Prisoner (19 page)

That was another hard dose of reality. Beraht shoved away what remained of his food. "Well, keeper. How about those yards?"

"Dieter was right," Burkhard said slowly. "You do have a mouth on you."

"Just tell him to beat me," Beraht said. He found suddenly he was beyond caring. Let von Adolwulf do whatever he wanted. Because unwanted he might be, General deVry had just made his presence known and had said they had much to discuss. Which meant he was going to do something to help. He hoped.

"I will, be assured." Burkhard finished his own plate and led the way from the kitchen. "This way." He guided Beraht through the halls, and Beraht continued to glare people down whenever they glanced his way—until someone glared back, startling him. It also forced him to recall that without arcen, he had no real idea how to fight. Minimal practice with a short sword would be little more than a joke against a Krian soldier. Stars, even the nobles could probably fight better than he.

Not once since he'd left home had he felt so inadequate. Even among the Brothers, it was acknowledged he knew his way around magic. Who else could have killed so many Scarlet alone? He had murdered hundreds of them in a single night and with only a single dose of yellow. He hadn't needed to stray anywhere near orange.

The clash of steel against steel, mingling with shouts and cries, broke into his reverie. Burkhard walked down a smaller hallway and then out onto a balcony that overlooked a large, dirt-packed ring below. It was massive, easily the size of the palace's grand hall and then some.

Men fought—practicing, though it didn't really look much different from the battlefield. Krians. Was there a season they didn't spend fighting? It was nice, however, not to be on the receiving end of it."So you stop fighting in the winter to come home and fight some more?"

Burkhard looked at him in disbelief and contempt. "Surely even the polluted have to practice their artificial tricks?"

"Strange," Beraht said. "That wound on your hand doesn't look artificial. More like a light knife spell."

"You are lucky, Salharan, that I would rather die than disobey the Lord General."

"Suspended Lord General," Beraht corrected. He leaned his elbows on the railing and watched the fighting, feeling the angry eyes glaring at his back. "Speaking of the Wolf, I'm surprised he's not here beating them all into the ground."

"That's because he
would
beat them all into the ground," Burkhard said. "No one will fight him anymore. They get tired of losing."

Beraht sneered. "Then they should get better."

"We've all tried," Burkhard said, "but Dieter and his nameless sword have no equal."

"Nameless sword?" Beraht asked absently, fascinated despite himself by the display below. Vulgar, most Salharans would have called it. Physical brutality was for animals and peasants too poor to afford even violet arcen. It was crude, primitive, and uncultured. Yet, he had to admit, these men almost made it look like an art form. It had never seemed so when the sword was coming at his head, but high and safe it was hard not to admire it at least a little. Then his words struck him. "Krians name their swords?" He stifled a laugh. Somehow he wasn't surprised. "You really do treat your swords like lovers, don't you? Too busy fighting to bother with a flesh-and-blood lover?"

Burkhard looked as though he wanted nothing more than to throw Beraht over the balcony. He didn't move, however, and a minute later his face had resumed its blank, polite mien. "Swords are not lovers—they are named after them so that when we die with sword in hand, we do not die alone."

Beraht started to say something snide, but stopped. He nodded and turned back to watching the soldiers below. He realized that he was noticing the swords now. Who would have thought the bloody Krians could be so idiotically and uselessly romantic?

And von Adolwulf with a nameless sword. Beraht could have guessed that. How was it possible that no one had beaten von Adolwulf in the decades he'd been a soldier, Beraht suddenly wondered. The man was proving to be painfully predictable.

Good to know for later.

"So what's my next lesson, keeper?" Beraht asked. "Shall we go to the library and brush up on my Krian history? Study a few wars?" Beraht paused as he realized what else might be in the library.

Maps—Krian maps. He wondered if they extended into Salhara and Illussor. The countries had not communicated beyond war for more decades than anyone could remember. So how outdated would the maps be?

