Last Life

ONCE IT WAS FINALLY OVER, I laid back down on the sacrificial table — no longer as a prisoner, but as a man who finally, finally had a chance to rest.

My eyelids were heavy, and I allowed myself to relax as I felt the tension begin to subside. My entire body was a big, disfigured wound, and my energy system was on the verge of total collapse.

I watched lazily as the golden mana flowed out across my body and slowly began to fill me with warmth and calm. There was nothing new about this process — no pain, no feeling that I was actually sewing up my grisly-looking wounds with my own effort.

Quite the opposite, in fact — every tear in my energy system began to close smoothly and almost unnoticeably, as though it was all just part of the process. The stream of mana flowing in from the Source was unbelievably powerful, and I could feel it penetrating every cell in my body and filling in the empty spots.

Long story short, the process of regeneration was proceeding very quickly. The brown brut seemed almost eager to share its power with me. I could feel everything inside me reordering itself as my energy nodes and energy channels grew tougher. The reservoir in my chest, which had been practically empty just a minute before, was rapidly filling with power. Most importantly, its overall capacity had practically doubled.

After watching my energy system evolve for a moment, I turned my attention back to the world around me. It was strange... Somehow, I could sense with absolute certainty that there was nothing dangerous around me anymore. My solid connection to the Source of Power made me completely confident that there wasn’t a single living thing in the hall with me. And not only that... Via the crystal, I could sense every nook and cranny in the now-empty temple. Apparently, all the Ghosts had been present in the temple for the ritual. I also realized that the demon and his acolytes had been intruders, alien to this place from the very start.

Out of pure curiosity, I tried to look farther, outside the bounds of the underground temple. I found that I could do it, but within a second or so I started to feel dizzy and weak. I simply didn’t have the concentration. Even the little bit I saw, though, was enough to pique my interest...

My golden mana kept penetrating deeper and deeper, regenerating not only me, but also the brown brut itself. I could sense the Source of Power healing the wounds that the death magic had inflicted on it; I could see the tears in its energy structure slowly closing.

But I also realized that this remarkable harmony was only temporary. As soon as the healing process was over, everything would fall back into place, and the brown brut would become independent once again. For as long as our connection lasted, though, I had access to the secrets it had been guarding for centuries.

There was one exception, though — one place where I couldn’t sense a single trace of death magic. Apparently, the demon and his minions hadn’t been able to get inside it. This was probably because Khaldrekar never managed to break through the defense around the Source’s heart, and therefore never had access to all of its secrets.

There was one small wing in the ancient temple whose entrance was masked by the wall of the cliff itself, and which was further sealed off by a complicated magical mechanism. I smiled... The energy structure of that mechanism was directly connected to the Source of Power. And that meant I would be able to open the passage...

This discovery inspired me, and I kept studying the rest of the underground complex. After a little while, though, I came to the conclusion that all the hidden compartments and camouflaged niches had already been opened.

That said, I also found out how to get back out to the surface. The exit was through a long tunnel, which led to a massive underground space. A mine, to be specific. It had clearly been used up until very recently, as a source of ore that was saturated with brown mana. I don’t think I was wrong in assuming that it was this ore that the Scarlets had been sending south through my Margraviate on their carts.

A moment later, I started to feel extremely dizzy. Blood began to drip from my nose. Apparently, I had overexerted myself with my new skill. I wiped the blood away, took a few deep breaths, and then allowed myself to relax fully and completely while the golden mana did its thing...

* * *

When I woke up, I felt completely refreshed. I had no idea how much time had passed — an hour? A day? At some point, I had simply passed out into a deep sleep. Once I opened my eyes, I slowly pushed myself up off the stone platform where I had been lying. My muscles were no longer wracked with pain, and I didn’t feel even a trace of my former exhaustion. My reservoir was full to the brim, my energy nodes were slightly larger than before, and my energy channels were wider and stronger. A quick examination of my physical body revealed that I didn’t even have so much as a scar in the places where the black thorns had dug themselves into my flesh. I hopped down from the sacrificial table and looked around the hall with a satisfied smile.

The bodies of the Ghosts were still lying all over the place; they reminded me of dried-up mummies. Their energy systems and reservoirs were depleted of every drop of mana.

I walked over to the spot where I had last seen Duval, Molchun, and Togrul. I couldn’t even recognize them. The golden tentacles had squeezed every drop of life out of their bodies, leaving nothing but withered, dessicated husks. Their distorted, dried-up faces, whose empty eyes gave them a sort of otherworldly appearance, were frozen in the middle of their final screams.

