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—HALBER TOD, COTARDIST POET

Every step Launisch took sent pulses of dull pain through Bedeckt's skull and joints. His back ached like he'd been bearing a heavy load for weeks on end. His elbows and shoulders felt like he'd been lifting ma.s.sive fieldstones over his head all day. He didn't think he'd ever straighten his knees again. Bedeckt felt a sneeze building and turned so he wouldn't spray Launisch with snot. Better to hit Wichtig. The sneeze died. His head throbbed with built-up pressure.

Aging is s.h.i.+te. He remembered Wütend Alten, a grizzled warrior he'd fought alongside during the battle of Sinnlos between the Auseinander and the Seiger hill clans. Wütend had been fond of saying, "If you can help it, don't get old." At the time Bedeckt thought the man joked about staying young, but now he saw it in a different light. Wütend should have said, "Die before you get old."

Bedeckt wondered whether the warrior had followed his own advice. They'd been separated when the Seiger Geisteskranken cracked and her delusions brought down the city's walls.

Seeing another settlement ahead, Bedeckt shoved his thoughts of the past aside. Each village looked more prosperous than the last, and with each village Bedeckt's unease grew. Though he knew he'd been here before, he couldn't equate this lush and wealthy land with the poverty-stricken Selbstha.s.s of his memories. Could the beliefs of mankind really reshape the world to such a scale? The possibilities terrified him. If the Geborene Damonen had such a strong grip on the minds and faith of its common citizenry, Bedeckt wasn't sure he wanted to be at the very heart of their power. Wasn't sure? No, he knew he didn't want to be here. But the prize was too tempting. The Geborene would pay anything to get their G.o.d back.

The land flattened as they neared Selbstha.s.s City and became what Bedeckt could only a.s.sume was perfect farmland. The sprawling scene before them looked like a ma.s.sive quilt, each square a different color depending on what grew there. Even the small plots of forest looked planned and manicured, the lines of trees a little too neat. He doubted anything more dangerous than a rabbit lived within a hundred miles of the Geborene capital.

"Well, the wolves are here now," Bedeckt muttered to himself.

Wichtig howled at the sky.

Stehlen glared at Wichtig. "Shush. We don't want to scare the sheep."

Wichtig immediately took on an innocent puppy-dog look. The idiot's face is as flexible as his loyalties. Was that unfair? Bedeckt thought not.

"Us?" asked Wichtig. "Dangerous? No, no. We're simply . . . What are we?" he asked, turning to Bedeckt.

"Pa.s.sing through. We'll stay a few nights in a decent tavern and move along." He wanted to fall into a soft bed and never rise.

"Right. Pa.s.sing through. Good plan." Wichtig rolled his eyes at Stehlen, who grinned back. Bedeckt ignored them both. "Brilliant. How we going to pay for an inn? I seem to have spent what coin I had."

"Stehlen has money," Bedeckt answered.

"I have a little set aside," she snapped. "I don't see why I have to keep paying for—" She stopped when she saw the look Bedeckt gave her. The Swordsman seemed oblivious to the unspoken exchange.

"Do you ever think about death?" Wichtig suddenly asked.

"No," answered Bedeckt, hoping to end the conversation.

"You ever think about all the people you've killed?" asked Wichtig, as if Bedeckt hadn't answered.

Bedeckt thought about his father. There were more than a few people he wasn't looking forward to seeing in the Afterdeath. "No."

Wichtig ran fingers through his perfect hair, leaving it looking, if anything, even more perfect. "Do you really believe when you die everyone you've ever killed will be there waiting for you?"

"I hope so," said Stehlen.

Wichtig glanced at her. "Really? Why?"

"Some of them I want to kill again."

Wichtig nodded as if this made perfect sense. "Bedeckt, what do you believe?"

"People believe all manner of crazy things. Maybe there isn't even an Afterdeath. There's a tribe in the far north called the Verschlinger. They believe they gain strength and wisdom by eating vanquished foes. They don't believe in an Afterdeath at all. The only way to live on is to be eaten, and that leads to servitude. They burn their dead so they can't be eaten."

Wichtig watched him for several heartbeats, brows furrowed like he was trying to figure out some challenging riddle. "Sure, but what do you believe?"

"I believe my beliefs don't matter. I believe if I die surrounded by idiots wors.h.i.+ping the Warrior's Credo who believe in an Afterdeath, then that's what will probably happen."

Stehlen c.o.c.ked an eyebrow and spat. "You believe it matters where you die and who is with you?"

Was that a hint of desperation or hope he detected in her voice? She knows who she wants to die with. Bedeckt quashed the thought, afraid to examine it further.

"As I said: I believe my beliefs don't matter."

"I think it's punishment," mused Wichtig. "That's the only thing that makes sense."

Stehlen turned a jaundiced eye in his direction. "How so?"