Salharan maps were hideous and rudimentary, at best. Citizens relied on magic to travel and much territory was forbidden to the general public. The most detailed maps in Salhara all revolved around the Disputed Lands. He'd had one, but it had been ruined along with his clothes. The Krians who'd caught him had sneered at it. Beraht still felt the sting, for he'd worked hard at adding to it and making it almost presentable.

"What has taken your mind, Salharan?" Burkhard interrupted. He was looking quizzically at Beraht.

"Nothing," Beraht replied, then decided to chance it. The worst that could be said was no, and he had already accrued several beatings. What was one more? "Krians are famous for their maps," he said.

Burkhard looked surprised. "You've an interest in maps?"

"Yes," Beraht said, feeling uncomfortable. Suddenly it felt too much as if he were cooperating with his enemies.

"Then if you will behave, Beraht, I will show you a few maps. There can be no harm in one or two of them."

Beraht thought for a moment. He was not pleased with the idea of cooperating with the enemy, but he supposed there was little harm in going along peacefully until deVry was able to help him escape. Besides, if he seemed to be enjoying himself, it would anger Dieter. So this plan was definitely looking toward the stars. "Agreed," he said at last.

Looking mildly disbelieving, but obviously eager for an easy solution to the problem of the Salharan prisoner, Burkhard led him from the balcony and downstairs to the ground level of the palace. He turned away from the front and toward the back, out a door there and across a massive lawn. Snow made the stone path slick, forcing Beraht to walk slowly. Burkhard seemed to realize he was losing his prisoner and slowed down.

"What is that?" Beraht asked. He pointed his head toward a large, round building that had no roof.

"The Coliseum," Burkhard replied. "Kaiser Benno announced last night that the winter fights were to be postponed a bit as a few pertinent trials have yet to be concluded." He made a face. "They take forever deciding things." He slid his eyes toward Beraht. "You should be grateful the Scarlet General is the one who captured you."

"Why is that?"

"Because normally all prisoners of war go straight to the Coliseum. Many of your comrades have killed themselves the night before a fight."

"Naturally," Beraht said contemptuously. "That is far preferable a fate than being reduced to something so barbaric."

Burkhard did not look apologetic. "Yet it's perfectly all right to keep a country obedient by drugging them?"

"You know nothing about arcen," Beraht snapped.

"You know nothing about Kria."

Beraht curled his lip, but said nothing more. Behaving was proving more difficult than he'd anticipated. "Why would I want to get to know a country who thinks killing is a form of entertainment?"

"At least I do not have to drug myself to do my job."

"No, clearly you are happy to murder for the fun of it!"

Burkhard started to reply, but his eyes fixed on something past Beraht's shoulder. Beraht turned.

A man was approaching. He was dressed in blue with snowflakes stitched in a line across his chest. Beraht thought a moment before he remembered the Cobalt General's name: Egon von Kortig. His hair was dark brown and slightly too long. Though his age showed in the lines of his face, there was no gray in his hair. Beraht thought briefly of von Adolwulf who, by contrast, was relatively young, but had silver at his temples.

It was almost interesting.

"Burkhard, what you are doing with the Salharan prisoner?"

"Fair morning, Lord General." Burkhard sketched a bow. "Lord General von Adolwulf bid me guide him around the palace."

Egon lifted a brow. The affectation made him look a bit ridiculous. Beraht held his tongue. "I do not think the Kaiser would approve of a prisoner of war being 'shown around'
.
Take him to the cells where he belongs."

"Lord General," Burkhard said, "I'm afraid the general's orders were quite explicit. I am to give the prisoner a tour, no matter what anyone else says. Nor is he to be so much as touched by anyone, but the Lord General himself."

"General von Adolwulf has been suspended. He is in no position to be giving orders. Now take the prisoner to the dungeons, or you will find yourself joining him."