Then I walked over to Venona. Her dried-up body was lying near the sacrificial table. It turned out that she was the only Ghost who had managed to get that close to me during the entire battle. Not that it helped her in any way, of course... Her face had been mutilated by my magic, and it had the same horrified death grimace frozen on it as all the others did... The secret of the Lao people had gone to the grave with her.

From there, I walked around the edges of the ritual circle. All the crystals that the priests had so carefully laid out along the perimeter had crumbled into little piles of dust.

Hold on, I thought... What’s that?

As I walked past one of the mummies, who was lying face-down on the ground, I suddenly sensed a quiet heartbeat. I switched to true vision and examined the corpse. It couldn’t be... I quickly bent down and turned the body over. The priest was dead, but his fingers were wrapped tightly around a golden brut the size of an apple. Why, I wondered, had I failed to sense this before?

It was radiating a deep golden light from within. Its energy pulsed as if it were actually a living heart. I couldn’t understand how this had happened, but apparently the collision between two extremely-powerful magical sources had transformed one of the bruts from the chimeras into something new.

As I stared down at the brut, I suddenly recalled my exploit with the Wild Duke. Once upon a time, he had brought me as a sacrifice to a flow, hoping to turn my magical reservoir into a golden brut. I realized that all his horrible experiments on the true gifted must have been aimed at producing that result...

I carefully picked up the golden crystal and looked around the hall, more attentively this time. A few minutes later, my search was crowned with more success. I ended up finding four more golden bruts. They were all practically identical in terms of size. And just like the first one I had found, each of them was like a living heart, rhythmically pulsing in time with the mana flowing inside it.

* * *

“Now THIS was a lucky find,” I said quietly as I looked around the secret wing of the temple with a satisfied smile on my face.

As I had assumed, the magical mechanism that controlled the door opened for me without a hitch. And when it did, I found myself inside something that was either an ancient arsenal or an ancient treasury.

To be honest, I hadn’t really expected to find anything inside at all. After all, the frequent ebbs and flows over the years should have turned all the room’s contents to dust. Apparently, though, this storehouse had been created after the Shadow made its initial appearance.

Armor and weapons made of Shadow materials were hanging on the walls. One of them in particular attracted my attention: it was a full suit of armor, made from a strange metal that shone with a deep, cold, blue gleam. Judging by its complex energy structure, the armor must have belonged to a very high-ranking mage. Using it would require a truly impressive reserve of mana and a pretty high level of concentration.

Hanging next to the suit of armor were two swords made of the same metal, whose energy structures contained the same patterns as the armor did. The swords and the armor were obviously all part of the same set of equipment. Presumably, in addition to their own spells and/or magic webs, the mage who had worn this suit of armor and wielded these swords must have been able to make use of the secret magical links that the master weaponsmith had built into their creation.

My snake armor, which I had discovered in the Ghosts’ armory (together with a whole lot of other valuable goods, including bruts), almost seemed like an amateur production compared to this elegant suit of blue armor.

There were a number of other suits of armor in the room besides this one. And while they were all excellent in terms of quality, none of them could really compare to the blue one.

When I eventually managed to tear my eyes off the suit of armor and its associated weapons, I walked into the next room, whose contents suggested that it had been some type of warehouse.

Huge rows of shelves were stacked with bar upon bar of mysterious metals; I had never seen any of them before, but they were all saturated with energy from the Barrier. I could feel their power even at a distance.

As I strolled between the rows of shelves, I discovered a section with Shadow stones, hides, bones, and a number of carved wooden items. I could only shake my head as I thought about how much time and effort it would take to get everything moved out of there.

As I thought, I wandered into the next room, where I suddenly froze with my mouth open in amazement...

It was a library. The shelves were laden with scrolls, and although many of them had already crumbled to dust, some of them were still in pretty good condition.

I unfurled them slowly and carefully; in retrospect, I think I was even trying to breathe as little as possible while I did it. Most of them were written in a language I couldn’t understand, but some of them had diagrams and formulae on them that I could at least begin to make sense of. There was also a particularly fat scroll with drawings of magical webs in it, along with diagrams that clearly showed bruts at their centers. One of these diagrams was an exact copy of the pattern that covered the floor in the main hall with the brown brut. I was so excited that my hands actually started to shake.

The letters seemed vaguely familiar to me. I had seen them somewhere before... Wait, I thought... Of course! The basement of the Fox Den! One of the Duke de Clairmont’s ancestors had hidden away several books and scrolls written in the same language. One of them even had some sort of map on it...

