Last Life

Book 4: Chapter 1

“ARE YOU CERTAIN the tavern owner will still be waiting for us?” Lucas asked Jacques. “There are more visitors arriving all the time.”

To be frank, I shared Lucas’ concern. Crowds of outlanders mixed with local city folk and people from nearby villages had flooded the capital city in the run-up to the grand event. And all these outlanders would need somewhere to stay and something to eat. At this pace, local property owners were going to start renting out space on their roofs.

In Jacques’ words, the Copper Cauldron tavern, where he had rented us the entire upper floor, was quite a nice place. So there was a risk that some nobleman would offer the owner more silver than us, and we would have to spend another night in the wagon.

“I’m certain,” Jacques laughed back. “You just don’t know Leif René. Call him what you like, but he is a man of his word.”

Luc just shrugged his shoulders without comment.

“René?” I asked. “Is he Vestonian?”

“If Leif is to be trusted, his daddy was Vestonian. Came to Fjordgrad’s port years ago on a pirate schooner. The ship got badly tossed around in a storm, and the crew had to sit idle while it was in for repair. And that was when Leif’s daddy met a beautiful redheaded northerner, who he fell madly in love with. He took his share of the booty, married her, and opened a tavern near Fjordgrad’s port, which Leif then inherited along with his mother’s copper red hair and his father’s stern ways.”

After a brief pause, Jacques continued with a smirk.

“Before settling down in the capital and starting his family business, Leif heard a lot of tales from his father about the freebooting life, ran away from home and spent a long time journeying around the continent in search of adventure. Which was how we met. As young hotheads, we got hired into a certain baron’s retinue. He then got into a dispute with a neighbor. While storming their castle, Leif was injured. A healer tended to him but was unable to save his leg. And that was when his life of freedom came to an end, and he returned home. He got married and had a bunch of kids. And now, he’s looking after the family business. When he heard my Vestonian aristocrat master wanted to stay in his lodgings, he looked very happy. So I have a hard time imagining old René breaking his word and ruining his reputation over a couple silver coins.”

When we made it to the solidly constructed two-story stone building, which in comparison with the other port buildings looked like a giant standing in a row of dwarves, I whistled in my mind.

Seeing where I was looking, Jacques said with self-satisfaction:

“When René’s parents first started the place, it was a little one-story hovel. Leif lost a leg, but never lost his vibrant, bustling nature. He has gotten a nice little business going over the last few years.”

I must admit that I was already starting to like Jacques’ old war buddy.

At the entrance, a muscular redheaded kid was waiting to lead us into the back yard, where he and a few other servants took care of our horses. We meanwhile were invited into the tavern.

Once inside, I looked around. Jacques was not lying — it all really did look quite seemly. All three main rooms were packed with visitors. The kitchen doors never closed. A dozen servers flitted around the rooms with full trays of food and drink. The owner even had to set a few dozen tables and benches outside the front of the tavern and, despite the cold weather, they were also occupied by patrons. The Great Trial had brought a huge number of people to Vintervald. With no exaggeration, one could easily call it the event of the century up here. The locals must have been very pleased with their konung’s decision.

* * *

“So, the most junior Vestonian prince has come to test his luck in the Great Trial…” Leif René stroked his beard half inquisitively.

The broad-shouldered thick-set big man spoke fluent Vestonian and Northlandic. Beyond that, owing to his service, he was able to capably express himself in Atalian, Astlandic, and the language of the Foggy Isles.

With a black bandanna on his head, pipe between his teeth, golden earrings in his ears and wooden peg leg — to tell the truth, René looked more like a pirate than the owner of a respectable tavern.

As an aside, our fears proved to be misplaced. I couldn’t say for sure what Jacques told his old mercenary pal, but he took us in with a big hug like old friends.

After that, he expressed a wish to personally serve us dinner. Or rather, to have his servers do it. Leif himself just orchestrated the process. And of course, he was unable to resist asking about the latest news from King Carl III’s court.

“That’s exactly right, my good man,” I nodded. “His Highness Prince Louis craves victory. He is eager to take the beautiful Princess Astrid for his bride.”

That made Jacques and Lucas give clever chuckles. Everyone in the Vestonian embassy knew Prince Louis’ true feelings toward the northern princess. Leif René, on the contrary, puffed out his chest as if the Konung of Vintervald’s daughter were his own. In fact, I had noticed already that Princess Astrid was very popular among common folk. Even more so than her father.

“We truly live in great times!” Leif René said, slowly shaking his head and patting his slightly extended belly. His broad freckled face beamed with satisfaction and cheer.

While I ate, I spent a little while observing René. Despite the excess weight and peg leg, the tavern owner’s movements were light and quick. At first, I even suspected we were dealing with a gifted man, but a scan revealed that not to be the case.

“And how often do the konungs declare a Great Trial?” Lucas asked.

As a part of the warrior class, he had the right to sit with me at the table. Bertrand and Gunnar meanwhile were at a neighboring spot. The old man was a keen enforcer of etiquette, even in this tavern. And that earned him a respectful glance from Leif René.

