Last Life

Northland

The Frost Temple

“KEYVAN!” AISEL BARKED as she barged into the Frost Temple’s main hall. “You can’t treat me like this!”

The hall was full of lesser acolytes, all of whom were carrying various boxes and chests out toward the main doors of the building that led into the inner courtyard. There, another group of acolytes was taking the assorted containers and loading them onto wagons and carts. All these acolytes scurried aside as the furious warrior appeared in front of them, like frightened sparrows before a hungry cat.

“I can, and I will,” replied Keyvan calmly, his eyes still locked on some piece of paper in front of him.

“Rescind the order!” Aisel came to a stop across from her brother, legs spread firmly in a posture of defiance. Flashes of dark magic were coursing up and down her armor. “Give me back my combat mages!”

“I need them all in the Svartvald,” replied Keyvan. He was still studying his scroll without the least sign of agitation.

“I don’t have enough people as it is,” said Aisel, breathing heavily. “We lost many men in the battle with Sharptooth. Several clans deserted us just a week ago. And now you’re stepping in with these orders. If you don’t give me those mages back, Konung Ulf’s army will crush us without even having to try! He’ll be back in the Frost Temple’s lands in no time!”

“Well, that could have been expected.” Keyvan snickered and shook his head. Ignoring her brother’s words, Aisel took a step forward.

“You must — “

“Must?” Keyvan cut her off and slowly turned to face her. His expression was cold and emotionless as always, but the look in his eyes... Each iris was a different color, and when he turned around Aisel could see that they were both shrouded in a magical haze. She tensed up as she prepared instinctively to deflect an attack.

“Must?” Her brother repeated icily. “The taste of mortal flesh and blood has intoxicated you, sister. Your own hunger has become a higher priority for you than our true goal. Why did you have to kill Sharptooth? He was on our side.”

“He was out of control,” said Aisel, with a defensive note in her voice. “He was threatening to subjugate the entire North. He obviously thought that the Svartvald’s reservoir belonged to him.”

“So you really forgot that Sharptooth’s expansion was part of our plan,” said Keyvan. “That army of his would have become ours. We could have controlled the whole North through Sharptooth.”

Aisel stiffened. Her face transformed into a vicious mask.

“That was a plan you and Fria concocted. I was against it. These rats need to know their place!”

“And now everything has been thrown into chaos, because of the slaughter you caused,” said Keyvan coldly. “Instead of leaving for the South, to find Fria as I told you to, you decided to unleash a war that isn’t at all in our interest. Not only did you dispense with our plan — you also revealed our capabilities to our enemies and wasted a great deal of valuable energy. And we still know nothing about what happened to Fria.”

Keyvan took a step forward, laid a hand on his sister’s shoulder, and looked into her eyes. Aisel could feel his icy calm seep into her own mind. He always did this when he needed to calm her vicious, unrestrained nature.

“Sister,” he said quietly. “Something strange is happening down south. First Fria, now Lord Khaldrekar. Neither of us can feel their presence in this world anymore. Go there and find out what happened.”

“What about you?” Aisel asked. Her brother’s influence had already worked its magic, and she was calm once again. “And Konung Ulf’s army?”

“You still think that’s Konung Ulf’s army?” Keyvan chuckled. “Sharptooth’s little girl has outfoxed you. It was she who offered forgiveness of past misdeeds and return of ancestral lands to those clans who deserted you.”

Aisel twitched.

“I’m going to tear her heart out and devour it.”

Keyvan squeezed his hand around her shoulder and kept up his pressure.

“No. It’s not yet time... It’s just you and I now, sister. We cannot afford a single false step. We must destroy the restraints that still bind our Lord. You will leave for the South, and I will remain here and clean up the mess you’ve caused.”

* * *

Wolfsburg. Capital of Astland

The Granite Palace, residence of King Otto II

Following the royal footman’s announcement, the doors of the King’s office opened silently to reveal Wilhelm von Lander standing on the threshold. He was moving with calm and confidence. Before speaking, the Chief Minister paused for a moment.

The sunbeams filtering in through the stained-glass windows were dancing throughout the spacious hall, playing across the surface of a huge map on the center of a massive oaken table.

This map was unique: instead of paper, it was made from polished obsidian. Far from being drawn in paint or ink, it was inlaid with gemstones and rare metals, which formed the contours of mountains, forests, and seacoasts. And there, at the far end of the Royal Office, stood King Otto II the Brave, with his hands behind his back. He was staring intently down at the tiny, glittering details, listening as he did so to a confident, calm report from some member of his inner circle.

A soft smile spread on the Chief Minister’s face. The King had grown more restrained over the preceding months. He thought a little more, and waved his sword around a little less. The gradual, uninsistent changes in His Majesty’s entourage hadn’t been made in vain.

