—EINSAM GESCHICHTENERZÄHLER

Stehlen wandered the streets of Neidrig for an hour, stopping at each tavern to examine its exterior before moving on. There was, she figured, no point in going inside until she found the one he'd be in. She didn't question how she would know, she just knew she would. When a Kleptic wants something, it's d.a.m.ned hard to stop her.

The Verrottung Loch looked about ready to collapse. The windows had been crudely covered with warped boards that appeared to have been scavenged from an ancient s.h.i.+pwreck. The eastern wall bowed dangerously inward and the many holes in the roof leaked thick smoke, catching the lantern light within, turning it into wispy pillars of dusty gold reaching weakly for the sky.

She stood, listening to the voices of the patrons. Small and stupid men argued and discussed their small and stupid lives in desperate tones that rose in threatening volume and then fell away in placating fear. The Verrottung Loch was the bottom of the s.h.i.+te-stained barrel of Neidrig. Perfect. Even though she couldn't hear Bedeckt's deep voice, Stehlen knew she had found the place.

Still, she hesitated. She'd have to be careful how she dealt with the old man. Bedeckt could be a frightfully violent drunk. She wasn't worried, she told herself, she simply didn't want to have to hurt him any more than necessary. Stehlen chuckled quietly. Forming a plan for a simple task like collecting an old drunk? Bedeckt was rubbing off on her.

A dozen filthy faces turned in her direction as she entered the tavern. Only one man didn't turn and she recognized Bedeckt's broad back. He looked naked without his ma.s.sive ax.

For a moment, silence.

"Well, h.e.l.lo there, la.s.s." The nearest man leered, leaning forward to waggle s.h.a.ggy eyebrows in her direction.

Stehlen flared her nostrils and struck him once, shattering his nose and sending his few remaining teeth skittering across the floor like fleeing c.o.c.kroaches. The man toppled backward off his chair, his head hitting the stone floor with a hollow thonk. The rest of the patrons wisely lost interest and returned to the business of drinking themselves to death.

Though Stehlen approached Bedeckt from behind, he still nudged a chair out from under the table for her. Somehow he knew she was there. Sitting across the table from him—an old habit allowing them to watch each other's back—Stehlen waited for Bedeckt to speak. For a long moment he ignored her, staring into the thick clay mug gripped in the scarred remains of his half hand. His whole hand, as ever, left free should he need to draw a weapon.

"You're still alive," Bedeckt slurred into the cup.

"Of course." She waved at the innkeeper to bring her an ale.

"You left us," he muttered accusingly.

"I didn't leave," answered Stehlen, though she'd certainly thought about it.

Bedeckt snorted. "I couldn't see you. Wichtig . . . I looked back. You don't—"

"You didn't notice the Kleptic," she interrupted sarcastically. "How strange."

"—survive that. Dead."

"You did what Wichtig would have done," she said. "Had he been smart enough."

The innkeeper dropped a wood mug on the table before Stehlen and fled to the safety of the kitchen. Stehlen stared at the yellow and black flecks hanging suspended in the ale. Someone had chewed at the cup's rim, leaving it ragged and uneven.

She took a long pull of ale. "This is awful."

Bedeckt finally looked up and, just for a flickering instant, met her eyes. "Keep drinking."

"It gets better?"

"No."

"Great." On a sudden whim she reached a hand across the table and laid it atop Bedeckt's half hand, which still clutched his mug. The hand tensed, but didn't pull away. "Wichtig is with the boy. I found us a new inn. Your stupid ax is there too."

"Wichtig alive?"

"Well, no." Bedeckt seemed to cave in upon himself. "But the boy brought a cat back to life and cats are much smarter than Swordsmen. Wichtig should be easy."

Bedeckt stared at her, mouth hanging open. "But how did you . . ."

"The Therianthropes are dead."

"You killed—"

She spat on the table, interrupting Bedeckt. "No great task." She scowled. "Why is everyone so excited about Wichtig? He was dead before anything interesting happened." She snorted. "I'll never let him live this down."

Bedeckt gripped the table with his whole hand. The room spun, a slow lilting of the horizon, growing out of what remained of his narrowing peripheral vision.

Why hadn't he retrieved the hand Stehlen still held? He needed it. He couldn't drink with her hand on his, but if he let go of the table he suspected he might slump to the floor. He struggled to form coherent thoughts.

"Dead people don't. Need live. Things down." Well, it was close to what he was trying to say.

"Always the philosopher." Stehlen waved for another mug of ale and the innkeeper brought two. Bedeckt groaned in dismay. She removed her hand after giving his one last squeeze. "Drink up, you need it."

He watched Stehlen slam back six fast pints while he nursed one and tried not to vomit or fall off his chair.