“The last time was almost one hundred years ago,” the tavern owner replied, and again patted his stomach for some reason. “There was a change of the royal dynasty in Vintervald at that time.”

“I hope that doesn’t happen again…” Jacques snorted. “I wouldn’t want to be caught in a gory struggle for the throne.”

“No,” Leif shook his head with a smile. “You aren’t getting it… The dynasty change was peaceful. Ivar the Wise’s titles were inherited by an ancestor of Bjørn Sharptooth, Ulf Whiteye. It was entirely voluntary. Ulf Whiteye was the winner of the Great Trial. Ivar the Wise meanwhile, after the death of his nephew, the rightful heir to the old royal dynasty, declared a Trial precisely in order to find a new heir. This time, everything will be different. The king has three sons as well as a daughter.”

“Then what’s all this for?” Jacques asked in surprise. “He could just marry his daughter off without any Trial.”

“Oh!” Leif René’s eyes lit up with delight. “It isn’t all that simple, my old friend. Our konung’s daughter is no common princess. Astrid the Swift is one of the most powerful gifted people in all Northland! Every elite and influential house in the country would want a bride like her. Her sons will become great warriors and rulers.”

“Bjørn Sharptooth meanwhile doesn’t want to insult anyone with a refusal, which is why he declared a Great Trial…” Jacques finished for him. “Hm… Now I see…”

“Indeed!” Leif replied, raising a pointer finger.

Curious, here I thought it was all prearranged between the Konung of Vintervald and King of Vestonia. Lord Gray was without a doubt the most powerful stryker I had ever seen. Even the Wild Duke seemed weaker. But still, who could guarantee his victory in the Trial? There were probably other powerful gifted people among the northern contenders. Without a doubt, Bjørn Sharptooth was playing a game of some kind. Either that or he and Carl III already had prearranged things, and the other contenders were in for a lot of surprises.

Meanwhile, Leif continued passionately:

“Everything that happens this winter will forever remain in the memories of our descendants!”

“Any idea what the konung is planning?” Jacques asked, adding with a smirk: “Just don’t tell me the fine people of Fjordgrad live in ignorance.”

The tavern owner nodded and smiled.

“It is a secret to no one that the Trials take place at Icefjord. There, the konung constructed a large arena where the best warriors of all Mainland will face off in mortal combat.”

Actually, speaking of warriors…

“The number of banners bearing the crests of elite families arriving in Fjordgrad boggles the mind,” I nodded. “I am ashamed to admit it, but I did not recognize many of them. For example, the black boar’s head on a yellow backdrop…”

“Jarl Sigurd Bloodsword, elder brother of our Queen Margaret,” Leif said with an important nod. “That is his banner. He has brought along his daughter, Helga the Valiant, a most powerful healer.”

So, that was False Thais’ name.

The tavern owner wanted to say more, but he was interrupted fairly unceremoniously by a loud demanding cry from the bar.

“Hey! What’s this seasoning you’re putting on everything here?”

Leif, upset to be interrupted, frowned, and turned around.

At the table, there stood a plump rosy-cheeked man dressed to the nines in Vestonian fashion. His little, closely set eyes were filled with disdain while his meaty lips curled in disgust.

The chubby man, who in every way resembled a stuffed turkey, was speaking to Leif in Vestonian with a noticeable accent. I had heard similar pronunciation before on multiple occasions. A Bergonian nobleman must have decided to try his luck in the Great Trial.

“Quite right,” the tavern owner nodded. “My name is Leif René, and you…”

“Yes, yes,” the turkey waved Leif off. “I am Pierre Léger, third valet of His Lordship Count Étienne de Mornay, who will be arriving in Fjordgrad tomorrow to take part in the Great Trial. This backwater only has a few hotels and inns, and they are all at full occupancy. I was suggested your tavern as a decent establishment.”

With that, the third valet looked around scornfully at the hall and continued in his commanding tone: “You should be happy. You will be afforded a great honor! My master will be staying in your tavern. He will take the entire second floor. But before that can happen, I need you to show me the rooms. I simply must be certain everything is up to standard. Step to, we haven’t got much time. Order your people to commence with cleaning and…”

“Alas, we have no vacancies,” Leif interrupted him.

Despite Pierre Léger’s arrogant tone, the tavern owner remained calm. Visitors such as him must have been no rarity.

“What do you mean no vacancies?!” the third valet exclaimed in indignation. He clearly was not going to give up so easily. “I was told you had the whole upper floor free.”

“You must have been misinformed,” Leif shrugged his shoulders and added, nodding in my direction: “The entire upper floor is occupied by Chevalier Renard.”

The turkey’s little eyes immediately sized me up with his arrogant gaze. Pierre Léger’s thick lips curled into a condescending smile.

