Fluch stood, eyes wide and round. The knife was gone from Wichtig’s belly, but he saw nothing in the boy’s hand.
From somewhere far off he heard the nickering whinny of a horse. The sound bounced around him as if he lay in a deep crevice. Twisting as much as he could within the confines of his blanket, he searched for ?rgerlich. The horse was nowhere to be seen. A deep fog, thick and blue, obscured everything.
“He’s coming,” said Fluch, glaring hatred at Wichtig. “You’re lucky your puke stain of a godling watches over you. I could drink the last of you now and the world would be a better place.”
Wichtig’s guts felt hollowed and disemboweled like they’d been sucked empty.
He knows about Morgen? Wichtig pawed at his belly and his hand came away free of blood. He stared up at his boy, but Fluch looked different now, strangely vague, like maybe his hair wasn’t quite as Wichtig remembered nor his eyes so grey.
“Fluch,” said Wichtig, confused, “I’m coming home. I promise.”
Fluch came apart like mist in the morning sun.
Wichtig awoke shivering, cold and damp. His throat felt raw as if he spent the night screaming. The horse blanket lay in a crumpled heap at his side. He coughed, spitting thick phlegm, and sat up. He felt weak, drained and dizzy. The morning air raised goosebumps on his arms.
?rgerlich stood where Wichtig hobbled him. The horse glared barbs of loathing at the Swordsman.
“Piss off,” muttered Wichtig. “You have fur. Or hair. Or whatever it is horses have.”
?rgerlich blew a fart of derision with his lips.
“Hello?” Wichtig called, pushing to his feet with a deep groan of pain. His guts felt like they were being stirred with an egg whisk. “Fluch?”
Where the hells is the boy?
Wichtig noticed the sodden ash remains of his fire and icy fear trickled from the back of his skull to the base of his spine. He slept without a fire? Sticking hells.
The last time he let a fire go out, albtraum visited Stehlen, Bedeckt, and himself. They almost died. Wichtig lifted his shirt and stared at the puckered wound in his belly. That’s no knife wound. It looked like what you’d expect to see after one of those blood sucking snakes in the Salzwasser Ocean far to the south had its way with you.
What had Fluch said at the end? Something about a god? The conversation seemed dreamlike and wispy. The more he struggled to remember the foggier it became. My boy. Wichtig’s chest tightened and a fit of coughing doubled him over. Staring at the ashen remains of his fire, one word echoed over and over in his dull and sodden thoughts: Albtraum.
Fluch said something about a god watching over him. “Morgen?” Wichtig called.
Nothing.
Had the godling come to his aid? Had Morgen chased off the albtraum as it fed? He stared at the wet horse blanket lying in the mud. He’d fallen asleep thinking of Morgen. He’d fallen asleep remembering how he awoke trapped within his sleeping roll and how the bastard stabbed him in the guts. He remembered the suspicion Fluch knew more than he should. The albtraum must have sucked those memories from Wichtig’s mind as it fed, gaining sustenance not only from his blood, but also feeding upon his fears. Wichtig shivered in disgust at the thought of being penetrated by something alien. Was this what rutting was like for women? He shook the thought off, unwilling to examine it further for fear of what it might say about him.
He felt foul, dirty and violated.
Raped.
He remembered the stink of death on his son’s breath.
No, not my son. That was nothing more than a nightmare given flesh. Don’t think about it. Avoiding self-examination was such an ingrained habit—the first line of defence in a world out to crush him, really—he took it for granted. It was the only wise course in a mad world. You’re doing it again, avoiding thinking about—
“Piss off,” he told himself.
He stood straight, fighting the urge to keep probing the puckered wound with his fingers and failing. The damned albtraum was lucky it fled. He’d been about to figure out its evil little ruse and kill the foul thing. He ground out a snarl, coughed, and spat more thick phlegm.
The albtraum must have realized who it was messing with. The Greatest Swordsman in the World was not some fool to be drained dead by a foul slug. He shuddered at the thought of whatever wormed at his innards and turned on the horse.
“Little enough sticking help you were,” he said.
?rgerlich ignored him.
Wichtig nodded to himself as he slung the wet blanket across the horse’s back and threw the saddle on top. That was the only explanation. Morgen had nothing to do with the monster’s flight. The godling was a useless lying little shite. It was impossible that Wichtig could owe Morgen his life.
Feeling the need to relieve himself, Wichtig leaned against a tree. He pissed blood.