Last Life

Book 7: Chapter 27

STANDING ON THE SMALL OBSERVATION DECK on the City Hall building, I looked down on the nightlife that was just getting started in Romont, the capital of Bergonia. Prior to the war, the city had a population of somewhere around 25,000 people, maybe 30,000 at the best of times. By the time I stood there looking down from the tower, however, the most optimistic estimates put Romont’s population at somewhere around 15,000 — and even that was thanks in no small part to the influx of refugees from all around the country.

As in other cities, we were met with courteous smiles and fragrant pine boughs. By the way: news of our reaction to the hanging of traitorous Bergonian nobles in Conterne had spread quickly through Bergonia’s other cities and towns, and by the time we arrived, the only bodies hanging from the gallows in their central squares were those of Atalians.

As I had assumed, power in Bergonia was moving pretty quickly into the hands of local city councils. In fact, many cities were already signing treaties of alliance with one another similar to the ones I had signed with the cities along my route, and this was true both in the big cities and in many small towns and villages.

The powers-that-be in all these cities were reasonably calm about the prospect of Vestonian garrisons being stationed among them. Everybody realized that for the time being, the presence of these soldiers (albeit under the banner of the Vestonian King) probably wouldn’t have much of an effect on the powers of the city councils.

Especially since the Count de Leval, who was in charge of distributing troops throughout these new garrisons, was suffering a severe shortage of personnel. After all, he basically only had legionaries at his disposal. Neither the Mertonians nor the mountain men had any intention of transferring their allegiance directly to the King. Nor, for that matter, did the Bergonians who had joined up with our force later on. Most of them went back to their villages and cities, where newly-enriched relatives were often waiting for them to arrive. For obvious reasons, I didn’t want to interfere with any of these processes, let alone start giving orders about local affairs...

Just then, however, a rustling sound from behind me demanded my attention.

“Speak,” I said as I turned around.

“Your Lordship — Lord Gray has arrived, along with several nobles,” replied Gunnar, who was standing just a foot or so in front of the door leading out onto the observation platform. “They’ve brought a message for you from the King.”

Wow, I thought... They’re certainly in a hurry. Only a few hours had passed since I received the first report that a delegation from Herouxville had arrived, and they’re already getting impatient for a meeting.

“Yes, Your Lordship,” replied Gunnar with a bow, before hastily adding: “There are ten royal guardsmen with him that people are referring to as the King’s shadows. Their commander says he and his people will be present at your meeting.”

I just snickered and shrugged my shoulders.

“Fine by me.”

By the time I walked into the small hall, accompanied by my bodyguards and five of the “Savages,” the place was already packed with people. The Marquis de Gondy and the nobles from his entourage had heard about the arrival of the King’s messengers, and they must have zipped straight over to the small hall.

Hm, I thought... No private conversations for the time being, then. Judging by Lord Gray’s thin, dissatisfied-looking face, the situation wasn’t much to his liking either.

As I walked in, Lord Gray greeted me with a pained smile and a demonstrative glance at the pack of several dozen noblemen from Prince Philippe’s entourage who surrounded him.

After the exchange of Princes, which had whipped up a genuine furore among the aristocrats in my army, there was no longer any question of the blue-bloods packing up and heading back to Vestonia.

Carl III’s eldest son, whose escape from captivity seemed almost miraculous, had become something of a lamp in the darkness, around which all the noblemen were clustered and flitting like moths. The Marquis de Gondy was trying to stay as close to his future brother-in-law as possible, almost literally around the clock.

And I, of course, had no choice but to put up with the whole tedious cavalcade of nonsense. Lord Gray’s arrival gave me a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I would finally be freed from my role as the Prince’s temporary babysitter.

By making the exchange, I had achieved all my goals. After a thorough brainwashing (conducted with the lunari’s help), Prince Adrian had set off for home. Our parting was about as cold as you’d expect for two enemies. I knew I had probably acquired another implacable enemy.

And the root of his hostility wasn’t the fact that Adrian had shamefully lost a battle to a bastard and fallen into his captivity, or that he had been the object of a prisoner exchange... More than anything, he hated me for the fact that, during practically every day of his captivity, I had made sure to rub his nose in the shit that his Atalians had left in appalling quantities all over the Bergonian landscape.

