Last Life

Book 4: Chapter 17

THE SKY OVER FJORDGRAD that evening was stretched over with a parchment thin layer of clouds which showered us with tiny little flocks of snow from above.

The main gates of the capital of Vintervald were thrown wide open to make way for several dozen riders and twelve carts. The hooves of the horses clopped on the hoar-frosted stones, giving off a crunching echo that carried over the small square. The snow creaked discordantly beneath the heavy wheels of the cart. The horses snorted in alarm. The people behaved nervously. It was all because Lord Gray and his arms bearers and escorts were leaving Fjordgrad in a hurry.

When we bid him farewell, he was somewhat scatterbrained, and his responses were out of turn. I figured he was already far from this place in his mind. And I found it hard to blame him. The fiefdom the king had granted him, and which had previously been revoked from a failed conspirator was still claimed by an heir of the former holder, a certain Count de Blois.

As far as I was aware, Lord Gray’s entire family escaped to Herouxville, but not without injuries. People from his inner circle got hurt during a fight with the count’s soldiers. Essentially, Lord Gray was racing home. Based on his mood, someone down there was in for serious pain. I figured de Blois knew what he was doing. After all, Lord Gray was equivalent to a small army all on his own. And he was not going alone. His arms bearers were also strykers, and not weak ones at that.

Well, well… The king wasn’t even dead yet, and things were starting to fall apart. Like Lord Gray. His departure put a big fat “x” over the greens’ long-term plans. According to the rules, only people who had been announced in advance could take part in the Great Trial or, in extreme circumstances, people who came with an embassy. Otherwise, the other contenders would be offended.

Beyond the fact that Lord Gray’s family was now in danger, though, he parted ways with the prince without particular regret. His relationship with the prince had been rocky since the start of the trip north.

Prince Louis perceived Lord Gray as a person loyal to his father and, according to some particular logic, conflated the stryker with all the troubles that had befallen him. For the entire time, Louis either pointedly ignored Lord Gray or, on the contrary, spewed out all his discontent on him. For instance: Louis had given the royal stryker quite a harsh reprimand for his supposedly irresponsible behavior during our memorable hunt. Overall, I probably wouldn’t be wrong to say that Lord Gray had considered abandoning this mission and going home on several occasions. But he held out to the end. Even word of the king’s mortal wound had not shaken his determination. But the attack on his family had unbound his hands. While saying goodbye, he told me that if the king couldn’t defend his family, why should he, Lord Gray, be obliged to defend the king’s son? I wondered if he would have allowed himself to say such things if Carl III weren’t at death’s door.

Lord Gray and his people were followed by another group of riders and carts. Among them, I saw Max’s cousins. They must have decided to get underway with strykers to protect them.

With Sigurd as company, I stood near the gates waiting for everyone to pass so I could go to the Crafting District. That was right when Gabriel de Gramont rode up to me on his raven horse. The vibrant plumage in his younger brother’s hat had already flitted through the gates.

“You should not have disobeyed my father’s order,” the Viscount de Gramont said with a threatening look, meanwhile adding with an acrid smirk: “Staying here would be a big mistake. Everyone capable of fighting for the prince in the tournament has left Fjordgrad. Do you really think that upstart Baron de Levy stands a chance? I mean, it’s suicide. Jean-Louis will die in the very first fight. If that is his way of saying thank you to His Highness for all the favors he showered him with, I have nothing against that. After all, if not for the prince’s attention, that Baron de Levy from an impoverished family would have remained a middling perfumer and would have been sweating over his bottles in some backwater on the edge of the kingdom.”

“First of all, I never got any orders,” I responded calmly, which made red spots crop up on Gabriel’s face. “Discounting that little note you sent me with your footman. I mean from your father. Second, even if he had ordered me personally, I’d still have stayed. And well, when it comes to Baron de Levy, his valiant and noble deed only speaks to his honor. To my eye, that is exactly how a true nobleman should act!”

That morning, I met with Jean-Louis. The always cheery and resilient Baron de Levy looked like a different man today. I got the impression that he had lost a significant amount of weight overnight. His clothing hung off him like a hanger. There were also dark circles under his sleep-deprived red eyes and a sullen gaze full of some kind of fatal triumph. His Highness’ perfumer was clearly preparing to die a hero’s death.

After all, he had accepted the call to take part in the Great Trial. Heh… I had to give Jean-Louis his due — he was the only gifted Vestonian nobleman still with Prince Louis who knew how to hold a sword.

Even just thinking back on the dance at the Duchess du Bellay’s reception. Baron de Levy held his own with dignity and was only knocked out because he had to go up against multiple opponents.

So Gabriel was talking nonsense about him. Jean-Louis had every chance to hold out for a few fights. But Max’s cousin was right about one thing — the baron winning the tournament was out of the question.

I had seen the people who were going to compete in the trial. Like Konung Harold’s son, Ivar the Raven. I figured after Lord Gray’s departure, the gifted man was doubtless the most likely to win.

