by Megan Derr
The Kaiser however did not seem fazed in the slightest. "You are being sent to the Coliseum. As of now you are exactly as you began: a filthy, worthless peasant."
Von Adolwulf only laughed harder. Then he stopped, and his hard eyes locked on the Kaiser as he sheathed his sword. "You're a fool."
"I am Kaiser."
"You are still a fool. Did you think I didn't know, all this time?" He sneered at the Kaiser's expression. "You did, didn't you?" von Adolwulf's laugh was like cracking ice. "I was there. Up above, trying to sleep off too much wine. I watched you kill them. Murder the man who loved you. Watched as you looked for the sword that was not yours to take."
The silence in the room deepened, and the Kaiser's face took on a murderous look, though he said nothing. Von Adolwulf continued. "Did his promises mean nothing to you? Why did you stop trusting him?"
"Because he lied," the Kaiser snapped, his temper shattering. "He married that bitch. Then there was you."
Von Adolwulf's laugh made Beraht shiver. Behind him he felt Heilwig do the same. What in the stars names was going on? "He never lied," von Adolwulf said. "My father loved you. More than anyone or anything. Do you think my mother mattered? Do you think I mattered?" He threw his head back and laughed again. "Benno, he promised to make you the best sword in the world."
"And he gave it to you!" The Kaiser's voice shook the room as he shouted. His eyes were wide with anger and hate.
"Wrong," von Adolwulf snarled back. "My sword is only part of the gift my father was creating for you. Kaiser, I was the sword my father intended for you. It was the sole reason I existed. Who do you think first called me Wolf? My soldiers? Nay. They knew it from my home. My father said I was to be a wolf for the Kaiser. One wolf that would be better than ten thousand dogs." He drew his sword again, holding it up for the Kaiser to see. "This was meant only for me to serve you as the finest blade Meinrad ever made. All for his Kaiser." Von Adolwulf lowered the sword. "All my life, that's what I was raised to be. And I did it for my father. Only to come home and watch you murder him." He sneered. "Did you lose your nerve after that? Or did you develop a taste for prolonged torture? Twenty years now I've waited for you to kill me."
A silence fell briefly. Von Adolwulf spoke again. "Leaving me to die in the Coliseum will not make this sword yours. Nor will it undo that you murdered him for it."
Beraht forced his brain to start working, but realized he had failed. Nothing was making sense except for the part where the Kaiser had been the one to murder von Adolwulf's parents. For a sword.
Before he could force his brain to function properly, the Kaiser and two generals attacked von Adolwulf. He would not have thought anyone capable of defeating him, but they seemed to be succeeding. Then he realized von Adolwulf wasn't fighting back. The Scarlet General fell to the ground unconscious. Beraht watched as the Kaiser resumed his seat, von Adolwulf's sword in his lap. He stroked the blade which shimmered oddly in the light.
Something snapped in Beraht's mind. Stars take them all, Krians made no sense. His eyes burned bright yellow as he faced the Kaiser. He began to struggle, wanting to do something—anything. "All of it—the hatred, the fear, his death—murder—all of it over a sword?"
"Silence, prisoner," Heilwig said behind him. There was a flash of pain at the back of his head, and then the world went black.
*~*~*
When he woke, everything was still black. Beraht realized it was night. Slowly the light from the fireplace across the room filtered into his awareness, and he began to take in other small details of the room. Not that there was much to take in, the room was remarkably barren of all but the barest necessities.
The door opened, and the smell of sulfur filled the room as someone struck a match and lit a lamp. Light flared, spilling over what turned out to be a familiar face. "Burkhard?" Beraht asked.
"You're awake," Burkhard replied. "I was coming to check on you."
"Where?"
"You're in the Kaiser's rooms. He's not letting you out of his sight."
Beraht shook his head. "Where's that bastard von Adolwulf?"
Burkhard looked at him in surprise. "The Lord General has been taken to the Coliseum dungeons. The fights begin tomorrow."
"Why am I in here?" Beraht asked and slowly sat up. Was anyone in this wretched country capable of not leaving bruises? Before long his body would not even notice the aches.
