Last Life

Book 4: Chapter 2

“I DIDN’T KNOW they were in Northland,” Lucas came, rubbing the back of his head.

“Me neither,” Jacques agreed. “As far as I recall, the main dusksworn stronghold is in Astland. They must have gotten into a serious dispute with the king if they’ve taken shelter under Sharptooth’s wing.”

I was riding next to him and listening in silence. Essentially, this was a repeat of yesterday’s conversation between these two, but after Leif René recommended me a mercenary guild called the Blades of Dusk, whose members were popularly known as dusksworn, I heard that they were the most famed and oldest guild of mercenaries on the continent. Despite being essentially new to this world, even I had heard them mentioned.

Leif’s words came as a surprise both to Jacques and Lucas. As it turned out, the Blades of Dusk had established themselves up north a year before.

It would have been a shame to miss this opportunity. Especially given my finances allowed it.

We got up early, ate a big breakfast, and headed to the outskirts of Fjordgrad. And there, amongst the cliffs, I saw a castle called Icy Cliff, the new dusksworn stronghold.

“It’s hard to even imagine what could have happened there,” Lucas said thoughtfully.

“I’d bet my life that the usurper Otto the Second must have tried to bring the guild to heel,” Jacques shook his head. “Further evidence that the impostor is also a fool.”

Hm… I never thought Jacques would share Baron von Herwart’s opinion about the current ruler of Astland. But I would speak to him about that later…

Now I wanted other information. Last night, we weren’t able to have a proper discussion. I went to sleep, while Jacques and Lucas stayed back with Leif to toss back a few tankards of ale and reflect on bygone times. I decided not to interfere with the two old war buddies catching up.

“What do you know about the guild?” I asked. “Other than the fact that they’re one of the oldest guilds in Mainland?”

“Emissaries of aristocrats from various countries, including messengers of kings always prefer dusksworn first and foremost when looking for troops to fill their ranks,” Lucas came.

“If of course they have the gold for it,” Jacques snorted. “The guild’s services cost a fortune and have for their nearly two hundred years of existence.”

“That’s true,” Lucas confirmed. “But they’re worth the money! Whoever has the Blades of Dusk on their side is certain to come out on top.”

“What’s the secret?” I asked. “Gifted? Then I don’t quite understand. They’re not the only guild where one can hire mages. The Red Axes, or the Steel Souls also offer such services.”

“Your Worship,” Lucas came. “With all due respect for those doubtlessly serious guilds… The Blades of Dusk are as far in reputation from the rest as we are from the Shadow.”

Jacques nodded.

“They train their fighters from birth. And if they take on adults with experience, the selection process is very harsh. Which is why the guild guarantees that their fighters will complete their contract no matter what.”

“What about conflicts of interest?”

“The guild stays out of royal politics,” Jacques replied. “They care not for the disputes of priests and aristocrats. And as far as I know, dusksworn never fight against one another.”

“And they never retreat unless ordered and never leave a battlefield,” Lucas added at once.

“Betraying their employers is all but impossible,” Jacques confirmed. “Deserters and traitors are punished harshly by guild enforcers. I have personally witnessed dusksworn cohorts perish while covering the retreat of the Duke von Welff’s troops in the Battle of Black Creek. Every last one of them died, but they never ceded an inch. No other guild can boast that level of discipline.”

“So, are there a lot of people who want to join this essentially suicide squad and put their lives at the behest of dimwitted commanders?” I asked in surprise.

“Yes, Your Worship,” Lucas replied. “The guild code demands a lot from their fighters, but it gives a lot in return. For instance, if a client violates the terms of the agreement, the guild will take decisive measures to protect their fighters and their honor. They don’t care who that may be, either. It could even be a king. Violate the terms of a contract? Expect consequences. And that’s why people have a particular attitude toward the dusksworn. No one wants to risk their life for nothing. And that is one of the main reasons gifted choose to work for their guild in particular. That and, of course, the high wages.”

