3 Chapter 1 (1/2)
Where delusion defines reality, the Gefahrgeist is king.
—VERSKLAVEN SCHWACHE, GEFAHRGEIST PHILOSOPHER
The consequences of their last job chased them west. One ever-shrinking step ahead of justice, they arrived at yet another decaying city-state.
Bedeckt, eyes slitted against the abrasive wind, rode into town flanked by Stehlen and Wichtig. Launisch, Bedeckt's monstrous black destrier, hung its head in exhaustion. They'd ridden hours without rest and Bedeckt was no small man.
He scanned the evident poverty and doubted this place had ever seen better days. The few structures built from stone instead of warped and fading wood looked ready to fall in. It didn't matter; he didn't plan on being here long.
Bright eyes, pinp.r.i.c.ks of desperation, peered from dark alleys, watching. Nothing new there. He and his companions couldn't help but attract attention, Bedeckt with his bulk and scars, Wichtig with his flawless good looks. He glanced left to Stehlen. Her horse's ears kept flicking nervously as if it expected to be struck without warning. Bedeckt didn't blame the creature—he felt much the same whenever Stehlen came within arm's reach. She rode hunched forward against the blowing grit, horrid yellow teeth bared in a snarl that seldom left her pinched face. Her right hand rested upon the pommel of her sword. If anyone stared too long, she'd likely kill them. Not that anyone ever seemed to notice her. A mangy dog, lean to the point of skeletal, followed them for a few yards until Stehlen turned jaundiced eyes on the mutt. The dog flinched away with a whimper.
Bedeckt glanced at Wichtig. The man looked annoyingly perfect as always. Nothing in all the world could muss that coiffed hair or dent his immaculate smile.
What a self-centered a.r.s.e.
Dust from the road tickled Bedeckt's already raw throat and he sneezed, spraying a wad of bright green snot from his nostrils. He'd been feeling under the weather for a week now and showed no signs of improving.
”You sound like s.h.i.+te, old man,” said Wichtig.
”I'm fine.” He needed an inn and a warm bed. G.o.ds, he'd kill for an ale, no matter how bad.
Stehlen spat into the road and Launisch s.h.i.+ed. Even the war-horse feared her.
”Idiot's right,” she said. ”Let's get you into bed.”
”You've been wanting to do that for—” Wichtig snapped his mouth shut when Stehlen turned her gaze upon him.
If Bedeckt was lucky, the two would kill each other and leave him in peace. ”My horse is tired and my a.r.s.e aches,” he said.
”Your horse is tired and your a.r.s.e is sore because you're fat and old,” said Stehlen, her horse's ears twitching away from her words.
”So what's this p.i.s.s-pot of a city called?” Wichtig was slumped casually in the saddle as he took in the run-down fortifications and the sloppily uniformed and inattentive guards. He sniffed gingerly at the air and wrinkled his perfectly straight nose in exaggerated distaste. ”I apologize: this place isn't a p.i.s.s-pot, it's a s.h.i.+te-hole. Totally different odor.” He flashed a grin of straight white teeth at Bedeckt. A gust of wind ruffled his reddish-brown hair and for a moment he looked the hero, two slim swords peeking over wide shoulders, his muscular arms resting easily on thighs. Expensive clothing worn to greatest effect. Only his eyes, flat and gray, gave lie to the act.
How could such a self-centered murdering b.a.s.t.a.r.d look so heroically perfect? Truly the G.o.ds were twisted. Bedeckt, of course, looked exactly like what he was: an aging warrior well past his prime with a bad back, worse knees, too many battle scars, and a love of ale. He'd never looked as pretty as Wichtig, even in his prime. Had he, perhaps things would have turned out differently. But he doubted it.
”Better be an inn in this dung heap,” said Wichtig.
”You ever know a town this size without an inn? And it's called Unbrauchbar . . . I think.” Bedeckt warily scanned the city guards—who continued to studiously ignore them—and scratched at his fist-flattened nose with the remnants of his left hand. The last two fingers were missing, severed at the first knuckle in a pointless war many years ago. A ma.s.sive, double-bladed ax hung within easy reach from a leather loop in his horse's saddle, its blade pitted from rough use. He glanced at Stehlen. ”You been here before?”
Stehlen ran a long-fingered hand through matted and clumped dirty blond hair. They were musician's fingers, though she'd never played a note. Pale and watery blue eyes with flecks of green, the whites a sickly and unhealthy yellow, squinted out from under the tangled hair. Her angry gaze dashed about as if she were searching for something to hate—it didn't seem like she'd need to look far. She flared the nostrils of her hooked nose as if perhaps she'd find what she sought by smell.
”No,” she answered.
”Good,” muttered Wichtig.
Stehlen scowled at Wichtig. ”Why good?”
”You probably won't know anyone here.”
”So?”
”So maybe no one here will want to kill us,” he said.
She ignored him. ”Why here?” she asked Bedeckt.
Bedeckt answered without looking at her. ”Because here is better than where we were.”
”If Wichtig hadn't bedded that—”
”But he did.”
”If you hadn't killed those—”
”But I did.” Bedeckt finally glanced at her and frowned as she showed crooked yellow teeth in a disappointed grimace. ”I also seem to remember some of the Lord's property going missing. The theft had a fair amount to do with the killing.” Wichtig's actions had sparked Stehlen's thieving, but Bedeckt couldn't figure out how or why. The Swordsman had bedded the Lord's wife, and Stehlen stole the woman's jewelry shortly after. Were the two events linked? No, they couldn't be. At least he hoped they weren't.
Stehlen tried to look wounded and innocent and failed. She didn't have Wichtig's flair for deceit.
”You don't have any gold left, do you?” Wichtig asked Stehlen. ”It would be nice to stay in a bit of style.”
”No.”
No doubt she lied, but Bedeckt let it go without comment. Kleptics always lied about money. She couldn't help it any more than Wichtig could help being a self-centered manipulative a.r.s.e.
”We've got enough to get soft beds and food.” Bedeckt looked pointedly at Wichtig. ”Right?”
Wichtig shrugged noncommittally. ”I haven't looked in my pack recently. We definitely have coin . . . unless this hideous wench here”—he nodded at Stehlen—”robbed us blind. Again.”
”I've never stolen from you!” growled Stehlen. ”Anyway, you'll hand money to the first b.i.t.c.h who spreads her legs.”
”Spread your legs, let's see if I—”