“Of course,” said Wichtig, cursing inwardly. He couldn’t back down in front of his apprentice, couldn’t be seen to show weakness. “You’re wet,” he said to Lebendig. “Care to dry off first?” Maybe he could stick a knife in the big bitch when she wasn’t expecting it.
“No.” She examined him, taking in his blood-soaked appearance. “Whose blood is that?”
“It’s—” began Opferlamm.
“Not mine,” finished Wichtig. “I killed a few people and it got a tad…” he winked, “…messy.”
Wichtig laid his right hand on the pommel of his sword. Gods he wished he had the other sword. And the other hand. Gripping the weapon, he paused. Where is Stehlen? Could Lebendig be here without her? The Kleptic must have brought the Swordswoman with her when she left the Afterdeath. He saw instantly how it would play out. Stehlen, unable to see past the next bauble she desired, would have been caught off guard when Lebendig—upon returning to the world of the living—realized she no longer served the hideous Kleptic. Free of the constraints of the Warrior’s Credo, Lebendig would have killed Stehlen.
Wichtig drew his sword. “You killed her after she brought you back to life. Ungrateful bitch.”
“What? I—”
“Move,” Wichtig growled at Opferlamm and the girl scurried out of the way.
Wichtig advanced. “She loved you and you stabbed her in the back.” He’d kill the Swordswoman. Stehlen might be a murderous Kleptic, but she was his friend and she deserved better than Lebendig could ever offer. “Time to do what I should have done back in Neidrig.”
Lebendig shook her head in amazement. “You’re an idiot.” She spun her swords in graceful and mesmerizing arcs and advanced. She moved well, surprisingly lithe for such a big woman. Her balance was perfect.
Wichtig limped as he turned to face her, his missing toe itching fiercely. His face felt hot and flushed, the scar tugging at his lips every time he tried for a cocky grin.
“Opferlamm,” he said. “Watch the door.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
We are sparks of consciousness trapped in false puppets of flesh and bone. That we feel rooted within these puppets is an illusion. With sufficient desire, that spark may be moved. Almost anything will suffice as a receptacle for that spark. Sticks, clay, stones, even the flesh and bones of another creature. A well constructed puppet will even allow movement. My personal favourite is a small man I have made of twigs bound by my own hair and snot.
—Schwermut, Ausgebrochene tribal Salbei (witch doctor)
Stehlen turned her back on Bedeckt. If she didn’t kill the Geborene Geisteskranken now, no one would get out of here alive. Not Bedeckt, not Wichtig, and not Lebendig.
And you who craves punishment and takes increasingly insane risks in the attempt to achieve it, will you flee this man who can unleash your inner demons?
No. If her friends died here, so would she. She wanted to see what was inside her. What would her inner demons look like when freed? Would it be hideous, like her, would it reflect her life of murder and thievery? Or would it show her earliest, darkest crime?
But even more than she wanted punishment—even more than she wanted to be Exorcised of darkness—she wanted to save Bedeckt. Ever since that day, years ago, when he returned to save her from the albtraum, she lived in his debt. The knowledge she would not have done the same for him made it worse. He never once showed a hint of emotion toward her, never once suggested he cared for her beyond her usefulness as a Kleptic, and still he came back for her. Much as she loved him all these years, she would have left him to die.
Not today.
Today she wanted something.
Nothing can stop a Kleptic when we want something bad enough.
Though these monsters were creatures of the earth, they were also creatures of delusion. As such, they suffered the same faults and fallibilities of the woman who manifested them. They were as blind to Stehlen as the Geborene Priestess.
Stehlen, cloaked in self-hatred and the knowledge she was worthless—beneath notice—stood behind the woman. The Wahnist was thin, emaciated from months of starvation, held upright only by force of her insane will. She teetered at the Pinnacle, reeking of madness and the stench of a woman too lost in dementia to care for herself.
What this Wahnist believed that allowed her to bring mud and stone to life, Stehlen had no idea. Perhaps she loathed all humanity and thought the earth should rise up to crush the filth infesting its surface. The Kleptic understood such loathing, could even appreciate it. But as with all Geisteskranken, that hatred was misplaced. The Geborene Priestess hated herself more than she hated any other, craved her own death more than she desired the extermination of her species.
