by Megan Derr
Burkhard looked as though he wanted nothing more than to throw Beraht over the balcony. He didn't move, however, and a minute later his face had resumed its blank, polite mien. "Swords are not lovers—they are named after them so that when we die with sword in hand, we do not die alone."
Beraht started to say something snide, but stopped. He nodded and turned back to watching the soldiers below. He realized that he was noticing the swords now. Who would have thought the bloody Krians could be so idiotically and uselessly romantic?
And von Adolwulf with a nameless sword. Beraht could have guessed that. How was it possible that no one had beaten von Adolwulf in the decades he'd been a soldier, Beraht suddenly wondered. The man was proving to be painfully predictable.
Good to know for later.
"So what's my next lesson, keeper?" Beraht asked. "Shall we go to the library and brush up on my Krian history? Study a few wars?" Beraht paused as he realized what else might be in the library.
Maps—Krian maps. He wondered if they extended into Salhara and Illussor. The countries had not communicated beyond war for more decades than anyone could remember. So how outdated would the maps be?
Salharan maps were hideous and rudimentary, at best. Citizens relied on magic to travel and much territory was forbidden to the general public. The most detailed maps in Salhara all revolved around the Disputed Lands. He'd had one, but it had been ruined along with his clothes. The Krians who'd caught him had sneered at it. Beraht still felt the sting, for he'd worked hard at adding to it and making it almost presentable.
"What has taken your mind, Salharan?" Burkhard interrupted. He was looking quizzically at Beraht.
"Nothing," Beraht replied, then decided to chance it. The worst that could be said was no, and he had already accrued several beatings. What was one more? "Krians are famous for their maps," he said.
Burkhard looked surprised. "You've an interest in maps?"
"Yes," Beraht said, feeling uncomfortable. Suddenly it felt too much as if he were cooperating with his enemies.
"Then if you will behave, Beraht, I will show you a few maps. There can be no harm in one or two of them."
Beraht thought for a moment. He was not pleased with the idea of cooperating with the enemy, but he supposed there was little harm in going along peacefully until deVry was able to help him escape. Besides, if he seemed to be enjoying himself, it would anger Dieter. So this plan was definitely looking toward the stars. "Agreed," he said at last.
Looking mildly disbelieving, but obviously eager for an easy solution to the problem of the Salharan prisoner, Burkhard led him from the balcony and downstairs to the ground level of the palace. He turned away from the front and toward the back, out a door there and across a massive lawn. Snow made the stone path slick, forcing Beraht to walk slowly. Burkhard seemed to realize he was losing his prisoner and slowed down.
"What is that?" Beraht asked. He pointed his head toward a large, round building that had no roof.
"The Coliseum," Burkhard replied. "Kaiser Benno announced last night that the winter fights were to be postponed a bit as a few pertinent trials have yet to be concluded." He made a face. "They take forever deciding things." He slid his eyes toward Beraht. "You should be grateful the Scarlet General is the one who captured you."
"Why is that?"
"Because normally all prisoners of war go straight to the Coliseum. Many of your comrades have killed themselves the night before a fight."
"Naturally," Beraht said contemptuously. "That is far preferable a fate than being reduced to something so barbaric."
Burkhard did not look apologetic. "Yet it's perfectly all right to keep a country obedient by drugging them?"
"You know nothing about arcen," Beraht snapped.
"You know nothing about Kria."
Beraht curled his lip, but said nothing more. Behaving was proving more difficult than he'd anticipated. "Why would I want to get to know a country who thinks killing is a form of entertainment?"
"At least I do not have to drug myself to do my job."
"No, clearly you are happy to murder for the fun of it!"
Burkhard started to reply, but his eyes fixed on something past Beraht's shoulder. Beraht turned.
A man was approaching. He was dressed in blue with snowflakes stitched in a line across his chest. Beraht thought a moment before he remembered the Cobalt General's name: Egon von Kortig. His hair was dark brown and slightly too long. Though his age showed in the lines of his face, there was no gray in his hair. Beraht thought briefly of von Adolwulf who, by contrast, was relatively young, but had silver at his temples.
