Last Life

UNFORTUNATELY, WE WERE unable to make it out of Chagny. Or rather, we did leave the city, but by midday a blizzard started, and we had to turn back. In the end, we spent another five days there.

I could see perfectly well that we were not going to catch up to the caravan, but the forced pause also had its upsides. First of all, I would have the chance to heal in peace. And second, I was more or less able to establish a relationship with Lada. It wasn’t all that important, of course. But as they say, when nothing’s biting, crayfish will do fine. Witches were always like that at least. One could never say what they were thinking, or what they might throw out at the last second.

And that was exactly how things were progressing with Lada. I did not know where she was staying in Chagny, and I was not going to find out. She would be able to tell she was being followed in the blink of an eye. Then I could forget about her treating me nicely, or even neutrally. She came to me early in the morning and, after around two hours, left my room before noon. Skipping a bit ahead, I can say she continued doing so for five days. But then on day six, when the blizzard finally let up, Lada simply failed to show up. Which was no surprise to me at all.

Over the whole five days we were doing sessions, using true vision, I helped Lada know where to push and distribute the energy in her channels. Essentially, I was acting as her eyes like I promised.

Previously, she was acting on intuition and trying to heal herself without understanding the root of the problem. Where precision was required, she used overly large masses of energy and, on the contrary, where a powerful blast was needed, she would limit herself to faint trickles of mana.

With my help, it all started working. Once, I even saw tears in her eyes after we managed to unblock one of her energy channels.

As an aside, Lada had yet to tell me what happened to her or who exactly caused the ghastly magic wounds. In fact, she hadn’t told me a thing about her past at all. I tried asking her to be open with me, but my meager attempts were immediately shut down. And so, I stopped trying to ask the witch about her past.

Lada was more than willing to share information on the Shadow, and magic as a whole though, faithfully upholding her end of the bargain. I learned from her that there were actually several shadows. Lada at the very least knew of three other than the Shadow of Strix.

One was on the Southern Continent, covering a huge swath of the Yellow Desert. Another, slightly smaller one hovered over the middle of Northland, the northern continent, while the third was somewhere above the Red Ocean. All in all, it painted quite a funny picture.

At present, I had several theories on that account, but it was too early to discuss them. One thing was clear though — places of power were energy generators of some kind and attracted strange anomalies.

Lada didn’t have much to say about the gifted, and she was not too eager to say it, but I caught the gist. Essentially, they came in two varieties. The first, so called True gifted had supposedly received their power from the gods of this world. Witches, spellswords, forest princes, mountain lords, etc. They were all different, but had one thing in common — an inherent magic reservoir.

Group two were called Shadowtouched or Shadow Mages. They received their gifts after the coming of the anomalies and did not have their own magic reservoir. They obtained energy from bruts, stones of power, which were harvested mainly but not exclusively from the bodies of shadow monsters.

Shadow Energy had many facets, and so those it had made gifted also came in different varieties. Artifactors held sway over brown and gray mana. Alchemists used emerald and amber, while healers needed crimson and azure.

There were also strykers, combat mages, who had conquered lilac mana. Strykers meanwhile were the only kind of gifted who could enter the Shadow, and not for long. That was thanks to their magic armor, which protected them from the Shadow’s raw magic.

I could sense that Lada knew a lot more than she was letting on, but I was not going to pry, much less ask any unnecessary questions. Otherwise I risked raising suspicion with my ignorance. Still, I couldn’t shake the desire to show her the fox medallion or strange dagger I found in the hiding spot in the bookmaker’s office. In the end though, I came to the conclusion that it was not worth sharing this knowledge with the witch.

Lada was a great student. Essentially, by day five, she was able to free up another damaged energy channel with no hints from me. And that was probably the very factor that put an end point on our brief working relationship. She thought she’d gotten the hang of it, so she decided to complete the process on her own. And the next day, she simply didn’t show up.

