Prisoner (15 page)

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.

"You're alive."

"So it would seem."

They spoke levelly, politely, and the general accorded the Kaiser every measure of respect, but only a fool would miss the fine tension resting just below the surface. He was a man famed for his twenty years of service—ten of them as the Scarlet General though all had railed against a man of twenty-six being given such a position. Still he had held it, flourished, had defended the Regenbogen better than anyone.

Yet no one had mourned when he'd been thought dead. No one was happy to see him returned to life.

Why? The question itched at Sol. It mattered not at all to his mission, but still the question burned. Why did a man fight for a country that hated him? A Kaiser who hated him?

For what reason would a Kaiser keep a man he was rumored to despise so close? Give him power? Why not simply kill him?

The silence stretched a second too long, then the Kaiser's voice boomed out. "Welcome our Scarlet General home!" The courtyard flooded with cheers and welcomes, but the enthusiasm was stale. Sol could see von Adolwulf was laughing. He turned and grasped the nameless, who had been sitting silently in the saddle. Whatever he said, Sol could not make it out, but it infuriated the nameless. Von Adolwulf dragged him from the saddle, nearly letting the nameless hit the ground and laughing harder at what were probably curses being hurled up at him.

Not that making him angry was hard to do, Sol recalled.

The crowd parted to let the general and his prisoner—for it was obvious that the nameless could be nothing else—pass by. His wrists were bound tightly together in front of him, and he stumbled as von Adolwulf dragged him along.

He finally fell as he climbed the stairs. Sol started to help him, then froze, realizing his near error. A Krian civilian would never do such a thing.

Von Adolwulf spun around and stooped, hauling the nameless back up. His voice just barely reached Sol's ears as he spoke to his prisoner. "Come, Beraht. We do not want to keep the emperor waiting."

"Yes, we do," was the muttered reply, and then the pair was gone.

The courtyard once more was overwhelmed by the sound of too many voices speaking at once, but emptied quickly as the witnesses fled to share their exciting news with those who had decided to sleep late or eat breakfast. Sol barely noticed. His mind replayed what he'd heard over and over again. The nameless had a name—a Krian name. He'd allowed someone to name him. And it was pretty obvious who had done it.

Why in the stars had he allowed the Wolf to give him a name?

Sol felt sick just thinking about it. At least all his names had been given by people he cared about: the Illussor who had rescued him and were his contacts there; his sister had helped him develop Lord Grau; and his parents had given him his first and dearest name. The one he wished he fit.

But to give someone like the general that much power… Sol thought he would have rather died. He shook his head, storing the thoughts away for later. It wasn't important right at the moment. The Breaker was important, and he'd just walked right past Sol.

He would have to figure out how to get in contact with him and bring Iah close enough to tell him if the namele—no, if
Beraht
—was indeed their Breaker. Head hurting, both from his fall and all the problems suddenly thrown at him, Sol turned and went back to his room.

*~*~*

Dieter sneered at anyone who worked up the nerve to look at him, smirking when they nearly tripped over themselves in their haste to look away.

Caught in the act, every last one of them. He hadn't expected anything less where he was concerned, but the bastards could be wearing some acknowledgment of the loss of his men.
They
weren't hated; they deserved some measure of respect.

Sometimes—

Dieter killed the thought before it could blossom and hauled Beraht forward, resting a hand on his shoulder nearly hard enough to bruise. "You'd do well to trust me when I say you'll be better served by keeping your mouth shut. No one here will be as kind to you as I've been."

"Kind?" Beraht repeated. "I wasn't aware such a word existed in Krian."

"You should be," Dieter replied. "You speak it well enough, especially for a filthy Salharan."

Beraht glared. "Fine talk from someone who only speaks his own language." Dieter laughed, and then they were stepping through the heavy doors into the Kaiser's private chambers.

"Lord General," the Kaiser greeted. On his left was a slender woman in a deep blue skirt and undershirt overlaid with a dark yellow tunic. Her hair was pulled loosely back, falling softly around her face in a style clearly reminiscent of the statues of the Summer Princess. A stylized sunburst was embroidered with orange thread across the front of her tunic.

On his right were two men. One was nearly as large as Dieter, with light brown hair and sharp, narrow blue eyes. He wore dark green with a lighter shade for his tunic, the ivy crest of the Spring Prince stitched in palest green across his chest. The man beside him was dressed in gray and blue, the intricate snowflakes of the Winter Princess across the front of his tunic.

His comrades in arms. Dieter managed not to laugh. He threw Beraht to the ground and bent over in a bow, fist over his heart. "Kaiser. I apologize for my late arrival."

"From what I hear, Lord General, there is a great deal for which you must apologize." Away from his people, the Kaiser's hatred was clear in his voice and the cold way he regarded Dieter. "First explain why you are dragging around this sad looking mongrel? Salharan, yes? Did he have a traitorous whore for a mother? He almost looks Illussor."

Dieter didn't let his surprise register. "I wouldn't know, Kaiser. This is the man responsible for killing my men. He is my prisoner."

"No, I don't think he is." The Kaiser motioned Heilwig forward; she was moving almost before he'd finished the gesture. "Take the prisoner and whatever else he has. Lord General, you are suspended until we can determine your level of responsibility in the events that cost me nearly the whole of my Scarlet Army."

