Prisoner (47 page)

"Of course," Dieter said. "Speaking of my men, I need a place for my sword smiths to set up. I was thinking of the fields behind the palace."

Kalan nodded, frowning in thought. "That's fine for the short term; I'll have more permanent locations looked into if you like. It's high time our smiths started to learn such arts, so long as you and your men are amenable to giving more lessons."

"They are amenable to following my orders," Dieter said shortly.

"Of course," Kalan said with another grin. "Does the room satisfy?"

"Yes," Dieter said.

"I will tell Matthias. Tell me which men are to have access, your retainers and assistants, and I'll see they're known to the relevant personnel. Have you any thoughts to who will be replacing those who left?"

"Soon."

Kalan nodded and sketched a bow. "If you need me, simply knock at my door or set some poor footman to find me."

"As if they would find you unless you permitted it. If Sol deVry is a cat, you are a fox." Kalan laughter followed him from the room as he left. Dieter grimaced and took a seat behind the desk—his desk.

It was far more than he'd ever had before. He'd had a modest office at the Regenbogen, but nothing but his bedroom at the Winter Palace. Dieter frowned at the polished surface of his desk, mind going to the problem of the approaching Krian army.

Despite his skills and those of his men, they would not be able to hold such a poorly fortified palace against the entirety of the Krian army. The only real option would be to stop the army before it could pass the Regenbogen, which would be the easiest place for them to cross, never mind that they were supposed to be meeting up with the Scarlet that were no longer there. If Benno was aware the Scarlet had betrayed him, he would push the army harder, giving Dieter less time to solve the problem than before.

Any other general would have already made the obvious decision. The most effective way to stop an army was to kill its leaders. Normally, the only way to do that was to fight through the army first. Barring that, it was best to use stealth: shadow killing.

Was it possible to feel both safe and trapped in enemy territory?

Possible or not, that was exactly how Beraht felt, surrounded by Illussor on one side and Scarlet on the other. On top of all that, the country he'd always called home wanted him dead.

Beraht stared out the window, not truly seeing the snow-ridden landscape or the people bustling below. His eyes were more on his reflection, vague and unremarkable save for the faint orange-yellow glow of his eyes. The red arcen in the Coliseum had stained them orange for a time, but one dose did not have a permanent effect. Nor did two doses, even though he'd used heavily concentrated red arcen the second time. If he used it a third time, however, his eyes would stay orange. As it stood, eventually his eyes would fade back to yellow, the only color he'd ever consumed with enough frequency to permanently affect his eyes.

Breaking away from the staring contest with his weak reflection, Beraht contemplated the vials in his hand. Two more doses of concentrated red arcen. At a glance, the deep red appeared almost black. Beraht shuddered to think of what black arcen would do to his body. On his lower back, the Brotherhood star twinged with the memory of pain too recently inflicted.

The tattoo on his wrist, concentric circles of increasing size, had been done with simple ink. Purple was in the center, a small dot because all citizens, even nameless, were permitted to use violet arcen. Around that was a circle of indigo, followed by blue, green, and yellow. His arcen license had given him permission to use all colors up to and including yellow.

However, the star on his back was unique to the Brotherhood. It was made from arcen and placed there by magic; the art of the initial inking had been purposely lost by the Brotherhood so that their numbers could never exceed twenty-one. All they could do was pass the stars on, but only as a Brother was dying and the magic holding the star weakened. Hence the Brotherhood's ruthless diligence in keeping track of who had them and seeing that they were returned to the Brotherhood to be appropriately redistributed.

Something Beraht had realized far too late and with much bitterness. He'd lived only because the Brotherhood had decided, essentially, to toy with him. Desperate, he'd agreed to their demands.

He'd encountered the Scarlet three days away from the Regenbogen, two weeks after the winter truce had been called—still the most unusual thing he'd ever heard of—and begun to kill them in their sleep.

Now the ones he hadn't killed passed him by in the hallways, and over the past few days many had shifted from strangers to familiar faces. He even knew a few of their names, and they his. There was suspicion in their glances, he could see it—why should a Salharan have a Krian name?—but they did nothing, and Beraht wondered if that was because they knew and wouldn't dare, or if they simply didn't care.

Given how much von Adolwulf still hated him, he doubted it was the latter. Everywhere he went, it seemed, he was despised. Beraht rolled the small glass bottles in his hand, focusing on the scraping and clinking of glass against glass. He'd held them long enough that they were warm, and when the arcen caught the firelight it looked as though he held blood.

With a soft curse, he shoved the vials in a pocket of his dark brown jacket and strode from his room. He hesitated in the hallway, not quite certain where he wanted to be beyond not in his room. Somewhere that required no thought; he was tired of thinking.

Allowing his feet to decide, Beraht wandered the palace halls, surprised when people greeted him—and when he returned them. He still found it hard to believe that when people said Master Beraht they were speaking to him.

Reaching an intersection, he glanced down the hall to where a small group of soldiers were gathered, obviously leaving what he realized was von Adolwulf's office. The bastard was making himself right at home. Beraht glowered at the group of soldiers then turned sharply on his heel to stride in the opposite direction.

Debates had been raging for the past three days as Matthias, Kalan and von Adolwulf waged a small war against the king and ministers who steadfastly refused to do anything they suggested. Beraht had been involved at first, but he had been painfully aware how ill-suited he was to such talks. He was a simple soldier, not a general or duke or prince. He took the orders that were handed down after they debated what should be done.

If this were Salhara, the Brotherhood would have already handed out orders. Assuming he would still be alive in Salhara, had his mission to kill the Scarlet not gone awry, those orders would most likely have gone to him.

