Beyond Redemption (31 page)

The village was a sleepy farm community of perhaps thirty people who had yet to rouse themselves from bed when the two staggered into town. The roosters hadn't called the rising sun and a few dozen chickens wandered between houses in a lethargic hunt for dew worms. Even the town's dog population watched
their approach with soporific disinterest. The few people awake at this early hour gathered to stare as Erbrechen and Gehirn stood swaddled in ash-soaked shreds of gold banner.

Never before had Erbrechen felt such utter exhaustion. He was too tired for pretty speeches. Instead he lifted his hands to the sky and screamed “Mine!” at the top of his lungs. As more people heard the commotion and joined the gathering crowd, he screamed again.

“Mine!”

He screamed until he was hoarse. He screamed until he had thirty-some-odd new friends, and then retired to the most luxurious house the village had to offer. He wanted to send Gehirn to the basement but didn't dare let the Hassebrand stray far from his influence. Instead he had his new friends shutter the bedroom windows and draw tight the curtains. Later, once they brought him several huge platters of food, he asked them to build him a new tented litter.
Damned if I'll walk a step further than I have to
. Finally he summoned the town's mayor, whose room this had once been, to attend him.

“I want the town ready to move at sundown.”

The mayor, still wearing the nightclothes he had been sleeping in, stood with his mouth hanging open. “The town? Ready to move?”

Gods, I'm surrounded by idiots
. “Yes. I want everyone packed and ready to go. Gather all the horses and livestock you can. We will be moving quickly, so don't pack nonessentials like clothing.”

“No clothes?”

This fool will be the first in the pot
. “You don't have to travel naked,” explained Erbrechen impatiently. “Just don't bring
extra
clothes. Pack lots of food.” He studied the idiot mayor. “And make sure the seat on my new litter is well padded and comfortable.”

“Of course.” The mayor spun smartly and marched from the room, no doubt excited to be in charge of such arrangements.

Erbrechen glanced to where Gehirn sat huddled under a thick blanket, ignoring him. His chest tightened.

She said she loved me, that she'd love me even if she had a choice
.

She lied.

Gods, I'm so alone.

He bared his teeth at the Hassebrand's back. He didn't need her. He'd show her; she was nothing to him. Her betrayal didn't hurt.
She's disgusting,
he told himself, and this became truth. Erbrechen shivered at the memory of touching the woman. Tall and strong, she was the opposite of everything appealing.
Never again
.

When the sun fell below the horizon Gehirn and Erbrechen found the townsfolk gathered outside, awaiting them. Gehirn wore clothes she'd scavenged from the mayor's wardrobe while Erbrechen simply draped crisp new sheets across his copious torso. A makeshift litter, hastily constructed of wood torn from the closest houses, sat in the town center. Mounted atop it was a huge sofa heaped with cushions, all within a billowing tent.

“It lacks the class, style, and size of my previous ride,” announced Erbrechen, “but I am well enough pleased.”

With help from several of the town's larger men, he clambered to the sofa and collapsed into it with a contented sigh. Gehirn joined him on the litter and sat at his feet.

The Slaver waved at two young girls, a pair of blond sisters, to join him. Their parents beamed with pride at the honor. Only Gehirn averted her gaze, though she couldn't quite manage the disgust she strove for. All emotion had drained from her soul. She felt nothing Erbrechen did not first ask her to feel.

“Oh, come now,” chided Erbrechen as a dozen strong men hoisted the new litter into the air. “Don't look so glum, my friend. There will be plenty to burn soon enough.”

In an attempt to inspire his followers to set a hard pace, Erbrechen declared the last few people to make it into camp each night would be fodder for his stew. Not only would this keep him well fed, he confided to Gehirn, but also force his flock to stay close.

Gehirn understood: The closer they were, the stronger Erbrechen's grip on their minds. The stronger his grip, the more they believed in him and the stronger he became.

Late in the evening Erbrechen's new friends dragged down an elderly couple who lagged behind and butchered them for the Slaver's stew.

