Prisoner (32 page)

Dieter nodded. "What you have to do is break the limb and let it heal itself."

"Exactly." Matthias paused then smiled. "If this works out, would you like to join the council? There should be a spot for Minister of War opening up in a few more years."

"Politicians try my patience."

Matthias nodded. "Shall we head back? I'll warn you now: don't stand too close to Esta when I tell her what's going on." Dieter nodded.

*~*~*

Everything was different and lightly surreal. What did a man do when he found himself alive long after he was supposed to have been dead? Dieter curled his fingers around the hilt of his sword, thumb stroking across the red jewel in the pommel.

Apparently he got himself hired to train lifelong enemies to fight properly.

He wondered how soon they would kill him after he sent the first dozen or so to the healers. Dieter looked up from a snow-filled courtyard that was both familiar and different. Familiar because of the snow and cold and the way a handful of people braved it simply to make their journey shorter—mostly servants who had no time to take the long way around the palace.

Miles and days away across the unending snow beyond the palace, he knew, was Kria. Where a Kaiser no doubt plotted all new ways to torture and kill Dieter for the new set of humiliations. Let the bastard rot. Dieter was finished with him. He had, despite the sour taste the methods left in his mouth, had the last laugh.

Of his men, only five hundred or so remained; only the regiment he had sent on ahead of him to the Winter Palace, and a handful of men scattered across Kria for various reasons. He wondered if the Kaiser would simply disband them or punish them in his stead. Dieter glowered at his reflection then turned sharply away from the window. His hand still gripped his sword, and he forced himself to let go.

Why was he here?

Because of that damned idiot. Dieter snarled and turned his thoughts elsewhere. How could one man train so many who did not even know how to hold a sword? Did they know anything about fighting normally?

Tits of the Winter Princess, they would not even know how to make such things. Dieter could feel his head begin to ache. Never again would he complain of recruits fresh from the farm and their mother's milk. There were Krian boys on those farms now who knew more about swordsmanship than a full-grown Illussor.

The Coliseum had been easier to deal with than this.

He turned back to the window, one thought after another hammering at his brain until he wanted to break something. Preferably Beraht, but that would have to wait until the Breaker—Dieter snorted—did his job.

A knock at the door broke his musings. "Enter!"

Expecting another skittish, angry serving girl, Dieter was surprised to see Sol enter with a dinner tray. "I snitched it from the kitchen—probably for the best, from all I heard down there."

Dieter looked at him. "Can't stop prowling, cat?"

"Cat?" Sol repeated. He started to laugh, but then sobered. "There was something I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to do it much sooner, but it did not seem like a good idea to bring it up while we traveled. The going was rough without adding to the tension."

"What?" Dieter said, sitting down, but ignoring the food.

"Burkhard," Sol said heavily, still standing. "After I spoke with you in the dungeon, I encountered him in the hallway. My eyes gave me away. We fought; Iah killed him. I wanted to say I'm sorry. I know he was something of a friend—at least he always thought highly of you."

Dieter grunted. "He thought highly of what he thought I should have been. He was a soldier. He fought, and he died." He looked Sol in the eyes. "He hated Salharans—it was they who ruined his hand. With magic. No doubt he was glad to die trying to kill one." A shake of his head. "He would be less pleased to know he actually died when a blind Illussor stabbed him in the back."

Sol nodded. "I am sorry all the same."

"It comes with the territory, as they say."

"Yet you hold Beraht in great resentment for following the dictates of his territory."

Dieter's eyes darkened. "There is no excuse for slinking around in the dark killing men while they sleep. It is the behavior of cowards. My men always fought fairly, if brutally. Anyone who did otherwise, I dealt with. Do not try to defend him to me."

"He saved your life."

"I saved his first, and my one life does not forgive the hundred who died without being given a chance to defend themselves."

Sol frowned. "Does it irk you more that your men are dead, or that he got the better of you?"

Dieter slammed a fist down on the table, rattling the food hard enough that the goblet of water on it spilled over. "Soldiers die. Men win. Others lose. I lost. But it wasn't fairly. The winter halt had already been called. We were three days gone from the Regenbogen.
My men died in their sleep believing they were safe.
Do not justify his actions."

"He has his reasons." Sol held up his hands to ward off Dieter's tirade. "I'm not defending him. Until recently I barely knew him. I don't really care if you get along or not, but you keep harping on fair, Scarlet Wolf. Your own country fears and hates you, and they do it without understanding. Do you think it's fair then to turn around and hate Beraht without understanding?"

"Get out." Sol nodded and left. Dieter glanced at his food, half of which had turned soggy from the overturned water. Muttering an oath, he stood and strode from the room.

People avoided him as he walked the halls. He wasn't even going to begin noting how poorly defensible the whole place was. Taking the palace would be all too easy to do. Dieter memorized the layout as he went, frowning as he pondered where he would most likely find Beraht.

"General von Adolwulf."

Dieter eyed the man who had called his name. "You are the Duke."

"Kalan, please. What brings you out of hiding?"

"I'm searching for Beraht."

Kalan rolled his eyes. "Esta dragged him out to the gardens. She keeps it up, Matthias is going to start pitching fits."

Dieter said nothing, merely nodded and continued on his way. The gardens he remembered. Once there, locating Beraht was easy enough. He stalked toward him and Esta, waiting until Esta had finished speaking.

"What do you want?" Beraht asked.

"To speak with you," Dieter said, biting back whatever else he wanted to say.

Esta smiled politely. "Then I guess I had better leave you to talk." She winked. "No fighting, all right?" Laughing at her own joke, she strolled from the garden, voice fading as she caught a passing servant in the hallway.

"What?" Beraht snapped. "Did you need someone to beat?"

