Beyond Redemption by Michael R. Fletcher

something nasty.
    They had set up camp a few hundred yards from the road and lit a small fire—keeping it well sheltered—preferring to remain as invisible as possible. Wichtig sat cross-legged, his two swordsresting across his lap. He talked about cleaning them and then apparently forgot. Stehlen squatted a few yards from Bedeckt, her feet flat on the ground and obviously comfortable in this position. Just looking at her made Bedeckt’s knees ache.
    Wichtig picked up a pebble and threw it at a nearby tree. He was rewarded with a hollow pock sound. “We should have bought cigars before we left.”
    â€œWe left in the middle of the night,” growled Bedeckt, hating to be reminded he had just thought the same thing.
    â€œWe should have purchased a change of clothes and fresh supplies,” said Wichtig. “I’m sick of dried rations.”
    â€œWe left in the middle of the night,” Bedeckt repeated. “Remember?”
    â€œDo you think anyone will remember me?” Wichtig mused. “You know, that I killed their Greatest Swordsman. I usually like to kill a few of their next-best Swordsmen just to hammer the point home. No point if they can’t remember my name, is there?”
    Stehlen rocked back and stood in one smooth motion. She moved two steps closer to Bedeckt and sank back to her squat.
    â€œI don’t think it works like that,” she said. “I don’t think people have to know your name. As long as they believe you are the Greatest Swordsman . . . I think that’s the important part.”
    Wichtig shook his head. “They should know my name. How can they know I am the Greatest if they don’t know my name? It doesn’t make sense.”
    Bedeckt did his best to ignore Stehlen’s proximity. “You’re not the Greatest Swordsman. You’re good, but you’re not that good.”
    â€œI don’t have to be the Greatest, I just have to be the guy everyone thinks is the Greatest. Then I will be the Greatest.”
    â€œHow do you beat the Greatest Swordsman when you are clearly not him?” asked Bedeckt.
    â€œThat’s just it,” exclaimed Wichtig. “It is not at all clear I am not the Greatest. Sure, you know I’m not, but no one elsedoes. As far as everyone else is concerned, I just might be the Greatest. My ability with the sword is secondary to my ability to talk. See, I understand what no one else seems to grasp. Communication is manipulation. Every time we speak we are trying to achieve an effect—a goal. We first learn to talk so we may better manipulate our parents. Sign language. Grunting and pointing. Wearing certain clothes and baubles. Walking or standing a certain way. This is all language and it is all manipulation. Most Swordsmen aren’t particularly creative, but I am an artist.”
    Stehlen snickered. “You’re not an artist, you’re an arsehole.”
    Wichtig continued as if she hadn’t interrupted his flow. “If I wasn’t on this path I’d become famous for other reasons. It’s who I am. People are drawn to me.”
    Bedeckt had long lost count how many times he’d heard versions of this speech. “We’re not drawn to you, you keep following us. And if you’re so great at manipulation, why don’t I think you might be the Greatest Swordsman?”
    Wichtig flashed perfect teeth. How the hells does he keep them so damned white?
    â€œYou’re so sane,” mused Wichtig, “you are the craziest person I have ever met. You cling so desperately to sanity and stability when such things are obviously myths. You believe pretending the world isn’t crazy might make it so.” He laughed comfortably and added, “You might be the craziest person in all the world.”
    â€œTraveling with you two . . . I must be crazy.” Bedeckt glanced up at the sound of a horse-drawn carriage thundering along on the road to