Beyond Redemption (41 page)

“What the hells are you doing?” Wichtig drawled, sounding unconcerned.

Morgen drove the knife downward with all his strength.

Bedeckt wandered in the dark until he felt sure Stehlen wasn't following. It was pointless. If she really wanted to trail him, he'd never know. The woman moved like a spider. This time he refrained from lighting a fire.
No point in making it easier for her.
Sure, he'd be cold and miserable, but at least he'd be alone.

Once he'd settled in and the local fauna accepted his presence, the forest noises returned to their normal nighttime level with the tree frogs leading the way.

“You might as well join me,” he called to the trees to no effect.
If Stehlen was watching, she remained quiet and hidden.
Perhaps the best I can hope for.

He sat in the dark, the damp earth slowly soaking the arse of his pants. It was so rare to have the time or quiet to think. The constant bickering of his companions was a distraction. He found himself thinking about Morgen. There was something about the boy Bedeckt couldn't help but like. The lad's innocence was a nice change from the brutal, self-serving violence of Wichtig and Stehlen—hell, of himself, for that matter. The boy listened, feigning attentiveness, when Wichtig blathered on in his never-ending attempts at manipulation. In truth, Bedeckt doubted the Swordsman was even aware of what he did. Instinct and habit drove him more than any directed desire. Wichtig had neither the brains nor the attention span to maintain a plan for longer than it took for the next shiny idea to cross his path.

Morgen, suspected Bedeckt, saw through Wichtig's endless crap. It was like the boy humored the Swordsman rather than hurt his feelings. Bedeckt couldn't think of anyone else who would be so kind.

Bedeckt bent and picked up a nearby stick. He poked at the ground as if working a fire.

He owed the boy a debt. Morgen had saved his life. He'd been dying after they'd taken him from Selbsthass, bleeding out his life from scores of wounds. Stehlen and Wichtig would have left him to die. Sure, they would have raced about, ineffectually trying to save him, but too much damage had been done. Stehlen, ever the pragmatist, would have seen it first. Bedeckt had been teetering on the edge of stepping into the Afterdeath. He remembered seeing his father. A dream?

The boy never talked of saving his life. He'd returned Bedeckt to health and not once made mention of a favor owed. Then Morgen had literally brought Wichtig back from the dead. The lad
acted as if the deeds were beneath notice, not worthy of comment. Something he'd done and promptly forgotten about. Much as he wanted to, Bedeckt couldn't forget. He owed the boy his life.

“You might as well join me,” Bedeckt again said to the night. Nothing. Either Stehlen hadn't bothered to follow, or chose, for whatever reason, to remain hidden.

Bedeckt chuckled. “There isn't really a plan,” he admitted to the dark. “I don't know how to ransom the boy back.” He sighed. “I had an idea, but it went to shite when Konig sent his Tiergeist to kill the boy.”

Maybe Wichtig is right. Maybe my plans are all shite.

“I don't know what I'm doing anymore,” he said to the tree frogs as he poked at the damp soil with his stick. “This was supposed to be the end, a last big score to make up for all the colossal failures.” He shook his scarred head. “It won't work. If Konig wants the boy dead, who the hells can we sell him to?”

Water dropped from the leaves above and ran trickling down his neck. He shivered and scowled into the caliginous canopy above. He sat up suddenly.

“That's why Konig wants the boy dead. Gods damn it to all the hells, I can't believe I didn't see this before. The boy has to die to Ascend. Konig doesn't have to pay ransom, all he has to do is kill the lad.” He thought it through to the only logical end he could see. He felt the tug of old scars as he bared his teeth in a grin. “If Konig wants the boy dead, we keep him alive! We threaten to keep him alive forever. No dead Morgen, no Geborene god. Konig will pay us to kill the lad!”

So simple, so perfect!

And then his shoulders slumped.

It can't possibly work
.

The more he thought on it, though, the more his confidence returned. Yes, the new plan wasn't without its faults. But he felt
he could bring it off. Luckily, his companions would never think to question him.

You owe Morgen your life. Are you really going to kill him
?

Bedeckt shoved his worries aside. Promising Konig he'd murder Morgen for money didn't mean he actually had to kill the boy. Bedeckt had lied once or twice before.

DAWN FOUND HIM
cold and damp and covered in snails. In the dewy morning light he easily followed his tracks back to where Stehlen had joined him, and from there to their original camp.

Launisch and the other horses looked dejected and sodden; their saddles and blankets hadn't been removed from the previous night. Launisch gave Bedeckt a reproachful glare as he entered the clearing. Wichtig still slept, wrapped tight in his sleeping roll, and Stehlen sat crouched nearby on her haunches. The fire had long since gone out and she stared into its soggy remains.

“Gods damn it,” growled Bedeckt. “Can't you two idiots think to care for the horses when I'm not around? Do I have to tell you everything?” He gestured at the dead fire. “Thanks again. I was looking forward to a hot breakfast.” He noticed Morgen's empty sleeping roll. “Where's Morgen?” he asked Stehlen.

“Gone,” she said without looking up.

“Gone? That's bad. We kind of need him. Sort of integral to the whole kidnapping and ransom plan.” He scowled at Wichtig's sleeping form. “Wake the idiot up. Let's go looking for the boy. He can't have gone far.”

Stehlen finally looked up, her eyes rimmed red with tears. She looked exhausted, like she'd been crying for hours. “Wichtig is dead.”