The King was no longer distracted by hotheads, or populist speeches about immediate conquests and campaigns. The silence that reigned in the hall was almost academic.

Wilhelm von Lander realized, of course, that this quiet was only temporary. The King was impulsive by nature, and it wouldn’t be long at all before he would start demanding what he had been promised all these years. For the time being, though, the Chief Minister was managing to preserve the fragile balance at court that was giving him time to prepare.

“Your Majesty,” Wilhelm said quietly as he greeted his sovereign with a bow.

Without looking up from his glittering map, Otto nodded slightly in recognition.

“Important reports, Your Majesty,” said Wilhelm as he approached the table.

Otto waved a hand; all the nobles in the hall stood up, bowed, and then made quickly and quietly for the exits. The doors closed behind them, leaving Baron de Flavy towering on the threshold like a huge wall of granite. Both the King and the Chief Minister trusted this man implicitly — a boast very few others could ever have made.

“Are the results on the Frost Knights’ magic ready for my analysis yet?” The King asked.

The first report on the news from the North, which Wilhelm had put together for Otto personally, had deeply troubled the King. Death Magic, Hoar the Wicked, an army of demons... A whole bunch of horror stories had suddenly come to life.

“No, Your Majesty,” replied the Chief Minister. “But the Gray Guild’s mages are working on it around the clock. Every one of them recognizes the dire importance of your order. That said, the news I bring today is no less important.”

“Speak,” said the King with a wave of his hand. He turned his gaze from the northern edge of the map to the south.

“We’ve learned that Conrad’s youngest daughter, Sophia-Verena, is still alive.”

“What?!” Otto whipped around in an instant.

The calm and rationality Wilhelm had been cultivating so carefully for months was gone in the blink of an eye. Into its place came a wave of all-consuming fury, and a desire to destroy everything in sight.

“You assured me that she was dead, like the rest of her poxy little family!”

“I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness,” replied the Chief Minister with a low bow. “I fully admit my error in this matter, and I am prepared to receive Your Majesty’s punishment.”

Wilhelm had flown into a fury himself when he had first heard this news. In fact, he had spent several days on end in the torture chambers, listening to confessions from those responsible for this abject failure.

“All those responsible have been punished,” he added.

“Damn you and your punishments!” Otto snapped as he advanced menacingly toward Wilhelm. “You realize, of course, what this miraculous little resurrection might mean?!”

“Like few others ever could, Your Majesty,” replied Wilhelm with another bow.

“Where is the little bitch?” The King’s eyes were already bloodshot. “What filthy den is she hiding in? Have you already sent people after her? I want her head!”

The word “den” brought a smile into Wilhelm’s mind (not that he would have dared express it physically, of course). The choice of words was quite a coincidence.

“That presents us with certain complications,” he replied.

“What...” The King frowned and turned his baleful glare onto his Chief Minister. “... did you just say to me?”

“She’s in Vestonia,” replied Wilhelm. At this, Wilhelm saw his King’s eyes start to widen.

“You mean to say that the girl has been with Carl this whole time?” Otto hissed. “All this time, while you’ve been telling me not to hurry, telling me to slow down, the Vestonians have been grooming my replacement?”

“None of our intelligence suggests that, Your Majesty,” Wilhelm shook his head. “In fact, it doesn’t seem that Carl is aware of the girl’s existence even now. For over six months, she’s been living in his capital under the identity of one Verena Marchand, daughter of a bankrupt merchant.”

As so often happened at such times, Otto had slowly begun to cool off. The first wave of fury had subsided. Wilhelm knew that surviving this particular wave was the most important part of the whole process.

“How reliable are these reports?” Otto asked.

“They come from the Duke de Bauffremont, through our man in Herouxville,” replied Wilhelm. “He tells us that the Count de Rondi recognized the girl. The old man was once Vestonia’s ambassador in Wolfsburg.”

At that point, Wilhelm frowned:

“There’s one other strange twist to this story...”

“Go on.”

“The girl is living in the home of the Margrave de Valier, who — as we already know — is wholeheartedly devoted to his King. This can only mean one of two things: either Carl actually IS in control of the entire affair, or the bastard isn’t nearly as devoted to his King as he seems, and is playing his own game. If the latter is true, it implies that he has his own agenda, whose purpose I have yet to discern. I don’t yet have enough information to make any conclusions on that matter.”

The King turned away and walked silently over to the table with the map. Wilhelm remained silent as well.

“Express my personal gratitude to Claude for his vigilance,” the King finally said. “And when you do, find out what’s motivating him.”

His voice was calm and even as he spoke. Anyone walking into the room at that moment would have had a hard time believing that a mere minute before, this same man had been snarling like a wounded tiger.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Chief Minister bowed. “The girl’s head will be delivered to you as soon as possible.”

“Actually — don’t rush into that,” the King suddenly stopped him. “There’ll be plenty of time for her to die later on.”

