by Megan Derr
"He is likely to wake up dead if he tries to invite another woman into his bed. The Saffron General would never tolerate that." Burkhard laughed. "Now there is a Coliseum battle I should like to see!"
Sol laughed with him. "I'm sure many would be right there with you."
"Yes," Burkhard agreed. "Speaking of the generals, they say Egon has not left his rooms since arriving."
"Well, it is not as though he ever does much when he is out of them. That man is as invisible as the Wolf is hard to miss."
Burkhard frowned, his good humor vanishing like the sun behind a cloud. "Yes, the Wolf…"
"Presumed dead, yes?" Sol asked quietly.
"Yes."
Sol looked past Burkhard's shoulder at the crowded room. People were smiling, laughing, joking, and playing— happy. There was no sign anywhere, save in Burkhard's unhappy face, that one of the four generals was dead. He wondered if that would be his fate the day he finally died. Would anyone notice or care? General Sol deVry was seldom seen on the battlefield; most believed his position to be largely for show. Something to keep the traitor's son out of trouble.
What they didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
"Is there no chance he lived?"
Burkhard shrugged. "It was a Scream that did it. How does one survive that? Even the Illussor bastards themselves cannot escape it. Which only goes to prove just how mad they all are. I was going to light a candle for him on the Winter Eve. Would you like to attend? I won't take much of your time."
Sol nodded. No man, even the Wolf, should be treated so ignominiously. "I will attend. It is the least the Lord General von Adolwulf deserves. Why is there no ceremony being set for him?"
"That is a question for the Kaiser, isn't it?"
"I suppose it is," Sol replied quietly. "Perhaps he is awaiting proof of the general's demise. Did I mishear that someone had said his body was not among the fallen?"
"There is that," Burkhard conceded, "but still, it would take a miracle to survive a Scream."
Sol agreed, keeping his amusement to himself. Screams were not impossible to survive. The trick for which the Illussor had been named was a spell that allowed the caster to trick his opponent for a certain length of time. That length varied according to skill and circumstances of the caster as well as what exactly he wanted the victim to see. When the Illussor focused all their ability together, they could do a great deal of damage.
The worst of this was an illusion of death. All the power was focused by one person, who literally made everyone in the vicinity believe they had died. The illusion was real enough that everyone died, including the caster and all the men whose power he'd drawn. The spell's only give away was the strange, thin cry made by the caster which was brought on by the agony of the spell. It was the Krians who had first dubbed it a scream of death; 'Scream' had stuck.
A Salharan could survive it if he had enough warning and sufficient arcen in his system. The only other ones who survived were those who were unconscious before the Scream was cast. According to Tawn, nameless had likely survived, no doubt having burned off all his arcen to do so. Sol doubted von Adolwulf had been unconscious in the middle of a battle.
Where was Tawn anyway? It shouldn't be taking him this long to find a lone, arcen-less soldier in Krian land. If he didn't move it, nameless would die from the elements. How hard could it really be, especially for Tawn?
Sol could not wait to be rid of him. If it cost him his own place, he would ensure Tawn never became a star in the sky. Not that he believed either of them stood a chance, but for his sister he would make triply sure.
"Is there anything of interest going on tonight?"
"Only the usual antics at supper," Burkhard said. "The last of the soldiers arrived today, so tomorrow will be the Solemn Feast. But tonight everyone plans to get drunk and start the room shuffling." He winked. "I'm sure you'll get quite a few offers, my Lord Grau. Are you going to disappointment the ladies again this year?"
Sol laughed. "Unfortunately, I must. My cousin is in no condition to be left alone. His eyes were ruined in a hunting accident, and it is hard for him to learn to live in the dark."
"I see," Burkhard said. "Well, bring him out sometime, and we'll do what we can to make things more bearable. Until later, my friend, I must be off."
"Farewell," Sol called after him. Rejoining the throng in the main hall, Sol snagged a servant and gave orders for dinner to be brought to his chambers.
