Last Life

WHEN I WOKE UP, I realized I had only been out for a few moments. I was in no rush to move or get up off the ground, just staying face down. I wanted them to think I was unconscious.

Switching to true vision, I quickly surveyed the damage. One might say I got lucky. The crossbow bolt just grazed me and didn’t hit bone, though it did take a good chunk of flesh off my shoulder with it. My reservoir was already repairing the severed energy channels quickly.

When I heard soft footsteps behind me, I immediately perked up. Based on the sound and barely audible breathing, there were three of them. I slowly drew in air through my nose. No smell whatsoever! These guys prepared for this. We were dealing with professionals. That was bad. Very bad.

Finally, the footsteps stopped next to my fallen body, and I could just tell they were aiming at me again. I couldn’t afford to wait any longer. They were about to double tap me.

A wave of energy ran through my body and a moment later, teeth clenched in pain, I somersaulted out of the way. And just in the nick of time. Right where I’d been laying, the crossbow bolt stuck into the ground.

Dressed in all black with a tarred face, the man was just five steps away from me. Ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder, I burst right up next to my unlucky assassin, plunging a stiletto into his throat while also catching two bolts with his body like a shield.

I was not planning on giving my opponents time to reload, much less unsheathe their blades. Pushing the lifeless body straight into the fire, darkening the area behind me, I went racing toward the nearest assassin. Throwing aside his unloaded crossbow, he was already reaching for the grip of his short sword. I fell on him just as his blade made it halfway out of the sheath. Pushing a mass of energy through the stiletto, I made a long lunge, plunging its tip directly into my opponent’s heart.

Two down.

Number three had enough time to unsheathe his blade and come racing my way, but I was not planning to kill him. I needed one alive. I had to know exactly who hired these assassins.

“Sleep!”

A moment later, I looked on in surprise as a talisman shaped like a predatory creature’s claw hanging on my opponent’s chest lit up with a bright yellow glow and crumbled into ash.

The assassin was no less surprised to see my incantation fail. He hesitated for a second and cast a stunned gaze at his chest, which I instantly took advantage of.

Feeling the blood pound in my temples, its heavy beats counting out my final conscious seconds, severing the energy channels I’d cultivated so painstakingly for such a long time, I closed the gap and with a short blow plunged the tip of my blade into the assassin’s temple.

Before my mind fell into darkness, I saw my opponent’s wide-open eyes filling with blood as he lay there dying.

* * *

My first thought after opening my eyes was that I was delirious. A familiar oval face, coal-black hair in a thick braid, plump rosy lips, an attentive look in big dark green eyes...

“Lada?” I rasped with a scratchy throat.

“You’re finally awake,” I heard a familiar, gibing voice. “Those wolves really did a number on you, fox.”

I gave a start, but she placed a warm hand on my chest to stop me from getting up.

“Just relax! Don’t disturb the wounds...”

“Are they...?”

“Dead,” Lada said shortly.

“My people?”

“As far as I know, they’re fine... Except for the kid who was sitting up with you. He’s toast. Well, or so I was told...”

I breathed a heavy sigh and closed my eyes. My party had suffered its first loss. Opening my eyes, I looked around and asked:

“Where are we?”

“A hotel,” the witch shrugged. “City of Chagny.”

I thought back on the map I’d studied and nodded. It was approximately ten miles from where I was attacked.

“Was I out long?”

“Three days,” Lada replied patiently.

I examined the bandage on my shoulder, then switched to true vision and winced. Beyond the wounds, I counted up to a dozen serious strains in my energy system and over twenty smaller ones. Well, could be worse... My reservoir was working full bore but, seemingly, coping. Based on the telltale traces of magic, I had been administered crimson hollowstone potion and something else from the witch’s arsenal.

I finished scanning, looked up and saw Lada staring back at me attentively.

“Were you just doing what I think you were?”

“Yes,” I nodded and immediately asked: “What are you doing here?”

“I accept your offer,” she answered simply. “But you owe me for the healing.”

“Okay. Why didn’t you join the caravan right away?”

“First of all, none of your business,” the witch shot out and added: “And second, my relationship with the scoundrel Roland Buquet could be better. And that’s putting it lightly.”

“How so?”

“Beyond the fact that the vile man is a slave trader and smuggler, he is also a mentally ill sicko. That enough for you?”

“Hold up, are you saying...?” the puzzle pieces in my head started coming together.