I didn’t know if the Count de Blois, who I had never heard of before, had a secret motivation in attacking Lord Gray’s fiefdom or not, but one thing was clear: his actions had greatly upset the plans of both his king and Bjørn Sharptooth. Not to mention Astrid.

“Your insolent behavior is showing disrespect to the head of your house!” Gabriel hissed through clenched teeth.

“And you and your brother are bringing shame on that same house by running away,” I shrugged.

Gabriel gave a twitch as if he’d been slapped. He first reached for the gemstone encrusted grip of his sword but, upon meeting eyes with me, stopped short.

I saw a mixture of hatred and fear in his eyes. If François were in his place, he’d have rushed to attack. But Heinrich de Gramont’s eldest son was more rational. He would have his response later. He’d do something nasty but sneakily.

Heh… Well, best of luck to him. I’d like to see him test Dodger in his own arena.

Gabriel took his hand off the sword. He hit me with a scornful gaze and hissed through his teeth:

“You’ll regret saying that.”

With that, he pulled the reins and his raven mare dashed off.

“Good decision, cousin!” I shouted after him with a smirk, ignoring what he said. “You’re still very young men! You have your whole lives ahead of you! And send my regards to your sister and cousins!”

“What now?” Sigurd asked, watching the rider fade into the distance.

“To the Crafting District,” I replied. “Albrecht told me through an assistant that everything is ready. Let’s go pick up my order.”

* * *

Albrecht Lothar the artifactor kept his promise. The stryker armor and blades I ordered he had made in the narrowest timeframe, for which I had promised him a generous bonus. In the end, to get my order finished, the last few days were a joint effort involving all his understudies and assistants. And I should note — they did an excellent job.

The shadow snakeskin armor created from my sketches had an unusual design that made it look drastically different than everything else made by local craftspeople.

I had based it on a scout’s jumpsuit from my world. I used to have several of them for various specialized purposes which I used to carry out missions.

Albrecht picked up on the idea behind the design, which was new to him, and started animatedly working out a garment that struck me with its beauty and practicality.

The coal black armor suit looked like a second skin covering the wearer’s body. The jumpsuit was elastic and comfortable. When I put it on, I was able to move with my usual agility and speed without feeling the weight of the leather armor.

I could tell Albrecht was very sorry I was not gifted, meaning I could not meld myself with the armor suit. He had to make peace with the fact that he had created a uniquely effective sort of stryker armor which, due to the whim of some rich aristocrat, would serve a purely decorative function like some statue gathering dust in the corner of a castle. I just snorted to myself. Don’t you worry maître, your craft will see its intended use.

The upper part of the jumpsuit was meticulously form-fitted to my body and, in a few places, the thickness of the leather was doubled. The reinforcements were placed on particularly vulnerable areas — my chest, back and sides, providing additional protection to my vital organs. Nevertheless, even these double layers of leather were so finely crafted and carefully sewn on that they were practically impossible to notice. Beyond that, in true vision, I could see that all elements of the armor were connected together with brown magic channels — Albrecht Lothar was not trying to cheat me. It was very honest labor.

Honestly though, I saw that there were some sections I could upgrade further. A few of the nodes could be enlarged and reinforced, for instance. The maître really would have been surprised to find out that he had essentially created me a prototype, which would be undergoing a number of transformations.

The lower part of the jumpsuit, which covered my thighs, knees, and shins, also had additional reinforcements. Scaled ornaments similar to those on the upper section were present on the knees and groin, providing defense against attacks from below.

The helmet, which was also made of shadow snakeskin, was somewhere between a classic local helmet and a hood. It clung to my head leaving just my eyes uncovered. Armor inserts of large snake scales provided protection to the neck, back of the head, and temples.

But that wasn’t the full extent of my imagination. I asked Albrecht to build an additional energy system into the armor suit to be powered by mana from bruts. In essence, I was suggesting the maître create a large magic amulet which, like a human nervous system, could link together all parts of the armor suit.

I was afraid to even imagine the lengths Albrecht must have gone to, to complete my order on time. Based on his sunken eyes and the dark circles beneath them, the craftsman had been sleeping intermittently the last few days. But he got it done. The energy-system doubling in the armor suit, which was made of thin but very resilient and elastic filaments of shadow metal, was powered by a dozen bruts placed at even intervals throughout the armor suit.

But there were problems there, too.

“Your Worship,” Albrecht came to me. He looked somewhat upset.

Nodding at the scraps of snakeskin, he said:

“As I warned from the start, there was a certain amount of unavoidable waste. But I can explain. The snakeskin you brought me came from a creature that, based on tell-tale markings on its scales, was injured several times over the course of its life. Which was why I had to dispose of a few skin sections that were not suitable to be made into armor.”

“Yes, maître, I understand,” I reassured him.

“So,” Albrecht cleared his throat, taking an elongated bundle from beneath the table.

Unfolding the fabric, he placed on the tabletop a rectangular box which was a work of art in its own right.

