Last Life

IT HAD BEEN A DAY since the shadow wolf alpha was defeated. That was how long it took us to reach the Duke’s temporary camp.

I seemed to recall from a month before that it took just over three hours to reach the lake from the camp. But at the time, I was being transported in a cage in a wagon and did not have to lug the unconscious Vidal on my back.

For the first hour, the chevalier was able to walk. He even tried to carry a bag of food and water we found in the wagons, but slowly he started to give out and stumble. The wound on his back left by the wolf claws got inflamed and, during a break in the middle of the night, he passed out.

For a few hours, constantly trading off, von Holtz and von Brunon tried to carry him, but they got exhausted very quickly. And so, I had to carry Chevalier Vidal on my back most of the way. He for the record had yet to wake up.

And that was on top of my scouting duties. We had to change direction three times that day because of a pack of predators. But thankfully, they smelled all the blood by the lake and were hurrying that direction. Otherwise, it would have been tough.

A few times, I asked myself why I was bothering with these people. All alone, it would have been easier, less tiring, and most importantly — faster. But every time I thought back on the trio standing up against the shadow creature, distracting it and giving me time to land the final blow... They couldn’t have been hoping for victory. Much lest trusted me... Particularly after the battle at the cliffs. But they did what they did. Before that, they were no one to me. But after the fight with the wolf, something changed. Now, I couldn’t abandon them. And something was telling me that if they had to carry me the way I was carrying Vidal, they’d have found a way.

I learned from von Holtz that the four of us were the only members of our initial party still alive. Sergeant Ravel perished in the battle at the cliffs along with several mercenaries from Trixie’s fiancé’s clique. Patrick and his hanger-on Jean the redhead meanwhile got eaten by lake monsters right in front of me. Which I felt no pity over.

The steppe dwellers were dead. And based on the way the baron looked at Vidal while telling me about the others’ fates, they were not particularly hopeful that the chevalier would make it to Westerly Fort.

While I carried Vidal on my back, Baron von Brunon took my backpacks. Many times, I noticed both him and Baron von Holtz shooting me curious looks. And I couldn’t blame them. Most likely, they had a lot of questions for me, but I had to give them their due — they didn’t ask a single one. I figured that was always Chevalier Vidal’s thing. He really had a big mouth.

While walking, I had enough time to come to grips with the strange phenomenon I had noticed during the fight with the wolf. The inflow of energy. It turned out that the energy field around my body, which I could see while inside the Barrier, meant I no longer had to have physical contact with a brut to absorb the mana from it. It was enough to have the brut in range of my new magic aura, which was approximately an inch or two from my body.

And that was what happened. During the fight, my energy system started absorbing mana from the bruts in the hidden pockets of my tunic.

Now I just had to learn to control the process. Which was precisely what I did the whole journey. And I was slowly starting to figure it out.

We reached the Duke’s temporary camp approximately one hour before sunset and hid lying on a knoll, watching the slow pace of life in the small camp.

Three big tents, ten small ones and huts, canopies, a latrine — over the past month the Duke and his people really got settled in. I was very glad to see the two heavy carts and a wagon. The same one that held the Ghost. Which was still there. I could sense it.

When we’d seen all we wanted to see, we crawled back down to the foot of the hill where we’d left Vidal, who still hadn’t come to his senses.

“Seems quiet,” von Holtz whispered. “At the very least, nothing has changed since we left.”

“Then they must not know the Duke and the others are dead,” von Brunon nodded affirmatively.

“Chevalier, did you sense anything?” von Holtz asked me, and the two men stared back searchingly. In the past day, the two of them had gained a healthy appreciation for my senses and grown to trust them implicitly.

“There are six men in the camp,” I replied. “I did not sense any magic. Other than...”

“The Ghost...” von Holtz nodded understandingly.

“I can’t sense the lutine either,” I added.

“She must have died somewhere on the steppe,” von Brunon snorted and added: “Good riddance...”

“What do you suggest, gentlemen?” von Holtz asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Let’s wait until they’re all asleep, then...” von Brunon said with a scowl, running a finger across his neck.

“I’ll take out the sentries,” I nodded shortly.

“Gentlemen,” von Holtz came. “I have one little thing I’d like to ask. If possible... The bald fatso... He’s mine...”

I remembered the man the baron was talking about. The fat guy was an overseer. He loved smacking prisoners with his whip for the tiniest infractions.