Methodically and deliberately, I had smashed his former worldview to pieces. His confidence and lyrical crowing over nobles and their honor, the valor of the knight, and other romantic fantasies like that were soon broken on the rocks of cold, hard reality, which I was able to provide in generous quantity.

I showed him the torture chambers and the dungeons full of executed, tortured common people. He saw dozens of depopulated villages, and the bodies of peasants who had died of starvation.

In any other situation, Adrian’s upbringing (like that of any other son or daughter of a noble house) would have led him to associate such horrible scenes with the necessary evils that follow in the footsteps of every army.

The priority for aristocrats was to cover themselves in glory during battle before returning to their capitals to tumultuous shouts from the crowds — and to bring a long, rich wagon train full of plunder trundling along behind them. To spend the months following their return at balls and receptions, bathing in the light of their own glory and catching excited glances from highborn women.

These heroes tended to forget about the dead peasants and the devastated villages pretty quickly. But that wasn’t going to happen with Adrian. Unfortunately for him, the lunari did some intensive work on the poor Atalian heir. The entire time he was in our company, Selina made the Prince’s dreams considerably less joyful and wondrous than they might otherwise have been. Sometimes, he would be approached by dead villagers from the cities and towns through which we had passed during the day.

Besides a very well-deserved feeling of personal guilt about what was happening, we also drilled something else into Prince Adrian’s head: the fact that in practice, he was simply the useless, weak-willed son of a puppet King who was entirely under the control of the Scarlet Temple and its priests. A mere inconvenience — an irrelevance, who the real powers-that-be would dispose of soon enough. Unless, of course, he started taking active measures to prevent them from doing so.

These seeds fell into very fertile soil indeed. First of all, the Prince had long been thinking about how he might nudge his soft-bodied, weak-willed daddy off the throne and ascend it himself. Second, it turned out that Prince Adrian had suffered some serious psychological trauma at the hands of the Scarlet Temple. Some dark story about the death of Adrian’s beloved, which (according to rumor) was the work of the Scarlets.

Eventually, our “therapy” turned Adrian into a sort of ticking time-bomb, designed to deal maximum damage to the Order of the Scarlet Shield. All that remained was to throw that bomb carefully. The Golden Lion’s offer of an exchange had come at exactly the right time. Prior to our meeting, I hadn’t really expected to gain much from Prince Adrian, and certainly hadn’t counted on him being able to resist the Scarlets for very long, the exchange had changed all that. With the Duke di Lorenzo at his side (who apparently also intended to put Atalia under new ownership), the Prince would have a genuine chance at victory. Whatever the case, the priests of the Scarlet Temple were about to have their hands full, which would distract them from me just when I needed it. At least for a short time, which I was planning to use as effectively as possible in order to strengthen my position and get established in my Margraviate.

Even besides my main task, however, I came out ahead in some other ways as well. I managed to shake the Duke di Lorenzo down for a tidy sum — much more than the three barrels of gold he kept referring to during our meeting.

Also, at my request (and as a gesture of goodwill), the Golden Lion had turned the Count de Poitiers over to me. The old Marshal who had given such a good account of himself not only in the discussions prior to the battle, but also during the fighting itself.

The old man had survived, and even managed to do so without a scratch. True, when he fell into enemy hands, it quickly became clear that his relatives would have to spend a long time scraping together the money for his ransom. House de Poitiers was facing serious financial difficulties. It would have been entirely possible for the old Count to die in captivity before the money could arrive. Situations like that weren’t all that uncommon, actually.

As it happens, the Duke di Lorenzo was actually happy to send the old man my way. For the enemy, he was essentially little more than dead weight — a nobleman, whom etiquette demanded that the Atalians keep in conditions befitting his status, but whose ransom might take months or even years to arrive.

On the other hand, the memory of the conditions in which the Viscount d’Angland had been held (along with a number of other young noblemen whose families were being pressured to switch their allegiance to Atalia) made the Golden Lion’s treatment of the old Count seem pretty gentle by comparison.

At the time, the Viscount and the other Vestonian nobles were probably already at the Sapphire Citadel. After patching them up, I had sent them there with a small unit of Mertonians, having first forbidden them from giving away their real names under any circumstances. Nobody else knew about their liberation from the underground dungeon. If anyone from the Marquis de Gondy’s entourage had found out that I had released the relatives of notorious traitors — or worse, that I was giving them medical help — it would inevitably cause problems for me.

