“Sane people don’t talk to mirrors.”
Bedeckt stared at the overturned mirror, chest tight. He couldn’t breathe. The world pulsed sheets of red agony, threatening to shiver his skull apart, shred everything he was.
“One more word,” he said. “One. More. Word.”
The mirror said nothing.
It was, after all, just a mirror.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A man washed up on the shore near Müll Loch. He was alone, though his ship was clearly meant for scores of crew. He wore purple robes and told us he was a wizard from the Empire of Mashtrim. We tolerated his madness until he blasted our church with lightning. Then we opened his ribs to the sky and hung him by his intestines.
—Vornig, Wahnvor Stellung Priest, Müll Loch
Stehlen woke wrapped in Lebendig’s strong arms. The sleeping roll they shared held them like twin caterpillars in a cocoon. She hadn’t meant to sleep here. Usually she returned to her own sleeping roll after any intimacy, but last night, after all her doubts and fears, she hadn’t wanted to leave. Lebendig didn’t seem to mind.
The Swordswoman slept on, breathing deep and heavy, the way Stehlen imagined a dragon would breathe.
Stehlen’s heart kicked in a moment of fear when she saw the guttered fire. Seeing the dawning of a new sun, the sky black above, but fading to the deepest blue near the horizon, she relaxed. They spent the night without a fire and no albtraum came. Lebendig’s iron sanity protected them.
Crawling from the sleeping roll and stretching like a cat, Stehlen turned and nudged her lover with a toe. “Time to get up,” she said.
Lebendig swore and scowled, but rose to stand naked alongside Stehlen.
The Kleptic admired her body, the interplay of muscle and the way her skin glowed, pale and freckled. Lebendig noticed the attention and made no move to cover herself, instead taking the opportunity to nod approvingly at Stehlen’s own nakedness.
“Probably unwise,” said Stehlen.
“Hmm?”
“Us sleeping naked, all wrapped up in that sleeping roll.”
Lebendig shrugged. “Can you imagine what we’d do to anyone who dared bother us?”
True enough.
The women dressed quickly, the Swordswoman donning her chain hauberk and tying her hair in intricate braids to tuck it up beneath her helm. Stehlen wore pants of soft leather and layers of increasingly large shirts, all designed to hide what was beneath; mostly knives and stolen scarves.
“You should wear armour,” said Lebendig, gesturing at Stehlen’s many scars. White lines crisscrossed her body, often overlapping. There wasn’t much of her that hadn’t been cut.
“Slow me down,” said Stehlen.
“Could get hurt.”
“Get hurt all the time.”
“And?”
“And?”
Lebendig huffed in mock annoyance and set about breaking camp while Stehlen saw to the horses. Wichtig’s big stallion stomped and strutted and puffed its chest to make strapping on the saddlebags difficult. Stehlen whispered in its ear, explaining what she’d do to the beast if it didn’t behave. The horse’s ears lay flat and it stopped moving and released the held breath.
Facing the horse, her back to Lebendig, Stehlen drew the three wood carvings from where she hid them. The carving of herself she didn’t look at, immediately shoving it back into the pocket. She glanced at the carving of Bedeckt. The old axe man looked exhausted and ill, pale and haggard. Worry wounded his eyes, stained them with something that might have been madness were he not the sanest arsehole she ever met.
“Cat turd face,” she whispered to the carving before returning it to its pocket alongside the other. The carving of Wichtig looked drawn and tired. Red rimmed eyes stared in fear. Its arms were wrapped tight around its torso as if shielding itself from attack. The carving showed no wounds beyond those the K?rperidentit?t inflicted.
“Rough night?” Stehlen asked the statue in a whisper.
She wondered if the Swordsman made good time and knew Wichtig was half a day south of them. She could almost picture his surroundings. Why can I see—?
“We’ll hit Unbrauchbar before nightfall,” said Lebendig, interrupting her thoughts.
Stowing the carving with the others, Stehlen saddled the remaining horses.
Clouds filled the sky, hung low and fat, threatening a cold rain. Stehlen grinned at the thought of Wichtig—wearing nothing but his stained bed sheet—huddled against the weather.
“You seem happy,” said Lebendig as she swung into the saddle.
Stehlen waved at the sky. “It’s a beautiful day.”
The Swordswoman gave the clouds a doubtful look, shrugged, and nudged her horse into motion.