If the baron’s looks could kill, I was sure the bald fatso would already have been writhing on the ground. Von Holtz must have gotten very sick of him over the last month.

Von Brunon gave an understanding nod and turned. I shrugged my shoulders and answered:

“I see no reason why not.”

“Alright, gentlemen,” von Holtz chuckled. “Then happy hunting.”

Our storm of the camp was both fast and nearly silent. With the exception of the bald fatso, who screamed a bit before dying — von Holtz made sure his tormentor got what he deserved.

While the barons dragged the dead bodies into the latrine ditch, I brought Chevalier Vidal to camp and started looking through the largest tent, which belonged to the Wild Duke.

The Duke’s temporary quarters were quite spare. It differed noticeably from what I saw in the main wildling camp where he interrogated me.

It was immediately obvious that the man who lived in this tent was not planning to stay long. And thus, he took minimal supplies. But despite that, I was able to find something.

My spoils were a modest set of potions, a dagger made of regular steel, and a random assortment of clothes. The Duke must have preferred to wear his most valuable possessions or take them along in his horse’s saddlebags. His horse though successfully escaped to the steppe at the beginning of the battle by the lake just after it heard the wolf howl.

The situation was even more dire in the mages’ tents. Clothing, toiletries, dishware, and tools. All just stuff for traveling, nothing extra.

I unloaded all my loot by the fire so we could split it up fairly.

When the barons finished looking around the camp, they walked up right while I was inspecting Vidal’s wound next to the fire.

“How is he?” von Holtz asked.

“Not good,” I replied honestly.

“That creature must have had poison on its claws,” von Brunon muttered.

“If so, Vidal would have died back by the lake,” I objected. “These creatures do have a poison gland, but it is located in their tail.”

“Is there nothing there that could help?” von Holtz nodded at the potion box.

“Alas, all the Duke’s potions are made of amber, brown, and emerald dust,” I shook my head. “All I can do is help his body fight the illness with a few drops of that emerald infusion there.”

Without a word, the barons nodded and gave their approval.

Taking from the box an elongated phial which was half full of a dark green liquid, I carefully observed my aura to make sure it didn’t start sucking out the emerald mana like a hungry predator.

By the time the narrow phial had been brought to Vidal’s lips, I considered with annoyance that I was forced to use this useless infusion on the poor sap even though my backpack was full to the brim with crimson bruts.

And that was exactly when it hit me. What if I used my new aura to redirect mana I absorbed from bruts into something else? Before, I could only pull that trick with my own energy, and only for destructive purposes. But now, knowing that my aura could briefly store certain kinds of energy without intermingling them with mine, I just had to figure out if I could use it to share that mana with someone else.

“Chevalier, are you feeling alright?” von Holtz’s voice made me shudder.

I glanced at him uncomprehendingly. After that, I turned to look at my hand. All that time, I had been sitting there bent over Vidal and holding the potion phial above his mouth.

“Gentlemen,” I came thoughtfully. “I do not wish to give false hope, but I believe there is another way I could help Chevalier Vidal...”

“And what would it require?” von Holtz lurched forward.

“The crimson brut we extracted from the shadow creature,” I replied.

All the wolf loot was in one of the bags von Holtz was carrying. We decided to split it up after we got to safety. But both the barons and Chevalier Vidal, who was still unconscious, later admitted that the majority of it was rightfully mine. They based their arguments on the fact that without me, they’d all be dead.

Not hesitating for a minute, Baron von Brunon got the loot bag and took out a crimson brut the size of a pigeon egg.

“Set it down on that flat stone,” I asked. “Before I can get started, I have to test something...”

The men nodded at almost the same time and started waiting. Neither of them was going to step aside. I noticed their burning looks and snorted to myself. They were about to witness a magical mystery they would tell their grandchildren about. If of course they survived…

Casting the inappropriate thoughts aside, I concentrated on the crimson crystal. It had relatively little mana, but it was enough to heal Vidal three times over.

I brought my hand to the crystal and, not touching it, let my aura get to work while I monitored the flow of mana.

The first three attempts ended in failure. The small masses of mana my aura drew from the brut went straight into my energy system.

Attempt number four ended with the mana simply disintegrating. It was only a few minutes later, after spending a good amount of the mana for nothing that I managed to form a little magic ball on the tip of my finger, which glowed a dim crimson.