“Yes, yes, you’re getting it, fox. That brute, Sergeant Buquet, is going to sell the nameless peasants from his caravan in the County of Mâcon to slave traders. And from there, they will be sent on to the slave markets of the east to end their lives either on a galley or in a mine. As you’ve surmised, Buquet is in cahoots with the head of Abbeville’s chancery and the captain of Westerly Fort, who will simply write them off as losses. The death rate on the frontier is high, so I’m sure you understand... Well, Buquet will return to Abbeville with the contraband dust.”

I snorted. It was entirely possible that the dust I’d pilfered from Paul Lepetit’s hiding spot was from this very source.

“You really know your stuff,” I praised.

“You forget who you’re talking to?” the witch raised her brows ironically.

“Of course not. That would be rash on my part.”

I unconsciously shrugged and immediately hissed in pain.

“I told you not to disturb the wounds,” Lada said with a heavy sigh and, getting up from the chair, walked over to the table where I could see various bowls, phials, and white rags.

While she whipped up her potion, which had a relaxing aroma, I decided to keep asking questions.

“You called the things that attacked me wolves...”

“I got ahead of myself,” she snorted. “More like wolf pups. Just people. If they were real werewolves, your servants would be scooping up scraps of your flesh for burial.”

I felt an icy chill run through my body.

Lada picked up something off the table and, walking over to my bed, extended a hand.

“Recognize this?” she asked, nodding at two dark threads draped over her fingers with a pair of large, hooked animal claws strung through.

Without waiting for me to answer, she continued:

“The assassins were wearing these around their necks. I don’t know how you crossed the Guild of the Nightwolves, but I suggest you grow eyes on the back of your head. Sense the familiar magic? It’s the work of someone just like you, a spellsword. I know wolves and foxes don’t get along, but still...”

I switched to true vision. Curious. The surface of the claw was covered in glowing protection runes in witching tongue. I had never seen another spellsword’s work before. They were also pretty advanced claws. Lada was right — the talismans were imbued with a sorcery at once strange and dimly familiar, something that awakened my primordial instincts.

I shared my observations with Lada.

“Werewolf claws,” she shrugged. “Both from young individuals. Adults’ claws are twice as long. You’ll see for yourself soon enough. They never stop until they’ve finished what they started. Most likely, the guild leader will send werewolves to get rid of you next. Any idea who might be behind it?”

I snorted. Could have been anybody... Starting from my doting aunt and ending with the Webers’ mystery enemy. But before I could say anything, the door opened to reveal my trusty Bertrand. Seeing that I was conscious, he exclaimed with delight:

“Monsieur! Thank the gods you’re awake!”

“I’m very glad to see you, too, old fellow,” I smiled.

And that was true. Bertrand was the only person in this world who loved me like a member of his family and was truly loyal to me. His mere presence gave me a feeling of comfort, like I once got from Vadoma, my adoptive mother.

“I see you have things to discuss,” Lada nodded understandingly. “I will leave you alone.”

After that, she turned and addressed Bertrand:

“Old man, make sure your master drinks the concoction I’ve left on the table.” And again to me: “You should uphold your end of the bargain as fast as you can. Before any werewolves come after your hide. Dead men are worth nothing to me.”

Waiting for me to nod, the witch turned and left the room in a striding gait.

“Cantankerous old woman,” Bertrand said in a half whisper, shaking his head. “In a word — a witch.”

“But she helped me,” I chuckled. “Not by herself. Do I see that you did what I taught you?”

Before the trip, I gave Bertrand detailed instructions on what to do if I got seriously injured and was unable to heal myself.

“Yes, monsieur,” Bertrand replied. His lips started quivering with anxiety. “By the time we woke up and hopped out to see what the fighting was about, it was all over. I saw you on the ground unconscious in a pool of your own blood. And right away, I did what you taught me to do. I poured the contents of two phials of crimson potion straight down your throat.”

“Great job,” I praised. “And thank you, my friend. You’ve saved my life yet again.”

Bertrand gave me a warm hug.

“And now, let’s hurry the process along. Bring me my potions and a bag of dust,” I chuckled and nodded at the table. “With that witch’s concoctions, this could take months to heal.”

When Bertrand returned with the little chest where I kept the magic potions we bought in Abbeville, I asked him:

“I assume Sergeant Buquet didn’t wait up for us?”

“Nope,” the old man shook his head and added angrily: “That night, when that scoundrel ran over to see what was going on, he spent a very long time cursing. He rues the day he agreed to let you join the caravan. Then he announced that we were on our own and he was not going to have any part in a squabble between two nobles and put the people he was entrusted with in harm’s way. He kept poking poor Pierre’s body the whole time, too. But Jérémie he took with him.”

“Now that he should not have done,” I nodded and bared my teeth. “Start packing, we have to catch up to that caravan before it gets to the County of Mâcon. And call Jacques. I have to give him a couple instructions.”