The Fehlerhafte Turm drew a collective breath, waiting. Even Kurz remained still and quiet.
“No?” asked Wichtig, rolling his shoulders and lowering his arms. “You know I speak truth,” he said, confident his Gefahrgeist need for respect would convince them. “Your god killed me and your god returned me to life.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “Sometimes special souls return from the Afterdeath,” he said, repeating Morgen’s words. “To conclude unfinished business.”
Kurz stood, tall and lean. “You blaspheme. I shall punish you.”
“I’m not here for a spanking,” said Wichtig. “Your god returned me so I may complete my destiny to become the Greatest Swordsman in the World. He named me First Sword of the Geborene.” It was fun not to have to lie. At least not completely. “I suggest we take this outside so as not to make a mess of this lovely floor.” Wichtig raised an eyebrow at the intricate rugs lining the room. Who the hells put rugs in a tavern? And how did it not stink of spilled ale in here?
“Come,” said Kurz to his followers. “This shouldn’t take but a moment.”
“Shouldn’t take but a moment?” Wichtig called over his shoulder as he exited the inn. “That’s the best you can do?” He shook his head in genuine disappointment. “In my day, back when shites like you were still in swaddling, Swordsmen knew how to have a fight.”
“I take it a lot of talking was involved,” quipped Kurz to chuckles and guffaws from his admirers.
“Damned right,” snapped Wichtig. “Win the crowd, win the fight. If you don’t know that, you’re already dead.” He nodded to the mob following Kurz from the tavern “And judging from the forced sound of their laughter, you’ve already lost them.” A lie, but the doubt was sown. Insecurity—and Wichtig had no doubt the Swordsman possessed plenty of that, why else would he be a Swordsman?—would do the rest.
Unsheathing his blades, Wichtig stood relaxed and ready, waiting for Kurz. He watched as the man drew his own blades with a showy flourish and stretched and bounced around, warming up. Wichtig didn’t move. His stillness, perfect confidence, and apparent utter disregard for his opponent would do more good than any stretching.
“Are you finished yet?” asked Wichtig when it looked like the Swordsman was about to complete his warm-up regimen. Best to capitalize on every opportunity. This way, when the man stopped, it would look like he did so out of embarrassment.
Kurz nodded and snarled but remained quiet.
How this idiot became the World’s Greatest Swordsman, Wichtig would never understand.
“One last thing,” said Wichtig, holding up a hand to stall the beginning of the duel as Kurz stepped toward him, swords falling into a guard position. It would look like he hesitated, and the people might for a moment doubt him, but the punchline would be worth the risk.
“What?” demanded Kurz, swords held at the ready lest this be some trick.
“Do you have much coin on you?”
“Plenty,” bragged Kurz. “More than—”
“Good,” interrupted Wichtig. “I need to buy a horse when I’m done here.”
Kurz attacked. At first it appeared to be a mad frenzy, but Wichtig recognized the practised patterns for what they were. This man had studied with the Verzweiflung Palace Guard, the elite who defended the bank’s inner-most treasures. Wichtig laughed. He too once whored his talents to the Verzweiflung. They named him First Sword and paid exorbitant sums. He only left because it was so damned boring and he rarely got to kill anyone. That and his wife wanted to get out of the city for some reason, move into the country.
Wichtig circled, defending. “You’re quite good,” he said.
Kurz grinned white teeth and feinted.
“I think you’re better even than I am,” said Wichtig, drawing the crowd in with his admitted weakness. He’d have to play this just right. Luckily Kurz knew nothing of manipulation. The fool became the World’s Greatest Swordsman on talent alone. Poor bastard.
Kurz followed, swords dancing that same pattern all the Verzweiflung Palace Guard learned, though admittedly faster and smoother than Wichtig had ever seen.
“Interesting,” said Wichtig.
“Oh?” asked Kurz, backing Wichtig away with a flurry of attacks.
“You studied with the Verzweiflung Palace Guard.”
“The best in the world,” said Kurz, dancing through his pattern with flawless grace.
“Quite. Two problems.”
“Oh?”
And here it came, that moment when Kurz would feint with the left sword, looping it in an apparently over-reached swing while the second blade made a lightening fast stab at Wichtig’s belly. It was difficult pretending he didn’t know exactly where each attack would land. Only Kurz’s speed and skill made the deception even possible. Wichtig ignored the feint and parried the stabbing blade. With a twist of his wrist he sent that weapon skittering to the street. Ducking under the wide swing, he drove both his swords into Kurz’s torso and released them, stepping back to admire his work.
Kurz stood, transfixed.