Last Life

WHEN MY CONSCIOUSNESS returned, I found myself lying face down on a pile of rotten straw, its sharp stalks poking into my cheek, temples, and neck.

I tried to move, and immediately regretted it. A sharp pain shot through my whole body and nearly sent my consciousness into oblivion yet again.

Also, I was seemingly tied up.

Before looking around, I scanned my energy system then breathed a heavy sigh. So many strains. But there was a lot of cause for celebration as well. I was expecting catastrophe, but the true state of affairs left me with some hope. All my efforts to strengthen my energy channels and reservoir were not in vain. My body had withstood. Sure, it took a lot of damage, but it did withstand. And was already gradually repairing itself.

Once finished scanning, still lying on my stomach, I cautiously peeked open my left eye and softly drew in air through my nose. Hm, I was seemingly in a shadowy barn or — more likely based on the telltale bouquet of aromas — a cowshed.

Trying to abstract myself from the pain, I made another attempt to move my arms and legs, but it was no use. The sharp pain didn’t fail to remind me of its existence, though. Hissing like a red-hot stone being hit with a few droplets of water, I felt tears streaming out of my eyes.

“Oh, look. Our esteemed chevalier has awoken,” I heard a familiar caustic voice coming from somewhere behind me. “What, rat, couldn’t get away?”

Hm... Vidal must have also survived the battle.

“Where are we?” I rasped, ignoring the insult.

Based on his helpless flailing, he was tied up just like me.

“You’re a dead man, traitor...”

That time it was Patrick. He was alive, too. I wondered how many of us survived.

“Chevalier, you have brought eternal shame on your family,” Baron von Brunon babbled out from the left.

He was here, too. Why were we all still alive?

I of course could have simply said nothing and ignored the insults. But I decided a couple provocations couldn’t hurt. They had to blow off some steam. Maybe then they would say something interesting. For example, where we were.

I closed my eyes, slowly exhaled and asked mischievously:

“How?”

“What?” I heard the baron ask in surprise.

“How did I bring eternal shame on my family?”

Based on the baron’s indignant gasping, my question had caught him off guard. Seemingly, as a nobleman, I should have had no doubts that I had crossed the line. However, as I’d noticed already, the baron was far from a shining intellect, nor was his reaction time all that good in verbal sparring. But he was always happy to smash someone’s head in with a poleax.

“How dare you ask that question, scoundrel?” came Vidal, sharp as a tack. “You abandoned your brothers in arms! You betrayed the Shadow Patrol!”

I gave a rasping cough and a slight shrug. As I spoke, I was pushing masses of mana down my energy system the entire time. And now, the pain was starting to recede. Things were turning around!

“Shadow Patrol?” I asked with a mocking edge in my voice. “Your Shadow Patrol has been nothing but a gang of smugglers for ages! And pray tell, who of you is my brother in arms? You, Chevalier Vidal? Or you, baron? Over the last few days, you made it abundantly clear that I was on my own against Patrick, who just called me a traitor out of the blue. And none of you were going to have my back. Because it was six of them against one of me.”

Silence fell in the cowshed. While they gathered their thoughts, I continued derisively:

“Or was Samdan perhaps my brother in arms? The very man who led the strykers to us and who tried two times to kill me, then steal my horse so he could escape in the commotion? Is he the one I was supposed to fight combat mages for?”

“Chevalier, you...” the baron wanted to get his five copper in, but I stopped him.

“Or was I supposed to go to my death for Sergeant Ravel, who had dealings with smugglers for many years, stealing from under our king’s very nose? Which one of us is the real rat?”

“You!” Vidal shot out. “You were backed into a corner! And now you’re trying to defend yourself by coming up with all kinds of fantasies! And another thing... Did you really want me to intervene in a dispute over some laundrywoman?!”

“Either I am now speaking with an idiot,” I chuckled, listening as the chevalier kicked off when he heard me. “Or a hypocrite. Do you really think Patrick and his buddies wanted payback because of his fiancée? Oh, no, chevalier! Patrick, loyal dog that he is, was acting on orders from Captain Louis de Rohan. When I bought three peasants out of slavery after they were sold at market in Sardent by Sergeant Roland Buquet, and who he was supposed to deliver to Westerly Fort, I became a thorn in the captain’s side, an inconvenient witness to his criminal scheme. Patrick and his buddies by the way also played a part. They stood to gain from my death, too. Just picture the Count de Brionne’s reaction when I tell him that free peasants from his lands are being openly and cynically sold into slavery instead of being delivered to Westerly Fort. And if the rumors of everything going on here reach his Majesty? So, chevalier, you’d better shut that mouth...”

I had gotten a pretty good rise out of them. Now I wanted to hear what they had to say in response.

“You’re a dead man,” Patrick repeated his threat, hissing in fury.

