to think that bastard nearly killed me.”
“He was using concentrated red arcen. That could only have come from Jaspar or with Jaspar’s leave. Even with arcen in your blood it would have been near impossible to stop him.” Beraht started to touch the vials beneath his coat, then recalled himself.
“All the same,” Sol said. “It was I who named him.”
Beraht shrugged. “Tawn never played by rules unless they suited him; even in my limited time with the Brotherhood I knew that.” He gave Sol an odd look. “Surely you did not track me down to discuss such an idiotic thing.”
Sol laughed. “No, I merely chanced upon you. But you are the only other Salharan I know now, and it struck me when I saw you that you would understand how I felt.”
“You named him well, he betrayed your faith,” Beraht said flatly. “He died in Illussor at a Krian’s hands. I would say that puts an end to things.” Grimacing, Beraht changed the subject. “So where were you headed, if not to speak with me?”
“Back to my room; I was listening in on the meetings.”
Beraht nodded. “Have they accomplished anything at all? Doesn’t it get boring, saying the same things over and over but never reaching a decision?”
Sol threw his head back and laughed. “Such is the way of politics. I do miss the simple life of merely taking orders, though I don’t think I had that life for very long.” He shrugged. “I think Prince Matthias grows impatient, and time is growing short. The Krians will be here in a matter of weeks and if we do not stop them soon it will be too late. I sense that, if they do not accomplish what they want by tomorrow, Matthias will give Dieter leave to do as he pleases.”
“’Which is what?” Beraht asked scathingly. “Fighting a hopeless but proper battle against an army we’re ill-prepared to fight?”
“Shadow-killing is difficult enough with magic,” Sol said, sensing his thoughts. “It is all but impossible without it. Dieter has, believe it or not, considered that option. But ultimately, it will probably come down to some form of bargaining. With the Scarlet here, we have a position from which to bargain.”
Beraht grimaced. “More talking. Best simply to kill them and be done with it.”
“Do you want to charge in like you did the Crystal Chamber?” Sol looked at him in amusement. “You do rather seem to like trying to get yourself killed.”
“Not all of us, Sol deVry, have a choice if we wish to be acknowledged. Try living nameless and then tell me what you would do to have one.”
“Peace,” Sol said and held up a hand. “I meant no offense. Anyway, you hardly need worry about such things now. For better or worse, Beraht, all know your name now – and they will not be likely to forget it.”
Beraht shrugged and turned away, finished with the conversation. “I will no doubt see you later.” He did not hear Sol’s reply as he continued down the hall and outside, making his way slowly to the graveyard and the mausoleum housing the royal family. He paused in front of Benji’s marker.
Matthias had said Beraht would go down in history. Not simply that, but he would go as a hero. His name would be remembered forever, even if right now most people were not too terribly pleased with any of them.
So his name would be known forever. His name. Was that what bothered him? That he’d worked his whole life to be given a name, only for it to be Krian and picked by the most bastard Krian of all? Hundreds of years from now, if his name was indeed still known – would everyone believe him to have been Krian?
Muttering softly, Beraht turned away and began to walk back to the palace proper. That wasn’t what bothered him.
He just wished he could figure out what did.
Inside, his feet carried him once more to Dieter’s office and he glared at the people still crowding the hallway, coming and going from the General’s office. Too busy glowering at the man he could not yet see, Beraht didn’t notice the way everyone stepped aside to make room for him.
He met Dieter’s eyes as he stepped inside, scowling at the smirk on the bastard’s face. “General,” he greeted coolly.
“Beraht,” Dieter said in that way Beraht hated. Taunting. Possessive. As if he had every right to say it. Stars above!
“You’re sitting rather pretty these days, aren’t you?”
Dieter shrugged. “What do you want?” His eyes flicked past Beraht to the guard stationed outside, jerking his head briefly. The guard nodded, closing the door and leaving Dieter and Beraht alone. “I have work to do.”
“I wanted to know why everyone is dithering over what to do.”
“You mean why we’re not using shadow-killer methods,” Dieter said, standing up and moving around his desk, drawing closer to Beraht but not quite close enough to touch.
Beraht resisted the urge to take a few more steps back. “It would be the most effective,” he said stubbornly. “If I’d had a bit more arcen…”
Dieter’s face clouded, jade-eyes going dark at the mention of the night he and Beraht had met. “If I were you, Beraht, I would not speak further of that. And no, it’s not the most effective. Surely even a foot soldier such as you were would realize that. Ah, but I forget, you are used to your infernal drugs.”
