by Megan Derr
Prisoner
Megan Derr
A man whom all men fear…
General Dieter von Adolwulf has led the Scarlet Army of Kria to victory for the past decade, holding the infamous field known as the Regenbogen against Kria's hated enemies—the deceptive Illussor and the ruthless Salharans. War has waged between the three nations for longer than anyone can remember, but no one has held the Regenbogen as well as the notorious Wolf of Kria and his fearsome army.
A man who fears nothing…
Returning home at the end of the year, the Scarlet Army is attacked in the dead of night by a single man who manages to kill hundreds before he is finally captured. A Salharan soldier with no name, no purpose but to kill, he refuses to bend to the Wolf who takes him prisoner and forces upon him a despicable Krian name.
A man with nothing to lose…
When the rest of his army is slaughtered by Illussor soldiers desperately seeking his prisoner, Dieter determines to hold fast—both for answers and in revenge for the men he lost. But answers and revenge are hard to come by when surrounded by secrets and treachery, and the man least likely to kill him is the prisoner who most wants him dead.
Book Details
Prisoner by Megan Derr
Published by Less Than Three Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Samantha M. Derr
Cover designed by London Burden
This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
Third Edition May 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Megan Derr
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-1-936202-37-9
Table of Contents
Prisoner
Book Details
Prisoner
Prologue
Part One: Kria
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Part Two: Illussor
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Epilogue
About the Author
Prisoner
For Crown. For Country. For Sword.
~Krian vow
Prologue
Dieter scrubbed at his face, willing away his exhaustion. The chaos had finally ceased, and his men would shortly be bringing him the last irritant of the evening—the bastard Salharan who had managed to sneak into their camp in the dead of night and slay hundreds of men while they slept. He shoved strands of silver-touched black hair from his eyes, looking up at the dark gray sky. "Stupid bitch," he muttered under his breath. He snapped his head down at the sound of boots squishing in the muddy swamp that their camp had become. "What?" he barked at the private trying not to shake before him.
"G-General, we caught him."
"Bring him to me."
"Yes, Sir!" The private turned and beat a retreat. Dieter noted that if the men had moved half so fast earlier, more of them would have lived. It would seem the new recruits were still sorely in need of training. That would be dealt with in a fortnight when they reached the Winter Palace.
He glared once more at the dark sky. "The Winter Princess has sunk her claws deep this season." A few of his officers, gathered to give their reports, muttered soft agreements. Dieter's next words were prevented by the sound of shouting and scrabbling and words spoken in a language usually foreign to their camp. A moment later four men came crashing into the circle, three of them falling to the ground as they reached Dieter.
The prisoner remained standing, sneering contemptuously at the soldiers who had failed to control him. Dieter stepped forward, grabbed the prisoner by the scruff of his shirt and swung a hard fist into his stomach. The prisoner collapsed, groaning in pain, but he did not pass out. "That's more like it. Now," he glared at his men, "Start talking."
The first soldier nodded, fumbling to straighten his hat as he snapped to attention. "This is the man who led the ambush, General. The others are all dead."
Unadulterated hate clouded the prisoner's face as he looked at Dieter. Dieter ignored him. "How did he manage to take us so unawares?"
"We don't know, General." The second soldier started to shrug then realized what he was doing and froze.
Dieter stared at the prisoner through hooded eyes. The man gave the word "filthy" all new meaning. His military breeches were so covered in muck and grime it was impossible tell their original color. His hair color was similarly difficult to determine for the filth. He had lost his military jacket, making his rank impossible to determine, and his shirt was little more than scraps of cloth barely clinging to his form. But beneath the rags and the mud, muscle rippled and tensed as he strained against the ropes wound down his arm and locked tightly around his wrists. This was no lazy soldier scraping by on the pity of the gods.
Of course, the fact that he had killed a hundreds of Dieter's best had proven that. "Do you have a name, Prisoner?" He noticed, almost idly, that the man's amber eyes turned bright gold in anger.
"Prisoner is good enough for you," the man spat. "You may as well kill me because I'll not tell you a thing."
Dieter smirked. "That remains to be seen." His gaze hardened as he looked at his men. "Do we know anything about him?"
"He lost his jacket struggling against us, but it had the marks of a lieutenant." The third soldier spoke quietly, as if he sensed Dieter would be displeased and was hoping to escape detection.
Had Dieter felt like moving, he probably would have backhanded him for acting so weak. His vision misted with rage. "A lieutenant; the best of my Scarlet is dead now because of a polluted lieutenant?" Dieter contemplated landing a few blows, but decided it was not worth expending what energy he had left. "Get out of my sight, all of you. Rest while you can, because tomorrow you're going to wish the Autumn Prince had taken you away!"
The soldiers fled.
Breathing heavily with rage, Dieter grabbed a fistful of the prisoner's filthy hair and forced his head up. "How did you kill so many of my men?"