"Think about it. When you die you'll be surrounded by the people you killed. Who the h.e.l.ls goes around killing people they like? In the Afterdeath we'll be surrounded by our enemies."

Bedeckt kept his mouth closed. Empty and vapid as Wichtig was, he made too much sense at the moment.

"But the Warrior's Credo says those you slay must serve," Stehlen said.

"G.o.ds, I hope so," said Wichtig with feeling. "G.o.ds, I hope so."

With the exception of Bedeckt's wheezing and sporadic bouts of coughing, they rode on in silence. Over the last day, Selbstha.s.s City had gone from being a hazy smudge on the horizon to being the horizon. Hardly the largest or most impressive city they'd seen, but a ma.s.sive and ancient castle with towering battlements hunkered at its center. The castle was the only aspect of Selbstha.s.s Bedeckt recognized; it preceded the Geborene by hundreds or even thousands of years. Last time he'd been here, however, it had looked more like abandoned ruins and far less intimidating. Bedeckt prayed—though not to any specific G.o.ds—the tower would not be the center of the Geborene religion. But in the heart of a Theocracy, who else would have such a citadel?

THE GEBORENE CHURCH troubled Bedeckt. What if he was right, what if the delusions of a single powerful Gefahrgeist—and he did not doubt a Gefahrgeist lurked at the center of this religion—had caused the sweeping changes he'd witnessed in Selbstha.s.s? This Theocrat might not manifest as a Slaver type, but there was no telling what he might be capable of. G.o.ds, he did not want to catch the attention of a powerful Gefahrgeist. He glanced at his companions.

"We have to stay out of trouble," said Bedeckt, annoyed at having to say something so obvious—but he was talking to Wichtig and Stehlen. "Anything calling attention to us could ruin everything." He examined his two traveling companions, giving them a dark look full of promised violence he doubted he could fulfill. They ignored it.

"Of course," said Wichtig reasonably. "You hear that, Stehlen? None of your Kleptic s.h.i.+te. You can't be lifting every s.h.i.+ny trinket that catches your attention."

"And you can't be searching out this city's Swordsmen and killing them," added Bedeckt.

"What? Why the h.e.l.ls not?"

"Because it will draw attention to us," answered Stehlen. "Moron."

Wichtig took a deep breath and Bedeckt knew what would come next. The Swordsman struggled to build an argument to convince them he had to find and kill these men, that it would be best for everyone.

"I know this child will be worth a fair amount," said Wichtig carefully.

Bedeckt snorted derisively. "Enough to retire on." He hadn't meant to mention his plans, but neither Stehlen nor Wichtig seemed to notice.

Wichtig sat straight in the saddle and the breeze caught his perfect hair. He glowed sincerity. "I think you underestimate how valuable it will be having the World's Greatest Swordsman at your side. Once word spreads, the t.i.tle will be its own meal ticket."

"It's the panty ticket you're interested in," growled Stehlen, flas.h.i.+ng yellowy teeth at Bedeckt.

Wichtig's ability to strike the right pose, catch the right light, and say the right things was all part of his Gefahrgeist powers. Bedeckt, keeping this in mind, looked away and focused on the reality of the situation. The would-be G.o.d-child was his way out of this life. He'd had enough skulking around, living one job to the next.

"You're a fine Swordsman," said Bedeckt.

"I'm the b—"

"But you aren't that good. I've seen men who would slaughter you in a heartbeat. True masters."

Wichtig chuckled, undaunted. "Ah, but they don't have my Gefahrgeist—"

"You're not that powerful a Gefahrgeist. If you were, I'd be agreeing with you."

Wichtig's mouth snapped shut. He looked hurt, but Bedeckt ignored this; it was all part of the act.

"Your attempts to undermine my confidence will always fail," said Wichtig through clenched teeth. "Your doubt in me makes me stronger." Wichtig, Bedeckt realized, was talking more to himself than to Bedeckt. "The men you speak of aren't trying to be the Greatest Swordsman in the World. They're content with their local fame. They lack my vision. And, as always, you forget: it's not you I have to convince, it's the common people. They love me. You know this." He spread his arms as if embracing the adulation of a large crowd. "I become a better Swordsman with each person who believes in me." He growled angrily at Bedeckt. "And a lot of people believe in me. Belief defines reality. Your lack of faith changes nothing."

Stehlen watched with interest but remained quiet.

"Fine," said Bedeckt. None of Wichtig's mind s.h.i.+te mattered. "Someday you'll be the Greatest Swordsman. But if you start trouble in Selbstha.s.s City, I'll cut you down myself."

"We're all reasonable people here," said Wichtig agreeably. "Except Stehlen. Relax. We go in, we get the child, we get out. All very quiet."

Bedeckt knew better than to believe a word of this. He'd have to keep a close eye on Wichtig. When had his life become one of babysitting dangerous children? He looked to Stehlen. Would she back him on this?