“Sneak in, kill a few generals, they’ll go home.” Beraht refused to back down as Dieter drew close enough to loom. Barely avoiding rolling his eyes, Beraht tilted his head up and glared right back. “I really can’t see negotiations going well if you’re going to be the speaker.”
Rather than punch or throw or merely grab, as Beraht had expected, Dieter merely threw his head back and laughed. “On that we are agreed. Which is why I’m not speaking. I do not represent Illussor, of course I wouldn’t speak for them. Kalan will be handling that part of it. As for sneaking into camp and killing generals? Impossible, or very nearly. Just because Kria does not attack Salhara does not mean they couldn’t. You caught me off guard, Beraht. I do not think you would manage the trick with the majority of the Krian army.”
Beraht resisted the urge to wipe that smirk of Dieter’s face. Why did the man always bring out his most violent urges? Why was he even here? “So that’s it? You’re going to go talk with a country that would just as soon cut everyone down, and a Kaiser that would love nothing more than to cut your head off and you think this is a good idea how?”
Dieter gave him one of those wolfish grins he hated, looming over Beraht more than ever. “Are you worried about me, Beraht?”
Curling his hands into fists, Beraht stepped away before he did something stupid. Giving in to his urge to smash that face in never got him anywhere. “I damn near got myself killed being their stupid Breaker. I’d hate to see all my hard work ruined because someone was dumb enough to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“You, Beraht, are the only one who seems to think me incompetent.” Dieter closed the distance between them, smirking when Beraht back up a step.
Bastard. “That’s because I know just how much of a stars-refused bastard you really are! Do whatever you want.” Not even certain why he’d bothered coming to see the stupid Krian, Beraht turned sharply on his heel and stalked from the office, through the halls to his room.
Stars he hated that bastard! Raking a hand through his hair, Beraht glared around his room, wanting badly to punch a certain smug Krian firmly in the face but knowing he would never in a thousand years actually accomplish the deed. Argh, why did he have to be so smug and infuriating and—and—Beraht swore in three languages as he stomped around his room, pacing in a restless diamond from door to bed to fireplace to window.
Why was he being so stupid? Didn’t Dieter see? Stars refuse the bastard, shadow-killing was the best way to resolve the entire matter. Talking. When did Krians ever talk about anything? It was idiocy. Then again, every last Krian he’d met was an idiot.
Beraht halted before the fireplace and scowled at the flames.
In the pocket of his jacket, the vials of red arcen seemed to burn.
He could show them how necessary shadow killing was. Show that stupid, smug, arrogant, thick-headed, brutal, aggravating bastard that shadow killing had its place. It’d be easy. They wouldn’t be expecting magic. Not one lone soldier believed to be hiding away, half-buried in snow in the heart of Illussor.
What would he have to do? Beraht turned away from the fire as his thoughts raced, moving to gather those things he would need as he thought of them. Winter clothing, though he grimaced as he realized he was pulling out not the stuff provided to him since his arrival, but the gear he had taken from Kria. Quickly he stripped out of his clothes and slid into the heavier, cold-weather clothing. He sat down in the chair by the fire to pull off his palace boots and replace them with sturdy winter boots, pulling the lacing tight.
Food shouldn’t be too big a concern. He could transfer to that weird temple…Beraht shook his head, disconcerted to think so suddenly of that temple. It seemed so long ago… He snorted softly. Snow was obviously freezing what little remained of his mind.
Disgusted with himself, Beraht reordered his scattering thoughts and retrieved a small travel pack from his wardrobe. Quickly he filled it with whatever necessaries were readily accessible – not much, as he dared not leave the confines of his room. Shouldering the bag, he then scooped up his fur-lined cloak from the bed and swung it around his shoulders, fastening it with a plain iron pin. It was heavy, but warm and made to encumber his movements as little as possible. The Krians didn’t know much, but they knew how to fight well no matter what the weather.
Ready, Beraht drew a deep breath to steady himself, then drew out one of the vials hidden in his jacket. The arcen held the barest hints of red in the firelight. Grimacing, knowing what he was in for, Beraht pulled the stopper free and downed the contents in one quick swallow.
He dropped the vial to the carpet, weaving unsteadily as the arcen hit his system. It was hot and cold, bitter, sour. It tasted like bile, and thinking that did not help at all. Pressing one hand to his mouth, forcing himself to think calming thoughts, not about the taste in his mouth, the almost painful, tingling sensation flooding his body, Beraht grasped the back of a nearby chair and hauled himself to his feet.