Hm… That was worth considering. I figured that after existing for so many years, the guild must have accumulated a lot of firm, and far-reaching connections with different levels of society all around the continent. The head of the organization, or whatever they called it — the grandmaster — was likely one of the most influential people in all Mainland. Contacts in royal courts, with the upper aristocracy, trading houses, members of various sects — I was afraid to even imagine the levels of information the guild leadership must have possessed. How many mysteries and secrets they’d put together in their nearly two centuries of existence.

But in spite of all that, as paradoxical as it may have sounded, the guild maintained neutrality. The Blades were beyond politics or any religious disputes. That was precisely why, to my eye, no kings or upper aristocrats had exterminated the guild after all these years. They simply didn’t view the mercenary guild as a threat to their rule. Hm… Until now. Something had clearly gone wrong with Astland’s king.

Bjørn Sharptooth meanwhile was a sharp old fellow. The more I learned about his deeds and actions, the more I liked him. First, he made a whole show out of his daughter’s engagement while also letting his citizens earn some cash on tourism. And now he was giving shelter to the most powerful guild of mercenaries.

Leif said it was no secret that, according to the agreement the konung had made with the guild, they were supposed to be securing the borders of Vintervald, all while staying out of internal affairs. In return, Sharptooth was to provide the guild with protection, and not tax them. Overall, the Blades of Dusk had a special status all throughout the country. I suspected that it was partially thanks to that symbiosis that Vintervald had been something of a quiet sanctuary for the whole north despite all Northland being mired in a bloody war.

* * *

“Woah!” Lucas sighed loudly, staring wide eyed at the high walls surrounding the well-defended castle, which seemed to grow directly from the cliffside. “I have heard of Icy Cliff many times and I have to say — it really lives up to its name.”

“Storming this castle would take a whole army,” Jacques whistled, riding next to me. “I’m afraid to even imagine the kind of gold the guild had to pay the konung for it.”

I looked around. All nearby trees had been cut down to the roots. Well armed troops were standing guard up on the walls. Despite the apparent calm, the masters of this place were clearly on guard. The air was charged with danger and menace. The many narrow loopholes up high kept watch over every passing traveler like the dark eyes of a giant monster.

When we made it to the main gates, two Northlanders standing on the wall asked as politely as any northerner could who we were and what we wanted there. Jacques introduced me and quickly laid out the purpose of our visit.

When he heard that we were there to discuss business with Herman von Salm, grandmaster of the guild, we were asked to wait.

A little while later, a new face appeared up on the wall. The swarthy, gray-haired man with military poise spent about a minute staring at us all in silence from afar. After that, with a nod at the guards he disappeared, and we were invited inside.

At the main gates, we were met by two taciturn boys, both appearing to be fourteen or fifteen. They took the reins and led our horses toward a wide structure. They must have been stableboys.

A few moments later, the door to one of the towers leading to the wall flew open and, on the doorstep, I saw the gray-haired man from before.

“Your Worship,” he said to me in Vestonian with a noticeable Atalian accent, bowing respectfully. “My name is Armando Marino. I am an assistant to the commander of this fortress. I heard you’d like to employ our services?”

“That’s right,” I nodded back. “That’s why I came, to discuss that with His Excellency Herman von Salm.”

“I should tell you, Your Worship, that business matters are dealt with by Master Gisa Fellen,” the gatekeeper replied. “Let me show you the way.”

I was expecting a certain disregard from the men in the castle. After all, the guild’s usual clientele consisted of kings and dukes, wealthy merchants, and religious cults. And here was some chevalier in plain clothing that made him look poor and yet, he wanted to play employer. But my fears were unfounded. Neither the fighters on the walls, nor the youngsters who collected our horses, nor even the gatekeeper so much as thought of laughing.

Furthermore, they all spoke to me very politely and respectfully. Either I was missing something, or I was in for some kind of nasty surprise.

Still, if the gatekeeper up on the wall decided to turn us away, we never would have made it inside. He must have seen something in me.