"A prize," Burkhard said tiredly. "I would imagine the Kaiser is loath to let you out of his sight." He held out a cup then stood to light more lamps. "Drink."
Beraht obeyed, mind still too clogged with questions and pain to muster the energy for anything else. It was tea, hot, dark and sweet. "Why?"
"Why what?" The lamps revealed a small room with two windows, both heavily covered. There was a painting on the wall of a figure who reminded Beraht of the Kaiser. It was also chilly. Beraht wanted nothing more than to find a bed and stay in it for a very long time.
"Why is he dying because of a sword?" Burkhard froze, but almost immediately relaxed again, though his hand shook slightly when he picked up a tray of food and brought it over to the table near Beraht. Beraht took a seat. He didn't touch the food, but continued to sip his tea. What the hell had that bitch hit him with? It felt as if he'd overdosed on new color arcen or had indulged in too many bottles of wine.
"No one knows why the Kaiser hates Dieter, or why he's taken his sword."
"That's a lie!" Beraht snapped, regretting it. "You stupid Krians! Why are you letting him kill a man who should be a hero to you? Stars! I hate the man; your country should not. I want to know what sort of stupidity drives people to kill a man over a stars forsaken sword!" He rubbed his aching head, feeling the large knot at the back of it. The next time he saw General von Dresden, he was going to return the favor.
"No one knows," Burkhard repeated quietly. "No one ever knew about the Kaiser and Dieter's father."
Beraht sent him a nasty look. "You do. Why am I not surprised? You're not a very good liar, Krian."
"I've deceived everyone else. If you recognize a liar, Salharan, it is only because you know your own kind."
"Like I said—you're a lousy liar."
They glared at each other in silence a moment. When Burkhard finally spoke, his voice was heavy, weary. "I was the Kaiser's watchdog. I made sure the way was clear and ensured no one noticed his absence at night."
"It couldn't have been that interesting that the Kaiser was having an affair. Certainly everyone knows about him and Heilwig."
Burkhard looked at him as if he were idiot. "It is one thing to have an affair with a woman who is just barely removed from the royal lines. It is quite another to love a peasant, famous sword smith or not."
"Is that illegal here?" Beraht asked.
"Yes," Burkhard replied. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't happen."
Beraht nodded in agreement. "It's the same in Salhara." He frowned. "I still don't see what a stupid sword has to do with anything."
"You need to learn to speak less and listen more. How a man your age has lived so long with a mouth like that—"
"This mouth can cast magic faster than you can draw a sword, that's how." Beraht finished his tea and set the cup down with a bang. He folded his arms across his chest in hopes of keeping some warmth in and glowered across the table at Burkhard. "Stop lecturing me and finish your stars forsaken story."
Burkhard glared back. "You are the one who asked the question, Salharan. So listen to your answer before I decide I'm no longer in the mood to humor you."
Beraht remained silent, and with a grunt of approval Burkhard continued. "Dieter's father, Meinrad, was a master sword smith. The best in the country, the best there has been in years. He met the Kaiser one summer while he was fresh out of his apprenticeship. Every winter afterwards, when Meinrad traveled in from the mountains, the two continued their affair. I heard the Kaiser say only once that they loved each other, and I have no doubt it was true. One winter, Meinrad arrived with
a wife. They fought, but things seemed to repair. It all flared up again when the following winter Meinrad arrived with a child. Again, I thought they had repaired things, and I learned that Meinrad had promised to make the Kaiser the finest sword in the world. He said nothing would ever compare, but it would take many, many years to complete. So the years passed, and their affair continued. Then, one year, he made a sword." He looked at Beraht, hand tight around the goblet of wine in his hand. "I think even you might be able to appreciate the beauty of Dieter's sword."
"Yes," Beraht said quietly. "What makes it shimmer?"
"You noticed that," Burkhard said. He drained his goblet and refilled it. "No one knows—and I mean that. The secret died with Meinrad. No one knows how he did it, only that it makes the sword special. It has no equal." He banged his empty goblet down on the table. "A blade fit for a king, and Meinrad gave it to a worthless peasant, a fresh soldier who could not even bear the weight of the cloak his mother had made him."