He probably wanted to say more, as did the others, but somewhere behind me I heard the telltale creak of an opening door, and sunlight came streaming into the room where we were being held. And along with it a breath of fresh air.

“What’s all the shouting about?!” the man cried as he came in, putting an end to everything I was doing.

I could not see him but, based on his heavy footsteps and low voice, he was not a thin man.

“You were making a mockery of us,” our apparent prison guard continued to be indignant. “Because of you, we can hardly eat a decent meal.”

“Listen,” a familiar voice said to him. I thought it was Jean the redhead. “Could I have a bit of potion? Eh? My head is splitting... I can’t take it anymore...”

“Oh, but you will. Nothing bad will happen,” the prison guard barked back. “Let us eat in peace.”

The sound of a slamming door put an end to the altercation.

“Scum...” Jean hissed.

All the other prisoners immediately supported him in a discordant chorus.

What potion was he talking about? Actually, one second. It was probably Tears of Light. I had learned it was some kind of magic analgesic, which temporarily got rid of the headaches caused by being too close to the Shadow. The fortress’s alchemist told me that it was not to be abused, but I had yet to see why.

I had of course heard from the patrolmen that those who overconsumed Tears of Light had their brains turn to mush. But that was all talk.

After hearing that though, I was in no rush to sample the brew. I wanted to watch someone else try it first.

Hm... If the others were laid up with headaches, we must have been very near the Shadow. That led to a logical question. Why didn’t my head hurt? I mean, of course my entire body was in pain, but all of those symptoms had explanations.

Was I missing something?

I didn’t have time to think it through properly. I heard another door opening behind me.

“Him,” I heard a squeaking voice. And a few moments later, a set of strong hands grabbed me by the armpits and dragged me to the door.

Gritting my teeth in pain, I turned my head, trying to take in every detail. Before I was dragged out of the barn, out of the corner of my eye, I looked toward the other prisoners. I was able to make out just five dark silhouettes. As I was leaving, a few hissed curses came flying at my back.

“Mouths shut in there!” the loud squeaking outburst made all my former allies quiet down instantly.

Outside, it was evening. The fiery red disk of the sun was about to dip beneath the horizon.

The man dragged me through a big camp pitched in the midst of ancient ruins. Wherever I looked, there were fragments of buildings and stone walls darkened by time and overgrown with brown moss.

Life at the camp had a rhythm all its own. I saw warriors, yes, but also women, old men, and children. All around, I heard happy shouts, horses whinnying, and sheep and goats bleating. The kids ran in small packs between the large tents. The women cooked dinner in cauldrons. The old men sat in small groups next to fires having leisurely chats.

Hm... Regular people. Nothing wild about them. I spent my whole childhood in a similar camplike environment. It even felt somewhat like home.

They shot me looks sometimes but didn’t seem particularly interested. I must have been a sight these people saw all the time.

Finally, I was dragged over to a large tent in the very center of camp, which was clearly larger than all the others, and left at the doorway.

Despite wincing in pain, I was trying to keep my eyes open so I wouldn’t miss a thing.

A few moments later, a thin bald old man raised the heavy flap and walked out of the tent. He looked me over cantankerously, then nodded.

“Bring him in,” he rasped. “Master is waiting.”

I was again lifted by the armpits but less roughly and dragged into the tent.

For the first few seconds, I sniffed the air and looked around. In the middle of the tent, surrounded by a large number of pets and pillows, was a fire pit circled by large stones. On the walls hung shields and weaponry of various sizes as well as animal skulls, some of which clearly belonged to shadow creatures.

Sitting apart from the rest against a far wall there towered a six-foot armor stand decked out in a bone stryker suit. At first, I thought I was in the tent of the mage who bested me but, upon closer inspection, the skull helmet and other bone armor elements were not the same as what the stryker was wearing.

Meanwhile, I was propped up against one of the columns that held up the whole tent.

“Everyone out,” I heard an authoritative baritone from a distant shadow.

I instantly switched to true vision. Woah! The tent occupant’s energy system, glowing with a dark purple light, was strikingly powerful. I had never seen anyone with such thick and well-developed energy channels before. They were fed by a reservoir of five large bruts.

But that was not the end of it. The stryker sitting a few steps away from me was draped in artifacts and had purple bruts of various sizes interwoven into his energy system. The sight of it took my breath away.

I was distracted from contemplating the stryker’s energy system by a light rustling next to my thigh. I looked down to see a large white cat cautiously sniffing at my legs. Its ears and long whiskers seemed to have a life of their own, while the tip of its fluffy tail kept shaking nervously.

All that time, no sound was made in the tent with the exception of the white cat’s measured purring.

I also mechanically drew air into my nose and sniffed. Hm... Odd... I had never before encountered a cat that did not smell like a cat.

