Last Life

“AH, THE WALLS OF TOULON!” Monsieur Chariez came with relief, head of the caravan we joined up with in Briard, a small town on the border between two counties on Vestonian territory. “After this, two hours from Toulon is Westerly Fort — our final stronghold. And after that...”

“Is the Shadow of Strix,” I finished the caravan leader’s sentence.

“Ah... Cursed thing,” Chariez muttered and, with a loud smack of the lips, pulled back on the reins.

Watching his cart as it started off, I turned to look at the distant walls of Vestonia’s final border town bathed in the walls of the setting sun and smiled. We had left Sardent nearly a month earlier and now finally were reaching the frontier.

Along with me was the wagon, which had put up a great showing on the trip, unlike the one Jacques and I expropriated from the Viscount de Tosny.

The viscount’s transport couldn’t take the hardships of our journey and had to be sold in a small town a few days’ travel from the border of the County of Mâcon. There we also purchased several horses for our little team.

“From here we stick to the plan?” Jacques asked me, seated on the wagon’s sideboards.

“Yes,” I nodded. “We’ll stay a few days at an inn Monsieur Chariez told us about. Then, while I settle affairs in the fortress, your job will be to find us a decent place to stay.”

Jacques nodded, jerked the reins, and our home on wheels rolled off. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a pale young face flickering through the narrow wagon window and breathed a heavy sigh.

On that day in the Happy Badger, using the Viscount de Tosny’s potion and a certain amount of ale, I was able to convince Ulsson to sell all five of his slaves even though I was initially planning to buy just the guys from our caravan.

I changed my mind when I saw the energy system of the kid in the separate cell, Kevin, who proved to be gifted. Whether that was a nice coincidence, simple random chance or yet another indulgence from my mysterious benefactor I did not care. I was not going to let that chance slip through my fingers.

Slave number five, the broad-shouldered blond, I bought more out of pity than anything else. First of all, I knew what fate had in store for him in the north, and second, I could simply afford it.

I never once found myself regretting it, though. Gunnar, as the blond was called, was a native of western Astland. He was enslaved when his home village got raided and burned to the ground by retinue men from a neighboring barony. The much suffering kid sincerely appreciated my good-will gesture and did everything in his power to help us on the road.

As an aside, he was the one who told his cellmates Jérémie, Claude, and Luc, who didn’t understand a word of the Northland dialect, that they were all going to be sacrificed in the Frost Temple. Needless to say, when they saw my face through the grated window, they took it as a sign from above.

All told, I paid one hundred silver crowns for the five slaves, which was what the purchase contract stated. I had intentionally paid nearly double what Ulsson’s uncle did. That way, no one could accuse me of defrauding him. Anyone who saw the numbers in the contract would say the deal was more than fair to the northerners.

Beyond that, on my insistence, which surprised Ulsson greatly, the document contained a detailed list of the first and last names of each slave I was purchasing. That was to insure against anyone in the Vestonian government laying claim to my property. And I had no doubt someone would try.

The deal nearly blew up when the attorney who was supposed to notarize the document started questioning things. Like whether Ulsson had the authority, as nephew, to make these kinds of decisions about his uncle’s property, for instance. But Ulsson thrusted a power of attorney in his face stating that he did, and all the questions went away.

When all the slaves were brought out of their cells and lined up before us so their names could be written into the contract and they could be given to their new master, Knud suddenly spoke up. He was the only member of the merchant guard team to try and bring Ulsson to reason, arguing that his uncle would be outraged.

But Arvid adamantly demanded that Knud shut his trap. And the Viscount de Tosny’s potion had nothing to do with it. Its effect had already run out. It was all the fault of the fat purse and its hundred silver coins. Ulsson did not want to let it slip through his fingers. Overall, I could say with absolute certainty that the final stage of our transaction Arvid completed voluntarily and in a nearly sober state. Silver often worked wonders.

How Ulsson’s uncle would react to the slave sale I could not have cared less. The deal was formulated legally.

Skipping a bit ahead, I can say that when we left Sardent, Arvid’s uncle and the Frost Temple priest were still in the county capital.

Ulsson then, according to Tomcat who I told to keep an eye on the northerners when we were in town, managed to lose my hundred crowns at the card table that very night. Overall, I could only guess what that moron had in store after his uncle came back.

We stayed in Sardent for another few nights during which Tomcat provided me a steady flow of information. Before leaving, I gave him highly detailed instructions on how to compose his reports for me.

