19 Chapter 17

The Gefahrgeist must first fool themselves. After that, everyone else is easy.

—VERSKLAVEN SCHWACHE, GEFAHRGEIST PHILOSOPHER

A cold rain fell in Selbsthass City, turning the market's cobbled roads glossy and slick. The damp brought out the dank smell of the city's sewers and thinned the herds of evening shoppers to a dejected trickle. Most of the market stalls had already closed, their keepers leaving early for the warmth and comfort of home. Distant jagged forks of lightning stabbed at the ground, lighting the southern sky an actinic white and illuminating the sagging underbellies of the cancerous clouds lurking there. The echo of thunder rolled continually in deep rumbling anger.

Bedeckt stifled a cough and felt something bubble in his chest. He huddled deeper into the sodden brown Geborene robes, trying to find some last bastion of warmth, and followed Stehlen. His feet squelched with every step; his boots did little to keep the water out and apparently everything to keep it in.

Ahead, Stehlen ducked from shadow to shadow. She said she'd memorized a map of the city and knew the best way to the palace, but this seemed to be the longest, most tortuous route possible. She kept shifting under her burgundy Geborene robes as if they chafed. Wichtig followed behind Bedeckt, mumbling about the rain and the stench of his robes. Fair enough, since the man did reek. An accomplishment considering the state of Bedeckt's sinuses.

"Bedeckt?" asked Wichtig.

"Quiet."

"Do your robes smell like they've been stuffed up a hog's arse for the last month?"

"I can't smell a thing over the stench coming from you," answered Bedeckt. "Stehlen!"

"What?"

"We aren't sneaking into this place, we're walking in."

"I know!"

"Then stop trying to hide in the damned shadows." Bedeckt tried to adjust his robes so as to better conceal the massive ax poorly hidden within. It was hopeless. Only a blind and brain-dead idiot could miss it.

Wichtig leaned past Bedeckt so he could glare at Stehlen's back. Facing forward with her cowl up, she couldn't possibly see him, but made a rude gesture over her shoulder anyway.

Wichtig opened his mouth and Bedeckt said, "Shut up," before the Swordsman could speak.

"You sound tired," said Stehlen.

"I am tired. I'm tired of you two—"

"My robes stink," grumbled Wichtig

"It's not the robes," Stehlen threw back.

"Both of you—"

"I'll get you for this," swore Wichtig.

"—shut up."

The rain fell heavier and the three continued in silence, their boots soon soaked through in the gritty rivulets forming in the road. Bedeckt coughed and groaned at the stabbing pain in his chest.

"You sound like you're dying," Stehlen said over her shoulder. "We should do this another day."

"I'm fine." It was a lie. He felt like chilled death.

"Better yet," she said, "you should just let me do this. I'll be back with the boy in an hour. You can wait in the comfort and warmth of the inn."

"I said I'm fine!" Bedeckt's lower back tightened under his sodden robes. The cold leached the very strength from his bones. He coughed hard and something rattled deep in his lungs.

Great timing, Bedeckt thought. Fall sick and die while pulling off one last job. It was Stehlen's fault. He glared daggers at her back. If he didn't have to worry about her sneaking off and trying to take the child by herself—and no doubt killing dozens of priests and waking up a whole hornet's nest of problems—they could have done this on a much warmer night. One when it wasn't raining. Crazy Kleptic will be the death of me.

A break in the buildings on the south side of the street offered a clear view of the brewing storm. Though a strong wind blew from the west, the tempest seemed to be moving north.

Bedeckt pointed at the southern sky with his half hand. "I've seen such storms before," he said. "I can't remember who I was working for. We were exterminating some nomadic tribe that had crossed the border uninvited. They had this nasty little shaman with one eye. He called a storm and swept away most of the army I was with; drowned the commanders. When he lost control, his own tribe was decimated." Bedeckt remembered lightning-blasted corpses floating from horizon to horizon on what had been near-barren grasslands. He gestured southward again with his scarred hand. "Sky stinks of someone losing control."

They left the market behind and the cloud-shrouded evening sun dipped behind long rows of small but wealthy-looking houses.

Wichtig poked Bedeckt in the kidneys from behind. "Hey."

"What?"

"I didn't get my share of the winnings."

"What winnings?" Stehlen asked innocently before Bedeckt could answer.

"For my damned fight. There was a lot of coin in the purse you stole."

That explains how the fight came about. At this point, Bedeckt was too cold and tired to care. His lungs rattled with every breath. His condition was deteriorating quickly.

Stehlen glanced over her shoulder and Bedeckt saw little of her face but the yellow of her toothy grin. "You fought so poorly at the beginning we put it all on Zweiter Stelle. How could we know you were just toying with him?"

"You're lying—"

"Bedeckt was going to offer Zweiter your place if he killed you."

"Horse turds. Bedeckt, you weren't going to—"

Bedeckt's sneeze interrupted Wichtig. "Shut up. Both of you. We're at the temple."

Stehlen stopped so suddenly that Bedeckt walked into her and Wichtig ran into him from behind. Stehlen ignored them, staring up at the massive temple gates. "Unholy pigsticking hells," she whispered.