"If he causes trouble I'll cut his throat," she said.

Wichtig's puppy-dog expression returned and he looked misty-eyed and emotional. "I love you guys. Who could ask for better friends?"

THE CITY AND castle grew in detail as they neared Selbstha.s.s. They could make out individual spires stabbing into the sky, marvels of architecture Bedeckt suspected were supported more by the faith of the populace than by any careful planning. At this range the keep showed itself to be as much battle-ready fortress as it was church. Though it had been impressive last time Bedeckt saw the ancient castle, much had changed. The walls seemed taller and the towers higher. Everything spoke of permanence.

People pa.s.sed them on the road, well dressed and comfortable, giving them a wide berth. It was no great feat to see they stood out as foreigners. There was no helping it. A change of clothes wouldn't hide their accents, Bedeckt's scarred visage, Stehlen's vicious temper, or Wichtig's deadly grace.

Wichtig knew opportunity when he saw it, and the fates rarely offered up one as ripe and beautiful as this. A vast city, wealthy and prosperous, primed by a priesthood for manipulation. None of the people who pa.s.sed them even carried swords! If Wichtig could capture the attention of this populace, it would forever tip the scales in his favor. Being backed by the faith of the poor and downtrodden, the scared, short-lived peasantry, was all fine and good. But if the people of Selbstha.s.s came to understand he was the Greatest Swordsman in the World, he would be buoyed by the faith of those confident in their beliefs and sure of their place in the world. Though he couldn't remember anyone ever talking about the quality of faith, he knew—bone-deep—it mattered. The faith of happy and wealthy people had to be worth more than the faith of a beggar with one foot in the Afterdeath.

Bedeckt had threatened to kill Wichtig so many times the young Swordsman had long ago lost count. It was d.a.m.ned near daily now. He could almost remember when he'd taken the gruff old b.a.s.t.a.r.d seriously, back before they'd really become friends. Friends. The word gave Wichtig strange feelings. Never in his life had he had friends. Now he had two. Sure, they bickered, but bickering was part of all relations.h.i.+ps. His parents had fought all the time. h.e.l.ls, Wichtig fought more viciously with his wife than he'd ever argued with Bedeckt or Stehlen, and he'd loved her. Bedeckt could threaten and posture all he liked, but he had once saved Stehlen and Wichtig when he could have abandoned them. It had been a sobering moment for Wichtig.

Someday I'll show the grumpy old goat just what kind of friend I am.

"You look like stomped s.h.i.+te, old man," Wichtig told Bedeckt. The old man opened his mouth to answer and was interrupted by a fit of coughing.

Still, Wichtig hated being told what he was and wasn't allowed to do. It reminded him of childhood and the days before he'd realized power was something he could just take. Words and swords, they were weapons. Weapons in which he was more than proficient.

You can't have sword without word, mused Wichtig. Oh! What a lovely phrase. Has anyone said that before? He thought not.

Wichtig covertly examined Stehlen as she rode in front of him. An expert rider, her hips rolled smoothly with the motion of the horse.

Not an ounce of fat, all lean muscle. What would it be like to bed her from behind so he wouldn't have to see her face? I'd probably wound myself on her bony a.r.s.e. The thought gave him a small chuckle, and when she looked back to see what he was laughing about, he leered and winked at her.

She flared her nostrils and spat at his horse, which s.h.i.+ed away. "Moron," she growled.

Had she blushed? The thought made him laugh all the louder. Once they'd settled in to Selbstha.s.s City, he'd find away to confront the local Swordsmen and kill a few of the better ones. Who the h.e.l.ls does Bedeckt think he is, telling me what I can't do?

Wichtig had an idea, pulled his horse alongside Stehlen's, and leaned in to whisper to her. "Want to help me kill a few Swordsmen? You might have to steal a few things," he added to sweeten the deal.

Stehlen glanced at Bedeckt, who rode a few horse lengths ahead of them. The old man's hearing was shot, the result of either too many blows to the head or the fact that his ears had been mangled in past battles. This sickness probably didn't help. She looked back to Wichtig. "Bedeckt will kill you."

"Not if you're any good," he challenged.

"I'm good enough to fool the likes of you morons."

"Good. I'll give you the nod when the time is right."

Bedeckt heard their muted conversation but not what they talked about. The missing fingers of his left hand itched fiercely and the healthy perfection of the surrounding lands bothered him more than he wanted to share. They'd think he'd lost his edge. Had he? Had Wichtig's suggestion they find an inn been a veiled insult or a real concern? Knowing the Swordsman, probably the former. He didn't much care. He wanted a bed more than he would ever admit.

G.o.ds, I am too old for this skulking s.h.i.+te.

