Beyond Redemption - Chapter 29

Chapter 29






Damn this cursed sanity. How is being a helpless prisoner of reality sane?

—GEISTIG GESUND

Neidrig. The place was a shite-hole. Wichtig had seen a good number of shite-holes, but this one was prizewinning. If forty thousand people called this shite pit home, twenty thousand were thieves and ten thousand murderers. Five thousand, he figured, belonged to the many and varied breeds of hucksters and con artists. Roughly three thousand lived on the streets, sleeping in urine-soaked alleys, and a thousand were just too dumb to leave. The rest would be Swordsmen looking to carve names for themselves in these mean streets. This was just the kind of place a real Swordsman would come from. There would be none of the soft hands and soft teachings of the hoity-toity big-city sword schools. These men and women learned to kill the old-fashioned way.

Wichtig's elite training as a palace guard in Geldangelegenheiten he deemed a minor and unimportant detail. Years of relentless practice, vicious and bloody tournaments with the other guards—considered by many to be among the best trained Swordsmen in the world—and the fact that he had risen to the position of First Guard meant nothing in the face of destiny. Hard work hadn't made him great: destiny had. And now destiny brought him here.

There must be a reason.

Stehlen found them a room in one of the city's many inns, and the innkeep asked no questions as they lugged Bedeckt's unconscious and blood-spattered form through the tavern and up the stairs. Even the few patrons didn't seem particularly interested and instead focused on their drinks.

After they'd dumped Bedeckt on sturdiest of the cots, Wichtig glanced around the cramped room. "Did you manage to find the worst room in Neidrig on your first try?"

Stehlen ignored him, fussing over Bedeckt.

Wichtig squinted and made a show of examining the floor. "There are more things living in the corners of this room than in the rest of the city."

Still ignoring him, she peeled a strip of blood-soaked fabric from Bedeckt's body.

"This is hardly the time for that," joked Wichtig. "It isn't fair to take advantage of him while he's unconscious."

Again Stehlen failed to react.

Well, she's no fun.

Disappointed, Wichtig turned to Morgen. The boy stared at his own hands, eyes wide with disgust. Wichtig glanced at them; just a little blood. Nothing to get worked up over.

"What's wrong?"

"Filthy," Morgen said, blinking back tears.

Wichtig pointed to a shallow bowl of water on the floor. "You can clean them in there."

The boy was there in an instant, kneeling before the bowl, scrubbing furiously. He kept whispering something to himself but Wichtig couldn't hear it. Strange kid.

Wichtig paced the confines of the room, darting glances over Stehlen's shoulder to check on Bedeckt. Though Morgen had somehow closed the old goat's wounds, the sheets soon soaked through with blood. If not for the slow rise and fall of the man's chest, Wichtig would have thought him dead. Bedeckt's flesh looked like a patchwork of scars, some old and white, others still ragged and raw.


Stehlen sat at Bedeckt's side, gently rinsing blood from the haggard face and whispering soft words. Downright creepy, that is.

Morgen finally stopped scrubbing his hands, crawled onto the cleanest of the cots, curled into a tight ball, and promptly fell asleep. The boy slept with his hands clutched together as if protecting them from the world beyond.

Yep, strange kid. Morgen couldn't have been more different from Fluch, the son Wichtig hadn't seen since walking out on his wife in Traurig. Fluch lived to play in the dirt. If the boy was clean for more than a few minutes in a row, his parents proclaimed it a miracle. The memory of his son felt like a fist crushing his heart.

Later, when he had achieved his destiny, he would return to his wife and show her. Show her he had been destined for great things. Show her he wasn't lazy, terrified of success, and all the other hurtful shite she'd said. Men with destinies had difficult choices to make. The thought that he hadn't discovered his destiny until years after leaving his wife niggled, and he shoved it aside. Someday he would return for Fluch and his son would be proud.

Wichtig turned from Morgen and searched the room for a distraction. Four small and dingy cots, home to gods know how many forms of small and biting life. A single window with flimsy and warped storm shutters looking like they'd fall to dust in a light wind. The floor hadn't been swept in a hundred generations. If Neidrig was a shite-hole, the Ruchlos Arms was the fly-covered turd floating in the piss water of that hole.

"Was this really the best inn we could find?" Wichtig asked Stehlen.

Stehlen finally glanced up from her ministrations and gave him a pinched and sallow frown. She flared nostrils and snarled, "It's quiet and the innkeeper didn't ask about us carrying in our unconscious and blood-soaked friend."

"An innocent question," said Wichtig, feigning hurt. "A simple yes or no would suffice. I'm going to take a look around town."

"Get killed."

Wichtig bowed with a mocking flourish. "Anything for you, my love. I shall seek death until I find it."

"Good," she snapped.

Wichtig checked the hang of his swords and struck a dashing pose. Stehlen ignored him. Just as well, the ill-tempered wench has no fashion sense at all.

"Is the stinky old goat going to live?" Wichtig asked, holding the pose in case she looked.

Stehlen gently wiped dried blood from Bedeckt's shattered face. He might not be bleeding, but half his head looked like someone had tried to chop it down with an ax.

"He'll live," she muttered.

Surrendering his perfect pose, Wichtig moved to the door, which hung on a single rusted hinge. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "if you'd wash your hair, you might actually look half decent."