Did she really not care he'd abandoned her, or was this just bl.u.s.ter? He couldn't decide. He couldn't even decide which he preferred. Would he rather she felt hurt at his betrayal, or just see his flight as an eminently reasonable reaction to the circ.u.mstances? If she truly didn't care, it meant she had no expectations of him, which would be wise. But it also meant he couldn't expect her to be there for him should he need it.

If she doesn't care, I can't trust her. Wait, wait, wait. When had trusting Stehlen ever been an option?

Bedeckt half listened as Stehlen prattled on, bragging about how she'd killed a Therianthrope without the girl ever knowing she'd stood behind her the entire time. Except for those arguments with Wichtig, Bedeckt had never heard her talk so much. Thinking of the young Swordsman stabbed his chest with a pang of guilt that he did his best to crush.

d.a.m.ned Gefahrgeist. Pigsticking leeches, each and every one. They'd cling, hanging and sucking at your soul, and you'd never quite realize their friendly grip was barbed. Knowing Wichtig was a Gefahrgeist didn't help. How could an unsubtle moron be so subtle? Was Wichtig's cra.s.s lack of subtlety a subtle ploy?

Bedeckt blinked blearily at Stehlen. "Are you angry I ran?" he asked, interrupting her description of what it felt like to slide a knife so perfectly between vertebrae that it didn't so much as sc.r.a.pe bone.

Her mouth closed midword with a clack of yellow teeth and she stared at him, nostrils flared. "Do you care?"

Bedeckt took a drink to buy time and discovered his mug empty. "I'm empty."

"I feel the same way," she said sadly. "There should be more."

Is she talking about ale? He struggled to formulate an intelligent question. "What?"

"Something is missing. You feel it too." She paused and once again rested her hand on his half hand. Her hard fingers caressed the thick ridges of scar, the remnants of his missing fingers. "Would you rather I was angry you left us, or—"

"I thought you'd already fled."

"—would you rather I didn't care?"

Bedeckt willed the room to stop its lazy spin. Why couldn't she answer his d.a.m.ned question? Did she, or did she not, care?

He decided to ignore her questions and try again. "Do you care?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Answer my question!"

"Answer mine!"

"G.o.ds' b.a.l.l.s. Forget it." This was worse than talking to Wichtig. He pulled his half hand free.

Stehlen downed the last of her pint, dropped a few coins on the table, and rose to her feet with more than a little wobble.

"Let's go," she said. "We should make sure the boy and the body are behaving."

"You left the boy alone?" Bedeckt demanded, accusing.

Nostrils flared in angry surprise. "And this after you left me on a street full of Therianthropes?"

Had she just answered his earlier question?

"And no," she continued, "I didn't leave him alone. I left him with Wichtig."

Bedeckt tried to stand and found himself sitting on the floor. How did I get here?

"Wichtig being dead," he mused from the floor, "it's unlikely he'll get the boy into trouble."

Stehlen offered Bedeckt a hand and pulled him to his feet with surprising ease. "I always said we'd be better off with Wichtig dead."

OUTSIDE. DARK ALLEY. Cool air. Rumbling stomach threatening to rebel. World spinning.

Bedeckt caught a whiff of sour body odor. "Stehlen?"

"Yes?" she said from under his right shoulder.

Thank the G.o.ds. He'd wondered who was supporting him as he weaved through the darkness. "Where are we?"

"In an alley."

Great. "How did we get here?"

"We walked." She laughed, a nasal snort. "Well, I walked. You staggered. With considerable help."

He gave her a squeeze. d.a.m.n, she was muscled. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too."

Bedeckt felt strong hands fumbling at his belt. "Is that you?"

"Yes."

"Good." Or was he just glad it wasn't some stranger in the dark?

His pants dropped and cool air caressed his b.a.l.l.s. Then warm fingers. "I think I'm going to vom—"

OUTSIDE. DARK ALLEY. Cool air. Sitting in something tepid and thick. Back against an uneven stone wall. Someone small and warm and strong sat on his lap facing him. Skin. Hot and wet. Slow grinding movement.

Bedeckt slid a hand along a firm flank, over a slim a.r.s.e, and up to cup small b.r.e.a.s.t.s with surprising nipples. A soft groan greeted his actions.

Bad breath. Sour body odor.

"Stehlen?"

"Mm."

"How did I get here?"

"Fell."

Stehlen leaned forward, her chest pressing against his, and nibbled at the scarred remnants of his left ear. He could feel her nipples through his s.h.i.+rt.

"My pants?"

She whispered something into his ear and, grabbing his hands, moved them to her a.r.s.e. He gave it a tentative squeeze.

What had she said? "Other ear," he suggested.

She s.h.i.+fted and began nibbling on his other ear.

"I meant speak into the other ear."

