Prisoner (12 page)

"Well? I've got bruises and cuts in thirty different places all because you think the way to end a conversation is with violence."

Dieter laughed. "It shuts you up, doesn't it? And I will gladly make it fifty if you do not shut up right now." He laughed again when Beraht fell silent.

He let his mind wander for a bit, giving it a chance to clear. Gradually he brought his attention back around to the question of Beraht and the Illussor. It was strange behavior for the Illussor, who seemed to fight for no apparent reason. The war over the Regenbogen was between Kria and Salhara. Why the Illussor had gotten involved was a reason that had been lost before Dieter's time. They appeared infrequently and usually only to ensure the war was not getting too close to Illussor territory.

Then again, with their nasty little mind-trick, there was really no telling how often they appeared. So basically he knew nothing useful. No doubt it was something that made sense only to magic-tainted minds.

"What is your etiquette on prisoners? I can't imagine this sort of journey is standard fare, though really you should consider adding it to your repertoire of tortures."

Dieter continued eating, unfazed. He finished a length of sausage before bothering to answer. "Most are given nothing but water and are kept bound. I may yet do the same to you,
Beraht.
"

"You're just infuriated that I managed to kill so many of Kria's best soldiers—well, supposedly the best."

Dishes and food flew about as Dieter upended the small table and pinned Beraht to the floor with it, resting his weight until he knew Beraht could barely breathe and was in excruciating pain, though the pressure was not quite enough weight to break anything. "How do you like it? Pinned and helpless, your life completely in my control? Feeling angry? Scared? Want to kill me? My men died in their sleep. They had as much chance to save their own lives as you do right now. At least you had some warning. If you killed my men, Salharan filth, it is because you were a coward about it."

In one smooth move Dieter rose, threw the table aside, and reached down to haul Beraht to his feet. "Do not doubt for one second that I won't make you suffer. Every day, for the rest of your life, you will regret killing my men as you did."

Though sore and shaken and gasping for breath, Beraht lashed out to drive Dieter back. It had no effect. Dieter threw him on the bed. "You keep talking about this suffering, but beyond your usual crass behavior, bloodthirsty Krian, I've yet to suffer."

Dieter threw his head back and laughed. "You don't think it's punishing enough to spend the rest of your life as my prisoner, Beraht? To know that until the day you die, you are mine. For the rest of your life, you will be in Kria. Under my control. Bearing the name
I
gave you. I do not understand the Salharan obsession with names, but I know you despise that I named you. That will serve nicely, at least until I think of something worse."

He'd expected a fight, but Beraht merely turned away and lay on his stomach in the bed, staring out the window on the far side of the room. Dieter sneered at his back then turned to clean up the mess he'd made of the food. When the table was righted, he blew out the lamps and sat at the table, mulling over events past, present, and future.

When he was certain Beraht was fast asleep, he climbed into the empty side of the bed and eventually fell asleep, one hand on his sword.

Iah held fast to the arm at his waist, willing—
ordering
—himself not to panic. There was too much noise and so many people. They pressed too close, shouting, and laughing. The smells of smoke, meat, something sweet assaulted him. In the inns and along the road, he'd been able to handle it. The crush of the people at the Winter Palace, however, was overwhelming.

Sol tugged his arm free and clasped Iah's hand. "It's all right," he said softly in Iah's ear, daring to speak Illussor. "We're nearly through to the palace proper."

Iah nodded, but didn't let go of Sol's hand, as weak as it made him feel to need such reassurance. Who was he to be reduced to this? Certainly not Iah Cehka. No, for now at least he was Erhard Grau. Was it all right, then, to be weak? What had happened to the man he used to be? Now he felt like a frightened boy.

The noises gradually faded, replaced by the more controlled chaos of what he knew immediately must have been the palace. It wasn't simply in the reduction of sound. The air was fresher and laced with the smell of people and food and a bite of frost. However, it also carried the scent of flowers and faint traces of perfume.

And something else—blood, Iah realized, but only the faintest bit. He bit back the part of him that wanted to say
Krians, it figures
, because in the last two weeks he'd learned what he should have already known: that not all Krians were large, looming men with a seemingly natural-born talent to cut down every threat like so much straw.

The women especially had been kind, reminding him so much of Esta in the way they did exactly as they pleased and woe betide the man who dared to order them otherwise. He had always thought women in Kria must be softer, weaker, as he had never noticed any on the battlefield. He knew there was one woman in a position of power, but he also knew from overheard gossip that she was not well-liked. When they felt they were safe, the peasant women of Kria made their opinions of
that woman
quite clear.

If he'd caught Esta talking like that, he would have knocked her upside the head. Iah almost laughed, but the vanishing of Sol from behind him killed whatever good mood he'd managed to regain.

Then warm hands reached up to help him dismount, and a summer voice helped him relax. Iah stood quietly by as 'Lord Grau' began to snap orders at the servants Iah heard running up. "You had best make
very
certain that my cousin is escorted with all care and comfort to my chambers. No, I do not want a separate room for him. He is unfamiliar with the palace; he will stay close to me at all times." After that, the Krian became too rapid-fire for Iah to keep up, and he hoped Sol did not say something that would require his participation.

His Krian was sufficient for amusing peasant women and complimenting their cooking, however, there was no way he would ever pass muster in the palace. Especially if a soldier wise to the accents of his enemies heard him speak. Fear began to swallow him, and Iah desperately fought a silent battle against it.

Abruptly the noise died. Laughter and chatter fell like clothes discarded on the floor. Footsteps broke the silence, but added to the tension that suddenly filled the room. He felt Sol touch his arm, and lips ghosted over his ear as Sol whispered in his ear. "Be silent. For now I will say you cannot speak without difficulty. Around them, do not speak."