Keeping the precious scroll gently but firmly in my hands, I walked over to a small table in the middle of the library, where I saw a small case lying amidst the remains of several half-rotten books and scrolls. It had obviously been carved from the bone of some sort of Shadow beast.

I opened the lid and glanced inside.

“Today’s just full of surprises, isn’t it?” I whispered aloud with a little chuckle.

There were three figurines lying on the bottom of the case. One of them, carved from Shadow wood, depicted a badger; another, carved from stone this time, was an owl. The third one was a lynx made of Shadow metal. I could feel emanations of golden mana inside each of the figurines. Just like the one I already had. I tried to extend a tendril of golden mana into them, but nothing happened. It seemed like something was missing... Either the collection wasn’t complete, or I had simply done something wrong... Or maybe both...

I turned the figurines over in my hands a few times and laid them back in their case. Then I looked around the library again and sighed. Well, I thought... I think I’ve seen enough...

* * *

Vintervald

Fjordgrad

The Pearl of the North

The throne room of the Pearl was relatively deserted. Only those closest to the new Konung had been admitted to the Royal presence. Naturally, Konung Olaf the Gray was seated on his throne. A self-satisfied smile danced on his bearded face, and the fire of victory was flickering in his eyes.

Olaf had never been as proud of himself as he was that day. He had finally succeeded in bringing his freedom-loving sister to heel — the sister whose whims and flights of fancy their father had always been so happy to indulge. This permissive upbringing had caused Astrid to grow into a spoiled, headstrong girl who paid absolutely no mind to the opinions of her elder brothers. What Olaf wouldn’t have given to take his sister’s gift away from her! It was only thanks to her abilities that the new Konung had been forced to tolerate his pampered little sister in the first place.

Pampered though she might be, however, his sister had proven that she was no fool. It had taken a while, but she had finally realized that none of them stood to gain anything by allying themselves with that soft-bodied Vestonian Prince. Arik Thunder, whose military assistance they needed so badly, was a different story altogether. Olaf was practically beside himself with joy when Astrid had agreed to his proposal. He even promised his sister that he wouldn’t send the Vestonian Prince home right away, so that he and his court could stay for the wedding.

Olaf cast a sidelong glance at his sister, who was standing across from his throne. She was practically the embodiment of meekness and submission. Olaf snickered to himself in his mind. Their father would barely have recognized her. And all it had taken was a little bit of strictness and firmness.

Towering next to his sister, with his legs spread wide and his chest thrust proudly forward, stood Arik Thunder. The bearded warrior’s eyes betrayed his inner emotions: he still couldn’t believe that the gods had smiled upon him at last, and that the daughter of the legendary Konung Sharptooth would soon become his wife.

That said, he wasn’t at all shy as he cast his greasy gaze up and down Astrid’s graceful, athletic figure, and imagined how he would take her on their wedding bed. Sharptooth had never liked Arik. He had considered him to be a coward. Arik Thunder was aware of this, and he, in turn, had always hated the previous Konung. The gods would bear witness to it: he was the happiest man in the world when he heard about the death of Sharptooth and practically all his allies on the field of battle.

On that day, Arik finally realized that his day had come. He and his younger brother Ivar gathered their army and set off for the capital.

Who, at the time, could ever have imagined that their planned campaign would bring them so much more than they could possibly have hoped? Very soon, Astrid would become his wife, and then it would be time to think about how to get the Crown of Vintervald onto Arik Thunder’s own head. After all, this loudmouth weakling Olaf the Gray wasn’t even a pale shadow of his father.

Meanwhile, the Konung slowly cast his eyes around the throne room, where all his closest allies were gathered. Among them was his brother Ulf Wolfheart, who had finished assembling the armies and then come to the capital to witness Princess Astrid’s betrothal to Arik Thunder. Representatives from all the major eastern clans were also present. The Konung raised his right hand into the air, and a momentous silence settled over the hall.

“Friends and faithful allies!” Olaf the Gray exclaimed in a dry voice. “Today, it is my pleasure to share with you a piece of news that will open a new chapter in the history of our lands! My sister, Astrid the Swift, whose wisdom and power have become famous far beyond the borders of our Kingdom, will soon bind her fate to someone who is truly worthy of her. Arik Thunder, mighty leader of the Winterband Clan, known the world over for his courage and invincibility, will henceforth become her husband.”

