“I know,” said Stehlen. “I just wanted to hear you admit it.”
“Bitch.”
“I’ve killed more people than you. I win. And now we both know it.”
“You cheated. Anyway, half of yours are total nobodies. Most of mine are great Swordsmen.”
Stehlen wafted his complaints away with an airy wave of her hand. “Doesn’t matter. I have more.” She turned to Lebendig Durchdachter. “Those two swords, give them back to Wichtig.” Lebendig opened her mouth to argue. “Now,” said Stehlen.
Lebendig’s shoulders fell and she handed the swords back to Wichtig, who accepted them and returned his sword to Vollk.
“Don’t think this means I owe you,” he said.
“Think of it as a prize for coming in second,” she said.
“This leaves me without a sword,” said Lebendig. “I need a sword.”
Stehlen pointed at Vollk. “You. Give her your sword.”
“I’m not one of yours to command,” growled Vollk, drawing the blade he’d just sheathed.
“If I were you,” said Wichtig, “I’d do as she says. You’re the one who keeps saying there’s always more death.”
“Shite,” said Vollk, handing Lebendig his sword.
“Anyway,” said Wichtig, “I’ve got the feeling there’s going to be a lot of extra swords lying around soon enough. Death follows Stehlen everywhere.” He stopped, and suddenly grinned happily at Stehlen. “Speaking of swords, where are yours?”
“Lying on the road somewhere,” answered Stehlen with a twisted grimace.
“Bedeckt didn’t . . .”
“No. He didn’t get the chance. The boy hit him in the head with a rock.”
“Oh.”
“Not to worry. Like you said, there will be a lot of extra swords lying around soon.” Stehlen spun and stabbed the nearest sword-bearing man through the heart with one of her hidden daggers. He made a surprised gurgle and dropped like a stone. “Oh, look, here’s one.”
Wichtig scowled disapprovingly at the corpse.
“What?” she asked, disgusted.
“Was he one of mine or one of yours?”
Stehlen glanced at the corpse. He didn’t look familiar, but few of these people did. “Does it matter?”
Morgen staggered east. The morning sun had yet to crest the horizon and the sky was lit bloody with fire. It would be a red, red day.
With each step he felt a damp squelching in his shoes. Some time during the night his feet had begun to ache. Then, for many hours, each step had been its own raw agony. Now they were numb and he was grateful. He dreaded what he would find when he removed his shoes.
Why didn’t Konig give me real shoes instead of these silly slippers? Why hadn’t Bedeckt or Stehlen or Wichtig pointed out how useless they were?
Because no one wanted him to stray far.
Even his shoes were a prison. He should take them off.
No. He didn’t want to see his feet. They’d be a mess, and there was nowhere to clean them.
Gods, his hands were filthy. He picked the dried blood from under a fingernail.
One foot after the other. Squelch, squelch.
Morgen looked up from his hands. The sun, hidden behind a thick layer of cloud, sat somewhere well above the horizon. East. Why east?
WHY WOULDN’T HIS reflections show him something useful? Did they hide truths just like everyone else? Who could he trust?
No one.
He blinked. His hands stung. He lifted one hand from the road to stare dumbly at the stones embedded in the palm. The hand was dirty. Spots of red soaked through a layer of fine road dust.
How long have I been kneeling?
Morgen pushed himself to his feet and looked for somewhere to clean his hands. Nothing. He tried wiping them on his pants, but they were filthy too.
Ahead he saw a crowd approaching. They looked something like what he’d expect a traveling circus to look like. He could hear songs of worship sung in high and strained voices. A traveling church, maybe? He’d read of such things. Had he seen this in the reflections? He couldn’t remember. He was so thirsty. Maybe they’d give him water.
Morgen sat on the road to wait.
Erbrechen swayed in his canopied litter, his monstrous belly, slick with sweat, moving in time to the measured tread of those who carried him. His arse cheeks felt slippery and he wondered if he’d shat himself again. No matter, it was a pleasant enough sensation for now. He’d have one of his lads look into it later.