For several minutes he stood there, taking deep slow breaths and letting the arcen settle into his system. He could feel the effects of it all too well and only knew them for what they were because he had always made a point to understand arcen. It was all he’d ever had.
He ignored the voice that tried to say he had more now. What did he have? A Krian name that would be carved into his Illussor headstone someday. He’d taken away magic, and people wouldn’t thank him for that ‘til he was buried beneath that headstone. Ignoring the stubborn voices in his head, he finally released his tight grip on the chair. Pulling his cloak more tightly around him, Beraht called up in his mind the spell he would need, then cast it.
Vanished.
Stars refuse them all it was cold!
Beraht morosely pondered the merits of taking out a few soldiers to help himself to their tea, and reluctantly conceded that probably wasn’t the best idea. Yet.
As much as he hated to admit it, the cold was working to his favor. With the snow coming down, not quite heavy enough to make travel impossible but enough to muffle his movements, everyone was bedded down or otherwise sheltered. Even Krians, it seemed, could only tolerate so much of the infernal white stuff.
It was dark, which made things problematic, but the various fires, and the fact he wore Krian clothing went a long way toward solving that problem. Slipping through the camp full of cold and miserable soldiers was almost scarily easy. Especially when he considered the last Krian camp he’d snuck into…
Thoroughly disgusted that he’d allowed thoughts of the stars refused bastards to slip in, Beraht refocused on his mission and wended his way through the tents, making his way slowly through the Cobalt camp toward the tent in the center. The brilliant blue standard was caked with snow, hanging limply from its pole before the large tent of the Cobalt General.
Egon von Kortig…according to everyone, even Dieter, this man had a taste for torture. Beraht wasn’t going to feel very sorry about killing him. The dimming spell he used worked like a charm as he bypassed the guards and slipped into the tent.
Inside, a single candle burned. The tent was thick, heavy, enough so that no shadows would be visible to those outside – not that anyone was awake enough to notice him. So he hoped, anyway. This was a lot more dangerous than sneaking into the camp of a single General.
Shunting his thoughts to the side, Beraht focused on the task at hand. He was a shadow killer. Had been trained for it from the very moment he’d shown a talent after helping to kill Krian scouts.
Carefully, slowly, he moved to the cot where von Kortig lay sleeping. He leaned his head down close, listening to the breathing patterns. Wine was heavy on von Kortig’s breath, an unexpected bonus. Nodding, Beraht rose back to his full height and carefully grasped von Kortig, slowly turning him to his side, facing away. Then with a few whispered words and a motion of his finger, he sliced von Kortig’s throat. Beraht grimaced at the wet gurgling sounds von Kortig made and let him fall forward to bleed into his bedding.
One down. Two Generals and possibly even a Kaiser to go. Making certain his dimming spell still held, Beraht turned and slipped back out of the tent, past the half-frozen guards – stupid arrogant Krian, it was a wonder no one had managed this successfully before – and slowly made his way out of the Cobalt camp and toward the Verdant.
It took him nearly two hours to make his way through the Verdant camp. The soldiers here were far more alert…though Beraht was forced to concede again that they paled in comparison to the Scarlet. Bastard.
This time he had to slink more carefully to the tent of the Verdant General, Ludwig von Eisenberg. Going through the front wouldn’t work this time, so Beraht gingerly worked his way around to the back, waiting patiently for the patrol to pass, then slipped beneath and into the tent.
He stilled as it became obvious that von Eisenberg was only just asleep – he moved restlessly, like a man that had fallen asleep but was too restless to stay that way for long. Beraht waited several minutes, then finally began to slowly stand up.
Shouts and the blowing of horns abruptly shattered the night. Beraht swore – this late, he had not expected them to find any of the dead Generals this quickly. Stars refuse them all!
On his cot, von Eisenberg twisted around to his back and sat up. He started to speak, and Beraht wasted no time, bolting forward and grabbing von Eisenberg’s head with one hand, raking the fingers of his free hand across Eisenberg’s throat with the other. Hot blood gushed over his hands and arm before he finally dropped the dying general.
The tent flaps flew open, soldiers in dark green shouting for their General to come at once – then froze in shock as they registered both von Eisenberg lying in his own blood and Beraht standing over him.
Beraht had used a very precisely aimed razor spell to slit the throats of the two generals. It was a nasty spell, one the Krians loathed with particular vehemence. Using it the way he did, guiding the movement of the magic with his hand, controlled it and burned as little arcen as necessary.
