Beyond Redemption by Michael R. Fletcher Page A

decided, too obvious, too unsubtle. When they came for her, there would be no warning.
    She did her best to shrug off the paranoia and hurried to her basement chambers. There was just enough time to burn a few of her imprisoned pet cats before rushing off for Unbrauchbar. She shivered with anticipation at the thought of yowling screams, flickering flames, and bubbling flesh. Only in fiery death could she find release.

    The three Doppels stood in a triangle watching each other carefully. Konig was off to some unknown meeting. They cared not.
    Trepidation stood ramrod straight, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if trying to protect himself from the world around him. “Gehirn is dangerous.”
    Abandonment glanced at the mirror and the reflections still gathered there. None reflected the positions of the Doppels. “Gehirn will betray us.”
    â€œShe’s too tall,” added Trepidation.
    The two Doppels looked to Acceptance.
    â€œGehirn is powerful and dangerous,” agreed Acceptance. “But her power is also her weakness. She is alone and afraid and this means I can manipulate her. She will be the vehicle of our vengeance. Gehirn will free us from Konig.”
    â€œWe can’t trust the Hassebrand,” counseled Abandonment.
    â€œI said nothing of trust. Once I have used her, we will kill her.”
    â€œKonig sent her away,” pointed out Abandonment.
    â€œWe can wait. When Gehirn returns, Konig shall burn.” Acceptance glanced toward the mirror. “And we’ll have to break the damned mirror before they become powerful enough to compete with us.”
    Trepidation huddled deeper into his arms. “Konig fears his Mirrorist tendencies more than he fears us. That fear blinds him. It distracts him. He still thinks we’re useful.”
    â€œWe are useful and we will remain useful. For now.” Acceptance studied the reflections gathered in the mirror. Did they listen? Could they hear what the Doppels planned?
    One of the reflections gave him the slightest nod.
    Interesting. Perhaps the reflections could be of use .
    â€œWe don’t break the mirror,” he said. For now .

CHAPTER 8
    Delusion is the food of the gods and they never go hungry.
    â€”H ALBER T OD , C OTARDIST P OET
    G ehirn huddled in the blacked-out carriage as it thundered along an unfinished road—really little more than a cleared path with occasional markers—toward Unbrauchbar. Every now and then she’d crack the curtain of the rear window and peer out until the burning sun drove her back into the darkness. A roiling storm cloud of dust chased the carriage.
    Three Krieger priests, the warrior sect of the Geborene Damonen, sat up front on a bench meant for two. The bulk of their thick padded armor, double-chain hauberk, longswords, and arbalests no doubt made for a tight fit.
    Why don’t they want to ride with me? Was something wrong? Did they know something she didn’t? Gods, this could be a trap! Have I become too unstable? Maybe Konig planned to have her killed somewhere safely distant.
    Gehirn worried, scratching at the back of her hands until they bled.
    No, she was being silly. Three lowly Krieger could never kill her, no matter how well trained or psychotically loyal. They didn’t sit back here because . . . because they didn’t like her.
    Gehirn stopped scratching and the wounds closed in seconds and faded to invisible in minutes.
    The Krieger drove the horses hard, exchanging them for fresh teams at each town. Not until night fell and the last crimson smear of sunlight vanished did they slow their mad pace and pull off the path to make camp. A large tent was set, wood gathered, blankets laid out, and the horses brushed down, watered, and fed.
    Gehirn gently lowered her portly frame from the wagon and stood peering around the campsite. She remained covered head to toe in heavy burgundy robes, the cowl still pulled forward to hide her face. She