Prisoner (6 page)

The words hurled at him were uttered in Salharan. Dieter laughed, settling himself amongst the bedding and tossing aside extraneous pillows. He drew his sword and stared at it in silence. Through his head ran the names of his third-in-command, his assistants and strategists, and so many others who would not make it home. All because of a Salharan and the damned Illussor.

He should have been aware of the Illussor trick. But his punishment would come soon enough, of that he had no doubt. Dieter allowed his mind to wander, though one ear was ever attentive to the sounds made by Beraht in the other room.

His sword glinted in the light, and for a moment it seemed as though colors shimmered deep within. It was a long sword, old but much cared for. Made with skill. The hilt and pommel were black, and the base of the pommel was set with a large, round, blood-red stone. Even in his youth, it had been decided he would someday lead the Scarlet. Dieter sheathed his sword and drew the keys from his cloak before setting both sword and keys aside. He locked the door and returned to his bed. A few minutes later, Beraht emerged.

Clean and shaven, he looked almost completely different—softer, younger. Perhaps thirty, but Dieter thought he might be a few years younger than that. His hair was not as dark a blond as Dieter had thought; it was actually quite pale. His eyes…even dulled with exhaustion, Beraht's eyes remained a brilliant yellow. Somewhere he'd found clothes that fit, and his glare dared Dieter to protest his taking them.

As if he cared. "Now you may sleep," he said and smirked to see the ire that flashed across Beraht's face. It was like toying with a new recruit—far too easy. "I do not suggest attacking me in my sleep, should you decide to try it after all."

"You're not worth losing sleep over," Beraht returned. Saying nothing more, he reclaimed his section of bedding and fell almost immediately back to sleep.

Dieter sneered at his still form. Headaches. Exhaustion. Beraht was progressing rapidly through the stages of arcen withdrawal. It would be amusing when he woke up starving in a few hours with no idea where to find food.

*~*~*

Beraht sat up, instantly awake. Dieter had lit two torches when they first arrived, but only one remained lit. He was painfully aware of the fact that they were underground, with no sun and stale air. It was little better than living in a cave. Heathen Krians. As beautiful as the room was, it was still a hole in the ground.

Stars above he was hungry. For something very specific, but he was as likely to find arcen there as he was to get along with his bastard keeper. He stood up, resisting the urge to kick the man who slept only a few steps away—with one hand on his sword. Beraht snorted. Krians and their weapons. If he took the sword away, would von Adolwulf snarl or cry?

Beraht realized that he had no idea where to find food. There was no obvious cupboard, and they were already in a cellar. Damn it. At least the pain in his head had dulled. Stars he just wanted to go back to sleep.

"Hungry?" The smug voice made Beraht start. He hoped the bastard hadn't noticed. Had he been awake the entire time? Probably. One day their positions would be reversed, and oh the revenge Beraht would have.

Instead of answering, Beraht curled back up in his bedding. Everything smelled like the trees outside, mixed with dust and some strange powder that he'd determined kept out insects. Laughter met his silence, and he heard von Adolwulf lay back down. Eventually his breathing evened out. Beraht turned over to his other side and stared at von Adolwulf's shadowy form.

Even asleep von Adolwulf dwarfed his surroundings. He slept soundlessly, breaths audible only because there was literally no other sound in the room. Beraht was surprised. He would have expected a man like von Adolwulf to sleep with one eye open. Perhaps he did. Could Beraht kill him now?

With what? Beraht snorted softly. If he had arcen, the problem would have already been resolved. But without his magic—and while suffering from a lack of it—Beraht doubted he could best von Adolwulf even if he had all the weapons, and von Adolwulf was already wounded.

He turned back over. How twisted that his captor was the person he had the least interest in killing.
Names are power. Power of life. Power of death. Do not give a name lightly. Do not take a name lightly. Do not share a name lightly. Do not speak a name lightly.
Beraht choked on a sound that was half laughter, half sob.

He had been nameless his entire life, only to be offered a place on the condition that he killed. Now he lay here, captured and named.

Not by a parent. Not by a spouse. Not by a brother. By an enemy.

He curled up tightly, ignoring the pains of both body and mind as best he could, until sleep finally carried him away again.

"Lord Grau," an older woman greeted him with a smile. "We were just finishing up."

"Excellent," Sol said, returning the smile. He looked at Iah, who sat quiet and motionless in an old wooden chair. The cottage wasn't much, but over the years it had become the place he thought of most fondly. Lying in the woods, just shy of the northern border between Salhara and Kria, it was an ideal place for him to switch identities. He paused to look in the mirror just inside the main cabin.

He'd gone outside to treat his hair. Instead of gray, it was now a dark, nutty brown. His eyes too he had altered with chemicals, dimming their distinctive yellow to a lighter amber. Treating them thus also gave Sol a slow look. Lord Grau was an amusement in the Emperor's court and 'endearing' to a few of the kinder women. A lotion, yet another handy trick, darkened his skin. With the sun bowing to winter's strength, the lotion would not be necessary for much longer, but it would seem strange if his skin did not show at least a hint of a tan.

Mella clucked at him. "It's always strange, the way you alter your appearance. You'd think I'd be used to it by now."

"I'm not used to it, Mella. Why should you be?" Sol dropped to one knee and carefully took one of Iah's hands, letting Iah know exactly where he was. "
How fair you, Captain?
" He spoke in Illussor.