Bedeckt raised a hand to swat at her but stopped short as he caught sight of what had stopped her so suddenly. He'd known Selbsthass was a theocracy. He'd known Selbsthass City was the center of the Theocracy. Though he'd known this temple was in all probability the center of government, he'd still been expecting something . . . different. Could his memory of this ancient castle be so wrong? The keep he remembered at least looked like it had been built by mortal hands. He thought back to the stark difference between Selbsthass and Gottlos at the border and, though he prayed he was wrong, thought he understood: the temple had been twisted by the beliefs of man. The Geborene faith was far more powerful than he'd imagined.

The Geborene temple, seen through the walled gate, looked like a massive castle growing out of the base of a far larger pyramid. Each side stretched into the darkness. Every line, every stone, every crenellation spoke one word with overwhelming confidence: strength. Strength of faith, strength of will.

Bedeckt groaned in pain when Wichtig again poked him in the back. "I've had turds with more grace than this place," said the Swordsman. "Arseholes."

Bedeckt pushed Stehlen, dressed as she was as the highest-ranked priest of the group, forward. If they stood gawking, someone was bound to notice. She grunted and spat at the rain-slicked wall but stepped tentatively ahead.

Up ahead Bedeckt saw several robed figures huddled in a roofed area by the castle gates. Darkness rendered everything monochromatic. "Try not to kill anyone," he hissed at Stehlen's back. Hopefully she'd outrank anyone at the gates and they'd pass unchallenged.

Stehlen stalked forward, head bowed, arms huddled tight to her body against the wind and rain, pretending to ignore the priests at the gate. She fingered the weighted throwing knives tucked in her sleeves. If the priests challenged her she'd kill them before they could raise the alarm. The gathered priests, all in gray robes, looked soft and dejected and wholly unprepared for battle. She thought about killing them just to annoy Bedeckt, but hearing the old man rattle and wheeze with every breath, decided against it. He was suffering enough.

Was there some way she could convince Bedeckt to let her and the World's Biggest Moron get the kid on their own? No, Bedeckt will never trust the moron with something this important. An unexpected emotion tightened her chest. Concern? No, can't be.

She stole a quick glance over her shoulder but needn't have bothered. Bedeckt was watching the ground as he shuffled after her. Each step seemingly an act of will, his breath came in short ragged gasps. Her stomach twisted into a clenched knot. Did I eat something bad? She didn't think so. What was that awful feeling?

Stehlen looked over Bedeckt's hunched form to Wichtig behind him. The Swordsman frowned and gave her a confused look. If they stopped now it would definitely draw the attention of the priests at the gate. Though the burgundy robes gave her rank, she doubted she could convince anyone she was a high-ranked priest. She didn't even know what rank she was supposed to be.

Shite on a stick! This was exactly the kind of underhanded lying Wichtig excelled at. Unfortunately, dressed as an acolyte, he could hardly give orders. Perhaps she should have made Wichtig the ranking priest. Too late now.

The priests manning the gate didn't even acknowledge them as they passed.

The three crossed the open courtyard—which looked suspiciously to Stehlen like a cleared killing ground—to the entrance of the main keep.

She let out a sigh of relief and whispered, "You sound like shite," over her shoulder.

"Keep mov—" Bedeckt was interrupted by another fit of bubbling coughing.

They passed into the massive interior of the temple. Flanking the entrance to the main hall, carved granite pillars easily twenty feet in diameter depicted events she could only assume were important to the Geborene Damonen. Luxurious wall hangings and life-size paintings adorned the walls. Haunting stained-glass windows showed dark monochromatic scenes in the dim light.

Stehlen sneered at the gross waste of time and effort. Wichtig no doubt appreciated the artistic merits of such towering totems, but then again, he was an idiot.

Bedeckt still stared at the floor, apparently unaware of their surroundings. Breathing and walking were clearly taking most of his concentration.

Stehlen glanced up at the arched ceiling, soaring forty feet over their heads, and stopped. Bedeckt slowed to a halt and stared at her in confusion. She pointed up. "Who?"

He looked up for a long moment. "It's a fresco of Zuerst Geborene—the church's founder—facing the gods he defied."

"Oh," annoyed at having wasted her time asking. He's probably going to follow that with more old-man philosophy.

"All religions," he muttered, "even those without gods, seek to awe the common man."

And there it is. "Oh," she said again.

Bedeckt coughed noisily and spat a thick wad of brown-and-red phlegm at the floor. "The boy will be upstairs somewhere."

Stehlen shook her head, spattering water everywhere. "No, he'll be downstairs, in the basement. They'll want to protect and hide him."

"Not everyone thinks like a thief," admonished Wichtig. "They'll want the boy where they can display him to the masses for best effect. He'll be on the top floor."

Bedeckt disagreed. "High Priest What's-his-name—"

"Konig," supplied Wichtig. "High Priest Konig Furimmer."

"Whatever. This High Priest must be a Gefahrgeist of some strength. He'll have the top floor to himself. His self-importance won't allow anyone else to be stationed above him."