Even as it was, they were all looking for an excuse to start trouble... I knew that if my vigilance slipped even for a second, I would find myself branded an accomplice to the enemy and a friend to the turncoats.

It was actually pretty scary to see the change in the young Viscount’s face when he learned that he and his entire line had been declared traitors. That at least for the time being, the road home to Vestonia was closed. Vestonia — where his wife and their baby lived...

After our duel, he and the Viscountess de Brionne had married, and she had given birth to a son. True, his birth was already common knowledge even in Bergonia. Given all these trials and tribulations, it wasn’t surprising that the poor young man was almost beside himself with fear.

The situation facing the other newly-liberated nobles wasn’t much better. Long story short, I decided not to send them back to the capital for the time being. Sure, their families had crossed a line, and the reasons for that really didn’t matter. A great many people had died because of the false information the Count d’Angland had “leaked” to the Duke de Clairmont.

But his son had nothing to do with his father’s treason, and I felt that he deserved a chance. Besides, sparing them meant that I had the heirs of several western counties and baronies in my hands — a sizable chunk of the whole country. They might be branded as the children of traitors, but who could say whether that would still be the case after a year?

Gradually, my thoughts turned to the Prince exchange. The Count de Poitiers was quite surprised by my action in freeing him, especially since I assured him that I didn’t expect any repayment for having done so, and that he was free to head home at any time.

The Count’s surprise soon gave way to curiosity, and he expressed a desire to postpone his departure for a little while. So when I invited him to stay as a guest in my Margraviate, he accepted with unfeigned enthusiasm.

I was glad that he had accepted my invitation, too. Despite his advanced age, the Count’s mind was as sharp and clear as ever. And his experience as a commander and a courtier was valuable beyond reckoning.

By the way — he was also present that evening for my council in the small hall, watching everything with keen interest.

After the customary exchange of greetings, Lord Gray held out a scroll to me with the royal seal on it.

I unrolled it and started reading it carefully. I recognized the handwriting immediately. It was Kiko’s. Apparently, the two had worked together to draft the message ordering me to send Prince Adrian to Herouxville without delay.

Besides that, the King ordered me to transfer command of my army to a certain Charles de Rolenne, whom His Majesty had appointed the new commander of the Vestonian army in Bergonia.

At the end of the message, they reminded me that I still had very important unfinished business to attend to in the Margraviate the King had so graciously bestowed on me.

To be sure, Carl didn’t skimp on praise for my actions in the war so far; nevertheless, he made it very clear that it was time for me to step aside and stay out of the way of royal power in the region.

Basically, just as I suspected, Carl was extremely concerned about the existence of a battle-ready army that wasn’t directly subordinate to him, and which (in theory at least) could turn around and move on his capital at any time. Most importantly, however — if that army decided to do so, there was nobody at all who could stop it.

After reading through the message one more time, I looked up and glanced carefully at the King’s Shadows, who had dispersed themselves throughout the hall in a seemingly-random pattern. It wasn’t random at all, of course, and their positions would make it possible for them to attack at any moment. Carl certainly hadn’t skimped on armed force, either; he had sent his strongest mediuses to me to enforce his will.

After that, my eyes flitted over to the commander of this unit of ten strykers (who seemed like he was about to become an avant) before stopping on the slightly-pale face of Lord Gray.

Alone among the people in the hall, he knew full well that if I should refuse to submit to the King’s will, then Carl’s Shadows — who had obviously been sent there specifically to liquidate me in the event of my refusal — wouldn’t stand a chance. Nor, for that matter, would Lord Gray himself.

After all, only a few weeks had passed since we had last seen one another. I had made some significant progress in my development during that time. While the situation with the golden parasite was still on the same level as before, I had managed to pull two new webs out of the little werefox’s memory and reproduce them in this new world. The first one was an attack spell from the Chaos School, while the second was an energy augmentor from the field of Nature Magic.

A heavy, oppressive silence hung over the hall. Snickering to myself in my mind, I unrolled the scroll again; slowly and loudly, I began to read its contents to the assembled crowd. The hall was still silent after I finished. Everyone was waiting for my response.