"I'm polluted, remember?" The prisoner sneered in contempt. "A little pollution is all I need to kill filthy Krians."
Dieter swung out, punching him hard in the gut. The prisoner crumpled to the ground and lay still. Using one booted foot, he shoved the prisoner until he lay flat on his stomach. Crouching down, he examined the ropes that bound him. It would not do to injure him overmuch until they could determine a suitable punishment. Simply killing him would not suffice. No. This one would pay. Grimacing at the layers of Gods only knew what covering him, Dieter shoved away dirt and scraps of cloth to ensure the prisoner had not suffered serious injury.
His explorations uncovered a strange, unnatural mark at the small of his back. Dieter frowned and wiped away more of the grime, breath hissing between his teeth when he realized what he had uncovered.
Seven thin triangles, shaped around a circle to form a stylized sta
r. Five of the triangles were filled in—violet, indigo, blue, green and yellow. Two triangles and the central circle were outlines. Dieter was torn between annoyance and glee. "That would certainly explain how a mere lieutenant managed to kill so many of my men." Rising to his feet, he called for his Chief of Staff and began barking orders.
*~*~*
"After all the trouble you've caused," Dieter folded his arms across his chest, "it's good to know you're worth a ransom."
The prisoner shook his head, but said nothing. His arms had been chained to the ground behind him, forcing him to sit always slightly tilted back so that the chains wrapped around his neck and down his arms did not choke him. "They will pay nothing for me."
"If you are going to lie, Prisoner, then at least tell a good one. I know a Seven Star when I see one, and I know they will be eager to get you back." Dieter unfolded his arms as an attendant approached with a steaming cup of tea. "But tell my why a Brother of the Seven Star was made a mere lieutenant? Did they think that would keep you from being detected?"
Amber eyes regarded him with hot rage, but it was not the bright gold that Dieter had seen before. The prisoner was growing weaker by the hour, and the strain had dulled his bright eyes. Dieter realized he almost felt disappointed. "They thought it would get me killed sooner."
"Not very intelligent of them," Dieter said with amusement. He took a sip of his dark tea, deciding to play along with the prisoner. "Why not simply kill you themselves?"
This time the eyes did turn gold, though only for a moment. Then the prisoner sneered. "Do not think you'll get any information from me."
Dieter smirked. "Think you I need such information from you? The Brotherhood of the Seven Star, the most polluted men in all of Salhara." He knelt to look the prisoner in the face. "Always before they have been leaders, men of power, not mere lieutenants—unless of course we are wrong about your rank."
The prisoner made a motion that would have been a shrug had he been unbound, "I am a Lieutenant, or was."
"Nor did you use the sort of pollutions to which I am accustomed." Typically, Salharans used a wide variety of small pollutions and simple spells instead of wasting the necessary drugs on larger, more complicated spells. Yet this one had used those harder spells.
The prisoner gave a vicious smile. "If I'd done that, you would have been able to defend yourselves."
Dieter narrowed his eyes, sorely tempted to backhand him. He rose to his feet. "You're only alive because of my orders."
Giving another of his awkward shrugs, the prisoner tossed his head to stare him in the face. "You'll be killing me soon anyway. What do I care for your threats?"
"My threats are not made idly," Dieter said. "Once the ransom is paid, you will suffer greatly for what you've done."
The prisoner threw his head back and laughed, the sound of it bitter and half wild. "Then I guess I have nothing to fear at all." His eyes were dampened gold. "Never will they pay a ransom for me."
*~*~*
Dieter crushed the missive in one large fist, glowering at everyone and everything within his sight. The soldiers fled, each fearing they would be the one to take the brunt of their general's anger. The prisoner laughed at him, though he did not sound happy so much as bitterly amused. "I told you so."
"Be silent, Prisoner, unless you would care to explain to me why your Brothers do not desire your safe return."
"They would rather die than call me Brother." The prisoner slumped over in his chains, no longer seeming to feel the pain caused by his long hours of awkward confinement.
Dieter buried his hand in the prisoner's filthy hair and yanked his head up. "Then what am I to do with you?"
"Kill me."
"No, I think not. All the trouble you've caused, death is too kind a measure." Dieter released him, scowling as he thought.
"General!" A lieutenant approached, touching his right shoulder with his left hand in salute as he snapped to attention. "We are ready to depart."
"Have the prisoner secured to my horse."
"Yes, General!" The lieutenant saluted again and barked orders to several nearby grunts.
Several minutes later, Dieter mounted his horse and sneered down at the man chained to the pommel. "I hope you can keep up, Prisoner. If you fall, I will not help you up."
"Do you think I care?" The prisoner sneered. "At this rate, I will die."
"No, you will not." Dieter gave the orders for his men to march, then continued to speak to the prisoner. "There is too much fight in you. A few days without water and food, and you will be begging for the chance to live."
"I would rather die than beg you for anything."
