Bedeckt rode east. A cold wind blew from the north, presaging colder days ahead. Zukunft trailed behind, huddled in a shawl as if winter had already arrived.
She’d looked into her mirror that morning, asked questions and sat in silence, skirt hiked to expose the shapely thighs of her crossed legs. Sometimes she nodded as if listening and her face moved through an array of expressions. Bedeckt paced circles around her, trying to look at everything else.
Finally, she muttered something under her breath and stuffed the mirror back in its bag with angry, jerky movements.
“What?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” she answered.
Since then she’d been quiet and uncommunicative.
Bedeckt didn’t like it. What had she seen? Why wouldn’t she tell him?
If we get there and the damned boy is dead…. Bedeckt pushed the pace and Zukunft followed without complaint.
The clouds, which appeared on the previous evening, darkened, became heavy and pregnant with the threat of rain.
“I hate the rain,” said Bedeckt, and Arsehole grumbled agreement, ears flicking.
Zukunft, who spent most of the night complaining of how cold she was, shrugged and said nothing, hiding deeper in her shawl.
The sky was a smear of rotting iron. Time ceased to have meaning as the sun and all hints as to its location disappeared. Though he felt sure it couldn’t have been much past noon, it looked and felt more like early evening. Hunching forward in the saddle, he tried to shield himself from the wind clawing away all warmth.
This is shite. I should be in a warm tavern with a warm woman—he shoved away the thought of Zukunft unclothed—and plenty of ale. He felt old and the cold seeped through his clothes and deep into his bones. I am old. If he gave up this life of violence, ate well and drank less ale, he could expect what, another fifteen years before he once again found himself in the Afterdeath? Fifteen years. That was nothing. The last decade was a blur of violence and petty crime, whores and ale. Gods, he felt like he’d been forty just yesterday.
And if you gave up this life, what then?
What would he do? He had no craft, no skills beyond brutality. Could he purchase a stable of whores and find someone to run the business for him?
With what? You’re broke. Again. As always. This time he didn’t have Stehlen to blame.
“We’re close,” said Zukunft.
Bedeckt blinked, again aware of his surroundings, and reined Arsehole to a stop. With Launisch he’d have achieved the same result with a subtle squeeze of both knees, but this animal was not trained to such cues. Gods, he missed that horse.
They followed a trail left by the caravans travelling between Selbsthass and Grunlugen. A sparse forest of towering trees, their leaves showing the first blush of fall, clung to the rolling landscape. Beneath the trees tangles of gorse and nettles made do with what light they received. Ahead the land rolled into a valley where some unnamed river flowed south to meet with the Flussrand. Bedeckt travelled this route before, but not in decades. Hopefully the bridge crossing that river still stood. With the Geborene becoming militant and threatening holy war with their neighbours, he wouldn’t be surprised if someone had sunk it.
“How close?” he asked, whispering.
“Close.”
Bedeckt listened. He heard nothing above the usual sounds of the wild, birds and animals going about their daily business of killing and eating and rutting. If there was a family being murdered nearby, they were awfully quiet about it.
“Are we early?” he asked. “Did we get here first?”
Zukunft drew her mirror out and stared into it. Scowling, she shrugged.
Gods-damned useless Geisteskranken.
Bedeckt examined their surroundings. There were too many hiding places for his liking. If the T?uschung priests saw them coming, they could be lurking behind heavy shrubbery or even watching from up a tree. His back itched with the feel of watching eyes. Did someone have him in the sights of their crossbow? Sliding from the saddle, Bedeckt crouched low, trying to make himself a smaller target.
Want to be a smaller target, try being less fat.
Zukunft remained mounted and he hissed, gesturing for her to dismount. If she brought him here so she could get killed, he’d kill her.
The forest remained quiet, but not too quiet. Were there men lurking about, it should be quieter. Bedeckt eased his axe from where it hung over his back and handed Arsehole’s reins to Zukunft.
“Stay,” he said.
She nodded, eyes wide.
Still crouching, Bedeckt crept forward. His knees groaned complaint. Off to his left, the land sloped down and he followed, looking at the shrubs, darting glances up into the trees, and examining the dirt path. He saw no fresh tracks. No one had come this way in some time. He couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.