“Your Majesty — “ Wilhelm made as if to object, but in his heart of hearts he was positively ecstatic. This... THIS was the way he had always hoped to see his future Emperor. Thoughtful, cold-blooded, and dangerous.

“She’s more use to me alive for the time being,” said Otto, cutting his Chief Minister off. “Gather information and keep me informed. I want to know everything there is to know about this Verena Marchand, and everything that connects her to Carl and the bastard.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Wilhelm, trying very hard to conceal a satisfied smile. With that, he bowed once again and left the Royal Office.

When the door had closed behind him, Otto waved for de Flavy to come closer.

“Have your people keep their eyes on him at all times. If my Chief Minister has started some game of his own, I need to know about it.”

* * *

Bergonia

Somewhere near the old Imperial track

Despite everything that had happened, the members of the Brisot family regained their composure pretty quickly, and before long they were able to start making moves. Well, everybody except Clare, who they laid down to sleep in one of the wagons. She was still addled by grief at the loss of her husband. If she didn’t recover her functional capacity in a day or two, though... Well, it was a long road back to Vestonia, and Selina would have plenty of time to bring the girl’s mind back to something approaching its former condition.

Upon hearing that Jean was still alive, Michaela and Pierre galloped excitedly off into the forest, while the rest of the family got their things together as quickly as they could and started hitching the horses to the wagons. They wanted to get out of that place as quickly as possible. And the fact that it was nighttime didn’t bother them at all.

In making my way around the village prior to my assault, I had easily identified several stashes that the bandits had left, and now I set the children to work raiding and cleaning out these little hidey-holes. Together with what we stripped from the corpses, it ended up being a pretty impressive sum. Apparently, this false Margraviate patrol unit had done pretty well for itself by preying on travelers along the track.

Maître Brisot collected all the money and other valuables into a single chest, and then declared that the loot belonged entirely to me.

The whole time we were getting ready, I kept catching admiring, grateful glances from various members of the family. Bridget in particular was looking at me with more attention and thought in her eyes that she used to.

Several times, I picked up some quiet words in their conversations: “Glenn,” “Fox archer,” “Mertonian...” Things like that. Basically, my performance that night had added a few more colorful details to my cover story about being a mercenary from the Islands. And I had no problem with that. Naturally enough, Brisot and the members of his family had immediately started wondering how a single man had managed to defeat fifteen bandits, so they found themselves an explanation.

When I told Maître Brisot that I would have to hang back at the bandit camp for a little longer, and that I would catch up to the caravan in a few hours, he didn’t say anything in reply. But I could see understanding in his eyes, along with what I think was probably a degree of satisfaction. A few hours later, the brightly-colored wagons rolled out through the gates of the hamlet, leaving the place enveloped in silence.

* * *

“Abyss...” Sergeant Morris Berk grumbled, slurring his words slightly. He had only just regained consciousness.

I had learned the sergeant’s name from the white-haired young man, whom I had already interrogated. Unfortunately for them, my supply of truth serum had run out some time before. That meant I had to resort to other, somewhat harsher methods.

Finally, Berk looked around the room with something resembling understanding. When he spotted the corpses of his men lying all around him, the sergeant jumped, but the thick rope tying him to the wall just dug deeper into his wrist, making it very clear that any attempt to escape was a fool’s errand.

Berk gritted his teeth; then, turning his eyes away from the dead bodies, he hissed under his breath:

“What sort of demon...”

“Your guess is almost right, Sergeant,” I said as I stepped out of the shadows.

I pulled another chair over, a little closer to the one the prisoner was tied to, then took a seat opposite him. I crossed my legs, then folded my hands over my knee.

“Who are you, damn your soul?” Berk croaked menacingly.

“You’ll find out soon enough, Sergeant. But first I’d like to hear some answers to a couple questions I’m about to ask you. And please, for your own sake — let’s make sure those answers are true.”

“I know who you are,” Berk grinned. “You’re a dead man. And all the members of your unit are dead men too.”

I have to say, I was actually a little bit impressed by how hard the man was trying.

“Ah! So you’re a philosopher, Sergeant!” I laughed. “I assume you’re referring to the fact that sooner or later, all men must die? Some sooner, some later? In that case, you’re in for a disappointment, because you’re going to die today. One of life’s simple and unavoidable facts, I’m afraid. And there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. You and I are alone, by the way. Not counting your comrades... Well, ex-comrades.”

I nodded down at the corpses on the ground.

“Hiring convicts for this sort of dirty work was a logical step, I suppose, but it put a big flaw in your plan from the very start. They’re not professional soldiers, and they know nothing of discipline. It was quite easy to kill them all.”

Morris Berk jerked his hand in his ropes again, as he looked around the room one more time with eyes that were still full of vain hope. Finally, however, Berk stopped moving, and turned to stare into my eyes.