He kept a careful eye on Gehirn. The Hassebrand sat hunched, picking at something she kept hidden from sight. Even under the canopy on this cloudy day, the woman radiated heat. Her skin flaked red and raw, blistering as if she’d lain in the desert sun for days. The air around her rippled.
Shame this isn’t winter, thought Erbrechen. I’d be toasty warm instead of swimming in arse sweat.
How had he not seen the danger the Hassebrand would become? He’d been blinded by his need for love. For real love. He glanced past Gehirn and watched two children fight over the scrawny corpse of a plucked chicken. Not the empty worship of fools. Was she any different? He’d almost believed she was. He peeled back his lips, baring his teeth at the Hassebrand’s back. No, she’s just like the others.
The snarl died, leaking from his face. Gods, I’m so lonely.
The sight of two men leading a blond boy—filthy, but soft and fresh-faced—toward the litter interrupted Erbrechen’s thoughts. Even under the coating of road dust, he could tell this lad had been well fed and pampered his entire life. Lust surged in him and he crushed it down.
Not now. If this was the boy Gehirn told him of, he must make him his.
Erbrechen called a halt and those carrying the litter stumbled to an awkward stop. The approaching men marched the boy forward to stand before Erbrechen. The lad, trembling from exhaustion, seemed barely aware of where he was.
“Oh, you poor boy,” purred Erbrechen. “I see blood. Are you hurt?”
“Thirsty,” croaked the boy, staring at his blood-encrusted hands. “Need to get clean.”
“Of course, of course. I understand completely. You!” Erbrechen thrust a pudgy finger at a woman waiting nearby. “Fetch the boy water. Now!” The woman scurried away.
“Morgen?” said Gehirn.
The lad’s head came up slowly and he stared dumbly at the Hassebrand. “Gehirn Schlechtes? Konig sent you to—”
“We’re here to help,” interrupted Erbrechen before Gehirn could say something stupid and ruin everything. “We’re here to protect you. You can trust us.” He shot the Hassebrand a meaningful look. “Right, Gehirn? Tell him he can trust us.”
Gehirn’s face tensed and a wave of heat washed over Erbrechen. “You can trust us,” she said.
The boy looked confused, lost. “I thought Konig . . . He sent the Tiergeist.”
“Tiergeist?” Erbrechen hissed at Gehirn.
“Therianthrope assassins,” the Hassebrand answered.
Erbrechen spat, drool spattering his belly. “Damned shapeshifters.” He returned his attention to Morgen. “You’re safe with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“I can’t be allowed to die,” said Morgen, staring at Erbrechen with hopeful eyes.
“No one shall touch you. I promise,” Erbrechen lied. “I’ve already defeated Konig’s Schatten Mörder, his filthy Cotardist assassins.”
“Konig didn’t send you?” the lad asked, dumbfounded, directing his question at the Hassebrand.
A shock of fear stabbed through Erbrechen. How can the child ignore me? He must be a formidable Gefahrgeist. He needed to find the child’s weakness, some way of engendering gratefulness.
“Gods, no!” exclaimed Erbrechen, thinking quickly. “Gehirn is here to save you. She’s your friend, right? And I’m her friend. And a friend of a friend is . . . a friend!”
The woman he’d sent for water finally scurried up and offered a chipped mug to the boy. Erbrechen watched Morgen hesitate, take a s
ip, and then splash water onto his hands and attempt to scrub them clean. Aha! This was what he’d been looking for, some way into the child’s mind.
“More!” commanded Erbrechen. “A tubful of hot water!”
The woman fled.
“Thank you,” said Morgen, tears of gratitude streaming down his face, cutting tracks through the caked filth. “It’s been so long. Dirty. Everything.”
“Don’t you worry,” Erbrechen purred comfortingly. “Never again. I’ll keep you clean. Forever.”
The boy smiled tentatively, eyes glistening with hope. “Forever?”
“Forever. I promise.” Erbrechen poked Gehirn with a fat finger. “Tell him I keep my promises.”
“He keeps his promises,” muttered Gehirn.
“Yes, I do,” agreed Erbrechen. “And I take care of my friends.” He beamed happily at the boy. “We are friends, right?”