Dieter tamped down on his ire. Would that he'd just killed the damn man when he'd had the chance. "Why did you kill my men?"

"You really are here to beat me up."

"If I wanted to beat you, I would not have to ask asinine questions to find a reason." Dieter glared, wishing he'd just stayed in his damn room.

"Why do you care?"

"Just answer the question."

Beraht looked as though he wanted to do no such thing, but did anyway. "No choice. Men like me are good only for one thing: everyone else's dirty work. If I hadn't become a shadow killer, and later gone after your men that night, I'd be dead now."

"So it's all right to kill a hundred to spare one?"

"It wasn't that simple!" Beraht snapped. "The Brotherhood is all I have—had. If I hadn't done what they wanted, I would have died slowly, painfully, and nameless." His eyes were a hot, bright yellow. "I'm sure that means nothing to a Krian, but I can assure you to die nameless is far worse than losing a damnable sword. It's like never existing." Beraht looked away. "They said if I killed a hundred Scarlet, they would let me live. If I killed a thousand, they would give me a name."

Dieter looked at him in contempt. "Name yourself. I do not understand this obsession with names you people have."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. Even if you're universally hated, you have a name. Someone gave it to you. Thought you were important enough to identify. You have no idea what it's like to spend your entire life as nothing."

"Bah," Dieter replied. "You know nothing. Take a name for yourself if one is so important. All you do is make excuses for cowardice."

"What would you know!" Beraht raged. "People hold you in awe as much as they fear you! You have power, you have a place, you have an identity!" His hands were clenched into fists, trembling in rage. "You come down here to ask me questions, only to turn around and mock me! I don't want to be told I'm a coward by a man who decided the best way to deal with everything was to be hated. Isn't that cowardice? You could have been anyone and anything, and you chose to let the world hate you. The easy way out."

Dieter snapped and wrapped his hand around Beraht's throat. "Do not pretend to understand what drives me."

Beraht lashed out, using his legs when Dieter pinned his arms to the stone wall as he slammed Beraht against it. "Then do not pretend to understand me. You chose to be a bastard; I chose to kill your men in their sleep. Live with it."

He squeezed until Beraht began to find it hard to breathe, then threw him down. "I do not know why I bothered, as it seems I was right after all. Go back to your flirtations; I won't trouble you again."

"Bastard," Beraht hissed. "You're nothing but a stars cursed bastard."

Dieter laughed coldly. "I am called that all the time, yet it is the one thing I am most definitely not. My father did not love my mother, but he did marry her."

"I guess he wanted his precious little gift to the Kaiser to be perfect," Beraht said.

Dieter stopped halfway across the garden, but then continued walking. He didn't stop until he was back in his room and spent the rest of the night staring at the snow beyond the window.

Tawn wiped a smear of blood from his cheek with a scrap of shirt. He stared idly at the bodies on the floor as he dropped it on the floor. The floor was wet and stained in several places; the room reeked of blood and sweat and excrement. Before long, the bodies would start to smell as well. Four men lay unmoving against the far wall, a fifth at his feet. All were covered in blood, most of it coming from the empty sockets where their eyes had been.

One eye lay before the fireplace. His last throw had fallen a bit short—it was that which had finally made the last Illussor talk.

Five Illussor in total, taken one by one. At least twice what was normal for the time of year. He'd thought it strange that so many would be camped out along the border. It was almost as if they were waiting for something. Or someone. Three someones, he had learned—and four had shown up.

Interesting, interesting. Tawn couldn't wait to see the expressions on the faces of his Brothers when he told them their favorite servant was a traitor, as was their newest member—the silly toy soldier they had sent to kill Krians.

A brief detour through Kria and five Illussor officers had told quite an interesting tale.

He had known Sol was a traitor—he was too much a schemer to be that compliant—but Tawn had underestimated him. He touched his nose—his only flaw. One he was fast overcoming. Twice now Sol had gotten the better of him; there would not be a third.

Sol was a traitor, and Beraht along with him. Tawn laughed aloud, thinking of how he'd taken a Krian name. So he'd been a traitor from the start. He'd have to finally get around to letting that detail slip.

But not yet. The Brothers would know of events when he chose to tell them. Or maybe he'd let them go ahead and die. No. He wanted to see their faces when he told them about Sol and Beraht. All the Brothers would be assembling soon, wouldn't they? Except for two. Tawn laughed.

He reached into one of his thigh-high boots and pulled out a small, corked glass vial. In the firelight, the arcen burned like liquid fire, a thick dark orange. He pulled the cork and tossed it on to the eyeless corpse at his feet and tipped the vial back.

It burned like hot honey with just a hint of bitterness as it slid down his throat. His tongue flicked out to get all the arcen from the vial that he could. When he had finished, it too was dropped onto the corpse, and he stepped over the bodies toward the door.

Scheming, scheming. So much to do and plenty of winter left in which to do it. Tawn paused before a mirror, combing his hair with his fingers. The last Deceiver had been a bit feistier than his brothers. He'd reminded Tawn of the first Illussor he'd captured. That one had been fun. Screaming, shaking, crying—but not dying, not giving up. Even amongst all the Brothers, that one had tried to be strong.

Then Sol had stolen him. He wondered now how long Sol had been playing the traitor. Tawn turned away from the mirror and frowned at the room. Hovel, really. Stone and wood to make a tidy little lookout while winter locked them all up. How tiring it must be to be so controlled by the weather. It was the greatest weakness of Kria and Illussor.

Though apparently Illussor had an even greater weakness. And thanks to a personal feud, Kria's greatest strength was now skulking around the Deceiver capital. He wondered if the Krian Kaiser knew where his Wolf had gone.