“Not this one.”
“Another?” asked Stehlen, hopeful. Let me make you happy. Let me give you what I can.
Lebendig laid her hand atop Stehlen’s. “I have a favour to ask,” she said, eyes searching Stehlen’s.
“Anything.”
“When we find Wichtig. I want to kill him.”
No. Gods no. “Why?”
“He hurt you.”
But that wasn’t the entire truth. Stehlen saw it in the Swordswoman’s eyes. There’s something else, something she doesn’t want to say. Somehow this was a test, but Stehlen couldn’t understand how or why or what the right answer was. If I say no, will she think I doubt her ability, or will she think I’m protecting Wichtig?
“No more than I’ve hurt him,” Stehlen said. While Wichtig’s abandoning her in the Afterdeath hurt, she would have done the same to him. If just to rub it in. Was that why he did it? Did he leave her there so he could later brag about escaping the Afterdeath first? She wouldn’t put it past the idiot.
“Let me kill him,” said Lebendig.
The Swordsman watched, wisely remaining silent.
“I don’t want to make a promise that might later make me a liar,” said Stehlen.
“You doubt me.”
“No.” You’ve never seen him fight. And Lebendig was nowhere near at her best.
Lebendig nodded once, sharp and angry, and stood. “I’m going to get some sleep.” Spinning, she stalked for the stairs, anger turning her lethal grace into a loud stomping exit.
When Lebendig was gone from sight the Swordsman said, “Wichtig would butcher her in a heartbeat.”
Stehlen put her knife in his eye and gave it a rough twist, scrambling his brain. After lifting his coin she left the tavern. She needed to walk off her confusion and rage.
Over and over she visualized Wichtig and Lebendig fighting, pitting what she knew of their talents against the other’s. Lebendig, she thought, is the faster of the two. While Wichtig moved with a Swordsman’s grace, Lebendig danced with flawless economy. And yet, wherever his enemy’s swords were, Wichtig was not. He fought like he knew well in advance where each attack would land. Lebendig fought like she created art where Wichtig fought to be the Greatest Swordsman in the World.
I hate that stupid title. No doubt some idiot man dreamed it up.
She loathed to admit it, but Wichtig was the best swordfighter she had ever seen. And by the sound of it, he was even better now.
She fingered the carving of Wichtig hidden away in one of her concealed pockets. He’d changed. His eyes were haunted. He was scarred. The Wichtig she knew could never have been hurt. He walked through every dangerous encounter they shared and not once got scratched.
Shite, he even came away from being killed by Therianthropes without a mark. Gods she hated him for that. We should wear our choices and lives for all to see. It’s only honest. Not that anyone ever accused Wichtig of honesty. Or Stehlen.
Turning a corner, Stehlen found herself on the street lined with corpse-filled cages. A young woman, still very much alive, sat huddled in the one nearest the Kleptic. Seeing no one else on the street, the woman called to her, begging for help, pleading her innocence and offering all manner of improbable payment. Stehlen strode past, not sparing the woman a glance.
“Lebendig fights for herself,” Stehlen decided, turning another corner. “Wichtig fights for fame.”
No, that wasn’t quite true. Wichtig fought for fear. He feared being unknown. He was terrified of being forgotten.
If Stehlen allowed Wichtig and Lebendig to fight, what then? If Wichtig killed her lover, she’d have to kill him.
But what if Lebendig kills Wichtig?
The thought left a sour taste and she spat at a beggar who stared in mute hurt as she stalked past.
Still in a foul mood, she returned to the inn.
Stehlen found Lebendig curled up in the single bed, sheets thrown back to expose one muscled leg, snoring in soft susurration. She wanted to caress that thigh, count the freckles with kisses. Instead, she crept to the corner and sat with her back against the walls.
She sat in silence, listening to the creak of old wood as people moved about elsewhere in the inn. Her hand strayed toward the pocket with the carved toys.
“I won’t look at them,” she said. “I don’t care.”
Then she drew out the carvings of Bedeckt, Wichtig, and herself.
Fine. She wouldn’t look at her own carving.
Wichtig looked much the same as the last time she checked. His eyes bled doubt and he bore vicious scars she couldn’t believe the real Wichtig could bear. What would he be without his good looks?
Just an arse.
Bedeckt looked different. His mouth was open, caught in mid-scream. His eyes were those of a Geisteskranken toppling over the Pinnacle and seeing the long fall ahead. If anything, he looked even more beaten and scarred than he always did. Had he lost his paunch too? It was hard to tell from this small carving.