The thought planted, he ducked from the room. Stehlen was rarely influenced by his Gefahrgeist powers, but she had her weaknesses. And the thought of Bedeckt awakening to a bathed and caring Stehlen was too just funny. It would probably scare the old man to death.

WICHTIG STOOD ON the decaying front stoop of the inn, looking up and down the street. Most of the crowd ignored him, but a few shot speculative glances in his direction, trying to fit him into the local food chain. Was he predator or prey?

If the city of Neidrig was a shite-hole and the Ruchlos Arms a floating turd, the people were the flies circling the choicer turds. Wichtig's ever-present cocky façade faded. Without Bedeckt around to tell him to stay out of trouble, there didn't seem to be much point in getting into any. He turned back into the inn and found an empty table. The beautiful matched swords he placed on the table before him in open challenge: Come, they're worth a fortune. Try and take them from me.

When the barmaid—a heavy woman with an arse larger than his horse's—brought him a beer, he caught her wrist. "Why is it when I look for trouble, I have no problem finding it, but if I wait for trouble to come to me, it never does?"

She blinked in dull confusion, her acne-pocked face florid. "Maybe you're waiting in the wrong place."

"Aha! A woman of beauty and wisdom."

She huffed annoyance. "There are plenty of places in town where your type—"

"You don't know my type," Wichtig said softly. "There was a barmaid at the last inn we stayed at." He met the fat woman's red eyes with a sad smile. "I loved her." It wasn't true, but it felt like it could be. If he talked a bit more it might become true. "I loved her and my companion—the skinny murderous bitch with the bad teeth—cut her down. Killed her. I never got to tell her . . ."

Wichtig wove a tale of deception and danger and forbidden love until the barmaid's eyes filled with tears.

When he finished, she left to fetch him a free pint; the least she could do, he thought.

His Gefahrgeist powers grew. Shame she wasn't better looking. Still, the memory of his wife and son still hung about like a bad smell and killed his desire for female companionship.

Gods, I'm bored.

Working his charms, Wichtig drank and ate for free for the rest of the evening. Though the swords sat on the table before him and he feigned a level of drunkenness far beyond what he felt, no one bothered him.

Bedeckt awoke to the feel of a cool damp cloth caressing his face. It felt nice and he lay still with his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation. He was reluctant to cause the end of such a rare moment. He took a deep breath and was surprised when it didn't hurt and his lungs didn't make that rattling, bubbling noise they had for the last month. He drew air through his nose—he couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to do that—and caught the sweet scent of roses and soap.

Where am I?

He had no idea and it didn't matter.

"You'll be okay," said a soft voice. "I'll take care of you."

Stehlen? Bedeckt cracked an eye open and found himself staring up Stehlen's narrow nostrils. When he focused beyond her nose, his other eye shot open in surprise. "Did you wash your hair?"

Her face, one moment soft and caring, became pinched and paranoid. "Why?"

"That would have been my next question," Bedeckt said without thought.

"Why?" This time with anger.

"Gods, I don't know." Bedeckt glanced around the room, desperate to look anywhere but at her. "Where the hells am I?"

"Neidrig. You almost died. Morgen saved you." She made a strange, scrunched face. "I've been . . . caring for you," she said tentatively.

Caring for me? Sticking gods, what the hells happened? "My head feels like a few hundred angry giants stomped on it."

"It looks worse." Stehlen smiled and dabbed at his forehead with a bloody shred of cloth. He knocked her hand aside with a growl and her smile died instantly. Nostrils flared, and for an instant he thought she would stab him.

"Sorry," he muttered. "My head hurts."

Stehlen's faltering smile returned. "Do you like my hair?"

Bedeckt took the coward's way out and lost consciousness.

WHEN HE AWOKE a second time he could hear Stehlen's nasal snoring and Morgen stood over him with a curious expression.

"Why didn't you want your fingers back?" the boy demanded. "I could heal all your scars. You won't be ugly anymore. Well . . . less ugly."

Ah, the brutal honesty of children. "I am my scars."

"Removing scars won't change your past."

"It will make it easier to forget."

"You think you're the actions that caused the scars?"

Bedeckt nodded without saying anything.

"You're wrong," said Morgen, examining his pristine fingernails and rubbing at something Bedeckt couldn't see. "We are our beliefs."

"Only the beliefs of the insane define reality."

"I am not crazy."

Bedeckt watched the boy's eyes.

"I am going to be a god. My power comes from the faith of the Geborene. They believe I can do these things, and so I can."

"Being told your entire life you are going to become a god is probably not healthy."

The boy bit his lip, frowned, and adjusted Bedeckt's blanket—changing nothing—nodded, and again checked his hands. "Your friend is not the Greatest Swordsman in the World because he thinks he is. He is the greatest because enough other people believe it."

Bedeckt stifled a laugh. "First, Wichtig is not the Greatest Swordsman in the World. Second—"

"Yes, he is."

Bedeckt rolled his eyes at the naïveté of the child. "Second, Wichtig is not my friend. The only person Wichtig likes is Wichtig."

"Wrong," said Morgen with absolute certainty. "He is the only person he hates."

Bedeckt blinked in surprise. The boy might be right. "It doesn't matter. Wichtig is Gefahrgeist. He cares only for himself. His power is the manipulation of people's beliefs toward his own ends."