“You must not have heard me right, good man,” he proclaimed in a nearly triumphant tone. “My master is Count Étienne de Mornay. His family is one of the wealthiest and most ancient in Bergonia. His Lordship is also a most powerful stryker. Do you not see what a great honor is being afforded to you? Think about the prestige of your establishment. Some obscure chevalier is never going to improve your reputation to the same high degree as my master. Beyond that, you will receive handsome pay. Well, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”

“You seem not to have understood,” Leif’s self-control was a thing of envy. “As soon as everyone finds out that Leif René, flattered by the clanking of coin, put his guests out on the street, my reputation and that of my establishment will be at an end.”

The turkey raised his chin slightly and glimmered his little eyes in rage. Leif bore his gaze calmly and wanted to get back to our interrupted conversation, but the Count de Mornay’s third valet didn’t allow it.

He walked around the tavern owner quite nimbly and loomed over our table. Quickly hitting us with an arrogant gaze, he unfailingly determined who was who.

“Your Worship,” he addressed me with false politeness. “Would you be so kind as to give me a modicum of your time?”

“Do you suppose you’ll be able to draw me in somehow?” I decided to play the insolent man’s game. His master the count must have really been a bigwig in Bergonia given his third valet was behaving as if he were at the very least a marquise.

Pierre Léger must have found my tone sympathetic, because he took heart and said in a trusting voice:

“I’m simply sure of it!”

His dismissive look, his high-handed smile — it all evinced the fact that I had already been written off and assigned a price tag. I could somewhat understand Pierre. Despite his common origin, his outfit was twice as expensive as mine. Chevaliers like me were a dime a dozen in his world. He just needed to find my price.

But my companions were not fooled by my tone. Jacques and Lucas smiled, looked at one another, and got ready.

“Okay,” I shrugged and, sitting back in my chair, added: “You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

Pierre Léger looked encouraged. In his little eyes, I saw sparks of delight. He must have already been imagining getting rid of the simpleton chevalier and receiving praise from his master.

He rubbed his puffy hands together and said:

“Your Worship, you wouldn’t deny that a noble lord such as the Count de Mornay doesn’t deserve to spend the night in a hayloft like some commoner, would you?”

“You are correct, I wouldn’t,” I shook my head. “As a matter of fact, I would consider that a blatant injustice.”

Pierre Léger smiled even bigger and continued:

“Both of us understand that His Lordship requires comfort equivalent to his status.”

“Quite right!” I agreed eagerly.

Pierre Léger, like a regular magician, took a fat sack from his bosom.

“Here… I’m sure that a man of indubitably noble blood such as yourself, might find it in himself to relinquish the upper floor of this tavern to my master. I then will compensate you for the inconvenience.”

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. A short pause hung.

“How do you mean?” Pierre Léger decided to hurry me along. “Do you agree?”

“It’s a very tempting offer,” I snorted. “But I’m going to have to refuse.”

“But why?” Pierre Léger seemed genuinely taken aback.

“Do I really need to give you an explanation?” I asked.

“No, but it seemed we had started to understand each other… And my master…”

I raised a hand to stop him.

“If His Lordship will have to spend the night in a haybarn, all that means is that he must quickly replace his listless, lazy servants for failing to provide their master with the comfort his status deserves.”

That made the chubby man’s face go long.

“Take me for example,” I continued and nodded at Jacques: “Thanks to my man’s sense of urgency, I will be spending the night in a warm bed. If he had not managed such a simple task, I’d have thrown him out by the collar and given him a whipping for good measure.”

“And you’d be entirely right to do so, Your Worship,” Jacques picked up the game. “It would be a lesson I’d never forget.”

I looked around quickly. The visitors sitting at the other tables in the tavern had fallen silent and were all listening to our conversation with rapt attention. Leif René’s red-bearded face flickered with a satisfied smile.

After Jacques spoke up, I heard laughter.

Pierre Léger seemed to finally understand that we were simply mocking him. He frowned and opened his mouth…

“Before you continue,” I turned to him coldly. “Let me give you some free advice. Weigh your words carefully. I know you’re accustomed to being afforded protection by your master’s status in Bergonia, but you’re up north now. Here, personal valor is valued above all else, and those who cannot answer for their words are not tolerated.”

A buzz of approval flew around the tavern.

The Count de Mornay’s third valet flickered his eyes in fury, turned and hurried to leave.

Watching him closely, Jacques glanced at me.

“Something’s telling me his master will hear a radically altered account of what happened just now. A duel with a stryker is serious business.”

I shrugged.

“One more stryker couldn’t hurt. In any case, we need to hurry…”

Jacques gave a nod of understanding, while I glanced at Leif René and asked:

“My good man, beyond all else, I’ve heard tell that Fjordgrad is a city where one can hire powerful warriors. If that is the case, could you perhaps recommend me a guild of mercenaries with flawless reputation?”

“You heard right, Your Worship,” the tavern owner smiled back. “As for recommendations… That all depends on how well you can pay.”

“Money is no object,” I replied. “I need the best. Particularly gifted.”