Beyond Redemption (42 page)

“Ah,” said Wichtig. “Vollk Urzschluss, we meet again.”

“You took even less time than the last time,” the scarred man growled. “Still think you're so great?”

“Of course.” Wichtig smiled at the crowd of people he'd slain over the years, avoiding the eyes of a few and nodding cockily at others. “We go east to await the death and Ascension of a new god.” He felt the need to start moving, a relentless tension, like he'd swum too deep and his ears would soon pop. “We won't have to wait long.” He laughed at their doubting faces. “This is not the end of Wichtig Lügner, the Greatest Swordsman in all the World. Oh no,” he said, wagging a finger at the crowd. “This is but the beginning, another step down the path to greatness. This is destiny!” Wichtig watched them watch him. They still looked doubtful. “This soon-to-be-god owes me!”

Vollk sneered but didn't have the wit not to look curious. “Why does this god owe you?”

“Two reasons, my dead friend. One, I helped shape him. I made him the boy he is today.”

“And?” asked Vollk.

“The little bastard killed me.”

Vollk grunted. “Good luck.”

Wichtig collected his swords—at least Stehlen had left those—and walked east. Vollk jogged to catch up and walk at his side.

“At least you brought your own swords this time,” the scarred warrior muttered, patting the sword hanging at his hip. “I had a hell of a time getting this after you disappeared with my last one.”

Wichtig and his army of victims hadn't walked for more than an hour when they saw an even larger mob of people ahead, also heading east.

“Not good,” said Wichtig.

The other crowd saw their approach and stopped to wait.

“No point in putting this off, is there?” Wichtig asked without expecting an answer.

“They might kill us,” pointed out Vollk.

“But we're already dead.”

“In my experience,” said Vollk, “there's always more death.”

Wichtig grunted.

A large woman stepped out of the crowd and stood waiting. Her hair, hewn short and rough, was a pale orange bordering on strawberry.

“The gods are truly smiling on me today,” she said as Wichtig approached.

He stopped before her and bowed low. “You have me at a disadvantage,” he said.

“Yes. There are quite a few more of us.”

“I meant, rather, that you know me and I don't know you.” He looked her up and down. “Though you do look familiar.”

“I am Lebendig Durchdachter, the Greatest Swordswoman in Neidrig.”

“Ah yes. We almost fought. A shame. Not that we almost
fought, but rather that we
almost
fought. I was looking forward to killing you.”

“Your friend did it for you,” snarled Lebendig.

“Not for me. A minor quibble, but an important one. She did it to piss me off.”

Lebendig gestured at the gathered crowd behind her. Many looked familiar, but Wichtig couldn't put names to the faces.

“We have you outnumbered,” she said.

“Yes, as you've mentioned.”

She nodded at his swords. “Those are mine.”

“Oh.”

Wichtig handed the swords over with a philosophical shrug.
Easy come, easy go
.

“Vollk,” he said, “it seems I'll be needing your sword again.”

Sanity. Insanity. Genius. Rampant stupidity. Frankly, I can no longer tell them apart.

—F
EHLENDE
W
AHRHEIT
, G
EISTESKRANKEN
P
HILOSOPHER

T
he sun crept ever higher in the sky, replacing the damp chill with comfortable warmth and chasing away the thin morning clouds. Birds flew lazy circles overhead, and to the west something larger circled above where they'd left Wichtig's body.

Idiot, idiot, idiot,
Stehlen cursed over and over. How could the half-wit donkey-sticking fool let himself be killed by a child?
Gods, I hope he's writhing in embarrassment in the Afterdeath
. When she found him, she'd never let him live it down. And once she'd killed the boy and avenged Wichtig, the idiot Swordsman would owe her. She'd lord it over him forever!

Bedeckt, riding in front, looked back over his shoulder. “We should have buried him,” he said.

Stehlen snorted and spat noisily. Her horse's ears twitched away from the sound. Wichtig's horse, tethered to her own and
following behind, tried to slow but gave up when she turned her gaze on it. “The arsehole is dead,” she said. “Don't waste effort on spoiling meat.”

Bedeckt grimaced and said nothing.

“Seriously?” she asked. “Wichtig is suddenly more deserving of respect now he's dead? Is that what it takes for you?” She hawked and spat again. “Gods, you're a moron.”

Bedeckt, turning away, pretended he hadn't heard. He rested a calming hand on Launisch's neck. The coal-black war-horse's eye rolled as it tried to keep Stehlen in sight.

Just as well,
she thought. Sometimes the answers weren't worth having.

They rode in awkward silence for several minutes.

“We'll catch Morgen before the day is up,” said Stehlen.

“You sure?” asked Bedeckt, scanning the trees. “He could be anywhere.”