"
Well enough, considering.
" Iah lifted a hand to his bandaged eyes. "
I don't think I'll ever get used to it.
"

"
I would imagine not
," Sol replied. He stood slowly, never releasing Iah's hand. "
I doubt you find it reassuring,
" he said teasingly, "
but you make for a fine Krian.
"

Iah laughed sadly. "
At least I make for a good something. Certainly I'm not much of an Illussor anymore.
"

"
Now don't say that,
" Sol said. He tugged Iah up, gently adjusting his clothes so that they fell properly. It had taken Sol a long time to adjust to Krian clothing—the heavy fabrics and intricate fastenings, all of it lined or trimmed in fur. Iah seemed to wear his long coat without trouble. Perhaps because, unlike Salhara, Illussor spent almost as much time buried in the cold as Kria. "
When you bring home the Breaker, all will call you a hero.
" He touched the bandages softly.

"
I suppose.
" Iah said then changed the subject. "
I would imagine we can't go around calling me Iah, can we?
"

Sol hesitated. "
No, we cannot.
"

Iah smiled. "
Am I running up against a stigma with names? You shall have to explain it all to me sometime. I fear I do not understand it.
"

"
Names are power. Power of life. Power of death. Do not give a name lightly, do not take a name lightly, do not share a name lightly, do not speak a name lightly
," Sol recited, "
To give a name is to give a life. To strike a name is to kill a man. Whosoever names you has power over you.
"

"
I still don't really understand.
"

Sol nodded. "
I will explain over dinner if time permits. For now, we must attend more important matters: do you speak Krian at all?
"

"
Only battle speech,
" Iah said. It was not unusual for soldiers to pick up a measure of fluency in the language of his enemies. Krian, Salharan, and Illussor soldiers alike all managed to learn at least a bit of one another's languages.

"
Then we will practice on the journey. You will have to be fluent.
"

Iah smiled. "
Or I could be mute.
"

"
That will be our last resort,
" Sol said. He stood and tugged Iah to his feet. "
We will also have to drill you on Krian custom. I don't suppose you know any of that?
"

Iah frowned, and his head swayed back and forth in thought. He stopped abruptly, a pained look on his face.
"They're obsessed with their weapons,"
he said finally.

Sol threw his head back and laughed. "
Obsession is what we would call it. Krians know weapons and how to fight the old way. They take it very seriously.
"

"
Yes,
" Iah said. He shook his head. "
I've been told they name their swords. The more absurd rumors state they treat their swords like lovers.
"

"
Sort of
," Sol said quietly. "
A man names his sword after the person he loves.
"

Iah grimaced. "
How Krian, to call a tool for killing after a lover.
"

Sol's voice carried a gentle reprimand. "
Like all of us, Krian soldiers go into battle assuming they will die. They call their swords after their 'beloved' so that they'll die with the person they love beside them.
"

"
I have never heard such a thing,
" Iah said softly, ducking his head.

"
Neither had I, many years ago when I first started coming here. The custom is not well known outside of Kria,
" Sol said more gently. "
It will take us two weeks to reach the Winter Palace. Let us hope we can make you properly Krian by the time we reach it.
" Iah nodded.

"
Come,
" Sol took his arm and tucked it into his elbow. "
We will eat the dinner Mella has prepared and begin your instruction tonight. By journey's end, you will be as comfortable as a native.
" He laughed briefly. "
Provided, of course, that you do not get into any fights. If there is one thing even I will not attempt, it is to fight a Krian. Nothing would single me out as foreign faster.
"

"
Of that, I have no doubt.
"

"Come then," Sol said. His words were not the up and down tones of Illussor, nor the clipped, sharp words of his own country. They were the gruff, rolling words of Krian, and Sol spoke it as flawlessly as he had Illussor. "Dinner awaits, and I'm starving."

He guided Iah into his chair and contemplated him as he took his own seat. Even blind and uncertain, Iah had an inherent dignity about him. Sol remembered the way he'd trembled during the meeting of the Seven Star. Iah's shock and fear must have been overwhelming, for no one ever dared to take an Illussor captive. For Salhara, who relied so heavily on arcen to perform magic, Illussor was feared as much as despised for its natural magic, and the dreaded spell for which Illussor had come to be named. No one remembered the country's original name.

The Salharan in Sol winced at the idea of a name being not only discarded, but forgotten. Illussor was fitting, however, so perhaps the stars knew something he did not. He snorted softly and turned his mind back to Iah.

Strange how complacent he was, but perhaps it was simply desperation. It was not as though he'd had many options. Still, if it were Sol's eyes that had been taken, he would not be so calm.

Of course, if Tawn ever tried to attack him it would not end in Sol's eyes being harmed. Sol forced himself to relax before his tension relayed itself to Iah. Tawn was a problem he would take care of in time. Likely neither of them would survive the encounter. In the meantime, the bastard was useful.

May his sister forgive him.

Sol closed his eyes, then opened them again. He switched to Krian, and the language was both strange and familiar on his tongue. He had learned it before he'd been made a soldier, back when it had been frowned upon to have anything to do with the enemy. The Krian language was easy to love; it was far simpler than the flowery words of the Illussor, and so different from his own. Though he did not love the country, he did not hate it either. Not like he did Salhara. "A bowl of stew is directly in front of you. Utensils are to the immediate right, a glass of wine to the left and up slightly, a napkin is south of the bowl, and bread below the wine glass. If you need anything, you've only to say."

Iah seemed uncertain, and Sol repeated the words again, slowly. Iah nodded, and after he began to eat Sol did likewise. "You know my problem," Iah spoke slowly, his Illussor accent glaringly apparent.