Missions for the evening accomplished, Sol found he was eager to return to his rooms. Unusual, but he had never had anyone waiting for him before. Strange the difference it made, to know he was returning to someone.
When Sol stepped inside the room, the sound of not one but two voices struck him. His good mood instantly turned into one of white hot rage. "Let. Him. Go." He was across the room in a flash, intending to tear Tawn's head from his shoulders.
Tawn shoved Iah toward him, forcing Sol to focus his attention on catching him. "Well, well. What have we here?"
"Stay out of my business, Tawn, and I'll stay out of yours."
Tawn approached like a snake in the grass, his eyes burning a bright yellow-orange. "The Illussor is my business. You stole him from me. I wondered for a moment if it was you, but I thought no, that can't be. What use would an Illussor be to my dear brother-in-law?"
Sol felt Iah start. He wanted to make sure Iah was all right, but the last thing he needed was for Tawn to know that he and Iah were not enemies. "Of course I need him!" he snapped. "How else am I to learn why they attacked the Krians to gain our nameless brother?"
"Indeed," Tawn said. "Still, he is my prisoner. The Brothers were none too pleased to find him gone."
"The Brothers will find something else to occupy themselves with," Sol said. "I don't suppose you did your job and brought nameless with you?"
Tawn grinned, an expression that made Sol want to recoil. "No need. He'll be here shortly." Tawn began to laugh.
Sol guided Iah to a chair, then took three steps toward Tawn and backhanded him. "Enough."
Tawn touched his cheek and glared hatefully. "One day, dear brother-in-law. One day…"
"Yes, but on that day you will also die—and with my name."
"Like Ariana died with mine?"
Sol punched him, satisfied to feel the crunch of Tawn's nose beneath his fist. "You will not speak my sister's name again."
"I'll speak my wife's name all I please," Tawn said in a wet voice, holding his broken nose as blood poured from it, soaking the floor and his shirt, tears pouring from his eyes.
"Get out," Sol said. "Make yourself useful and gather information from the Illussor. Or go back home and let the Brothers deal with you. I am done."
Tawn walked stiffly past him, and though Sol tensed for an attack, none came. "I'll be back."
Sol waited several more minutes, then strode over to Iah. "Are you all right?" He touched fingers gently to Iah's throat, which was already showing bruises.
"He's your brother-in-law?" Iah said, voice rough.
"Yes," Sol said. He stepped over to the window. "He married my sister when they were both young. He had recently become a Brother, obtaining his Seven Star from his master who, on the surface was merely a lower politician, but was really in charge of the Brotherhood's information network. Tawn and I are probably the best spies in Salhara. It is only a matter of time, now, before he realizes what game I play."
"I told him nothing," Iah said. "He knows only that you took me away and have been keeping me captive for information. He seemed to believe it."
"Hmm…" Sol said noncommittally. "Thank you. I know you've no reason to trust me—"
Iah stood and made his way slowly to the window, fingers reaching out to grasp Sol's sleeve. "Part of me screams not to trust you. After all, you are a Salharan Brother who plays a Krian very well and claims to be working for Illussor. You seem fully capable of belonging to any of the three countries. Would you have left me there if I had not been useful?"
Iah's fingers twitched, as though he were going to reach out, but then only curled in on themselves. "It is not my place to ask…"
"I don't mind," Sol said, surprised at himself because the words were true. He did not mind Iah knowing. "He claimed to love my sister, and she loved him. He gave her a new name, and they asked that I be the one to bestow a new name upon him. It was I who named him Tawn deVry and welcomed him into our small family.
"But not a year later he was too busy to notice her. He left her alone, ignored her. Even when she fell sick, he did not return home. My sister, despite this, persisted in loving him. She would never accept that he had married her solely for the power of the deVry family. Even without the Seven Star, Tawn is a powerful man. After his work in the field, he will take his place as a Minister of Salhara.
