I don't read that, I speak breast.

Where delusion defines reality, the Gefahrgeist is king. 

—VERSKLAVEN SCHWACHE, GEFAHRGEIST 

PHILOSOPHER 

The consequences of their last job chased them west. One evershrinking step ahead of justice, they arrived at yet another decaying citystate. 

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, pinpricks 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 arse. 

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 shite, old man," said Wichtig. 

"I'm fine." He needed an inn and a warm bed. Gods, he'd kill for an ale, no matter how bad. 

Stehlen spat into the road and Launisch shied. 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 arse aches," he said. 

"Your horse is tired and your arse is sore because you're fat and old," said Stehlen, her horse's ears twitching away from her words. 

"So what's this piss-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 piss-pot, it's a shite-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 bastard look so heroically perfect? 

Truly the gods 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 massive, 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 arse. 

"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 bitch who spreads her legs." 

"Spread your legs, let's see if I—" 

"Never!" 

"Maybe if Bedeckt here . . . ?" Wichtig trailed off, waggling his 

eyebrows at her. 

Stehlen spat again, hunched deeper in her saddle, and set about ignoring both men. 

What the hells was that about? Bedeckt didn't even want to know. He thought about his own money purse. He could have sworn there was more in there, but the last time he'd looked he'd been near destitute. Had Stehlen helped herself? It didn't matter, she always lent him money when asked. 

Probably my money anyway. Traveling with a pair of Geisteskranken, one had to accept such things. Kleptics stole and Gefahrgeist manipulated. At least Wichtig's Gefahrgeist talents remained meager; he mostly craved attention. If the Swordsman grew in strength and seemed likely to become a Slaver, Bedeckt would kill him. 

When Stehlen didn't rise to the bait, Wichtig sulked like a spoiled child denied candy. "Think this shite-hole has a Swordsman?" he asked Bedeckt. 

"Every shite-hole has a Swordsman." 

"And every shite-hole needs a better Swordsman." 

"And you're that Swordsman?" asked Stehlen snidely. 

Wichtig turned flat eyes on her, face expressionless. He held her angry glare until she looked away, uncomfortable. Minor Gefahrgeist Wichtig might be, but few people failed to wither under this assault of will. 

"Belief defines reality," said Wichtig, as if explaining to a simpleton. "I believe I will be the Greatest Swordsman in the World." 

"I believe you will be dead first," said Stehlen icily, still looking away. 

"My belief is stronger than yours." 

"Delusional idiot." 

"Of course. But I prefer to believe I am simply that good. I've killed forty-three Greatest Swordsmen. I was Master of Swords in 

Geldangelegenheiten at twenty-one. An unprecedented honor." 

"Honor," Stehlen snorted. 

"And this coming from a petty thief. A talentless—" 

"Talented enough to lift your purse!" 

"Dumb enough to tell me about it!" 

"Quiet!" Bedeckt shook his head and instantly regretted it. A dull, throbbing pain built in his skull. There must be pounds of snot in there. 

"Like bloody children. Once I've found a warm bed and a soft woman, the two of you can have this pointless debate. Until then, shut the hells up." 

"The old man's a little grumpy," observed Wichtig. 

"If you involve me in one of your fights, Wichtig, I'll kill you myself. 

With an ax. You can shove this Greatest Swordsman shite." 

"I could help with the woman part," Stehlen said. 

Bedeckt pretended not to hear and scanned the road ahead for an inn. 

"He said soft," said Wichtig, smirking at Stehlen. "Even a pig like 

Bedeckt won't bed you. You're too damned ugly. Perhaps if you offered him some of his money back . . . that which you've pilfered over the last week." 

"I have money," she said loud enough to be sure Bedeckt heard. 

Bedeckt shook his head and flexed the remains of his ruined left hand. 

"I'll bed whores. I'm not ready to be one." 

"How many people you steal from in Abfallstadt?" asked Stehlen. 

Bedeckt waved away the question, a sharp cutting gesture with his half hand. His head was so clogged with snot he had to breathe through his mouth in short, dusty gasps. Something dry rattled deep in his lungs. Lovely, some new symptom to plague me. 

"How many people you kill in the last six months?" Stehlen asked. 

"What defines a man is what he won't do," muttered Bedeckt. 

Her hooked nose flared in distaste. "Murder and thievery are fine, but not sex?" 

"Sex with you isn't," said Wichtig. "At best he'd wake up to find you'd robbed him blind and at worst you'd have one of your violent fits and he'd wake with his throat slit." 

Bedeckt groaned. This was not a conversation he wanted to have right now. Or ever. "Drop it. I won't bed you because it'll change everything and make life more difficult than it already is." 

"And you're an ungodly ugly thieving Kleptic bitch," added Wichtig. 

Ignoring Wichtig, Bedeckt continued. "We work together. We're a team. 

A shite team, but we get things done. We aren't friends and we sure as shite aren't lovers. Never forget: I'd kill either of you if there was money in it for me." 

"Stop it, I'm getting all misty-eyed." Wichtig pretended to mop at tears. 

"Stehlen, throw me a few gold coins—they're probably mine anyway—and I'll bed you." 

Stehlen's stiletto hissed out and Wichtig laughed at her. Pretending nonchalance, he moved his horse away, carefully staying out of reach. 

"There's an inn." Bedeckt pointed up the street. "Put your knife away, woman. Gut him after I've had a drink."