Stehlen rolled her eyes at Bedeckt's back. “No one hides anything from me. Not when I want it bad enough. And I want this—no one steals from me.” When Bedeckt nodded she figured he understood. Wichtig may have been a manipulative arrogant prick, but he was their friend. Morgen would die for killing him. If anyone got to kill Wichtig, it should be her. Morgen took that from her.

“Anyway, he won't go into the forest, he's afraid to get dirty. He'll stick to the road.”

Stehlen pushed the pace, driving her horse to take the lead. Bedeckt lagged behind. It was like the old goat—
damn, Wichtig always called him that
—didn't really want to catch the boy. Fine. If he didn't have the stomach for it, she was more than capable of killing the little bastard. She'd do it for Wichtig. She'd do it for Bedeckt. The old man was getting soft.

She slowed to let him catch up.

It was well into the afternoon when Bedeckt finally spotted the boy, a small, shuffling figure several hundred yards down the road. He knew a moment of regret. Why couldn't the lad have walked off into the trees and simply disappeared?

“Stehlen.”

“Hmm?” She broke off from glaring at the back of her horse's head.

“There's the boy. Let's do this carefully. Approach slowly, no threat.” When she scowled he added, “We don't know what he's capable of.”

She said nothing, just stared at him, her yellowy eyes narrow shards of anger.

They spurred their horses into a gentle trot and caught up with Morgen. If the boy heard them, he didn't react. He walked, head bowed, picking flecks of dried blood from his hands and arms. His fingernails were stained with gore. Bedeckt wheeled Launisch around to block the boy's path.

“Morgen,” he said gently, dismounting to stand before the boy.

The lad looked up to meet his eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “I tried to warn . . .” His eyes red, he glanced about as if searching for something. Nodding toward the side of the road, he said, “There it is.”

Bedeckt looked.
Nothing but a bunch of rocks
. “There what is?” he asked.

Morgen waved a hand as if trying to encompass everything. “Sometimes, there's just no knowing. Still, you have to make a choice. At some point you have to decide who—or what—to trust.”

Stehlen slid off her horse and stood beside Bedeckt, a hand resting menacingly on the pommel of her sword. “You killed Wichtig, you little bastard.”

“I had to. The fire showed me.”

Morgen glanced at Bedeckt, his eyes flat.
Gods, Wichtig's eyes looked just like that.
“Fire?” Bedeckt asked.

“He thought he could use me,” Morgen snarled with startling vehemence. Never before had Bedeckt heard anger from the boy.

Stehlen shoved Bedeckt aside.

“Can you bring him back?” she asked. Bedeckt saw naked hope on Stehlen's pinched face.

“Yes. But I'm not going to.”

Stehlen's sword hissed free of its sheath and glinted in the sun, and Bedeckt wondered if she took as good care of anything else as she did her blades.

“You might want to reconsider,” she said with cold calm.

“No.”

“I'll kill you.”

“You'll try.”

Bedeckt watched the meaning of Morgen's words dawn across Stehlen's face like a fire raging through dried leaves. “Shite.”

Stehlen moved.

With no time to draw a weapon, Bedeckt slammed into her from the side, his greater weight sending her sprawling in the dirt of the road. “Stehlen—”

She was up before he finished speaking her name. Bedeckt wished he'd spent time getting his ax from where it hung off Launisch's saddle instead of talking.

Stehlen advanced, death in her eyes. “He killed Wichtig,” she hissed. “He dies.”

Bedeckt stepped between her and the boy. He spoke fast, desperately trying to reason with her, or at least appeal to her greed. “We need him. Like you said, Wichtig is just spoiled meat. This boy will make us rich. But only if he's alive.” He saw in her face that he'd said the wrong thing. Because now she no longer looked like she'd kill the boy; she looked like she planned on killing Bedeckt instead.

Gods. Women. Who could understand them
?

“You bastard!” she spat, pointing the sword at his heart. “His
body
is spoiled meat. Wichtig is still our friend. He's one of us. He died when you ran away.” She advanced and Bedeckt retreated before her, keeping the boy behind him.

Shite, she's still angry about that?
“I didn't kill him. Then
or
now. This isn't my—”

“Coward.”

“Coward?” Bedeckt laughed. “How long have you known me? You think running away is on the list of things I won't do? When half a dozen Therianthrope come after you, only an idiot stands his ground.”

“The idiot was our friend.” She leaped forward, stabbing, and Bedeckt threw himself sideways. He landed hard, crushing the air from his lungs. When he rolled to his feet blood streamed down his side, pouring from a deep gash along his ribs.
Gods, she is fast
. He darted a look toward Launisch and the ax and she laughed evilly. “Forget it, old man.”