Now he threw the spell out, attacking the men much as Tawn had attacked Iah and Sol. The men cried out in shock and pain, blood spurting, spilling – but they drew their swords anyway, lunging forward. Beraht threw out another spell, knocking one man down, giving him an opening—
—Pain flashed in his head as he exited the tent, then all he saw was black.
Chapter Twenty Six
Beraht woke with a groan, feeling as though his head had been split in half. What in the stars…
“Well, well, the nasty little Salharan-Illussor scum wakes. My men didn’t hit you that hard. Weak Salharan blood.”
“Stars refuse you,” Beraht snarled through the dizzying pain. He’d hoped not to see the stupid Kaiser again until he was slitting the bastard’s throat. Stars, what had happened? He’d made it out of the tent…and someone had obviously gotten the better of him.
There was still plenty of arcen in his system, however.
“Heilwig,” Benno said.
Beraht tilted his head up, immediately regretting the movement and grateful there was nothing in his stomach to toss up. The beautiful but cold Heilwig von Dresden stood over him. She held a vial of…stars above where had they gotten that!
“Hold him,” Heilwig ordered, and Beraht suddenly found suddenly gripped hard by the shoulders, another hand keeping a hold of his throat, making it impossible to breathe, to talk.
Heilwig grabbed his nose, then pulled the stopper from the bottle she held with her teeth. She shoved the vial into his mouth, filling it with a thick, grayish substance. It had the soured-milk taste of a cleanser, but was much more viscous than it should be. Cleansers were thin, watery. This was like drinking syrup…or concentrated arcen.
The grip on his throat released just as his vision began to go black, and in gasping for breath he was forced to swallow the noxious substance.
Dizziness and nausea washed over him as the substance took effect, confirming that it was in fact a cleanser – concentrated. Potent. Beraht’s stomach heaved and he wretched violently on the ground, emptying his stomach of things he hadn’t thought could still be in it. He heaved until his muscles ached and his throat was raw, wiping bile and saliva from his lips with the back of his hand. “What…”
With dismay he could feel the arcen already dying in his system. His stomach clenched as it tried to empty itself, not realizing it was already thoroughly empty. The potent cleanser was wreaking havoc with his body.
Instead of answering him, Heilwig merely shoved another vial down his throat. Beraht fought, struggled, but he was weak from the first bout and the hands holding him were far stronger than he.
By the time the second vial had been swallowed, Beraht was barely able to see straight. By the time they’d made him swallow a third, he was all but sobbing in pain, bending over, shudders wracking his body, sweat dripping down his face despite the cold.
“Like that, Salharan? Or are you Illussor? It’s so hard to tell…” Benno’s voice was idle, almost lazy in tone, but Beraht knew from experience his eyes would be hard and cold. “A clever little creation of my unfortunate Cobalt General…though I wonder how great a General he could have been to have fallen so easily to filth like you. Obviously he is useless when taken out of his fortress.”
Beraht finally managed to lift his head. “Von Eisenberg wasn’t terribly impressive either.” He grunted as von Dresden backhanded him, and licked the blood from his lips. Lifted his eyes to Von Dresden and sneered. “You would have been next.” This time he made no sound at all as the back of her hand cracked hard and painful across his face.
“That liquid you just drank was, as I’m sure you’ve realized, highly concentrated cleanser. It burns the arcen immediately from your system. What’s more…you’ve swallowed so much of it that I doubt your body will ever again tolerate arcen.” Benno’s smile was infuriatingly smug.
Only the fact that he was too weak to move kept Beraht from punching the expression off his face.
Never use arcen again…surely that was a lie. The cleansers had been potent, and he was going to be sick for weeks after being made to drink so much at once…but he could not believe it had completely destroyed his ability to use arcen. Absurd.
Benno motioned. “Tie him up in front of my tent. See he doesn’t freeze to death, but do no more.” He stood up and approached Beraht, grabbing him by the hair and forcing him to look up. “Your eyes…when we captured you they were red. Now they are merely yellow again. The color of the General you did not kill, and who has helped ruin what was probably the only skill you had.” He laughed coldly. “Though the stupid Deceivers obviously think you worth something. How valuable are you, I wonder? I suppose we shall see.”
“What do you mean?” Beraht demanded, hating the hoarse rasping that was his voice.
He was released roughly, and toed over to lie on his back. Benno loomed over him. Beraht glared hatefully back. “We’ve already sent a ransom demand for you,” Benno explained.
Beraht tried to laugh, but the movement hurt too much. “All you Krians are mad! I once told that bastard what I will tell you now – no one will pay a ransom for me.”