"But . . ." Morgen's eyed widened. "Konig is Gefahrgeist too."

"Yes, but far more powerful than Wichtig."

"You are saying his power is manipulation and stems from the fact he doesn't care about other people? Konig cares about me. Doesn't he?"

Bedeckt didn't want to hurt the child, but at the same time anything messing with a Gefahrgeist arsehole's long-term plans couldn't be all bad. If Konig came through with the ransom money and they returned the boy to the Geborene Damonen, Bedeckt liked the idea of planting some questions in the child's mind. He needs to know he can't trust people.

Bedeckt placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "I don't know what Konig feels for you. If anything," he added. "Gefahrgeist have one defining feature: selfishness." Let the boy figure it out for himself.

"You're wrong about Wichtig and you're wrong about Konig. Wichtig is your friend. He sees you as the father he never had."

"Piss-poor example," muttered Bedeckt uncomfortably. Could he have misread Wichtig? Could he be wrong about the man? No. Wichtig was a manipulative bastard, and the moment Bedeckt forgot it was the moment Wichtig would stab him in the back. "Wichtig proclaims friendship to manipulate."

"Does Konig hate himself as much as Wichtig does?" Morgen asked.

"Wichtig doesn't—" The boy's look stopped him.

"Wichtig isn't there when you die," said Morgen.

Die? He didn't like the sound of that. "See, he abandons me in my time of need," Bedeckt said offhandedly to disguise his unease.

"No. If he is not at your side, he must be dead. Who could kill the Greatest Swordsman in the World?"

"He's not . . . Forget it. We all die alone."

"No, I mean really alone. And you are badly hurt." The boy rubbed at his fingernails, attempting to clean away nonexistent dirt. "Burned."

"You shouldn't tell people about their deaths," Bedeckt said darkly.

Morgen retreated. "Sorry."

"When I die, do I have my ax?"

"Do you really want to know?"

Bedeckt groaned. Do I really want to know? "Yes."

"No."

"Do I have my boots at least?"

"One of them, I think."

"Which one?"

"The left. Maybe."

"Hells," Bedeckt growled. He couldn't let this delusional child get to him. Gods knew what the little bastard was capable of. "How about your own death?" he asked to change the subject.

"No one sees their own death."

Bedeckt, pretending he was still paying attention, made a mental note to move the stash of coins from his right boot to his left.

Stehlen awoke to find Bedeckt had risen from his cot and stood staring out the small window at the dwindling storm. She watched in silence.

Something had changed in the man's bearing and it took Stehlen a moment to figure out what. Bedeckt looked like something had broken inside. Though he appeared to be unhurt, he leaned a little too heavily on the windowsill, as if needing its support. His pale and battered face hung a little too slack, as if some of the man's indomitable drive had leaked away with the lost blood. If she didn't know better she'd swear he looked scared.

Impossible!

She shrugged aside her worries. A brush with death will shake anyone, she supposed. The stinky old bastard will get over it.

From the cot Stehlen had a clear view of the left side of Bedeckt's face. Calling it ruined was an understatement. She'd seen better-looking corpses. Little more than a pulpy mound of pink scar tissue remained of his left ear. She'd have to be careful to stay on his left to protect his exposed side. She spat in disgust. She'd have to be equally careful he didn't notice her doing it.

"Where's Wichtig?" Stehlen asked loudly so Bedeckt would hear her.

Bedeckt glanced at her before returning his attention to the window. "I'm not deaf."

"He's downstairs," Morgen answered.

"Good," said Bedeckt. "I have to go make contact." His gaze darted to Morgen. "With some friends."

Stehlen understood. Bedeckt would use local sources to send word to Konig that they had the child and to suggest a starting price for negotiation. If they got half what they asked for, they'd never have to work again. What would such a life be like? She'd still steal; Kleptics didn't steal for need or survival.

But what would Bedeckt do? Would he settle down somewhere quiet? If they weren't working, would he still have use for her, or would he abandon her? She couldn't decide what she wanted more, to be with Bedeckt, or to take everything he had. Both sounded so very appealing. If he's going to leave me—and to leave her was to leave her with nothing she valued—why should I not do the same to him first?

"You should take Wichtig," Morgen said.

"I'll take Stehlen," Bedeckt answered immediately.

Stehlen's heart soared, but she snarled and spat to cover it. "After breakfast," she said. The old man had lost a lot of blood and would need his strength.

"The Caller of Storms died," said Morgen, gesturing at the window. "The sun will return. Fire ate the storm."

When they joined Wichtig—already a little drunk—in the main room of the Ruchlos Arms, the Swordsman waved expansively as if greeting long-lost friends. Bedeckt recognized that look; Wichtig was pleased with something, which almost always meant trouble.

"Stehlen, your hair is clean," said the Swordsman.

She spat at his boot but he moved his foot to avoid the yellowy phlegm.

Bedeckt ignored them, digging into a breakfast of mystery meat sausages and grease-soaked fried bread served on a square chunk of wood still crusted with the remains of a previous meal. The eating utensil looked more like a conveniently shaped stick than anything made intentionally. He didn't even want to think about how many mouths this would-be spoon had been in since its last cleaning. Glancing about the inn's grubby interior, Bedeckt guessed the place never got particularly busy. The roughhewn benches at each of the six tables looked like they'd collapse under any real weight. He shifted experimentally and the bench he and Wichtig shared groaned ominously. Seeing as everything still hurt, he didn't want to be dumped on his arse and ceased all movement.