THE LEICHTES HAUS inn was so clean as to be intimidating. Bedeckt would have felt guilty for fouling it with his presence were guilt not such a waste. Intricately carved shelves holding a wider a.s.sortment of liquors than he'd known existed lined cherry oak walls. The heavy oak chair, cus.h.i.+oned in thick velour, sighed when he sat on it. Stehlen looked ready to kill the first person to point out she didn't belong here, whereas Wichtig slumped easily in his chair, offering the attractive bar staff warm smiles and soft words.

The Swordsman's chameleon-like ability to fit comfortably in any environment never ceased to surprise Bedeckt. He'd watched Wichtig chat up everyone from scullery maids to the daughters of kings with equal aplomb. Even men seemed drawn to his glib companions.h.i.+p. Few understood Wichtig merely used them to achieve some briefly held ambition. The Swordsman was a self-centered a.r.s.e with the attention span of a high-strung child. How people missed this was a mystery.

Bedeckt, exhausted, weak, and unable to keep his eyes open, retired early, leaving Wichtig with dire warnings to stay out of trouble. Stehlen promised to keep an eye on the Swordsman. No doubt he'd awaken to find half the city dead and the other half baying for his blood. Why did he even bother?

He went to bed alone and slept the fitful sleep of an old man, awoken occasionally by twinges in his knees, fits of coughing, the weight of his snot-filled skull, and the need to pee. If he dreamed, he remembered nothing.

That night Wichtig learned the name of the man widely considered to be the Greatest Swordsman in these parts: GroBe Klinge. All he had to do now was find some way of accidentally causing GroBe to challenge him.

A few hours and three times as many pints later he found himself tangling with a young barmaid from the Leichtes Haus. The girl was indefatigable. When he awoke she was gone, as was a sizable chunk of what remained of his coin. Wichtig laughed uproariously until his hangover silenced him. The girl had more than earned what she'd taken.

It was the wee hours of the morning. A prosperous neighborhood, the streets quiet and lit by distantly s.p.a.ced lanterns. Come to think of it, every neighborhood Stehlen had seen looked at least comfortably well off. All these clean streets left her uneasy.

She'd asked around for an hour before finding the right house, a squat faded pink stucco bungalow. She'd also paid several street urchins—and they'd been surprisingly difficult to find—to watch the street while she entered the house; it was only fitting the money came from Wichtig. She'd lifted it while he'd been busy with the bar wench. She'd walked right into the room, stood watching for a moment, and helped herself to his coin. She wasn't sure if her Kleptic abilities had even come into play—the two seemed fairly preoccupied. Anyone could have wandered into the room and helped themselves to whatever they found. As it was, all Stehlen wanted was Wichtig's money and a pretty little scarf—which she now wore tied around her neck—the barmaid left balled on the floor while she got balled on the bed.

They say you don't really know who you are until you're tested. This sat well with Stehlen, because she knew who she was.

Studying? Pointless!

Planning? For morons!

Look at the situation, react. Wichtig asked her to help him find and kill a few Swordsmen to spread his reputation and feed his insatiable ego. Bedeckt asked her to help keep Wichtig out of trouble. She'd agreed to both. The fun part would be figuring out how to keep her word—not that it was worth anything—and still ensure neither man got what he wanted. In a perfect world she'd be able to pull this off in a way she also found entertaining. In a perfect world even the repercussions of her actions would be entertaining.

This might be a perfect world, she mused. She'd help Wichtig and thwart him with his own money at the same time.

Stehlen glanced up and down the street, checking if her urchins for hire remained in their a.s.signed positions. Can't trust anyone these days. The two girls were where they should be. If the city watch arrived they'd bark like dogs to let her know.

Stehlen unlocked the front door and slipped inside. She felt good today, like a ghost or one of those savage trickster G.o.ds the northern barbarians wors.h.i.+ped. Walls and locked doors offered no obstacle.

The interior of the house stank of jasmine incense struggling to mask a man's body odor. It was the perfunctory clean of a single man doing just enough so that he could bring women home. Dust gathered in corners and behind anything he couldn't be bothered to move, which was just about everything. Weapons collected from a dozen nations decorated the walls. An impressive collection, it represented a sizable investment of time and money. She hunted for interesting weapons but found nothing suiting her style. The single bedroom was located at the rear of the bungalow and she stood at the door for several minutes listening to the heavy breathing within. One person. A man. Large, but not fat.

Stehlen slid into the bedroom and stood at the side of the sleeping man. He was, she had to admit, beautiful in a brutal kind of way. His jaw was strong and square, his black hair cut short. Thick eyebrows framed what she suspected might be well-formed eyes. She cleared her throat to get his attention. He slept on. Then she poked him with a stiletto, just enough to draw blood. The man came awake with a start and froze as he saw Stehlen staring down at him. His face was immediately calm, measuring. His eyes hard. Stehlen liked him even more.

"Yes?" he asked.

"GroBe Klinge?"

He took his time examining her lean body and worn armor. "You're no adoring fan," he said.