"If he'd come home, my sister might have lived. He didn't; she grew worse and worse. When the fever took her sight, she gave up completely. Three weeks after she lost her sight, she died, and the last thing she said was his name." Sol let go of Iah's hand when he realized he held it too hard. His words were barely a whisper. "I wish she'd had your strength."
Iah reached out tentatively and touched Sol's face, let his fingers linger there. "I am sorry she did not realize her brother was worth living for."
"Thank you," Sol said and lifted his own hand to touch the one at his cheek.
Chapter Seven
Sol sat up, instantly awake. He looked around the room and wondered what had woken him. Nothing was amiss. Next to him, Iah was asleep. Not soundly, as he obviously was troubled by nightmares, but he slept. Perhaps it was simply that which had woken him. Carefully he reached out and laid a hand flat against Iah's chest, stilling his restless movements.
Iah calmed and relaxed, and after several minutes seemed to be more deeply asleep. Sol sighed and slid from the bed. It was late morning, which meant he had slept far too long. Snow was falling, little more than a light dusting, though that would change before long. He glanced up at the sky, making note of the clouds. Not as bad as they could have been, but nothing to scoff at either.
Perhaps the snow would hit early and bury them before the Coliseum fights began. Hopefully this would be the last year that he had to endure it. He loved so many things about the Krian culture, but the Coliseum he would never learn to even tolerate.
People milled about in the courtyard below. Noblewomen and men alike dressed in layers of color—the close-fitting bright underclothes and flowing tunics and skirts of darker colors. Yet even the dark colors were bright against the relentless gloom of winter. Soldiers and servants milled about in more somber colors.
Iah stirred in the bed and sat up. His hair was up in every direction and the bandages around his eyes had come loose. He yawned then tilted his head slightly to the left in the way that meant he was listening to assess his surroundings. It never failed to awe Sol how hard Iah worked and how far he'd come. Ariana had not even tried. She'd merely cried.
"Fair morning," Sol said quietly.
Iah yawned again. "Fair morning."
"As you're awake, I shall go fetch breakfast. This time of day, it's easier than waiting for breakfast to come to us." So saying, he took his leave, heading downstairs where the palace was already bustling with activity.
He nodded to a servant who was already looking hassled and dodged two more as they fought to keep their trays and other burdens balanced while they worked around each other.
"Fair morning, Burkhard." He greeted as he entered the kitchens. "Fancy meeting you here."
Burkhard laughed around a bite of bread smothered in cheese. "The same to you, Lord Grau. How does the morning find you?"
"Rested. I always detest returning to my estate in the spring because it is nowhere near as wickedly comfortable as the Winter Palace."
"Wicked indeed," Burkhard said with a snort. "You're about the only one who doesn't get up to wickedness."
Sol laughed and snitched a tray, then began to pile it with food from the trays that had been readied to be carried out to refill the buffet in the main dining hall. He nibbled on a piece of soft, white cheese as he fetched tea and cups. "Don't tell me you're truly a man of the cloth now, Burkhard?"
"Don't be ridiculous. It's just that I know how to be circumspect. These young ones run around naked between rooms, I swear it. There's not even any sport to it, nowadays."
"You're just old-fashioned, Burkhard. Should find a young miss to show you the modern ways."
Burkhard bit viciously into his bread. "These modern ways are more likely to kill a man than war. Give me mind tricks and pollution any day." Sol nipped a bit of sausage and said nothing. "They're saying we'll have nearly a 1000 for the fights."
"That's an impressive number." Normally the Coliseum kept the numbers to about 700 as most prisoners simply didn't live long enough to reach the Coliseum. The majority died from neglect, abuse, or illness, and others from suicide. Sol suddenly did not feel so hungry. "Is there a special occasion?"
Burkhard shrugged his wide, bony shoulders. "Not that I'm aware of." He paused to tear into a sausage. Sol nodded and lifted his finished tray. "You're going to offend the servants, Lord Grau, if you keep doing that yourself."