"Harder."

He gripped her a.r.s.e more firmly and pulled her roughly against him. So deep. She moaned into his right ear, a soft sound he had never expected to hear from her.

"Pants?" he asked again.

"Ankles," she whispered, her grinding increasing in pace.

Stehlen's movements became increasingly disjointed and less rhythmic. When she o.r.g.a.s.med, her scream briefly deafened Bedeckt's remaining ear. When he came, he didn't care if he never heard again.

Seconds later he wished he could be so lucky.

Wichtig caressed soft skin. She opened herself to him like a flower opening to greet the morning sun. Payback, much like the girl, was delicious.

And then he lay on a comfortable cot, staring up at Morgen's bright, clean face.

"If," said Morgen, "in the Afterdeath, you have to serve the man who slays you, what must you do for the boy who brings you back?"

Wichtig sat up and scanned the room. This wasn't the Ruchlos Arms. The floor looked clean, free of filth and detritus, and the sheets felt crisp and freshly laundered. I die and the first thing they do is find a better inn. He thought about what the boy said and searched his feelings. Nothing. No compunction to serve. Still, no reason to waste an opportunity.

Wichtig set a hand on the boy's shoulder and flashed his best look of honest confession. "It seems," he said, "I am now yours to command." He slid off the bed and gracefully took a knee, bringing his eyes slightly lower than the boy's. He bowed his head in humility. "What would you have me do, My Lord?" He'd have to remember to keep up this deferential act for as long as possible. Who wouldn't trust a servant bound by some magical bonds reaching from beyond the Afterdeath?

"Truly?" Morgen asked, sounding surprised.

Wichtig didn't answer. He merely kept his head bowed. Best not to overdo things. Simplicity was the key to manipulating Morgen. What he didn't say would have more effect than what he did.

"I am unaccustomed to command," admitted the boy. "They should have better prepared me," he murmured. Finally he said, "Rise."

Wichtig rose smoothly to his feet and smiled down at the boy. It was only then his good humor faltered. "Where are my swords?"

"Stehlen left them in the street when she carried you away."

"Stupid ugly b.i.t.c.h!"

"I don't think she—"

"She did it on purpose."

"How could she know—"

"She carried my corpse because she knew you'd bring me back."

"But she couldn't—"

"She left my swords because she knew it would p.i.s.s me off. Ugly, stinking, snaggletoothed, murderous, lying, stealing, cheating—"

"You should be nicer to Stehlen," Morgen commanded.

Wichtig dipped a quick bow. "Of course. My apologies. I'll try and be nicer." And then I'll kill her.

Morgen examined his hands, checking under pristine fingernails. He grimaced in distaste. "Fetch me some water so I can clean up."

Wichtig resisted the urge to smack the boy. A quick glance about the room showed everything perfectly ordered. The rug sat perfectly parallel to the wall and ended exactly at the foot of the bed. The sheets were meticulously folded and tucked tight. Wichtig's boots sat neatly arranged, and cleaner than they'd been when he'd bought them, near the door.

"Did some cleaning?" he asked.

Morgen, frowning at the slightly rumpled sheets of the cot Wichtig had just vacated, nodded.

When Wichtig returned with soap and water, Morgen scrubbed his hands pink and raw. The boy then dried them on a carefully selected piece of towel seemingly no cleaner than the rest.

What a strange, strange kid. Those Geborene p.r.i.c.ks had no idea what they'd created. No doubt they thought they'd made their perfect little G.o.d, but this child was riddled with delusion.

"Much better." Morgen examined his fingernails again with a critical eye. "What was the Afterdeath like?" he asked.

"Much like the Beforedeath. Anger, manipulation, violence, and s.e.x." He watched for the boy's reaction. "And it was filthy."

Morgen paled. "But Bedeckt said it was a chance at redemption."

Wichtig snorted. "n.o.body believes that, though, and that's what matters. Right?"

"Everyone is afraid of dying," Morgen said

"Because it is worth fearing. I wasn't there long, but everyone I met died a violent death. It's a world populated by walking corpses forced to serve those who killed them." A slight exaggeration, but a far better story.

"Not everyone dies a violent death."

"Like I said, I wasn't there long. Everyone I met was either killed or murdered."

"You are glad to be back?" Morgen asked.

"Eternally grateful. I owe you my life. Literally." Wichtig let out a slow, dramatic breath. "I should abandon my quest to become the World's Greatest Swordsman. Perhaps if I live a more peaceful life, I might die a more peaceful death. And find a more peaceful Afterdeath." He didn't have to fake the shudder. "One not populated by those I have slain."

"You already are the Greatest Swordsman in the World."

Aha! "I know. But I'm not the Greatest Swordsman in the World. It's a t.i.tle, not a just an achievement. Being the best is meaningless unless everyone knows it."

