Something bothered Stehlen, niggled at her like a loose tooth or Bedeckt worrying over one of his stupid plans. What it was, however, escaped her. Something to do with Wichtig?
Though Lebendig started the morning looking somewhat improved, a day in the saddle hadn’t done her any favours. Last time the Kleptic stole a glance, the Swordswoman looked tired, sat slumped and quiet. Gone was her perfect posture.
Stehlen rode, eyes forward, aware that Lebendig watched and had been watching for several miles.
I’ll wait her out. No one has more patience than I.
Lebendig could ask her damned question, or she could let it go. Stehlen wasn’t in the mood to play these games. If the Swordswoman wanted to talk about something, she could damned well bring it up herself. Why the hells did she feel the need to make Stehlen initiate every conversation?
That’s not really true, you know.
Didn’t matter. She was angry and when she was angry, the facts were irrelevant.
Wichtig used to say that.
“What?” demanded Stehlen without looking at her lover.
“Why do we have Wichtig’s second sword?”
The idiot’s sword still hung over Stehlen’s shoulder.
“Going to sell it,” she said.
“Could have sold it in Unbrauchbar,” said Lebendig.
“Get a better price in the capital,” said Stehlen, staring straight ahead.
“We already have plenty of coin.”
Stehlen shrugged.
“You aren’t keeping it so you can give it back to him?”
“Hells no.” Stehlen spat road dust. “He has to know I beat him,” she said, and immediately regretted it.
“Won’t killing him tell him all he needs to know?”
“No.”
“Are you sure you want to kill him?”
“Yes.”
Really? Why are you carrying his damned sword then?
She remembered the carving of Wichtig, wounded and scarred. He looked scared, like for the first time the idiot comprehended mortality. Why did it bother her to see Wichtig hurt? She’d taken great pleasure in hurting him over the years. How many times had she stolen from him and then rubbed the theft in his face, mocking his inability to catch her?
Why did I steal from him if not to hurt him?
And yet, even though he was a manipulative shite, she felt strangely protective of the idiot. The Swordsman was too damned stupid to take care of himself.
Stehlen sat straight, scowling in confusion.
“What’s wrong?” Lebendig asked.
“Nothing.”
I don’t know where Wichtig is. She realized that ever since leaving the Afterdeath, she always knew where the Swordsman was. She always knew she could catch him in less than a day if she wanted to. Now, he was gone. She couldn’t sense him at all.
Is he dead? The thought twisted her gut and she spat again, tasting sour bile. No, he couldn’t be.
The carvings. You hid them in Lebendig’s pack. You no longer have them. Was that it, did the carvings somehow keep her in contact with Wichtig and Bedeckt?
Take them back.
No, she couldn’t. She put them in Lebendig’s pack and anything in the Swordswoman’s gear belonged to the Swordswoman. Stehlen wouldn’t steal from her lover. She swore to herself she never would and of all the oaths sworn over the years, this was the only one she kept. She wouldn’t break it now, no matter how much she wanted those carvings. The only way to get them was to ask.
Stehlen hesitated, remembering how she wanted to cut the ugly from her carving. She knew it would end badly. She would cut and carve until nothing remained.
They’re safer with her than with me.
Stehlen and Lebendig rode on in silence, the sky above darkening long before sunset as clouds thickened like congealing blood. The air felt heavy, oppressive and ripe with the violence of a building storm.
“Cold tonight,” said Lebendig, shivering.
Stehlen grunted.
“Two days to the capital.”
Grunt.
“Big storm.”
Grunt.
“Lots of abandoned farms.”
Grunt.
“Let’s find one with a bit of roof before it starts raining.
Grunt.
Lighting forked and flickered overhead. A deafening crash of thunder heralded the unleashing of an icy torrent. In moments both women were soaked and shivering.
“Let’s find a farmhouse,” said Stehlen.
Lebendig grunted.
Stehlen’s horse whinnied in nervous fear, lifting its hooves as if it didn’t like what it walked upon. Glancing down, she saw a young woman’s face staring at her from the mud. It looked to have been torn off the skull. She realized what she thought were the branches of stunted trees—as if Gottlos had any other kind—were actually limbs protruding from the churned muck.
“Lebendig,” said Stehlen.
Grunt.
“Stop.”
Lebendig stopped, shooting her an annoyed look. “Now you want to talk, out here in the damned rain? Let’s—”
“Corpses.”
Lebendig scowled at Stehlen and took in their surroundings, squinting into the dark. “They look like the mud pushed them out. Is this some kind of burial ground?”
“Too fresh.”
“We should leave.”