Last Life

“I SEE YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY,” I said to Sigurd and Aelira, nodding at the table.

On it was a small box made of black ebony, the sides and top of which were covered in a thick layer of small runes. In true vision, the writing glowed with a dark lilac magic. When I saw them, I was very surprised to discover I knew the language. Apparently, the priests of the Frost Temple didn’t shy away from witching magic when they stood to benefit. In this case, it was some complicated concealment curse. I made a note to myself to figure out the runes later.

These priests had plenty to hide. Inside the box were three small black bruts and a narrow, very sharp dagger I first took for a common hunk of dark glass. Then, looking closer at the strange and clearly magic weapon, I concluded that we had found a sacrificial knife. As an aside, the energy structure of the knife was in some way reminiscent of the energy structure of the ghost dagger I had lost to the Wild Duke. The pommel of the strange blade was shaped like an ice spider and any of the black bruts could be placed in its arms. And I recognized the shape of the arachnid. It looked a lot like a weaver spider.

Sigurd and Aelira said nothing. But I saw that the pair had something to say. Much the same as me, as well and Jacques and Lucas, who were currently busy loading our spoils onto horses.

For the first hour after our assault, my people and I had undertaken a thoughtful and meticulous survey of the manor. And the longer we went, the viler our finds became.

Beyond the woman we took off the altar, there were no living slaves left. Jacques and I had found mummy-like desiccated corpses in one of the barns. They lay there in rows, naked, cast carelessly around like unwanted wooden toys. Several dozen men and women… I also saw a few children…

Right then, Jacques and I traded glances and shot each other understanding nods. When I bought our boys from Arvid, I had essentially saved them from this very tragic fate.

I saw Jacques’ jaws grinding. I could tell by his cloudy gaze that the priests had earned themselves another sworn enemy today.

After carefully examining several of the bodies, I discovered one hard rule. All of them had been killed with a single accurate blow to the heart. Meanwhile, the dried blood around the wound looked like coal-black tar and radiated slightly with death magic. There could be no doubts — all these unfortunate souls had been sacrificed. My sixth sense was telling me that there was a connection between the black bruts and human sacrifices.

I glanced at the tabletop where three black bruts lay next to a box alongside three ice amulets taken off the bodies of the dead priests. Beyond the controversial items, we also made off with a small chest of whole bruts — clearly what Lucas had seen when he climbed up to scout that night in the inn — another chest filled with thick bags of magic dust, two crates of various magical artifacts such as fangs, scales, and claws from shadow beasts, three small boxes of magic potions, several rolled pelts and furs from shadow monsters, five fat sacks of gold and silver coins, stryker armor and weaponry, a small herd of horses and mules, a large amount of clothes and shoes we were not going to take with us because we were perfectly aware who they belonged to, as well as a small clay jug filled to the brim with gemstones and jewelry.

The final piece was purely my discovery. I accidentally discovered the pretty little pot in the back yard of the manor. It was buried at the wall of the stables and, if it hadn’t contained a pendant with a tiny little brut with a weak background of crimson energy, I never would have found the treasure, which must have once belonged to the manor’s owner.

All the rest of the priests’ items we took were carefully packed up in one room. The priests seemed to have been just preparing to leave. And now they’d gathered everything up in one place, which made our lives a lot easier. And whereas everything was clear with the common bruts and artifacts, as well as the rest of the loot, the black crystals turned out to be a problem. Sigurd and Aelira were clearly not too pleased when they saw we were taking the evil artifacts with us.

“You may speak,” I said.

“This vile stuff should be destroyed,” Aelira shot out in her usual manner.

“Let’s say we do,” I nodded. “How would we do it?”

“Well, weren’t you planning to torch the place?” Sigurd said. Unlike his wife, he was totally calm.

“As far as I’m aware, bruts don’t burn,” I responded. “Shouldn’t you know that?”

“Then hide them,” Aelira found her footing.

“Good idea,” I agreed. “Any suggestions? You must remember that they should be hidden in such a way that no one finds them. As far as I’m aware, some gifted people can sense crystal magic.”

“The box is marked with protective runes,” Sigurd nodded. “But you’re right, Your Worship! We would have to pick a good spot.”

“Throw them into the sea,” Aelira replied, now quieter and less confident.

“There’s a chance the box would be pulled up in a fisherman’s net or cast ashore by the tide,” Sigurd shook his head. “If this nasty stuff falls into the wrong hands…”

They both glanced at me. I could read anticipation in their eyes. I had noticed my authority in their eyes rising significantly since we started journeying together. Whereas at first they saw me as yet another young aristocrat from a wealthy family, things now had changed significantly.

