Last Life

Book 4: Chapter 12

HAVING AGAIN INTERROGATED AELIRA, but more thoroughly, I sent her off to bed, then sat up at the table thinking through my circumstances again. Dodger’s mind, as it always did, was now actively sifting through all possible options to find the optimally rational course of action.

Attacking first while nobody was expecting it was the right move. However, going on the attack as a group of three against four dozen warriors, half of them shapeshifters was doubtlessly equivalent to suicide. I also wouldn’t be able get rid of the tough werewolves secretly, so I had to take the “loud” option.

Finally weighing all the pros and cons, I made my decision. Wasting no time, I tossed the fur mantle on my shoulders and headed for Jean-Louis’ tent, which wafted with cries of joy and boisterous toasting.

Baron de Levy had arranged a little drinking session just for his inner circle, so to speak. There were both Vestonians from Prince Louis’ embassy there and nobles from other countries. The little friend group even included a couple Vintervalders. I had also been invited. Overall, it was a formidable group. Even Lord Gray the royal stryker was there along with two of his arms bearers, both combat mages of expert rank.

When I came in, the good times were rolling, the heat turned up by the presence of some courtesans in states of provocative undress who had also joined the royal hunt back in the capital.

My entry was greeted by cheery shouting. I was immediately brought a large silver goblet of wine as a punishment for the late arrival. I had to drain it completely to general jubilation. Then, a few minutes later came another, and another after that. Thankfully, my energy system blocked all the alcohol’s effects on my body no problem.

Closely listening to the conversations of everyone there, I waited for a good opportunity to do what I’d come to do. And in the end, I pulled it off.

The conversation turned to the hunt, so more people started tuning in. The aristocrats’ general conclusion was that they were getting bored. They were all impatient for the promised wolf hunt, but for some reason the konung was moving slow as if trying to make the fun last as long as possible.

In the heat of that discussion, I casually dropped that I wanted to get some fresh air, and thus had decided the next morning to go out on a hunt with my people to scare up some meat. Furthermore, my people had discovered the tracks of a large moose at the foot of the hills.

And that was actually the pure truth. Aelira had told me about a moose or elk. Honestly though, we wouldn’t be able to hunt it because it had already been taken by the werewolves, who had set up camp in an abandoned village in the foothills.

Fueled by booze and promising smiles from the aristocrats’ ladies, every last one of them swallowed the bait and said they wanted to come along with me. And somehow, they quickly all forgot who had even come up with the amazing idea. A few minutes later, everyone was picturing themselves in a successful hunt.

Baron de Levy’s friends among the local nobles tried in vain to bring everyone there to their senses. Because the lands where we suggested going had been depopulated by a fierce wave of plague two years earlier. Beyond that, the area didn’t have the best reputation before the epidemic.

But the caution of the locals only made the foreign guests more eager to go. By the time I was back, it was decided. By my approximate calculations, twenty nobles plus their arms bearers and riders put us at around seventy people going out to hunt.

Okay, the first step had been taken.

That morning before dawn, Sigurd and Aelira caught me at work. I was sitting at a table looking over two dozen crossbow bolts and a leather case of potions I’d bought in the Crafting District.

“Yellow viper poison,” I commented quietly, cautiously smearing the viscous dark amber liquid on the bolt tips. “Highly concentrated. If even a little drop of this stuff hits an open section of skin, it will mean practically instant death.”

Sigurd and Aelira watched me carefully and nodded at almost the same time. I felt their probing gazes. I was certain that in the time they’d been with me, I had made them reconsider their employer’s true identity on a few occasions.

I wondered what they’d say if they found out the poison I was applying to my arrow tips had already been enhanced by me. Yes, I had spent a lot of money, time, and mana on experiments, but in the end I was able to increase the concentration of the corresponding types of energy in the potions I’d bought in the Crafting District. Now the effect of each of the potions had been increased by many times.

When I was done with the bolts, I took another few colored phials out of the box.

“This is Glowing Whirlwind,” I said, handing Sigurd and Aelira four elongated bulbs of dark emerald liquid, two each. “Very highly concentrated.”

My bodyguards, staring transfixed at the elixirs, accepted them gingerly. Their reaction was easy to explain. Glowing Whirlwind was one of the most expensive magic elixirs in the world, accelerating all processes in the body. Its high price was explained by the fact that alchemists made it out of pure bruts. Drinking the normal version could turn the avant into an absolute death machine for about fifteen minutes. And after my work with the elixir, Sigurd would become a demigod of war for half an hour.

“That’s not all,” I said, extending them the remaining bottles. “The crimson one is Living Reservoir’s Breath. The alchemist who sold it to me said this potion would boost your regeneration in case of injury or if any energy nodes burst. This ash gray one is Stoneskin. I imagine you know what that does. And this is Azure Dawn, which the brewer assured me was a pain reliever. And finally…”

I handed our scout a rounded flask.