Bedeckt circled away and she followed, her sword darting and dancing. “I saved your life,” he said desperately. “Remember? The albtraum.”

“Which is why killing you is going to hurt.” She launched another series of blistering attacks, stabbing and slashing.

Bedeckt retreated before the onslaught, ducking and spinning. When she let up, Bedeckt, wheezing, bled from a dozen long wounds. His lungs burned fire.
She's toying with you
. The old murderous rage built within. He fought to strangle it, to bury it deep. He had to reason with her.

“Stehlen,” he gasped, “if you kill the boy, the Geborene win. He Ascends and becomes a god. We get nothing. Wichtig's death was for nothing.”

She stopped advancing and stared at him with a look of pity. “Moron,” she said. “Wichtig's death
was
for nothing. You
making money off the boy doesn't give it meaning. And the Geborene . . .” She laughed, a short bark of disgust. “They're as dumb as you are. Those you slay serve in the Afterdeath. That's the rule.” The words poured out of her in a torrent. “I kill the boy, he serves
me
. I will be served in the Afterdeath by a god.” Her voice cracked into a wet sob. “You think you're the only one with plans? You think I haven't thought this through? This was always the way it would end, from the moment we took him. How could you ever have trusted me? I am a Kleptic, I take. From everyone. No matter how much I love you.” Tears streamed freely down her face. “Wichtig's spirit is here now watching, waiting for its vengeance. I will give it to him.”

“No, you're wrong,” said Morgen from behind Bedeckt. “Wichtig's spirit is—”

“Damn it, shut up!” Bedeckt snapped.

Too late. Stehlen launched herself at Morgen with a snarl, all thought of killing Bedeckt washed away in a tide of hemorrhaging emotion. Bedeckt saw it as if time had slowed to a crawl: her rage made her careless. He sidestepped her charge, slamming the hardened fingers of his half hand into her throat. The force of the blow lifted her feet from the ground, sent her crumpling to the hard dirt of the road. She curled into a tight ball and made a raw choking sound as she fought to suck air past her crushed trachea. Bedeckt stood over her, unsure whether to bend to see if she was all right, or take this opportunity to run and get his ax.

He knelt beside her and rolled her onto her back, ready to defend himself. Her face turned blue, her eyes and tongue bulging. She shuddered with the attempt to draw air past her collapsed windpipe. With clawing fingers she grabbed at his sleeve, supplicating.

Bedeckt laid a calming palm on her forehead. “It's going to be okay,” he said. “Morgen, heal her. Quickly. She's dying.”

Morgen neither moved nor spoke. He stood watching, eyes wide.

“Gods damn it, child! Heal her. Heal her like you healed me.” Bedeckt reached for the boy but the lad backed away.

“This is as I saw it,” whispered Morgen. “The reflections didn't lie.”

“Heal her!”

“She dies here.” Morgen backed farther away. “She'll be waiting for you.”

Bedeckt cursed at the boy and turned back to Stehlen. Her spasms weakened, her face and tongue an angry, mottled purple. She grabbed weakly at Bedeckt's sleeve.

“One chance,” he said. “One chance.” He pushed Stehlen flat and drew one of her small knives from its place of concealment. Her eyes widened with dawning fear. “It's all right,” he said softly. “I saw this done once. On the battlefield. A long time ago.” He paused with the blade held to her throat, just below where he'd crushed it.
Will this work?
He couldn't remember how it had turned out last time. “Morgen,” he asked, desperate. “Will this work?”

Morgen fetched the rock he knew would be there at the side of the road. He hefted it with a grunt of effort and approached Bedeckt from behind. It took two hands and all his strength. He tried desperately not to think of the filth on the bottom of the rock. He tried to ignore the crawling feeling as something slimy and wriggling slipped across his fingers. Everything he'd seen had come true. This too must happen.

“Morgen, will this work?” Bedeckt asked.

He stared at the grizzled warrior's broadly muscled back and hefted the rock above his head. “Yes, and no.”

Bedeckt turned and Morgen brought the rock down with all
the force he could muster. There was a sickening crunch and Bedeckt collapsed forward to land on top of Stehlen. She struggled to push him away, but his weight and her weakness made the task impossible.

Morgen stepped forward to where Stehlen could see him over the bulk of Bedeckt sprawled on top of her.

“I'm sorry,” he said. She ceased her struggle and glared venomous hatred. “Had you killed me, we would have been the scourge of the Afterdeath. You're not well. You're . . . you're
crazy
. You hate everyone, even the people you love. And you hate yourself most of all.” She bubbled saliva, probably trying to spit at him. “But it isn't too late. The Afterdeath is just another life but with different rules. It's a chance to atone, to correct past mistakes.