Prisoner (42 page)

Beraht nodded, processing the information. An entire country laid low. It was a good thing spring was still a month or more away—if not for the winter, the country would have been in a very dangerous position.

He felt a chill, recalling that the Brothers knew where they were, but there was no possible way they could know why. Nor was Kria a threat. So there was nothing to fear.

Except his headache, which did not seem to want to go away. Every time he thought it was beginning to ebb, the pain came rushing back. Stars take it. He stifled a yawn as they reached Matthias' office. "I really am not in the mood for a long discussion that requires thinking."

"Since when have you ever stopped to think about anything?" von Adolwulf replied. He smirked when Beraht shot him a withering glare. "Even when Breaking, you just barreled on ahead. One would think you'd learn at some point."

Beraht ignored him and shoved his way past when von Adolwulf opened the door, immediately taking a chair as far from the sunlight streaming through the window as possible. Looking around the room, he noticed an exhaustion in Esta, curled up in a chair close to the desk, that he hadn't seen before. The same weariness was shared by all the others, save Sol and Iah, who looked tired, but not haggard. "So I guess what we really need to do is go back to bed."

"You are probably correct," Matthias said with a weak, but sincere smile. "Before much longer, people will begin to stir. It's amazing they're not rioting already—in a way, it's a good thing the Breaking temporarily incapacitated everyone." He frowned. "Though I hope it did not prove too detrimental to those in the outer lying regions…"

Esta shook her head. "What's done is done, Matti. Let's just focus on moving forward." Her eyes drooped, slid shut, then popped back open. "Everyone, more or less, seems to have survived. Which means the first and hardest stage is complete.

"I wouldn't say that was the hardest part," Kalan said, his perpetual humor absent. "Keeping that riot that Matthias mentioned from happening, that'll be the hard part."

"How will they riot?" von Adolwulf asked. "I would actually like to see it—a display of physical outrage rather than magical. It would give me an idea of where to begin training." He ignored the looks the rest of the group gave him, but subsided into silence.

Beraht sighed. "So you're planning to meet with your ministers and explain things?"

"Yes," Matthias said slowly. "I'm not quite certain how that will go. This all seemed a lot easier in the planning. I wish I could have anticipated feeling so—"

"Dead," Kalan offered. "Like waking up after a night of debauchery, only there are no fun memories to go along with the headache."

Beraht laughed. "I thought the same thing."

"Just what have you two been doing that you know exactly what it feels like to wake up after a night of debauchery?" Esta asked, eyes flaring with her usual temper.

Kalan grinned, apparently his humor had not been completely defeated by exhaustion after all. "Just from what I hear, of course."

Beraht snorted, but said nothing. "So what exactly do we do now?"

Matthias shrugged. "Go on like normal. Those used to going magicless in the palace will adjust with the most ease. I've already sent men off to carry explanations; as people grow used to living without magic, I will send them out to instruct and help. The hardest part is up to Dieter."

"As I said before—do not interfere in whatever I do unless you have a very good reason." Von Adolwulf's eyes were hard, much like they'd been when Beraht had been his prisoner. "What I do will not be liked by anyone, but it will be necessary."

Matthias sighed. "When I first asked you, I mentioned that I anticipated many a headache, and it is better to have you wreaking havoc
for
us rather than against us. I can't promise Esta won't tear you apart, but no one else will interfere unless they want to spend the night in stocks." He grinned. "All right, I can't swear Beraht won't bother you, either, but I can't put him in the stocks."

"It would be a wasted effort anyway," von Adolwulf replied. Beraht ignored them both.

"Get up," Dieter said. He watched, unmoved, as the man on the ground before him slowly clambered to his feet—and dropped after making it halfway. "Get up, or I'll beat you."

The man glared. "You'll beat me anyway."

"Wrong," Dieter replied. He sheathed his sword. "So far you've only been losing. You'd be plenty capable of pushing forward if you'd start
thinking
that you can. Stand up and put some effort into it, or I'll show you the difference between a loss and a beating. I don't have time to waste on men who insist on being weak."

Standing up, driven by anger, the man began to shout. His hair was pale blonde, nearly white, and his blue eyes were pale to the point they would appear almost fragile if not for the fury that colored them. He wore old pants and an older shirt, like every other man assembled in the yard Dieter had commandeered for training. A bruise smeared one cheek, and there would be many more and a few cuts when he removed his clothes later that night. "Weak? I am not weak! But you cannot treat us like those brutes in your army."

"You're the same type and structure as any Krian. All you lack is skill." Dieter stalked across the yard, hand on his sword, though he didn't draw it. "You have plenty of potential. You do quite well when you forget about magic or being offended by a few bruises." He drew his sword, steel hissing against leather, and held the blade just shy of the man's throat. "Your manner leaves much to be desired, however, as does your mindset. Pick up your sword, or you'll be dismissed from practice the rough way."

"Do whatever you want, Krian," the man spat. "We don't have to take this."

"Wrong," Dieter said. His movements were fast and flawless as he sheathed his sword and then sent the man to the ground with a fist to his stomach—almost, but not quite, hard enough to knock him unconscious. Dieter grabbed him by his shirtfront and hauled him back up. "You do have to take it. And you will. Like it or not, I'm in charge here." Dieter let him drop and looked at the other men gathered around them. Every last man seemed to vibrate with anger or fear, perhaps both and more besides. "Hate me all you like. Ignore me if you want. No one is forcing you to come. But I won't be held responsible when you're cut down by pirates or Krians or Salharans. If you've come to learn," Dieter looked at the man on the ground, "you'll respect and obey me. You're dismissed for the day, and if you act this way tomorrow, you'll be bedridden for a long time. Is that clear?"

