Last Life

Kingdom of Claron

THE FLOOR OF THE BIG RECEPTION HALL was damp, and it stank of rotten blood. There were only two torches in the enormous room, and their light threw shadows across the enormous, pockmarked stone walls. In the center of the room, there was a huge, glowing pentagram, which had been traced in thick blood that was almost black in color. And on it, held down by a series of charms and spells, lay Lada. Her arms had been slashed to ribbons, and her dark hair was spread all over the floor beneath her. She couldn’t move, or even open her mouth: the Blood Magic had an iron grip on both her body and her voice. It was barely even allowing her to breathe. The witch’s murderous eyes burned in the gloomy darkness.

A huge, heavy door let out a groan as two more people walked into the room. The first was a tall man in a richly-embroidered, wine-colored woolen robe, with golden buckles and unfamiliar runes embroidered along the sleeves. The second figure was shrouded in an aura of cold so intense that you could practically reach out and touch it. Lada recognized her enemy immediately. In the light of the moon, her snow-white skin and vicious, bloodthirsty eyes made her look like she had been sculpted from marble. She was walking silently into the room behind her master like a shadow.

The man stopped right at the edge of the bloody pentagram; for a few minutes, he just stood there, staring down at Lada and studying her intently. The latter could only bare her teeth in helpless fury, letting out a series of quiet, strangled sounds.

The man’s companion cocked her head to the side, then smiled and noted:

“Look how angry she looks. I guess she went completely feral in the Bergonian forests.”

Ignoring his companion’s words, the man slowly bent down into a crouching position and looked the witch straight in the eyes.

“So... Princess Ladislava, in the flesh,” he said pensively. “Do you know who I am?”

Lada tried to answer, but the magical loop around her throat prevented her from uttering a single sound. She just bit down on her lip, sending a little trickle of blood dripping down her chin, and wrenched herself to the side in an effort to get one of her arms free.

She remembered this man. Her late husband had sworn fealty to him at some point. It was Olgerd III, the ruler of Claron. Rumor had it that he was a Blood Mage, whose servants included Vetalas, strigoi, and other exiles. And now it looked like those rumors were true. The being who had defeated Lada was one of his most powerful Vetalas. “Don’t strain yourself,” Olgerd frowned. “The curse is powerful. I’m not an idiot, after all. I would never leave such a powerful witch unchained. Mind you, I didn’t come to torture you. I came to talk. Blink once if you’re willing to talk to me.”

Lada thought about it, albeit for just a moment, before blinking in reply.

“I presume I don’t need to explain what I’ll do if you try to attack me?”

Lada’s eyelids snapped shut again.

The King stood up and snapped his fingers. The black drawing on the pentagram grew ever so slightly brighter. An instant later, Lada felt the loop around her neck relax just a little bit. She would be able to speak, if only in a whisper. That said, her body was lying as immobile as ever: it was only her lips that could now move.

“What do you want, Sangwald?” She whispered.

The Vetala was about to lunge forward and punish the prisoner for her brazenness and disrespect toward their ruler, but Olgerd stopped her.

“Your power interests me,” the King noted coldly. “If memory serves, you used to be a two-bit witch in some small town coven. And now, suddenly, you’ve got ancient magic in your blood. I can sense it even at this distance. It’s a very curious thing. Will you tell me how you acquired it?”

Lada quietly hissed out a reply through gritted teeth:

“Why would... I share my secrets with you?”

The Vetala twitched again, but the King fixed her in place with a glare. She lowered her head slightly and took a step back.

A look of bitter triumph flashed through Lada’s eyes.

“You’ve already given yourself up for dead, then?” Olgerd mused aloud. “I understand... After what happened to your son and your children, you probably don’t care anymore. It’s just a shame, of course, that you never managed to avenge yourself on the one who brought you back.”

“Strange that the old bitch would run to you for shelter...” Lada hissed, with a heavy note of suspicion in her voice.

Olgerd just chuckled.