“I’m in complete agreement,” I responded without feeling bad at all. I didn’t have the slightest desire to take a risk, experiment, or even touch the nasty things.

“We cannot bring the box to Fjordgrad,” I continued. “If we are discovered with it, trouble is sure to strike. So I suggest we create a temporary hiding spot in a modest, preferably hard-to-reach place. Any ideas?”

Aelira gave a pensive nod.

“I know one. It’s outside the city among some cliffs.”

“Good,” Sigurd replied. “Let’s say we do hide it. What next?”

“Next,” I said confidently. “We take the box to Vestonia. There, I can hide it somewhere no one will ever find it. You can be sure of that. And while it is held in that safe location, you and I can look for a way to destroy the crystals.”

Sigurd and Aelira traded looks. I could only guess what they were thinking. Essentially, this was answering the question of how much they trusted me. In any case, if suddenly at that moment the two of them got it in their head to finish me off, I would be ready to counter. I was standing one step from the stryker, his helmet now in his hands. One lightning-fast energy blow to the temple and Sigurd would be dead. And it didn’t matter that I was weaker than him. The element of surprise was on my side. And he was not expecting that sort of thing out of me.

Aelira would take some doing, but Jacques and Lucas would come running if they heard a fight break out. She couldn’t take all three of us.

Ah… I really didn’t want any of that… But I was ready.

The tense silence didn’t last long. I saw Aelira nod at her husband. Sigurd looked at me and said:

“Your Worship, we know you are a man of your word, which is why we trust you fully in this matter.”

I nodded to express that everything was going exactly how I wanted. After that, quickly picking up the black bruts and ice amulets from the table, I put them into the box and closed the carved lid. Meanwhile, I nodded to myself in satisfaction. The witching charms took effect, hiding the contents of the box from my gift.

As an aside, the black bruts hadn’t done anything while they were just lying on the table. Even when I touched them, they didn’t react at all. If I didn’t know what they were, I’d have thought I was dealing with common obsidian shards. Honestly, in order not to risk it, I blocked my own aura the whole time I held the bruts in my hands.

“As you are aware, I have questions for you,” I said, hiding the box in my traveling satchel.

“You want to know whether we’re familiar with that magic,” Sigurd nodded.

“And?” I cast an inquisitive glance at him.

“Yes and no,” he replied. “Before I was declared a heretic, I’d never seen the like of it. But in the dungeons of the Frost Temple, I heard all kinds of things. There were rumors of priests digging through ancient manuscripts describing ghastly rituals.”

“Is that what you were telling me about before?” I asked Aelira.

“Yes, monsieur,” she responded and added with hate in her voice: “Death magic. The most ancient and vile form of magic. It existed long before the coming of the Shadow. Our old shaman told us about a strange force the Demon of Eternal Winter granted to all those who worshipped him.”

“The Demon of Eternal Winter?” I asked.

“Hoar the Wicked,” Sigurd explained.

I had another few questions, but the sound of footsteps at the front door made all three of us turn around. In the doorframe stood the woman we’d taken from the altar. While we were busy searching for trophies, Aelira helped the girl find clothing and a warm cloak before showing her to a nearby washroom. She had spent the last hour there.

Upon her return, Sigurd’s wife told me the girl appeared to be mute or had lost the ability to speak temporarily from what she’d been through. Beyond that, Aelira said that her grasp on Northlandic was very poor. She needed to speak very slowly and clearly to be understood.

I wondered where she came from in the first place. Jacques and Lucas told me that she was certainly not among the slaves Arvid Ulsson’s father was driving. Otherwise, they’d have remembered her for her beauty. And that muteness… Most likely, it was her way of trying to get her bearings in this new situation. Because according to local laws, she was now ours to command until the master, i.e. me, decided otherwise.

“Mademoiselle,” I said to her in Vestonian. Although she was technically our prisoner, I decided to remain fully respectful. Now that she was dressed and didn’t have any traces of mud or blood on her face, I was only more certain this woman was not from a common family. “How do you feel? It’s time for us to get going. Do you know how to ride a horse?”

No, I was not wrong. The stranger, just like last time, had her turquoise eyes wide open and was insolently scanning my energy system, seemingly unaware that I could see perfectly well what she was doing.

She was filled with contradictory emotions, which were reflected on her face. And no wonder… She was staring wide-eyed at my energy system, which was unique for this world. And considering the fact that just then it was linked with a few large bruts of various colors, I figured I was breaking the mold for this woman. No one here could operate with all kinds of energy at once. Or at the very least, I hadn’t met any mages that could. Only a few shadow monsters had multiple colors in their energy structures.