It was made of yew — as far as I knew a very rare and prestigious material that had a deep, saturated red color suited to aristocratic aesthetics. As an aside, my uncle Heinrich had wanted to marry me off for a forest of just such wood.

The box was decorated with unique carved elements of bone, depicting a battle scene between a mythical hero and a giant black snake. The carving had been rendered in exquisite detail, demonstrating the mastery of its creator. The bone elements were framed with thin lines of gold giving the design an even more refined air. The box’s lock was also made of pure gold encrusted with gemstones.

“Bravo, maestro!” I smiled and clapped my hands together. “Amazing! But this box…”

“Yes, I know, monsieur,” Albrecht took the initiative in a respectful manner. “It wasn’t part of our fee. It’s my gift to you. This box was made by a friend of mine, Maître Lorenzo Costa — one of the best jewelers I’ve ever met. You were generous to me and, beyond that, I got a chance to work with a rare material. I’ll be frank, working on this order required me to bring in all my inner reserves and pushed my development as an artifactor forward from a prolonged dead stop.”

“Great, I’m very happy for you,” I nodded. “But I get the sense you’re uneasy about something…”

Albrecht Lothar breathed a heavy sigh and opened the box. Inside of it were two sections covered with a soft, pitch-black velvet. One of the compartments was noticeably shorter than the others. The craftsman again sighed and took out a thin scrap of gold-embroidered fabric, beneath which were two blades.

Upon seeing the contents of the box, I raised my head and looked inquisitively at the craftsman.

“I thought we spoke of two swords? But these are one sword and one dagger.”

Albrecht breathed a third fated sigh and replied:

“We discovered a problem while crafting the left sword. Inside the tooth, we found a small cavity we didn’t notice at first and only became apparent during processing. I suppose the snake must have damaged the tooth and it started to decay. When I pushed my reinforcing energy through the internal energy channels of the fang, it started to crack, and then shattered. If it was stryker energy, the defect would have gone undiscovered, but artifactor mana — it’s different… It’s hard to explain…”

“Don’t you worry,” I nodded. “I am aware of the properties of shadow energy. Even though I am not gifted, I had good teachers. My late father, the Count de Gramont, spared no expense on my education.”

“I can believe it, Your Worship,” Albrecht stated. “Before we met, I thought all young aristocrats were only interested in balls, hunting, and amorous adventures. But to my eye, you’re more an exception to that rule.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” I smiled. “Furthermore, I am grateful to you for your work ethic. Other craftspeople would have tried to hide the defect in pursuit of profit.”

And I was being sincere.

Albrecht immediately blossomed and bowed.

“I thank you, monsieur! I won’t hide it, I was very worried, but now it’s like a weight has been lifted.”

“Okay, then show me!” I smiled. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve created!”

Albrecht smiled back and, not touching the blades, led a hand over the box like a magician about to perform a trick.

“As we agreed, these are the ceremonial scabbards,” he said. “But there are more basic ones for travel. I’ve already made them for you.”

I nodded, continuing to look over the contents of the box. Periodically, I switched to true vision. The scabbards for the sword and dagger were crafted with incredible meticulousness and attention to detail.

They were made of ebony with bone insets. Must have been the remnants of the snake fang. The bone facing was polished to a mirror shine and its grayish shade paired wonderfully with the color of the wood. The golden tips of the scabbards were shaped like snake heads, their bodies wrapping around the scabbards.

The leather straps sewn on the scabbards allowed me to attach them to a belt or saddle, providing easy access to the weapon at any moment.

Albrecht carefully extracted the sword from the scabbard and extended it to me with a bow, holding it horizontally. For some reason, I was reminded of my teacher Mamoru Yamada, who presented me my first weapon with almost the same gesture.

Removing the sword, which was unusually light, I looked the blade over closely.

Curved, dark gray, it was ideally sharp and polished. The intricate alternating patterns on the surface of the blade that appeared after the bone had been processed with brown mana created the illusion of movement, making the weapon incredibly resilient to damage.

On my request, the grip of the sword had been made of black ebony and wrapped in snakeskin without additional decoration. Only the bone tip had been made in the shape of a snake head. The wide-open maw was a place to attach a brut. Of course, when placing the order I had essentially copied the idea from the anonymous craftsman who made the ghost weapon I lost earlier.

I looked over the dagger and tested its balance. It was crafted no less elegantly, and I thanked the craftsman for his diligence. Then, after paying and saying goodbye, two of the craftsman’s assistants hauled my purchases outside where Sigurd was waiting.

When we returned to the Copper Cauldron, appetizing aromas streaming from its kitchen, I was greeted by Bertrand who wore a look of concern on his face.

“Get it out,” I hurried him along.

“Your Worship,” he came. “One hour ago, Princess Astrid’s messengers were here. You don’t have much time to get ready.”

“Get ready for what now?” I asked, though I could already guess what I was about to hear.

“Her Highness has invited you to lunch in the palace,” Bertrand replied.