Dieter merely laughed, pleased at the thought of proving the stubborn prisoner so very, very wrong. "We shall see, prisoner, we shall see." He urged his horse to increase its pace, summoning his Chief of Staff to finalize their new route home.
Half of the Scarlet Army remained at the Regenbogen, under the control of his Commander. The rest traveled with him to the Winter Palace for the remainder of the year. The prisoner had slowed their journey, however, and the risk of more Salharans had forced the change in their usual route home. He had already lost more of the Scarlet than he liked; he would not lose more. The new route was longer, and more difficult, but less likely to be infested with Salharans.
Beside him, walking along the uneven, rocky ground, the prisoner ground his teeth, clearly displeased by what he was hearing. Dieter saw the frustration and smirked. Ordering his men away, he spoke once more to the prisoner. "Thirsty, Prisoner? We have been traveling for nearly two hours."
The prisoner said nothing. Dieter chuckled. "You will beg me before the journey ends."
"I will let death claim me first."
"I do not think so." Dieter watched him for a moment, ordering his thoughts and considering his questions. "How do you know our language so well?"
Silence. "Ah, but you are a Brother." Still the prisoner did not reply. Dieter laughed, "But no—you said they would rather die than call you Brother. Then why do you bear the mark of the Seven Star?"
"Why would you think I'd tell you?"
"You will eventually. Shall we start with your name?"
"Prisoner will suffice."
Dieter laughed. "So stubborn. I will enjoy watching you crumble. But I grow weary of calling you Prisoner. If you will not tell me your name, perhaps I should give you one."
"NO!" the prisoner shouted loud enough to startle most of the assembled men. He lowered his voice, but it was full of hate and a shred of panic. "I will never accept a name from you. Prisoner is all that you need call me."
Narrowing his eyes, Dieter spoke briefly with his aide before pulling off to the side of the camp. He dismounted and strode up to the prisoner, grasping him by the throat and pressing just hard enough for it to be painful without inhibiting his breathing. "You are my prisoner, and I shall call you what I like."
"No," the prisoner snarled, desperate and angry. "I will never respond to anything but Prisoner."
Dieter used his other hand to shove filthy, tangled strands of hair from the prisoner's face, forcing his head up for a closer examination. Beneath a sweaty, dirty face, his amber eyes shone bright with anger. Dieter smiled in a way that made most men recoil in fear. "Beraht," he said softly. "Your name is Beraht."
"I do not accept it," the prisoner said. "I would rather die."
"You keep saying that. I do not believe you," Dieter said. He released the prisoner and mounted his horse once more. "You will grow tired and hungry and weary. Already you are suffering from the lack of your precious drugs. By the time we reach camp, you will be begging me. If you want to live, accept your new name or tell me your real one."
"Never."
*~*~*
"Attack!" a scout called as he crested the hill and raced toward the traveling army. "Salharan soldiers, take cover!"
Dieter wasted no time giving orders to his troops, but the orders came too little too late to avoid disaster.
In mere seconds his army was a mess, and it was all Dieter could do to keep them from being overwhelmed completely. Everywhere around him were the screams and cries of men and horses, the smell of blood and steel and fire, the air thick with fear and anger and hate.
There was something strange about it all, however. Dieter fought off attacker after attacker as his mind tried to put together the pieces that were not fitting together as they should have been. As he slew yet another foot soldier from atop his mount, he suddenly realized what was odd. They were not trying to get him. They were trying to get past him.
Dieter fought with the chains that had been secured to his pommel, then all but threw himself off his horse and shoved the prisoner to the ground as more Salharan foot soldiers attacked. His sword found its mark in the chest of the first, the throat of the second. His Chief of Staff took out the last as Salharan trumpets sounded a retreat.
"Get me the counts!" Dieter snarled to his second. Pushing himself to his feet, he yanked the prisoner up hard and shook him. "Why?" he raged. "Why are my men dying for you? Why are your own people trying to kill you?" He shook the man hard, over and over until they both were gasping for breath.
The prisoner stared at him with eyes that had darkened with fear. "We have to go. Now."
Dieter narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"Now!" the prisoner screamed. In a burst of strength Dieter had not expected, the prisoner grabbed him and turned, using Dieter's own weight to throw him into the scrubby forest that separated the road from a small, muddy river. Without pause, the prisoner grabbed the reins of Dieter's horse and followed him into the trees.
Dieter struggled to his feet, but before he could the prisoner threw himself on top of Dieter and held him down as best he could. Dieter continued to struggle until a thin, high-pitched whining sound filled the air. Until that moment, he had not noticed the stark, unnatural silence that had fallen, making that sudden whining sound crystal clear. "No…" he whispered. He ceased struggling and instead began to silently recite the prayers for peace in death.
Above him, still holding Dieter down, the prisoner chanted words of his own. Not a prayer, but a spell. Dieter wondered where he had gotten the arcen to cast it.