It was almost interesting.
"Burkhard, what you are doing with the Salharan prisoner?"
"Fair morning, Lord General." Burkhard sketched a bow. "Lord General von Adolwulf bid me guide him around the palace."
Egon lifted a brow. The affectation made him look a bit ridiculous. Beraht held his tongue. "I do not think the Kaiser would approve of a prisoner of war being 'shown around'. Take him to the cells where he belongs."
"Lord General," Burkhard said, "I'm afraid the general's orders were quite explicit. I am to give the prisoner a tour, no matter what anyone else says. Nor is he to be so much as touched by anyone, but the Lord General himself."
"General von Adolwulf has been suspended. He is in no position to be giving orders. Now take the prisoner to the dungeons, or you will find yourself joining him."
Beraht caught sight of a black shadow from the corner of his eye. He turned to watch as von Adolwulf approached. His eyes flicked briefly to the building from which he had clearly come: a temple of some sort. "Beraht," von Adolwulf greeted, "how much trouble have you caused so far?" He looked at Burkhard, acting as though Egon were not there. "What has he done?"
"He is mouthy, as you warned, but nothing more than that."
Egon stepped forward, grabbing hold of Beraht's shoulder. "What is this prisoner doing out, Dieter?"
"That is my affair, not yours."
"He's a prisoner."
"No," von Adolwulf said, gray-green eyes taking on an edge Beraht was far too familiar with. "He is my prisoner. Let him go, or you will find yourself missing an arm."
Egon let go of Beraht by shoving him roughly into von Adolwulf. "Is he really your prisoner? I wonder."
Von Adolwulf caught Beraht then set him aside. "You will watch your words, von Kortig." Von Adolwulf 's hand moved to his sword. "Do not question my actions when your greatest moment was winning the Cobalt seat simply because all the real candidates were dead."
Beraht rolled his eyes. Egon was less than amused, and his hand strayed toward his own sword. "I will not hear those words from a man—"
"Who was made a general when he was half your age? And has done a better job of it? Draw your sword, Egon. We both know I will win." Von Adolwulf grinned.
Like a wolf, Beraht thought. A mad wolf. Stars he wished he'd never been given a Seven Star. Or that the Brothers had chosen to kill him and pass it to someone else. Anything but this whole ridiculous situation.
Egon abruptly let go of his sword and threw his head back laughing. "I'm wasting my time. The Kaiser will deal with you soon enough. I do believe your trial has been arranged for the day after tomorrow. We will see you there." Still laughing, he walked away.
"Trial?" Beraht asked into the silence. "Burkhard mentioned trials earlier, but I still find it hard to believe Krians bother."
Von Adolwulf grabbed him by the throat and hauled him close. And up, so that the toes of his boots only just brushed the ground. "Do you want to be locked in the dungeons, Beraht? I warned you about behaving."
"He started it," Beraht ground out. "I was doing fine until he came along and decided to start bellowing orders."
"Burkhard?" Von Adolwulf asked.
"It's true," Burkhard replied.
Von Adolwulf let him go with a teeth-rattling shake. At least, Beraht noted, he hadn't thrown him on the ground. He grit his teeth and s
tayed silent. "Where are you going?" Von Adolwulf asked Burkhard.
"To the royal library," Burkhard said. "We agreed that if he behaved, I would show him some of our maps."
Von Adolwulf nodded. "Fine. Have him back before the dinner hour."
"What am I," Beraht asked. "A maiden being escorted around by a suitor before being returned to her father?" He met the glares sent his way with a scowl of his own. "Honestly. The greatest torture of being in Kria is the sheer idiocy of the place."
Burkhard looked as though he would have liked nothing more than to cuff him soundly upside the head. "Keep up the mockery, Salharan, and you can always go to the Coliseum."
"Whatever," Beraht snapped.
Von Adolwulf spared him a warning look then abruptly turned on his heel to head back toward the palace. They watched him go. "So what does a suspended general do all day?"
