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were such a strange contrast. What a relief, a small, silly joy to have a face to go with his summer voice.
    "Polluted eyes."
    "I thought Salhara worshipped its artificial magic like most do gods."
    "It does," Sol said in a soft voice laced with pain. "I would like to change that. Not all of us are lost to the colors of magic."
    Iah felt exhaustion overtaking him again and allowed himself to relax against Sol. Though his mind still rebelled at trusting a Salharan, his instincts were quiet. Iah was willing to trust them, at least for the present. It was not as though he had a choice. "Thank you, General, for rescuing me. I don't know why you did it, but I appreciate it."
    "I did it because I will need you. Do you recall why you fought the battle against the Scarlet?"
    "Yes," Iah whispered. "It was because General Lysam thought we'd found the Breaker." The General was dead from Screaming, and they had gained nothing by it. A wasted death like all the others. But if Iah thought of his men and his comrades just then, he would lose what remained of his control.
    "You might have. He was the personal prisoner of General von Adolwulf. He lives still, though I know not where. But Tawn, bastard though he is, will find him and bring him to me. When he does, you can tell me for certain if he is, indeed, the Breaker."
    Iah refused to believe it was possible, that their goal was as close as that. "Then what?"
    "Then we will take him to the prince, and stars willing, he will Break."
     

Chapter Two
    Beraht woke slowly, wishing desperately to go back to sleep and avoid the ache he could already feel forming in his head. Served him right, burning off that much yellow arcen in one spell.
    Of course, if he hadn't he would be dead, but at the moment that really didn't seem like such a terrible thing. Finally forcing his eyes open, Beraht immediately took in the cloak that covered him. It was made of heavy black wool, and the bottom and top were liberally trimmed with gray wolf fur. He threw it off and clambered to his feet, instantly regretting doing so. Stars, he hated winter.
    Food was cooking on a spit over a small campfire. Beraht glanced up, noting that the sun was going down. Great, he'd woken just in time for the weather to get colder. If the cloak didn't belong to the bastard general, he would have reassumed it and gone back to sleep.
    Where was von Adolwulf?
    He was sorely tempted to run for it, but he had no food, inadequate gear thanks to those stupid soldiers taking half his clothes and destroying the rest—stars he was cold—and he had no idea where he was. Except still in Kria.
    Surely life could not get much worse.
    The sound of something coming through the trees and bushes had him spinning around, tensed to put up whatever fight he could. There was his other reason for not running away. He wanted von Adolwulf to take his name away. Beraht eyed him warily as the general first moved to fetch his heavy cloak, then moved toward him. Beraht looked up as he drew close.
    And up.
    Just how much arcen had he been on? How exhausted had he been the past few days not to notice von Adolwulf was a good five inches or more taller than he was? He was built as if he had probably killed the wolf on his cloak with his bare hands.
    No wonder they'd told Beraht to go after the Scarlet. How had it not turned into a suicidal mission?
    Sheer dumb bad luck, that was how. First the Seven Star tattoo and finding out the Seven Star didn't want him. Then being told he had to kill one thousand people—at least—before they'd consider him and give him a name. That it had to be the Scarlet he slaughtered.
    Now General von Adolwulf was looking at him as if he would quite cheerfully like to throw Beraht in the fire. The feeling was entirely mutual, and the size of a mountain or not, the bastard was going to know that.
    "You're finally awake."
    "You're very observant."
    Beraht wondered how many soldiers in a day got glared at like that. He sobered, recalling