Stehlen granted the woman her deepest wish and buried a knife in her neck. The Priestess kicked and shuddered in Stehlen’s arms, her pumping heart emptying her in heaving pulses. Releasing the woman, Stehlen watched as the Wahnist and her delusions collapsed to the earth. Three weakening heartbeats later, no stone monsters remained.
Thinking to once again disappear, Stehlen turned to face the man. She found herself the attention of hundreds of flitting wraiths.
Join us, they called to her. Let your inner demons free.
Beyond them, kneeling in the mud, head bowed in prayer, Stehlen saw the priest.
Shed your guilt, said the demons. You’ve earned this torment.
They mobbed her, tearing at her soul with chimerical claws. Hooked talons raked through her heart, dragging her from her own body. The meat of her slipped away.
Punishment. Retribution. Everything she craved and cowered from was within reach. Claws, real claws, sharp like steel, tore at her insides. She remembered the bodies, split from within as if something dug its way out.
It’s fighting its way free.
Raw agony shredded her innards. Pressure built against her ribs, swelling them outward. She’d burst.
Stehlen saw Bedeckt, still standing over the pretty girl, beset by wraiths seeking to free his own inner demons. They have no idea what they’ll unleash. The dead surrounded him. They hurled themselves upon the floating demons, only to be torn apart as their own inner demons exploded forth.
He’ll die here. Her first and last attempt at a redeeming act and she failed. Utterly. Stehlen laughed as her ribs groaned from the pressure within. She’d split apart, spill her guts and soul at her feet.
Something swept down out of the clouds, a bulbous snake’s head on a sinuous neck followed by a body too large to ever fly. Colossal wings drove it forward. With every powerful beat the downdraught flattened everything below. The snake’s jaw dislocated, gaping wide, and breathed chaos. The dragon cut a path through Bedeckt’s army of corpses, warping and twisting them with its breath, shredding the very fabric of reality with its delusions.
Dragon.
For an insane moment, Stehlen wished Lebendig were here to see this.
Banking, the dragon swept past, snatching a horse from the ground and hurling itself back into the air with a crushing beat of its wings. Even her inner demon, in the process of clawing its way free of its prison, seemed to stop to watch as the dragon hauled the screaming horse ever upward and disappeared into the clouds. The horse’s whinnies of terror faded to nothing.
Stehlen blinked. Though that distraction broke her fixation with her own death, already she felt the claws within renew their scrabbling dig for freedom.
Distraction.
Take your mind off how much you crave punishment. For Bedeckt.
Stehlen sprinted for Bedeckt.
He saw her coming but no recognition lit his eyes. He was lost to his nightmare, drowning in the murderous rage she’d seen him lose himself to so many times. Stehlen ducked under the axe as he tried to split her in two and came up inside his guard. She kicked one of his knees out and he buckled, roaring.
“Shut up, old man.”
Stehlen caught him as he collapsed, taking his weight over her shoulders.
“Gods you�
��re fat.”
No way she could lift him on her own.
Stehlen kicked the pretty girl curled in the mud beneath Bedeckt. The woman blinked gorgeous green eyes at her and Stehlen wanted to steal them.
“Grab his damned feet,” she shouted at the girl.
The two women half-carried, half-dragged Bedeckt toward the farmhouse.
When the girl saw the abandoned homestead her eyes widened. “No,” she said, slowing.
“Drop him and I’ll kill you,” said Stehlen. “Now move.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
When staring into the gaping maw of the Afterdeath, all men find religion
—Kleriker, Wahnvor Stellung Priest
Kleriker is so full of shite.
—Halber Tod, Cotardist poet
Wichtig launched a blistering attack, wove a web of steel, and Lebendig smashed through it and left him bleeding from a long gash on his right thigh. Somewhere behind him Opferlamm screamed something about convincing the woman of something, but Wichtig was too busy to listen.
At least the damned toe doesn’t itch any more.
He retreated before the Swordswoman’s advance, batting aside her feints and attacks. Even exhausted she was good. Damned good.