Beraht caught sight of a black shadow from the corner of his eye. He turned to watch as von Adolwulf approached. His eyes flicked briefly to the building from which he had clearly come: a temple of some sort. "Beraht," von Adolwulf greeted, "how much trouble have you caused so far?" He looked at Burkhard, acting as though Egon were not there. "What has he done?"

"He is mouthy, as you warned, but nothing more than that."

Egon stepped forward, grabbing hold of Beraht's shoulder. "What is this prisoner doing out, Dieter?"

"That is my affair, not yours."

"He's a prisoner."

"No," von Adolwulf said, gray-green eyes taking on an edge Beraht was far too familiar with. "He is
my
prisoner. Let him go, or you will find yourself missing an arm."

Egon let go of Beraht by shoving him roughly into von Adolwulf. "Is he really your prisoner? I wonder."

Von Adolwulf caught Beraht then set him aside. "You will watch your words, von Kortig." Von Adolwulf 's hand moved to his sword. "Do not question my actions when your greatest moment was winning the Cobalt seat simply because all the real candidates were dead."

Beraht rolled his eyes. Egon was less than amused, and his hand strayed toward his own sword. "I will not hear those words from a man—"

"Who was made a general when he was half your age? And has done a better job of it? Draw your sword, Egon. We both know I will win." Von Adolwulf grinned.

Like a wolf, Beraht thought. A mad wolf. Stars he wished he'd never been given a Seven Star. Or that the Brothers had chosen to kill him and pass it to someone else. Anything but this whole ridiculous situation.

Egon abruptly let go of his sword and threw his head back laughing. "I'm wasting my time. The Kaiser will deal with you soon enough. I do believe your trial has been arranged for the day after tomorrow. We will see you there." Still laughing, he walked away.

"Trial?" Beraht asked into the silence. "Burkhard mentioned trials earlier, but I still find it hard to believe Krians bother."

Von Adolwulf grabbed him by the throat and hauled him close. And up, so that the toes of his boots only just brushed the ground. "Do you want to be locked in the dungeons, Beraht? I warned you about behaving."

"He started it," Beraht ground out. "I was doing fine until he came along and decided to start bellowing orders."

"Burkhard?" Von Adolwulf asked.

"It's true," Burkhard replied.

Von Adolwulf let him go with a teeth-rattling shake. At least, Beraht noted, he hadn't thrown him on the ground. He grit his teeth and stayed silent. "Where are you going?" Von Adolwulf asked Burkhard.

"To the royal library," Burkhard said. "We agreed that if he behaved, I would show him some of our maps."

Von Adolwulf nodded. "Fine. Have him back before the dinner hour."

"What am I," Beraht asked. "A maiden being escorted around by a suitor before being returned to her father?" He met the glares sent his way with a scowl of his own. "Honestly. The greatest torture of being in Kria is the sheer idiocy of the place."

Burkhard looked as though he would have liked nothing more than to cuff him soundly upside the head. "Keep up the mockery, Salharan, and you can always go to the Coliseum."

"Whatever," Beraht snapped.

Von Adolwulf spared him a warning look then abruptly turned on his heel to head back toward the palace. They watched him go. "So what
does
a suspended general do all day?"

"Normally," Burkhard said, "he would wake before dawn and train with his men in the yard. They eat breakfast afterwards while everyone else is practicing. He rides his horse, if weather permits. Later, there are the meetings he would have with his advisors and strategists. The war does not stop just because the snow halts the fighting, but now that he's suspended and his men dead?" Burkhard shrugged. "He was probably lighting candles for the dead soldiers. No one mentioned them at the Solemn Banquet you slept through."

Beraht frowned. "I'm guessing that's something to honor dead soldiers?"

"Yes."

"So why did no one acknowledge their deaths? Because of the Scarlet Wolf?"

"To insult him, yes."

Beraht thought on that. "Why does the Kaiser hate him?"

"Why do you care?" Burkhard challenged.