The servants and other persons in the room began to murmur; words of respect and greeting. "Good evening," said a noncommittal voice. It sounded slow, bored, but there was menace beneath it. Like a snake resting in the sun. "Lord Grau, yes?"

"I am humbled the Lord General recalls me."

"Nonsense," the slow voice said. "Your witticisms always add to the table."

"The Lord General flatters me. I am glad to find you well for another season."

Iah heard the man move. "Yes, yes. Who is this?" Iah forced himself not to freeze, but to relax and act calm.

"Whatever happened to his eyes?" A new voice spoke and drew close enough Iah could smell her—like honey and a bit like sweat. Her voice was both appealing and distasteful, like wine that had not quite soured.

Sol shifted, as if to cover and protect him. "My cousin suffered a nasty hunting accident. You know how it goes when peasants trespass on their master's land. I have brought him with me for a change of pace; usually he prefers to whittle his time away in the monastery." He referred to a monastery high in the mountains several miles southeast. Those who had no taste for palace life often went there, as did those whose relatives did not want to be humiliated at court by less than shining family members. The implication was that Grau had not had time to take his cousin to the monastery, and since he could not get there under his own power, Grau was forced to endure him for the winter.

Which meant Iah would be noted and then immediately dismissed. Sol had woven a perfect tale to explain Iah; if there was a flaw in it, Iah had not been able to find it. "He is still a little hard of speech, so I beg your forgiveness for his silence."

"It is no concern," the woman said, and Iah heard her walk away.

Sol wasted no time in seeing they were taken to his rooms; a suite on the far end of the east wing. The room spelled sweet and freshly cleaned. A slight breeze blew through, making the room cool but not chilly.

He heard Sol lock the door and approach him from behind. "Come," Sol said and led him back toward the door. "Starting from this very spot," he arranged Iah with his back to the door, "it is twenty paces to the window. Ten paces and two to the left will take you to a table. On the north and south ends of it are chairs. Seven paces beyond that is the fireplace; you will feel a bear-fur rug beneath your feet. The rest of the floor is covered in woven rugs. Ten paces forward and another ten to your right is the bed. To the south of it is a wardrobe, with a long mirror on its right side. Against the opposite wall is a small writing desk. Do I need to repeat it?"

"No," Iah said. Taking a deep breath, he counted paces silently as he traversed the room. He fumbled three times, and walked into the wall once, but an hour later, he felt relatively secure about the lay of the room.

It was hard. Every morning he woke up thinking it had all been a bad dream. Every day he lived the nightmare over again, and there were always more nightmares when he slept. Giving up was not an option, however. There was Tawn and the Breaker, and he could not leave Esta alone. Though she would probably be horrified—all of them would be. Would he have any friends left? Or would his blindness—the complete absence of his eyes—scare them all away? He clenched his fists and walked the room again until hands fell upon his shoulders and held him still.

"You are doing wonderfully," assured that summer voice. That voice he ached to trust, but couldn't for too many doubts. He shoved the doubts aside and voiced one of his questions. "The two from earlier?" His Krian was slow, but faster than when he was around Krians.

Sol's hands slid from his shoulder, and he guided Iah to sit. "There is wine here, if you want it." He placed Iah's hand on the goblet, then Iah heard the rustle of clothes, the scrape of his chair, as Sol took his own seat. "The man was Ludwig von Eisenberg, the Verdant General. The woman was—"

"The Saffron General," Iah interrupted. He remembered all the names the peasant women had used. "Heilwig—"

"Heilwig von Dresden."

Iah took a sip of wine. It was potent, rich, dark and surprisingly sweet—nothing like the light, bitter wines back home, which went so well with the spicier Illussor foods. "Is there not a single
good
general?"

"They are all good generals," Sol said levelly. "Whether they are good people or not is something else altogether."

"Shouldn't they be, though?" Iah asked then laughed at himself. Who was he kidding? War wasn't about nice.

War isn't about heroics. It's about getting yourself killed for one stupid reason or another. You're not going!

Yes, I am. You can't stop me. I won't sit here drinking tea and discussing the weather while the boys I played with are sent away to die.

You played with a prince, you're a duke, and you have obligations here.

Esta can handle those, you know she can. Mother would let me go!

Your mother was a fool. Why do you think she's dead?

Take your title back, father. I don't want it. Tomorrow I'm leaving.

Then don't come back.

Oh, I'll come back. But it'll be either when the war concludes, or when it's time to put me beside my foolish mother.

"There are many who would agree with you. More than a few wonder why he appointed the four he did. Why he drove his father's men into retirement."

"And what do they suggest?"

"No one knows what the Kaiser thinks. He is mercurial, and his favors are dispersed strangely."

Iah took another sip of wine. "Strange how?"

"He seems to be friends with the Verdant General, though most say he is lazy. Egon von Korbit, the Cobalt General, also finds favor, though he is little more than a ghost. And of course you are well acquainted with the popular opinion of the Saffron General."

"Yes," Iah said, shaking his head. "Are Krian women always so crude?"

"Only in regards to each other," Sol said dryly.

Iah pushed his wine aside, liking it far too much to trust himself. Now was no time for alcohol. "What about the Wolf? The Kaiser must think highly of such a notorious general."

"Actually, most say the Kaiser hates the Scarlet General."

"Why?" Iah asked.

"No one knows."

"How can no one know?" Iah asked, reaching once more for his wine.

"Perhaps because that would require knowing something about the Wolf, but no one knows anything about him, not really. He was born a peasant to a well-known and highly skilled sword smith. He signed up for the army and prospered. One winter he came home, and not two days later, his parents were brutally murdered. That is all anyone knows about the boy who later became General Dieter von Adolwulf."