Bedeckt studied the motionless Swordsman. The blanket didn't rise and fall with the intake and exhalation of breath.
“He's not faking?” he asked. “If this is one of his pranks . . . if I check and he attempts to startle me, I'll kill him.”

“Dead. Stabbed in the guts. He took hours to bleed out.” She snorted and blew a wad of snot from a nostril. “He was wrapped too tightly in his sleeping roll. Couldn't defend himself.”

Bedeckt stepped across the dead fire and gave Wichtig a shove with a booted toe. The Swordsman rolled onto his back and stared, eyes unblinking, into the overcast sky. His skin shone pale, glistening with the morning dew. A fly landed on an open eye, pausing to drink from the dampness gathered there.

Dead like the fire,
thought Bedeckt. His mind, still sluggish, struggled to accept this. “Who?” he asked.

“Morgen,” said Stehlen. “No other tracks. Used one of my knives.” She shook, her entire body shuddering with jerky spasms. Bedeckt couldn't tell if it was submerged rage or anguish. “He's dead.” Somewhere between lamentation and threat.

Bedeckt looked away, uncomfortable with her show of emotion but even more uncomfortable with his own feelings. Wichtig had spent years trying to manipulate Bedeckt, always seeking advantage. And yet . . .

“Stupid bastard,” Bedeckt swore under his breath, unsure if he meant Wichtig or Morgen . . . or himself.

“He looked up to you like a father,” muttered Stehlen.

“Horse shite. I was just another person he could use.”

“Why do you think he stayed with you so long? All the manipulation crap was for his own benefit.”

“I know—”

“No,” she said, chopping the air with a sharp wave. “Not like that. I mean . . . he needed to
think
he didn't need you. He needed to think he used you. Wichtig lied to himself more than he lied to anyone. He needed you. Your direction. Your guidance.” She swore quietly and spat into the ashes. “Your approval.”

Have I lost another friend to pointless violence?

“No,” he said. “You're wrong. Wichtig is a lying, manipulative, self-serving bastard.”

“Was,” Stehlen corrected angrily.

“You saw how he acted around the boy. I'm guessing he pushed it too far, wasn't as glib and silver-tongued as he thought. Morgen saw through him. Killed him for it.”

“He was just a boy,” she whispered, and Bedeckt wasn't sure whom she meant.

Stehlen crouched, arms wrapped tightly around her chest, rocking slowly. She made a high-pitched keening.

“We go after him,” Bedeckt said.

“We go after him,” she agreed.

What they would do once they caught him, he didn't know, but there was definitely a lack of plan without him. “Which way did he go?” he asked.

She pointed east, back toward Neidrig.

Bedeckt opened his mouth to speak and then remembered Morgen saying they'd end up going east. When had he said that? Back in the inn where he'd brought Wichtig back from the Afterdeath? Bedeckt wished he could remember more of what had been said, but the hangover he'd suffered at the time obliterated almost everything.

“You've already been through his stuff?” Bedeckt asked.

Stehlen gave him a disdainful look.

“Did he have much coin?”

She spat into the sludgy ash of the dead fire. “Cretinous turd died a pauper.”

No doubt she lied, she couldn't help herself. He didn't care.

Bedeckt thought back to the previous night.
Another plan turned to shite
.

“Fine,” he said. “We ride east.”

Wichtig sat up in a sudden convulsion and clutched at his guts. Nothing. No stabbing fire. No icy steel. Only the distant memory of pain.

Hell of a dream,
he thought, kicking aside his sleeping roll and standing. The fire had long gone out and naught remained but damp ash. Morgen, Bedeckt, and Stehlen were nowhere to be seen, their packs and gear gone too.

“They left me here! Took my damned horse too.”

No. Something didn't feel right. He stood and gazed east. East. He had to go east.

“Why east?” he asked the gray sky. “We headed west toward Folgen Sienie in Reichweite.” And then he remembered asking Morgen if they'd make it to Folgen Sienie and the answering look on the boy's face. “Right. We were never going to make it anyway. So . . . I'm going east.”

Wichtig bent to pack his gear and sleeping roll and stopped when he saw the bloodstained sheet. His guts tightened. He looked to the gray sky. He looked to the bent and grizzled trees. No life. No real color. Everything appeared gray, faded.

Only a true artist,
he told himself,
would notice the difference
.

It helped that he'd been here before.

“I'm dead,” he said flatly. “Again.”

Die with your boots on, they always say. That which is buried with you or is on your body when you die will be there in the Afterdeath.

Since his last death he'd taken to sleeping with his boots on. This time he was ready. He'd stashed some gold in each boot and slept wearing his swords.

Wichtig pulled off his boots and searched about within. Empty. He stared dumbly into them. Nothing in there but foot odor.

“Oh, Stehlen, you gods-damned bitch.” She'd robbed him.

But when?

Does it matter?

No. Not really. The last time he had been here, it wasn't like he'd needed money anyway.

He stared east, knowing now why he had to go there.

“And so soon after the last time.” He thought he'd have longer. He thought he'd have a
lot
longer. “I'm not finished yet!” he called to the eastern sky. “The boy-god may think he's done with me, but I am not finished with him!”

“Hey, arsehole.”

Wichtig spun, startled. A considerable crowd stood gathered behind him, watching and listening. Had he not been so confident he looked great, he'd have been tempted to be embarrassed.

A scarred brute of a man stepped forward, rolling muscled shoulders and glaring at Wichtig. He looked familiar.