"Normally," Burkhard said, "he would wake before dawn and train with his men in the yard. They eat breakfast afterwards while everyone else is practicing. He rides his horse, if weather permits. Later, there are the meetings he would have with his advisors and strategists. The war does not stop just because the snow halts the fighting, but now that he's suspended and his men dead?" Burkhard shrugged. "He was probably lighting candles for the dead soldiers. No one mentioned them at the Solemn Banquet you slept through."
Beraht frowned. "I'm guessing that's something to honor dead soldiers?"
"Yes."
"So why did no one acknowledge their deaths? Because of the Scarlet Wolf?"
"To insult him, yes."
Beraht thought on that. "Why does the Kaiser hate him?"
"Why do you care?" Burkhard challenged.
"Because I am trying to make sense of the stupidity that seems to run rampant in Kria. A king should not hate his generals, nor the generals their king. It does not make for a peaceful country. Salharan generals are regarded as heroes." In truth they were puppets, but the common people didn't know that. The Seven Star weren't that stupid: countries needed heroes.
Burkhard turned away and resumed walking. "If you insist on regarding us as stupid, I have nothing to say to you." Beraht muttered under his breath in Salharan, but otherwise kept his thoughts to himself—for the moment, anyway.
Chapter Ten
Iah woke up muffling a cry. It had become reflexive. He reached up to touch the bandages covering his face and shuddered. Would the nightmares ever stop? He didn't know which was worse: the dreams of happier times when he could see, or reliving the moment when his eyes had been ripped out.
He'd screamed and screamed. Most of the journey after that was nothing, but a jumbled recollection of sounds and smells. Nothing had ever been so terrifying, not even his first battle. After that he had not slept more than a handful of hours in a week.
The room was chilly. The fire had likely died to embers. Iah huddled back down under the blankets and wished he could go back to sleep.
Back home, he'd always gotten up and read by candlelight, or gone for a walk. Occasionally, Esta would have the same problem, and they would sneak down to the kitchen to raid it for sweets and, still in their night clothes, sit in the library reading aloud to each other.
He buried his face in the pillow. What would he do now? Lay and torment himself with waking nightmares? Torture himself with memories? He would never see again. Why could his mind not accept that?
Something touched his shoulder, and Iah jumped. "What's wrong?" Sol asked, his voice heavy with sleep.
Iah tensed and shrugged the hand away as he sat up. This was not the time to be taken in by that summer-breeze voice. He'd just do or say something stupid. "Nothing. I'm fine."
"Nightmares?" Sol asked, ever patient. Only with Tawn did he ever seem to lose his tireless calm. Iah nodded and hoped Sol couldn't see it in the dark. The hand touched his shoulder again. "They will fade with time."
"I hope so." The words slipped out before he could catch them.
Cold air bit his skin as the mattress and blankets shifted, and he heard Sol climb out of bed and move around the room. "Where are you going?"
"Would you like to go for a walk?" Sol asked. "I've been meaning to show you around the palace. We're awake; we may as well do it. It will also be a good opportunity for me to determine the best way for us to accidentally encounter von Adolwulf and Beraht. I have a few ideas, but it's hard to test their merits during the day."
Iah laughed softly. "Does your mind ever stop working?"
"No," Sol said with a sigh. "It's the only reason I'm still alive."
Somehow Iah doubted that. He'd heard the women as they'd traveled. Though the picture was not as clear as he would have liked, Iah remembered a handsome man. Not by Illussor standards, which favored a softer, more elegant appearance, but for a Salharan, Iah had thought he wasn't bad.
He'd had silver hair and unnatural gold eyes made brighter by the gray Salharan uniform. Before they'd been dragged into the fight, Iah remembered thinking Sol had a vaguely melancholy air.
Iah wondered what he would have done if he had encountered him in direct combat and been struck by that voice like a summer breeze. Most likely he would have been dead. There was no doubt in his mind that voice was a large part of Sol's success and survival. "Why not? Though we will have a hard time explaining our midnight traipsing should we come across anyone else."
Sol gave an amused snort. "I think not. The favored sport of winter is bedroom switching. Believe me, no one wants to admit to seeing anyone because no one wishes to be seen."
