Last Life

I STROLLED THE EVENING STREETS of Abbeville, cataloguing the circumstances around me as usual. An hour ago, I came out of the Mace and Poleaxe armorer’s shop, where I bought myself two swords just in case I again lost control and pushed an energy mass through my blade.

I didn’t get anything fancy yet, just two one-handers. They were both similar to Toothpick though, honestly, their balance was worse.

I felt fairly okay. After the big breakfast, which had essentially served as an early dinner, I had to take a nap which, thanks to the stolen magic dust, I also used to heal a few micro-fissures and stretch marks in my much suffering energy system. The cooldown period I was anxiously anticipating never hit me. The magic from the Shadow worked wonders, but I still did feel weak in my whole body.

I was aware that I couldn’t go on like this much longer. If I had to spend this much of the valuable and scarce dust on every minor squabble, I would be bankrupt very soon. In a past life, in peak form, my energy system could handle this kind of exertion all by itself. But now, I had to lay around until midday, if not for several days like some kind of doddering old man.

I was also perfectly aware that I had no time for slow, balanced development. I had to take the same path as before, but much quicker. For that, the Shadow’s magic was indispensable.

I got the feeling I had a significant head start, but I was wrong. A bizarre whirlpool of events had started revolving around this “unwanted” bastard. Sooner or later, it would suck me in once and for all. If that happened now, I feared that in my current state I might not be able to pull out.

Max’s sister and cousin coming to town were just the first warning signs. Because after all, there was still the Legrands... Trixie told me a captivating tale...

It all started that memorable day when she eavesdropped on the conversation between Vivienne and Betty in my room. I for the record, had thankfully not mentioned my linguistic capabilities. Being a fairly sensible woman, Trixie quickly realized she should forget what she had heard. Otherwise, her big mouth could land her and her family in hot water. So in her words, neither Madame Richard nor anyone else had heard about that conversation.

Before getting started, Trixie admitted to me with tears in her eyes that all that time she had been spying on me on Madame Richard’s orders, but had told her boss only the information which, to her eye, could not come back to haunt me. I had to pretend I believed her.

She’d had to grow up too early, with lots of responsibilities falling on her shoulders from her sick mother and the pleading of her hungry brothers and sisters. For her to now lose her head over some impoverished aristocrat who, by the way, just a few months ago she couldn’t stand? No, that was not Trixie.

Beyond that, she was already engaged and had planned out her future life down to the smallest detail. This was a woman who knew what she wanted. And she was clearly no fool. There was no room in her life plan for a dubious affair with some minor nobleman. Responsibility for her family fell squarely on her shoulders.

But to make herself useful to an aristocrat who had stopped behaving like the world’s biggest scoundrel only recently? Now that was a different matter. To then also not spoil her relationship with her employer — those were motivations I could easily believe.

Once settled down a bit, Trixie also admitted that all that time she had been unable to forget that conversation — and specifically the part where my visitors mentioned a member of my family. She quickly realized that the duel with de Lamar that nearly took Max’s life was no mere duel, and someone from my family had to be involved.

Trixie felt an urge to tell me on several occasions, but every time she forced herself to keep quiet. After all, it pertained not only to my “lady love,” but my family as well. I might simply have refused to believe her. Beyond that, she was afraid that instead of gratitude I might complain to Madame Richard, who would surely seek revenge for the betrayal.

But everything changed when Trixie coincidentally overheard Madame Richard talking to one of her guests. He was a merchant making his way to the capital who had stopped by the guesthouse for one night. He and Madame Richard were discussing the latest trading news over dinner. After prices for pelts and brocade, conversation slowly turned to capital city rumors and influential merchant families. Among them, she heard about the Legrands.

Madame Richard, in an effort to make herself sound important, immediately laid her trump card — the fact that she had as a guest in her annex building who was the grandson of Pascal Legrand himself. That came as a great surprise to the traveling merchant, who then suddenly lit up.

The thing was that, a few months before, while passing through Abbeville and visiting a local theater, in the foyer he ran into one of Pascal Legrand’s daughters, Adeline Beauchard, whispering about something with the theater’s top actress, Vivienne Leroy.

The women were behaving strangely. On top of that, when the merchant greeted Adeline Beauchard and wished her father Pascal Legrand good health, she pretended not to know what he was talking about. After that, she said he must have mistaken her for someone else.

