Last Life

IT TOOK US LESS THAN A DAY to reach the manor of the Vintervald merchant who covered for the affairs of the priests of the Frost Temple. Jacques said two days, but he and Lucas were traveling in a small wagon specially purchased in Fjordgrad’s market. We meanwhile rode on horseback, and each with a backup steed which saved significant time.

Beyond Sigurd, Aelira and Jacques, I took Lucas with me as well. He didn’t need much convincing. When I offered to let him take part in our mission, he agreed without even thinking it through. Like my bodyguards, he had old scores to settle with the priests. Plus everyone taking part was promised a share. So the members of my squad were highly motivated.

The merchant’s dwelling was hard to call a mansion in the standard sense of the word. It would have been better to call it a small wooden fortress surrounded by a stockade wall and located on a riverbank. The owner went all out providing for its security. However, there was no other option in this harsh landscape.

We set up a temporary camp in a small glade not far from the merchant’s residence. And now, bunched up among trees on the forest’s edge, we were observing an empty caravan departing from the fortress headed by a broad-shouldered, black-bearded northerner riding atop a large horse. Next to him, rocking in the saddle, rode my old friend Arvid Ulsson. Based on the resemblance between the pair, it wasn’t hard to guess that the black-bearded man was Arvid’s father.

“Where are they headed at this time of night?” Lucas muttered.

“Fjordgrad,” Jacques replied, riding next to me. “I think by sundown they’ll make it to the inn. They must not want to spend too much time around the priests. Arvid complained to me that the ‘frosties’ made him feel beside himself. I’d bet anything his dad thinks the same way.”

Then I added:

“All the better for us. Less fuss.”

There I agreed with him. Arvid’s father had ten fighters in tow. They of course were real fighters. I recalled the criminals beating them up over the son’s debt that time but, in any case, their departure made our job easier.

A few moments later, Lucas got on guard. I just nodded to myself. Jacques’ war buddy had finely tuned senses. He also sensed our scouts approaching.

“Beyond the five knights, the manor is guarded by seven soldiers,” Sigurd reported a few minutes later. “The fortress owner’s servants are nowhere to be seen. I don’t think they are there at all. But that makes sense: the priests don’t want people sticking their noses into their business. By the way, there are three of them.”

“Know any of them?” I asked.

“All of them,” Sigurd nodded. “You’ve met one of the priests before, too.”

“Eimund Larsson?”

“That’s the one,” Sigurd confirmed and a predatory smile warped his face. “He has two people with him. Gird Rante, and Ulrich Jensen. I’m particularly glad to see Ulrich. Let me warn you now — he’s mine.”

“Scores to settle?” I asked.

“This is his handiwork,” Sigurd said, pointing a finger at his face. “It’s time to repay the favor.”

“Alright,” I nodded and added harshly:

“But let me warn you — business first.”

Then I turned my icy gaze on everyone there and said:

“That goes for everyone.”

“Yes, Your Worship…”

I glanced at Sigurd and asked:

“What do you say about strykers?”

“All five are experts,” he replied. “When I was in the order, two of them were still initiates. Jan Burns is the commander of the five. A real villain. He fled from the Foggy Isles and joined up with the order. A clever, bloodthirsty bastard. He put together a team of people just like himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were the ones guarding the slaves.”

“Alright,” I nodded. “I’ve seen all I care to. As planned, let’s start at Shadow Hour. And for now, let’s get back to camp.”

Letting everyone else go ahead, I held back Aelira, who had been casting impatient looks my way all that time. Sigurd glanced at us but then, clearly having guessed what we were talking about, headed for camp.

I nodded at Aelira.

“I see you sensed something, too.”

Sigurd’s wife looked gloomily toward the darkening fortress walls.

“I sense death in there. Old, vile death… A bad place. Many souls have met their end there.”

“I assume you’ve seen similar things before?” I asked.

“Yes,” she responded. “When I freed my husband from the order’s dungeon. The smell of death there came from the altar of Hoar the Wicked, which was where the priests carried out their bloody rituals.”

Hm… If Aelira’s senses could be trusted, the “frosties” had erected a new altar under Bjørn Sharptooth’s very nose. I was actually curious whether the konung knew.

“So, are we going to destroy this place?” Aelira looked at me with desperate hope.

“It’s the only way,” I reassured her. “There can’t be any witnesses or evidence left behind.”

Sigurd’s wife breathed a sigh of relief and again looked toward the manor, which from the distance resembled a dark angular monster. The look in Aelira’s eyes burned with hate and another thing — anticipation of our imminent revenge.