Stehlen opened her mouth to argue when Bedeckt suddenly gestured toward the far end of the hall. She turned and saw a priest in brown robes.

"Stehlen," hissed Bedeckt. "Wave the priest over here. Find out where this gods-damned kid is."

Stehlen did her best to gesture imperiously at the priest and stood impatiently waiting for the young man to hurry the length of the hall.

The priest bowed low before her. "Yes, Bishop?"

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. "Where is the kid?" blurted Stehlen.

The priest looked up, startled. "Kid, Your Worship?"

"Yes, gods damn it! The kid. The . . . little . . . god-brat in training."

The priest, confused, met Stehlen's eyes and stammered, "B-beg pardon, Your Worship?"

Stick it. Stehlen hit him in the sternum and had a knife at his throat before the young man could blink.

"A decent thief would be better at lying," said Wichtig smugly. "But you're not a thief, you're the just smallest thug I've ever seen." He shook his head in mock disappointment. "No finesse."

Stehlen kept the knife at the priest's throat, waiting for him to stop gagging on each breath. "Yeah? Where's your money?" she asked Wichtig over her shoulder.

Wichtig's smugness faded as he felt for his money purse.

Stehlen ignored him, pressing the knife until a thin line of blood appeared on the priest's neck. "Tell me where the kid is."

The priest's brief look of defiance crumbled before Stehlen's feral leer. Nothing in her eyes betrayed reluctance to murder.

"Morgen's chambers are in the basement. South wing."

"Don't—" started Wichtig as Stehlen slid the knife into the priest's throat. ". . . kill him." He shot her an annoyed look as she shoved the body away to bleed out on the floor. "He's lying."

"I told you he was in the basement."

"Obviously he lied."

"No, it's obvious you're lying. You can't stand being wrong."

"If you knew anything about people other than how to cut their throats . . ." Wichtig turned to Bedeckt. "You saw it, right?"

Bedeckt coughed, a bubbling sound deep in his chest. "I was watching for more priests."

Stehlen snorted derisively.

"Look," growled Wichtig, gesturing at Stehlen. "You know how to steal things and cut throats, and Bedeckt is a master of coming up with stupid long-winded plans no one can follow. I know people."

"You know how to use people," sneered Stehlen.

"You have to understand them to use them."

Bedeckt waved them to silence. "Let's move before someone finds us here with this corpse. Stehlen, drag it into the shadows. We go up."

Wichtig reached out to pat Stehlen's back condescendingly but stopped when she glared at him. Instead he blew her a kiss and said, "See, Bedeckt knows to trust my opinion. You could learn something here."

Bedeckt, wheezing, set off toward the stairs at the far end of the hall. His lungs felt like they'd been filled with cold snot. "No one knows more about lying than you do," he growled over his shoulder, and heard Stehlen's answering chuckle. Unfortunately, the one person Wichtig lied to best was Wichtig. Such was always the problem with Gefahrgeist. If enough people believed their shite, they began to believe it too. Continually putting Wichtig down might limit his power, but it might also stop the smallest successes from swelling his already huge ego.

When they caught up with him, Bedeckt turned to Stehlen. "Why didn't you ask the priest how many guards the kid has?"

"Will we turn around and go home if there are a lot of guards?" she asked sweetly. "No."

This late in the evening the halls were largely devoid of priestly activity and the three wandered lost for the best part of an hour. The few people they ran into looked well fed, unsuspecting, soft, and unquestioning. Still, Stehlen killed two more priests before they found someone who knew where the boy was. Luckily her damp burgundy robes did a fine job of hiding bloodstains.

They followed a steep set of curving stairs upward. If they hadn't gotten turned around somewhere, the child's room should be at the top. Bedeckt coughed and spat a thick wad of dark phlegm at the offending stairs. Everything looked too new for such an ancient building. Usually the steps of such a castle would be worn shallow from centuries of shuffling feet, but the corner of each was crisp and sharp.

Was this the future, religion uniting, directing, and manipulating humanity's faith, turning individuals into fragments of the larger hive? Where one religion led, others would follow. Bedeckt saw no way a man-made god could be any better than one coming to be in the old way. Whatever the old way was. At least the old gods seemed largely uninterested in messing directly with man or his works. Sure, they embroiled men in the occasional holy war, but most of the world's great tragedies could be laid squarely at humanity's feet.

A god subject to the whims and will of a populace in thrall to a self-serving Gefahrgeist—like there was any other kind of Gefahrgeist—would not be so distant. A thought lingered in the back of his mind: it wouldn't be a bad thing if the Geborene didn't get their god-to-be back after Bedeckt had collected the ransom money. Bedeckt lost his train of thought as his chest tightened and once again he had to focus solely on breathing. If the child isn't at the top of these stairs, I'm returning to the inn and staying in bed for a week.

Stehlen in the lead, the three crested a long flight of stairs leading to the top of one of the church's shorter towers.