Essentially, the merchant was very bothered by that but, when Madame Richard told him about Legrand’s grandson, he took it in his own way. He explained the awkward situation to himself by saying the woman must have come to Abbeville to visit her disgraced nephew and didn’t want anyone finding out. But for Trixie, on the contrary, that made everything fall into place. Which was why she finally decided to tell me.

After our conversation, I had to assure Trixie that I didn’t hold it against her and, on the contrary, was grateful for her attentiveness and concern for my life, which I evidenced by offering to let her work for me until Bertrand recovered. After giving her ten crowns as a tip, I promised to personally discuss her temporary work situation with Madame Richard. She then hopped out of my room looking very self-satisfied.

After that, I had a curious conversation with Bertrand about the sudden visit of an aunt of mine who had clearly expressed an unhealthy interest in her nephew. There could be no doubt that her visit to Abbeville was directly connected to Max.

My tale upset Bertrand greatly. At first, he didn’t want to believe that the “sweet demure Adeline” he’d known since childhood could be capable of such a thing. The “unfortunate widow,” who had lost her husband early, had moved with her only son into her father’s home where she continued to live practically as a recluse fully concentrating on raising her child and caring for her father.

Hm... But you know what they say about still waters... His mild-mannered aunt coming to Abbeville and meeting with Vivienne Leroy was just more evidence of that. And for the record, as far as Bertrand knew, she had never before paid a visit to her dear nephew. I wondered what was happening.

Basically, the whirlpool of events around me was starting to gather pace and, if I wanted to keep my head above water, I would have to take a few fundamental steps. For starters, while walking around Abbeville that night, I put my scheme into action.

The familiar dark alleyway, just like the last time, greeted me with a cryptlike silence. It was as if the street had died out. The little black windows of the hideous shabby buildings stared blindly out at me with deadened emptiness.

Only at the end of the alley, in the windows of the last building, just like on that memorable evening did a soft warm glow come streaming through the cracks in the closed shutters.

I stopped short ten steps from the small gate. I didn’t have to wait long.

“Fox, I thought we reached an understanding last time.”

The angry hissing voice behind me made me slowly turn around.

Lada, standing approximately fifteen steps away, was aiming a small crossbow straight at me. A fire of determination to end my life then and there was burning in the witch’s dark green eyes.

While walking down the street, I knew she was waiting for me, but still I allowed her to feel like the master of her domain. And the fact she didn’t try to kill me on sight was a good sign. Witches, as everyone knew, did not do things without good reason. Something about me must have caught her interest last time. I even knew what.

“Sorry for coming uninvited again,” I put on a friendly smile. “But I thought we should start our relationship over.”

“What makes you think I want that?” I saw her jaws grinding through her cheeks, making her face even more attractive.

“Before answering your question, as a sign of my peaceful intentions, allow me to give you a small gift,” I came, still smiling. “What do you say?”

The witch, continuing to bore into me with a heavy gaze, didn’t think long, then gave a short nod and said:

“One wrong move and you’re dead. Believe me, I know how to use this thing.”

“I believe you,” I smiled. But I didn’t tell her that she probably wouldn’t have been able to hit me. Maybe before her powers had been curtailed, she would have stood a chance, but not like this. “May I?”

I pointed my eyes at two small bags hanging off my belt.

Lada looked tense and shrugged her shoulders nervously, then nodded in silence.

I slowly lowered my hands and unclipped one of them.

“What’s in there?” Lada asked demandingly. Her voice was slightly shaking.

“See for yourself,” I said, slowly undoing the drawstring and pouring a bit of the powder out onto my palm.

When Lada saw what I’d brought her, her face changed instantly.

“Crimson dust!” she gasped mutedly, not taking her stunned gaze off my hand.

When preparing to visit the witch, I was perfectly aware that mere silver would not be of interest, so I decided to lead with my trump card. I had to mercilessly suppress my own pangs of greed while pouring out the few pinches of the valuable resource.

“Very high concentration,” I nodded, pouring the magic sand back into the bag. “You might say it came straight from my bleeding heart.”

“What do you want for it?” Lada asked in a slightly hoarse voice.

“Nothing,” I shrugged. “It is my gift to you as an apology.”

After saying that, I set the bag on a bench by the fence. Then, while the witch looked on attentively, I took the second bag off my belt and continued:

“But this could be payment for information.”

A small mound of emerald dust appeared on my hand. Lada breathed a muted sigh, but quickly got herself together and stated in an icy tone:

“It’s time for you to be going, spellsword.”