Stehlen read his eyes and body posture. There was a knife under his pillow but he wasn't sure he could reach it without her noticing. She smiled. "No. A half-wit moron wants to challenge you to a duel."

GroBe shrugged, inching his hand toward the knife. "Are you asking me not to kill this moron?" His eyes caressed her in open appreciation, which caught her off guard. "I could be convinced."

Stehlen flared her nostrils as she considered bedding this large and well-muscled man. The thought was more than a little appealing. "No. I have to make sure he doesn't kill you."

GroBe visibly relaxed. "Well then, put down the knife and climb in here."

"I have a better way," she said, and drove the stiletto through an eye into his brain.

GroBe said "d.a.m.n" very clearly and sagged back onto the bed. Stehlen watched as the body figured out what the mind already knew. It took several minutes before the last signs of twitching life faded and GroBe lay still. Amazing how stubbornly some bodies clung to life while others slid off with little more than a quiet sigh. Gently running a hand through his hair, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. He was warm.

"I'll see you in the Afterdeath," she whispered into his ear.

Stehlen selected several of the better-quality weapons from GroBe's collection and gave them—along with a fast lesson in their use—to the two street-urchin girls. She wasn't worried about them reporting her visit with GroBe; people had difficulty remembering her. An aspect, no doubt, of her Kleptic powers and in no way a slight on her appearance or personality. Or so she hoped.

Once she'd paid the girls with Wichtig's coin, she returned to the Leichtes Haus for a few short hours of rest. She slept the sleep of the blissfully innocent and dreamed of GroBe's strong arms and other more interesting parts of his anatomy. In the morning she awoke happy and refreshed and joined Bedeckt and Wichtig in the main room for a breakfast of sausage, stale bread, and fried eggs swimming in pools of pepper-flaked grease.

"That's a lovely scarf," said Wichtig, nodding toward her while stuffing sausage in his mouth.

s.h.i.+te. She'd forgotten about the scarf. "It was my mother's." Stehlen dug into breakfast with a will, ignoring Wichtig's disbelieving look.

Bedeckt ignored them both, grimacing at his plate. He hadn't slept well and the thought of food twisted his guts with nausea.

When a man burst into the tavern's main room and excitedly announced GroBe Klinge, Selbstha.s.s's Greatest Swordsman, was dead, Bedeckt glanced despairingly at Wichtig.

"Did I not say I'd kill you if you stirred trouble for us here?"

Wichtig raised his hands, palms out. "I slept here with . . . can't remember her name . . . the barmaid with the fantastic body. I didn't kill this GroBe."

The bearer of bad news regaled his friends, for the price of a pint, with word of how GroBe had been found naked in bed, stabbed through the eye.

Not Wichtig's style. But it was . . .

Bedeckt glanced toward Stehlen and noticed Wichtig had done the same. She ignored them and focused on mopping up the last of the grease with a crust.

"What were you up to last night?" asked Wichtig. "Aside from finding your mother's long-lost scarf."

Stehlen looked up, flared her nostrils, and spat a pepper-flaked wad onto her plate. She ignored Wichtig and met Bedeckt's eyes. "Took care of the business you asked me to look into."

Bedeckt kept a straight face. She'd killed GroBe to stop Wichtig from fighting him? He should have seen this coming when he'd asked her to make sure Wichtig didn't cause trouble by challenging every Swordsman in the city. Frankly, he hadn't expected her to pay his request any attention, much less wander the city killing Swordsmen before Wichtig could get to them. He shuddered to contemplate the number of bodies she was capable of leaving in a single night. He'd have to dissuade her from killing any more than she already had.

"And just what was this errand you ran for Bedeckt?" Wichtig asked.

Bedeckt answered. "Unrelated to a dead Swordsman. We need to talk about how we're going to get into the Geborene High Temple."

"Getting in is easy," said Stehlen. "Getting out with their G.o.d-child will be interesting."

"Interesting?" asked Wichtig, beaming happily. "Interesting sounds fun!"

Stehlen watched the two men lose themselves in their pointless planning, arguing back and forth and getting nowhere. Even sick and miserable, Bedeckt wanted to plan every last aspect and account for every possible scenario, no matter how farfetched. Wichtig cared only that enough people knew he was involved so as to increase his reputation. Bedeckt's plans always went to complete s.h.i.+te. Still, she looked on as the men grew excited about one plan, saw its flaws, and then became excited about the next flawed plan. She was philosophical about all of this. Sure, it was a grand waste of time, but she took entertainment where she found it. And she had nothing else to do today. Bedeckt would take days to plan this, so she had plenty of time. Stehlen figured she'd go in and get the child tonight and surprise Bedeckt with him tomorrow morning. This city made her uncomfortable and she wanted out as fast as possible.

Around noon they decided to take a break. Wichtig said he wanted to go for a walk to stretch his legs and grumbled annoyance when Bedeckt and Stehlen said they'd join him.

