Last Life

Book 4: Chapter 14

SHARPTOOTH SHOT ME a condescending smile.

“Chevalier, I hope there’s no need to explain that your life now depends on every word you speak?” he asked, switching to Vestonian.

“I am a nobleman, Your Majesty!” I said, raising my head with pride. “Several hundred years ago, a glorious ancestor of mine set forth on the First Expedition into the Shadow shoulder to shoulder with Prince Albert the Bold! Ever since I was very young, I was taught to be responsible for every word I spoke because the honor of my family comes before everything!”

After saying that, I looked expressively at Konung Harold who started to frown. Tall and gaunt, his slim figure stood out compared to his beefier vassals. Beardless in a long gray robe. If I didn’t know the man before me was a konung, I’d have taken him for a priest. His dark hair was cropped short, and he wore a simple steel crown on his head — a symbol of his royal status.

His face was severe and always gloomy as if he was unhappy or annoyed. His dark eyes looked even blacker in the torchlight.

“A fine response, chevalier!” said the konung, still smiling condescendingly. “You have permission to speak!”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I answered with a bow.

Turning, I looked over our formation, then at that of the northerners and continued:

“I have taken the liberty of asking to speak for the simple reason that I am apparently the only person bothered by the replies your questions received from Clan Brownwolf’s leader.”

Bjørn Sharptooth looked at me closely, then cast a pensive gaze at Eirik Irontooth, who clearly felt renewed after receiving Konung Harold’s support.

“But,” Sharptooth led his wide hand over his beard. For a moment, a predatory smile flashed on his lips. “Did my questions really receive answers?”

“Exactly,” I nodded. “You were never told why there was a group of werewolves at an abandoned farmhouse. Or why they were hiding out there. After all, we didn’t see a single clan banner. But we were marching openly.”

After saying that, I nodded at the banners fluttering in the wind over the heads of my allies.

“All I heard in response to your questions, Your Majesty, were dubious excuses and unsupported accusations directed at us. Staying silent or dodging a direct answer — aren’t those signs of weakness or cowardice?”

If Eirik Irontooth’s looks could incinerate, I’d have turned to ash on the spot. Yes, I hadn’t named anyone specifically, but the buzz in the crowd made me think everyone knew this was Prince Louis the “weakling’s” response.

I had just earned myself another enemy, but at the same time all Vestonians at the konung’s camp today would remember what I said and what I was about to do, and the reasons for it would be heard in Herouxville’s royal palace. Also, beyond an enemy, I had gained a highly powerful benefactor.

Bjørn Sharptooth’s smile of approval was proof of that. He looked at me with even greater interest. He was in no hurry to say anything. After all, my jab was not going to go unanswered.

Eirik Irontooth didn’t keep me waiting long.

“I’ll tear out your heart and eat it!” he roared, clenching his broad fists. “I will strangle you, snotnosed little worm!”

I felt Sigurd shiver behind me. The head of Clan Brownwolf had just insulted me, and I was simply obligated to challenge him to a duel. My bodyguard was ready to enter the circle already. But alas, this time wouldn’t be so easy. It wouldn’t solve the real problem.

Ignoring the furious Eirik, I turned calmly to Sharptooth:

“Your Majesty, note — even now the Brownwolf leader is trying to avoid giving a straight answer.”

I turned to my allies, then looked around at the northerners all around us. I caught a smoldering look from Princess Astrid and a baffled stare from Helga. I glanced at Prince Louis’ pale face as he continued to look around dumbstruck at the people all around him. It seemed like he hadn’t fully understood what was going on.

“And I know why!” I exclaimed, loud enough for all to hear.

The crowd shuddered. I felt movement behind me. It was Sigurd and Aelira preparing for battle.

“Speak, chevalier!” Konung Sharptooth’s booming voice overpowered the buzz of the crowd.

I pointed at a travois with shapeshifter bodies.

“Your Majesty, at the farmhouse, I was able to interrogate one of them before he died!”

“And what did he tell you?” Bjørn’s eyes looked like shards of ice staring back at me. Heh… So, the konung knew everything. That was why he wasn’t surprised when he saw the Brownwolf corpses.

An oppressive silence hung over the camp. The crowd in the light of the flickering tongues of flame froze in expectation, watching the situation unfold intently. The eyes of the people, reflecting the glint of the fire, were directed at me.

Lit by the dim but lively glow, the peoples’ faces expressed the full spectrum of emotion. Some of the people, such as the servants of the Vestonian nobles looked downtrodden, their eyes wide in fear. Others like Sigurd and Aelira on the other hand were waiting for the battle to begin, their eyes full of determination.

Here and there, the torchlight fell on glimmering armor and weapons, adding an ominous glow to the spectacle. The shadows cast by the people and torches danced on the ground and camp walls, creating a gloomy and mysterious atmosphere.