"Stehlen cared for your wounds," Wichtig said. "She never left your side."

Bedeckt glanced uncomfortably at Stehlen, who glared daggers at Wichtig. What the hells is going on? The woman had been acting increasingly odd. Ever since . . . Damn it all to hells. He knew going back to save them had been a mistake.

Stehlen's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're drunk," she said to Wichtig.

"Perhaps," Wichtig answered, slurring slightly. He gave her a lingering look of appraisal. "Nope. Still not drunk enough." He waved at the barmaid for more ale. "But maybe soon. If you're very, very lucky."

Bedeckt, with a glance at Morgen—who in turn watched Stehlen and Wichtig with fascination—decided to change the subject. "What happened when we left Selbsthass?"

"Nothing," Stehlen answered quickly.

Wichtig's face lost its cocky look. "She killed them all."

"All who?" Bedeckt asked, confused.

"Everyone in the Leichtes Haus," said Wichtig, glaring at Stehlen.

"Had to," muttered Stehlen defensively.

"She killed them because she was jealous," Morgen announced. "Wichtig liked a girl, which angered Stehlen. She had to kill the girl and have her pretty scarves. She's in love with both of you and doesn't like other women being around. With Wichtig, it's just simple attraction to his physical perfection. She thinks Bedeckt is something he is not. She thinks he is a better man than he is. She loves her idea of him, and when he betrays . . ." Noticing everyone staring at him, the boy finally trailed off. "You aren't without redeeming qualities," he said to Bedeckt, sounding apologetic.

"Thanks," said Bedeckt. He would have said more but saw Stehlen's face. Her look said death. Bedeckt kicked her under the table, breaking her fixation.

"Physical perfection, eh?" Wichtig flexed a muscled arm.

No doubt the only part the self-absorbed fool heard.

Bedeckt leaned toward Morgen. "Your hands are dirty." He had to stop the boy before he said anything else. Before Stehlen killed him.

The child stared aghast at his spotless hands. Careful not to touch anything, he slid from the bench and went in search of somewhere to scrub himself clean.

"What the hells was that about?" Wichtig asked.

"Just saving the boy's life," Bedeckt muttered.

"I wouldn't have actually killed him," said Stehlen, and Bedeckt knew she lied.

"Just because the boy knew you're in love with me?" asked Wichtig. "Come now, it is not exactly a secret." He gestured at Bedeckt. "We've always known. Why do you think we keep you around? Certainly not for your womanly charms and wit."

Bedeckt groaned. Everything ached and he wasn't ready to deal with this. "Stehlen and I are going to talk to my contacts. I'm going to send word to Konig Furimmer we have his godling and are willing to talk trade. I want you"—he poked the cracked wooden spoon at Wichtig—"to watch the boy while we're gone. Stay out of trouble."

"Not to worry, I know all about caring for children. I'll watch him as if—"

"He were your own son?" Stehlen snorted. "Abandoning isn't the same as caring."

For once Wichtig said nothing, his face devoid of emotion.

The two deranged idiots would kill each other if Bedeckt didn't put a stop to this. "Let it go. Both of you."

"I was going to say, as if my future fortune depended on the boy's safety," said Wichtig.

"You thought that up after," sneered Stehlen. "You're slowing down."

"I'm still faster than—"

"Stop!" The two stared at Bedeckt as if appalled by his outburst. Bedeckt rose from the bench with a groan, using the table to lever himself upright. His knees made wet popping noises. "Stehlen, let's go."

Out on the street Stehlen walked at Bedeckt's left side, keeping an eye and ear out for trouble. Bedeckt stared at the ground as he walked, his battered face looking surprisingly glum for someone who should have been dead.

"Your cold is gone," she pointed out, hoping it might lift his mood. "You're sounding a lot better. The boy must have healed that along with your wounds."

Bedeckt grunted and looked even more miserable.

"You've got cat-turd face again," she said.

"Thinking."

Ah, that's the problem. "About?" Stehlen asked.

"The boy saved my life, didn't he?"

"You looked dead to me. I was ready to root through your clothes for money." When Bedeckt glanced at her she added, "I didn't, though." She'd put most of the money back when she'd realized he was going to live, so it almost wasn't a lie.

"The kid saved me and he didn't even mention it."

"So?"

"Didn't rub it in or gloat. Didn't even seem to notice I didn't thank him."

"And?"

"Doesn't that seem weird?"

Not as weird as how much it bothers you. "Strange kid," she agreed.

"Do I owe him for saving my life?"

Stehlen snorted a honk of nasal laughter. "Bedeckt pay his debts? Ha!" If anything, Bedeckt's scarred lump of a face looked even harder than usual. Shite, he isn't joking! "If the kid doesn't care, you shouldn't."

Bedeckt grunted and nodded agreement but didn't look like he really believed it.

When Morgen returned from scrubbing his hands, Stehlen and Bedeckt had left. He glanced at the empty seats. "Why did Bedeckt take Stehlen instead of you? He should have taken you."