The animal immediately raised its head and bored into me with a prickly, studious gaze.

I frowned. It had cat eyes, but the look in them was clearly that of an intelligent creature. A quick scan revealed that my guess was correct. Before me was a magic creature with an energy system not unlike my own.

“How much longer will you keep me waiting?” the authoritative voice came impatiently from the shadow.

The cat shuddered. With a twitch of its fluffy tail and a couple pounces, it positioned itself next to the mage. A moment later then the cat’s body disappeared, leaving in its place a short thin human woman wearing a dark gray cloak with long pure white locks sticking out of her hood.

I blinked in surprise and turned my head. What the heck?

The creature turned sharply. Smiling predatorily back at me was a woman with the broad green eyes of a cat and little animal fangs sticking out beneath her lips.

“Tika, I’m losing my patience,” the mage let out his dismay. “What can you tell me? Is he one of yours?”

What does he mean, “yours?”

“Yes, master,” the woman he called Tika purred back. “He is a...”

She suddenly faltered.

“Were you going to say a true one?” the mage snorted. “Very good... You held your tongue. So, my lessons have done you well. Continue... What is he?”

I frowned. They didn’t even seem to take me for a human.

“At first I thought he was from a witching clan,” the woman with cat eyes said, casting a passing thoughtful gaze at me. “But then I realized he was a spellsword. A warrior/sorcerer.”

“Aha, I see...” the mage drawled out. “We’ve caught ourselves a werewolf. Now I see why he was so quick. You’ll never believe it, but he almost hit Derek Grant with his sword!”

“Apologies, master, for interrupting you,” Tika came.

“Yes?”

“He is not a werewolf, sir,” she came hurriedly.

“But you yourself just said he is a spellsword...”

“Yes,” she nodded and stared deeply at me. “But those of his small tribe have many natures.”

“Is that right?” the mage was sincerely surprised. “And what natures does he have?”

“Oh!” Tika said with a clever smile at me. “He is a very rare kind, sir. He is a fox. Or rather a fox pup. He still has some growing up to do.”

After saying that, the mage gave a vague snort, then Tika continued:

“Unlike werewolves, who regard their pack as the meaning of life, foxes are loners to the core. They serve no one other than themselves. You will never catch a fox marching in formation or fighting on the front lines. They prefer to combat their foes with single, clean, and lethal blows.”

“If that is true,” the mage snorted. “Then what was he doing in the Shadow Patrol?”

Tika turned back to me and, tilting her head to the side, stared me deeply in the eyes.

“This fox is only here because he stands to gain,” she chuckled, revealing her small fangs.

“Hey, fox!” the mage said to me. “Is she right?”

There was no point in keeping quiet. Playing the strong silent type with a mage this powerful could lead to nasty consequences.

“Yes,” I shrugged. That time, moving didn’t cause me the same flash of pain as before.

“What brought you to the frontier?” the mage asked.

“Same as everybody, I guess,” I replied. “Artifacts from the Shadow.”

“Or maybe you are acting contrary to your nature and are in fact spying for someone?” the mage asked with suspicion, staying in the shadow. “Perhaps for the very king? Because I already know from the other prisoners that you are the bastard of de Gramont, a traitor who tried to rise up against the crown. Why did you not lose your head like your father and brothers? Did they tell the king about your nature, and now you serve him?”

“If I say that your slave is correct and I have no master, you won’t believe me, will you?” I again shrugged.

I called Tika a slave on purpose. I wanted to see her reaction. The werewolf woman burned straight through me with an angry look. I gave her a barely perceptible wink and smirk. She did not like that. The mage meanwhile didn’t correct me — she really must have been his slave.

“Of course not,” the mage snorted with scorn. “Trusting someone of your tribe would mean betraying my very nature. And I will prove that to you now.”

I heard fingers snapping.

“Tika, hand me his things,” the mage ordered.

While I looked on floutingly, the white-haired woman obediently brought her master a small bundle that was lying at the far wall.

I heard the mage unfold the bundle and dig around. Then, clearly finding what he was after, he stood to his full herculean height and slowly came walking my direction.

A moment later, he was out of the shadow.

Well, look at you... What a face... Someone did a number on this guy. I wondered who. The mage’s broad face was marked with all kinds of deep long scars. Based on the telltale shape, it looked like they came from giant bear claws. But no... I looked closer. Hm... Those were burn scars. What kind of creature could do something like that?

The stryker froze two steps away from me. The left corner of his lips was slightly raised due to the scar. Ahem... What a ghastly smile. I saw a superior look in his gray eyes.

“So then, fox,” he came in an icy tone. “Explain to me how you came to possess a ghost dagger.”

And then, he showed me the dagger I found in the hiding spot in the bookmaker’s office.