I sighed and shook my head. Fail. But nobody said this would be easy. Witches were always like this. Very volatile. Well, at least we didn’t end up fighting. That was progress.

“Alright, I’m leaving,” I nodded and walked back out of the alley.

“Forget the way here, fox!” she shouted at my back.

I turned and, with a broad smile, replied:

“If you say so, Lada! But I believe you will come visit me very soon. Because you are aware that I am your chance to fix everything.”

A moment later, I looked on in satisfaction as the witch’s face stretched out.

“When I look at you, Lada, I see a woman who is accustomed to greater comfort. You were not made to wither away in this backwater selling dried herbs and potions to the destitute. I don’t know that happened to you, why you left your homeland, or why you came so far — it’s none of my business. But I do know for certain how it feels to be gifted and not be able to use your powers.”

“Fix, you say?” Lada spat out angrily, switching to witching tongue. “Sounds like you’re taking on an awful lot.”

“I was raised and educated by an Elder,” I responded coldly in the same tongue, no longer smiling. “And another thing — as you correctly noted last time, I am a seer. I’m telling you, soon you will be seeking a meeting with me. But make haste! Very soon, I will leave this backwater.”

Based on her pale face and squinting eyes, Lada was outraged. Just a bit more and she would squeeze the trigger of her crossbow. Oh well. What did I care if she acted crazy and flew into a rage? Witches were stubborn but intelligent creatures. I had given her more than enough food for thought.

Without saying goodbye or another word at all, I turned and high tailed it away from her alley. I should note that I always had a hard time talking to “sisters” of my adoptive mother. I always had to keep my guard up around them. Even when they wanted to stroke my head, they had a way of always doing it against the grain.

On the way home, I decided to get some fresh air and pass by the central town square. Unsurprisingly for the hour, the central streets of Abbeville were packed with people. The square itself was impassible. Something out of the ordinary must have happened. Based on the happy looks on the city dwellers’ faces as they constantly shouted wishes of good health to the king, I got the impression today was some kind of important holiday.

Stopping a squat man who resembled a beer barrel, I asked:

“My good man, what is happening? Why are all these people here?”

“Whatever do you mean, monsieur?!” the man was sincerely astonished and asked with reproach: “What, do you not follow world events at all?”

“No. And what might be happening in the world?”

“The ambassador of Bergonia to the court of the king of Atalia, Count Thomas de Durfort was perfidiously executed!” the city dweller cried with a beet red face, showing with his whole appearance his outrage at how low the Atalian authorities had stooped. But if I asked if he had ever even seen the count, he would be unlikely to say yes. In fact, he probably didn’t even know what his own king looked like.

Seeing that I didn’t understand or share his indignation, the red-faced city dweller continued to rage.

“The king of Bergonia, burning with righteous indignation, has declared war on the dastardly Atalians!” the man’s small closely set eyes were alight with happiness and admiration. “A crier has just announced that our king Carl III the Victorious, in order to support his cousin the king of Bergonia, has also declared war on Atalia!”

Thanking the big man for the explanation, I turned and went back. Today was not the best day to be downtown. I’d have to retrace my steps back home.

Watching the people delighted by the war declaration, I imagined what the loudmouths might look like in a few months after the first battles died down and the men who had gone to war started coming back home missing arms and legs. And they would be the lucky ones.

But that was not all. Because the demon of war always went hand in hand with famine and plague. Essentially, the near future in this part of the continent would be heated. Everything was clearly going according to the plan of my mysterious benefactor who sent me into this body.

When I got back home, Bertrand extended me a small scroll. It was a letter from the Chevalier de Nevers written in uneven handwriting. The redhead was clearly agitated when he hurriedly wrote it.

In the letter, my rival said that unforeseen circumstances had arisen in his life, specifically his esteemed father the Baron de Nevers had fallen seriously ill. As a consequence, the redheaded chevalier was asking me to delay our duel because he was now forced to leave Abbeville and travel to his father’s home to so his esteemed parent’s last minutes would not be spent in his absence.

I had little faith that de Nevers’ father had actually fallen ill. As a matter of fact, all the theatrics with the letter were probably more a veiled greeting from Trebolt to let me know he had kept his word. Something was telling me I would never see the redheaded chevalier again.

In short, one duel had been cancelled. Too bad. I was planning on again betting a fat sack of cash on myself. But oh well. I would soon have to step into the duelyard against Vincent de Lamar. Time to finally put an end to our conflict.