"They need some alone time together." Wichtig waggled eyebrows at the boy. "To do adult stuff."

"You're lying."

"Can't get one past you." Wichtig raised an eyebrow. "Just what are you capable of?"

"I don't know. Aufschlag frowned on showing off."

"Could you help me find this shite-hole's Greatest Swordsmen?" Wichtig asked.

Morgen thought about it. The reflections would show him what he wanted to know. "Why?"

"How do you think one becomes the Greatest Swordsman in the World?"

The answer was obvious. "You have to fight other great Swordsmen."

"Of course. Can you help me find them?"

"Do you want to start with a good one and work your way up, or go after the best first?"

Wichtig looked thoughtful and Morgen knew the Swordsman was pretending; he'd already made up his mind.

"If we start with the very best," said Wichtig, "we won't have to fight the others."

Once on the street, Morgen stared raptly into an unsavory puddle of something thin and brown and tinted with a hint of red. Someone's kidneys were definitely failing.

He lost himself in the puddle. "I see her. She's not far from here. There's an inn called the Schwarze Beerdigung. It's much cleaner than where we are staying," he added petulantly. His hands stung, raw from scrubbing.

"She? How can a woman be the Greatest Swordsman in the World? Wait. If she's seeking the title of Greatest Swordswoman in the World, is she still worth fighting?"

What difference does it make? "She's the best in this . . ."

"'Shite-hole' is the word you are looking for. Or cesspit, piss-pot, dung heap, or turd bucket."

"She's the best fighter in this turd bucket," finished Morgen, smiling uncertainly up at Wichtig. Aufschlag had never let him use the words he learned from the church guards.

Wichtig ruffled Morgen's hair and set off down the street. Gods knew where the man's hands had been. Morgen tried not to show his distaste at the contact as he hurried to keep up.

"That's my boy," said Wichtig. "You'll be one of us before long." He gestured grandly at the refuse-strewn streets of Neidrig. "Free to wander the open road. Free to taste all the pleasures life offers to those bold enough to take a bite." He glanced at Morgen. "Do you like girls yet?"

"I haven't met very many," Morgen admitted.

"A situation we must remedy."

"The few priestesses I met seemed nice. Before this, I never left the church."

"You lived there with your parents?" Wichtig asked, watching the crowd around them.

Morgen shook his head. "I don't have parents."

"You never met your mother? That's not all bad. Mine sent me away to live with my father. He sent me back after I sold his horse to buy a lute."

"No, I mean I never had a mother."

Wichtig, spotting a young tough sporting a businesslike sword, distractedly said, "Everyone has a mother."

"I am the manifestation of the faith of the Geborene Damonen and all Selbsthass."

Wichtig stopped suddenly and Morgen narrowly avoided walking into him. "Is that what Konig told you?" He made a noise like a wet fart. "You need to learn to ask questions." Laughing, he once again set off down the filth-strewn street.

Morgen followed. Had Konig lied? Why would . . . "Why would Konig lie?"

"Every god needs a good backstory," Wichtig said over his shoulder. "Don't take it personally. It's just that 'born of the faith of the believers' is better than 'born of a tavern whore.'"

Was this true? If this was a lie, what other lies did he believe? No, Konig wouldn't lie to me. I am to be the Geborene god, I was born of their faith. The words rang hollow.

"Let's pay this Swordswoman a visit," said Wichtig, as if their previous conversation was already forgotten. As if they'd discussed nothing of importance. "Is she attractive?"

Morgen blinked up at the Swordsman. Why would Wichtig lie, what could he hope to gain? "Nicer than Stehlen," he said, his thoughts jumbled and chaotic.

Wichtig guffawed. "Everyone is nicer than Stehlen in every way imaginable. I've met donkeys with better personalities, tomcats with sturdier morals, billy goats who smell better, and horses who are a gentler ride."
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"Gentler ride?"

"Never mind."

Though the Schwarze Beerdigung was nowhere near what Wichtig would call a respectable establishment, it was indeed superior to the Ruchlos Arms. The tables, rough as they looked, were actually tables. The chairs were real chairs, and the bar looked like it had been made specifically to be a bar. The boy followed him in, walking as if in a daze. What the hells is wrong with him?

In one corner a hefty woman sat with three well-armed men. The woman and her coterie of warriors ignored Wichtig's entrance, but he knew they'd noticed his arrival. How could they not, he was impossible to miss. Such grace. Such poise. What had the brat said? Physical perfection. Such physical perfection. The very essence of the perfect warrior given flesh.

Wichtig struck a heroic pose and grinned his best cocky grin at the table. While they pretended to ignore him and his perfect teeth, Wichtig took the opportunity to look them over.

The men were nothing. Run-of-the-mill toughs, each displaying the sloped brows, bad teeth, and thick clublike fingers of the dull-witted. Add them together, thought Wichtig, and you still wouldn't get one real destiny. Well armed and probably tolerably well versed in the use of their rather plain weapons, they still didn't matter. Not like Wichtig.

