Last Life

Underground in Shadow Pass

AT GEORG VON LINZ’S COMMAND, Leo froze where he stood behind a huge boulder. Leaning against the uneven stone surface sat Elsa Backer. She was so still she wasn’t even breathing.

They glanced at one another. Leo could see it in the young woman’s eyes: she was determined to fight to the end, and she understood very well that this could end up being her last battle. The emotions flitting through her eyes also hinted that she could see the same thing in his own.

They had managed to cheat fate several times over the last few days: escaping packs of underground Shadow beasts in the nick of time, stumbling upon sources of potable water, and (most importantly) somehow surviving the cavern collapse that had separated them from their comrades and the Margrave de Valier, whose fates were still a total mystery to them. Although they were inclined to agree with Sigurd, who noted that it would probably take a lot more than some falling rock to kill His Lordship.

But they knew they couldn’t keep tricking the gods forever. At some point while they were walking circles through the underground labyrinths, their scent was picked up by one of the monsters Duval had told them about.

It turned out to be a huge chimera, something like a cross between a spider and a snake. The first time it attacked them, while they were resting, they managed to fight it off. Thanks to their huge supply of bruts, and to Sigurd’s mastery, the chimera retreated in the face of their fierce resistance. But it still kept following their little group, periodically attacking them as it tried to find any weak spots in the strykers’ defense. The monster didn’t have the ability to generate a magical shield, but it compensated for this drawback in spades with its unbelievable speed and its ability to become invisible.

Twice, they tried to ambush it and finish it off for good, but the chimera managed to avoid death both times. The beast was very tough, and very intelligent. It had decided to force the strykers to burn through their supplies, and if things continued the way they were going, it seemed like the beast might end up doing just that.

Slowly but surely, their supply of bruts was running dry, and with them went any feeling of confidence that they would eventually make it back to the surface. The longer they wandered through the seemingly-endless underground labyrinth, the farther they seemed to be drifting from the exit.

At first, the group tried to find its way back to the cave that had collapsed; by now, however, they were simply trying to find any section of tunnel that didn’t simply bring them back into the same endless loop of passages and caves.

“Careful — above you!” The loud scream startled Leo and Elsa, and they both raised their heads.

With a muffled hiss, a six-legged, long-tailed shadow was rapidly zigzagging its way down the wall toward them. The beast had already determined who was the weak link in the group, so naturally enough it focused its attack on Leo. And in doing so, it attacked Elsa as well.

The nauseating clattering and clicking sound of the beast’s approach made the young people snap to attention and prepare for battle. As they did so, the chimera’s slippery tail twitched, and it jumped down off the wall onto their position.

“Now!” Elsa shouted, as she and Leo took off in opposite directions.

Just a second later, the beast’s huge body slammed to the ground right on the spot where the strykers had just been standing, and as it did so a hideous shriek of pain filled the cave. The beast had turned out to be a little less intelligent and cunning than they thought — jumping at full speed, it had impaled itself on two camouflaged spearheads affixed between two large rocks, which Leo and Elsa had deliberately been blocking with their bodies.

Not giving the monster a chance to recover, the strykers rushed in to attack it from four sides at once. Alas — the spearheads didn’t seem to have hit any of the monster’s vital organs. It quickly regained its bearing and started fighting back. And the spears jutting out of its body didn’t prevent it from executing agile dodges and counterattacks against its enemies.

A blow from its tail sent Elsa flying to the side. Her magical shield let off a bright flash as she slammed into a boulder. The next blow, from a long, bony arm, caught Leo right on the legs. He fell face-first onto a pile of sharp stones, watching with horror as one of his bruts crumbled to dust. That meant he only had six left.

By the time Leo was back on his feet, he saw that the beast had grabbed Georg in its claws, where it was holding him fast as it sunk its stinger into his back time and time again. Every stabbing blow sent a bright-purple flash into the air. Sigurd was hacking the creature’s left side to pieces with his sword, but it seemed he was too late to help. A few more blows with the stinger, and Georg’s magical shield would disappear...

“Noo-oo!” Elsa screamed in despair as she rushed forward. Her face was stretched into a grimace of terror.