Wichtig followed a few paces behind Bedeckt and Stehlen. If they'd just find something interesting to look at, he'd make good his escape and later claim he'd lost them in the crowd. They wouldn't believe him, but it hardly mattered. But G.o.ds d.a.m.n it, Stehlen glanced over her shoulder every few seconds, smiling sweetly each time—a horrifying expression on her face, to say the least—to check he was still there. He'd figure something out. He just needed a chance.

They'd wandered the market for an hour, Stehlen no doubt stealing worthless trinkets from every stall they pa.s.sed, when Wichtig saw what he'd been hoping for. A lithe young man, slim-hipped, broad-chested, and long of limb, with a fine-looking blade at his side. His well-made clothes bespoke money and taste. Stehlen saw the Swordsman at the same time and shot Wichtig a questioning look. Bedeckt completely missed it.

She'll actually help me? Wichtig nodded once and turned his attention to a nearby fruit stand. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she broke away from Bedeckt. The old goat didn't notice.

Is she really going to help? Wichtig couldn't be sure. He'd have sworn she killed GroBe. But why would she? Surely not simply out of spite for some imagined slight. d.a.m.n, that scarf looked familiar.

Wichtig watched as Stehlen wandered past the tastefully dressed Swordsman on her way back to Bedeckt and Wichtig. While Bedeckt was distracted discussing the healing properties of some vegetable with an old hag hunched behind her cart, Stehlen slipped Wichtig an expensive money purse filled with coin.

"What have we here?" Wichtig declared loudly, holding the purse up and bouncing it in his hand so the coins jangled enticingly. "I seem to have found some rich a.r.s.ehole's money purse." He watched the Swordsman search his pockets and then glare at Wichtig, who, turning circles to address the crowd, raised his voice. "Who is the gap-brained festering crotch of a dandy belonging to this insipid-looking woman's purse? Come now, don't be embarra.s.sed. Come get your dainty little purse."

Bedeckt turned away from the hag and watched with a look of suspicious confusion.

"It's mine."

Wichtig turned to face the man and found himself looking into hard eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea. "Figures," he said.

The man c.o.c.ked an eyebrow and rested a hand on the pommel of his sword. "Meaning?"

"You are prettily dressed." Wichtig gestured, a lazy spin of the fingers taking in the man and discarding him as unimportant. "Exactly the kind of effete t.w.a.t I'd expect to find this purse attached to."

The crowd suddenly retreated from the two men. Wichtig clearly heard Bedeckt's groan.

The stormy-eyed man smiled cold death. "You must be new here. Or you'd be apologizing and begging me to spare you."

"If you're going to offer fas.h.i.+on advice, I beg you . . . spare me."

The crowd guffawed and gathered around. Even these so-called civilized folks hungered for blood.

"I'm Zweiter Stelle, commonly believed to be the second Greatest Swordsman in all of Selbstha.s.s."

"A pleasure, I'm sure." Wichtig bowed. "I am Wichtig Lügner. The best Swordsman in Selbstha.s.s. It is commonly believed," he said, mocking Zweiter's voice, "that I am the Greatest Swordsman in the World."

"Great," drawled Stehlen, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Why do they always posture, building up their courage, before finally killing each other?" She shook her head disparagingly. "Swordsmen . . . windbags one and all."

A few of the crowd laughed and clapped. Everyone had seen Swordsmen make long speeches in an attempt to win the belief of the people before the fighting began. Some felt this was the truest moment of any fight, the beliefs of the mob defined winner and loser. The mob, however, was more interested in seeing blood than listening to long-winded speeches about why one Swordsman was better than the other.

There are times for speeches and times for action. This, Wichtig understood, was the latter. Stehlen had ruined his chance to win the crowd with words—no doubt on purpose. If he kept talking he'd come off as the coward and lose people's faith. Come to think of it, it would have been nice to kill a few lesser Swordsmen—thereby building more of a local reputation—before facing one such as Zweiter Stelle. Had she planned this in an attempt to kill him?

Wichtig shrugged philosophically and drew his sword in a lightning-fast flourish, catching the sun just so. He stood straight and poised. A breeze ruffled his perfect hair.

"Well, come along, Squatter—"

"Zweiter."

"We don't want to disappoint the crowd." Wichtig winked at a pretty girl and blew her a kiss. While a long speech might hurt him here, other means of manipulation remained. "My gentle touch is needed elsewhere."

The crowd formed a large circle around the two men. There was a moment of jostling as those braver and more foolish shoved to get to the front and the cowardly wise pushed to put some people between themselves and the fight. As long as all agreed this was an honest duel and no one was being attacked or coerced, the city guard had no part to play. In fact, a few of the guards joined the thronging crowd and took part in the impromptu betting.

Bedeckt pulled Wichtig aside. "How did you come by the purse?"

"I found it."