Beraht blinked, stared. "But I still don't get it—why kill him? If they had been lovers for so long, surely the Kaiser should have known or realized something."
"Only Dieter could say for certain what happened. The night of the murder, the Kaiser ordered me to stay in his room. He went to the small house just outside the palace proper where Meinrad and his family lived. Though he'd commanded me to remain, I followed him, but I did not go near enough to the house to see exactly how events played out." Burkhard stood. "I saw the Kaiser leave, and not long after, I found Dieter, half-crazed with anger and grief. Nothing I said seemed to reach him. It never has. They've hated each other ever since, and it has turned both of them into something they never should have been."
He motioned to a bundle by the door. "Clothes for you, altered so that you do not look so ridiculous. The Kaiser wants his new prize to look like a prize, though I've no doubt he will kill you once Dieter is dead. Or perhaps he'll kill you first." Burkhard shrugged. "It's hard to say."
Beraht said nothing, merely sat and frowned at the table until he heard Burkhard leave. All he had to do was bide his time until General deVry could get them out of here. Surely in the chaos of the Coliseum and its new, special contender, escaping would not be so hard.
Slowly Beraht stood and began to change into his new clothes.
*~*~*
Sol slammed his fist against the wall then let his forehead join it. "I've lost. Well and truly lost. Even had I not messed up last night, there was no way to prevent this short of attempting to kill Dieter in his sleep and take Beraht away. Which is what I should have done!"
"We would never have made it from the palace."
"Yes, we would have. That's what red arcen is for."
Iah stood and walked slowly toward him. He reached up, hands landing tentatively on Sol's shoulder and moving up until he reached Sol's hair—which he then pulled on it. Hard.
"Damn it!" Sol jerked his hand away.
"I do not know much about arcen, but I know that your eyes are yellow. Which means you have not progressed far enough to take red so lightly. Am I correct?"
Sol nodded. "Yes. But I would probably manage just fine."
"There is no sense in doing something stupid and potentially fatal."
"Life is fatal."
Iah tugged at his hair again. "What would happen to the Breaker if you got yourself killed? Be logical, cautious, like you normally are. All this red arcen nonsense is not you."
"Stop pulling my hair."
"It's how my sister made me behave," Iah said with a soft smile. "If she was really mad, she'd drag me around by the ear. Just wait until you meet her. I'm sure in no time she'll be doing the same to you. I think she'd do it to Matti if he didn't have his own unique ways of getting her back."
Sol laughed. "Your sister sounds like a woman who rules her household with an iron fist."
"Steel, really. Nor does it hurt that Matti lets her get away with everything."
"Matti is her husband?"
Iah went still then started laughing so hard he had to lean against Sol to keep his balance. He grinned. "You had better hope I don't tell her you said that. She's been dodging his attempts to make her exactly that ever since he was old enough to notice she was a woman."
Sol smiled down at Iah, reaching up without thought to brush away the hair covering his face, but then caught himself and dropped his hand. "What lady awaits your return?"
"None." Iah's smile faded. "My sister, of course, and my friends. Even if I had a lover waiting for me, they would not want me now." He pulled away and stepped back toward the table. "Now that you've calmed down, I bet you'll think of a solution."
"Thank you," Sol said. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes slid shut as he began to think. "Dieter has been arrested. He's set to fight first in the Coliseum tomorrow. They say he's going to fight until death."
"As opposed to what?" Iah asked.
Sol opened his eyes. "Normal Coliseum battles are done in numbers—one against two, then three against four, and so on until there are only two opponents left. The one who lives is cleared of all charges and set free. Should a Salharan ever win a fight, it's rumored the Kaiser will have him escorted to the border. But Salharans never win. How could we?" He shook his head, displeased that he'd allowed his thoughts to wander.
"So they're going to exhaust him to death?" Iah's lips curled.
"Yes," Sol replied. He continued listing what information he had. "The Kaiser has Beraht under lock and key. Burkhard tends him as he's already familiar with him."
Iah frowned, fingers drumming against the table. "What does Beraht matter to the Kaiser?"