I could see lumps of lilac mana coursing through the energy systems of the King’s Shadows. The strykers were preparing to attack. Lord Gray, by contrast, was a pleasant surprise. His energy system was tense, to be sure, but he obviously wasn’t preparing to fight me. That said, I noticed a spark of hope in his eyes — he was hoping there wouldn’t be a fight, but he wasn’t certain.

“Gentlemen!” I exclaimed loudly as I looked around at everyone present. “As you’re all aware, and for obvious reasons, I will, alas, be unable to comply in full with His Majesty’s orders!”

Turning my head to face Prince Philippe and the cloud of Vestonian noblemen around him, I continued:

“It so transpired that the gods provided me with an opportunity to return His Majesty’s eldest son to him. And I took advantage of that opportunity immediately, even though it meant sacrificing my invaluable prisoner. I can only hope that His Majesty won’t be angry with me for being unable to carry out this aspect of his orders.”

“There is no reason you should reproach yourself, Monsieur!” The Count de Poitiers replied in a booming voice. “Your actions have always been those of a true nobleman and a loyal vassal to our ruler! Moreover, the King’s message didn’t reach you in time for you to act on it! Even if it had, however, any subject would consider it a sacred duty to free the King’s son from captivity!”

As he finished speaking, the hall filled with murmurs of grudging agreement. There weren’t many of my people in the hall that evening, but still — reacting to the Count de Poitiers’ words in any other way would have been a serious error of judgment.

I replied to the Count with a grateful nod. And my gratitude was totally genuine. The old man had sensed the temperature in the room quickly, and made the perfect comment at the perfect time. I should also point out that he did so without having mentioned anything to me beforehand.

“I agree completely with the Count de Poitiers!” A firm voice rang out above the racket in the hall. It was one of the nobles who had arrived with Lord Gray, a man I had never met before.

His chiseled facial features, flowing, curly black hair streaked with gray, his powerful physique, and the steely look in his gray eyes all indicated that this man was used to being obeyed.

“I’m certain that any man present in this room would have done exactly the same thing in your position!” He added. “But what about His Majesty’s other orders? Do you intend to submit to our sovereign’s will?”

“With whom do I have the honor of speaking?” I asked.

“Count de Rolenne, at your service!” He replied with a slight bow.

“So you’re the man His Majesty has appointed as the new commander-in-chief?” I asked. “Finally! Finally, I can get back to work in my own lands in peace!”

The joy and relief in my voice were obviously a little puzzling to the Count, as well as many of the others in the hall. The King’s Shadows froze, waiting to see how I would continue.

“Yes, Monsieur,” Count de Rolenne nodded as he overcame his initial confusion. “I’m confident that you’ll cooperate with me in this.”

“Of course, my dear Count!” I smiled. “Especially since I turned command of the Royal Legions over to General de Leval quite some time ago. Really, it’s been several days since I took my last actions in effective command of His Majesty’s troops.”

“If you’ll pardon me,” the Count frowned. “As far as I understand, that’s true only of several cohorts whose constituent units have been distributed into garrisons in Bergonia’s largest cities. The rest of the army is still under your command.”

“I fear you may have been misinformed, my dear Count,” I said. “The army you’re referring to is that of our local alliance, consisting of mercenaries whom I hired out of my own pocket, soldiers who’ve come to join us at the behest of the headmen in their mountain villages, and the citizen levies of several Bergonian cities. Yes — I’m still in command of that force. Even that, though, is only because I managed to earn the trust of these independent allies. I have no authority whatsoever to force them to submit to our King’s will, because they aren’t His Majesty’s subjects in the first place. That said, you’re perfectly free to try to negotiate with them and hire them if you so choose.”

I could see the sinews twitching across the Count de Rolenne’s cheekbones.

“You...” He tried to say something, but I interrupted him.

“As for me, I intend to set off for my new landholdings as the King ordered, just as soon as the rainy season ends.”

With that, I bowed to the assembled nobles, turned, and walked out of the small hall.

Later on, Lord Gray’s squire approached me with a note requesting a private meeting.

* * *

“Carl won’t be happy about this,” Lord Gray sighed, as we walked around a pond in one of the city parks after breakfast the next morning.

“I had to act quickly,” I replied. “I couldn’t just leave the Prince in Atalian captivity. I hope you understand why.”