And I wasn’t the least bit hurt. First of all, I had learned everything I really wanted to know. And second, I was sure that sooner or later, our paths would cross again. Because Lada got ahead of herself drawing conclusions about her “ailment.” It was all much more complicated, and she would not manage without the help of a seer. So soon, the witch would be looking for me again. But this time, she would be crawling on her hands and knees.

* * *

It took us seven days to reach Sardent — the second largest city in the County of Mâcon. That was where Lada said Sergeant Buquet was planning to sell off the “poor saps.”

Because the county itself was not part of Vestonia and essentially functioned as a separate government, we had to spend more than a day at the border. That was because of the upcoming war with Atalia and the huge crowds of refugees from nearby counties.

Basically, we checked into a hotel in the merchant quarter of Sardent that evening, fifteen days after I was attacked by the guild’s assassins.

Sardent was the first large town I’d visited in this world. Unlike Abbeville for example, this place was bubbling with life like a pot of stew forgotten over a fire.

And it was the low season. While its navigable river, the county’s main trade artery, was still iced over, the city stewed in its own juices. It was the first time I saw people from other countries. Tall, bearded northerners from Northland, fleet footed Bergonians, prim Astlanders, clamorous Atalians, and industrious merchants from the far-off caliphates. An excellent place to put my long-term plans into motion.

On the way into town, clearly having properly judged our cortège, a pack of local urchins descended upon us offering various services. They hollered at me in several different languages as well, though Vestonian was the main tongue.

Standing in the back and keeping a close eye on his underlings, I spotted the ringleader, a mop-headed short boy with a sharp lively look. I called him over in Vestonian.

“Monsieur!” he rasped, with a cold-harshened throat. Up close, he looked older. He and Max were probably the same age. “How might I be of service?”

“What is your name?” I asked.

“They call me Tomcat,” he thumbed his nose.

“Alright, Tomcat,” I nodded. “You can call me Chevalier Renard. I have a job for you and your little gaggle of hoodlums. The main thing I want out of you is speed. I can make it worth your while.”

“What do you need done?”

“I need you to track someone down. Fast.”

“Five thalers and we’re straight,” Tomcat came, thrusting out his lip in pride. The burning look in his eyes made it clear that he was asking for more than normal.

“No, kid,” I shook my head. “You must not have understood me. I’ll need you and your boys to turn this little town upside down to find the people I’m after. For that, you will receive one silver crown as an advance, and another five after you’re finished. Got it?”

The more I said, the further Tomcat’s eyes crept up into his forehead. He even gulped loudly.

“Chevalier, tell me the names of the men you are searching for,” he came firmly and walked forward. “We’ll take the job.”

“Sergeant Buquet,” I started. “His caravan should have arrived a few days ago and, most likely, he has already left town. Nevertheless, I want to know who bought most of the people he brought with in the caravan. Find every last slave he sold.”

After that, I tossed the silver coin to Tomcat, who caught it deftly and stuck it in his cheek.

“I’ll be staying at the Blue Lion,” I told him. “Find me there to tell me what you’ve learned.”

Tomcat nodded and, whistling loudly, headed down the nearest alley. His ragtag band of hoodlums followed quickly behind.

We checked into the Blue Lion hotel, which was recommended by the guards at the main city gates around noon and, by evening, Tomcat’s first reports were already starting to trickle in.

Unfortunately, we were too late to Sardent. Sergeant Buquet had finished his trading and left town a few days before. As had the merchants of the Eastern Caliphate and Great Khaganate he sold the “poor saps” to. The merchants then were hurrying to the nearest seaport before the roads turned to a swamp.

We also learned that Buquet sold the “poor saps” in small groups to various different merchants. And so, we still had hope of finding and capturing if not all than at least some of them. Honestly though, every passing hour and joyless piece of news caused that hope to fade. Out of all the peasant recruits, we only knew the fate of three. The rest were already far from Sardent.

By midnight, Tomcat came to the hotel himself. The Blue Lion’s guard team at first did not want to let him in, then even tried to throw him out. But I intervened and gave the guys generous tips, after which they let him come up to my room.