* * *

The Shadow Hour was what the people of this world called the period between three and five in the morning. Locals thought that it was a time when ancient spirits known as shades sometimes emerged from the Shadow into the undermoon world. These creatures not only sucked the souls out of those born beneath the sun, they also sometimes took over their bodies so they could continue hunting.

The first time I heard that legend from Bertrand, I praised myself for not telling anyone about the real me. For the record, my mystery benefactor had cast my energy body into this world during the Shadow Hour. So Bertrand, who had a fervent belief in such mysticism, would consider me a real-life shade who had taken over the body of his beloved master.

Walking up unnoticed to the manor walls was not particularly difficult, especially when heavy black clouds covered the sky as if on cue, blocking the moon with their dark gray bodies.

The sleepy sentries, warming themselves near fires burning on the causeway, did not notice our approach, nor the two dark silhouettes that climbed over the wall with lightning speed. They also didn’t notice the instant when their souls were sent to another world.

Sigurd and Aelira went up on the wall and before two minutes had passed, two ropes fell down the wall like dark snakes.

I climbed up the wall much faster than Lucas, who then pulled Jacques up after he was finished. I of course could have climbed up the wall without a rope and helped take down the sentries, but I reasonably concluded that first of all, I had no reason yet to show off my abilities, and second, I had no reason to charge in front of the formation with my status. I had hired these people specifically so I wouldn’t have to be in the front ranks for attacks. What was more, they were doing a great job without me so far.

And so — four defenders down. The fortress walls were under our control.

While Sigurd and Aelira moved from different directions toward the main building like wordless specters, Jacques, Lucas, and I took convenient positions and readied our bows to fire.

Sigurd had suggested this plan of action. He said we would be more useful this way. And it would be easier for him. When the mage battle began, he didn’t want to be constantly distracted worrying about my safety. Beyond that, five experts versus one of the most powerful avants in Mainland was sure to be a quick fight. I was only in favor of the formation.

The few torches hung at miserly gaps on the walls drove off the darkness inconsistently, casting shadows on the stone pavement of the fortress’ internal courtyard. The constant guardians gave off light that danced in the air like wild spirits, unconfidently casting their flickering glow on the walls, increasing the contrast between light and shadow.

It had gotten a lot colder as if the icy breath of a gigantic monster had fallen to earth, making everything empty and dead. The sounds of the night seeped into the gloomy wooden carcass, interweaving with the rustling of the wind and the distant whisper of the forest.

It was hard to trace the movements of our shock troops. Sigurd had gone invisible in his armor. Essentially, I could only see him thanks to my seer gift. For the record, the stryker that took me prisoner that night on the frontier was a good deal less skilled than bodyguard when it came to stealth. The avant demonstrated an example of ideal melding with his armor.

Aelira meanwhile, thanks to her beast gift, kept to the shadows, showing off the amazing effects of camouflage. When the silence of the night was broken by a prolonged creaking of a door, a redheaded fat man emerged from a building next to the main one with a yawn to find my bodyguard already behind him.

Looking around half blind, the man tried to yawn again, but just then a shadow behind his back started moving and his mouth was covered by a hand with animal claws. A sharp burst of a second clawed paw turned his throat and neck into a mess of blood.

One more down…

Aelira, who looked frail and dainty compared to the big man, dragged his hefty body into the shadows with relative ease as it writhed in predeath convulsions. And she did it all without making the slightest sound. I could sense her wealth of experience. Somehow, that woman had managed on her own to free her husband from the dungeons of the Frost Temple.

I turned to look at Sigurd. He just so happened to be walking up to the western wall of the main building and stopped for a second. A few moments later, he disappeared around the building’s corner. Aelira then, who had disposed of the corpse in the meantime, ducked into the door the big man had left open.

As if on cue, we raised our bows and got ready to fire.

For the first few minutes, nothing happened. Then, her supple shadow reemerged from the door she ducked into.

She looked my way and raised her right beast paw, which was bathed in blood that steamed in the frosty air. After showing me two clawed paws, she ran her hand lengthwise across her throat.

Another two down…

I nodded and gave the signal to Jacques and Lucas. Time to come down. The rest of the opponents were in the main building, and I could already hear screaming and noise coming from there.

When Aelira heard, she dashed forward. Just then, the hefty front door of the main building flew open and, from inside, stumbling and weaving, a man fell out in his underwear.

The whole right side of his carcass was bloodied. Glancing around stunned and rasping mutedly, he was holding his left hand where his right shoulder and arm once had been. Legs giving out, he took a few steps back, tripped and fell to the snow. With a few twitches, he quieted down.

Running over to the dead man, I noticed in true vision the remaining emanations of lilac mana. That must have been the first expert who fell to Sigurd’s sword.

