Springwar by Tom Deitz

was clear. But he’d had no choice but to … betray her, he supposed, caught between love of land and love of woman.
    “Pay attention, boy!” Lynnz thundered.
    Kraxxi blinked and, in spite of courtesy, yawned. He couldn’t help it. They’d fed him well when he’d come stumbling out of the Flat three days ago. They’d let him bathe, and had given him fine clothes and a warm place to stay.
    And denied him sleep since his arrival.
    Even after Merryn had set fire to Lynnz’s tent.
    Then again, Lynnz
was
a torturer.
    He wondered how they’d try to get at Merryn.
    “I will speak only to my father,” Kraxxi heard himself saying. Repeating the litany he’d been uttering anytime his acts or intentions were put to question.
    It was the truth, too. What he knew—what he’d learned from Merryn without her knowledge—could make the difference between war and peace—though Kraxxi feared it was too late already. The force arrayed here—officially an intelligence mission—implied the former, but he didn’t want to think about that. He looked at the rings instead, one of which had belonged to him, given to him as a bonding present by a friend who was blessedly far away. And then, surreptitiously, he looked at Merryn.
    Even scoured by the wind and cold of the Flat, and covered with mud beneath a film of desert dust, she was impressive. She was tall for an Ixtian woman, though not for an Eronese—nearly as tall as Kraxxi, in fact. She weighed as much as him, too. And, like most Eronese, she had black hair and dark blue eyes, a slender build, and finely wroughtfeatures—fortunate, given how much the folk of that land treasured beautiful things and their making.
    But there was more to her than beauty. She possessed a wildness, a rebelliousness—an unwillingness to be restrained by anyone or thing unless
she
willed it—that had called to that same latent impulse in him and wakened it to roaring life. For a while they’d been exotic curiosities to each other. And then they’d become lovers, without her knowing who he was, because he wanted her to love him for himself.
    She probably
did
love him, too, else she’d not have come south seeking him. Not after what had happened. Or maybe she’d pursued him for revenge. That would be like her as well. But either way, whatever they did to him, he would not betray her again—ever.
    “I’m talking to you, boy!” Lynnz all but yelled, reaching over to cuff Kraxxi, which made him realize he’d fallen into the dreamy lethargy of his thoughts twice in ten breaths. “I know about these rings. I know where you got yours. It would be good to know how the other came into this woman’s keeping.”
    Kraxxi didn’t reply.
    “Shall I tell you?” Lynnz continued with wicked amiability. “A healer woman from Eron married a soldier from Ixti, who was attached to the royal court. She brought with her an odd red stone she’d found in that land, the parts of which, when broken, pointed to the other parts no matter where they were. In due time she had three children at one birth, who became friends with the king’s son of Ixti. They ran wild, as children will, and she made the stone into four rings so that she could keep up with her brood. One of that brood, in turn, gave his ring to the son of the king as a sign of affection. That ring is yours, Prince Kraxxi.”
    He paused for a sip of pungent, resin-scented wine, which he didn’t share.
    “I will speak only to my father,” Kraxxi mumbled wearily. Nor did he know, save that
he
hadn’t given it to her. Merryn did not reply, either—or in any other way acknowledge their presence.
    Lynnz sighed. “Well, the civilized option having now been exhausted, I suppose I must resort to alternatives.”
    Kraxxi felt his blood run cold, but tried not to show it. “I will speak only to my father,” he said again. “I will speak—” He didn’t finish, because, with a force that cut his lips, Lord Lynnz, Warlord of Ixti, slapped