Last Life

Book 4: Chapter 13

WE SPENT A BIT OVER TWO HOURS at the farmhouse. But that was enough for the servants to construct some travois to transport the wounded, as well as the bodies of those who died both on the enemy’s side and ours.

Thanks to the lightning-fast surprise attack headed by Lord Gray and his valiant arms-bearers, we had taken what one might call minimal losses. Fourteen dead servants and twenty wounded, including some nobles.

Aelira scoured every nook and cranny at the farmhouse and counted up the enemy dead, outside of the werewolves, there were twelve ulfhednar, and eighteen common fighters. Apparently, none of the northern shapeshifters had escaped. Unlike the werewolves, they all fought valiantly.

Very soon, we realized why. The local nobles recognized among the dead ulfhednar Sverre Moonbeast, a close associate of the head of Clan Brownwolf, Eirik Irontooth.

And that very Eirik was now at the royal camp feasting at Konung Bjørn Sharptooth’s table together with Konung Harold Graywolf and the other jarls who came on the hunt.

The news that we had taken down a Brownwolf camp was cause for serious contemplation among the nobles. Lord Gray tried to dispel their doubts, loudly declaring that the truth was on our side, and we didn’t attack anyone unprovoked. In fact, we had been shot at first by the archers. In other words, we were defending ourselves. His words were taken with excitement, but everyone among us, even the dullest servant, could see that the ceasefire was now on shaky ground. A conflict with the leader of Clan Brownwolf was inevitable.

Before leaving camp, I ordered Aelira to follow after the runaways. There were two late Brownwolves missing. Sigurd’s wife caught up to us a few hours later.

We rode a bit to the side of the main column so nobody could hear us.

“You find them?” I asked when Aelira’s horse caught up to mine.

“Both dead,” she said, confirming her words by throwing me two bone talismans with tufts of brown fur. “I found the body of the first not far from the farmhouse. He bled out. The second made it a bit further, though he was also injured. He was still alive when I found him. He was very talkative, too. I promised to heal him and grant him freedom if he told me what they were doing at the farmhouse.”

Aelira looked darker than a storm cloud.

“So your instincts were right?” Sigurd asked her.

She nodded to her husband and glanced at me.

“The whole hunt is just a cover. Clan Brownwolf came here to kill King Sharptooth. They were long preparing to take revenge on him for driving their clan out of Varglund.”

“So the wolf pack was their doing?” I asked.

“Sverre Moonbeast, who was slain by your best stryker, knew how to talk to Lesser Beings,” Aelira replied. “He promised the pack mothers good hunting in these lands. Sharptooth was supposed to be killed during the hunt. He didn’t say anything else.”

I nodded back and considered it. So our daring raid had thwarted an attempt on the konung’s life.

“I’m sure Konung Harold had a hand in this,” Sigurd came.

“The delicate ceasefire is splitting at the seams,” I came thoughtfully. “At the very least, now I see why Harold and the priests were slowly bringing their forces to Fjordgrad.”

“Your Worship, will you tell the others?” Sigurd asked.

“Not yet,” I shook my head. “I’m going to hang onto this bit of information. If you’re going to talk about this kind of thing, make sure you do it with the right people. What happened, happened: a chance encounter during a hunt. Yes, many Brownwolf fighters died, but our side also suffered losses. Yes, Eirik Irontooth will be outraged, but Lord Gray is right — the truth is on our side. We were attacked, then forced to defend ourselves. In fact, in the first volley, their archers spilled blood in our ranks.”

When we made it to the konung’s camp, everything went topsy-turvy. Before entering, Lord Gray told everyone to stick together and, just in case, to be ready to fend off an attack. It was like he could see the future…

As soon as Eirik Irontooth found out whose bodies we had on the travois, he immediately announced to the whole camp that the southerners had broken the ceasefire by killing northerners. The ugly bastard must have figured that the best defense was offense.

Around half an hour after our arrival, the camp felt like a batted beehive, and another few minutes after that, our squad was surrounded by angry people. Among them were Eirik Irontooth’s people, and both konungs’ warriors.

The dim torchlight turned the frost-bitten earth a shade of gold and cast long shadows from the warriors piling up around our squad. The camp was holding their breath in expectation of a storm. Even the wind seemed to fall silent in anticipation of a slaughter.

The northerners mixed together and formed a living wall around us. Their faces, lit by the torches, expressed a combination of anger, suspicion and curiosity.

In the very middle of it all was us, separated from the world by a ring of firelight. We brandished our weapons, preparing for battle. Still warmed up from the recent fight, then spurred on by the loud confident cries from Lord Gray that the truth was on our side, our people weren’t the least bit afraid of a bit of fighting.

Sigurd and Aelira stood with their backs to me to defend me, their bodies taut like bowstrings.

Eirik Irontooth, a giant with a crude face and teeth that looked like hunks of iron, was standing in front of everyone, prepared to run into our ranks at any moment. The air around him vibrated with a tension of wild energy. He was about to transform.