Georg von Linz had essentially raised her as his own, and she loved him like a father. The young woman plunged her sword into the monster’s slippery tail.

But the beast didn’t even seem to notice the wounds Sigurd and Elsa were inflicting. Instead, it just squeezed Georg’s body even tighter as he screamed in pain. As Leo rushed into an attack, he heard a horrible crunch. A moment later, von Linz went limp and stopped screaming. His shield had flashed and vanished, and the curved stinger had plunged straight through his body.

As soon as this happened, the monster sprang up onto the wall and started skittering up toward the ceiling, dragging the stryker’s body behind it.

At that exact moment, however, something bright flashed right next to the beast’s head, and the creature’s disgusting face exploded like a piece of overripe fruit. One more lightning-quick flash of fire, and the thick shell that covered the monster’s back cracked and sent a spray of sticky, dark liquid gushing all over the rock walls of the cave.

Still convulsing, the chimera collapsed to the ground with a wet crunch. Leo didn’t even have time to realize what had happened before a figure in familiar armor stepped out of a dark crevice in the rock and strode over to Georg’s body.

Within a second, a golden web wrapped itself around the stryker’s inert body. After a few more seconds, Georg’s chest slowly rose, then fell...

Leo felt his mouth spread into an involuntary, joyful smile. Sigurd was right: the Margrave de Valier wasn’t an easy guy to kill.

Elsa ran over to her mentor’s body and pressed her tear-soaked face against his chest as it rose and fell, slowly and evenly.

“A few fractures, a puncture wound, and some poisoning, but he’ll live,” said the Margrave de Valier.

As a smiling Sigurd and Leo stepped over to stand beside him, he turned to them all and looked them straight in the eyes:

“I’m glad you’re alive. Questions later. We need to hurry. An ebb’s coming soon.”

“We don’t have many crystals left,” Sigurd noted, as laconically as always.

Everything had happened so quickly and unexpectedly. Leo had so many questions, but he knew he would just have to wait until His Lordship decided to tell them what had happened. He also knew that the Margrave had undergone some sort of mysterious change. It wasn’t visible to the naked eye. Rather, it was something that had changed in his energy system. He seemed to radiate power the way a smith’s forge radiated heat.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” the Margrave replied as he shook a big, strange-looking bag hanging over his shoulder. “I’ve got enough bruts for all of us. Now let’s get ourselves to some safer place. Somewhere we can wait out the Barrier magic’s movement in relative safety.”

As Leo and Elsa helped Georg up onto Sigurd’s back, the Margrave quickly and expertly cut four big bruts out of the chimera’s dead body.

They were already walking out of the cave when Leo next heard His Lordship’s quiet voice:

“I want to warn you all that we’re going to remain in the Shadow for a little while. You’ll understand why soon enough...”

* * *

Somewhere near the border between Bergonia and Atalia...

A long cavalcade of several hundred riders was thundering its way down the Bergonian Royal track toward the Vestonian border. So bright was the plethora of colorful feathers, armor glinting in the sunlight, and multicolored sigils on banners and shields that it was actually hard to look at the procession for long. The most important color in the whole shining outfit, however, was red. Which wasn’t surprising. After all, the man at the head of the column, riding his snow-white mistral and surrounded by his closest companions, was none other than the Duke de Bauffremont himself.

Like all the other nobles whose freedom had just been purchased from the Golden Lion (for an extremely hefty sum), he was itching to get back home. For Claude de Bauffremont in particular, the desire to get to Herouxville as quickly as possible was also a matter of urgent necessity — quite literally a question of life and death. Prince Philippe, whom the Duke de Bauffremont had raised with so much patience for so many years, was completely under the control of the despicable, cowardly de Gondy family and its hangers-on.

Besides the nobles who had just been ransomed, the column also contained most of the people who had actually brought the enormous sum south in the first place. Some were the Duke’s vassals and loyal allies, others were representatives of the Astlandic King. Heinrich de Gramont was one of the former.