The sound of steel against leather was shockingly loud as Dieter drew his sword. Three more swords were drawn, and three generals faced down one. Dieter stepped forward, in front of Beraht. "Back away, bitch. And the rest of you. Do you think you stand a chance against me? Sheep to kill a Wolf?" He laughed. "I think not. The prisoner is mine. You cannot touch
anything
of mine until I am dead."

"That can be arranged," Heilwig hissed, bringing her sword up in a quick arc.

It was blocked almost without effort by Dieter, who knocked it away and then grabbed her by the throat of her tunic. "Whores belong in the bedroom," he snarled, and sent her stumbling back, then turned to face the remaining two. "Cease. Do you really need to do his work for him?"

"You are treading thin ice, General." Despite his tone, however, he Kaiser, however, did not appear troubled.

"It's been breaking beneath me for twenty years," Dieter said. He sheathed his sword. "The prisoner is mine." His fingers lingered on the hilt of his sword. "It will be mine even when I'm dead."

The Kaiser looked at him hatefully. "Get out. You're suspended until further notice. Be grateful, Lord General, that I don't simply kill you outright."

Dieter said nothing, merely picked Beraht up and strode from the room, his dark cape whirling around him like an angry shadow.

Silence fell wherever he walked, only to burst into noise once he was gone. Some things never changed.

He stifled a sigh as he finally reached his rooms, which he was glad to see had been prepared for him. Recently, but prepared all the same. The servants, at least, knew what they were doing.

"So your own king hates you?" Beraht threw his head back and laughed. "My, my, how interesting." Dieter threw him to the floor. Beraht continued to laugh. "Not returning a hero? And suspended?"

"Be grateful," Dieter said, "that I fought to keep you."

"Why should I?" Beraht asked, sitting up as best he was able. "When are you going to untie me?"

"When you shut your mouth," Dieter snapped. Ignoring him, he moved across the room to his wardrobe. A large hook was affixed to the wall beside it, sturdy enough that it held his cloak with no complaint.

His room was simple. The rugs scattered across the floor were all black. So too the hangings over the wall and the bedcovers. Even the bed itself was carved from a dark wood, blackish-red in the light of the fire and three lamps. The only spot of color was the banner on the wall—red with the triad of leaves of the Autumn Prince stitched in a blazon of orange, red, and gold.

Hanging his cloak up, Dieter sat to remove his high boots and threw his sword on the bed, then strode through the archway just past the wardrobe, into the private bathing room. If he'd earned nothing else in all his years of service, he'd earned the right to his own bath. Dieter threw his clothes in the corner and began to scrub off, relishing the hot water that had been readied for rinsing. He washed his hair three times, until he was convinced it was well and truly clean. Next he moved to the bath in the middle of the room and slid into the near-scalding water, permitting himself to close his eyes for a brief second. He opened them again and stared up at the ceiling, striving not to linger too long on any one thought.

"So tell me, General—how do you plan to make me suffer my entire life when it's pretty obvious you're not going to have one of your own for much longer."

Dieter laughed. "By leaving you here to survive without me. If you think I am brutal, Beraht, wait until I am dead. Now leave me in peace."

"Untie me."

"When I'm done." They glared at each other.

Dieter hefted himself out of the tub and strode back into his room. He pulled dagger from within his wardrobe. Turning back around, he sliced the ropes binding Beraht's wrists then picked him up and hauled him to the bath, throwing him in.

He slid back into the water, laughing as Beraht struggled up and out. "I hate you," Beraht spat.

"Do you think I care?" Dieter said. "Hate matters little to me. Now bathe properly or get out and leave me in peace." He watched Beraht leave, then settled back down and, this time, allowed his thoughts to focus.

Suspended. The first move had been made. Benno was still trying to get what he wanted without having to kill him. After so many years, Dieter was finally falling through the ice. That would make it more difficult to figure out why the Illussor had been after Beraht.

Did he have a traitorous whore for a mother? He almost looks Illussor
.

How had he not seen it? He had thought Beraht's hair surprisingly pale. Dieter frowned. If Beraht's mother had dallied with an Illussor soldier, what of it? He would not be the first such child.

Perhaps that explained why he had been able to kill Dieter's men so easily. Dieter did not deny the level of skill required to execute such a shadow attack. That still did not explain why all his men had died for the sake of one enemy. Or why the enemy had Screamed. Why risk killing the man they were after?

Questions upon questions and not enough time to acquire the answers. It was tiring. Twenty years he had been walking along the fragile ice, and now it was cracking too quickly for him even to avenge his men.

Dieter climbed out of the bath and dressed before the heat of the bath could fade completely. The clothes he changed into were all black, the crest upon his tunic red. If no one else would mourn his men, Dieter, at least, would. "You're looking a little wet. You should get a bath; the water is quite hot."

Beraht glared at him. "I'm really going to enjoy watching the way your people loathe and despise you."

"It gets rather boring ," Dieter replied, "but I guess you don't have much else to do with your time."

"Even if I did, I would put it aside for the chance to watch you get your comeuppance."

Dieter yanked him from his seat and caught his jaw with his other hand, squeezing tight. "Your mouth will be the death of you, Salharan. If you are hoping that your mockery will leave a mark, you may as well give up. The only one who will be bearing marks is you, and you will have many of them if you do not shut up." He let Beraht go and watched as he stood up.