“Scum!” he barked. “You will answer to me for the death of my brethren!”

Right when it seemed like everything was about to spin out of control, a horn blared out over the camp. Konung Bjørn had come to watch the show, and next to him were Konung Harold Graywolf and another few jarls. Everyone was tense and agitated but trying not to show it.

As expected, our minstrel prince was the very last to arrive, staring awestruck at everything going on as if it were just another play staged in his theater.

“What is going on here?!” Bjørn Sharptooth barked out in a booming voice, and silence hung over the camp.

“The dastardly southerners murdered our people!” came outcries from the ranks where Konung Harold’s warriors were standing. “They must pay in blood!”

The crowd roared in approval and lurched forward. The darkness, dim torchlight, thick air of fury, loud cries from commanders — the people were blinded with rage to such a degree that they didn’t even notice that the ranks of the “southerners” contained Vintervalders trying to call out to their countrymen. If Eirik Irontooth were a bit quicker on his feet and more decisive, the onslaught would have started at that very moment. But the Brownwolf pack leader was moving slow and, to my eye, missed his opportunity.

Bjørn Sharptooth walked up in silence to the travois with dead bodies and started looking them over closely. Just then, I suddenly got the impression he wasn’t the least bit surprised. I took a quick glance at the Sharptooth twins. Hm… Same reaction.

I ran a quick glance over the crowd and saw Princess Astrid and Helga. They were walking with determination toward Prince Louis, who had a big group of Vestonians piled up around him. I saw Max’s cousins — their faces looked pale. Unarmored and wearing lightweight, vibrant outfits — if this turned into slaughter, Uncle Heinrich would lose all his heirs.

Once finished with his survey, Sharptooth turned in our direction and, unfailingly finding the leader of our group, addressed him:

“Monsieur, what do you have to say in your defense?”

Lord Gray stepped forward and gave a dignified bow. After that, standing up straight with pride, he said loudly:

“Your Majesty, we have no need to make excuses! We did nothing wrong!”

A buzz of dissatisfaction ran down the northern ranks. There Eirik Sharptooth could again have taken advantage of the situation and run on the attack — I was certain the crowd would have followed. But he was too slow again. Instead of seizing on the opportunity, he kept casting glances at Konung Harold, who in his turn pretended not to notice the Brownwolf pack leader. Eirik knew how to work the crowd but wasn’t determined enough to make the final step.

Watching the whole pantomime closely, I realized Sigurd was right — the assassination attempt on Bjørn Sharptooth had been planned by Konung Harold. Now, seeing the bodies of the people who were supposed to attack the Konung of Vintervald during the hunt, Graywolf started distancing himself from his ally.

“In the right?” Konung Sharptooth asked. “How should I take that, monsieur? Are you saying you were justified in murdering these people? As far as I am aware, these lands still belong to me. And if anyone has the right to kill, it is me. But even still, blood was spilled during a ceasefire!”

“Your Majesty!” Lord Gray came, not losing his self-control. “Your sovereignty over these lands is beyond question. And we are but guests here. However, even guests have a sacred right given to them by the Forefather. Specifically — the right to defend their lives even during a ceasefire!”

“Am I understanding you correctly, Monsieur Gray?” the konung squinted. “You killed these people to save your own lives?”

Cries of astonishment sounded out in the crowd.

“Exactly right, Your Majesty!” Lord Gray replied without a shadow of doubt.

Switching to true vision, I compared their energy systems out of curiosity. Hm… It wasn’t immediately apparent who would prevail. The King of Vestonia’s top stryker was doubtless a serious opponent, but Bjørn Sharptooth was no less powerful.

Honestly though, if they met in a duel, I would have placed my bet on the stryker. Although the konung’s gift was powerful, it seemed to me too unbridled and wild. Lord Gray’s energy structure, on the contrary, was highly developed. Carl III’s stryker had clearly not been resting on his laurels. Essentially, in this case, I would have bet on skill and practice.

“Monsieur, do you see these people?” the konung asked and pointed around at everyone with a broad gesture. “They all hunger for vengeance. Although Northland is now being torn asunder by a brothers’ war, any son of the North, even if they came to my lands with ill intent, would be closer to me than any of you. I suggest you choose your words very carefully. Otherwise, even I will not be able to protect you against the Northlanders’ fury.”

Inside, I laughed. This konung was a true politician. He took advantage of the situation very skillfully. What a speech. He’d just called all Northlanders a single people. Now, let anyone try and say that Bjørn Sharptooth didn’t care about the sons of the north. They appeared to be buying it, as well. They were looking at the konung as a true sovereign. Even those who were vassals of Konung Harold. He meanwhile looked darker than a storm cloud. I’d bet my hand that, if he were given free rein now, he’d have killed us all including his failed assassin Eirik Irontooth.

Lord Gray stood up straight.