"Why does that matter?"

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Wichtig blinked. Was that the stupidest question he'd ever heard? "What other reason is there ever for doing anything?"

Morgen stared at him for a moment, looking like he was trying to make up his mind about something or think up an even stupider question. Then he shrugged and said, "You won't give it up. You still have a role to play."

A role to play? The only part he played was the lead role. The hero. Why did people never see they weren't at the center of things? He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the boy's solemn face. Well, obviously he wasn't going to give up his quest now. Not when he had a would-be G.o.dling in his pocket who could bring him back to life every time he got killed. Nothing could stop him. If he wasn't actually unkillable, at least he knew he wouldn't remain dead for long.

Wichtig nodded slowly as if accepting something difficult. "I suppose you're right," he said. "I can't give up now. Not when you need me." He expected Morgen to look happy at this, but instead the boy seemed to deflate. Why did he look sad?

Wichtig tried to change the mood back to something a little more appropriate for someone who had just rejoined the land of the living. "You could have left me there a little longer, though."

Morgen blinked up at at him in confusion. "Why?"

"I was about to bed the sister of the man who killed me. Could there be a more fitting revenge?"

The boy turned away, but not before Wichtig saw his damp and red-rimmed eyes.

"There's always another death," the boy whispered. He stared at his hands.

WHEN STEHLEN AND Bedeckt stumbled in several hours later, Wichtig was glad for the distraction. The boy had become withdrawn and quiet and the Swordsman found himself, as always, to be poor company. Who could he mock and manipulate when alone?

The stench of vomit, urine, and ale wafted over Wichtig and he plugged his nose. "G.o.ds! You two stink to all the lowest h.e.l.ls! I can't believe you went drinking while I lay here dead. What kind of friends are you?"

And then he remembered the sight of Bedeckt fleeing, abandoning him to face the Therianthropes alone. He knew the answer to his question and it hurt. He'd given them so much. Loyalty, honor, and his friends.h.i.+p. They were wretches, so beneath him, undeserving of his many gifts and talents. Still, he knew better than to show he'd been wounded by their betrayal.

Bedeckt wobbled and then caught himself. "Yer a lie?" he slurred.

"A lie? Alive? Yes. No thanks to you, coward."

"Heese nuh coward," Stehlen snarled with drunken defiance. "You a moron."

"How sweet, she's defending you." He would have said more, but he caught Bedeckt's furtive glance in Stehlen's direction. He studied the two as they struggled to maintain both balance and composure. Wrinkled clothes. Stehlen was missing many of the stolen scarves she wore wrapped around her bony wrists. The a.r.s.e of Bedeckt's breeches was soaked through and he was missing his right boot.

Oho! I know this disheveled look.

Wichtig decided to toy with them. It served the selfish b.a.s.t.a.r.ds right. He couldn't believe Stehlen chose Bedeckt. It beggared the mind.

"You're missing your right boot," Wichtig pointed out.

Bedeckt looked down at his mud-caked foot and beamed happily. "Good. The rye. Thanks t' the boy, still G.o.d leff."

Why was he so happy to be missing a boot? "And your pants are soaked."

"Fell," Bedeckt muttered, looking everywhere except at Stehlen.

"No doubt." Wichtig smiled sweetly at Stehlen. This was payback for not bringing his swords. "Better check your pockets," he said to Bedeckt. "I bet you've been robbed."

"a.r.s.ehole," she muttered as Bedeckt searched his pockets.

Grimacing, Bedeckt shrugged and lost his balance, collapsing backward onto his a.r.s.e. "Can't remember how mush anyway."

"I noticed when I . . . awoke . . . I'm missing some funds," Wichtig lied. A safe enough bet that Stehlen rifled through his corpse's pockets. A Kleptic could never pa.s.s up such an opportunity. "She's not as powerful as she thinks," he said to keep her off balance and undermine her self-worth. "I always know when she's taken money."

"Liar," she snapped. "You never notice."

"While you two were out rut—"

"Leave them alone," commanded Morgen. "They need each other. This is all they get before—"

"They need?" Wichtig asked, interrupting.

"Before?" Bedeckt asked.

"You don't," Morgen said to Wichtig. "Not when . . ." The boy trailed off to silence.

Wichtig understood. Not when he would be the Greatest Swordsman in the World. Not when he stood with the boy-G.o.d he could so easily manipulate.

Again he examined Stehlen. Scrawny and wiry. Rat-nest hair. Yellow teeth and watery yellow eyes. On a good day her breath could drop a bull at a hundred paces. This was definitely not one of her good days. She was filthy and unappealing in every possible way. Why then did he feel such anger at the thought of Bedeckt bedding her? Well, maybe not bedding, neither looked like a bed had been involved. Her betrayal stung. How could she want Bedeckt more than she wants me? He was perfect. His body was flawless. He was funny, kind, and giving. He poured so much of himself into his friends.h.i.+ps and got nothing in return.