The woman was something else. A pair of beautiful matched swords hung at her waist in ornate leather sheaths, one dangling either side of the chair she straddled. Her hair, a pale orange bordering on strawberry, was hewn short and rough. The large helm sitting atop the table explained the bad hairstyle. Though Wichtig found her face flat and her chin thick and strong, he was interested to note she was also unscarred. An impressive feat, if she really was a contender and an active Swordsman. Swordswoman, Wichtig corrected. Her arms looked like tree trunks, and Wichtig could only guess at how her legs looked under the long mail skirt. He'd never had a really large, muscular woman before and wondered what sexual feats she'd be capable of.

Wichtig leaned close to whisper to Morgen. "Listen carefully. If communication is manipulation, sex is all-out war." He gestured toward the woman, ignoring the boy's look of confusion. "And she looks like she'd be a good fight."

"She's very good," answered Morgen, misunderstanding. "But you don't have to worry."

Wichtig feigned shocked outrage. "Me? Worry?"

"You are the Greatest Swordsman in the World. You would win."

Would? What does that mean? Wichtig, pushing the thought aside, approached the table. A larger audience would have been nice, but the boy would suffice. Come to think of it, it might be more important he impress the boy than a crowd of lowly peasants.

"Greetings and salutations, my good . . ." Hells, he should have asked the boy the woman's name. "People."

The woman glanced dismissively at him and returned her attention to the tabletop. "Begone."

"Ah, a woman of few words. It matches your beauty."

She scratched at the tabletop with a blunt fingernail and sounded bored. "You're pretty enough for both of us."

Nicely done! He hadn't expected wit. "True. I am. Which is lucky. For you."

She glanced at the men at her table and they stood to face Wichtig. "Beauty doesn't do well in Neidrig," she said.

"I had noticed, but was too polite to say anything."

Finally she looked up and gestured at the largely empty room. "This is pointless. There is no crowd to impress. Continue on this path and you will die."

Wichtig backed away from the table, though only far enough to allow him an unhindered draw of his weapons. "I seek only to impress the boy. After these three"—he nodded at the standing warriors—"would you mind terribly if I killed you?"

She ignored the question and glanced past Wichtig at Morgen with a flicker of concealed curiosity. "The boy? Who is he?"

"Oh, nobody," Wichtig drawled. "But he is going to be a god. So, if you don't mind . . ."

Wichtig killed the three men with three swift and precise strikes. The last one managed a look of wide-eyed surprise before dying.

Wichtig grimaced. "I must be slowing in my old age. Normally I can kill twice as many before one manages to react." A bald-faced lie, but he delivered it with perfect sincerity. It sounded good, like it was truth.

The woman remained sitting, but her hands fell to the pommels of her sheathed swords. She looked up at Wichtig as if noticing him for the first time. "Do you seek to defeat me, or merely kill me?"

"Why, both!" Wichtig bowed with a flourish and a wink. "I'll await you on the street. A few mortal witnesses wouldn't hurt."

"Are you really going to be a god?" Lebendig Durchdachter asked the boy.

"Yes," he answered, and she believed him. She had no choice. "And Wichtig is the Greatest Swordsman in the World." She knew this was true too and followed the man's slim hips with her gaze as he wove between tables on his way toward the front door. She remained sitting, watching as the strange boy followed the Swordsman. The faith of all the people of Neidrig paled before the force of the child's belief in his friend. If she followed them out, it was only a matter of time before she lay dying in the street.

Her old Blade Master had always said things like "enter every fight knowing today is a good day to die." The man, like all men, was an idiot. Today is a shite day to die.

Lebendig Durchdachter stood and dropped a few coins on the table to cover the cost of her drinks. Gods be damned if she would cover the cost of her dead companions', whom she stepped over on the way to the bar.

She gestured to the innkeeper and dropped a few more coins atop the bar. "When the man comes back in, this will buy him a few drinks."

The innkeep nodded as he accepted the coins but couldn't meet her eyes. "So you're going to face him?"

"Hells no. I'm going out the back. The drinks are to distract him long enough that I can get away."

He finally made eye contact. "I always knew you were a good deal smarter than my other patrons."

Morgen followed Wichtig through the foul and narrow streets. The Swordsman, long legs striding quickly, grumbled and cursed under his breath.

He must have lied to make me doubt Konig, thought Morgen. Except he couldn't quite believe that. Wichtig had sounded more like he'd simply found Morgen's beliefs funny. But belief defines reality. If he and all of Selbsthass believed strongly enough that he'd been born of pure faith, would that make it true?

"I can't believe she ran!" Wichtig called over his shoulder. "What a waste of a day!"

Morgen had known the woman would flee. Should he have told Wichtig? Did Wichtig not understand?

Handsome, dashing, and heroic Wichtig might be, but Morgen suspected the Swordsman might not be particularly smart. He decided to explain, just in case.

"It was better you didn't kill her."

"Oh, shut up," snapped Wichtig.

"You just became the Greatest Swordsman in this turd bucket without a fight." He thought about the three men Wichtig had so casually slain. "Without a real fight," he corrected.

Wichtig ignored Morgen's attempt at humor and continued stalking, head down, through the street. Morgen tried again.

"Word will spread. You are so good even the great Lebendig Durchdachter is afraid to face you. This is better than an actual kill." Wichtig continued to ignore him. "People enjoy seeing imperfection in others. They feel better about themselves. This explains why you love and hate Bedeckt. You see how vastly flawed he is and know you could do better."

"Of course I do better."

"Could do—"

"Which part of 'shut up' didn't you understand?" Wichtig growled.