But she wasn’t the best. She wasn’t the Greatest Swordsman in the World.
Wichtig turned a parry into a blistering riposte and opened a wound along her side, beneath her ribs. Not deep enough to kill, but he knew how much that hurt.
“See,” he said, “your armour is slowing you down.”
When she attacked again, he sent one of her swords spinning away to land in the muck.
“Practice much with one hand?” he asked with a wink. “I have,” he lied.
Wichtig attacked, stabbing and slashing and driving Lebendig back toward the caved-in fireplace. He saw openings and ignored them. He could have killed her a dozen times over but settled for leaving shallow slashes, parting her chain hauberk like it was parchment. Each time he saw his opportunity to end the fight, he hesitated.
What the hells are you doing. She’s too good to toy with. End her.
Still he hesitated.
Stehlen. The damned Kleptic loved this woman.
She’s back in the Afterdeath and at this woman’s hand. To hells with her. Kill this bitch.
Lebendig’s sword licked past his guard and left him bleeding from his chest. It felt like she slashed clean through one of his nipples.
“Wish you were wearing armour now?” she asked, panting.
Again he backed her up with a series of feints and attacks not intended to kill.
If I send her to the Afterdeath, Stehlen will be there waiting. She’ll know I killed her lover. Somehow he didn’t think the Kleptic would thank him. Every time someone killed someone Stehlen wanted to kill, she acted as if she’d been robbed. And no one steals from Stehlen. Gods, how many times had she said that to him?
If I kill Lebendig, Stehlen will find me and kill me. No way something as minor as death would stop her.
“I don’t—”
Lebendig’s attack interrupted him and Wichtig found himself retreating before her rage. She screamed at him but it was all nonsense. Something about how Stehlen loved him more than she loved Lebendig, but that was ridiculous. The Kleptic might want his flawless body, but she was too smart to actually like him.
Over the crash of thunder and the screams of Lebendig, Wichtig heard the unmistakable sounds of battle as if some war was being waged outside this ramshackle farmhouse.
What the hells? The Geborene Wahnists must be coming for them. Or maybe it was that damned dragon.
“Kill anything coming through the door,” Wichtig yelled at Opferlamm. To his surprise the lass nodded and turned her back on the duel to watch the entrance. The kid had potential. Maybe not as the Greatest Swordsman in the World, but as something. Somehow she reminded him of his son, Fluch. Not the albtraum version, but the boy he left behind all those years ago. I’ll bring her under my wing, teach her to be great. It was weird to have a woman in his life—aside from Stehlen—he liked and didn’t want to rut. This must be what maturity and wisdom are like.
First he had to deal with this big bitch.
With a snarl, Wichtig again forced Lebendig back. No matter how good she was, he was better. He knew he was better. He knew it more than she knew anything, more than she was capable of believing anything. He cut her and slashed her, shredding her hauberk and leaving long wounds leaking blood. And still she tried to kill him, unrelenting in her fury.
“Give up,” he said, and she tried to put her sword in his guts. “You can’t win. I am the Greatest, and you know it.” He bent his Gefahrgeist power against her and she ignored him.
She doesn’t care. Lebendig would kill him or die trying.
The door slammed open and Opferlamm screamed, backpedalling.
Stehlen and some woman dragged Bedeckt into the farmhouse and dumped him on the dirt floor. The old bastard leaked blood from a thousand wounds. His right ear hung dangling against his neck from a ragged strip of flesh. His left arm hung broken and useless, flopping about like a dying fish.
As if he wasn’t ugly enough already.
He’d also lost one of his boots. Again.
Stehlen.
She was here. She was alive.
How?
Lebendig stabbed him, ripping fire through his left shoulder, and he remembered he was still fighting an extremely talented Swordswoman.
If Stehlen could escape the Afterdeath once to come after Bedeckt, why not a second time?
She must be here for vengeance upon Lebendig.
Wichtig was trapped. If he killed the Swordswoman, Stehlen would gut him for sure. If he didn’t, Lebendig would kill him. He was better, but not so much better he could hold her off indefinitely. One lucky strike and—
Opferlamm hurled herself at Stehlen.