His face had sunken noticeably, and the eyes that sat inside the black circles on his face almost never seemed to blink. His pensive gaze was fixed on some point far in the distance. Heinrich spent most of his time constantly immersed in his own thoughts, which were cold as steel and full of decisive fire.

His facial muscles were always tense, his lips pressed into a tight, barely-perceptible line — overall, his face looked like it had been carved from a big block of gray ice. In his gloomy, despondent state, he looked much older than he had a year before, when both his sons had been at his side.

Ever since receiving the news about Gabriel, his shoulders were stuck in a permanent droop. It wasn’t exhaustion, however, but the weight of responsibility and pain that he carried with him everywhere he went.

His movements were measured, tense, and rigid — those of a man who keeps everything inside and never lets his emotions emerge onto the surface. In his soul, however, the Count was engaged in a never-ending struggle between grief at the loss of his son, and the still-flickering hope that he might eventually find him alive.

Now, having returned Francois from captivity (who seemed totally unaffected either by the loss of his brother or his time as a prisoner), the Count de Gramont was more silent and morose than ever. There was no joy or relief on his face — just a firm expression with a cold flash in his eyes. That flash was the only thing that betrayed his thirst for revenge. He wasn’t simply returning home: he was advancing, like a sharpened blade that was about to drive itself into its enemy’s heart. His confidence that vengeance would soon be his became much more palpable and solid after a conversation with the Duke de Bauffremont back in Atalia, after the Count had arrived as part of the delegation that brought the ransom.

Yet again, Heinrich’s thoughts returned to that fateful evening...

“Monsieur,” the Duke turned to face him as Heinrich walked into his master’s temporary office in the palace of Ricardo di Lorenzo (who, after all, was the Duke’s captor). “I’ve been informed of the significant role you played in the struggle for my freedom. I want you to know that henceforth, you will find in me not only a dependable patron and ally, but also a devoted friend.”

“You honor me, Your Grace,” replied the Count de Gramont with a bow.

“My captivity is ending at exactly the right time,” Bauffremont continued. “Those pathetic cowards the de Gondys fled the field in disgrace, and now they’ve ensconced themselves next to my poor nephew. I’ve heard that Blanca de Gondy isn’t giving poor Philippe so much as a day to himself. She’s dragging him around to every ball, reception, and theater in the city. I’m the only one who knows just how deeply His Highness’ soul has been wounded by all this.”

“Most certainly, Your Grace,” the Count de Gramont replied with a bow of his head. “Those who favor His Highness and Your Grace’s cause have indeed noticed an unhealthy pallor and sickliness in Prince Philippe. Without question, His Highness is sorely in need of his loving, caring uncle.”

“Those accursed de Gondys!” The Duke snarled. “I’m certain of it — if that cowardly horse-trader had attacked the Atalian legions with me instead of delaying until I was engaged, the day would have been ours. And these are no empty words, Monsieur! Ricardo di Lorenzo himself said as much during one of our conversations. In fact, he was thoroughly puzzled as to why de Gondy delayed. After all, I timed my own attack perfectly!”

“And if the Margrave de Valier hadn’t kept delaying his own advance, the Atalian defeat would have been even more total,” added the Count. “Had our two armies been united under your expert command, all Atalia would now be under your control.”

“You suspect your nephew is in league with de Gondy?” The Duke’s eyes narrowed. “The Marquis de Gondy has been with him more or less constantly, after all.”

“I certainly wouldn’t rule it out,” the Count de Gramont replied eagerly. “If so, however, I wouldn’t quite understand his motivations.”

“What do you mean?”

Externally, Heinrich looked as dispassionate and unruffled as ever, but inside he was positively jumping for joy. Finally — FINALLY — the time for revenge had come!

“I mean that where my brother’s bastard is concerned, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” replied the Count. “He seems to have inherited a passion for intrigue and palace coups. A passion, mind you, that has never manifested itself in any of our mutual ancestors. I guess there’s a reason people say that there’s a bad apple in every bunch.”

“Your nephew aims to overthrow the King?” Bauffremont’s eyes widened a little bit.

“I have every reason to believe it,” the Count de Gramont replied firmly and eagerly.