Magic had nothing to do with it. The gatekeeper had no magical gift at all. In all likelihood, he simply had finely honed intuition. He saw something the others missed. For instance our fancy horses, and our clothes which, despite their simplicity, were very high quality. Or the weapon, which I could say with no false modesty cost me a pretty penny. His darting and attentive gaze didn’t even miss my wing. Essentially, I didn’t look much like a trifling petty noble. And he could see that.

He probably thought I had come to hire myself a couple of bodyguards. But what he didn’t know was that I wanted gifted people. Preferably the best they had.

Watching the gatekeeper, we headed toward the castle.

Stepping through the door, we found ourselves in a large hall. I looked around and laughed internally. Whoever made this place clearly knew how to present the guild to potential clients in a positive light.

The dark stone walls, hung with a great variety of weaponry and armor, would have given any visitor the impression that their former owners had centuries of service and expertise behind them.

The majority of the central wall in the hall was occupied by a large mosaic made of dark stones depicting crossed shadow blades. It must have been the guild’s crest.

The clearly very ancient mail armor, shields, swords, and battle axes still seemed to carry an air of battle, blood and sweat. The place had an atmosphere of martial brotherhood, and at the same time palpable respect for history and guild tradition.

* * *

“So Your Worship, did I hear you right? You require bodyguards who are gifted?” Master Gisa Fellen asked in a bemused tone.

The black-haired woman with a strict, narrow face who looked to be about fifty was seated on a high-backed chair at a solid desk in the middle of a spacious office.

“And to be more specific — strykers,” I confirmed.

Gisa Fellen first gave me a scrutinizing once-over, then my companions, who weren’t even considering leaving the office. Their grim faces were stamped with determination to fly to their master’s defense at a moment’s notice. And they didn’t care that they were in the heart of the lair of one of the mightiest mercenary guilds on the continent.

Once done staring us all down, the master said:

“I must warn you, Monsieur Renard, that our guild’s services are not cheap.”

“I’ve heard a great deal about your influential and wealthy clients,” I nodded back. “And I am perfectly aware of what it will cost me. I am prepared to pay it. But, as my grandfather Pascal Legrand loves to say, never buy a pig in a poke. And much to my dismay, you have not yet shown me what you have available.”

“The head of the Vestonian trading house Legrand and Sons is your grandfather?” Master Fellen asked.

“That’s right,” I nodded. “And Heinrich de Gramont is my uncle. The Duchess du Bellay is my aunt. I came to Fjordgrad with the embassy of His Highness Prince Louis, youngest son of his majesty the King of Vestonia. Here are my documents and travel papers. I hope they will suffice to dispel any doubts about my ability to pay.”

After Master Fellen studied my papers, the look in her eyes changed.

“You have my gratitude, Your Worship,” she nodded. “This will do just fine. But I must warn you that if you were planning to hire strykers from the guild to take part in the Great Trial, you have embarked on a mistaken path. Our guild reached an understanding with the konung of Vintervald that our fighters will not take part in the Trials.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” I replied. “That isn’t what I need them for. Particularly given His Highness Prince Louis has brought one of Vestonia’s mightiest strykers along with his arms bearers.”

“Then what do you need them for? This is a standard question we ask all potential employers.”

“Simple,” I replied. “I need bodyguards, and seconds to duel in my stead against gifted people. I’ve seen that presently there are a huge number of them in Northland. And they’re all raring to fight. Will that answer do?”

Master Fellen nodded with understanding. I clearly hadn’t said anything unusual.

“Entirely,” she responded. “That leaves one question — the rank of your bodyguards.”

“So, strykers are divided into ranks? First I’m hearing of it.”

“And no wonder,” the master replied. “The system of ranks I’m talking about exists only in our guilds. It’s based on each stryker’s level of effective fusion with the Power of the Shadow. For us, it’s a way of helping to organize teams and select mercenaries suited to your particular requirements.”

“Interesting,” I nodded. “What are the ranks? And most importantly — which can you offer me?”

“There are five ranks,” Master Fellen responded. “Initiates are essentially strykers who have just become acquainted with the Power of the Wing of Strix. For the most part they are children and teenagers. Some of them can complete basic tasks and even have mastered fusion, but they still are not suited for fights on even footing against experienced gifted people like in your case.”