Morgen looked uncertain. Damn, he must be strong! Anyone else would have been begging to lick my feet by now. Better make sure he had the boy under control.
“A bath will feel so good, won’t it?” Erbrechen asked.
The boy nodded eagerly. “Yes.”
“You’ll feel much better, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Very.”
“We have delicious stew.”
Morgen licked his lips. “Stew would be nice. After.”
“After you’re clean. Of course.” Erbrechen smiled fondly. “It feels good to take care of your friends, doesn’t it. Friends always take care of friends. I’m taking care of you. Right?”
“Yes.”
“So we’re friends?”
“Yes.”
“Really? We are?” Erbrechen allowed himself to look uncertain, hurt.
“Yes,” said Morgen quickly. “We’re friends.”
“Good!”
Erbrechen turned to command Gehirn to warm some water for the boy’s bath, but the Hassebrand’s clenched jaw, canines exposed in something just shy of a deranged snarl, changed his mind. The woman’s cold blue eyes bulged and sweat streamed down her blistered face. Her mouth opened and she looked as if she desperately wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
“You stay where you are,” Erbrechen commanded Gehirn. “You need to rest.” A pulse of heat washed over him as Gehirn clenched her fists. “Rest,” he said forcefully, and the Hassebrand lay back, closing her eyes.
Erbrechen caught Morgen watching with open curiosity. “She worried about you,” he explained. “It exhausted her.”
A dozen men and women dragged a huge iron tub into view. Where they’d found it, Erbrechen had no idea. Did they drag it from Neidrig on the off chance I’d want a bath? Fools. He’d never fit into such a small tub. In moments, a chain of bedraggled peasants filled the tub with steaming water.
The boy stood staring at the tub, hesitating for some reason. Ah, of course. Privacy. Erbrechen was always alone, even in the thick of a crowd. It was so easy to forget such social niceties.
“You.” Erbrechen pointed at a man squatting nearby, pants down around his ankles. “Two things.” The man stared up at him, eyes round with terror. “Never shite in my presence. It’s rude. And put a curtain around the tub. The young lad needs his privacy.” Morgen sagged with gratitude. Excellent!
The crouched man stood, hiking his pants up.
“Wait!” said Erbrechen, suddenly feeling jovial. “I change my mind. Never shite again. Ever. Anywhere.”
The man winced and nodded. He looked pained, like he was clenching.
Hilarious, thought Erbrechen. How long will the the poor bastard hold it? It was a small thing, but of such small things were life’s joys truly made. The thought, he knew, would keep him smiling for days.
Bedeckt, face down on the road, woke with a pained groan, his eyes glued shut with dried blood from the wound in the back of his throbbing skull.
What the hells had the Morgen hit him with, a mountain? He lay moaning for some time before finally struggling to his feet.
How long had he been unconscious?
The sun was high, but obscured by thick cloud. There was no sign of the boy.
Bedeckt crouched over Stehlen’s corpse. Her eyes were open and she wore an odd smile, as if pleased with how things had turned out.
Pretty damned unlikely.
She’d been dead for a while, definitely long enough to have made the journey to the Afterdeath. At this point, anything she carried was fair game. He stopped when he saw her sword lying in the dust of the road. She’d died without a sword in her hands.
“Oh, hells.”
She’d never forgive him.
Well, seeing as he’d killed her, his failure to make sure she died with a sword might not be the first thing on her mind. Then again, with Stehlen, you could never be sure.
She’ll be waiting for me. Never before had he wanted immortality so badly.
“Sorry,” he said to the corpse as he bent to search her pockets. He found a small fortune in gems and several gold coins. Maybe not enough to retire on, but enough to keep him in comfort for a few years. It wasn’t stealing, he figured. Most of this had probably once been his. It didn’t matter. Even if it hadn’t been his, he’d take it anyway.
Stealing from friends wasn’t on the list of things he wouldn’t do.
Friends.
What a fool. Men like him didn’t have friends.