“If you’ll forgive me, though...” The Count’s words seemed to have put the Duke in something of a quandary. “I always thought that your nephew was one of His Majesty’s most devoted servants. And now you’re alleging that he intends to remove Carl from the throne...”

“I must have misspoken,” the Count hurriedly replied. “When I said that my brother’s bastard intends to overthrow the King, I didn’t mean the King of Vestonia. I meant the King of Astland, Otto II. In fact, the Margrave de Valier’s evil intent is plain to see. How else can one explain the fact that he’s hiding Princess Sofia-Verena, the sole surviving daughter of Conrad V, in his castle the Fox Den, pretending she’s some distant relative on his mother’s side?”

As he finished speaking, Heinrich watched as the Duke de Bauffremont’s face underwent a metamorphosis.

At first, his expression was motionless, as if he hadn’t immediately understood what he had heard. The Duke’s eyes were initially focused straight ahead; slowly, however, they began to widen, as though his mind was just beginning to catch the full import of what the Count had just said.

A shadow of anxiety slowly passed across his face; his gaze shifted, his eyebrows rose, and his facial muscles tensed. His expression became sharper, and initially it was that of a man who had suddenly detected the presence of a dangerous threat. Soon, though, a flash of realization lit up the Duke’s face. His mouth widened into a satisfied smile, and his whole countenance seemed to be shining from within. The Duke de Bauffremont was so full of emotions that he actually clapped his hands together, which caused the Count de Gramont to jump a little bit from the sheer unexpectedness of the sound.

“Monsieur, are you certain that this woman is the daughter of Conrad V?” The Duke asked in a tone tinged with hope as he leaned forward in his chair.

“Absolutely,” nodded the Count de Gramont, who still didn’t fully understand why the Duke looked so overjoyed. To be honest, he had been expecting a slightly different reaction. “As it happens, I unwittingly became a witness to a conversation between the Princess Sophia and the Count de Rondi, who had recognized her the moment he saw her. According to him, the Princess is practically an identical copy of her grandmother, Queen Sophia. The girl dropped all pretense once he said that.”

“Just a moment, my dear Count...” The Duke interjected. “You said you were a witness...”

“Nobody saw me,” the Count de Gramont replied, indicating by his tone that he understood exactly what the Duke was getting at.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” the Duke said as he smiled with satisfaction once again.

“Knowing that our King is an ally of the King of Astland, I feel that the Margrave de Valier’s actions in this situation will expose that alliance to some serious risks.”

“I trust you had the good sense not to inform anyone in the chancery about any of this?” The Duke de Bauffremont asked with a little edge of steel in his voice. “Or seek a meeting with anyone else about this matter?”

“Given that my other entreaties and petitions to His Majesty have so far gone unanswered, I decided that a message of such vital importance could only be entrusted to a man who is among those closest to His Majesty,” explained the Count de Gramont. “That man is you, Your Grace.”

“You’ve acted with the highest degree of foresight, my dear Count!” The Duke replied in a satisfied tone of voice.

“Might I count on Your Grace permitting me to be present when you inform the King of the Margrave de Valier’s treachery?” Heinrich asked.

“I can’t promise you that, my dear Count,” the Duke de Bauffremont shook his head after a short pause. “For the simple reason that I don’t intend to inform Carl of anything.”

For a moment, the Duke’s answer deprived Heinrich of the ability to speak. Had all his plans to destroy the bastard just crashed and burned right in front of him? For a moment, the Count de Gramont felt the icy shackles of fear wrapping themselves around his heart. After all, he had long ago realized what his elder brother’s bastard was planning. The scoundrel aimed at becoming head of the family. And it wasn’t hard to guess what would happen to Heinrich and his family if the bastard’s plans should succeed. He wouldn’t touch Heinrich’s daughters, of course, but his sons...

The thought of Gabriel hit the Count like a ton of bricks... He no longer had “sons,” in the plural. He only had Francois. And the Count blamed Max for Gabriel’s death — in Heinrich’s mind, the bastard had deliberately avoided uniting his forces with the Ducal army.