"He is something that was Dieter's. More importantly, Beraht was important for exacting revenge for the needless deaths of his men. So he is taking both Dieter's sword and his revenge." Sol closed his eyes again. "Which means unless we bribe Burkhard, there's no getting anywhere near Beraht. There is no bribing Burkhard. He's a good man, but he has no love for either Salhara or Illussor. I have no doubt he would turn us in."
"There must be some way to reach Beraht."
Sol dropped his arms and pushed off the wall. He strode over to the window. "If there is, I cannot see it." Outside the snow was thick on the ground. For travel to be possible, they would have to leave no later than the following night. They had less than a day to find a way to rescue Beraht.
"Your arcen can't get him out?"
"I could try," Sol said, "but it is unlikely. Right in the heart of Kria and in winter? There are too many things that could go wrong. I do not want to use more arcen than I absolutely have to before we're well away from here." He paused. "Though perhaps we have finally reached that point."
Iah's head began bobbing. Sol smiled and wondered how he'd acquired the strange habit. "So we can't get Beraht out."
"No."
"Is there at least some way we could get arcen and a message to him? Arrange to meet somewhere? Surely there must be a servant or someone we can bribe."
Sol shook his head. "No. How would a servant take it to be asked by a Krian to take a message to a prisoner—a prisoner of the former general and now of the Kaiser."
"I see your point. We are at an impasse."
"Perhaps there will be an opportunity in the Coliseum," Sol mused aloud. "It's always so crowded, chaotic. Surely there must be an opening there."
Iah shook his head. "Not unless you've got a seat right next to the Kaiser, I would wager. I can't imagine a country bumpkin and his pathetic blind cousin will be anywhere near him." He shuddered against being amongst such a crowd, overwhelmed and disoriented. "I would likely get lost. There's no way we would get out of there even if we could get close enough."
"No," Sol said slowly, and he felt the prickling in his mind that meant it had latched onto something. A second later it struck him. "The prisoners!"
"What?" Iah said. "What do you mean?"
"Von Adolwulf! He's a special enough prisoner! He can do it."
/> Iah tilted his head. "If I could see," he said, "my eyes would tell you you're an idiot."
Sol was surprised into laugher, and he smiled at Iah. Before he'd realized it, he'd cupped Iah's chin in one hand—then he hastily let go and wondered what in the stars' names he'd been trying to do.
"Even pretending I know what you're talking about, why would the Wolf help us?"
"Revenge?" Sol suggested. "I don't know, but I have to try. He can get the arcen and a message to Beraht if I can convince him to do so."
Iah smiled and reached out a hand. Sol took it. Iah held it tight to reassure him. "If anyone can convince the Wolf to do something, it would be you."
"Thank you," Sol said and squeezed his hand briefly before letting go. He hesitated a moment, then shook his head in confusion and turned away. From the case on the desk he pulled out one of the small ink bottles and twisted off the bottom half. Opening one of the desk drawers, he pulled out a bag that contained small, glass vials which could easily be concealed in a boot or belt. He poured arcen into one. It was thick and sticky, and the color of fresh-spilled blood. Such a small amount would give Beraht nearly three times the power of a normal dose of yellow and hopefully do no worse harm than a terrible headache and extreme exhaustion.
Restoring the remaining red arcen to the case, Sol withdrew another bottle and took a sip from the yellow arcen in it. It tasted sweet, not quite like sugar, not quite like honey, but something between the two with a bitter aftertaste. Viscous traces lingered on his lips, and he licked them away. He felt it spread through his system, richer and deeper than anything alcohol could do, and start a tingling in his mind, stirring powers not available until the arcen bid them wake.
It was only a sip, but it would be enough to help him get through to Dieter. Nor was it enough for any, but the sharpest to notice, and even they would have to look a third time to be sure. By then he would be gone and forgotten. He restored the bottle and closed the case. "I'll be back," he told Iah. "I'll lock the door; let no one in." From the wardrobe he pulled a heavy, fur-trimmed cloak. The hood was deep; he pulled it up over his head, burying his face in shadow.
