Last Life

“LISTEN! LISTEN!” THE HERALD YELLED with his full throat. His round face was red with tension and thick steam poured from his wide mouth like a tank full of boiled water. “Today, on the second day of the Great Trial, first to the duelyard will be…”

The herald made a dramatic pause and turned his proud, pointed gaze at the stands, filled to the brim with spectators.

“His Lordship Count Étienne de Mornay!” the herald called out and extended his right hand toward my rival, who was standing surrounded by retinue.

After the announcement, the count stepped majestically forward. His straight back, proudly thrust forward chin, and bored look gave the impression that this duel was just a minor hindrance he would quickly overcome before fighting real, worthy opponents.

And based on the mood of the crowd, they felt the same way. In fact, the same thing happened today as yesterday — after the lot was announced, people looked at me like a dead man. It was reflected in the bets in the bookmakers’ shops. Everyone wagered on the count to win. Was this a joke? A stryker against a regular person? That upstart chevalier couldn’t expect any other outcome.

I supposed that the only ones to bet on my victory were my people, myself included via Bertrand.

The whole night and morning, Jacques’ face was plastered with a dreamy smile. I didn’t know how much cash he’d taken to the bookmakers’, but based on his elevated mood, he was probably already imagining himself much richer. As an aside, Gunnar wouldn’t leave him alone. My people’s blind faith in me had left me with strange, utterly unfamiliar feelings deep down.

As long as I could remember, I’d always been alone. Partly, it was how Vadoma raised me. The old witch always drilled into my head that for people like me and her, personal attachments were primarily a weakness. A weakness that sooner or later my enemies would use against me. And that was exactly what happened. After the death of my adoptive mother, the one time I went against her teachings was when I became Thais’ brother. And in the end, that was what led me to the Pit.

Now though, something strange was happening to me. Gradually, a small circle of people had started to form around me. Their personalities and interests varied wildly. And they weren’t all my friends. It was something else that brought them together — serving me as a master, whose orders they were willing to follow to the point of risking their own lives. Honestly though, one person was different. Bertrand. But that was a different story…

However, I didn’t yet know who Sigurd and Aelira had put their savings on. And to be frank, I didn’t care.

“And his opponent — Chevalier Maximilian Renard!” the herald boomed. In his voice, I could hear distinct notes of a certain disregard. As if to say, “another condemned man who thought he would try his luck and try to cut himself off a bigger piece of the pie.”

Although I was already accustomed to that reaction. Today, like yesterday, I was interested in the elite figures in the biggest boxes in the stands.

After last night’s announcement, Prince Louis was a pitiful sight. Particularly after I bowed to show him and all those present whose name I would be fighting in.

The poignant, mocking gazes from the nobles bothered Louis to no end. He had clearly been written off, as of course had I. New favorites had emerged in the race for the princess’ hand after Lord Gray’s departure.

Louis had fallen from the top rankings very suddenly, and Jean-Louis had told me he was very angry about that. Hm… What a fickle nature. I seemed to remember him being totally beside himself over something else completely not all that long ago.

Although I could someone understand Louis. It wasn’t a day after my participation was announced before the green prince became an object of mockery in the konung’s court.

The last straw clearly was a bawdy tune composed by a courtly minstrel and which very quickly went out to the masses. It was called the Knight’s Sword. It told the story of a certain knight from a faraway land going to war. But when the battle got started and a combat mage came out against him, the knight’s sword proved useless, leaving him unable to fight his opponent.

It wasn’t hard to guess who in that song was the knight and who was the sword.

Furthermore, the minstrel incorporated a bit of wordplay. In the ballad, he mentioned that the knight was fighting with a one-and-a-half-handed sword, popularly known here as a bastard. Actually, my world had the same sword, which was just more proof that our worlds sometimes intersected in some way.

But what more proof did I need? My coming here demonstrated that as well. Who could guarantee that my mysterious benefactor wasn’t pulling the same tricks on other people?

Basically, the Vestonian embassy had already been written off as a lost cause. Particularly after the drawing of lots was announced. I saw Prince Louis’ face looking pale and thoughtful. There was no hope in his eyes. He seemed to have the least faith in my victory of anyone.

I also saw Konung Harold and a few chieftains from Konung Sharptooth’s camp trading glances. I could only imagine what happened behind the theater curtains of high-level politics.

Everyone believed Konung Harold’s son would win. Particularly after he easily defeated a stryker from the “list of seven” Sigurd had told me.

The influential people of the north started bubbling over. If Astrid was married to Ivar the Raven, much would change in Northland. Everyone understood that. Bjørn Sharptooth just looked so gloomy that day. He looked at me pensively, not blinking. The way people look at nothing. He must have also considered me as good as dead.

Even the always upbeat Astrid was frowning. She must not have been expecting me to come up against one of the most powerful warriors of the tournament so quickly. She had once mentioned to me that she would try to do something to make things easier for me. I didn’t totally understand what she meant but, based on the sour look on her face, she hadn’t gotten anywhere.

