Prisoner (5 page)

"You're every bit the bastard I've always heard you to be."

Von Adolwulf sneered. "Hoping to regain ground with compliments?"

"There is nothing about you worth complimenting." Not bothering to respond, von Adolwulf rose to his feet and strode to a pair of saddlebags that were hanging from a tree. Rifling through it, he pulled out a shirt and over tunic. "Those are far too big for me."

"If you do not put them on, I will do it for you."

Finishing his meat, Beraht threw the stick to the ground and snatched at the clothes held out to him. "Would you like to search me for pollution before I change?"

"I already did," von Adolwulf said.

Biting off his curses, refusing to let the thrice-cursed general see how disconcerting that statement was, Beraht began to change. Von Adolwulf's clothes were far too large, but they were warmer than his own. If he was going to become a prisoner of Kria, why couldn't it have waited until spring?

Von Adolwulf put out the fire, and in minutes it was hard to tell anyone had ever made camp there. "Come, we have far to go."

Beraht started to protest, then thought better of it. The horse was as much a monster as the master. That reminded him—where had his chains gone? He looked at his wrists, which had partially healed as a side-effect of the protect spell. "Do you miss them?" von Adolwulf asked.

"Don't you?" Beraht replied. "I am not the one who must worry about a knife in my back."

Von Adolwulf laughed. "I've no need to fear such a thing from you, Beraht. You said so yourself?" He urged his horse forward, pulling up alongside Beraht. "Come. I don't have all day. You can ride the easy way or the hard way."

"So you're not going to drag me around in chains this time?" Beraht said.

"I gave you a chance," von Adolwulf replied. He reached down and grabbed Beraht by his tunic, then hauled him up and over the saddle as if he were little more than a sack.

"Let me go!" Beraht said, twisting around in a vain attempt to knock them both down. Von Adolwulf laughed and threw him to the ground. "Would you like to try again? I suggest you do it properly, because my patience is wearing thin. We won't be stopping until we reach the Stone Temple, and that is several hours away."

Beraht grimaced and mounted the horse. He wondered morosely how many times he would be picking himself up off the ground as von Adolwulf seemed to delight in throwing him down. Beraht must have been sporting more than a dozen bruises; no doubt he would break something before the journey concluded.

They rode in a silence broken only by the sound of hooves speeding over dirt and grass. Von Adolwulf had chosen to avoid the roads, so there were not even other people to distract his attention. Nor any animals.

Winter was falling hard and fast throughout Kria. Only the southern area usually escaped the worst of the weather which fell with lethal force across Kria and most of Illussor. The snow in Salhara was not nearly so bad. It was lighter back home, and for the first time since he'd left it, Beraht found himself missing his homeland.

After another hour of riding, however, even those memories could not distract from the pain in his head. It felt as if knives were being driven into the back of his skull and pushed through to the front. He bit back any sounds that would give away his discomfort and desperately sought for any distraction. It had been a long time since he'd had to live longer than a few hours without arcen easily accessible.

The pain was as bad as he'd been warned. He needed more.

Distraction. He needed distraction. Casting his eyes out, Beraht encountered nothing, but snow-drenched fields and a swiftly approaching forest. The dark, heavy, always-green trees were not usually found in Salhara. There was something bizarre about a tree that was always green. He'd always liked them.

As they entered the trees, the going grew rougher, and despite himself, Beraht held fast to the arm wrapped heavily around his waist. He looked at it, not quite able to look at the trees rushing toward and at the last past them.

Von Adolwulf was strong. In a handful of days Beraht had become more acquainted with that strength than he'd ever wanted to be. He ached in places he hadn't known it was possible to ache until von Adolwulf managed to bruise them. His wrists would not soon forget the chains—nor would his dignity. Even traitors in Salhara did not get carted around in chains. Chains were for slaves, something that had been outlawed years before, when it had become more and more important that Salhara have able, willing soldiers to fight against the Krians—and the Illussor when they showed up.

The arm around his waist held him with no effort. He wondered if von Adolwulf even remembered he was there. His monster horse did not appear to notice the extra weight, either. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear the beast was enjoying itself.

Hated though they were, at least the pace and the company kept him warm. Only the air he breathed in told him how chilly it was—and that it was getting colder. Hopefully, this temple von Adolwulf had mentioned would prove to be a real shelter. He frowned, scouring over what little he knew of that portion of Kria.

No temple came to mind. So it was insignificant enough even the Krians didn't bother to mark it on a map? He'd never heard of their neglecting such a marker before. At the rate they were traveling, they'd be a hundred miles or more northeast of the Disputed Fields by nightfall.

Of course, it was foolish to think that the Krians would let their best maps anywhere near their enemies. The maps of the Salharans were probably the work of children when compared to what must accompany Krian generals into the field. How he'd love to get his hands on one of those, rather than the crummy, faded scrap he'd been working with ever since he'd been given his stars-cursed assignment.

*~*~*

The Stone Temple was exactly that. Stone. And a temple. No wonder Beraht had never seen it noted on any map. It had to be the most boring thing he'd ever seen, right in line with that Krian taste for simplicity that more often ran toward painfully dull. Was there a spark of imagination in them anywhere?

Back home, temples were works of art, constructed from fine wood that was polished to a shine and draped with soft, jewel-toned fabrics. They were lit by beeswax candles and filled with the songs of the devout. Here it smelled damp and stale. There were no candles, and only moonlight and wind filled the barren, open space. A single statue stood at the far end of the room. Beraht conceded the statue was impressive, eight feet high and depicting a man who looked as though everything amused him greatly. He pondered what little he knew of Krian religion. This would be the Spring Prince? It was not as grand as it could have been. There was not half the design to it that a similar statue back home would have carried.