"It stretches the limits of my belief to think you just happened to find the purse of the second-best Swordsman in Selbstha.s.s—perhaps the best now that GroBe is dead—and insulted him."

Wichtig gave Bedeckt his best look of wounded innocence. "It is a womanly purse." He rolled the tension from his shoulders. He felt like a hawk staring down into a field looking for the telltale movement bespeaking prey. He tossed Zweiter's purse to Bedeckt and the old man caught it in his half hand. Wichtig understood: Bedeckt's good hand always remained free to grab his ax. "Here, put some of his money on the fight. Best put it on me—we wouldn't want to cost him his hard-earned coin."

Bedeckt placed a firm hand on Wichtig's shoulder and the two made eye contact. "I do hope you survive this."

Wichtig blinked in surprise. "Well, I'm touched, I didn't think—"

"Because I'm going to kill you afterward."

"Hey," protested Wichtig, "I don't have the skills to lift a man's money and you know it. I tell you, in all honesty, I didn't take the purse."

Bedeckt looked to Stehlen, who flashed him a sickly smile of yellow teeth and flared nostrils.

"s.h.i.+te," he said.

He should have known. If he thought he could grab the G.o.d-child and escape without the help of these two dangerous idiots, he would have walked away right then and there.

The two fighters squared off, bowed perfunctorily to each other, and began circling. Bedeckt watched with professional disinterest. Might as well enjoy the show.

Zweiter moved well, his balance and grace beautiful to watch. Wichtig, on the other hand, looked unusually clumsy. His feet dragged and his sword kept moving uncertainly, like every time Wichtig thought about attacking he was plagued by doubt.

"If things go badly for Wichtig," Bedeckt growled to Stehlen, "I'll offer Zweiter a job."

Stehlen sidled next to Bedeckt and leaned against him. Her warm proximity and the length of time since he'd been with a woman made him uncomfortable.

"Wichtig looks outcla.s.sed," she said.

"He's lulling Zweiter into a false sense of security."

"If he keeps this up he'll lose the crowd."

"True," agreed Bedeckt. "Put my money back." He was guessing—he hadn't actually felt anything.

Stehlen laughed and he felt her body move against his. "I hadn't taken it. Yet."

Wichtig and Zweiter tried a few pa.s.ses but neither touched the other. The local Swordsman showed flawless technique, his attacks fast and precise, whereas Wichtig seemed surprised each time and barely capable of defending. His own attacks were often deflected before they'd truly began.

"Did you place a wager?" Stehlen asked Bedeckt.

"I put all of Zweiter's money on Wichtig."

"Awkward," she said, "if Zweiter kills him."

"These Swordsmen dance pretty enough," said Bedeckt, "but they are never ready for a complete lack of finesse. Act like you're chopping trees and they're no great difficulty." It was all bluff and bl.u.s.ter—both on the part of the Swordsmen and, at the moment, Bedeckt. A strong breeze would probably fell Bedeckt right now. Even the short walk had left him out of breath.

The ringing sound of steel on steel caused the crowd to gasp as the two men blurred into a flurry of defenses and attacks, leaving both breathing heavily but neither wounded.

Stehlen ma.s.saged Bedeckt's stiff shoulders, working at the knots.

"You need to learn to relax," she said, grunting as she dug at a stubborn knot of muscle. "You really think you could beat Wichtig in a fight?"

Bedeckt stifled a groan of pain as she worked at the muscle. He'd seen Wichtig move inhumanly fast—not at all like the fighter he watched now—and with such grace and skill it left him dazzled. "No. But if you ever tell him"—he glanced over his shoulder at her—"I'll kill you."

Stehlen snorted. "You definitely don't have what it takes to kill the likes of me, old man. Real speed comes from a state of relaxation. You're so d.a.m.ned tense you'll be immobile in a few years."

Her words struck a little too close to Bedeckt's own recent thoughts. He shrugged her away angrily, and if she noticed, she made no complaint. "Never underestimate a scarred old man. The only thing you know for sure is he's been in a lot of fights and he's still—" A savage fit of coughing ruined the sentiment and doubled Bedeckt over. He stood, hands on knees, until it pa.s.sed.

"If you were any good with your monstrous woodchopper, you wouldn't have so many d.a.m.ned scars." She punched him hard in the shoulder. "Old men are so cute when they get all defensive. Any time you need help relaxing," she offered, stepping closer, "I can always—"

"Stop mucking around already!" Bedeckt bellowed at Wichtig. "Kill him and let's be about our business." He glared at the two fighters, avoiding Stehlen's eyes.

Wichtig dipped a quick nod toward Bedeckt and transformed. Gone was the awkward clumsiness. He no longer breathed heavily and seemed perfectly relaxed and poised. A gasp pa.s.sed through the crowd as they realized what they'd just seen. Wichtig was toying with Zweiter and they all knew it.