“You had better hope you are wrong,” Benno said, planting one foot on Beraht’s stomach and slowly putting his weight behind it, not letting up until Beraht finally let out a choked gasp of pain. “If they do not bring the ransom I have demanded, you will die slowly and painfully. You killed two of my generals. If you think three vials of that cleanser was bad…wait until we feed you a dozen more and then make you drink this.” He pulled a familiar looking vial from within his dark, heavy cloak.
Beraht paled. His second vial of concentrated red arcen.
“I see you begin to understand. You should not have much to fear, though, Salharan. All I want in exchange is my Scarlet General. No one will mind parting with him, not when they have apparently taken the entirety of my Scarlet.”
What little hope Beraht had held out that someone might rescue him, trade for him, died. It was more painful than he thought it should be, forcing him to the bitter realization that he’d liked the strange life he’d seemed to have acquired in his brief stay in Illussor. There’d been no guarantee it would last…but he had been willing to see it through. Not now.
His role was over. He was of no further use to Illussor, not now that he’d served his purpose as the Breaker. More important to Prince Matthias and all the others – if begrudgingly – was the bastard who could teach them to fight in Krian style. There was no choice there. Better to let him die.
Beraht didn’t bother to resist as men hauled him up and then tied him up in front of the Kaiser’s tent. Though they gave him blankets and aplenty, a bedroll to keep him from the cold ground, and the fires were close enough to provide warmth…all he felt was cold.
“I am going to kill him,” Dieter said slowly, precisely, enunciating every word as though it took great effort to form them.
Given that he was barely unclenching his jaw to do it, Matthias didn’t doubt a great deal of effort was, in fact, required. “I’m sure he meant well…”
Dieter glared at the missive on his desk. “I am certain that idiot never thought it through enough to realize how stupid he was being. He is far too impulsive to be a soldier; I am amazed he’s lived this long.”
Matthias wisely did not point out that it was only because of Dieter that Beraht was still alive. “I think Beraht always intends to do what he feels is best…” He smothered a laugh as Dieter’s glower only darkened further. “So what should we do?”
“I am going to get that fool back so that I can kill him myself,” Dieter said, standing. Nearby, one of his attendants came forward with his heavy cloak. Dieter turned to Reinhard. “Assemble a guard to escort me as far as the border. Make certain that any Illussor willing are included; it is their country being defended.”
“Are you sure it’s wise?” Kalan asked as he walked with deceptive casualness into the room, leaning idly against the wall beside the large map covering most of it. “It seems to me Benno wants nothing less than your head on a spit.”
Dieter grunted. “At the very least. You are suggesting we leave Beraht to die?”
Matthias lifted a brow at the chill that entered Dieter’s voice. Though Dieter was never soft about anything, he was never quite that cold.
“Of course not,” Kalan said calmly. “I simply mean sending you out there is not the best way to handle things. We risk losing both of you.”
“I will be fine,” Dieter said. “This is a matter I should have settled a long time ago. I will end it now.”
Kalan looked at him, eyes sharp. “There is something personal here.”
Dieter did not reply, merely stalked past them out the door, his retainers and attendants falling into step around him, gradually breaking off to attend to some duty or errand. Matthias walked not far behind, Kalan at his side, but cut left where Dieter kept going straight ,moving to the balcony that overlooked the main courtyard.
When Dieter reached the courtyard, Reinhard and what looked to be about a hundred men stood at attention, patiently waiting. More than half were Illussor. Dieter nodded to all of them and mounted his horse as it was brought to him. He turned to face Matthias.
“Be cautious but victorious,” Matthias said. “We have never let the Krian defeat us before, we will not now. Go with the Goddess.”
Dieter saluted him and turned his horse around to lead the way from the courtyard, barking commands in sharp, guttural Krian.
His men were relearning how to fight in the Krian style even down to the language. Matthias chuckled softly.
“This is foolish,” Esta said, coming up behind him. “Can we really trust him? How do we know this is not some trap or—“
Matthias cut her off with a sharp shake of his head. “He is my General, Duchess.”
Beside him Kalan laughed, oblivious to or uncaring of the nasty look Esta shot him “At any rate, I do not doubt for a moment that he intends to rescue Beraht and at the very least beat him senseless before tying him down someplace so he’ll stay out of trouble.”
A strange look Matthias couldn’t place flickered across Esta’s face at Kalan’s words. “There is that,” she finally said. “I suppose I should tell the healers to be ready for trouble of some form or another.” Muttering to herself, Esta tucked a stray bit of hair back into the tidy braid coiled around the back of her head and gathered the skirts of her maroon gown, turning away to tend her duties, not bothering to bid them farewell.