Still, he had never been in a Krian building before. His experiences were limited to the battlefield and sneaking around at night to do further harm. The only worship he had ever seen there had been the strange Krian obsession with their swords.

"Krians love their swords more than their gods, I'd say. Maybe divine displeasure is why you travel home a failure every season." He was beginning to enjoy pissing von Adolwulf off, though only the stars knew why.

Von Adolwulf laughed, and Beraht found himself looking briefly between the general and the statue. "A failure? I think not. Every year I succeed in keeping you polluted Salharans from laying claim to the Regenbogen. Perhaps it's all the time and effort you waste making your shrines look pretty that cost you that skill on the battlefield." He sneered. "Then again, it's not as if you can expect skill from someone so polluted he needs that pollution to function normally."

Beraht returned the sneer. "If I had arcen with me now—"

Steel hissed against leather, and Beraht found himself trapped between cold stone and colder steel. "If you had your drugs with you now, you still would be dead. Pollution is no substitute for steel, something to which many of your dead comrades will attest."

"That sword didn't save your men, did it?" Beraht barely had the sentence out before his world spun out from underneath him in a flash of pain. He crumbled, holding his stomach, and watched through watery eyes as von Adolwulf stalked away.

*~*~*

Dieter seethed. He sheathed his sword as he approached the statue of the Autumn Prince and reached out with one hand to touch the tip of one boot in respect. Killing Beraht would be the easiest recourse, but killing him would not bring Dieter's men back. Hundreds of men, some of the best in Kria, killed by a Scream. All because of a Salharan.

He spared a brief look over his shoulder at Beraht, who was still on the ground. Dieter sneered. Perhaps his people were mocked for favoring weapons over magic, but it was steel that had held the Regenbogen decade after decade. The bastard Salharan could not even block a simple gut punch.

Polluted fools.

Dieter drew his cape from his shoulders and reached into a pocket buried by folds of fur. He withdrew a small ring of keys and flipped through several before settling on a small, plain steel key. Touching the boot of his patron god once more, he moved around the statue and fit the key to a hole hidden by the overhanging edge of the pedestal. The soft click of the catch was snatched away by the wind.

He contemplated Beraht, who was slowly standing. His pain was quickly masked by his anger. Dieter smirked, amused. The last few prisoners he had taken had not lasted more than a day against his 'Krian brutality.' Of course, a man who had single-handedly taken out so many of Dieter's Scarlet in the span of a few hours was obviously cut from different cloth. But he was a Brother—for all the good that had done Dieter.

His mood soured further. Returning the keys to his cloak, he stalked toward Beraht and grabbed his arm. "I should leave you up here to suffer in the wind, but any suffering you endure will be at my hand." He grinned in a way that had sent fresh soldiers running into walls in their haste to find a door.

Beraht grinned back just as nastily. "We'll see who suffers, General. By the end, you'll beg me to be gone."

"Don't make me laugh." He hauled Beraht along, not giving him a chance to find his feet. "I can always tie you up and gag you, Beraht." Beraht cringed at the sound of Dieter's speaking his name, and Dieter laughed to rub salt in the wound. The Salharan obsession with names was the one thing he'd never been able to understand. One hand strayed to his sword, fingertips touching the hilt briefly. Names were important, but they were not as important as other things.

He dragged Beraht behind the statue and pulled at a sconce on the wall. The wall swung open, revealing a set of spiraling stairs. It was a short flight; the true temple was not all that deep underground.

He heard Beraht mutter something in his native language and smirked.

Stupid Salharans.

Temples for the Autumn Prince were always underground. It was a show of respect for the dead who were buried. The Stone Temple was currently empty, and it took him a couple of minutes to get a few torches lit, but when he did the room was a beauty to behold. The furniture, the wall hangings, the decorations were all decorated in the colors of the Autumn Prince and the Scarlet Army.

Beraht was still muttering to himself in Salharan. It was the first time since Dieter had captured him that Beraht had bothered to speak his native tongue.

They were a hundred and fifteen miles north of the Regenbogen, making this the last temple before reaching what Kria considered battleground. He grabbed Beraht and all but threw him deeper into the temple, swinging shut the wooden door that sealed off the stairs. "Make yourself at home," he said.

He left Beraht standing where he was. It was a medium-sized room, one corner given over to bedding and another to a low table for eating and relaxing. Off to the right side was a room for conducting business. It had a high table with maps and other tools for strategizing. To the left side was a bathing room, though Dieter regretted it did not have a proper bath. That would come soon enough, however; if he continued to push, home was a little less than two weeks away, instead of the three or more it would have taken with his men.

He focused on the anger that rose up as he thought again of the reason he was not with his men, blocking out all else as he headed alone toward the bathing chamber to clean up. After he determined what was going on they would all pay. It frustrated him that, near as he could tell, Beraht seemed genuinely confused as to why the Illussor had wanted him. There would be no help from that quarter.

Dieter scrubbed angrily until he was red and raw from cleaning. From cedar chests in the corner he drew out clothes that he had left the last time he'd passed through. When he returned to the main chamber, he was not surprised to see that Beraht was fast asleep amongst the heap of bedding in the far back corner. He stalked across the room and hauled him to his feet, shaking him awake. "Now, now, little prisoner. I don't want you infesting this place with more vermin than absolutely necessary."

"What? Even your vile little brothers can't stand your company?" Beraht's yellow eyes flashed with anger. Strange that they were still so bright when Dieter could tell from the way Beraht had been holding his head that he was suffering severely from withdrawal.

He half shoved, half threw him in the direction of the bathing room. "Get clean. Then maybe I'll let you sleep."