“I should have done this years ago,” Erbrechen joked to Gehirn. “I could have been a god already. It's good we found the mayor, he's very good at planning. I doubt
you
could have got an entire town packed and moving so efficiently.” He tutted happily. “It's good to have useful friends.”

Is he trying to make me jealous?
Sadly, it worked. She longed to go in search of the mayor and raze him to ash. It would have been nothing. A flicker of will, and hot dusty embers scattering in the wind like dancing fireflies. But Erbrechen wouldn't let her stray from the litter.

The Slaver pushed a hard pace. Unwilling as he was to stop for longer than was required for Gehirn to start a fire and cook a few sad souls, the caravan traveled through the night. When the sun rose, Gehirn crawled onto the rear of the litter and hid under heaped blankets. It was intolerably hot, and even so concealed from the sun, her flesh smoked. After the sun fell she arose, raw and sunburned red, and Erbrechen joked about how tasty she smelled, cooking under the blankets.

Each night she crawled forth, pink and raw, to once again sit at the front of the litter.

The caravan pushed toward Neidrig.

Each night the fire came a little easier and she found it more
difficult to stem the torrent of self-hatred and disgust fueling the spark.

No one noticed that she refused to partake of the offered foods. Instead she gathered trampled seeds and bits of root each time the caravan stopped. Someone, she suspected, sought to poison her. Since Erbrechen loved—or at least needed—her, the mayor became her prime suspect. She watched the self-important fool with growing distrust.

On the night Neidrig came into view, the mayor approached Gehirn with a bowl of stew.

“You haven't been eating,” he said, holding the bowl forward in offering. “I told Erbrechen and he told me to feed you.”

Gehirn glanced up at the Slaver sleeping atop his litter. One of his two pet girls had gone missing yesterday and the remaining sister slept curled under a heavy arm.

She turned to face the mayor. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

The man smiled.

Is he mocking me? I'll burn—

“You should eat. Erbrechen says so.”

“Erbrechen sleeps.”

“Still.” The mayor held the bowl higher, waving its meaty smell under her nose.

Gehirn looked again to Erbrechen. The Slaver snored with his labored breathing.
If he gets any fatter he'll simply die in his sleep
. The thought gave Gehirn some small sliver of pleasure. She returned her attention to the mayor.

“You show your hand too soon. You cannot replace me.” Gehirn gestured to Erbrechen. “He
needs
me. You?” She hissed like oil dancing across a hot skillet. “Merely useful.”

“He loves all of us,” said the mayor.

The Hassebrand incinerated the pompous mayor and watched soft ashes dance on the breeze.

If Erbrechen noticed the mayor's absence when he awoke, he made no mention of it.

Neidrig loomed close and the Slaver was vibrating like aspic in an earthquake. Small eyes peered greedily with the rapt concentration of a hungry baby seeing food almost within reach of its fat, grasping fingers.

Erbrechen scowled at Gehirn. “We should have been approaching this city with an army of ten thousand. You've really put me in a difficult and dangerous position.”

“The Cotardists—”

“Do not let me down again. I need you to be strong. I need you to be in control.”

But strength and control were mutually exclusive. Gehirn's power came from her very lack of control.
Every gods-damned fool in all the world knows this!

She opened her mouth to argue but instead nodded mutely. Erbrechen was right, Gehirn had let him down. Good intentions meant nothing.

Erbrechen watched the Hassebrand mumbling quietly to herself. Though the sun had not yet risen, smoke oozed from the neck and sleeves of the woman's robes. Erbrechen salivated at the smell of cooking human flesh while dreading the moment she finally cracked.

Only Erbrechen's need held the crumbling woman together. He desperately hoped he would find the child before Gehirn's fragile mind burned itself in a massive and all-consuming conflagration.

She'd lied to him. How could she, after all he'd done for her? He'd shared his stew, let her ride on his litter. He'd offered her love, given her the chance to be part of something truly astounding, and she repaid him with lies!

His chest hurt with the pain of betrayal. His heart felt like it was being clawed apart.

And yet he couldn't let go.

Erbrechen rubbed at his face and stared at chubby fingers when they came away damp.

