The pond looked warm and inviting, long, tickling tendrils of grass waving below the surface. Naked except for her boots, she could step in, wash away a life of pain and misery. There was no need to go on. Why follow Wichtig and Bedeckt? They never led her to happiness in the past, why would this time end differently?
Stehlen cut herself again, hissing as the knife parted flesh. “Because I have Lebendig,” she told the still waters. This time it would end differently.
Shivering, Stehlen cut the saddlebags from the horses. Throwing them over her shoulders, she returned to find Lebendig beyond the oasis of trees. The Swordswoman, now dressed in her sodden clothes, was pulling on her chain hauberk. Blood soaked through her shirt and she looked weak and pale with exhaustion. She weaved drunkenly like she might collapse at any time.
“We should burn that place to the ground,” said Lebendig.
“No.” Stehlen couldn’t explain the sadness she felt. She understood this oasis of helplessness. She lived her whole life—ever since she took her mother’s scarf—at its edge. Someday it would have her. Someday she’d lay down in the grass and be nothing.
But not today.
She hadn’t earned forgiveness. Never would, in all likelihood. Until she was punished for her crimes, there would be no rest, no respite.
Lebendig gave her a searching look and dropped it.
Stehlen dressed, ignoring the pain of her slashed arm. Blood fell in an endless patter from her fingertips. Pulling her shirt on, she tucked the scarves up the sleeve and out of sight.
The Swordswoman pretended not to notice, checking the hang of her scabbards. “This will slow us down,” she said, shrugging the hauberk into place. She sagged under its weight like it was too much to bear.
I’ve never before seen weakness in her. The thought of losing Lebendig left Stehlen sick and empty. No one steals from me. Nothing and no one would take Lebendig from her.
Lebendig glanced at her, face etched hard with pain. “Wichtig has a head start on us.”
Stehlen hefted her saddlebag, settling it on her shoulder. Wichtig still wasn’t much more than half a day ahead of them. “He’s not moving very fast.”
Lebendig lifted her own saddlebag with a grimace. “How do you know?”
“He’s wounded.” Stehlen shrugged, unsure why she was so sure. “And he’s an idiot.”
“He must know we’re following him.”
“He should, but this is Wichtig we’re talking about. Something shiny or pretty probably distracted him.”
With a weary sigh Lebendig set off south and Stehlen fell in, walking at her side.
She looks awful. Weak.
“Thank you for kicking me,” said the Swordswoman.
“My pleasure,” said Stehlen.
“I’m sorry I asked about the—”
“Don’t mention it.”
“I never would have—”
“I said don’t mention it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hundreds of thousands of years from now, all the world shall be an endless desert, the sands stained red by the blood of gods and humanity. Those few survivors shall huddle in the last bastion, a city of circular walls. The remaining gods will see humanity for the danger it is and shall weed out insanity the way we breed chickens for docility and stupidity.
—SieSieht DasEnde, Mirrorist
Wichtig rode south, Bl?d, the sway-backed mare, hating him every step of the way.
What the hells is the point of naming these things? He didn’t remember past horses bearing such grudges. He never gave the damned beasts a second thought. Somehow, this was all Bedeckt’s fault.
His left hand pulsed hot agony up the length of his arm. Lifting the stained brown bandage to his nose, Wichtig caught the sickly sweet perfume of infection. The foot with the missing toe felt just as bad. He didn’t want think about the mess Schnitter made of his ear. Was infection even now creeping into his brain? He shuddered at the thought.
Adjusting his bare feet in the stirrups, he felt the warm drip of blood where they were chafed raw.
Stehlen must have killed the garrison troops. Who else would do that? The clothes in the midden pit. His horse gone. A single sword left to match his single functioning hand.
Damned Kleptic.
Now he knew it was her, it was easier to remember. Though sometimes the thought still slipped away.
Horrid bitch could have left me some sticking boots.
But why didn’t she kill him? She must have a reason. Was it so she could torture him further? That made too much sense. The only reason she hadn’t killed him was because she wasn’t yet finished with him.
Well, that was her mistake.
Wichtig glanced nervously about and cursed. What was the point? She was a damned Kleptic and a powerful one at that. He’d never see her if she didn’t want to be seen.
He thought about Schnitter, butchered like a pig and yet carefully bandaged to prolong her suffering. A trickle of something unpleasant like spider legs dance down his spine. Stehlen was in the room with him while he lay naked and helpless. She was with him for some time. One didn’t carefully carve and bandage a woman in minutes.