"I'm a country bumpkin," Sol said with a smile. "I'm not used to all the laziness of the palace, as hard as I try to adjust."
"I see." Burkhard chewed his sausage slowly and downed it with a swallow of water. "I'm sure the ladies would love to teach you."
Sol looked at him. "If I didn't know any better, Burkhard, I would swear you're trying to push me toward the women."
"Well, it's true there's one that's asked me to make a concerted effort on her behalf."
"No," Sol said, stifling a groan. "Forget it. I'm not interested. And as I said before, this season I've my cousin to take care of. What sort of man leaves a relative in need to go sneaking into a lady's bedchamber?"
"Wouldn't say lady, exactly," Burkhard muttered. Then he nodded. "Very well, I'll let her know you're already taken." He winked. "Though I thought even in the country they frowned upon being with one's cousin."
Sol rolled his eyes and turned to leave. Burkhard's laughter followed him out. From the kitchens, he turned right to go down the smaller corridors, avoiding the more populated main hallways, but even there people bustled about, though they were mostly servants.
Nearly colliding with two particularly harried servants, he still managed to make it to the stairs successfully. Halfway up, however, he couldn't avoid a young nobleman running as if his nether-regions were on fire, sending the tray flying and Sol tumbling, rolling back down the stairs.
Silence fell, then exploded again as he was barraged with apologies from the noble and servants, who had appeared at the noise, asking if he was all right. Sol started to reply, but stopped at the last moment. He went cold.
He'd almost answered in Salharan. What was wrong with him? Well, doubtless it didn't help his head felt as if he'd overdosed on red arcen and alcohol and been woken up at roll call the next morning. "I'm fine," he managed, letting the young man pick him up and brush him off.
"I'm so sorry!" The young man exclaimed. "I was running late! Are you all right, my lord?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Sol reassured gruffly. He turned to the anxious looking servants. "Would you see that breakfast is brought to my room? For two, please."
"At once, Lord Grau!" Three servants dashed away. Sol shook his head then thought better of it. He was too old to be falling down staircases. "If you will pardon me, lad, I think I should like to try the stairs again."
The man smiled sheepishly.
"I'll be sure to stay off them until you've reached the top, my lord."
"Thank you," Sol said and smiled briefly.
Barely had he started to climb, however, than a frenzy erupted from the main courtyard. "Tits of the Winter Princess!" Sol swore. "What is going on now?"
He shoved past the crowd that had appeared seemingly from nowhere, gaining some height by climbing up on the edge of the marble stairs leading from the palace proper to the main courtyard. "By the Summer Princess…" he barely remembered to say instead of his own exclamations. "No wonder Tawn laughed."
Riding in as though he owned the place, head held high and black cloak a blot of darkness amongst the bright nobles, was the Wolf of Kria himself. What he felt or thought was impossible to gauge. Sol shook his head and looked again. It wasn't the knock of his head against stairs and floor. The Scarlet General was well and truly alive. Iah had been right—if anyone could survive a Scream, it would be the Wolf.
However, it wasn't upon the general his eyes lingered. It was the man riding with him. Pale hair, eyes bright yellow even at a distance, and the scowl that never seemed to leave his face. The nameless Brother of the Seven Star.
General von Adolwulf dismounted, sneering as the people jammed in the courtyard backed away. "How nice to see my people missed me," he said, then threw his head back and laughed.
"Von Adolwulf!" A voice cut through the noise from high above, killing it. Sol looked up, just barely able to see Kaiser Benno on the balcony above. His hair was gray, though he was only in his mid-forties, but his eyes were as sharp as they'd been when he was a young man who had never missed his mark when hunting.
Rumors whispered that lately he preferred the blood of the Coliseum to that of the hunt. Perhaps that was why the numbers were so much higher this year.
"Kaiser," von Adolwulf replied and held his right hand, curled in a fist, to his left shoulder in a salute.