“The whole wolf hunt was a trap!” I shouted. “In reality, Clan Brownwolf was planning to assassinate you, Your Majesty! The man I interrogated told me that Eirik Irontooth wanted revenge against you for the loss of Varglund. The wolf pack meanwhile… Among the corpses is a man called Sverre Moonbeast. He’s the one who directed the Lesser Beings to your fiefdom!”

When I finished, a dead silence hung over the camp. Then the northern formation, which seemed united up to that point, suddenly started to split into two camps. Sharptooth and the Alliance of Five’s people on one side, and Konung Harold’s warriors on the other.

Bjørn Sharptooth heard me out and turned to face Eirik Irontooth. They looked at one another with silent, hateful gazes. And again when I least expected it, Konung Harold jumped into the brewing conflict.

“Those are serious accusations!” he exclaimed and set his hand on Eirik Irontooth’s wide shoulder who seemed about to transform and fling himself onto the Konung of Vintervald.

To be frank, I would have been fine with that, but I was aware that it wouldn’t end so easily.

Eirik shuddered at the konung’s touch. Understanding appeared in his eyes. Harold was helping him not get carried away and hinting at what to do next.

“Everything that southerner said is a lie!” Eirik exclaimed and bored into me with a burning gaze. “If he has any evidence, let him present it!”

I turned and looked at Sigurd. He first burst forward, but I shook my head to stop him. It felt like my only chance to enter the circle on my own.

I felt tense looks from the Vestonians and Northlanders. Those who were aware of what was coming looked at me like a dead man.

Splaying my shoulders and raising my head with pride, I took a step forward and said loudly:

“I swear on my family honor and the memory of my ancestors that everything I just said is the truth! I accuse Eirik Irontooth of taking advantage of the ceasefire to set a trap so he could slay Konung Bjørn Sharptooth! And by the grace of the heavens, we were able to take down the criminals before they could do it. I again call upon the gods both new and old, southern and northern, to settle this dispute!”

I glanced at Eirik Irontooth.

“Pitiful coward and liar. Are you prepared to step into the ring and face the judgement of the gods?! Or will you again dodge like a slippery eel in a hot frying pan? You and your people came to this land to exact revenge, but at the very last moment, you’re afraid to admit it! It was a mistake to make you clan leader! And I’m surprised people followed you! Their deaths are on your conscience!”

“I will tear you to pieces with my bare hands, you little bastard!” Eirik Irontooth roared and stepped forward. “I will tear out your heart and liver! Then feed your innards to my hounds!”

“Challenge accepted!” Bjørn Sharptooth declared loudly. “Now let the gods have their say!”

Taking my sword from its scabbard, I slid a gaze over the faces of the nobles from our ranks. Jean-Louis, Lord Gray, his strykers and arms bearers — they were all looking at me with approval, and some with outright admiration. They nodded and smiled.

Sigurd looked cold and silent as ever, while Aelira looked at me with concern.

I scanned for Bertrand in the crowd but failed to find him. Good. He had no reason to be here. But even still, I knew that if he saw me, although he would be worried, he would fully approve.

I remembered how happy Bertrand was to see my medal, and when he explained the full significance of the decoration to me like an ignorant fool. After all, I didn’t actually assign particular importance to that little unremarkable piece of jewelry which had been hung on my chest by the mayor of Toulon with such solemnity.

When I was working out a plan for the future, my thinking was wrong categorically. I thought that to achieve what I set out to do, I first would need money. I was partially right, but Bertrand pointed out some big holes in my plans.

For example, he told me about Betty’s father, Thomas Gilbert. Despite all his capital, he was just a merchant who would never be equal to the de Gramonts. Even if they lost all their money, they would still have their noble origins. They were the upper caste of this world. A support to royal authority. The king meanwhile was a guarantor of their inviolable status. They were firmly bound together. And if the king needed to take down a few merchants to secure their ancient ducal house, he would do so without it getting on his conscience. Because in the eyes of the other nobles, that was exactly what a true sovereign should do. That was why Thomas Gilbert was planning to marry me to his daughter. The merchant wanted his grandchildren and great grandchildren to belong to that highest caste.

And as for me, my rating was very low due to being branded a bastard and the son of a traitor. Which was why, for my plan to work out, I had to first improve my reputation in the eyes of elite society, especially the King of Vestonia.

And that would take more than just a large fortune. Carl III was known to esteem personal valor above all else. The people in his inner circle were an example. I had already made a number of noteworthy achievements. For example, the silver wing, or saving Princess Adèle. But as my adoptive mother used to say, the more aces up one’s sleeve, the higher the chances of victory.

Of course, I was not desperate to hang around near the king just yet. I needed to slowly up my level. And today just so happened to be the kind of occasion for me to pull another ace for my hand.

I entered the ring holding a sword in my right hand and a long dagger in my left. I rejected a shield from the get-go — I was not planning for this fight to last long. I would have to slay this shapeshifter quickly and unquestionably.