He should walk away now. Take this loot and find a small house somewhere quiet. Maybe he could invest in something safe and useful like a whorehouse. Forget Morgen. Forget ransoming the boy’s life—or death—and call it quits while he still could.
It wasn’t enough, though. He knew he’d never invest it. He’d drink and whore it away and be left with nothing. He needed more.
Konig would pay well for Morgen’s death.
Bedeckt pushed the thought away and rifled through the rest of Stehlen’s clothes and meager belongings.
Hidden under her awful-smelling shirt, he found an unbelievable number of tattered and faded scarves looking like they might once have been brightly colored. He’d never seen them before.
How long had she carried these? A long time, judging from their sour smell and sorry state. The scarves looked old enough to date back to her childhood. Try as he might, Bedeckt couldn’t picture Stehlen as a child. She’d been a crazy murderous thieving bitch every second of every day he’d known her. He couldn’t imagine her elsewise.
Except in the alley. She’d been warm and alive. Had she said she loved him? He couldn’t remember; that night was an alcohol-induced blur.
She said she loved you just before you killed her.
Oh, shite.
Bedeckt cursed the gods and jammed the faded scarves into a pocket. What the hells he planned on doing with them, he had no idea. Dumping the coins and stones into his left boot, he stood with a groan. His knees made wet popping noises and his back ached from crouching. He should say something.
Spoiling meat, Stehlen called Wichtig’s corpse. Was she nothing more?
He couldn’t be so lucky. Someday he’d die and there she’d be . . . waiting.
Strange, he hadn’t felt the need to say something as he’d stood over Wichtig’s corpse. Maybe Stehlen was right. Maybe he was growing soft.
“To hells with you,” he told the corpse. He had the feeling he’d see her soon enough anyway.
He examined his surroundings and spotted Launisch and the other horses. His horses, he supposed. They hadn’t wandered far, and pulled at the tough grass nearby.
Launisch approached and gently nuzzled at his chest.
“Sorry,” said Bedeckt. “I don’t have any apples.”
“Ppfft!” answered Launisch.
CHAPTER 41
My mirror never shows me what I want to see. I can’t possibly be that fat and ugly!
—FETT HÄSSLICH, MIRRORIST
Having swept the mirror dust from the floor, Accepta
nce and Trepidation stood in Konig’s chambers. Acceptance’s hands were bleeding from countless slivers, whereas Trepidation seemed to have managed not to cut himself at all. Acceptance hated him; the cowardly Doppel was far too careful.
The Theocrat was elsewhere, trying to find out why none of his spies in Neidrig could be contacted.
Acceptance watched Trepidation’s nervous twitching with annoyance. “What are you afraid of?” he demanded.
“Konig,” answered Trepidation, staring at the floor. “If he finds your mirror, he’ll kill us both.”
“Best he not find it. My reflections have shown me something disturbing.”
Trepidation’s head came up suddenly. Interesting.
“They’ve shown me the boy,” Acceptance said, watching his fellow Doppel closely. Trepidation might have relaxed fractionally, but it was difficult to tell. The fool was always wound so damned tight. “Morgen will never return here.”
“So Konig is doomed.”
“Yes,” Acceptance agreed. “We will soon rule.”
“You will rule,” Trepidation corrected. “I will follow.”
“Do you fear me so?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“How will we dispose of Konig? He is still dangerous.”
Acceptance laughed nastily, hiding the ruin of his mouth behind a slim-fingered hand. “Easy. I will do what he would never expect from me.”
“Which is?”
“Violence.”
“Just you?” Trepidation asked. “Not we?”
“Yes. He will serve me in the Afterdeath.”
Trepidation’s lip quivered and he blinked rapidly. He looked like he was struggling to hold back tears. Pathetic. Living his entire life in terror of every choice made him weak. Once Konig was dead, killing Trepidation would be easy.
“You are with me?” Acceptance asked.
“Yes,” answered Trepidation.
“Good. He will be here soon.”
As soon as Konig stepped into his chambers, he knew something was up. Acceptance smiled openly, for once not hiding his mouth behind his hand. Trepidation looked to be on the verge of tears.
“What happened?” Konig demanded.
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