“This is dust made with a base of Pale Lotus Petals, which will make you invisible to shapeshifter noses for a time. Before leaving, you should carefully rub it all over your skin, hair, and clothing.”

Aelira uncorked the flask and, closing her eyes, sniffed its contents. After that, she glanced at me in surprise.

“Now I see why I couldn’t sniff you out that night.”

“It’s also why I could sneak up on your would-be assassins,” I responded with a chuckle.

* * *

Nearer midday, the hunting party rode out from the konung’s camp toward some hills known popularly as Stonesnake’s Ridge. Our departure was no surprise to anyone from the guard team because a few groups of royal huntsmen were going out with us. The konung decided before the main event to hold another feast, which threatened to stretch on for days, so his underlings were in a hurry to provide their lord with fresh meat.

When Sigurd and Aelira saw the little army, they looked at me with respect. In response, I just shrugged my shoulders.

For some time, the aristocrats without the magic gift struggled with hangovers but, based on their sullen faces and plaintive looks, they were no longer glad to be heading out into the forest at such an early hour.

But now, almost an hour later, when Aelira who I’d introduced to everyone as an experienced gifted hunter with excellent senses, found the tracks of the moose, everyone livened up. The thrill of the hunt took over.

The further we went, the more the landscape around us changed. The forested slope was soon left behind, and we found ourselves moving through barren and rocky terrain.

Before entering a small glade, Aelira froze and, thrusting her head up, started sniffing loudly. I nodded, pleased with the flawless performance. Just as we’d agreed.

“What’s there?!” an impatient baron shouted.

“I smell blood,” Aelira rasped back, pointing to the right.

“Onward!” Lord Gray exclaimed, who turned out to be a passionate hunter and who had taken the reins of our squad casually. I was just fine with that. Our cavalcade, obeying his cries, headed where he pointed.

A few minutes later, we were on a large meadow. In the middle of it, mixed with dirt and snow which had frozen half solid over the night, were scraps of bloody flesh and a set of big, huge horns that must have come from a giant moose.

“Looks like we’ve been beaten to the punch!” Lord Gray shouted, easily jumping down from the saddle, and getting down on one knee to inspect the huge paw prints in the snow.

Everyone else followed his example. A few minutes later, everyone concluded unambiguously that “our” moose had been taken down by shapeshifters, and their tracks led into the hills.

“Messieurs!” one of the local nobles shouted. “This is all highly unusual! We have to check where these tracks lead to!”

“Then mount your horses!” Lord Gray announced loudly, raising a hand, and jumping into the saddle.

“The ulfhednar will be full and sluggish,” Aelira came, riding up to Sigurd and me. Her services as a tracker weren’t even necessary. The werewolves left extremely clear tracks.

“Beyond that,” she added, “after the change of appearance, they’ll need to restore their energy.”

I gave a silent nod, and we headed out together after the other riders, whose silhouettes had already disappeared between the dark trees.

Finally, the forest came to an end and our squad got into a thick line formation at its edge. The tracks led us to a big, abandoned farmhouse surrounded by ten or so other structures with people sauntering between them.

“Messieurs,” Lord Gray addressed our northern companions, who were staring in surprise at the scene unfolding before them. “Any idea who that might be?”

They just shook their heads, discouraged.

“Don’t look like His Majesty’s huntsmen,” Lord Gray started saying out loud. “Don’t see any standards.”

“I would guess we’ve stumbled upon a poachers’ camp,” Jean-Louis came. “Although on the other hand, I wouldn’t want to go casting blame indiscriminately.”

“Then let’s get to the bottom of all this!” Lord Gray called and pulled on his reins. His mare, still excited from the recent gallop, darted forward a bit too eagerly.

The aristocrats all buzzed in approval and the hunters, falling in line, started off after him. Their mares started to build up speed and continued bounding through the snow like lynxes. The sound of saddle harnesses, weaponry, and hoofbeats filled the air.

I nodded to my bodyguards, got out my already cocked crossbow and carefully set a bolt with poisoned tip into the guide channel. Sigurd and Aelira did the same.

Some people in the werewolf camp spotted us. Immediately, I saw activity. The fact that it wasn’t a common hunting party in the farmhouse became clear to my companions when archers started lining up at the half-collapsed stone barricade.

Lord Gray was first to recognize the danger.

“To battle!” he blared just as the first arrows were loosed into the sky.

The stryker put down the visor of his bone helmet. Grabbing the sword from his scabbard, he raised it over his head and started galloping his mare. I saw dark lilac energy spread over his armor suit.

His stryker arms bearers rode by their liege’s side with visors down and weapons pointed forward.