“I do, but...” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and grimaced. “It’s hard for me to talk about this, but... Basically, there’s every reason to suspect that Carl long ago stopped caring about his sons and their fates... By turning Prince Adrian over to the Golden Lion, you totally ruined Carl’s plans.”

Some secret, I thought... And as for the King and his plans — if it weren’t for my intervention, none of his plans would have been possible in the first place. The Golden Lion would be outside the walls of Herouxville as we speak. So it’s anybody’s guess what plans I ruined for whom.

Keeping Lord Gray on my side, however, would require a more tactful response than that. So when I replied out loud, I simple said:

“It was the only thing I could do.”

“Yes, my friend,” Lord Gray nodded. “The Count de Poitiers was right: your actions were those of a true nobleman and a faithful vassal. Soon enough, the capital will learn about how you saved Prince Philippe. Your popularity will skyrocket! Heh heh... Although I guess it’s only fair to point out that it’s already somewhere high above the clouds, isn’t it?”

“It’s that bad, huh?” I shook my head.

“I’m glad you understand that,” Lord Gray replied with a friendly smile. “Jealousy among the powerful can ruin even the most famous of heroes. I’m genuinely glad that you chose to obey the King, and that you’re heading off to your Margraviate. Your army was causing sleepless nights for a lot of people in Vestonia.”

“Did they really think I would do otherwise?” I asked with surprise in my voice. “Has any of my words or deeds ever given anyone cause to doubt my loyalty to His Majesty?”

Lord Gray replied with a doomed sort of sigh and shook his head. He, at least, didn’t seem to have any doubt that the King was important to me.

We were silent for a little while. Then Lord Gray glanced around, turned to look me in the eyes, and in a quiet, trembling voice, he began to speak.

“I heard that the Duke de Clairmont has recovered. You worked another miracle! You’ve beaten death magic!”

“I risked my life to do it,” I nodded. “But I did it...”

He leaned in slightly, and in a furious whisper, he replied:

“Save him! He’s dying... Those potions you gave me have slowed the spread of the poison, but not for long. Go to the capital and save him!”

“I can’t disobey his order,” I shook my head. “You delivered it to me yourself. I can’t go there without being summoned. That’s against my principles. Besides, you gave him my potions, and still nobody’s summoned me to see him... You can see it yourself: he’s frightened by me. It’s best if I step aside for a while. Let the noise around my exploits die down a bit.”

“But...” He tried to object.

“But I’ll give you something to take with you nonetheless,” I interrupted him. “New potions. More concentrated and more effective.”

There was hope in Lord Gray’s eyes as he stared back at me.

“I understand,” he said. “And it’s such a shame that His Majesty’s real friends must stay in the shadows while all manner of scoundrels hover over him like vultures.”

After that, we walked around the park for a little while longer. Lord Gray filled me in on the latest news from the capital. Put briefly, the Duke de Gondy had managed to avoid being killed or captured. That said, he was badly wounded. When Lord Gray’s unit encountered the Ruler of the South, he was lying in a cart, headed back toward Vestonia. And his little boy was finally starting to spread his wings.

I was happy to hear that the grand master of the Stone Knights had been arrested and thrown into prison. The inquisitors concluded that he really hadn’t known anything about the conspiracy, but that wasn’t enough to save him from torture and execution. The same was true for his closest associates. Basically, the Order of the Gray Rock had ceased to exist. At least in the capital. Marcel de Gaben, the King’s First Shadow, had seen to that.

After my conversation with Lord Gray, I decided to take Chickadee out for a ride. I knew she was a little starved for attention, and Lorin wasn’t shy about reproaching me for leaving the poor animal alone and sad and missing her master.

As I trotted down the gray streets of Romont, I took a deep breath of the cool, damp air, occasionally reaching down to pat my horse on the neck as I thought about one more piece of news that Lord Gray had passed on to me.

It was news from the north. The army of Konung Bjorn Sharptooth had tried to attack the Frost Temple, and had been utterly destroyed. The Konung and his closest comrades were all dead. There wasn’t much more detail than that, and compared to what was happening in Bergonia and Vestonia, nobody was really all that interested. A grave mistake on their part...

I had really been hoping for more time... But of course, counting on the Younger Hrimthurs to stay content in Northland while I took care of my own affairs would have been stupid and short-sighted in the extreme.

Oh well, I thought. While they’re busy conquering the North, I’ll be preparing for the day when we finally meet...