The hoodlum ringleader, without suspecting it, had been turned into something of a bot gathering all available information on a local network called “Sardent and surroundings.”

Tomcat was supposed to take his reports weekly to Monsieur Cluzet, the attorney that oversaw my transaction with Ulsson, and who I liked for his meticulous, scrupled nature.

Cluzet and I had drawn up a contract saying he would receive correspondence for me, then forward it to me on postal stagecoaches that occasionally passed through with caravans headed for Toulon.

To remunerate the attorney for his services, which included handling fixed payments to my “infobot,” I opened an account in Sardent’s largest bank, where I left a deposit of fifteen hundred crowns and a monthly payout order for Monsieur Cluzet or a legal representative thereof.

I was aware that the quality of information and particularly its latency in this slow-moving world would be, to put it lightly, far from perfect. But at the very least, even though it was a bit late, I would be able to stay on top of events in Sardent.

When I had seen enough of Toulon’s walls in the evening light, I glanced at my small party heading into town. To be frank, I was expecting the most problems with the kids I bought. I was prepared for resistance, sabotage of my orders, and angry, hateful looks burning through my insides. I was after all their slave owner. As a matter of fact, I was expecting them to make an escape on night one and had already written off the money I spent on them in a column labeled, “who cares...?” But the reality was completely different.

There was no resistance, not even a whiff of it. All five obeyed my orders without hesitation, even with a certain amount of enthusiasm, which came as quite a surprise at first. And as for mean looks, I didn’t even see a hint, much less escape attempts. All five looked on me more as a benefactor than a “hated slave owner.”

I shared my thoughts on the matter with Jacques. But he couldn’t tell what I was asking at first. And when it hit him... I saw him shooting me questioning looks for a long time after.

His explanation was that, essentially, when these poor saps became my property, they essentially felt like they won the lottery. As for Gunnar, Jérémie, Claude, and Luc — sure. Those four were born peasants and accustomed to hard labor since childhood. They had often known hunger and poverty.

And now, I saved them from dying and, to top it off, gave them three square meals a day, good clothing, and hadn’t even caned them once. Jacques said that working for me, to them, was like going on a wellness retreat. In less than a month, the aristocratic fare I’d been feeding them had put some meat on their bones. We were practically all eating from the same pot. How could they even think of running? Where would they run to? They preferred having a nobleman to protect and care for them.

When I hinted at freedom, Jacques looked at me like an idiot and explained that people like Gunnar and Jérémie would have a very vague notion of the concept, not even fully grasping it.

Kevin Barlow was a slightly different matter. As son of a merchant, he belonged to a more privileged social class. However, that had not kept him safe from slavery.

He and his family had left the Foggy Isles to escape war, but the ship they were sailing on crashed on the northern shore of the Savage Baronies.

By some miracle, Kevin was the only Barlow to survive, which the kid had now come to regret on more than one occasion. He and a few passengers drifting through the open ocean on the ship’s wreckage were picked up by pirates. And ever since, Kevin’s life had been a series of unfortunate events.

Basically, he was drowning in pain. And when he came to me, at first, he said nothing, looked away and shuddered when spoken to. But with time helping Bertrand with housework, he warmed up and slowly started telling me about himself. Incidentally, Kevin himself was unaware he had a magic gift, and I decided I was not going to tell him just yet. I told only Bertrand, who then started putting more effort into raising him.

* * *

On the way into Toulon, while speaking to the guards at the main gates, I figured out that I did not need to go to Westerly Fort yet that day because its commander, Captain Louis de Rohan did not live there. He lived in a rented building next to Toulon’s mayor. And he visited the fortress at most three or four times a month. The rest of his time he dedicated to frequent visits to local aristocrats, hunting, and gambling.

My illuminating conversation with the city guards I continued over a late breakfast in the Golden Boar tavern, which they recommended highly.

The servicemen, delightedly gulping down a local dark beer, told me that in bygone times the captains all lived in the fortress, but for the past few years, ever since Louis de Rohan came on the scene, things had been different.

Youngest son of the Baron de Rohan, he slipped up somewhere along the way and was appointed commander of a frontier fortress. Accustomed to comfort, balls, and high society, he considered improper the custom that captains had to live in the cold wind whipped tower. Leaving behind in the fortress two lieutenants who switched out every week, Louis de Rohan rented a large manor in the center of Toulon.

And that was where I went after talking to the guards, telling Jacques and Bertrand to get our party set up in an inn and to take care of all the minor issues in our noticeably larger group.