“I’ve decided to use this valuable information, which you have so kindly provided me, in a rather different way, my dear friend.” The Duke de Bauffremont’s smile had transformed into something much more akin to a scowl. “I won’t be informing Carl about your nephew’s covert dealings. Because the ambassadors of the King of Astland will be doing it for me. They’ll be positively beside themselves with rage when they learn that the ruler of Vestonia is playing some sort of underhanded game involving Conrad V’s sole remaining heiress. What do you think, my dear Count? Who will be first to be swallowed by the political firestorm that’s about to break out?”

* * *

The Foothills of Shadow Pass

I was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down at the barren, stony ground below me, which had been covered by a thick blanket of snow during the night. A dark line of forest stretched across the horizon — the border of my Margraviate.

I have to admit, I was surprised to see that the foothills hadn’t changed at all, despite falling under the Shadow’s flow during our absence. Nor did the landscape in front of us differ in any major way from the one we had seen on the far side of Shadow Pass.

That slope of the mountain was essentially the same barren, rocky stretch of wasteland that stretched out in front of me for mile after mile into the distance. Actually, that part of the Shadow differed most notably from the other part of the Shadow I had visited on my first trip across the Barrier. The animal and plant life in the area we had just visited was much sparser, and there were no traces of villages or settlements in the area at all. And that despite the fact that we had journeyed straight into the depths of the Shadow for almost two weeks before we turned around.

We were following the tracks of the Ghosts, which led us to a wide river that stretched off toward the north. There were no boats or rafts anywhere along its banks. Apparently, the Ghosts had been dropped off by ships or boats, but then those vessels had departed to somewhere very far away.

After spending the night near the river, we headed back toward Shadow Pass, where we spent several months studying the temple and the underground complex around it, as well as hunting Shadow beasts and chimeras during our spare time. I was waiting patiently the entire time for more Ghosts to make an appearance, but alas — nobody entered the area at all. In the end (and to the group’s general delight), I had to announce that we were returning home.

My assumptions regarding the brown brut turned out to be mistaken. It never tried to eject my energy from within itself. On the contrary, my golden mana slowly but surely began to transform the place of power to suit its own needs. And the more this process continued, the better I was able to sense the brown brut itself, as well as the whole area in general. I still didn’t know what the eventual result of this process would be, but over the course of several months I became very comfortable with the underground complex.

Eventually, my train of thought was interrupted by Sigurd, who had walked over to stand next to me. I looked around at my companions, whose bulging bags made them look more like market traders than strykers. Their faces were slightly red in the freezing cold of the morning, but they were smiling happily nonetheless.

Leo and Elsa glanced at each other. It wasn’t just the cold that had them blushing. Apparently, a wedding was coming at some point in the near future.

Georg von Linz noticed me looking at them, chuckled, and nodded furtively at the pair of lovebirds. I replied with an understanding chuckle of my own.

We were carrying all the bruts we had found, as well as a number of finds from the temple treasury: armor, weapons, and specimens of Shadow materials. Separately, in my own shoulder bag, I was carrying the golden bruts (which I still hadn’t made any attempt to use) as well as the little animal figurines.

In addition, we had carefully packed several dozen scrolls from the temple treasury into our bags, along with a few more we had found in the armory. I planned to bring these to the capital with me in the spring. Once there, I planned to find somebody who could translate these ancient writings for me.

I cast another glance around the foothills. The stony, snow-covered waste seemed to stretch to the horizon itself. I sighed. A cloud of steam billowed out of my mouth as I did so.

Sometimes, when I thought about everything that had happened over the last few years, a question would involuntarily pop up into my mind. Was my appearance in this world turning out the way it was originally intended to?

After all, my actions had seriously interfered with the plans of the Hrimthurs, who had obviously been poised to destroy the world beyond the Barrier. That was something I simply couldn’t allow. That world was home to everyone who had become close to me. Whether I had been brought into this world to do what I was doing, whether everything was simply a coincidence — I really didn’t know. There was only one thing I was certain of. In order to defend my loved ones, I would have to act.

I adjusted the strap on my shoulder as I took my first step forward. Time to go home...

End of Book Eight