Bedeckt wheezed and coughed up more dark and salty phlegm. "Pigsticking stairs," he gasped. When he glanced up he saw Stehlen and Wichtig marching purposefully away. He looked to the end of the long stone hall. Two women stood at guard in matching chain hauberks with longswords hung at their right hip. Both women were lefties, which Bedeckt found a little odd. The two guards watched, heads cocked slightly to the left, as Stehlen and Wichtig approached. Bedeckt opened his mouth to hiss a warning and was racked by another fit of coughing.

No matter how much Stehlen swaggered, she felt like a thief in stolen priest's robes, blaspheming in the eyes of everything holy and sacrosanct. Some memories of childhood she could never leave behind. She swore under her breath, preparing to face down the guards. Both Bedeckt and Wichtig had harassed her for her inability to get past any hindrance without leaving a few bodies behind. I'll show them subtlety.

"Step aside," she commanded imperiously. "We are here to see the—"

"You are forbidden in this hall. Leave now."

Stehlen frowned at the two guards. They looked almost identical in their matching armor. What she could see of their faces looked similar as well. Identical eyes peered from beneath iron helms.

"Do you know who I am?" Stehlen demanded of the guard who had spoken.

"Gods, you're terrible at this," muttered Wichtig. Stehlen heard Bedeckt's retching cough back at the top of the stairs.

Two longswords snapped from sheaths with impressive speed and precision. The two women moved as one.

Stehlen backed away a step, bumping into Wichtig. "Very pretty," she said. "You must have practiced for a long time."

The two guards answered with identical grins.

Through Bedeckt's coughing Stehlen heard one strangled word forced through raw vocal cords. "Mehrere."

One guard stepped forward as the other retreated, and Stehlen, stepping sideways to make room for Wichtig, snapped a thrown knife into her throat.

Not grinning now, are you, bitch?

Six identically armed and armored women stood in the hall before the first hit the floor. They appeared out of nowhere, rushing forward, swords drawn.

Shite.

"Is this an illusion?" Wichtig asked.

Then his swords were drawn and he desperately parried attacks from multiple opponents. They were good. They were very good.

But they weren't great.

Wichtig was great. He danced around attacks, making these deadly Swordswomen seem clumsy in comparison. He killed one with a quick cut to an exposed throat, sending his adversary staggering into her companions, struggling to stem the gushing flow of blood. Wichtig turned to Stehlen to brag and saw she'd already killed three.

Wichtig snarled a fast "arse-sticking hells" before returning his attention to the Swordswomen. There must have been a dozen of them now. If illusions, they were very good ones.

They must be teleporting in. Probably for the best; it gave him a chance to catch up with Stehlen. Odd, they all fight left-handed.

Wichtig's dance of death became less flourished and decidedly more intense and efficient. Why did people bother with such heavy armor as the hauberk? His every cut found exposed flesh. Here a throat, there a wrist. Slaying four more in rapid succession—or at least removing them from the fight—he spared a quick glance at Stehlen. Enough bodies lay piled at her feet that he couldn't count them quickly and her opponents had to climb their friends—which they seemed all to willing to do—to reach her. She didn't wait for them. Stehlen pressed the attack at every opportunity, intent on driving the priestly guards back toward the closed door. Wichtig thought briefly about helping her assailants by wounding Stehlen with a blind-side attack. He didn't wish her harm, he just wanted to slow her down so he could catch up.

Not fair, she had a head start!

Unfortunately, enough opponents were crowding the hall that he wasn't sure he could kill them all without a healthy Stehlen at his side.

Four Swordswomen launched a perfectly timed attack, forcing Wichtig back several steps. He saw Stehlen disappear into the mob, swallowed by a throng of left-handed Swordswomen in matching chain hauberk who all fought with an identical style. Their synchronization of bladed expression made them easy to defeat, but creepy.

Wichtig was forced back another step. "Bedeckt!" he bellowed over his left shoulder while killing another woman with a quick thrust to her throat. "Stop coughing and come help!"

If Stehlen was dead, they'd be splitting the ransom money only two ways. With Stehlen and her pathetic worship of Bedeckt out of the way, a one-way split became a real possibility. The way Bedeckt sounded, Wichtig wouldn't even need to stab him in the back. The old bastard might croak all on his own.

Even over the cacophony of combat, Wichtig heard Bedeckt's wheezing charge. The old goat sticker sounded like he had one foot in the Afterdeath, but he certainly had spirit.

Scores of identical women in chain hauberk surrounded Stehlen. At first she'd felt her opponents' elation as they crowded in around her. But now they understood; she liked it this way. She couldn't move without touching someone and she couldn't touch someone without leaving grievous wounds. They'd invited her in only to discover, too late, that she was death. They hampered each other far more than they did her. They seemed unwilling to wound each other, whereas she happily hurt anything and everything. She'd seen Wichtig's calculating look. Perhaps the half-wit really was the Greatest Swordsman in the World, but he couldn't hope to match her in this. Unlike Wichtig, she was a killer, pure and true. She killed unclouded by ego or desire. Where Wichtig killed with a thought to where the next death would take him, she killed in the moment for the moment.

Stehlen's throwing knives were long gone, lost in the bodies she'd put them in. Her swords had been knocked from her hands, replaced with swords taken from dead opponents, lost again, and once more replaced with different yet identical ones. She kicked a woman in the groin, stabbed another in the face, and felt something tear a hot line along her ribs. She already bled from a dozen similar wounds she didn't remember receiving.