Aelira ran past the dying stryker, bent down sharply, and split open the back of his head with her clawed paw. Meanwhile, an animal roar burst from her throat, sending chills over my body.

The soul of yet another opponent drifted off to be reborn in another world.

Aelira first jumped into the building, then dashed toward the cries of pain coming from within. We meanwhile waited a bit and followed after her, ready to stick an arrow into anyone that tried to come after us.

While we walked across a wide entryway, the floor, and walls of which were covered in fresh blood, the far door, camouflaged in the wall, came open and from inside jumped my old friend — Eimund Larsson in the flesh.

The priest was wearing a long nightgown and thick cloak. Now, he looked even skinnier. But despite his apparent frailty, the priest was carrying a large sack. Scanning revealed that it contained lots of magic items.

The old man spotted us and froze for a second. Our faces were covered with cloth, so the question he asked was purely logical:

“Who are you and what gives you the right to come barging onto the property of an honest merchant?!” the priest’s voice sounded relatively confident despite it all.

Beyond that, nobody killed him right away, so Eimund took our actions for lack of confidence.

“Every last one of you will be put on pikes!” the priest’s voice gained strength.

And I could tell why. In true vision, I saw the ice amulet on his chest start to swell with a strange black magic. I had never seen magic like it before. The priest and I were less than twenty paces apart, but the emanations from the thing on his chest were making my inner nature squirm. I looked closer and saw that the black mana dripping into his amulet was coming from a large coal-black brut the priest was squeezing in his left hand.

I realized that something irreversible was about to happen, so I gave the command:

“Kill!”

And right then, with a sharp whistle, three arrows sunk into the old man’s chest, ending his life. When he fell to the floor with a loud sob, I breathed a sigh of relief. The black mana instantly turned back into the brut in the priest’s hand like the tentacle of some horrid creature. And that disgusting, nasty feeling went away. The unknown energy must have been completely safe inside the brut.

I turned and met the stunned gaze of Lucas. He seemed to sense it as well.

“Death magic,” he rasped with a parched throat.

I just nodded in silence back. I could talk with him later.

The heavy footsteps coming from the hallway made us draw our bows.

“Your Worship!” Sigurd said. “Don’t shoot! It’s me!”

“Come out!” I shouted back, not lowering my bow. Jacques and Lucas followed my example.

The stryker’s stocky figure appeared in the dark doorway. He raised both hands and said:

“It’s over, Your Worship. The fortress is ours.”

“Excellent work,” I nodded, making sure it really was him before lowering the bow. “Where is Aelira?”

“In the basement,” the stryker replied and, making a half turn, raised his hand to beckon us. “There’s something you have to see, Your Worship.”

The farther down the stairs into the manor’s basement we went, the more I felt nausea rolling up my throat from my stomach. Jacques had already vomited once. Now he was behind me squeezing his nose and mouth with a rag and muttering curses at the priests and their cronies.

The unbearable stench, a mixture of putrid rot, excrement, and mildew wafted up from the depths of the basement. Then, I understood what Aelira was trying to tell me. I could sense it too. Emanations of death magic. The same that was bound up in the black brut.

When we finally made it down into the basement, we were overwhelmed by an inky darkness, which Lucas’ torch was scarcely able to combat. Thick, almost viscous air instantly filled our lungs, inspiring another wave of nausea. My heart pounded furiously while a terrifying sound rang in my ears. It was hard keeping myself together.

Walking behind Sigurd’s broad back, I looked at everything around. The basement walls were made of crude stone, dripping with icy moisture. It was as if the walls themselves were crying, hiding their horrifying mysteries from the world. The floor was a filth-blackened stone tile, covered in lots of spots of unknown origin.

When we finally made it to our destination, I realized that our guesses about the altar were right. The walls of this part of the basement were covered in symbols and designs made in some black substance with a structure similar to magic inks.

The floor was littered with bones and scraps of clothing. In the middle of the room was a stone table covered with a film of darkened blood.

Next to the table, we discovered Aelira. She paid no one any mind, grunted slightly and tried to pull something off the vile altar.

I walked closer and a ghastly scene presented itself. On the table lay a naked girl with arms and legs tied up. Aelira tried to tear one of the straps to free the prisoner’s right hand.

She looked to be nineteen or twenty years old. Scanning revealed that we were dealing with a true gifted person. Honestly though, I was having a hard time seeing it.

Based on her reasonably developed constitution and energy system — she was no softy, and clearly not from the poorer strata.

She was blonde with proper facial features and big turquoise eyes that looked at us searchingly with utter shock. It made the impression she could see straight through me. Then it hit me: this strange, gifted woman was a seer just like me.