Olaf paused and looked at Astrid for a moment. Their eyes met. His were triumphant; hers were submissive.

“This union,” he continued, without tearing his eyes off his sister’s face. “Does not merely unite two hearts. It will also bind our peoples together, giving us heretofore undreamt-of power in the face of impending challenges! Let every one of you be certain of this: this is no mere betrothal. This is a symbol of our unity and power, a sign that we are ready to face any challenge together! May this union be firm! And may it bring prosperity to Vintervald!”

The hall erupted into cheers.

“Glory to Astrid the Swift! Glory to Arik Thunder!”

“Glory to the Great Konung Olaf the Gray!”

As he smiled, accepting the honors being shouted into the hall, Olaf the Gray saw Astrid nod to one of her servants. A few moments later, the girl scurried into the hall, holding a tray with jugs and glasses stacked on top of it. From the other side of the throne, other servants brought in a huge, curved drinking horn that was studded with gold and precious stones. It was full of rich, blood-red wine.

For a moment, Olaf inexplicably felt tense, but then he remembered the conversation with his sister the day before — which, after all, had proceeded calmly and without any hysterics. Astrid had proven herself intelligent and submissive to her Konung’s will. More than that, she had actually come to see him herself. Olaf had already been told on several occasions that his sister had grown tired of her soft little Prince, and that she had been spotted in Arik Thunder’s company many times already.

Just to be safe, however, Olaf the Gray suddenly stopped the servant who was carrying the horn and announced with a smile:

“Today, I want to yield the honor of the first drink from the Royal Horn to my sister, and then to her soon-to-be husband!”

“Thank you for the honor, my brother!” Astrid smiled meekly and bowed.

The servant stopped in front of her and held out the horn full of wine.

Without any apparent difficulty, Astrid picked up the huge horn, raised it into the air, and exclaimed:

“To a new beginning!”

Then, taking a small sip, she looked around the hall and handed the horn to Arik Thunder. With a huge, noisy gulp, he handed it back to the servant to the tune of cheers from the crowd of onlookers.

After the horn passed to the Konung, and then all the other guests in the hall, Olaf the Gray raised his hand again and made another announcement:

“May this be the start — “

Nobody ever found out what the Konung wanted to say. Olaf the Gray spat out a huge, thick clot of blood together with his final word. Tears of blood began to trickle from his eyes as they widened with horror. Then his nose and ears started to bleed too.

The same was happening to most of the other guests in the hall. Soon, the throne room was filled with muffled, choking screams and coughing as the guests began to die.

Only a few dozen of the people in the hall seemed unaffected as they watched everything unfolding in careful silence. Among them were Ulf Wolfheart and his companions and several of the eastern clanleaders, including Ivar Lackfinger, younger brother of Arik Thunder, who was watching his elder brother’s agonizing death with a look of joyful satisfaction on his face.

Princess Astrid didn’t even glance at her would-be husband as he finally fell silent at her feet in a pool of his own blood. She headed straight for the throne. Along the way, she stepped indifferently across the body of the red-haired young man who had so recently insulted Helga. His black tongue was jutting out of his wide mouth; before dying, he had scratched at his neck until it bled. Astrid snickered to herself. The loudmouth had tried to scrape the poison of a yellow horseshoe crab out of his own throat.

Those who had accepted the Princess’ proposal and supported her plan now stepped forward to follow her. Each of them had taken a dose of antidote just before the ceremony.

Astrid approached the corpse of her brother Olaf, who smelled as though he had lost control of his bowels before he died. She was happy to see that her brother had died such a disgraceful death; it seemed fitting reprisal for having broken his promise to her. Taking the crown that had once belonged to her illustrious ancestors from her dead brother’s head, she turned and strode over to Ulf.

He had always been a loner, and had spent most of his life hunting or fighting. After the death of their father, Ulf was clearly much less suited for the role of Vintervald’s ruler; besides that, he was also younger than Olaf. That was why he had meekly submitted to Astrid’s insistence at the time, and why he was submitting to her will now. Mind you, this was the way it had always been.

Astrid’s eyes met Ulf’s.

“We should have done this from the start,” said Astrid quietly. Then, rising up onto her tiptoes, she laid the crown onto the head of her silent, submissive brother. Who was now the only brother she had left.

With that, she turned to the soldiers surrounding them and exclaimed:

“The Konung is dead! Long live the Konung!”

In almost perfect unison, every surviving warrior in the hall raised their right hands into the air, and a unified shout echoed through the hall.