Kalan looked after her, both brows raised. “What does she know that we don’t?”
“Who knows,” Matthias said with a roll his eyes. “Women always know everything; they like to hoard the information until it can be used to maximum effect. Especially Esta.”
“Yet you want to marry her,” Kalan said, shaking his head and giving a dramatic sigh.
Matthias grinned. “What’s not to love about a woman who is more than willing to beat sense into me and could probably manage it?”
“I prefer the sweet ones myself,” Kalan said idly. “Come on, while your general is wreaking havoc on his homeland we can go terrorize the council.”
“Couldn’t I go count snowflakes instead?” Matthias asked with a sigh, but obediently limped slowly alongside Kalan through the halls.
Beraht fell to the snow with a wet thump, too tired and sick to really feel the cold. He was past caring anyway. Let him freeze a bit; it would dull some of the pain he was about to start feeling. Though why they brought him out here to do the deed, he didn’t know. Benno was obviously the sort who preferred an audience.
“As promised,” Benno said, his voice cutting sharply across the quiet, snow-smothered field.
“Barely,” a familiar voice rumbled. Realization struck Beraht like a fist to the gut. He forced open his sore eyes and with an effort lifted his head.
Dieter.
What…what was Dieter doing here?
Surely the stars-refused bastard hadn’t actually come out here to pay the ransom?
Beraht’s thoughts stuttered, stopped, and dizzily he let his head fall back down. When he was reasonably certain he would not once again try to heave up his empty stomach, he lifted it again.
Arrayed behind Dieter, forming a half-circle of at least fifty men, matching the half-circle behind the Emperor, was a mixture of Illussor and Scarlet. All were still, quiet; even the Illussor did not look as nervous as they probably felt.
Snow crunched loudly as Dieter dismounted. He drew his sword and stepped forward, stopping about six or so paces away. Glared at Beraht, but said nothing. Shifted his gray-green eyes, dark with anger, back to Benno. “If you think simply to trade one for the other, I am afraid you are quite mistaken.”
“Oh, I plan to kill you here and now,” Benno replied, and motioned. “I have not decided if I want to kill your prisoner or keep him. He’s quite useless now, but it would please me to have him.”
Dieter sneered. “If you had not murdered my father, you would have something of your own and would not need to steal from others.”
“Be silent,” Benno hissed, drawing his own sword. Beraht looked at it, willing his eyes to focus, longing to sleep and never wake. This sword was nearly a match for Dieter’s…same length, with a hilt that was dark, set with a crystal in the pommel. The metal, however, did not shimmer. Beside Dieter’s sword, it was dull.
If he were not feeling so wretchedly, miserably ill, he would be disgusted with himself for thinking that.
“You have been nothing but the bane of my existence since your birth, son of Meinrad.”
“You think he chose us over you?” Dieter asked, tensing as Benno stepped forward. “He wanted me only to mould into that which would most please you. What will you do after I am dead?”
“Leave your carcass for the dogs as I did with your father!” Benno snarled and lunged, sword arching, steel ringing as their blades clashed.
Dieter returned the snarl with one of his own, easily blocking the swing as well as the next.
Beraht could not keep from staring. The last time he’d seen Dieter fight had been in the coliseum, and that had been completely different. Then, there’d been no real challenge until the end and Dieter had been put in a weaker position by Benno.
This was entirely different.
It was making him even more dizzy to watch them. A perversion of the dances Esta had been attempting to teach him…but instead of a turn at the end of each step, another smear of blood was added to the ravaged snow.
Morning sunlight reflected off Dieter’s arcen-rich blade, and Benno flinched slightly from the unexpected flash of light, the low cut he swung faltering slightly. A heartbeat later he stumbled back, clutching at his left arm, which was bleeding profusely.
“Bastard,” Benno hissed, and hefted his heavy sword in his right hand.
Dieter sneered but made no reply, moving on the offensive as Benno lifted his sword.
The Kaiser grunted and blocked the swing, but with his left arm disabled there was no contest. Blood gushed as Dieter’s sword plunged through his chest. Benno grunted, his face going gray, but gave no other indication he was dying.
Disgusted, Dieter yanked his sword free and watched dispassionately as Benno collapsed to the ground. “Pathetic. I will never understand…” He shook his head and turned to Beraht and Heilwig. “Let him go, whore, or you will join Benno.”