She only loves me because she has to.

She'd burn him in an instant; he'd seen it in those cold blue eyes.

She's dangerous, so very, very dangerous.

Perhaps that was the appeal.

He watched the Hassebrand through slitted eyes, desperately wanting her love and disgusted with his need. He should send her away but knew he wouldn't. She hated him in a way none of his other friends were even capable of, and that he could not abide.

She will love me. All must love me!

I did what I had to do. I did what any man would do. The real crime here is not to be found in my actions, but rather in your inability to understand their necessity. These aren't rationalizations, they are the new truth.

—T
HE
T
RIAL OF
V
ERSKLAVEN
S
CHWACHE
, G
EFAHRGEIST
P
HILOSOPHER
(
SHORTLY BEFORE HIS ACQUITTAL
)

T
he inn was an assault on Asena's sense of smell. Beer, urine, blood, and sweat waged all-out war for dominance. The wood floorboards were still damp from spilled blood. Masse stood behind her, tasting the air with his sharp tongue. Bär and Stich stood nearby, waiting for her to take the lead. She could tell from Bär's flared nostrils and Stich's excited shiver that they too smelled blood. The innkeeper watched from behind the bar, making no attempt to welcome them to his establishment. Asena chose the table farthest from the stain. She didn't want Masse causing a scene, crawling around on the floor and flicking at the blood with his tongue. She sat and then waved four fingers at the innkeeper.

The man brought four ales with the boredom of someone who delivers drinks to groups of odd strangers as part of his daily existence. It was an act; Asena smelled fear.

When the drinks arrived, Asena gestured at Bär with a flick of a slim finger and he caught the innkeeper's wrist in his massive hand.

“We are looking for a boy,” she said. The innkeeper stood frozen in Bär's iron grip. “He has been here.” She sniffed at the air by way of explanation. “You would remember this boy.”

The innkeeper licked cracked lips, his gaze darting to the bloodstained floor. He squeaked as Bär tightened his fist about the man's thin arm. “A boy was here yesterday with a man claiming to be the Greatest Swordsman in the World.”

Asena snorted. “Another one of those.”

“Lebendig Durchdachter, the best blade this area has seen in a dozen generations, fled rather than face this man.”

“So?”

“The boy said the man is the Greatest Swordsman in the World,” said the innkeeper as if it explained everything.

Interesting. Morgen travels with the Greatest Swordsman in the World
. It didn't matter. It wasn't like she planned to have a sword fight with the man.

“I heard a boy brought a dead cat back to life,” said the innkeeper, desperate to gain some respite from Bär's crushing grip. “Must be the same boy.”

“You know where this happened?”

Again the innkeeper nodded.

“Tell me.”

WHEN ASENA LED
her Tiergeist from the Schwarze Beerdigung, they left behind a corpse swollen with poison. When the body was found it would be assumed the unfortunate innkeeper had somehow somehow stumbled across one of the rare poisonous
snakes in this area. Closer examination, of which there would likely be none, would have suggested the man fell into an entire pit of vipers.

They followed Asena's nose. Every few yards she stopped, dropping to all fours to sniff at the ground before leading them onward. She found the dead cat, spine and skull crushed, still twitching and dragging itself through a narrow alley. A trail of beggars followed the cat, proclaiming its divinity and protecting it from all who attempted to approach. In the short time she stood watching, a dozen more joined the crowd of worshipers. The cat smelled of Morgen. She found a few drops of the boy's blood nearby and swore vengeance upon all who had done him harm. They left the cat and its followers in the alley and followed the boy's trail. It became difficult, as someone had carried the child for a time, but Asena recognized the scent from the Schwarze Beerdigung: it could only be the World's Greatest Swordsman.

She stopped at the corner of two unnamed streets and turned to Bär, who followed close at her heels. “What would the World's Greatest Swordsman want with Morgen?”

“The boy is power,” Bär grunted. “Much as Konig—” He stopped in midsentence, staring past Asena. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest.

With an ear-shattering roar, Bär
twisted
.