Morgen patted Wichtig's back like the little s.h.i.+te somehow understood what he thought and offered comfort. "It's okay. Just leave them alone."

It stung Wichtig to let this go. To not fully explore the hurt and embarra.s.sment he could inflict upon the two went against his every instinct and desire. But it was more important the child believe he had some hold, some measure of control, over Wichtig.

"As you wish." He ducked a quick nod to Stehlen and Bedeckt, who stared at him in bleary confusion. "Sorry. Being dead is exhausting. I'm going to take a nap."

"I'm glad you're nod dead," said Bedeckt.

"Me too," agreed Wichtig with feeling.

Stehlen spat on the floor at Wichtig's feet. "Not me." When they made flitting eye contact she added, "Not so much."

The morning sun streamed through the open window and hammered at Bedeckt's eyelids like it desperately needed to reach the back of his skull. His overheating head throbbed with the sluggish beat of his heart. His liver felt like it had surrendered and gotten a head start on the rest of his body in the race to decompose. He sat up slowly, careful not to move too quickly lest his head fall off, and saw the wrinkled, mud-caked toes of his right foot. A grin snuck across his scarred face and fled just as quickly. Thanks to Morgen, he'd moved his stash of coins to the left boot. He glanced around the small room and found himself alone. They'd left him sleeping on the floor where he'd fallen, sprawled in the center of the room. Other than the mess Bedeckt had made, the room was eerily spotless.

They must have gone in search of breakfast. Bedeckt's stomach threatened violent upheaval at the thought of food.

Only flashes of memory remained of the previous night. Unfortunately, those glimpses were all of things he didn't want to remember. They'd rutted in an alley like drunken teenagers. G.o.ds, she might be pregnant! The thought swept away the hangover, replacing it with sick fear.

"No," Bedeckt said to the empty room. If belief defined reality, hopefully his desire not to father a child would shape the days to come.

Stehlen, a mother. Wichtig would love it. Suicide was always an option.

Bedeckt leaned forward with a grunt—the scars on his back had stiffened overnight—and dragged his remaining boot off. His emergency stash sat wedged in the hollowed-out heel. A small h.o.a.rd of coins. He poured them into the palm of his half hand.

"What the h.e.l.ls?" There hadn't been this much gold.

No doubt Stehlen's Kleptic power clouded his memory when it came to how much money he had, but he'd never been overly worried. If she didn't steal it he'd waste it on wh.o.r.es and ale. And when she did take it, he could always rely on her to pay for rooms, food, and drink. But this, finding more gold than there should have been . . .

Bedeckt dimly remembered Wichtig accusing Stehlen of stealing from them. It had been a stupid accusation. Of course she stole from them; she was a Kleptic. Had Stehlen been upset by Wichtig's allegations? Had she felt bad enough enough to return the missing coins with considerable interest? Why now, after all these years? It made no sense. Not unless . . .

"Oh G.o.ds, no."

Morgen watched Bedeckt gingerly descend the stairs to the inn's main room. Reaching the bottom, the huge man glared about, eyes slitted against the morning sun streaming in through open windows. Bedeckt grimaced when he spotted their table, looked like he contemplated sitting elsewhere, and finally—still wearing a single boot—stomped over to join them. If any of the inn's other patrons noticed anything amiss, they kept it to themselves.

Wichtig bellowed, "Good morning, suns.h.i.+ne!"

Bedeckt collapsed heavily into a chair and scowled at Wichtig. "Where are we?"

"No idea," answered Wichtig. "I was dead when we arrived." He sniffed at the plate of beans and greasy sausage before him. "Food is good, though."

Bedeckt paled, his eyes flinching away from the plate. "Stehlen?" he asked without looking at her.

"Don't know. I was a bit busy keeping an eye on the boy and carrying the World's Greatest Corpse."

Wichtig winked at Morgen.

Bedeckt flagged down the barkeep and ordered a pint of ale. "Who the h.e.l.ls were those people?"

"Therianthropes," Wichtig answered.

Stehlen snorted. "With all the fuss and commotion the moron"—she gestured toward Wichtig with her thin nose—"caused with his little outing the other day . . . I'm guessing it was some locals looking to kill the World's Greatest . . . Moron," she finished lamely.

"I would have gone with idiot. Or imbecile, addlepate, dimwit, dolt, fool, dunce, or simpleton," said Wichtig. "But not moron. Overusing a word reduces its effectiveness."

"Or hammers home a point with repet.i.tion," said Stehlen.