I offered Tomcat a seat and poured him a bit of warm drink made from the herbs I got from Lada.

While the kid sat down and cautiously sniffed the contents of the ceramic cup, I scanned everything and discovered spots of bright gray in his lungs. I had seen that many times before. His lungs were infected with tuberculosis. It was still in the early phase but, considering where he lived and his lack of access to adequate care, it spelled his doom.

Meanwhile, with a wince at the clearly unappealing herbal aroma, Tomcat set the glass aside and glanced at me in suspicion.

“You think I want to poison you?” I laughed. “So I won’t have to pay the rest of what I owe you? Look...”

I picked up his glass and took two deep sips. After that, setting the concoction aside, I took out my wallet and placed five silver crowns on the table.

“Your fee,” I nodded at the money.

Tomcat gracefully swept the silver rounds from the tabletop and, his eyes changed, looked straight at me with newfound curiosity.

“A man of honor is a rare beast in these times,” he rasped and coughed into his sleeve. When the short attack came to an end, he again glanced at me with his eyes all teary.

“Not hawking up blood yet?” my question made the kid shudder and frown.

“Not yet,” he replied softly. Tomcat had seemingly already guessed at his illness.

I rubbed my chin and sighed. I of course did not consider it a rule to perform charity... For example, I did not go off after Sergeant Buquet like a white knight on horseback to save the poor saps. No, I was no hero rushing to aid the downtrodden and disenfranchised who flung themselves on the mercy of scoundrels like obedient sheep. I simply had a curious plan for how to get back a thing of quite great value to me. That was all.

On top of that, based off of what the witch told me about the frontier, the poor saps were doomed either way. So on a galley, even as slaves, they would have better chances of surviving longer.

But Tomcat was a different matter... First of all, he and his band of hoodlums had made a decent impression on me. And with the proper motivation, they could perform that way again.

And second, the kid reminded me of myself with the clever look in his eyes. He was not some blind follower; he was a leader. It didn’t matter to him if it turned his fists to a bloody pulp, he was going to punch his way through anything that stood in his way. I meanwhile would give him a bit of help with that.

I took a little phial out of my inner coat pocket and set it on the table.

“You know what this is?”

The kid went wide eyed staring at the crimson potion, gulped loudly and nodded.

“It’s yours,” I said. “Take one drop a day with a tea made of these herbs. I promise you’ll get better.”

I set a few dry bundles of plant matter in front of him. Tomcat stared at me in stunned silence.

“Why all this generosity?”

I snorted.

“Nothing gets past you. Ever heard of the word ‘investment?’“

Tomcat shook his head “no.”

“It’s when you put money into something so you can get profit out later,” I explained.

“Gotcha,” Tomcat scowled.

Not touching the potion or herbs, he got up from the table and walked toward the front door.

“What’s the matter?” I asked in surprise. “You didn’t even hear what I have to say.”

Tomcat turned and snorted:

“Why should I? I already know, kid.”

“Hm... Curious,” I came and sat back in my chair. I decided to overlook his informal tone. “Surprise me.”

“Easy,” Tomcat responded with a challenging air. “You think you’re the first profit lover tried to buy me off with generous gifts? You think I don’t know what you want?”

“What is it you think I want?” I asked without a hint of a smile.

“Same as everybody,” Tomcat shrugged and, boring into me with a hateful downcast look, continued: “But you won’t get a thing! I ain’t no rat. I won’t give up any of my boys. You think I don’t know where they get sold to? Even though my name ain’t worth nothin’, I’d slit anyone’s throat for my boys! So you’d better take your propositions to Rubin or Nostril — they’d sell their own mothers for an obol with a hole punched through it.”

“Got it,” my calm tone somewhat dampened Tomcat’s fighting spirit. “I heard you. Now sit down and listen to me.”

Tomcat didn’t even flinch, but he also stopped walking away. I just shrugged. Wanna stand? Be my guest. But he was clearly intrigued.