Heilwig stepped up behind Beraht and yanked his head back, pressing a dagger to his throat. “You would not reach me before I slit his throat,” she said calmly.
Dieter hefted his sword. “Kill him and I kill you. What would you rather do, von Dresden?”
“Return home,” Heilwig said flatly. “I advised him against this.” She shrugged. “Perhaps he wanted you to leave him cold and dead out here in the middle of the nowhere. I bedded the man but his thoughts seldom made sense to me. I do not think even he understood his own thoughts.” Her eyes were speculative as she stared at Dieter. “You are of course completely and utterly a traitor to the crown.”
“By all rights I could take the crown,” Dieter said dispassionately.
“That crown belongs to his unborn son,” Heilwig said.
Dieter sneered. “You are a calculating whore.”
“I am the Saffron General, and now Regent until my son comes of age.” Heilwig replied. She abruptly removed the dagger from Beraht’s throat and kicked him forward into the snow. “Take your Salharan and go. If you ever step foot in Kria again, traitor, your life is forfeit.”
Dieter said nothing, merely cleaned his sword and sheathed it, then strode forward and yanked Beraht to his feet. He nodded once to Heilwig, then turned and led Beraht to his horse, all but throwing him into the saddle before swinging up behind him.
Beraht swayed dizzily, aware of only two things – Dieter had rescued him, and Dieter was incredibly warm. “Bastard,” he muttered as Dieter’s heavy cloak settled around them. He heard a rumbling, anger-laced reply, but slipped into unconsciousness before the words could register.
He woke up feeling as though he’d been dragged through the streets and run over by a wagon several times.
Movement caught his eye as he sat up, and Beraht just barely caught sight a soldier bolting from…he was in a tent. Surprisingly warm, thanks to the little stove in the center. A large table was across the way, neatly arranged with rolled up maps and sheaves of paper, an inkwell and blotter. A familiar cloak was draped over the back of the chair.
Everything came crashing back to him.
Rescued.
He’d been rescued by the bastard Wolf himself. Beraht frowned, unable to pin down his roiling emotions long enough to figure out why they were in such turmoil. He felt…unsettled.
Further thought was spared him as an all too familiar large, dark form blew into the tent, Dieter’s gray-green eyes immediately landing upon him. Filled with fury. “Tits of the Winter Princess, I am going to kill you.”
Beraht glared right back. “If you’re hoping for a thank you, issuing threats is not the best way to see you get one. Stars refuse you, I think I’ll just go back to sleep.”
“You are not going to sleep until I knock you unconscious for being a complete imbecile,” Dieter snapped. “Do you ever think, Beraht?”
“I think you’re a stars-refused bastard,” Beraht retorted. “I think my head hurts too much for me to feel like putting up with you. I think food would be a splendid idea and wine a divine one. I think—“
Dieter crossed the room like a wolf approaching his prey, grabbed Beraht by the scruff of his shirt, and dragged him bodily from the cot. He held him close, so close that for a moment Beraht had the insane, wild thought that Dieter was going to kiss him—
—Then just as abruptly Dieter let him go. Beraht wobbled precariously on the cot, but a moment later it steadied. He dug his fingers into the blanket and watched Dieter in a bemused, befuddled silence.
Why in the stars had he thought such an absurd thing? Dieter wouldn’t kiss him, not – well, perhaps if his life depended on it…
Which made Beraht frown. Dieter had kissed him before, though it was something he’d made every effort not to think about. He shivered and tugged his blankets up, glaring at the man standing over the table. “Why?” he demanded. “I can hardly think Matthias approved of sending out his General. You’re irreplaceable. To him.”
Dieter spun around sharply and stalked back toward the bed, and Beraht once more felt as though he were prey. “You’re a fool!” Dieter snarled, reaching out to grab the front of his shirt and drag him close again. “The greatest fool I’ve ever met. What were you thinking, Beraht?”
“Stop saying my name that way!” Beraht snarled, shoving him back, ignoring the waves of nausea that rolled over him. “I’m not going to be sorry for solving your problems with a bit of shadow-killing! It worked far better than your stupid negotiations would have.”
“Until you got caught,” Dieter retorted, letting him go. “Slitting the throats of sleeping men is nothing to commend.”
“Neither is mincing words when neither party means what they say,” Beraht snarled. “I know how politics work, and I know how empty the words are. Nothing but lies, and it would have ended in killing. This way I only killed a few, you killed the Kaiser, now we can go home.”
Dieter sighed and stalked back to the table, bracing his hands upon it, staring at something Beraht could not see. “Your eyes are yellow.”