As an aside, while our small caravan proceeded down the streets of Toulon, I saw familiar faces. Patrick Dupree and another mercenary from his party.

Their looks of surprise and gaping jaws were a sight to behold when they spotted Jérémie, Claude, and Luc riding beside our wagon.

Jérémie told me that Trixie’s fiancé had not taken part in their sale, but he was perfectly aware of what was happening, and didn’t make any attempts to stand in Sergeant Buquet’s way. Basically, my first impression of Patrick was spot on. Even though Trixie had asked me to look after her betrothed, I was not going to. I wondered if Trixie herself was aware what kind of person she was engaged to?

I showed up at the captain’s manor around noon to report for duty. There was a risk that he would refuse to grant me an audience, but the baronet graciously agreed to see me.

“Ah, chevalier,” came Captain Louis de Rohan wearily, glancing at my papers. “You’ve finally made it...”

To me, the baronet appeared to be thirty but, due to excess weight and the unhealthy color of his face, he looked ten years older. He had a sanctimonious air about him that to me called up associations of a landlord going somewhere he was completely sick of for a picnic but felt like, if he didn’t go, he was liable to die of boredom.

“I was told you were injured at a caravan stop?” he asked without particular interest. That put me slightly on guard. After all, in this backwater, any news was good news. I’d make a note of it for the future. “How’s your health? Can you perform your duties?”

“Thank you, monsieur captain! I am in perfect health and ready to perform my duties.”

“Excellent,” de Rohan nodded. “The day after tomorrow, I want you in the fortress. Lieutenant Tassen will lead you out on your first tour to the west along the boundary of the Shadow. And for now, I wouldn’t dare keep you any longer. You must be tired after such a long journey.”

I nodded in silence and wanted to turn and leave the office, but I was stopped by an exclamation.

“Oh yes, chevalier!” he said in the very same bored tone. “As a nobleman, you are entitled to rent a dwelling in the city, but the others do not share that privilege.”

I feigned surprise.

“I am not sure I understand, monsieur captain...”

The vile Patrick had quickly gotten his bearings and reported on my arrival. I wondered if Sergeant Buquet was still here or had already left with his shipment of contraband.

“Well,” de Rohan snorted, his gray eyes squinting dangerously. “I was told you arrived with three more fighters who were supposed to serve in the shadow patrol. And instead of sending them straight to the fortress, they for some reason are getting set up to spend the night in the very inn where you are staying. You don’t find their actions negligent, and even criminal?”

The captain was being cautious. Probing the soil. Otherwise, he’d already have sent a party of guards after Jérémie and the others.

“Patrolmen in my party?” I smiled. “Monsieur captain, your informants must have vision problems. I came here with two servants and five serfs. Let me be frank, only one of the seven is fit to serve. The rest are common peasants. I happened to find them in Sardent with a northern slave trader. By the way... Here, take a look...”

Pretending I had just remembered the documents I had on me, I set the sale contract on the table in front of the captain.

De Rohan, doing his best to restrain his emotions, started reading the scroll carelessly and, when he saw the price, his eyebrows shot up into his forehead.

“One hundred silver crowns! Still. Isn’t that a bit much?”

I snorted under my breath. If I wanted, I could have him paying me handsomely for this contract right now. He was lucky I was not as big a lowlife as him. Essentially, the paper he held in his hands could easily be his downfall.

De Rohan also realized that based on his piercing gaze. He was probably already trying to figure out the easiest way of getting rid of me and destroying this scroll. Not so fast, ugly bastard. I’m about to make your day.

I shrugged.

“Sardent is an expensive town, but that means it’s a place where you can buy strong, hard-working slaves. As for the prices, though, it’s hard not to agree. And it’s not just the slaves that cost a lot there. Just to send a copy of that contract to my uncle the Count de Gramont in Herouxville, I got shaken down for almost ten thalers! I was practically robbed in broad daylight!”

I just chuckled to myself. I of course was lying but, based on the captain’s frown and the red spots covering his plump face, he bought it. His intent gaze also made it clear that he understood my meaning.

“Sure...” he muttered. “My informants must have made a mistake. Accept my apologies, chevalier.”

“Everything is fine, monsieur captain,” I nodded. “I say we put this whole little episode behind us.”

While stepping out of de Rohan’s home, I was completely certain the captain would never forget that and sooner or later try to “return my serve.” And that would be a fatal mistake. He would be wise not to mess with Dodger.