Pain didn't matter. Pain was for later.

If there is a later.

Stehlen killed another left-handed woman, stomping on her foot and then stabbing the sword into her mouth when it opened in a wail of pain. The same simple tricks worked over and over. The guards seemed incapable of learning or adjusting. This means something.

Stehlen contemplated as she killed. Slaughter didn't require cogitation; the conscious mind only got in the way. She killed best when distracted. Bedeckt had said "Mehrere." They faced a single woman with a split personality. Aren't Mehrere supposed to appear as different people? She'd never heard of a Mehrere manifesting as multiple copies of a single person. She knew of Abgeleitete Leute, a semimythological city said to be populated solely by thronging copies of a single deranged Mehrere, but each of those copies was supposed to be a distinct person.

Bedeckt would know more about this, Stehlen grumbled to herself as she killed another left-handed woman. As ever more guards crowded around her she knew one thing: killing more of them would get her nowhere. Unfortunately, as they desperately fought to kill her, she had no choice.

Stehlen heard Bedeckt's wheezing battle cry as he entered the fray with all his usual enraged-bull finesse. What took the old man so damned long?

The mob suddenly compacted and she was pressed tight on all sides by her enemy. For a moment no one could find the space to lift a weapon or make a worthwhile attack, and Stehlen found herself in an intimate embrace with a young woman. She had lovely brown eyes and warm breath smelling of chicken and some spice Stehlen didn't recognize. They all did. She blew the guard a kiss. When the woman blinked in surprise, Stehlen head-butted her, crushing her nose. She felt each swing of Bedeckt's ax shudder through the hot crush of bodies. The old bastard was strong, no doubt. Then a sizable portion of the mob turned and surged past her to face Bedeckt and his ax, and once again, she had room to kill.

Bedeckt stood—apparently unnoticed, hunched forward, hands on knees, breath rattling about in his lungs like a pair of dry bone dice—watching as Stehlen vanished into the ever-increasing crowd of guards. Did she understand the importance of what he'd said? No doubt his shouted warning had gone clear over Wichtig's head. The only reason the self-centered arse hadn't already fled was because he'd noticed Stehlen had killed more than he. As was often the case, Wichtig's monumental ego stopped him from making the intelligent choice. If his egotism continually led to stupidity, how intelligent could the man really be?

Stehlen disappeared and now Bedeckt watched as a swarm of identical Swordswomen engulfed Wichtig. He coughed up more thick phlegm and thought about the stairs behind him. I should leave, just turn and walk away. No one had even noticed him.

So why aren't I leaving?

Because I can't make it out of the church without their help.

Right, a shite excuse.

The ax hung heavy in his right hand. When had he wrestled it from under his robes? It couldn't have been easy, and yet he had no memory of the choice or the action. He felt like a mass of scars and ruin, his missing fingers and the lost wedding ring a metaphor for everything missing from his life.

"Fine time for maudlin," growled Bedeckt, his throat raw from coughing, his voice little more than a croak. He clenched the ruin of his left hand into a tight and incomplete fist.

Hefting the ax, Bedeckt started forward. He'd get close enough for Stehlen to hear what he had to tell her. Only she could stop the Mehrere. He picked up speed as he staggered ever faster toward the warring press of bodies.

Bedeckt managed one insensate roar of rage, which quickly gave way to an asthmatic wheeze as his voice cracked before he slammed bodily into the crowd.

The Swordswomen collapsed beneath his onslaught. The ax rose and fell and blood laced the air. With his left hand Bedeckt hammered faces and stabbed at eyes with blunt and scarred fingers. He kneed groins, kicked knees, and elbowed skulls with bloody abandon. No thought of defense, each action, each fraction of a moment, an assault on mortal flesh. His one opponent might outnumber him, but Bedeckt would break the will of this vast and growing entity.

The Swordswomen broke around Bedeckt like waves crashing against a rock. Each breath was a shuddering fight for air. He couldn't find enough room in his lungs; they felt full, brimming. The ax caught in someone's clavicle and Bedeckt fought for a terrifying moment to free it.

The ax came free and the woman dropped with a wet sob sounding suspiciously like gratitude. Maybe Bedeckt had made the noise. His arms felt like heat-softened lead.

Move forward. Find Stehlen. Tell her . . . tell her . . . tell her what?

I am the rock. They broke around him and he killed. Always forward, always attacking.

The sword entered low in Bedeckt's back and felt like it grated along his spine. His bones rang in sympathy like a tuning fork. He pushed forward, and this time, when the sword dragged clear, the sob was definitely his.

Perhaps it's time to start defending.

Bedeckt blocked a wildly swung sword and kicked at another opponent who managed to avoid his clumsy attack. The other foot slipped on the gore-spattered floor and his knee buckled. Bedeckt lay on the floor, looking up at the massed Swordswomen, who in turn stared down at him. He'd lost his ax in the fall.

"Shite," he croaked.