An emaciated black cat riddled with open sores and a recently torn ear dashed across the street in front of Wichtig, a blur of motion. Wichtig was faster. His foot connected dead center with the thin body and sent it spinning into a nearby wall. Morgen heard its spine snap with the kick and the pock of its skull cracking as it hit the brick wall. The cat dropped and lay motionless.

Wichtig continued down the winding filth-strewn street as if unaware of what he had done. As if it were a small violence beneath notice.

Morgen approached the cat and stared down at the forlorn body. Only the faintest spark of life remained in the broken creature. Do cats have an Afterdeath? If not, were there no cats in the Afterdeath? It seemed a strange and sad thought, to imagine a place without the effortless companionship of animals. Did the Afterdeath require a belief in the Afterdeath, or was it just there? Did people who didn't believe still awaken in the beyond, or was this the end for them? Morgen thought about the cat's short and brutal life and pointless death at the whim of an annoyed . . . child.

And that's what Wichtig is, Morgen realized: a bratty child enraged at having something he desired moved beyond his grasp. Wichtig wanted to kill the Swordswoman and sulked because he'd been denied the chance.

When Morgen was younger, Aufschlag had gently chided him for such behavior and he had long outgrown such childishness. Why hadn't Wichtig? Had no one thought to teach the Swordsman how grown-ups were supposed to act? Was this a fault of Wichtig's, or did the blame lay elsewhere, perhaps with his parents and friends? Does no one care enough to teach him how a man should behave?

He nudged the cat's lifeless body with a toe. "Was your life as meaningless as your death?"

The cat's dwindling soul offered no reply other than its stubborn unwillingness to flee the shattered body.

How much pointless violence and death could a god witness before acting?

Morgen's world narrowed to a pinpoint of focus. Sounds dulled and the street became a mottled blur. The cat became his universe. Could he do this, could he bring this tenuous soul back from beyond? How much faith did the people of Selbsthass have in him? Did they believe him capable of returning the dead to life?

His limits had never been tested. Aufschlag forbade it. But why?

I need to know my limits. If just to crush the growing doubts.

He forced his will upon the cat's cooling flesh. The bent little body twitched. I knew it! His followers' faith was a deep well he had barely tapped.

The cat yowled piteously as, spine still bent at an unnatural angle, it pulled itself to its feet. It staggered in a circle, blinking furiously in confusion. The cat collapsed to the ground and lay mewling.

Morgen turned to find a crowd gathered around him. Wichtig stood at the forefront of the mob with a look of both measured contemplation and fear.

"It worked," said Morgen. "I brought the cat back. Let's go back to the men you killed in the Schwarze Beerdigung. I can bring them back too."

Though Wichtig had eyes only for the boy, the rest of the crowd stared past Morgen at the yowling cat as it again dragged itself in tight circles.

The boy opened his mouth to speak and Wichtig panicked. He had to silence the child. With one step forward he clipped Morgen's chin with a fast punch. The boy collapsed to the filthy street.

Some people just aren't built to take a punch. It was a damn good thing he didn't have Bedeckt's qualms about hitting children. The old goat would have stood watching Morgen shoot his mouth off until everyone in the crowd knew this was the kidnapped Geborene godling. The fact that Bedeckt never would have allowed this to happen—and had specifically told Wichtig to stay out of trouble—was irrelevant.

The crowd made angry and threatening noises at Wichtig's callous treatment of the child. He turned to face them.

"Oh, what? You've never hit someone before?" he asked the gathered people. Poor and dirty, they looked a motley assortment of unimportant souls.

A fat woman in a stained apron stepped forward and waved a rolling pin at him. "What kind of man hits a defenseless child?"

He saw a quick way to end this. Wichtig drew his sword and stabbed the fat woman through the heart. He flicked the blade free of blood and returned it to its sheath before she realized she was dead.

"I think I answered your question," he mused. "Any other questions, or would you all like to piss off now?"

A moment later Wichtig stood alone in the street with an unconscious boy, the corpse of an old woman, and a mewling cat-corpse still staggering in circles.

"Gods damn it all!"

Do I have to do everything myself? Wichtig stepped over the boy and stomped on the cat's head.

Scooping up the boy, he headed toward the Ruchlos Arms. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the cat, skull crushed, drag itself into an alley.

Bedeckt and Stehlen returned to find Wichtig sitting in the Ruchlos Arms' main room, staring into an empty pint mug with a rare look of thoughtful contemplation. Morgen was nowhere to be seen.

Not good. Bedeckt waved at the barkeep to bring pints.

Stehlen took a seat on the bench across from the Swordsman so she could watch the door. He didn't seem to notice her. "Gods, look at him," she said to Bedeckt. "He's had his first thought." She poked Bedeckt hard in the ribs. "That or he's eaten some of your cat turd."

Bedeckt, gingerly lowering himself to the bench beside Stehlen, didn't like it. Anything penetrating Wichtig's self-aggrandizing narcissism was worth worrying about. A thoughtful Wichtig could convince himself of any number of stupidities.

"Where's the boy?" Bedeckt asked.

Wichtig looked up, his eyes hooded. "Upstairs."

Stehlen snorted. "The idiot is hiding something. Let me guess: the boy is dead."