"See," said Bedeckt, gesturing toward the fight. "Wichtig understands; to win them over they had to first doubt him. It isn't enough to simply kill your opponent, you must be an entertainer. He plays the crowd well," he admitted. "It's all about manipulation of expectations."

Stehlen shook her head in disgust. "Grumpy old men make the worst philosophers. If you want a man dead, kill him."

Wichtig pressed Zweiter hard while looking entirely bored at the same time. He spent as much time winking at girls and blowing kisses as he did fighting. The mob ate it up.

"Though I agree," said Bedeckt, "our goals are different. He's a Gefahrgeist. He craves attention like I crave a pint. He wants to be the Greatest Swordsman in the World. He'll achieve it or die trying."

"Die trying," Stehlen stated without hesitation.

"Probably. But have you noticed he's getting better? He was always good, but look."

They watched as Wichtig disarmed Zweiter and then, with a grand and n.o.ble gesture, allowed the man to fetch his sword and return to the circle. Wichtig disarmed him three more times before the man stood over his sword, gasping for breath, hands on knees.

Wichtig nodded to Zweiter. "I think you are still the second-best Swordsman in Selbstha.s.s. But don't be disappointed. Before GroBe died, you were actually the third." The crowd laughed and clapped. "It's been a pleasure," he called to Zweiter. "Keep practicing."

As Wichtig took his time bowing to the crowd and basking in their adoration, Zweiter slunk away like a beaten dog.

Stehlen poked Bedeckt with a hard finger. "The idiot isn't even going to kill him?"

"No," he said, equally disgusted. "Remember, though, it's all about the crowd. None of this matters unless everyone knows who he is. And the people love a well-mannered killer. If Swordsmen weren't so romanticized by poets and storytellers, Wichtig would never even touch a sword."

"I'd have killed Zweiter and been done with it."

"Me too. But then we'll never be famous and he'll be remembered as—"

"The Biggest Idiot in the World."

"Yes," agreed Bedeckt a little sadly. Wichtig was the shallowest man Bedeckt had ever met. And yet still Bedeckt couldn't figure him out. The man fought without fear even though he was a complete coward in so many other ways. Wichtig had fled his wife and child rather than chance failing at fatherhood. He'd abandoned his art and poetry—Bedeckt would never admit how impressed he was by Wichtig's talents—when on the very brink of success. Some days Bedeckt wanted to crack the man's head and send him back to his family. Wichtig had everything Bedeckt wanted and could never achieve, and he'd thrown it away rather than chance failure. Even mentioning any of this to Wichtig caused the man to become a violent and sulky drunk for weeks on end. Bedeckt figured it best to be philosophical about this kind of thing. If Wichtig wanted to waste his considerable talents on petty crime and violence and likely suffer an unpleasant and brutal death, who was he to judge? If Bedeckt spent his life trying to make Wichtig and Stehlen better people, he'd have no time left for breathing. He wasn't even doing a particularly good job of breathing right now. He plugged a nostril and tried to blow the other clear. Nothing happened other than his ears popping violently.

Stehlen poked him again and he grunted in pain. How does she always find the softest spot?

"What the h.e.l.ls is going on in your thick skull, old man?" she demanded. "You look like you ate a cat t.u.r.d." She tried to poke him again but he batted her hand away. "Ho ho! Old man is grumpy. You spend too much time thinking. Explains your cat-t.u.r.d face. I'll fetch the idiot. Let's go back to the Leichtes Haus for drinks."

"Fine." Bedeckt turned into the crowd and shoved his way through. People complained only until they caught sight of his scarred face and body and the ma.s.sive ax slung over his shoulder.

He heard Stehlen shouting at Wichtig, "Hey, idiot! Cat-t.u.r.d face needs a pint."

Late in the day the sky became overcast and the air smelled of sodden dog. Heavy cloud cover blotted the sun from view, plunging the streets into murky darkness. When Stehlen snuck out of the Leichtes Haus on her way to steal the G.o.d-child, she found Wichtig and Bedeckt waiting for her.

She stood, hands on slim hips, staring at them with ill-concealed anger. "I suppose you think you're clever."

"Of course," said Wichtig. "Step one of our plan was: collect Stehlen as she tries to sneak out and grab the child without us." He mimed scratching something off a list. "Step one complete. Shall we get the little s.h.i.+te and be on our way?"

The last laugh was, of course, hers. She'd suspected they'd be waiting and brought along the robes she'd stolen—the size and color carefully selected—from the Geborene temple in Gottlos. Bedeckt gave her an odd look but, after examining the brown robe, the only one that would possibly fit him—scowled and said nothing. Stehlen thought the grizzled old warrior looked even worse than he had earlier. The man needed a week in bed, not the half a night he got—most of which he'd spent drinking.

Wichtig sniffed gingerly at his robes and flared his perfect nostrils in distaste. "These smell terrible."

In the distance echoed the ominous rumble of thunder.