And then they were on him. His entire universe became sharp swords, heavily booted feet crushing exposed ribs, and endless oceans of pain. With tearing teeth and clawed fingers he fought.

Wichtig felt the force of Bedeckt's onslaught through the tight crush of bodies and laughed in the face of the nearest Swordswoman.

"You bastards are in trouble now."

Another guard fell before his whirling blades, spattering him in sanguine gore. They hadn't even touched him. With this many opponents pressed this close, they should at least be able to land a lucky blow, but there had been nothing. I am just too gods-damned good! The fates smiled upon him and he laughed and killed another left-handed Swordswoman.

Destiny, that's why they can't hurt me. He had a destiny. He would be the World's Greatest Swordsman. Bedeckt thought Wichtig didn't understand what the Geborene sought to accomplish with their little man-made god, but he was wrong. Wichtig understood. If the Geborene could create a god by convincing a bunch of peasants to worship some random brat, then surely he, Wichtig, would become a god when enough people worshiped him as the World's Greatest Swordsman.

How's Stehlen? Still alive?

"Hey! You alive?" Wichtig yelled in the direction he'd seen her vanish.

"Moron!" She sounded tired.

"How many?" Wichtig asked between opponents. He didn't hear her answer as he caught sight of Bedeckt being dragged down by a mass of sword-wielding women. Sometimes the fates were just too kind; they spoiled him. He'd save Bedeckt—thereby showing what a true friend he really was—and get to rub it in the old goat's face afterward. Sure, he'd been thinking of double-crossing the old bastard a moment ago, but this would be far more entertaining! A chance to prove Bedeckt wrong and feel smugly superior was worth more than gold.

Wichtig fought his way to Bedeckt, killing enough Swordswomen that the others momentarily backed away in fear. Bedeckt was covered in blood, and unfortunately most of it looked to be his own. The remains of his already mangled left ear had been hewn from his hoary skull.

"Where's your ax, you lazy old bastard?"

Bedeckt cracked a swollen eye open, coughed bright arterial blood, and glared at Wichtig standing over him. "Tell Stehlen to kill the original," he bubbled from between crushed lips. The ugly lout had lost a few more of his already scarce teeth.

The original? What the hells did that mean? Wichtig turned to face the massed priests blocking the hall. Twice as many corpses lay scattered on the floor. He couldn't see Stehlen but could hear her fighting and cursing somewhere in the swarm. The Swordswomen facing him shuffled forward. They'd finally learned some respect. Wichtig, standing over Bedeckt, fixed his hair and bowed with a flourish to the advancing mob.

"Stehlen," he bellowed. "Kill the original!"

Kill the original? How the hells was she supposed to do that? They looked identical. Stehlen thought and fought furiously. Where will the original be? Well, somewhere safe, obviously. Probably at the back of the pack. She changed strategies and stopped killing. Instead she began ducking and dodging and working her way toward the rear of the massed guards. As she moved she watched the faces of her opponents. Though physically identical, they showed different expressions. If she kicked one in the groin, they didn't all look hurt. This, she thought, might be useful.

Stehlen heard Wichtig again yell, "You still alive?" from somewhere behind her. Too much to ask that the idiot get in here and give her a hand. Stupid arsehole was probably telling the Swordswomen back there how he would be the Greatest Pigsticker in the World. But even as she thought that, an idea occurred to her. It was worth a try.

"Still alive!" She watched the faces of the guards, trying to see as many as possible. She faked her best triumphant grin and yelled, "I know which one it is!"

She saw one of the women blink in surprise and back farther into the crowd.

Gotcha!

Stehlen kept an eye on the retreating woman as she fought her way, bobbing and weaving through the crowd, toward her. The Swordswoman wouldn't fall for the same ruse twice, and if Stehlen lost her she was dead. The swarming guards panicked when they realized what she was doing, and what martial skill they'd possessed fell away in their mad attempt to stop her. She became a killing blur. Surrounded on all sides, she couldn't help but wound enemies as she cut through them . . . and no matter how unskilled they'd become in their panic, they couldn't help but find her with their swords.

One moment the hall was full of Swordswomen approaching Wichtig and Bedeckt with menacing intent, and the next only littered corpses remained.

Bedeckt, staring up from the floor, watched Wichtig blink in surprise, examine the hall of corpses, and frown in annoyance. Scores of dead littered the floor; far more than Bedeckt and Wichtig could account for.

Wichtig glanced down at Bedeckt. "I killed most of those."

"Liar," grunted Bedeckt through gritted teeth. Gods, everything hurt. He felt torn inside.

Wichtig shrugged philosophically and glanced again to the killing grounds. "I don't see Stehlen."

"Go find her."

"Notice how I'm the only one still standing?" Wichtig sheathed his swords and crossed his arms. "Not a cut on me. Not even a bruise. You look like shite. A child could finish you."

Is this it? Was this the moment Bedeckt had always known would come? He tried to push himself up but his partial hand slipped on the blood-slicked stone and he collapsed with a pained groan. Wichtig stood over him. The bastard wasn't even breathing hard.

"So," said Bedeckt, "this is where we find out who you really are."

