Lebendig said nothing.
As they reached the river, Stehlen saw the remains of a second tower, long toppled and buried by centuries of dirt and growth, lying alongside the first. A matched pair. She reined her horse to a stop at the apex of the stone bridge and sat staring at the standing tower. There was something in there she wanted.
“We’ll stay the night,” she said.
Lebendig remained motionless, studying the bridge, looking into the muddy stone-strewn landscape of Gottlos and then glancing over her shoulder to frown at the greenery of Selbsthass. If she heard Stehlen she gave no sign.
Stehlen dug her heels in, urging her horse forward. Lebendig followed.
Two guards came out to meet Stehlen and Lebendig. One looked old and lean like a strip of leather left too long in the sun, eyes lit with a glint of humour. The other appeared to be nearing middle age and sported a paunch hanging low over a pair of skinny legs. The fat one looked nervous. The old one held his over-sized halberd in such a way as to say he had no intention of using it for violent purposes.
“Reason for visiting Gottlos?” demanded the fat man.
Stehlen laughed and spat at his feet. “No one visits Gottlos,” she said as he scowled at the mucus smearing the stone between his well-worn boots.
“The mad god’s minions are unwelcome here,” he said, glancing at Lebendig as if maybe she might step in and make everything better.
The Swordswoman looked at him as if he were a bug she considered stomping.
“Mad god?” Stehlen asked, guessing the answer.
“The minions of Selbsthass—”
“These aren’t his,” interrupted the strip of sun-faded leather.
“Could be a disguise,” said the fat one, scratching at his stubbled chin with blunt fingers.
The old man gave him a sceptical look. “Well have fun then,” he said, already turning away.
“They could be spies.”
“I don’t see any damned spies.”
“Have any rooms available?” asked Stehlen. “It’ll make spying on you a lot more comfortable if we can do it from somewhere dry.”
The old man turned back. “Have money?”
Stehlen grunted. “Some.”
“You been paid this month?” the old man asked the younger. “That’s what I thought,” he said when the other shook his head. “We have a room.” He nodded at Lebendig. “Swordswoman?”
Lebendig glanced at the matched swords hanging from her hips.
“No one worth killing here,” he said. “Gutting old men will do shite-all for your reputation.”
Lebendig shrugged like maybe she didn’t completely agree. It was as close as she ever got to cracking jokes. Stehlen wanted to flash a quick grin at the woman to show her appreciation of the humour but spat instead. If I smile and either of these idiots looks sick, I’ll have to kill them both.
The old man led them into the tower. “It ain’t much,” he said over his shoulder, “but it’s dry.”
The fat one followed with a look of dejected acceptance.
“Food?” asked Stehlen.
“The only person who likes Faulfett’s cooking is Faulfett,” said the old man, nodding at the man trailing them. “But I suppose it’s better than stale trail bread and dried meat.”
Stehlen and Lebendig were shown to a small room that probably doubled as a cell. The door, heavy wood banded with iron, looked like it would hold back an army. Were it not impossible to keep Stehlen in or out of anything, she might have worried. As it was, the guards showed little interest in their guests beyond a curious look when the men realized there were women present. They then promptly decided Stehlen and Lebendig were either unattainable, unapproachable, or more likely, undesirable.
Once the door closed behind them, the two women stood in silence, examining the room. Grey stone dominated and Stehlen wondered if perhaps this was all a cruel lie and she was still dead. The corners hung thick with dust-clogged spider webs and the corpses of the spiders who built them.