“You can’t even imagine the powers that are backing my activities,” he said, with a note of superiority in his voice. “Cut these ropes and leave. If you do, I’ll promise to forget about you. And then it’d be best to scurry away to some far-off lair and never stick your head out of it again. Because our next meeting will end very badly for you indeed.”

“Sergeant... I’m grateful for your extremely generous offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline it,” I said with a nod of feigned gratitude, before continuing: “As for the powers that are backing you, though, I wouldn’t mind hearing a little more about that. Who hired you, Sergeant?”

I nodded down at the white-haired corpse on the floor, whose face was still twisted into a grimace of horror.

“This guy, whom I was just chatting with a few minutes ago? He assured me that you’re the only one who knows your employer’s name. Did you know, by the way, that your comrade-in-arms — Tommy here — used to cut the noses, lips, and ears off of his victims before raping them, and that he had a particular penchant for gouging out their eyes?”

Berk didn’t react to this in the slightest. I cocked my head to the side and stared into the sergeant’s eyes.

“I see... So you did know.”

A wry smile appeared on Morris Berk’s heavily-bearded face.

“So you got that little mutt to whimper. You think that means you’ll get me to do the same? Look under my shirt, you rat bastard! I’ve got dozens of scars! I’ve been cut, I’ve been burned! Pain is my constant companion! I’ve been ready to die for a long time now!”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it in the least, Sergeant,” I nodded. “Nor do I have any doubts about your bravery or fortitude. Steel? Fire? Pff... Such barbarism! I assure you, our approach today will be quite different.”

Under Berk’s focused gaze, I stood slowly up from my chair and started walking toward him.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever heard about this, but the human body contains many specific pain points — or pain nodes, as they’re also called. A surprisingly light amount of manipulation in one of these points, and even the toughest man — even a man most resilient in the face of torture — can be turned into a helpless ragdoll. The suffering won’t be quick and furious, like it is with steel or fire. It’ll be slow, drawn-out... You might almost say affectionate.”

Berk was breathing heavily, growling out curses.

“You could count on one hand the number of executioners who are versed in this technique,” I continued, ignoring his insults. “It requires talent, and many years of training, to learn the secrets of this art to mastery. People like that, if indeed they can still be called “people,” tend to serve Dukes, if not Kings. You’ve almost certainly heard of one of them. Does the name Maître Sarsonne ring any bells?”

The way Berk’s eyes widened made it pretty clear that he knew exactly who I was talking about. And really, what Vestonian hadn’t heard the name of Carl III’s head executioner?

I stopped in front of the sergeant and bent down to look into his eyes. The source of thɪs content is novel{f}ire.net

“You’re going to become familiar with this technique today.”

Beads of sweat were glistening on Berk’s forehead, but otherwise he kept his composure, gritting his teeth in grim silence. His eyes, however, began to twitch; for the first time, a flash of doubt flitted across them.

“I should point out that it didn’t take me very long to learn this art at all,” I said as I switched to true vision. “You see, I’ve had something of an advantage in this regard ever since birth. I don’t actually need to study the locations of these pain nodes. People who can see the flow of energy don’t actually have to look beneath your clothing in order to see your scars. Even right now, for example, I can see that none of your wounds has ever touched a single one of these pain points.”

I paused for a moment, then added:

“Hm... Actually, there’s something else Tom told me about you. He said that in comparison to yourself, he and the other members of your band were practically innocents, on their very best behavior.”

I raised a hand, and a golden haze began to wrap itself around my fingers. I could see the magical glow reflected in Berk’s wide-open eyes.

“You — “ He croaked in stunned horror.

“So, Sergeant,” I interrupted him. My tone had grown overtly frosty. “First question. Who gave you the order to kill travelers using my name as cover?”

Roughly an hour later, I opened the door to the house and took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the fresh night air. There was a small band of pale light running across the eastern horizon. Little by little, it was getting lighter out. It was going to be a warm, bright, sunny day...

I glanced back at the hedge, and couldn’t help but chuckle. Tycho, who was already saddled, was still chomping away placidly at the grass next to the barn.

I looked back. Sergeant Berk’s lifeless face was still staring at me. A grimace of pain was frozen on it, and there was a small shingle of wood hanging from his chest. Etched in blood across its surface was a little red foxtail. The corpses of his men were lying all around him. This was a message to whoever had sown chaos on the roads in my name.

After the filthy bastard’s revelations, I felt like ripping off all my clothes and taking a very thorough bath.

Even touching my own hand made me shudder slightly.

“Who’s this Louis de Rohan that man was talking about?” Selina asked, with a nod at the chair where the dead man was still sitting.

I squinted, stretched out my neck with a feeling of satisfaction, and then turned to glance at the lunari.

“An old acquaintance of mine, who you and I are obviously going to be meeting with again.”