Watching the process closely, von Holtz and von Brunon gasped in astonishment. I should also confess that I was captivated by the little glowing ball. And considering the fact I had never tried this trick before either in this world, or my past life, I also felt a well-earned sense of pride.

“Now I just have to test how this works on living and nonliving things,” I voiced my thoughts.

Baron von Holtz snapped out of it first.

“Try it on this rock,” he said, pushing a little stone my way.

I nodded and directed the crimson ball into the stone, carefully scanning. The crimson energy gathered around the gray surface of the stone in an opaque cloud and a few moments later simply blew away.

“Was that good or bad?” von Brunon asked, puzzled.

“Good,” I nodded. “The magic did no harm to the stone, which means it will not injure Vidal, either. Or so I think... Now time to try it on something living.”

“Here,” von Brunon stepped forward and extended his left hand, which was bleeding from the fingers. “You can test it on one of my fingers.”

“You sure?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” von Brunon nodded, but I could see his face go pale.

It was quite easy to form another ball. That time, I decided to use half as much mana.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Yes,” the baron answered firmly through clenched teeth.

The little crimson glow the size of a wheat berry came down onto the joint of the baron’s pinky finger. Right where the cut was. And that time, the mana did not simply blow away. Like a little drop of water, it seeped into the wound and went dim. Using true vision, I was able to see that it triggered a slow healing process.

“Whew...” I sighed heavily, wiping the sweat from my brow. “I think it worked... How do you feel, baron?”

Von Brunon, afraid to breathe out of turn all that time shuddered and, loudly releasing the air from his lungs, said:

“It felt like putting my hand against the side of a warm stove. And the wound tingles a bit.”

A smile of joy appeared on von Holtz’s bearded countenance. He patted his friend on his broad shoulder, and exclaimed:

“That’s good! Very good!”

For the next hour, while the barons cooked over a fire and chatted happily, I kept busy healing Chevalier Vidal. Carefully, dribbling crimson mana into the cleaned wound in small droplets, I considered the fact that my new abilities were going to make me have to do a lot of experimenting.

When I finished, von Holtz helped me carry Vidal into one of the big tents. The baron suggested making a bandage out of one of the many rags lying around camp, but I was firmly opposed. I had to explain that any bandage material would at minimum have to be boiled first. They did not dare argue and instead got straight to work hanging a pot of water over the fire.

After the late dinner or early breakfast, I finally decided to pay a visit to the Wild Duke’s prisoner.

When I threw back the flap on the wagon cover, my nose was assaulted with the smells of feces and sweat. I could sense movement inside the cage. My approach did not go unnoticed.

In true vision, the prisoner’s energy system glowed with a dim steely hue. Strange magic... The fact he had a reservoir indicated that before me was a descendant of what they called true gifted. Those who had survived inside the Shadow.

Scanning the prisoner closely, I concluded that I was dealing with a creature similar to the children of Meemeeteh. However, neither the Lao, nor any allied tribes had anyone with an energy system like this. All gifted in those tribes had an affinity for the emerald magic of the forest.

The prisoner was blocked from replenishing the mana in his reservoir by shackles on his wrists and ankles, as well as a thin collar around his neck.

I remembered the Duke speaking Vestonian with his prisoner but decided just in case to ask:

“Do you understand me?”

After a brief pause, the prisoner stirred and came over to the bars of the cage. The hood of his robe was pushed back slightly and, in the moonlight, I saw a tortured pale gray face.

Hm... I must have been somewhat mistaken. She was a woman, not a man. Slit eyes, pointed ears — she was definitely from a tribe related to the Lao. She just had a different skin color.

She gulped with a scratchy throat and licked her cracked lips. In her eyes was enough sorrow and exhaustion for two lifetimes.

Hm... She’d fallen on tough times... But I was not particularly fooled by her. Knowing what went on in the Shadow, I could say confidently that common women did not venture out beyond the Barrier.

Her heavy, slightly surprised gaze ran over me and stopped on the flask hanging off my belt. The prisoner definitely recognized me. I remembered her long studious stares the day before the flow.

“Do you understand me?” I repeated in witching tongue.

The prisoner shuddered and looked up at me. She drew in air through her nose and, a moment later, said in a faint voice:

“I can smell my world on you... The Great Bound did not kill you, and you returned. He must have gotten what he wanted then...”