Also, Eirik Irontooth was not joking around. He really did enter the ring unarmed and nearly unclothed as well. In true vision, I saw the energy nodes in his fists and joints swelling.

“Say your prayers, wimp!” he growled out, boring into me with his bloodthirsty gaze. “Today is the day the gods forsake you!”

Suddenly, the shapeshifter started transforming before my very eyes. At first, it was just an optical illusion. I got the sense his skin was quaking and flickering, like a light from underwater. But then the process sped up. His body started giving off a dim glow, and I saw the first changes.

His hands started getting bigger, and his bones stretched out while his skin erupted with a rough, dark fur. The tufts of hair grew with incredible speed, covering the human skin beneath. His fingers twisted, growing wider and longer. Long, sharp claws sprouted from the end of each, replacing his fingernails.

The shapeshifter’s ribcage flexed out, expanding and growing a layer of dark hair. The muscles on his shoulders got bigger, making Eirik look stronger than ever before. The breadth of his shoulders grew significantly, becoming wider than those of any normal human.

Irontooth’s face also underwent some changes. His nose got longer and sharper, while his eyes grew bigger and took on a golden hue. His cheeks pulled back to reveal a sharp set of fangs.

The shapeshifter thrust his altered head upward and issued an extended howl. The sound sent a shiver down my spine. After that, my opponent dashed forward with a fearsome bark.

Honestly though, I was expecting more verve out of him. Despite his altered appendages, the magically enhanced Eirik Irontooth still moved quite heavily and, to my eye, sluggishly. Without a doubt, it was fast enough to best a normal man. But I was no normal man. Particularly in light of the recent transformations my magical body had undergone.

The shapeshifter’s energy system appeared unrefined and underdeveloped. What jumped out at me were his unevenly developed energy channels and nodes. It formed the impression that Eirik Irontooth had gone quite a long time without bothering to cultivate his magic system.

For instance, I spotted dark pulsating lines in the places connecting his energy flows. Such dark growths popped up like parasites when a mage pushed masses of mana through their system that were too big for it. It created something like burns, which subsequently led to those sections dying. And clearing the dead “tissue” would have cost the gifted man a large amount of time meditating. Being born with a gift was one thing, but learning to use it properly was another. As was learning to use it without harming one’s body.

The shapeshifter was saved by his excellent regeneration. Were he a common gifted man, the dark “thromboses” would have finished him sooner or later.

Eirik made a long jump with a dull roar. His paws with their elongated fingers ending in dark claws came racing straight at my chest. I saw a look of triumph and anticipation in his yellow animal eyes. He was probably already imagining tearing my ribcage wide open. Seeing my thin little ribs shatter under the weight of his body and the cry of pain getting stuck in my throat.

I wanted so badly to unleash energy through my blade and plunge it straight into the chest of this wet-dog stinking beast.

But I stopped myself. Now was not the time to reveal my power. And so I made a last-minute fluid motion to the right, dodging the shapeshifter’s hefty body.

The crowd gasped in unison. Probably, they took it for pure luck that I dodged what they considered a lightning-fast shapeshifter jump.

Clumsily rolling over the frost-bitten ground, the shapeshifter growled in fury and jumped up on all fours. Shaking his shaggy head and sending drops of thick saliva flying, he clacked his teeth and again came racing in my direction.

Another leap and he again missed. But that time, falling to the ground, he squealed loudly in pain. Because while dodging, I stuck my dagger into his side up to the hilt. I aimed it straight at a dark mass between the shapeshifter’s ribs.

Catching a piece of sharp steel in the old scar tissue, Eirik rasped loudly. His ribcage heaved fitfully while his big, huge, clawed paws tried in vain to remove the dagger from his body. Forgetting everything on earth, he writhed in place, casting pieces of frozen dirt and ice in all directions. One of the main downsides of animal form was losing control. The animal side overpowered the human. And I took advantage of that.

Trying to stay behind the pain-enraged beast, I quickly approached to land the fatal blow.

Right when I was preparing for my strike, Eirik must have sensed something. He shot to his hind legs and whipped around. And that was when the tip of my blade pierced his ribcage, plunging into his feverishly beating heart.

We locked eyes for an instant, and his yellow, wide-open eyes were inscribed with a look of surprise and disbelief. It was as if he was asking how such a thing could have happened.

Eirik waved his paws clumsily, as if trying to drive off the darkness. And that was when I decided it would look more believable if I got hurt. Pretending to hesitate, I “tried” to hop back, but the claws on the shapeshifter’s right paw swiped my left shoulder at the last moment.

The pain, quick and sharp, shot through my body in sudden flickers, making me shudder. Dropping my sword and stumbling, I took two steps back and fell to my knees opposite the shapeshifter as he writhed in predeath convulsions. When he finally fell silent, I heard Bjørn Sharptooth’s loud voice:

“The gods have spoken!”