“You think I ordered the deaths of your husband and children? Nonsense. Why would I have wanted that? Had I wanted to take out your husband, there’d have been no need to hide it. I could simply have sent in my legions to occupy your old lands. But I’ll ask you again: why would I have wanted that? Killing a Prince who always paid his taxes on time and in full, and was always prepared to provide his army to me at my first summons? That would have been the height of stupidity and wastefulness on my part. The reality is much more straightforward: you and your family fell victim to a trifling local squabble. That’s it.”

Olgerd’s words certainly sounded convincing. So much so that Lada was forced to agree with him.

Meanwhile, the King thought for a moment, then slowly began to speak again:

“What if I were to give you Radwiga? You want her blood, do you not?”

Lada chuckled in response:

“I hate that old bat with all my soul, and I’d give a lot to feel her blood on my hands. But I fear you’ll ask far too high a price in exchange.”

“I understand,” Olgerd agreed surprisingly easily as he rubbed his hands together. “But I came prepared for this conversation, and I’d like to continue haggling a little bit.”

He turned to his companion with a short, sharp nod, and she disappeared into the dark corridor outside the hall. But it wasn’t long before her soft footfalls began to echo out again.

The Vetala had come back quickly, and she wasn’t alone. She was dragging an emaciated, gray-haired old woman in a shredded dress. Lada recognized this shattered husk of a human as Radwiga. The old coven mother was groaning and weeping piteously. Little black crusts of dried blood had collected at the corners of her mouth. A gleam of horror seemed permanently frozen in her eyes.

“P-please, my lord... Have mercy...” She gasped in a hoarse, trembling voice. “I beg you...”

The Vetala threw the old woman unceremoniously to her knees in front of Lada.

“Shut up,” snapped Olgerd. The old witch fell silent. “Now — tell her everything you told me about her children.”

He nodded at Lada, who was still lying spread-eagle on the floor.

“I... I...” Radwiga began to shake, turning first to face the King, then to Lada, who was white as a sheet. “Children... Her children... They didn’t die... I... I didn’t know anything about it! They only told me later... They told me that some of the Prince’s relatives managed to get the real children away, and put some other children in their place... They bore a striking resemblance...” She burst into sobs. “Those children were killed, but the Prince’s... Got away. I don’t know where they are now...”

Lada stopped breathing. Her eyes widened; a mixture of hope and horror flashed into them.

“You’re lying,” she hissed, still barely able to move her lips. “That can’t be true!”

“I assure you it can,” said the King quietly. “You see? Even your old mother confirms that your children survived. And as it happens, I have verified information on exactly where they are right now.”

He wasn’t lying. Lada knew how to detect lies. Olgerd’s voice, like his heartbeat, sounded perfectly even and confident.

And yet Lada still suspected a trick. After all, the man standing before her was a powerful Sangwald, who would think nothing of deceiving a person to further his own ends.

The witch couldn’t conceal the sudden flurry of emotion inside her. On the one hand, the Blood Mage was probably lying, but on the other... Oh, Most Luminous Mother! If there was even the smallest chance...

“Show them to me,” she replied in a trembling whisper.

“You think I’d have put on this whole show if I had them here with me?” Olgerd snickered. “I would have just brought them in, and we’d have moved this conversation to a more... Ahem... Comfortable location. I’m not wrong, am I? I’m understanding everything correctly? You’ll be more amenable to negotiation if I bring you your children? If so, then let me assure you: they’ll be here in no time.”

Without even looking at his companion, he snapped:

“Magda.”

The Vetala bowed her head and replied immediately:

“They will, master. I’ve sent your best servants to bring them in.”

“What... What do you want?” Lada gulped. Everything inside her had tied itself into a knot: on the one hand, she hated herself for the idea that she might actually do everything the King was about to ask of her. On the other hand, though, Lada had already seen what his servants were capable of. Especially this pale-skinned beast who seemed to be radiating an aura of fresh human blood.

Oh, gods! Could her children really be alive? She wanted so badly to believe it!

“First, you will tell me everything about the mage whose mark you bear,” the King began in an icy tone. “I want to know how he healed you and improved your energy system, and also what power he used to do it. If you behave yourself, you’ll get your children back.”

A tense silence followed. Beads of sweat were rolling down Lada’s temples. The King might have been bluffing; he might have been telling the truth. But two could play at either game. No witch, especially one as experienced as Lada, needed the rules of this age-old game explained to her.

