Beyond Redemption (19 page)

One moment the hall was full of Swordswomen approaching Wichtig and Bedeckt with menacing intent, and the next only littered corpses remained.

Bedeckt, staring up from the floor, watched Wichtig blink in surprise, examine the hall of corpses, and frown in annoyance. Scores of dead littered the floor; far more than Bedeckt and Wichtig could account for.

Wichtig glanced down at Bedeckt. “I killed most of those.”

“Liar,” grunted Bedeckt through gritted teeth. Gods, everything hurt. He felt torn inside.

Wichtig shrugged philosophically and glanced again to the killing grounds. “I don't see Stehlen.”

“Go find her.”

“Notice how I'm the only one still standing?” Wichtig sheathed his swords and crossed his arms. “Not a cut on me. Not even a bruise. You look like shite. A child could finish you.”

Is this it?
Was this the moment Bedeckt had always known
would come? He tried to push himself up but his partial hand slipped on the blood-slicked stone and he collapsed with a pained groan. Wichtig stood over him. The bastard wasn't even breathing hard.

“So,” said Bedeckt, “this is where we find out who you really are.”

“I suppose it is.” Wichtig cocked an eyebrow. “Care to serve me in the Afterdeath?” He scanned the piled bodies. “Let me find you your ax.”

“So I can die with a weapon in hand?”

Wichtig snorted derisively. “So you can use it as a crutch, you crotchety old goat. In case you hadn't noticed—and I admit you seem pretty busy bleeding out all over the floor—I just saved your life. You can thank me later.” He found Bedeckt's ax buried in a body and returned with it held out in offering. “You're my friend. I am your friend.” He smiled sadly. “Someday you'll understand.”

Bedeckt stared mutely at the proffered ax, aware of Wichtig watching him closely.

“Hurt your feelings, did I?” grumbled Bedeckt. “I'm not falling for that.”

Wichtig tutted in mock disgust. “Let's see if we can find Stehlen.”

They found Stehlen sitting, back against the single door at the far end of the hall. A young, brown-eyed woman seemed to be taking a nap with her head resting in Stehlen's lap. Stehlen stroked the Swordswoman's short hair. As Wichtig approached with Bedeckt leaning heavily against him she looked up, face drawn and exhausted.

“Don't even bother,” she snarled. “You
know
I killed more than you did.”

Wichtig laughed happily as if it didn't matter. “Maybe. But I
saved Bedeckt's life while you cuddled corpses.” He looked again at the Swordswoman. He saw no visible wounds on the body. “She
is
dead, right?”

“Stabbed her in the back as she tried to flee. I saved both of you by killing the original,” she pointed out.

“You only knew to kill her because I told you to,” said Wichtig, ignoring the fact Bedeckt had told him in the first place.

“Is he okay?” she asked, nodding toward Bedeckt, who was making the surrounding floor slick with blood at an alarming rate.

“I'm fine,” slurred Bedeckt, realizing a long stream of sanguine drool was hanging from his open mouth and past his wobbling knees. If Wichtig released him, he'd collapse to the floor.

“He's fine,” agreed Wichtig. “He's just pissed off I saved his life. And he seems to have caught a wee sniffle.”

Bedeckt coughed weakly, met Stehlen's eyes with a bruised look, and spat bloodily on Wichtig's foot. White flecks of shattered teeth speckled the wet glob.

Stehlen gestured at Bedeckt. “He's bleeding.”

“Seeing as we may have to fight our way out of here,” drawled Wichtig, “I'm hoping you're sitting there for artistic reasons and not because you're unable to stand. Fighting while carrying the two of you might be awkward.” He said it as if awkward were an exaggeration and would be nothing at all.

Stehlen hated Wichtig more than ever. The gore-spattered half-wit seemed untouched. His hair wasn't even mussed. He looked perfect, every inch the bold hero. She hated and wanted him and hated herself for wanting him. She was going to either rut him or kill him.
Perhaps rut
and
kill him.
Wichtig could stick her, and then she'd stick him back. Her attempted smile died when Wichtig averted his eyes in disgust. Some wounds never heal.

Stehlen shoved the dead woman away and stood, carefully hiding the hurt. “Let's get out of here.” She could tell herself she was used to this. She could tell herself she had long ago gotten over the fact that men shied from her smile.

“No,” mumbled Bedeckt. “The boy. We take him with us.” One of his eyes had swollen completely shut and he glared at Stehlen through the other with feral desperation. “We came this far. I'll last until we're out of here.” He wobbled unsteadily. “Just have to stop the bleeding.”

Stehlen and Wichtig exchanged doubting looks, but neither wanted to leave here without the loot. Even if the loot was some godling-in-training brat.

“Stehlen, can you open the door?” Bedeckt asked.

She glanced over her shoulder at the door. “It isn't locked.”

“How can you—” Wichtig stopped when he noticed the disgusted look Stehlen gave him. “Right.”

Wichtig propped Bedeckt against the wall and the old goat sticker slid immediately to the floor.
Ah well, as good a place as any. At least he's out of the way.