“Fusion?” I asked.

The unexpected stream of free information had me delighted.

“Fusion with stryker weaponry and armor,” the master nodded.

“Ah, yes,” I nodded. “Right.”

“The next two ranks are expert and medius,” Master Fellen continued. “By the way, we just so happen to have an incomplete group available containing one medius and two experts. They are experienced warriors who have taken part in many military conflicts in various parts of Mainland. I’m certain the three of them will meet your demands with ease. Insolent brawlers will quickly become a thing of the past with them at your side.”

“Very intriguing offer,” I nodded. “But I’d like to raise the stakes. What rank comes next?”

The master gave an understanding smile and nodded.

“Avant. They are the most powerful gifted. For example, we have reason to assume Lord Gray, who came with your prince to take part in the Great Trail is an avant. At present, all our avants are tied down with contracts.”

There he slightly stumbled and corrected himself.

“Ghm, or rather, almost all. One stryker of that rank is currently without employment.”

“So in other words, you’re saying I could hire a whole four strykers right now. A medius, two experts, and an avant?”

I was already rubbing my hands together mentally. I even missed a correction from the master. And seemingly, it was important.

“Alas, but no,” Master Fellen shook her head. “You’ll have to choose. Either the group of three strykers, or the one avant.”

“Is that some kind of rule?” I asked in surprise.

I had already started imagining my team with four new experienced strykers, and here my hopes were dashed…

“It’s confidential,” Gisa Fellen retorted. “All you need to know is that the guild answers for all its fighters and guarantees their unquestioning obedience to their employer.”

“So either three or one, but very powerful,” I muttered thoughtfully.

“It’s our final offer,” Gisa confirmed.

“Alright,” I sighed. “I’d like to see your avant.”

Master Fellen nodded and rang a little bell to call her helper a bit too eagerly for my taste. My sixth sense, which had never let me down before, was telling me that Gisa seemed to want to ink the contract more than I did.

I was curious to see the avant who for some reason was still without a contract even though strykers at that rank were probably scheduled out years in advance with dukes or kings.

After the door closed behind the master’s assistant, I asked:

“You said there are five ranks, but never named the last one…”

“Absolutes,” Gisa responded and, with a heavy sigh, added: “At present, I am not aware of a single stryker at that power level. The last absolute we knew of founded our guild almost two hundred years ago. So it’s more likely a legend than reality.”

We traded another few phrases primarily about the history of the guild when suddenly the door opened without warning, and in came a tall stocky man wearing leather stryker armor with a one-handed sword on his belt. His long gray hair was up in a taught bun on the back of his head while his beard was in braids. The first thing to jump out at me were a set of hideous burn scars on his cheeks shaped like runes or hieroglyphs. He looked around the room in silence with a heavy gaze from beneath shaggy brows and stopped on me.

Just then, I heard Lucas hissing from behind me with a voice full of hate.

“Frost priest!”

I calmly bore the giant’s gaze, then glanced at Master Fellen.

“Is it true?”

“Partially,” she replied, wincing slightly. “Sigurd is a heretic. He disavowed Hoar the Wicked. And is no longer a cavalier of the Order of the Frost Spear. His former brethren cast him out many years ago and left him with these markings on his face as a parting gift.”

Well, at the very least it was now clear why I couldn’t hire other strykers with him. They didn’t want to work with a heretic. Why the avant was still without work was no longer a mystery, either. Upper aristocrats didn’t want to tarnish their reputations by hiring a former priest of one of the most bloodthirsty cults on the continent.

While the master spoke, I cautiously scanned the stryker’s energy system out of the corner of my eye as he remained in the doorframe, blocking the passage with his bulky body.

Woah! Yes, this big fellow was tougher than Lord Gray. At the very least, I wouldn’t have bet on Gray were the two to meet in a duel.

Okay…

“Madam, I suggest we discuss the conditions for hiring this avant,” I said, meanwhile watching Gisa breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m certain that, in light of the circumstances, I can count on a significant discount.”