“I am no slave trader.” When he heard that, Tomcat’s eyes squinted mockingly. “No, no. I’m not going to try and convince you it’s a rotten business or anything else like that. Everyone earns their keep in life somehow. I am not a slave trader because I personally do not regard it as a good business for me.”

Even if it were, I’d still keep my distance though. Nasty stuff. But I didn’t say that part out loud. Tomcat would never have bought it. He was expecting different arguments.

“Average price for a healthy man is ten or fifteen crowns,” Tomcat snorted. “Babies fetch twenty. And you’re telling me that’s not a good business?”

“Not for me personally, no,” I shrugged.

Tomcat squinted again.

“In what way?”

“Slaves need to be fed, given shelter, medical care if they get injured or fall ill, security, and transportation. Then you’ve gotta find a good market to sell them at, and bribe officials in every town or port along the way,” I started enumerating on my fingers. “I won’t argue — there will still be some profit after all is said and done, but it fades in comparison with the big losses I would sustain personally.”

“What do you mean?” Tomcat asked instantly.

“Well, reputation for one. I am a nobleman from a very ancient Vestonian family. If anyone at court found out I’d been besmirching my honor by trading slaves, my reputation would be done for. I would very, very quickly become an outcast among my own kind. And I might as well forget about the king’s mercy. I’d likely lose my inheritance. Marriage with a rich, elite bride would also be off the table. Who wants to marry their daughter to a slave trader? Trust me, the couple hundred crowns’ profit I’d make from selling a handful of urchins could never justify such losses.”

Tomcat mechanically nodded at my every word. The look in his eyes clearly indicated that I had chosen the right arguments.

“Beyond reputation,” I continued. “I would also stand to lose another valuable resource — time. The money a slave trader makes in a year traipsing around the world and risking life and limb I could earn in one day or, if I get very lucky, just one hour.”

Tomcat frowned. He looked discouraged.

“Now I’m all confused, monsieur,” he said, again addressing me formally. “How do you hope to profit by giving me a healing potion?”

“You have something I need,” I replied and added: “Today, you earned those six crowns for providing that very thing. As I’m sure you can see, I am interested in information. I like the way you work. You saved me time. So I’m investing in your health to prolong what I hope will be a mutually beneficial partnership.”

“And that’s all?” Tomcat’s eyebrows went up slightly. “Only information?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “I need eyes and ears in this rich trading town. Money, as you can tell, is no object.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll start pumping you full of obvious nonsense?” Tomcat chuckled.

Without responding, I took a silver thaler from my coin purse and set it on the edge of the table.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tomcat asked in surprise.

“It’s payment for the information you just gave me,” I responded.

The kid’s eyes widened. He looked baffled.

“But I didn’t give you anything...”

“What do you mean?” I snorted. “First of all, you gave me information about local slave prices. Second, now I know that child slaves are in high demand. And third, if I suddenly get the crazy idea to dip my toes in that business, I should talk to two guys called Rubin and Nostril. You earned this thaler. Take it.”

Tomcat spent some time digesting that information and, clearly making up his mind, took the coin.

“How did that make you feel?” I asked gravely.

“Like it’s worthwhile doing business with you,” Tomcat responded with a smile. “And that it would be an unforgivable act of stupidity on my part to lose a source of income like that.”

Once finished, he scraped the bundles of herbs off the table along with the potion.

“So, I was right about you,” I nodded.

“Anything else you’re interested in?” Tomcat asked matter-of-factly.

“All the big news, rumors, and prices for various goods,” I replied. “I’ll give you a list of everything I want to know later. Can you read and write?”

“We’ll manage,” Tomcat replied vaguely and shot me a clever look. “Almost forgot... We found the last group of slaves you were looking for. The three men were sold to Northlanders by Sergeant Buquet. They’re still in town. Their new master, Arvid Ulsson, cannot depart yet because he lost badly at dice. He’s staying in a tavern called the Happy Badger.”