Leaving Bedeckt, Wichtig stood poised with sword drawn as Stehlen opened the door. A thin blond child with bright blue eyes stood in the center of a well-appointed bedroom. It was the bedroom every boy dreams of. Toys sat piled in boxes or littered across the floor, left where they'd been dropped by an active and roving imagination. And the masterpiece: a detailed model city replete with peasants, animals, and city guard sprawled across a huge oak table.

But Wichtig was focused on the would-be god. The boy looked nothing like Fluch, Wichtig's son, but still Wichtig found himself thinking back to the last time he saw his boy. He hadn't even said good-bye. He hadn't meant to leave his son, only his
unforgiving shrew of a wife. It suddenly dawned on him, the happiest moment of his life had been holding his newborn son and watching as his wife, exhausted from a long and difficult childbirth, slept. He often thought about returning to Traurig and seeking her out. He had no doubt he could persuade her to take him back; he'd always been able to talk her around to his point of view. He remembered the smell of her thick, dark hair and the curve of her hips . . .

“I heard fighting in the hall,” said the boy.

The child's calm question brought Wichtig back to the present. Intelligent blue eyes stared up at him. Trusting eyes. If you raised your future god, would you teach him deceit and deception? Wichtig thought not. He searched his memory for a name.

“Konig sent us. You're in grave danger. You must come with us.”

The boy stared at him, face expressionless, and Wichtig knew a rare moment of doubt; did the child see through him? Unsure what to do, he struck his best heroic pose.

“I've read about you,” the boy said.

“You have?” Wichtig asked, surprised.

“Yes. You're a hero.”

Hero?
Wichtig bowed with a perfect flourish of his sword. “Wichtig Lügner. The World's Greatest Swordsman. At your service.”

“I'm Morgen,” the boy answered.

“Hells,” Stehlen muttered quietly to Bedeckt. “I can actually see Wichtig's head swelling.”

Wichtig ignored her. Only the child mattered. Selling this would-be god for ransom was the plan of an unimaginative mind. For now Wichtig understood the true value of the child. The boy was the ultimate means to the ultimate end. He stood aside so the lad could see the corpse-strewn hallway. No need to say anything, let the child come to his own conclusions.

Wichtig watched closely as the boy displayed emotion for the
first time. Morgen's eyes widened in shock as he saw the bloody scene. He looked past Wichtig at Stehlen and Bedeckt, taking in their brutal appearance. His gaze flicked to the floor and the many identical corpses.

“Viele Sindein. She's been my bodyguard since . . .” Morgen trailed off. “Forever,” he whispered. “I've never seen her be so many. Usually she's just two. They argue a lot.” He glanced at Wichtig and said, “I don't think they like each other,” as if sharing a secret.

“She was going to kill you,” said Wichtig quickly. “We had to stop her.”

“We don't have time for this,” growled Stehlen from the hall. “Knock the kid out and let's be gone. Bedeckt is bleeding out.”

The boy glanced at Stehlen. “I don't think you'll hurt me.”

Wichtig watched, amazed, as Stehlen looked away uncomfortably. She opened her mouth and then slammed it shut with a clack.
Is she about to apologize?

“Sorry,” she said, looking as surprised as Wichtig felt.

Impossible!

Wichtig snorted a short laugh and put on his best charming smile. “Come. We have to take you to safety.”

“Okay. But I have to wash my hands first.”

While the boy scrubbed at his already clean hands, they stanched the worst of Bedeckt's wounds.

“Needs a real healer,” whispered Stehlen.

Wichtig agreed but said nothing. They had no time for finding healers; they had to get out of Selbsthass fast.

When Morgen returned, he watched with curious distaste, careful to stand at a safe distance. When blood spattered near his feet, he shied away with careful steps.

Like the kid never saw blood before,
mused Wichtig.

A few minutes later they retraced their steps through the ancient castle. Wichtig led the way, one hand resting protectively
on Morgen's shoulder, while Stehlen followed with a pale and semiconscious Bedeckt leaning heavily against her.

Wichtig noticed he'd left a large bloody handprint on the child's thin shoulder. A little dirty reality would only serve to further the boy's dependence on him. He'd never been a hero before and looked forward to playing the role—actually performing it, and not just looking the part. It felt easy, natural. Hero was definitely the part he was destined to play.

He looked around him. For all the noise they'd made fighting Morgen's guard, apparently the tower's separation from the rest of the church had been enough. They walked empty halls and saw no one.

Stehlen struggled to keep Bedeckt on his feet. He slowed with each step.

I should leave him here.
Her gut churned at the thought.

“You're slowing me down, you useless sack of dog turds,” she whispered into the gristly remains of his left ear. She wasn't sure if he heard. “Don't make me leave you here. Don't do that to me.”

“Stupid . . .”

“What?”

“Bitch,” Bedeckt finished.

Well, better than nothing. If he had the strength to be an insulting arsehole, he wasn't dead yet. She flared her nostrils, testing the air. Bedeckt reeked of blood and sweat and unwashed old man. There was something else in the air. Something undefinable, but something she knew.