"I see," Iah said and laughed. "Then by all means, let us go for a walk." Though he still hoped they encountered no one. His Krian had come a long way since his first lessons, but he still would not fool a native unless he could convince them he was dimwitted. Which likely wouldn't be hard, unfortunately; he felt all too dimwitted most days.
He slid out of the bed, shivering, and climbed quickly into the tunic and shirt he'd stripped off before going to sleep. His boots were next, and he combed absently through his sleep-mussed hair.
"Come," Sol said softly, tucking Iah's hand into his elbow. He led the way slowly, allowing Iah to count paces and indicating turns and other changes as they went. His mind reeled with the new information, but Iah stowed it fiercely away. Should something go wrong, he would have to know his way as much as possible. He did not want to dwell on what the worst could be.
They walked on, and the near-perfect silence of the palace was eerie. Even trapped in his room all day, Iah heard thousands of sounds, and there were at least as many smells. Steel, blood, sweat, so many different foods, snow and ice, fire and smoke.
Now they all seemed dulled, and he could hear hardly a sound. Perhaps it was not a good night for people to be about. His head jerked up as he caught a whisper of sound. "What was that?" he said, slowing to a halt.
"What was what?" Sol asked.
"I heard something," Iah said and reflexively turned to follow the sound.
Sol pulled him back. "Wall," he said. Iah felt his cheeks heat and ducked his head. "This way," Sol said calmly. "Three paces from the last turn. Two doors: the left leads to the north wing, and the right leads to the practice yards."
"Right," Iah said.
Sol led the way right. "You're right," he said a moment later. "I can hear it too now. Someone is in the yard." They continued walking. The smells of sweat and dirt, laced with the tang of blood and metal grew stronger. It was the smell of a great many people, though Iah could hear there was only one at the moment.
Lips brushed his ear. "Von Adolwulf," Sol breathed. "Be quiet." Iah nodded and pulled away so that Sol did not feel him shiver. He strained to hear the man in the courtyard below, but he heard only the rush of a sword cutting air and boots on hard-packed dirt.
The Wolf himself. Iah shook his head. His waking world was stranger than any dream.
Sol tugged at his hand, pulling him away and back to the main hallway. "Come," Sol said. "If he is here—" A trace of excitement laced his
ever-calm voice.
"You want to go to his room," Iah said. "Is that a good idea?"
"It is an opportunity we cannot ignore. Come, cousin." He could hear the laughter as Sol said the last.
"Yes, cousin." Iah replied. Sol laughed softly and increased their pace as he led the way through what seemed a maze of hallways and rooms. His hand was warm and rough with calluses. Iah held tight.
"Here we are," Sol said several minutes later. "Unless von Adolwulf has moved recently, which I doubt."
Iah felt his heart speed up as a familiar ache spread through his mind. Like the pain that came when a numb limb began to regain feeling, it was a sharp, stinging tingle in his mind. He could still do it. It almost made him want to sob with relief. His feet moved before his mind could catch up, hands coming up to meet the door that blocked his way and kept him from the Breaker on the other side of it. He turned his head toward where he could hear Sol. "It's him," he whispered, then realized he'd spoken Illussor.
Sol nodded and spoke Krian. "Good. Let's go." They turned to leave, but Sol faltered to a stop. Iah felt and heard it as Sol was yanked away, heard his muffled cry of pain.
"Well, well." The Wolf's voice was deep and rough. Cold like a winter breeze through the last of autumn's leaves. "What have we here?"
"Lord General," Sol said desperately in Krian, "I apologize for disturbing you."
"Save it," Dieter replied. "Tell me what you're doing." Iah froze—the Wolf was speaking in Illussor. Fluent Illussor. Dieter laughed. "I do believe I've caught a couple of spies."
Iah heard Sol hit the ground with a pained grunt. He tried to back away as heavy footsteps approached him. Then he was all but lifted into the air and shoved into a wall. Iah swore. He wasn't even going to try to speak. "You're Illussor," Dieter said. Iah began to twist and fight as fingers began to rip away the bandages. Dieter slammed him against the wall again. Iah's head cracked against stone, and he held still.