Are you mad, girl? Run.
***
Stehlen kicked the door in and a girl squeaked like a terrified rabbit and backed away, holding her stupid sword up like maybe Stehlen wouldn’t kill her for being in the way. Dragging Bedeckt in, she dropped him on the floor and drew her own sword.
Someone grunted and cursed and the song of steel on steel drew her attention. Wichtig and Lebendig fought, swords a blur of glinting razor sharp light. Again and again the Swordsman cut her lover. Stehlen saw fear and hate in Lebendig’s eyes.
She knows she’ll lose. She knows.
Lebendig stumbled, parrying and wincing when Wichtig’s sword slid past her guard and opened yet another surface wound. Stehlen, experienced in pain, realized none of her lover’s wounds were mortal. Wichtig was slashing and cutting Lebendig, careful not to kill her.
He’s playing with her. The bastard toyed with Lebendig. I’ll kill him.
The girl with the sword threw herself at Stehlen.
The Kleptic knocked the attack aside with her own sword, riposting with the intent of skewering the brat’s heart. The girl parried Stehlen’s attack, damned near disarmed her with a much slicker riposte, and followed it with a series of dancing attacks. Having dragged Bedeckt here, she was gasping for air while this young woman was fresh, unhurt. At least she no longer felt like her inner demons were about to claw their way free. She had no idea why, and no time to question.
Snarling, Stehlen pressed the attack and instantly found herself once again on the defensive. She retreated, stepping over Bedeckt’s prone form, careful not to trip. She parried another attack, and tried to manoeuvre herself toward Lebendig. The bitch Swordswoman kept moving to stay in her way.
She’s protecting Wichtig, making sure I don’t interfere.
Rage tore through Stehlen and then washed away in wave of desperate self-preservation as the girl again pressed her attack, steel licking and stabbing, prodding like it wanted inside of the Kleptic.
Lebendig screamed in rage and pain as Wichtig cut her again. Stehlen’s distraction cost her as the youth’s sword opened a vicio
us wound in her side.
The pain focussed Stehlen.
Kill this idiot and then save Lebendig.
In a crazed frenzy she attacked and once again failed to land a single blow.
She’s better than I am.
“Moron,” Stehlen cursed herself.
The youth was clearly a Swordswoman and here she was having a damned sword fight with her.
***
Opferlamm threw herself at Stehlen and Wichtig didn’t know whether to cheer or curse. The Kleptic would gut the kid in a second. His apprentice would spend her last few moments in a pool of her own innards wondering where things went wrong. The thought tore him up. He didn’t want that for Opferlamm. She deserved better.
Knocking aside another attack, Wichtig cut Lebendig again. The woman shrieked and attacked, still desperately trying to kill him.
“Give up, damn you,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
She didn’t hear or didn’t care.
He tried to yell at Opferlamm to run away, but every time his attention wandered to his apprentice Lebendig was on him in a flash. Wichtig might be better, but she was easily the best he ever fought. A moment’s distraction, and she’d kill him.
From the corner of his eye, he saw his apprentice drive Stehlen back and damned near died when Lebendig, seeing his attention wander, tried to bury a foot of steel in his heart. Wichtig danced away and the big woman followed.
The kid was good. Damned good.
But this was Stehlen. Even Wichtig didn’t want to fight her.
He saw her draw a stiletto, holding the knife hidden behind her arm so Opferlamm couldn’t see it.
She’s going to kill her.
Stehlen didn’t wound. She had no interest in torturing her victims. When she wanted someone dead she made them dead. Fast.
She’ll put it in Opferlamm’s brain. Pure Stehlen. Gods damn it.
Wichtig had to save his apprentice. Maybe he could convince her to leave this life.
But as long as he fought Lebendig, there was nothing he could do to help.
The big Swordswoman, noting his distraction, again attacked. This time Wichtig didn’t spin, didn’t dance away. Brushing her sword aside, he killed her, ran three feet of steel through her belly. He kicked her body away to free his blade. Wichtig’s sword came away in a spray of blood.
The Mirror's Truth: A Novel of Manifest Delusions Page 39