"I knew them," admitted Morgen. "Asena."

All three adults stared at him.

"Asena?" Bedeckt asked.

"She leads Konig's Tiergeist."

"What are Tiergeist?" Bedeckt asked Morgen.

"Therianthrope a.s.sa.s.sins. There are also the Schatten Mörder—they're Cotardists."

"h.e.l.ls," swore Wichtig. "I hate Cotardists. d.a.m.ned hard to kill dead things."

The more Morgen thought about it, the less sense it made. "You both serve Konig. Why would he send a.s.sa.s.sins against you?"

"Perhaps he didn't," said Bedeckt. "Konig told us to sneak you out of Selbstha.s.s, but not much more. Perhaps it is the Tiergeist we are to protect you from."

Morgen couldn't believe Asena would ever hurt him, although, thinking back, he had thought Stich would kill him. The memory sent cold s.h.i.+vers of fear coursing down his spine. Thoughts of being swarmed by filthy, glistening black scorpions made him want to wash again. He remembered seeing Asena standing across the street, watching as her Tiergeist attacked Bedeckt and Wichtig. In his mind's eye Morgen saw her indecision as she stared back at him. Had she been deciding whether or not she should kill him? Why would it be a choice, though—why would she want to hurt me? Back in Selbstha.s.s she'd always been so nice, protective even.

What had Asena called across the street just before Stehlen killed her? Morgen stared into the bar's polished bra.s.s rails, replaying the scene in dull reflections.

Morgen, I've come to take you— And then she crumpled as Stehlen coalesced behind her. Had Asena come to take him prisoner, or did she think she was rescuing him? She hadn't looked like she intended him harm. She rather looked like she'd made up her mind and a great weight had been lifted from her heart. But if Asena thought taking Morgen away from Bedeckt, Stehlen, and Wichtig was saving him, what did it mean? Did she believe she could do a better job of protecting him? Did it mean Bedeckt couldn't be trusted?

"Morgen," said Bedeckt, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Stehlen told me those scorpions tried to kill you."

Bedeckt was right. Stich had definitely been intent on killing him. But what about Asena?

Morgen sighed. Nothing but questions. No answers and no way of getting them. Aufschlag would say the clues were all there, but try as he might, he couldn't fit them together. The reflections became, as always, uncooperative when it came to showing the details of his own future; all he ever saw there was flame. Bedeckt's future looked strangely similar. What did it mean? He wasn't sure what Ascension would be like, but surely it would be a spectacle. Would Bedeckt be burned in the flames of Morgen's Ascension?

Stehlen leaned forward, elbows on the table, yellowy eyes bright and wet. "We have to leave Neidrig. I say south, cross the Flussrand River back into Gottlos."

"Gottlos?" said Wichtig, sounding incredulous. "Really? After last time? Remember the temple?"

"Gottlos is a big place," Stehlen said defensively.

Morgen pretended not to listen and kept his attention locked on the bar. Back in Selbstha.s.s, mere days before Bedeckt arrived to take him away, Morgen had overheard a couple of acolytes talking about an attack on a Geborene temple in Gottlos. Was there a connection?

Morgen stifled his frustration. Questions, questions, and more questions. He needed answers.

"Something wrong?" Bedeckt asked.

Wichtig answered before Morgen could decide what to say. "Leave him alone. He needs time to think."

Morgen focused on the bar rail, searching the reflections in its muted l.u.s.ter. Tell me what I need! Show me my future!

Shadows and reflections commingled in a twisting web, and through those murky strands he recognized glimpses of Neidrig. But there wasn't just a web; a spider, fat and hungry, presided over it. Morgen saw the faces of children, entangled and wrapped tight, trapped so they might later be sucked dry. The web constricted, choking the city.

He saw nothing of himself.

Show me!

The reflections danced and he saw a long dirt road, a thousand small and b.l.o.o.d.y footprints.

Are those mine?

He saw a knife in a small, filthy hand. The knife was Stehlen's, he recognized it immediately. The hand . . . no, it was far too dirty to be his.

Morgen saw a rock at the side of the road and knew that if he really, really tried, he could—just barely—lift it over his head.

Show me—

He saw endless fire.

Odd, mused Bedeckt. Why did Wichtig jump to defend Morgen? The Swordsman had been acting like the boy's personal guardian, obeying his every word. d.a.m.ned strange behavior. Wichtig never did anything unless he saw some angle gaining him an advantage. Bedeckt looked away, glancing at Stehlen to see if she looked as suspicious as he felt. Her face betrayed nothing other than its usual pinched anger. When she noticed his attention she flashed him a quick smile and Bedeckt turned quickly away.

What the h.e.l.ls is Wichtig up to?