The man made no reply, merely picked himself up and stalked out of the yard. Dieter looked around the circle of gathered men. "Who's next?" Then he realized their attention had shifted. Spinning around, Dieter stared furiously at the arrival. "You shouldn't be here."

"What?" Esta lifted a brow. "Women aren't allowed?"

"Civilians aren't allowed," Dieter replied. "Unless you're ready for practice, you are not allowed in the yard. If you want to watch, find a different location." He ignored the murmurs and whispers filtering around the yard.

Esta laughed then gave Dieter a short bow. "Yes, sir. I merely wanted to see how the men were faring and offer whatever encouragement I could. Even you, General, will concede they could use it." Her expression dared him to countermand her.

Dieter bit back a laugh. He was amazed only that she didn't already wear a crown. "Do not delay practice overlong, Duchess."

"As you say, General." Esta nodded to him and then wandered toward the crowd of men, speaking to them in low tones, drawing out smiles. Dieter let them be, sheathing his own sword and leaning against the wall with arms folded. If the men knew they had the support of Lady Esta, whom they more or less regarded as a queen-to-be, perhaps they would be more willing to cooperate. The prince's words had helped, but Esta would have far more an effect than Matthias.

"A fine sword," Esta said, her voice pitched loud enough to reach all the assembled men. She spoke to a young man, roughly sixteen or so, who looked stunned that she would speak to him.

"Yes, Duchess." The young man nodded slowly, still uncomfortable with his sword, but pleased all the same by her compliment.

"Have you a girl waiting for you back home?" Esta asked, and she clearly bit back a grin as he began to talk eagerly about the girl he did in fact have. "She sounds lovely," Esta said when he finally finished. "And her name is Klara, you said?"

The young man nodded, taking the ribbing of his friends good naturedly. "Yes, Duchess."

"A good name. Is that what you will call your sword, then?"

Around her, the men frowned. "Your grace?"

Esta laughed, and Dieter listened as she explained the Krian custom to them. He wondered where she'd heard it and frowned when she winked at him on her way out. Dieter pushed off the wall to return to the center of the yard. "Are we finished chatting?" he asked the men.

They did look somewhat less morose, and some even looked up to a fight. That was certainly much better than their giving up and slinking off to their rooms. Dieter motioned them back into place. One man didn't move, however—the younger man who had first drawn Esta's attention. His chin lifted in challenge, and Dieter noticed several men hovered in anticipation of his reaction to whatever the man was about to say. "So what's your sword named?"

Dieter paused. He should have anticipated that, given Esta's attempt to make the men more comfortable with their weapons. "Bright," he said. "My sword's name is Bright. As you've energy enough to spare for asking questions, you can be the next up."

The young man winced, but obediently drew his sword. Steel rang against steel, followed rapidly by the sound of someone hitting the ground.

Nobody noticed that Esta lingered just outside the yard, her eyes wide with surprise and locked on Dieter. A minute later, she finally left, a frown marring her features.

*~*~*

Dieter laid his sword on the table and collapsed in a chair, enjoying the waves of heat from the fire that washed over him. Even with constant activity, his hands and face were frozen. And in an hour he'd be back in it.

What he wouldn't give for trained soldiers right then. Even fresh Krian recruits would be useful—every last one of them knew the basics of combat before joining. Training men his own age in those very same basics was nothing less than aggravating, if only because doing so cost every last one of them a great deal of their pride, if only in their own heads.

Of course, everything would have been far easier if so many of the officers and no small number of foot soldiers had not quit outright. If they were in Kria, they would have been executed for such traitorous behavior. Matthias was perhaps wise in not doing so, but only because tensions were already so high.

Regardless, he'd make the lessons stick eventually. Patience was the key, and he had nowhere else to be. At least not until the snow melted, and then he would have to see about getting some respectable blacksmiths.

He barely noticed as food was brought in, nodding absently to the girl who scurried out after depositing her burden on the table. The food smelled wonderful. The spices were hotter and more varied than what he was used to in Kria, but good all the same.

They had finally figured out that he didn't drink anything containing alcohol. It made his stomach roil to even think about it. Dieter shoved the thoughts aside as idiotic and focused on what he had to do that afternoon. Mornings had been given over to those who showed the most promise—younger men who caught on quickly, older ones who seemed to pick up the new skills with ease. Still, he could have bested them all when he was thirteen.

Everything would have been easier if he had trained soldiers to match them with. But he didn't, so that was the end of that. Dieter let his head fall to rest against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. He would lunch for an hour, then return to the yard until dinner. It was unfortunate the days were still so short. Were it spring, he could extend practice to the after-dinner hours. He laughed, thinking of the protests that would be sure to arise. Just as his own men always had while they waited for the snow to melt completely and signal the return to the Regenbogen.

Were his men dead yet? Probably not. Benno wouldn't bother to dispose of the Scarlet until late Spring when travel was easy. Was there any way to warn his men? Had anyone bothered to send a message about what had transpired?

Again, likely not, Dieter admitted bitterly. For daring to follow him, five hundred men were going to be put to death or carted off for the Coliseum next winter. Because Benno knew it would upset him, wherever he was. Dieter clenched his right fist, wishing he had his sword, and that Benno was impaled on it.

At least he did still have his sword. Dieter opened his eyes and stared at it, caught by the way the jewel in the hilt glowed in the firelight.
Why
he still had his sword, he did not know. He probably never would. Beraht was nothing if not confusing. He doubted Beraht understood his own actions half the time. Certainly only an idiot would behave as he did—from shadow killing to saving his captor to nearly killing himself playing with foreign magic.

Dieter frowned, remembering despite himself the way Beraht had looked on the floor of the Crystal Chamber. He'd been nearly as pale as his surroundings, and his normally brilliant eyes had been flat, dim. He really had seemed dead. How he had survived, no one really knew.