The Krian army, including its Kaiser, was marching on Illussor. Had it been marching on Salhara, there would have been two means by which the Brotherhood would have stopped or slowed the army.

One would have been a direct and brutal confrontation, the majority of soldiers given leave to use orange and red arcen. The fatalities that would have resulted on their side would have been worth the damage they could do the Krians with so much high-level magic.

The second method would have been more practical, if more difficult. It was far easier said than done, even with red arcen. Shadow killing—sneak into the Krian camps and kill their leaders while they slept. That no one had taken such an action probably meant von Adolwulf was being his usual bastard self. Let him kill by a multitude of other methods, but not by stealth.

Beraht sighed and touched fingertip to his jacket, feeling the hard press of glass hidden within. For him, it would have been a relatively simple matter, at least initially. The problems came not with the sneaking in, but in the sneaking around to kill multiple targets and getting out before the deaths were noticed.

If he'd been more careful the last time he'd done it, he would not currently be in Illussor bearing a Krian name given by the worst bastard to ever breathe. "Stars refuse him. Stars refuse me."

"What has he done to offend you this time, Beraht?"

Beraht looked up at Sol. "What?"

Sol quirked a brow and fell into step beside him. "I asked what Dieter has done to offend you this time."

"Why in the stars do you think I was talking about him?"

"He's the only one to ever make you that angry, even when he's too busy working to bother you."

Beraht grimaced. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I see you are feeling better."

"Yes," Sol said, sliding him a pensive look before shrugging. "I'm still quite tired, but it will pass." He made a face. "It is humiliating to think that bastard nearly killed me."

"He was using concentrated red arcen. That could only have come from Jaspar, or with Jaspar's leave. Even with arcen in your blood, it would have been near impossible to stop him." Beraht started to touch the vials beneath his coat then recalled himself.

"All the same," Sol said, "it was I who named him."

Beraht shrugged. "Tawn never played by the rules unless they suited him; even in my limited time with the Brotherhood I knew that." He gave Sol an odd look. "Surely you did not track me down to discuss such an idiotic thing."

Sol laughed. "No, I merely chanced upon you. You are the only other Salharan I know now, and it struck me when I saw you that you would understand how I felt."

"You named him well; he betrayed your faith," Beraht said flatly. "He died in Illussor at a Krian hands. I would say that puts an end to things." Grimacing, Beraht changed the subject. "So where were you headed, if not to speak with me?"

"Back to my room; I was listening in on the meetings."

Beraht nodded. "Have they accomplished anything at all? Doesn't it get boring, saying the same things over and over, but never reaching a decision?"

Sol threw his head back and laughed. "Such is the way of politics. I do miss the simple life of merely taking orders, though I don't think I had that life for very long." He shrugged. "I think Prince Matthias grows impatient, and time is growing short. The Krians will be here in a matter of weeks, and if we do not stop them soon it will be too late. I sense that, if they do not accomplish what they want by tomorrow, Matthias will give Dieter leave to do as he pleases."

"Which is what?" Beraht asked scathingly. "Fighting a hopeless, but proper battle against an army we're ill-prepared to face?"

"Shadow killing is difficult enough with magic," Sol said, sensing his thoughts. "It is all but impossible without it. Dieter has, believe it or not, considered that option. Ultimately, it will likely come down to some form of bargaining. With the Scarlet here, we have a position from which
to
bargain."

Beraht grimaced. "More talking. Best simply to kill them and be done with it."

"Do you want to charge in like you did the Crystal Chamber?" Sol looked at him in amusement. "You do rather seem to like trying to get yourself killed."

"Not all of us, Sol deVry, have a choice if we wish to be acknowledged. Try living nameless and then tell me what you would do to have one."

"Peace," Sol said and held up a hand. "I meant no offense. Anyway, you hardly need worry about such things now. For better or worse, Beraht, all know your name now, and they will not be likely to forget it."

Beraht shrugged and turned away, finished with the conversation. "I will, no doubt, see you later." He did not hear Sol's reply as he continued down the hall and outside, making his way slowly to the graveyard and the mausoleum that housed the royal family. He paused in front of Benji's marker.

Matthias had said Beraht would go down in history. Not simply that, but he would go as a hero. His name would be remembered forever, even if right now most people were not too terribly pleased with any of them.

So his name would be known forever. His
name.
Was that what bothered him? That he'd worked his whole life to be given a name only for it to be Krian and picked by the most bastard Krian of all? Hundreds of years from now, if his name was indeed still known, would everyone believe him to have been Krian?

Muttering softly, Beraht turned away and began to walk back to the palace proper. That wasn't what bothered him. He just wished he could figure out what did.

Inside, his feet carried him once more to von Adolwulf's office, and he glared at the people still crowding the hallway, coming and going from the von Adolwulf's office. Too busy glowering at the man he could not yet see, Beraht didn't notice the way everyone stepped aside to make room for him.

He met von Adolwulf's eyes as he stepped inside, scowling at the smirk on the bastard's face. "General," he greeted coolly.

"Beraht," von Adolwulf said in that way Beraht hated. Taunting. Possessive. As if he had every right to say it. Stars refuse him.

"You're sitting rather pretty these days, aren't you?"

Von Adolwulf shrugged. "What do you want?" His eyes flicked past Beraht to the guard stationed outside, and he jerked his head briefly. The guard nodded, closing the door and leaving von Adolwulf and Beraht alone. "I have work to do."

"I wanted to know why everyone is dithering over what to do."

"You mean why we're not using shadow killer methods," von Adolwulf said, standing up and moving around his desk, drawing closer to Beraht, but not quite close enough to touch.