Also, I got a message from her that day. A box with two dozen bottles of very expensive potions. I should note that these elixirs were only slightly lower in quality than the ones I’d modified. I was afraid to even imagine how much a box like this must have cost. Making these elixirs clearly involved ingredients with high concentrations of mana. Most likely, the Svartvald loot had already made its way to market.

When I walked into the middle of the arena, I heard a disjointed howl of voices from the stands. The audience was smiling, singing, clapping their hands, and stomping their feet. They kept pointing at me constantly.

The minstrel’s ballad had only gained popularity. Translated into Vestonian, this was approximately what it sounded like:

“Ah, bastard sword you’re no good,

no foe would fear your grin.

‘Twas folly to dream,

of fortune and fame,

but all that’ll be left,

of you is your name.”

The Count de Mornay looked at me significantly with a smile on his face. Noticing that I was taking a bottle of potion from my pocket and lifting it pointedly to my lips, he laughed:

“Chevalier! Do you really think that can help you?!”

Paying no attention to the count, I drank down the contents and hid the empty container in my pocket. For the record, the potion I used was the simplest and cheapest one I had.

Why waste an expensive product?

I decided to test my new self in a fight with a combat mage without using crutches such as bruts or potions. A little energy boost excepted. I wanted to know what I was worth against a strong medius. The potion I drank meanwhile was a smokescreen to explain to the audience why my reaction time and speed would be so unexpectedly fast.

I was going to have to move a lot today, and quick. That was why I was wearing just the brigandine that had once belonged to de Lamar. As for weapons — I had a sword with a narrow blade and a long dagger.

When Étienne de Mornay threw off his cloak, I laughed. The count was wearing a pure white chemise with elegant lacing on the chest and cuffs. The one-handed sword he was holding meanwhile was made of common metal. De Mornay wanted to show by coming out unprotected that he didn’t need an advantage to fight me.

“So, count, I see you heeded my advice?!” I shouted out loudly with a big smile. “Afraid of losing your armor again? Nice move! Though I won’t hide it — I’m very sorry… I’d already found a buyer!”

Based on the cheery buzz from the stands, they were enjoying our little verbal spar.

Before the herald announced the start of the duel on the konung’s signal, I scanned the count and found on his chest just one amulet with a dark lilac brut of medium size.

He really had gotten ahead of himself.

When the signal rang out, de Mornay dashed my direction without using almost any of his brut’s energy. He seemed to want to end the fight in a single blow.

So imagine his surprise then when I parried his opener with ease. And after it his second, third, and fourth swings as well.

The plaintive cries from people in the stands who had bet on my death in a single blow only aggravated the stryker. He wasn’t smiling anymore. His face was tense and his eyes bored into me as if trying to make a hole.

De Mornay clearly had no idea what was going on. His last few lunges had come with generous outpourings of lilac energy. But they brought him no result. His opponent just kept pushing back his attacks.

“Count!” I addressed him loudly. “Let me say — the local alchemists really know their craft!”

I patted my pocket where I’d hidden the empty bottle of potion I’d drunk.

“If you want to keep your promise, you’ll need to try a bit harder!” I added.

I could see that the mage’s energy structure was aflame with dark lilac energy. The Count de Mornay was enraged.

I had often heard that strykers were prone to anger and not balanced. And that made perfect sense. It was simply the nature of their lilac energy. They couldn’t let their guard down. The energy could take control at any moment. That was why there were no self-taught strykers. Initiation without professional instruction generally caused the gifted person to die. The power ate them from the inside.

De Mornay’s concentration hadn’t broken, but there was a serious problem. His amulet…

The stryker believed he would end me quickly and so he went out lightly armed without securing the artifact properly. And now, I saw it popping out of his chemise, hanging around his neck. The thin chain glimmered in the rays of the morning sun.

De Mornay was ready to attack, but I beat him to the punch, which came as a great surprise to him as well as everyone else in the stands. Nobody was expecting such a thing. A shared gasp ran over the arena.

One lunge… Another…

The count parried them both. And then he immediately counterattacked. It was fast. Very fast. The tip of his blade passed just a few millimeters from my chest. In that moment, I saw confusion in de Mornay’s eyes. In theory, a normal person wouldn’t have been able to dodge such an attack.

I parried the next blow with my dagger and, sharply falling to one side, swung my sword, sensing a slight vibration. The stryker again reacted in good time and dodged the blow gracefully. His body, brimming with energy, moved with lightning speed and agility.

I meanwhile, wasting no time, took lunge after lunge. Just then, I pretended that my left foot slipped on the snow and fell to one knee, touching my left hand to the ground.

I saw the count struggling to avoid my two blows. He jumped back and froze in a combat stance. His chest was heaving nervously, and a dull growl issued from his throat. The count took a step to one side, then suddenly stumbled as the stands again gasped.

Many stood up trying to see if he was wounded. Everyone saw what happened to my rival’s body. He started moving slower and less graciously than at the start of the fight.

For a moment, the count froze, then shuddered abruptly. Pressing his hand to his chest, he started looking down to check what was under his feet.

“Monsieur mage!” I shouted loudly and, raising my hand, hefted the chain in my hand with its lilac brut amulet. “Looking for something?!”