“Your Majesty, I along with all my brothers in arms are willing to accept any fair punishment, but only if my actions are deemed by you to have broken the law!”

The konung and stryker’s conversation was starting to drag. And I could see that Sharptooth was drawing it out on purpose. He was trying to assuage the initial outburst of anger. The people, stoked by the calls for revenge for the fallen northerners, slowly started to settle. But some of them saw their comrades in our ranks and started sharing their observations with their neighbors.

Sharptooth could see it, and so gave his people time to come to their senses. Eirik Irontooth on the other hand was far from delighted: the crowd he’d so successfully set ablaze was starting to cool off. Plus Harold seemed to be throwing him under the bus. But even still, the Brownwolf pack leader’s eyes glimmered with spite and determination. He was clearly not planning on backing down.

Harold’s people, noticing their konung’s mood, didn’t shout out any more provocative things. Everyone froze in anticipation of what would come next.

“Then you have my undivided attention, monsieur!” the konung came, and crossed his mighty arms on his chest.

And Lord Gray started to talk. The more he said about what happened to us, the more the looks on the peoples’ faces slowly started to change. Their fury and willingness to kill the vile southerners were replaced by bafflement and confusion.

When Lord Gray was finished, Bjørn Sharptooth turned and glanced at the Brownwolf pack leader. A wry look flickered in his attentive, harsh eyes. Eirik Sharptooth was at maximum tension. His energy system flickered and pulsated.

“Listen, Eirik,” Sharptooth came a bit dismissively, tilting his head to one side a bit and running his broad hand through his beard. “I was just listening to this southerner, and now I have a few questions. Just what were your people doing in my lands? Why were they hiding out in some abandoned farmhouse? Why didn’t they come here to my camp?”

Eirik Irontooth hesitated a bit. I could see the shapeshifter’s eyes starting to fill with blood. He was clearly enraged. After all, there was a provocation hidden in the konung’s question. Essentially, the land we were now on had once belonged to Clan Brownwolf, until house Sharptooth expelled them.

The provocation almost worked, but Eirik Irontooth suddenly spoke on behalf of Konung Harold who, as it turned out, had been counted out of this conflict a bit too early.

“Weren’t you the one who invited all sons of the North to these lands?” Konung Graywolf asked Bjørn loudly. His Northlandic was strangely twisted when he spoke. It must have been a northern dialect. I had to listen closely to every last word he said to figure out what they were talking about. “Or are only outsiders allowed to hunt here? And to kill our tribesmen unpunished?! Not to mention the ceasefire.”

Harold’s people all shuddered as if on cue. Cries of approval ran down their ranks.

The Vestonians started trading glances. Lord Gray looked uncomprehendingly at his arms bearers, and they in their turn shrugged their shoulders. I was seemingly the only Vestonian to now comprehend what Harold was saying.

Graywolf’s words seemed not to throw Sharptooth off in the least, but I could see his energy structure flicker.

“This weak prince’s people are behaving like this is their home, but those who should respond are the ones who are the flesh and blood of this land!” Konung Harold continued. “What laws were broken by Eirik Irontooth’s people? And why are we to believe the words of outsiders?! Yes, I see they have Northlanders among them, but they’re all from Vintervald! I don’t see any of my people in their ranks, nor those of my enemy Jarl Sigurd Bloodsword! All of Eirik’s warriors are dead. Isn’t that odd? Perhaps they didn’t want witnesses who could report to us what really happened in that farmhouse?”

An ill stirring started in the ranks of the northerners. I never should have thought Harold had backed down. He simply stepped back and waited for his time to strike.

I looked at our ranks. The Vestonians couldn’t tell what was happening. Some Vintervalders had just started translating what Harold was saying. In my very skin, I could feel time slipping away like sand through fingers. We had just been accused of murder and violating the ceasefire. Beyond that, Prince Louis had been called weak. Every noble was obliged to stand in defense of the honor of this son of their king.

I breathed a heavy sigh. Oh well, he said it, I heard it. Were I a mere servant, I could just say nothing, but here I was a noble albeit slightly flawed. If they found out I could understand Konung Harold’s speech but said nothing, there’d be no avoiding shame. Sigurd and Aelira spoke to me in a similar dialect. They knew I had understood. They probably didn’t care about my reaction, but still there would be an impression if I didn’t do anything. Noble blood and a noble’s honor meant something in this world.

I placed my hand on Sigurd’s wide back. As if he was expecting it, he immediately made way for me. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted his pointed gaze. Heh… So, I was right.

While everyone else looked on uncomprehending, I split off from the formation and froze a few paces from both konungs. As if on cue, they turned their heads toward me. Sharptooth looked at me with intrigue, giving the impression he already knew about me. Harold meanwhile looked me over head to toe with scorn.

“Your Majesty!” I came loudly with a bow. “Allow me to introduce myself: Chevalier Maximilian Renard! I request a word!”