Bedeckt decided to let it go, but the last thing he wanted was the boy thinking too deeply about what he had seen and heard. Morgen was young, inexperienced and naïve, but certainly not stupid.

Stehlen drummed impatiently on the table. "We're going east?"

"Yes," said Morgen. "Eventually."

"No," said Bedeckt. "We're going west."

"Sorry. Yes, west. I . . ." Looking lost, Morgen trailed off.

"Never mind," said Bedeckt. "It's time to move."

Stehlen cleared her throat noisily. "We don't have any supplies. We left everything at the Ruchlos Arms. Even the horses."

"You left Launisch?" Bedeckt asked, forcing himself to remain calm. His horse was probably fine. Probably still there, right where they'd left him. If not, someone would pay.

"Some of us," said Wichtig softly, "beat a rather unseemly retreat."

"And some of us got killed and had to be carried," snapped Stehlen.

"Perhaps not our most s.h.i.+ning moment," Bedeckt admitted. "Though Stehlen did well. She got you out"—he gestured at Wichtig with his half hand—"and saved the boy." When he saw Stehlen practically preening at the compliment, he suppressed a shudder. He'd have to be more careful what he said until whatever this was pa.s.sed.

"She left my G.o.ds-d.a.m.ned swords in the street."

"I should have dropped you to go get them?"

"She probably stole your missing boot," said Wichtig. "Just to get back at you for being a lousy—"

"Wichtig!" Morgen admonished.

The Swordsman's mouth snapped shut. "Fine." He glanced at Bedeckt. "Why did she leave the other boot?"

Why indeed? Rather than face the answer, Bedeckt ignored the question. "Stehlen, go get our horses. Try not to kill anyone. I'm going to find some boots." He stared at Stehlen for a moment, wondering whether he should ask. What the h.e.l.ls? What did he care what they thought? "Stehlen?"

"Yes?" She stared straight at him, something she rarely did.

"Could you get Launisch a couple of apples?"

She gave a disappointed snort, stood, and left the room without looking back.

"And I'll get myself some new swords," said Wichtig, watching Stehlen's departure with a strange smirk. "Who has money? All mine strangely disappeared shortly after my death."

"No. You stay here with the boy."

"I need swords."

"I'll find you some swords," said Bedeckt uncomfortably.

"You have money?" Wichtig asked. "I need quality blades, not kitchen steel."

Bedeckt's discomfort grew. "I'll get whatever I can find." He leaned forward to push himself out of his chair and stopped. "You were really dead?"

"Yes," answered Wichtig, voice strangely flat.

"There was an Afterdeath?"

Wichtig let out a slow breath and nodded. "It was like—"

"No. I don't want to know."

Coward. Wichtig, who had only picked at his breakfast, watched as Bedeckt pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, knees popping, and then exited the inn's main doors. That's right, run away again.

He shrugged off the foul mood. After all, this was a fine day to be not dead. Life offered far too many chances to entertain one's self at the expense of others. Adding those coins to Bedeckt's boot while the old goat lay pa.s.sed out on the floor may have been Wichtig's greatest prank ever. Bedeckt would a.s.sume Stehlen put them there either because she felt guilty for her previous thefts, because she was offering payment for services rendered, or because she had suddenly fallen in love. Wichtig wasn't sure which would be funnier. It didn't matter. It would leave Bedeckt crazy with worry and drive a wedge between him and Stehlen.

Wichtig entertained himself with such thoughts as he returned to their rented room with Morgen in tow.

When Bedeckt returned an hour later, wearing a new boot on his right foot and the same old boot on the left, he offered Wichtig a serviceable pair of blades.

Wichtig grunted his thanks as he tested their balance. "Not bad," he admitted.

Stehlen arrived shortly after, displaying a beautiful pair of matched blades in ornate leather sheaths. She dumped them on the bed dismissively.

"These should do," she said.

Wichtig dropped the blades Bedeckt had brought on the bed and collected the new blades. "Those look familiar."

"I took them from a Swordswoman. Apparently she was supposed to be quite good."

"I thought I asked you not to kill anyone," said Bedeckt. When Stehlen flashed him an apologetic smile he looked away, mumbling to himself.

Wichtig stifled his annoyance. Letting Stehlen know she got to him would gain nothing. He picked up the blades and spun them about in a tight training pattern he hadn't practiced since he'd been in the Geldangelegenheiten palace guard. The blades moved with flawless ease, their balance easily a match to his lost swords. No, not lost, he reminded himself. Stehlen left them behind on purpose. He wanted to rekindle his anger, but these new weapons almost made up for the loss.

Are these blades a peace offering? No, no. It was more likely she was trying to manipulate him. He almost chuckled out loud. n.o.body manipulated Wichtig. If she expected him to be grateful, she was wrong.