De Mornay twitched as if he’d been slapped and a shadow ran across his face. He said nothing. The stands also fell silent.

“How about we set this little toy aside for a minute?!” I asked, throwing the amulet a few yards away. “I assume now you’ll have to show me and everyone else here what a real mage is truly worth in battle!”

De Mornay barked out a curse and dashed forward. There was still some mana in his energy system, so he decided to use that and put it all into his final blow.

But his efforts were in vain. Pushing a large ball through my energy system, I turned the count’s blade aside with my sword and sunk my dagger into his liver up to the hilt with lightning speed.

De Mornay gasped and, like a scarecrow that fell off its pole, started falling to the ground. His eyes rolled back, and the sword fell out of his hand. I sharply pulled the dagger from his body and hot blood poured from the wound onto the snow.

I took a step back and looked up at the now quiet stands, completely ignoring the looks from the Count de Mornay’s retinue. In it, one man with a crimson energy system stood out. Probably the stryker’s personal healer. He’d never get the wave from me. I was not going to have mercy on my rival, much like he would not have on me. He entered the arena to kill a weak nongifted man in cold blood. And most likely, he had paid a huge bribe to whoever was drawing the lots to do it.

The Count de Mornay was my enemy and I was not going to leave an enemy alive. What was more, he was beyond saving already. If of course the healer didn’t know how to bring back the dead. Because De Mornay was already dead.

In the absolute silence, I feigned a respectful bow at the box where Konung Sharptooth sat looking confused along with Prince Louis and another few people from his retinue. Meanwhile, everyone sitting there thought I bowed to them.

Based on his bewildered face, Louis didn’t seem aware of what had happened. As an aside, Helga’s emotions were in some way similar. I saw her eyes open wide and cheeks flush with crimson. Just then, she looked more like Thais than ever before.

Princess Astrid meanwhile was jubilant. She knew perfectly well who I was just bowing to.

After the herald announced my victory, I walked along the buzzing stands and whistled out the same melody loudly. Suddenly, the rows nearest me started to support me and, at first disjointedly but soon all together, started singing the ballad of the bastard.

* * *

That night, lying in my bed with my hands folded behind my head, I thought back on everything that happened that day. From somewhere down below, in the tavern of the Copper Cauldron, I heard my people shouting mutedly. Today they had all earned good money on my victory and immediately celebrated the landmark event.

I meanwhile had also made decent money, which put the owners of the bookmakers’ office in despair. Honestly though, I heard all that only later.

Recalling our most recent adventures in Abbeville, I sent Sigurd, Jacques, and Lucas out for my winnings. The times when I dealt with such matters personally were behind me.

Recalling how happy Sigurd and Aelira looked, I laughed. It wasn’t hard to guess who they’d put their bets on. I figured the two of them were starting to understand. Ah… Seemingly, I was in for a serious conversation very soon.

The stranger that we saved kept trying to study me. I was trusting her muteness less and less, but I wasn’t pushing yet. Let her think she had us fooled for now. After all, I was studying her, too. The time would come for us to talk.

Sleep just would not come. And so, my thoughts were jumping around between the other contenders’ duels. I rolled footage in my mind of Olaf Birdcatcher’s fight with a shapeshifter from some far-off clan. As expected, Olaf won. And he was the person I was going to have to face off against tomorrow.

I was in for another very tough fight. Which was odd. I thought Astrid also noticed. She was probably taking measures.

Olaf was a powerful warrior, but he was too self-confident and not fully able to restrain his gift. He needed another three or four years of meditation and training — then Konung Harold’s son would be in for a nasty surprise.

I was distracted from contemplating my fight with Olaf Birdcatcher by a muted sound coming from the far corner of the room.

I tensed up and perked my ears. A few moments later, I could distinctly hear singing and light rustling. As if someone was dragging something across the floor.

Switching to true vision, I saw a small energy system belonging to a humanlike being. If not for the very short height, coming up approximately to my knee, I’d have thought it was some little thief boy climbing into my room. But the creature was too small even for a child. And it was also clearly magical.

I looked closer and spotted the glow of crimson mana. Hm… It was the clay pot of coins and crimson magic amulet I found under the wall of the stable. This must have been the maker of the hiding spot at the manor we’d burned down. And now this creature, having carefully wrapped the pot up in a rag, was dragging it to a far-away window.

I quietly turned on one side and, raising up on a shoulder, said distinctly:

“Going far?”

The sound of my voice made the tiny thief freeze in place. Just then, the moon peeked out from the dark clouds and illuminated the robber. The little red-headed person had a shock of long hair that hadn’t been brushed in ages. Their comical, snub-nosed appearance filled me with a hurricane of emotions. Among them were fear, mistrust, surprise, anger, again mistrust, and again surprise.

A moment later, the person twitched. Their silhouette, like a reflection on a river’s surface was covered in ripples, then a little racoon took the place where they’d been standing. Quite unkempt looking. Another second later, the racoon was back to human-like form. And with a gasp, they fell to the floor and said in what was clearly a woman’s voice:

“That is all, spellsword, my forces are depleted… I’ve spent the last… Don’t torture me, please? Finish me off quick and end this…”