When the squat walls of Unbrauchbar loomed over Wichtig, he stared at them slack-jawed for a score of heartbeats, wondering where the hells he was.
When did Unbrauchbar get a wall? Not that this one looked particularly impressive. It looked like the hurried work of drunken bricklayers, none of whom consulted the others regarding height and width. Parts were built from whatever stones they found laying about while others were crafted from kiln-fired bricks. Even those bricks, varying in size and colour, looked like they came from a dozen different kilns.
He always heard Unbrauchbar was a shite hole, but this was a shite hole gearing for war. Groups of armed men patrolled the misshapen wall, glaring down at all who approached. They’d be more intimidating if they weren’t so old and shabbily dressed. Grubby and decrepit as they were, this was still a city ready for a fight. Wichtig laughed at the thought of Morgen’s troops marching up to these filthy walls and being stalled by the fact not one of them was willing to get dirty. The little shite would learn, but no doubt only after he killed half his troops trying to find the clean way of winning a dirty war.
Straightening his back and striking the best heroic pose a stained bed sheet and blood and rot crusted bandages allowed, Wichtig approached the main gate. The gathered guards glanced at him, taking in his sorry state. Their gaze lingered on his bare feet, chafed raw from the stirrups, and then moved to the single fine blade tucked into the sheet tied around his waist. They waved him through without question.
If Morgen’s smart, he’ll send an army of filthy vagrants to invade Gottlos. They’ll be invited right in. The battle could be over before it began.
Wichtig spotted the familiar press of a crowd gathered around something interesting. Men and women shoved and pushed, vying for a good view without getting so close they might accidentally be stabbed. Still mounted atop Bl?d, Wichtig caught sight of the two Swordsmen standing at the centre of the circle. They had yet to clear steel and were bragging and mocking. They looked clean and soft. Young and unscarred.
Poncy pig stickers.
Wichtig swung gracefully from the saddle. And collapsed in a heap at Bl?d’s hooves. The horse ignored him, but several of the Swordsmen’s followers noticed his sorry state and took the time to laugh, pointing him out to others. The words beggar and pitiful rang in his ears. He heard them mock the fact he carried a blade.
Wichtig pushed to his feet, glared hatred at those watching. “I am Wichtig Lügner, the Greatest…” They turned away, forgetting him.
He stood, looking at the backs of those gathered to watch the duel. I’ve never seen a crowd from this angle. He was always at the centre. That’s where he was supposed to be. That’s where he belonged.
The noise of the crowd rose as one of the Swordsmen said something witty or scored a particularly brutal insult.
Wichtig couldn’t hear what was said. He couldn’t stand it, being out here, ignored. He needed to be near the centre.
Cursing, he shoved his way into the crowd. Shuffling and stumbling, he elbowed and snarled at any who dared glower in his direction. The way they averted their eyes and stepped from his path assuaged his ego until he remembered how filthy and ugly he must look. Gods, the missing front teeth. Was that pity he saw and not fear?
Finding himself at the front of the crowd he felt marginally better. He listened as the two Swordsmen bragged like children.
Wichtig felt awful. His head swam from the stench of the crowd, sour sweat and the lingering exhalations of thick spice and rotting teeth. Someone shoved him from behind, a sharp jab in his kidneys. The crowd. The pitiful boasts of boys. Being ignored.
It was too much.
Drawing his sword, careful not to cut the bedsheet and drop it to his ankles, Wichtig stepped into the centre of the ring. Thankfully his knees didn’t give out and drop him to the street.
He glared blearily at the two Swordsmen who in turn regarded him with the kind of curiosity usually reserved for a particularly interesting lump of snot.
Wichtig raised his sword and waved it in their direction. “Come on, you pathetic lickers of goats,” he said, enunciating carefully to avoid lisping through the gap in his teeth. “I’ll do you both.”
One of the Swordsmen, tall and slim with long arms that would give him an appreciable reach advantage, loosed a theatrical sigh. The crowd laughed, their amusement fuelling Wichtig’s rage.
“I suppose we have a moment before I kill this midget,” said the tall Swordsman nodding at his shorter opponent. “You are?”
Standing tall and trying not to grimace at the pain radiating from his left foot, Wichtig said, “I am Wichtig Lügner. The Greatest Swordsman in the World.” He sneered. “Not some boasting boy.” Thinking of Stehlen, he spat bloody phlegm at their feet.