In the end, she closed her eyes, pretending to be wrestling with some final doubts, and let out a heavy sigh:

“Very well... Just don’t hurt them. Bring my children back to me, and I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Olgerd’s lips curled into something resembling a smile. He turned to Magda, who nodded. A flash of bright, sky-blue light snaked its way rapidly around the signs on the pentagram. This time, several parts of Lada’s shackles fell off, allowing her to raise herself up onto her elbows.

“So we have a deal?” The King concluded.

“Yes,” nodded Lada as she stretched out her stiff neck and sent a clot of mana coursing through her energy system.

“In that case, here’s an advance,” said Olgerd with a malevolent snicker.

The Vetala grabbed Radwiga by the shoulder and shoved her mercilessly back onto the floor at Lada’s knees. The old woman screamed and fell, covering her face with her hands.

“Do whatever you want with her,” said Olgerd. “I have no further use for her. And once you’ve completed your end of the bargain, you’ll get everything else I’ve promised.”

Sparks of fury flashed across Lada’s face as she sensed Radwiga’s proximity. The sight of the whimpering creature who was responsible for ruining Lada’s life rekindled her former desire for revenge.

“Don’t take too long here, and come upstairs when you’re done,” said Olgerd as he walked out of the room, freeing Lada from her bonds with a wave of his hand. This time, the door to the witch’s prison remained open when he left.

“Please!” Radwiga moaned, pressing her dried-up old hands against her chest.

Lada rose to her feet, stretched out her shoulders and wrists, and then began to speak:

“You have a choice. Answer all my questions honestly, and you will die quickly and painlessly. Or — “

“I will,” the woman whom Lada had once considered a mother sobbed through her shattered, toothless mouth.

* * *

Herouxville. The Old Capital

Aisel appeared in the outskirts of Herouxville at twilight, when the wide stone streets were still full of warmth from the setting sun. The city was already quieting down; here and there came the sounds of drunken shouting from taverns, merchants closing up shop for the day, pedestrians hurrying home, and guards changing shifts at the gates.

Aisel was moving lightly and silently, trying to keep to the alleys and avoid the busier streets. The shadowy gloom around her kept her figure hidden concealed from passersby like a heavy blanket.

Unlike the big northern cities (and most other cities, for that matter), Herouxville wasn’t just a large settlement of humans. There were a large number of first-born and true gifted here. Aisel could feel their hostile magic emanating from all around her. Up north, she had traveled enormous distances to find even one single first-born. The cunning beasts were very skilled at hiding the emanations from their auras.

Here, however, the magic of the first-born could be felt at every step, and in virtually every building. And while Aisel had always been able to deal with the pathetic descendants of her ancient enemies up north, she actually had to steer clear of several areas of Herouxville entirely in order to avoid giving herself away.

Today’s target, after all, was somewhat more important than hunting true gifted through the streets. Aisel was searching for whoever was responsible for Sister Fria’s death. During her travels across Vestonia, she’d learned that a powerful combat mage had appeared in Herouxville.

One of the weaker true gifted who had fallen into her claws had managed to blurt something out before Aisel tore into his flesh: “Fox Den... That’s where he lives...”

And that’s where Aisel was — standing outside that very same Fox Den. For two days, she just waited, keeping the unassuming little castle under constant observation. As a result, she eventually realized that nobody was living in the Fox Den at all. Once in a great while, carts full of servants would come or go. But that was it.

Eventually, Aisel couldn’t restrain herself anymore. She decided to break into the mansion in the hopes of finding at least some sort of clue inside. After jumping across the wall in one swift, fluid motion, she froze and looked around. Thin threads of energy were stretched all around the Fox Den in a big spiderweb of lilac mana. A basic magical signal. With a disdainful scoff, Aisel turned and headed toward the castle.

Slowly, step by step, she made her way deep into the grounds of the mansion, trying not to touch a single thread as she moved. A vicious grin spread across her lips. Aisel could already imagine the look on her brother’s face when she told him about the “formidable” mage who had slain Fria.

This great and terrible mage, it seemed, couldn’t even protect his own home properly. Before long, she would bring Keyvan the simpleton’s head, so he could see for himself the fool whom Fria had managed to lose to!