Wichtig grunted, discarded the empty sheaths he still wore strapped across his broad shoulders, and strapped on the new ones. The scabbards were flas.h.i.+er than he liked, but the Swordswoman, he had to admit, had good taste in weapons. Still, it was a shame he hadn't killed her himself.

"Are you finished?" asked Bedeckt. "That was like watching a child get a candy he's always wanted only to find the taste isn't what he'd hoped for

"Be wary of gifts from Kleptics," said Wichtig. "There's always a hidden message." He happily noticed Bedeckt steal a quick glance at Stehlen and then turn away from her answering smile.

Bedeckt gestured in Stehlen's direction without looking at her. "You got our horses?" The old b.a.s.t.a.r.d had a weird soft spot for his monstrous war-horse.

"Of course. Got Launisch some apples too. Didn't even kill anyone." She smiled sweetly at Wichtig, batting her lashes. "Other than the Swordswoman."

Bedeckt, ignoring Stehlen, gestured at the rather plain and boring swords still lying on the bed. "What about these?"

"What about them?"

"If I sell them back to the smithy, it'll be at a loss."

"What the h.e.l.ls am I going to do with four swords?"

"a.r.s.ehole," said Bedeckt.

Wichtig shrugged and checked Morgen, finding the boy examining his perfectly clean hands. A few days on the road should cure him of his odd compulsions; it was impossible to stay clean while traveling.

"We're riding west to Folgen Sienie," announced Bedeckt, "just across the border into Reichweite. It's a big city-state. It'll be easy to disappear."

"They found us here easily enough," grumbled Stehlen under her breath but loud enough for everyone to hear.

When they left, the swords remained on the bed where Wichtig had dropped them.

Morgen sat in front of Wichtig, sharing the saddle. The Swordsman rode with consummate ease. They wound their way west through the filthy streets of Neidrig. Stehlen and Bedeckt, each on their own horse, led the way while Wichtig followed behind. Morgen watched the filthy people along the street pretend not to follow their slow progress. He could smell them, even the ones he couldn't see, those hidden in the darkest alleyways. He listened to whispers of desperate thought. Cowardice kept the thieves at bay; stories of Wichtig's death and rebirth had spread quickly.

The Swordsman talked in a low voice, keeping up a continual chatter seldom requiring thought or answer from Morgen. Wichtig liked the sound of his own voice, and fair enough, it was a nice voice.

"We're not going to make it to Folgen Sienie, are we?" asked Wichtig, startling Morgen out of his dark thoughts.

Folgen Sienie? Though he didn't know where they would end up, Morgen knew they'd never make it anywhere near that city-state. He remembered the nightmarish visions he'd seen in the tavern in which he'd brought Wichtig back from the Afterdeath. What was that grotesque spider he'd witnessed sucking the life from Neidrig? It felt like a metaphor rather than an actual depiction of reality. Why had his reflections shown him that? Why hadn't they been clearer, like they often had been in the past? Were they hiding something? Why did everything end in pain and flames? Where did I go wrong? "I should have left the cat to die. I made the wrong choice." His choice would haunt his friends.

"Probably," said Wichtig, hiding an annoyed look. "The way I see it, it was something you needed to do."

"I ruined Bedeckt's plans."

Wichtig snorted in amus.e.m.e.nt. "The old goat's plans are always s.h.i.+te. So . . . are we going to Folgen Sienie?"

Afraid to answer lest he share something he shouldn't, Morgen stared at the ground, avoiding the Swordsman's eyes. Neidrig was doomed. It was his fault. Why couldn't he have seen it earlier? Another, scarier thought occurred: Who decided when the reflections shared things with him? It certainly didn't feel like he was in control.

"I take it we're supposed to at least head in that direction?" When Morgen nodded, Wichtig continued. "Fine. I'll follow your lead. You let me know what you need me to do."

Wichtig was fis.h.i.+ng for information. Should Morgen tell him what he'd seen? No.

"There's no dodging fate," Wichtig whispered into Morgen's ear.

Head down, Morgen stared into sc.u.mmy brown puddles as they rode through them, the horse's hooves shattering the images he saw mirrored there.

Had Konig lied about Morgen's creation, had he been born to a woman just like everyone else and not brought into being by the united faith of Selbstha.s.s? Morgen lifted the hem of his s.h.i.+rt and stared at the small belly b.u.t.ton. He'd read about birthing cords and the connection between mother and child. Why do I have a belly b.u.t.ton?

A group of children, clad in stained remnants of tattered rags, dashed across the street before the mounted riders. Faces stretched in grins soon to turn to terror, the children played at some indecipherable game. Strange, thought Morgen, how the looks could be so similar. Should he warn them? If he did, would anyone listen?

He thought not.