Lebendig circled, eyes bright. “I don’t remember you being quite so ugly.”
Bitch. She knew how to hurt him. “Don’t be mean.” And you’re not looking so good yourself.
“You look like you’ve been thoroughly beaten.” She spat the last word.
“Nice, a lovely attempt, but suffering wounds hardly means I lost the fight.”
Opferlamm moved to keep herself between Lebendig and her master. “He killed half a dozen Swordsmen in Unbrauchbar while stumbling drunk. He could hardly stand.”
“Well,” said Lebendig, “he can stand now. Shall we step outside?”
Outside? Is she mad? “I’m only now starting to dry off,” said Wichtig. “But you go on out and wait for me.” Maybe the dragon would eat her.
“We can fight in here,” she said.
While she didn’t look fresh, she did seem awfully eager and ready. He felt like he was a hundred years old, was tortured a few days ago, and stabbed several times since. He’d win, no doubt, but he didn’t relish once again feeling steel in his flesh.
“Are you mad?” demanded Opferlamm. “There’s a—”
“Of course,” said Wichtig, cursing inwardly. He couldn’t back down in front of his apprentice, couldn’t be seen to show weakness. “You’re wet,” he said to Lebendig. “Care to dry off first?” Maybe he could stick a knife in the big bitch when she wasn’t expecting it.
“No.” She examined him, taking in his blood-soaked appearance. “Whose blood is that?”
“It’s—” began Opferlamm.
“Not mine,” finished Wichtig. “I killed a few people and it got a tad…” he winked, “…messy.”
Wichtig laid his right hand on the pommel of his sword. Gods he wished he had the other sword. And the other hand. Gripping the weapon, he paused. Where is Stehlen? Could Lebendig be here without her? The Kleptic must have brought the Swordswoman with her when she left the Afterdeath. He saw instantly how it would play out. Stehlen, unable to see past the next bauble she desired, would have been caught off guard when Lebendig—upon returning to the world of the living—realized she no longer served the hideous Kleptic. Free of the constraints of the Warrior’s Credo, Lebendig would have killed Stehlen.
Wichtig drew his sword. “You killed her after she brought you back to life. Ungrateful bitch.”
“What? I—”
“Move,” Wichtig growled at Opferlamm and the girl scurried out of the way.
Wichtig advanced. “She loved you and you stabbed her in the back.” He’d kill the Swordswoman. Stehlen might be a murderous Kleptic, but she was his friend and she deserved better than Lebendig could ever offer. “Time to do what I should have done back in Neidrig.”
Lebendig shook her head in amazement. “You’re an idiot.” She spun her swords in graceful and mesmerizing arcs and advanced. She moved well, surprisingly lithe for such a big woman. Her balance was perfect.
Wichtig limped as he turned to face her, his missing toe itching fiercely. His face felt hot and flushed, the scar tugging at his lips every time he tried for a cocky grin.
“Opferlamm,” he said. “Watch the door.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
We are sparks of consciousness trapped in false puppets of flesh and bone. That we feel rooted within these puppets is an illusion. With sufficient desire, that spark may be moved. Almost anything will suffice as a receptacle for that spark. Sticks, clay, stones, even the flesh and bones of another creature. A well constructed puppet will even allow movement. My personal favourite is a small man I have made of twigs bound by my own hair and snot.
—Schwermut, Ausgebrochene tribal Salbei (witch doctor)
Stehlen turned her back on Bedeckt. If she didn’t kill the Geborene Geisteskranken now, no one would get out of here alive. Not Bedeckt, not Wichtig, and not Lebendig.
And you who craves punishment and takes increasingly insane risks in the attempt to achieve it, will you flee this man who can unleash your inner demons?
No. If her friends died here, so would she. She wanted to see what was inside her. What would her inner demons look like when freed? Would it be hideous, like her, would it reflect her life of murder and thievery? Or would it show her earliest, darkest crime?
But even more than she wanted punishment—even more than she wanted to be Exorcised of darkness—she wanted to save Bedeckt. Ever since that day, years ago, when he returned to save her from the albtraum, she lived in his debt. The knowledge she would not have done the same for him made it worse. He never once showed a hint of emotion toward her, never once suggested he cared for her beyond her usefulness as a Kleptic, and still he came back for her. Much as she loved him all these years, she would have left him to die.
Not today.
Today she wanted something.
Nothing can stop a Kleptic when we want something bad enough.