Beraht stilled. “Yes.”
“They were orange when last I saw you, and if you used the arcen you took from Tawn’s corpse, they should be red.” Dieter turned around again, solemn and curious, and Beraht noticed suddenly that Dieter looked tired. His clothes fell in a way that said he’d probably been wearing them for at least a couple of days straight – and he’d noticed right from the start that Dieter detested being filthy. His hair too was mussed, and for some reason it only made the touches of silver more prominent. In a man as young as Dieter, those silver touches should look odder than they did.
Beraht wondered just how horribly the concentrated cleanser had ruined his mind that he was thinking about such stupid shit. “I was force fed concentrated cleansers. They flushed the arcen from me, and made me sick in the process.” He didn’t bother to mention that they’d ruined his ability to use arcen.
Dieter once more approached the bed, and Beraht was struck with the realization that Dieter was restless. Finger and thumb grasped his chin, forced his head all the way up. “They’re precisely the color they were when I first captured you. I’ve never known anyone to regress.”
“It was concentrated,” Beraht said, wondering why his chest felt so tight suddenly. Stars, he wished the bastard would go away and leave him in peace. “Heavily concentrated. The equivalent of concentrated red arcen.”
“No wonder you have been so feverish,” Dieter said, and Beraht once more had the wild thought that Dieter was about to—
“Lord General!” A voice said sharply from outside, the words Illussor.
Dieter growled low and strode to the tent entrance. “What?”
“We’re ready to move out, Lord General.”
“What are the final numbers?”
“Half the Verdant, two thirds of the Cobalt.”
Dieter laughed low. “His Highness will not know where to put them all. My instructions were conveyed?”
“Yes, Lord General,” the unseen man replied.
“Good. Appoint men to have my things packed. Send Reinhard to me.”
“At once, Lord General,” the man replied, and Dieter turned back to Beraht a second later.
Beraht glared. “You still have not answered my question.”
“What question was that?” Dieter asked idly, picking up his cloak and swinging it up and around his shoulders. Beraht could tell from the carefully blank expression on his face that the bastard was being purposely obtuse.
He bit back a retort and simply repeated his question. “Why did you bother saving me?”
Dieter looked at him, eyes holding something Beraht could not even remotely understand. Then he turned away, headed outside. “Because you are mine,” he replied before vanishing.
What in the stars did that mean? He wasn’t Dieter’s prisoner anymore, stars refuse the bastard if he thought that!
Snarling, Beraht threw back the covers and slid awkwardly from the cot, scrambling into the clothes he found after a moment’s search. His body protested all the quick movements but Beraht grit his teeth and endured.
Stars if he’d let the bastard get away with such strange words and no explanation.
But when he got outside, Dieter was barely discernible all the way across camp, surrounded by soldiers, obviously handing out orders.
Heaving a sigh, Beraht turned away in disgust to find food and see if it would stay on his stomach. He’d deal with the stars refused Wolf when they returned home.
That was the third time he’d thought of Illussor as home.
Muttering curses, Beraht gave up thinking of anything but food.
yay, finished!
Date: 2007-03-22 11:52 am (UTC)"Because you are mine"
Nice work. Thanks for the pre-class treat.
Fabulous
Date: 2007-03-22 03:47 pm (UTC)"Because your mine."
SQEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!
Love it, love it, love it!
no subject
Date: 2007-03-22 05:25 pm (UTC)When he ran off all I could think was 'Dieters going to be so pissed...' :giggles:
no subject
Date: 2007-03-22 07:01 pm (UTC)(yes, I think there would have been revolting had we needed to wait yet another week. Happy happy.)
Randomly, I'm really glad they force fed Beraht those cleansers, because I was getting really, really worried about how close he was coming to the "no turning back" point.
so, off I go to read the end! ^^
no subject
Date: 2007-03-22 07:25 pm (UTC)And I can hardly wait until you finally conclude this: in fact, I'm going to go read it right now.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-23 10:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-24 10:55 pm (UTC)I was so afraid to read this when I got to the part with Beraht off to slay the Generals *keys in OZ music*. Thought about just opening the story and being in the same room and absorbing it by omosis. Am illogical. Loved this.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-05 09:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-05 11:47 am (UTC)You hardly upset me ^___^ And he did actually have sentries up -- the general idea (and obviously I need to work on it a bit, heh) was that Beraht was just that good.
You're certainly entitled to your opinion my dear, it did not upset me at all <3
no subject
Date: 2007-05-06 02:00 pm (UTC)