"I suppose it is." Wichtig cocked an eyebrow. "Care to serve me in the Afterdeath?" He scanned the piled bodies. "Let me find you your ax."

"So I can die with a weapon in hand?"

Wichtig snorted derisively. "So you can use it as a crutch, you crotchety old goat. In case you hadn't noticed—and I admit you seem pretty busy bleeding out all over the floor—I just saved your life. You can thank me later." He found Bedeckt's ax buried in a body and returned with it held out in offering. "You're my friend. I am your friend." He smiled sadly. "Someday you'll understand."

Bedeckt stared mutely at the proffered ax, aware of Wichtig watching him closely.

"Hurt your feelings, did I?" grumbled Bedeckt. "I'm not falling for that."

Wichtig tutted in mock disgust. "Let's see if we can find Stehlen."

They found Stehlen sitting, back against the single door at the far end of the hall. A young, brown-eyed woman seemed to be taking a nap with her head resting in Stehlen's lap. Stehlen stroked the Swordswoman's short hair. As Wichtig approached with Bedeckt leaning heavily against him she looked up, face drawn and exhausted.

"Don't even bother," she snarled. "You know I killed more than you did."

Wichtig laughed happily as if it didn't matter. "Maybe. But I saved Bedeckt's life while you cuddled corpses." He looked again at the Swordswoman. He saw no visible wounds on the body. "She is dead, right?"

"Stabbed her in the back as she tried to flee. I saved both of you by killing the original," she pointed out.

"You only knew to kill her because I told you to," said Wichtig, ignoring the fact Bedeckt had told him in the first place.

"Is he okay?" she asked, nodding toward Bedeckt, who was making the surrounding floor slick with blood at an alarming rate.

"I'm fine," slurred Bedeckt, realizing a long stream of sanguine drool was hanging from his open mouth and past his wobbling knees. If Wichtig released him, he'd collapse to the floor.

"He's fine," agreed Wichtig. "He's just pissed off I saved his life. And he seems to have caught a wee sniffle."

Bedeckt coughed weakly, met Stehlen's eyes with a bruised look, and spat bloodily on Wichtig's foot. White flecks of shattered teeth speckled the wet glob.

Stehlen gestured at Bedeckt. "He's bleeding."

"Seeing as we may have to fight our way out of here," drawled Wichtig, "I'm hoping you're sitting there for artistic reasons and not because you're unable to stand. Fighting while carrying the two of you might be awkward." He said it as if awkward were an exaggeration and would be nothing at all.

Stehlen hated Wichtig more than ever. The gore-spattered half-wit seemed untouched. His hair wasn't even mussed. He looked perfect, every inch the bold hero. She hated and wanted him and hated herself for wanting him. She was going to either rut him or kill him. Perhaps rut and kill him. Wichtig could stick her, and then she'd stick him back. Her attempted smile died when Wichtig averted his eyes in disgust. Some wounds never heal.

Stehlen shoved the dead woman away and stood, carefully hiding the hurt. "Let's get out of here." She could tell herself she was used to this. She could tell herself she had long ago gotten over the fact that men shied from her smile.

"No," mumbled Bedeckt. "The boy. We take him with us." One of his eyes had swollen completely shut and he glared at Stehlen through the other with feral desperation. "We came this far. I'll last until we're out of here." He wobbled unsteadily. "Just have to stop the bleeding."

Stehlen and Wichtig exchanged doubting looks, but neither wanted to leave here without the loot. Even if the loot was some godling-in-training brat.

"Stehlen, can you open the door?" Bedeckt asked.

She glanced over her shoulder at the door. "It isn't locked."

"How can you—" Wichtig stopped when he noticed the disgusted look Stehlen gave him. "Right."

Wichtig propped Bedeckt against the wall and the old goat sticker slid immediately to the floor. Ah well, as good a place as any. At least he's out of the way.

Leaving Bedeckt, Wichtig stood poised with sword drawn as Stehlen opened the door. A thin blond child with bright blue eyes stood in the center of a well-appointed bedroom. It was the bedroom every boy dreams of. Toys sat piled in boxes or littered across the floor, left where they'd been dropped by an active and roving imagination. And the masterpiece: a detailed model city replete with peasants, animals, and city guard sprawled across a huge oak table.

But Wichtig was focused on the would-be god. The boy looked nothing like Fluch, Wichtig's son, but still Wichtig found himself thinking back to the last time he saw his boy. He hadn't even said good-bye. He hadn't meant to leave his son, only his unforgiving shrew of a wife. It suddenly dawned on him, the happiest moment of his life had been holding his newborn son and watching as his wife, exhausted from a long and difficult childbirth, slept. He often thought about returning to Traurig and seeking her out. He had no doubt he could persuade her to take him back; he'd always been able to talk her around to his point of view. He remembered the smell of her thick, dark hair and the curve of her hips . . .

"I heard fighting in the hall," said the boy.

The child's calm question brought Wichtig back to the present. Intelligent blue eyes stared up at him. Trusting eyes. If you raised your future god, would you teach him deceit and deception? Wichtig thought not. He searched his memory for a name.

"Konig sent us. You're in grave danger. You must come with us."