Sigurd found his own explanation for her unusual reaction to me. He just chuckled, looking at me pointedly. And immediately got a slight poke of the elbow to his side from Aelira.

Finally, she got herself together and realized she was being spoken to. She shook her head at my Vestonian, letting me know she didn’t understand a word. The same happened with Atalian and the language of the Foggy Isles. But in Astlandic, I got a reaction. She understood it better than the others. When I asked if she could ride a horse, she replied with a nod.

“I suppose it’s time to put our plan into action,” I came. “Let’s return this vile place to ashes.”

* * *

The Great Trial opened with a piercing trumpet blast that blared out over the entire Icefjord. The sound of music vibrated in the air, while the echoes off the walls of the huge arena erected directly on the ice only added to the effect.

The massive arena gates slowly opened, and a herald came out wearing bright livery, his chest adorned with the konung’s coat of arms. He raised the horn to make an announcement and his booming voice rang out over the crowd.

“Welcome to the Great Trial! Today, on this sacred land, valiant warriors from all over the world will meet in duels for the right to be named best of the best!”

After that, the competitors began marching out. Fully armed warriors, each wearing their own unique suit of armor or axe entered the arena one by one, greeting storms of applause from the crowd. Their names and clans were announced by the herald to mass approval.

I was one of the last to be announced. It had been five days since we took down and torched the frost priest nest. All that time, all I did was train sword fighting with Sigurd.

Honestly, it was hard to constantly hold myself back. I was literally bursting with energy. But I managed, and my bodyguard didn’t notice a thing. In my turn, I had forced him to quickly use his magic on a few occasions, which earned me several respectful outbursts. At the time, Sigurd told me that, after he learned my manner of fighting, he was sorry to hear that my instructor was no longer among the living. And that was just me raising the curtain a tiny bit. I was not going to show him everything I knew. Even so, after every fight, Sigurd looked pensive.

The training ended when one of the konung’s heralds brought me an official invitation to the opening ceremony of the Great Trial. And there I was, walking at the end of a column of contenders with nobody paying me any mind.

I wasn’t wearing any armor because I didn’t want the extra weight, especially considering that the lots had already been cast, and I wouldn’t be fighting until tomorrow. My first opponent, by a very curious series of coincidences, was none other than my old friend Count Étienne de Mornay. Based on his cheery face, which shone like a polished copper basin, there had been a bit of good old-fashioned bribery involved in setting this up. Though maybe I was wrong. Astrid said that her father took organizing the tournament very seriously.

The count and I had even managed to speak before entering the arena. He beelined straight to the end of the column to welcome me.

“Chevalier Renard!” he said, welcoming me goodheartedly. He was wearing the suit of armor he once bought back from me for a tidy sum. “I wanted to tell you personally. Use this night well. Because tomorrow, your short life is coming to an end.”

“My good count!” I said with a respectful bow as dictated by etiquette. “Thank you for the warning! I’ll be sure to heed your advice and get a good night’s sleep. In my turn, I’d like to warn you that I will not sell you your own armor again… Although I’m sure this time, you won’t be needing it back.”

“I can’t wait for our meeting tomorrow!” de Mornay replied with a bloodthirsty smile. “I understand you’re hoping that strykers not being allowed to use the magic of their armor will save you. A vain hope… Tomorrow, you will see what it means to fight against a combat mage.”

Where had I heard that before…?

“Count,” I smiled and shook my head dejectedly. “I’ve seen you fight once before, and your skills made no impression on me. By the way, how is your shoulder? Do you really think it’s wise to tempt fate twice? Because I won’t be so nice tomorrow. I took mercy on you last time. This time, it will all be different.”

I had to give de Mornay his due. He didn’t start cursing or spewing threats like before. The count turned on his heel and, proudly thrusting his head up, proceeded to his place at the beginning of the column among the other more elite contenders.

After the procession, the konung himself went up to the largest box over the arena. He stood there decked out in monarchical regalia, crown glimmering in the sun like his bodyguards’ armor.

Bjørn Sharptooth raised a hand to call for silence, and when the crowd quieted down, his voice sounded out like a cave bear’s roar:

“May the Great Trial begin!”

And the arena exploded with loud cries, applause, and whistling. Just then, I met eyes with Helga, who was standing in a neighboring box. In her eyes I saw annoyance, incomprehension and, seemingly, pity… She seemed to have already considered me dead and buried. Oh well, I would have to surprise her — I intended not to merely survive, I was going to win this tournament.