The other aristocrats and their arms bearers weren’t far behind. Quickly getting their bearings, those who had spears or swords already out dashed off after Lord Gray. A booming hoofbeat and whinnying rang in from all sides.

Just then, the first arrows started whistling in through the air straight into our ranks. A few of them missed, others thudded off peoples’ armor, but a few of the arrows did find their marks. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a horse fall beneath its rider, who somersaulted over the ground.

There was no second volley. The archers from the camp were clearly spooked by the sight of the mass of horses racing their direction. Without firing another shot, they split like a flock of frightened sparrows. The riders noticed their retreat and gave a loud “rraa!” of encouragement.

A few moments later, the cavalcade headed by Lord Gray had made it into the camp. At that very second, a mass wolf howl rang out — the true masters of this place were finally entering the fray. I heard loud collisions, shrieks of pain, growling, the crack of breaking trees and frightened whinnying.

The wild call of the shapeshifters mixed with the shouts of humans, forming a thick, almost palpable atmosphere of chaos and madness. The air filled with an unmistakable aroma of blood, shit, and death.

We were still outside the camp when Aelira shouted loudly and pointed at the far end of the half-collapsed barricade. A dark shadow had just flickered past.

“It’s one of them!” Aelira’s nostrils flared animalistically.

With a predatory snicker, I turned Chickadee toward it. Sigurd and Aelira followed my lead.

One of the werewolves was apparently ducking out of battle. He had opted to abandon his comrades and retreat.

Once I reached the barricade, I hopped down from my horse, got down on one knee and took aim. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a sudden movement to the right. It was Aelira hurrying to point her crossbow at the big dark spot racing toward the hills.

“He’s mine,” I warned her curtly.

Drawing a little ball of energy from my reservoir, I released it into my energy structure, filling the channels.

I aimed, held my breath just for a few seconds and then, after exhaling, pressed down on the trigger. A dull thud and the bolt went whistling through the air, tearing off into its target.

A moment later, it had sunk into the back of a werewolf. With a very short yelp of pain, he kept running out of inertia. However, I already knew they were his last steps.

One last awkward leap and the werewolf rolled over the ground with his appendages flung limply aside.

One down…

I nodded in satisfaction and traded glances with Aelira. Her yellow animal eyes burned with excitement and a set of sharp fangs poked up from behind her lower lip. Sigurd meanwhile kept sitting in the saddle, covering us from possible attack.

“Find the other,” I said.

Aelira bared her teeth and raced toward the camp. With catlike agility, she easily jumped over a scattering of boulders. Sigurd and I followed behind.

In the camp, it was all over. The shapeshifters didn’t hold out long. Although the nobles were equipped for a hunt in light armor, they didn’t leave Clan Brownwolf even the ghost of a chance. The only ones who survived were those that fled.

Now, our warriors were walking around the farmhouse finishing off the wounded. Others meanwhile were investigating the time-weakened buildings, hoping to find something of value. Based on the happy faces, the hunt had gone splendidly.

We found the second werewolf not far from the wall of the farthest building.

“Now I see why your buddy abandoned you,” I said, staring down the broad-shouldered, gray-bearded man with a short spear protruding from his belly.

“You must have popped out of your house and gotten hit right away,” Sigurd said calmly. “Not even the amulet could help. Maybe if you’d dodged, you’d have survived.”

“Who says he’s dead?” I asked, laughing.

In true vision, the werewolf’s energy structure was slowly refilling. Beyond the innards, which had been reduced to a bloody mass, the spear tip had also injured his spine — people with injuries like that didn’t live long. But this was no person. If I didn’t finish him off right away, he’d be back on his feet in no time.

“This big wolf is hard to kill,” Sigurd clicked his tongue in respect and poked the shapeshifter with the tip of his boot. “He’s good at faking, too.”

The Nightwolves Guild assassin raised his eyelids and cast a glance at me that was filled with hate. A moment later, his black eyes went wide in surprise.

“I see you know who I am,” I chuckled. “I take it your bosses still haven’t realized I’m best not to be tangled with? Or was my crazy aunt so convincing? I’ll have to tell her she’s dealing with amateurs.”

The gray-hair barked dully, and blood streamed down his chin.

“You wanna die…?”

“Like your buddy, who ran off like a yellow-bellied coward?” I kept laughing.

“My brother will take revenge…” the shapeshifter rasped.

“Oh, no,” I shook my head. “You don’t get it. Your guild’s days are numbered. When I’m done up north, I’m going back to Herouxville to hunt down every last one of you mangy mongrels. I’m sick of you.”

The gray-beard said something else, but I was no longer listening.

With a glance at Sigurd, I nodded, and he took out his sword before cutting off the shapeshifter’s head in a single energy blow.