The boy stared at him, face expressionless, and Wichtig knew a rare moment of doubt; did the child see through him? Unsure what to do, he struck his best heroic pose.

"I've read about you," the boy said.

"You have?" Wichtig asked, surprised.

"Yes. You're a hero."

Hero? Wichtig bowed with a perfect flourish of his sword. "Wichtig Lügner. The World's Greatest Swordsman. At your service."

"I'm Morgen," the boy answered.

"Hells," Stehlen muttered quietly to Bedeckt. "I can actually see Wichtig's head swelling."

Wichtig ignored her. Only the child mattered. Selling this would-be god for ransom was the plan of an unimaginative mind. For now Wichtig understood the true value of the child. The boy was the ultimate means to the ultimate end. He stood aside so the lad could see the corpse-strewn hallway. No need to say anything, let the child come to his own conclusions.

Wichtig watched closely as the boy displayed emotion for the first time. Morgen's eyes widened in shock as he saw the bloody scene. He looked past Wichtig at Stehlen and Bedeckt, taking in their brutal appearance. His gaze flicked to the floor and the many identical corpses.

"Viele Sindein. She's been my bodyguard since . . ." Morgen trailed off. "Forever," he whispered. "I've never seen her be so many. Usually she's just two. They argue a lot." He glanced at Wichtig and said, "I don't think they like each other," as if sharing a secret.

"She was going to kill you," said Wichtig quickly. "We had to stop her."

"We don't have time for this," growled Stehlen from the hall. "Knock the kid out and let's be gone. Bedeckt is bleeding out."

The boy glanced at Stehlen. "I don't think you'll hurt me."

Wichtig watched, amazed, as Stehlen looked away uncomfortably. She opened her mouth and then slammed it shut with a clack. Is she about to apologize?

"Sorry," she said, looking as surprised as Wichtig felt.

Impossible!

Wichtig snorted a short laugh and put on his best charming smile. "Come. We have to take you to safety."

"Okay. But I have to wash my hands first."

While the boy scrubbed at his already clean hands, they stanched the worst of Bedeckt's wounds.

"Needs a real healer," whispered Stehlen.

Wichtig agreed but said nothing. They had no time for finding healers; they had to get out of Selbsthass fast.

When Morgen returned, he watched with curious distaste, careful to stand at a safe distance. When blood spattered near his feet, he shied away with careful steps.

Like the kid never saw blood before, mused Wichtig.

A few minutes later they retraced their steps through the ancient castle. Wichtig led the way, one hand resting protectively on Morgen's shoulder, while Stehlen followed with a pale and semiconscious Bedeckt leaning heavily against her.

Wichtig noticed he'd left a large bloody handprint on the child's thin shoulder. A little dirty reality would only serve to further the boy's dependence on him. He'd never been a hero before and looked forward to playing the role—actually performing it, and not just looking the part. It felt easy, natural. Hero was definitely the part he was destined to play.

He looked around him. For all the noise they'd made fighting Morgen's guard, apparently the tower's separation from the rest of the church had been enough. They walked empty halls and saw no one.

Stehlen struggled to keep Bedeckt on his feet. He slowed with each step.

I should leave him here. Her gut churned at the thought.

"You're slowing me down, you useless sack of dog turds," she whispered into the gristly remains of his left ear. She wasn't sure if he heard. "Don't make me leave you here. Don't do that to me."

"Stupid . . ."

"What?"

"Bitch," Bedeckt finished.

Well, better than nothing. If he had the strength to be an insulting arsehole, he wasn't dead yet. She flared her nostrils, testing the air. Bedeckt reeked of blood and sweat and unwashed old man. There was something else in the air. Something undefinable, but something she knew.

"This doesn't feel right," she whispered close enough to his tattered ear that she could taste the drying blood.

"Try it after being stabbed a few dozen times," hissed Bedeckt through clenched teeth. "I guarantee it'll feel worse."

She ignored him. "I know what stealing feels like. I know how it smells. I know how it sounds. I know what it tastes like. This isn't right. A path has been cleared for us."

"Good."

The idiot doesn't understand.

Every nerve screamed danger and yet she saw nothing amiss. Someone was clearing the way for their escape, but she saw no reason to believe this mysterious person was on their side. Selfishness drove all action. A lifetime of backstabbing distrust had taught Stehlen one thing: if someone helped you, it was because doing so helped themselves. The moment mutually shared interest died, the truth shone clear and you'd feel their knife in your back.

Stehlen pushed the pace to catch Wichtig and the boy, and Bedeckt—much to her surprise—managed to match her.

She peered sideways into his face and saw shattered teeth gritted in a determined growl. "Still a bit of life in you," she said.

"No, just a lot more death." He peered at her through his single open eye and she caught a glint of dark humor. "Can't let Wichtig have my share."

"Greed is the ultimate motivator. Anyway, if you die I'm going to kill the arsehole and take it all." Of course, she had no idea how to go about collecting the god-boy's ransom. If the old man died she'd kill Wichtig and the boy and wash her hands of this gods-awful mess. Any plan involving more than go in, get the goods, and get out was doomed to failure.