When she finally reached the castle itself, Aisel’s instinct was to leap up its stone steps in a single, powerful bound, but suddenly she saw a burst of golden light flash past her.

She whirled around, but it was too late: a long, scaly shadow had already fallen across the stone pavement at the base of the stairs. Aisel looked up and saw the head of an enormous serpent looming in the air above her.

Its long, flexible body was entirely translucent. Its scales existed only in outline, like something composed of dense fog, but a storm of golden threads and sparks was raging inside it.

Aisel was startled. This was the most powerful guardian she had seen in many years. And suddenly, it dawned on her: this mysterious mage had lured her into a trap.

New conclusions, each more absurd than the last, started flitting through Aisel’s mind.

Her order’s ancient enemy was HERE? After this realization, however, she had other things to worry about. The translucent serpent lunged into an attack.

It hurled Aisel back with a powerful, lightning-quick blow. She flew back a few steps, but landed on her feet. A dense clot of black energy began gathering around her hand as soon as her feet hit the ground. Death Magic could take many forms, and Aisel was most accustomed to wielding it as a spear. A long-shafted version, to be specific, with a broad spearhead formed from coal-black haze.

The ghostly snake lifted its head to fix her with its glowing, golden eyes. It opened its fang-filled maw and lunged toward Aisel once again, slithering in such a way that its big scaly body reminded her of a tightly-compressed spring.

Aisel swung into a counterattack and hurled her black spear. It spun on its axis as it flew through the air and sank deep into the translucent body in its path. A fast-moving wave of golden sparks raced out across the monster’s scaly skin.

Black death energy started to devour the magical substance with a terrifying voracity, and some of the golden glow began to fade. Contrary to what Aisel expected, however, the snake didn’t dissolve into the air. On the contrary — the energy coursing through its shadowy body began to roil with renewed vigor. The enormous black avulsion in the animal’s flesh began to shrink and close right in front of her eyes, and before she knew it the surface of golden glowing scales was once again intact.

Aisel cursed under her breath and rolled to the side. She lunged forward and formed another spear, this one quite a bit larger than the first. Death Magic began to hum all across her body.

Jump... Duck... Thrust! Discover more novels at novel-fire.ɴet

But the snake reacted in time. It slapped her aside with its tail as though it were flicking a little chip of wood off the pavement. Aisel was hurled back onto the stone path, where she tumbled backward a short distance and then froze. For a moment, the sharp pain in her side made it impossible to breathe.

Within a split second, however, Aisel was back on her feet, holding her spear at the ready in front of her. Ready for the next attack. Suddenly, she felt another ghostly beast crawl out into the air next to her: this one had four legs, two tails, and the repulsive head of some hideous-looking lizard. And more of the same glowing golden patterns inside its body.

It took Aisel no more than a heartbeat to recognize the beast as a chimera. This anonymous mage had somehow managed to acquire a body part from one of the most dangerous beasts in all the Shadow.

And now she would have to fight two such animals. Although actually... At the far end of the courtyard, the golden, translucent body of a third beast flashed into being. Another chimera. Aisel took an involuntary step backward. She knew that there was no way she could hope to prevail against three guardians as powerful as these.

As if they had read her mind, the ghostly monsters lunged toward her from all sides at once. Aisel slid into an agile glide to the left. The snake would have rushed to block her path, but she quickly sent every ounce of power she could muster into a complicated web. For just a single second, the spell made it impossible for the beasts to detect her, and gave her enough time to rush up the trunk of a nearby tree. Shielded by the thick trunk, Aisel hurled herself toward the wall.

The guardians followed her, but they were too slow. Aisel had used enough mana for her jump that the momentum shot her straight back over the wall. After landing on the other side, grimacing from the pain in her shoulder, Aisel hobbled off down a narrow alleyway. Thankfully, nobody pursued her after that. It seemed that the guardians were confined within the wall.

As she hurried down the nighttime streets, this youngest of the Hrimthurs felt a single burning thought consuming her mind: her brother had to know about this, as soon as possible! He had to know that the ancient power of the aurings had come back into their world!