Wichtig shot her an angry look. "He's fine."

Bedeckt lifted an eyebrow. "But . . ."

"I had to hit the little bastard." Wichtig raised a hand to ward off further questions. "I had to—he was about to tell everyone who he was!"

"Everyone?" Stehlen glanced pointedly around the inn at the three other patrons, all deep into their cups. "How awful!"

"You took the boy out." Bedeckt wasn't asking.

Wichtig shrugged. It wasn't a denial.

Bedeckt leaned forward and the bench groaned in protest. "You went out looking for Swordsmen and you took the boy."

"Should I have left him here alone?" Wichtig asked sarcastically.

"You should have both stayed here!" Bedeckt roared into Wichtig's face. "I told you to stay out of trouble!"

"You aren't my father. Yours isn't the only game afoot, old man."

"Your father?" Morgen had said Wichtig looked to him as a father figure. Could the boy have the right of it? No, surely not. The very idea served only to feed his anger. "Moron! I should kill you!"

Wichtig slid from the bench in one smooth motion and stood, looking down upon Bedeckt with flat gray eyes. "Try it, old man. I am the World's Greatest Swordsman. The boy knows it, and you know what that means."

Bedeckt sat, looking up at the young Swordsman. Morgen had said Bedeckt would die alone, that Wichtig would not be there.

"You'll be dead before you draw those pretty swords," said Stehlen from behind Wichtig. She sounded all too calm.

How the hells did she get there? Bedeckt sighed tiredly. I'm too old for this.

Perhaps Wichtig wouldn't be present at Bedeckt's death because he himself was already dead. Was this fate, or could it be avoided?

"The boy is unhurt?" Bedeckt asked, trying for fatherly concern mixed with casual curiosity. "No real harm was done?"

The question and tone distracted Wichtig. "He's fine. It wasn't my fault."

Nothing was ever Wichtig's fault. "Then it's no big deal," Bedeckt said.

Stehlen spat in snarling frustration. "I'm going for a walk. If one of you kills the other, I'll kill whoever is still alive." She marched from the room.

Wichtig, eyes wide and innocent, watched her leave before returning to his seat. "Gods help anyone who bumps into her on the street."

Bedeckt nodded in nonchalant agreement but his chest felt tight. The boy had planted dangerous thoughts in Bedeckt's mind. What if he'd done the same for Wichtig? The Swordsman might be a minor Gefahrgeist, but he was easily swayed and manipulated himself. Did Morgen act with intent, or was he unaware of the consequence of his words?

Maybe stealing a would-be god hadn't been the best idea. Had he embroiled them in something deeper than planned? Swallowing his fear and doubt along with the last of his pint, he waved at the barkeep for more ale.

Finally, keeping his voice carefully disinterested, Bedeckt asked, "What did the boy say?"

"He told the crowd he could bring back the dead. Damned lucky I was there to stop him."

"Damned lucky," agreed Bedeckt, choking back the sarcasm.

The crowd? Bedeckt took a long drink to buy time to think.

"You found the Swordsman you sought? Was it a good fight?"

Wichtig grimaced. "Swordswoman," he corrected. "She ran away."

So no flashy duel to gather a crowd—which meant people had gathered for the boy. No wonder Wichtig was in a foul mood: he didn't get to fight and his ego hadn't been stroked by the populace.

"What happened next?"

"Delusional little bastard thinks he can do anything." Wichtig shook his head in disbelief. "It's like he doesn't understand there are consequences."

This, coming from Wichtig, almost wrenched a laugh from Bedeckt and he had to carefully swallow his mouthful of beer to avoid coughing it all over the table. If anyone remained ignorant of the concept of consequences . . .

"What did he do?" Bedeckt asked.

"He brought a damned cat back to life! The damned thing made an awful racket. I crushed its head under my boot, but it wouldn't die." Wichtig drank deeply and shuddered. "Too bad Stehlen wasn't there. She could have killed the entire crowd. No witnesses."

Suddenly Bedeckt remembered Morgen telling him to take Wichtig with him and his stubborn refusal to accept what had been perfectly intelligent advice. Had the boy known what would happen? Bedeckt's mind reeled at the possibilities.

"How did the meeting with your contacts go?" Wichtig asked, interrupting Bedeckt's ruminations.

"Not well. Finding a Mirrorist was easy enough, but when he tried to contact the Geborene Mirrorist, he ran into trouble. Apparently the man is dead. Murdered." Bedeckt growled in frustration. "We'll have to find some other way of sending word to Konig."

"Why not just hire some fool to ride to Selbsthass and deliver our message?" asked Wichtig. "It wouldn't take more than a couple of days."

"And then, after torturing our messenger, Konig would send an army into Neidrig to fetch the boy and kill us."

"Nothing we can't handle. Anyway, they mess with us"—Wichtig drew a finger slowly across his throat—"we kill the boy. Simple and foolproof."

"Right." Well, it was simple at least. "But it would be nice if we didn't lead them directly to us."

"You'll think of something. You always do."

It sounded like a compliment, but Bedeckt saw it for the manipulation it was. Amazing, the man just never lets up. "I'm going to check on the boy. We should think about packing up and moving on. Did anyone see you bring the boy back here?"

"No. No one knows we're here."

Bedeckt couldn't tell if Wichtig lied.