Last Life

Book 4: Chapter 5

Vintervald

Somewhere in the western part of the port quarter of Fjordgrad

IT WAS THE MIDDLEOF THE NIGHT. In a warm room in an inn that was small but cozy, Sigurd was lying on a wide cot stuffed with the previous year’s straw.

The moonlight streaming through the small window beneath the ceiling glinted off the walls, creating a soft, reassuring light. Sigurd slept soundly, deeply, and undisturbed. Aelira meanwhile couldn’t get to sleep at all. She was sitting next to the cot wrapped in a warm cloak made of bear pelt and watching her beloved sleep.

The white-haired beauty gently led her fingers over his face, staring pensively into each detail, every wrinkle and scar, thinking about how much Sigurd had been through in his life. She considered how much their lives had changed since they met, and how Sigurd saved her from the knightly Order of the Frost Spear. He had served as her protector and closest confidant.

Aelira often thought about what was waiting for them in the future, and how they would manage to withstand all the obstacles that would arise in their path. But she believed that their love would never die, and together they would overcome any trial.

Somehow all on their own, the contours of long-ago events appeared before her eyes. She recalled her old village. Her father and stepmother. Two younger brothers. Her friends. And breathed a heavy sigh…

Aelira, child of the snowy peaks, was born in a far-flung northern tribe that had settled in the very heart of Barren Pass. She was the eldest daughter of the chief, a powerful and wise man who was thought to descend from legendary snow leopard shapeshifters. The people of their tribe had adapted to the harsh northern conditions over the years and tried to keep contact with the outside world to a minimum. They had relations only with neighboring tribes whose lifestyle differed little from their own.

Since childhood, Aelira and the other young people of the tribe learned hunting and the art of survival in the harsh conditions of their homeland. She didn’t know any other life and didn’t care to.

Time passed and Aelira grew into a beautiful young woman with astonishingly white hair that looked like snow on the peaks of mountains and light blue eyes that reflected the bottomless northern sky. Beyond that, three years before her first period, within her awoke the gift of her tribe. Like her father and another few elders of the tribe, she was able to take the form of their spirit familiar — the Great Snow Leopard. She was destined for a great future but, alas, the gods of the north had other plans…

One day, at a general assembly of all mountain tribes, where people traded items, weapons, food, and met wives from other tribes to avoid mixing close kin, there was a group of outsiders. They had been invited by the chief of the Cave Bears, who introduced them as peaceful merchants who had supposedly come to buy rare goods from the mountain folk.

Later, Sigurd would explain that they were scouts for priests who worshipped the bloodthirsty deity Hoar the Wicked. The priests were out looking for true gifted to join their ranks for some purpose.

A month after the general assembly of tribes, one early morning, Aelira’s settlement was attacked by a group of knights of the Order of the Frost Spear. These cold-blooded warriors, headed by priests of Hoar the Wicked, had come for their gifted people.

Among the order’s knights was a young Sigurd, out on his first mission. The priests, whose prophecies the young knight believed implicitly, claimed that they were all acting in the name of Hoar the Wicked and for the good of these souls, who lived aimless lives of ignorance. But in the course of the attack, when he saw first-hand exactly how his knightly brethren brought “salvation” to the “unfortunate savages,” or rather cruelly murdered innocent people, his heart was first filled with tumult, then rage. The young combat mage turned against his own. In the end, after the slaughter, the only ones left alive were Sigurd and Aelira, who the young knight saved from death at the very last moment.

When hunters from other tribes arrived to aid Aelira’s tribe and saw what their neighboring village had been turned into, they wanted to kill Sigurd. But the daughter of the chief stood to his defense. And that was how both of them became outcasts among their own people at the exact same time.

As time passed, wandering around the north in search of a new home, Aelira and Sigurd not only became inseparable allies, they also discovered that their feelings for one another were much deeper and stronger than they thought. They fell in love.

They’d been through a lot together. Sigurd’s imprisonment by his former brothers in arms who, seeking revenge for the deaths of their friends and allies, tortured the traitor ferociously. His escape from the dungeons of the Frost Temple, arranged by Aelira. Wandering the northern villages. A failed attempt to cross to the small continent, where Sigurd was planning to enter the Shadow to collect bruts and provide both of them with a future in some southern land.

In the end, after many years of nomadic living, they made it to Vintervald. There, they put their new plan into action. Sigurd, having risen to the level of avant, signed on with the Guild of the Blades of Dusk.

The next steps in their plan were to make it to Vestonia, away from the northern clans of shapeshifters and frost knights and settle down on the Frontier among other outcasts like themselves. But to cross the border, they needed cover. The first step was acquiring the medallion of the dusksworn. After a long wait, they had the next thing they needed — a signed contract with a Vestonian aristocrat.

The calm rhythm of Sigurd’s breathing reassured Aelira and she finally laid down next to him, embracing his powerful arm. Squeezing up against her beloved, she slowly started to listen to her worrying thoughts and, as always over the last few years of their life together, convinced herself that their shared destiny would be full of love, warmth, and understanding. And perhaps, one day, when they had a home to call their own, they would finally hear the sound of children’s voices.

Her touch woke Sigurd up.

“Sleep,” she whispered. “The day will soon be dawning.”

“You know I only need a couple hours,” Sigurd replied just as quietly. His voice sounded like he hadn’t just been sleeping a second earlier. She knew. Strykers at his level could go without sleep for long periods. But he also needed rest. But her Sigurd could only fully relax when she was watching out for him.

“It’s so odd that this Renard gave you a whole day free.”

“I told you he’s odd,” Sigurd snorted. “It would have been suspicious if he only let me have it. But he also gives his other people whole days of leave. He calls it ‘personal time.’“

“Very strange…” Aelira whispered and added: “Take for instance his wish to have stryker armor and matching weaponry made for him. I’m scared to even imagine how much he spent on the skin and fangs of a shadow snake.”

“Yes,” Sigurd agreed. “But to be fair, I should note that I’ve met such rich eccentrics before. They have to find something to do with their money. Honestly, Chevalier Renard doesn’t seem much like an eccentric, much less a rich man. In fact, he constantly tries to hide the fact that he possesses a moderate fortune.”

“Oh, he does?”

“Without a doubt. You should have seen how much he bought in the Crafting District.”

“No wonder he took you along,” Aelira nodded. “Otherwise he’d have been robbed blind.”

“You know,” Sigurd said thoughtfully. “I think he needed me more for cover. He’s the grandson of a wealthy Vestonian merchant. Renard doesn’t need to be taught to haggle — he could teach a thing or two to anyone. As a matter of fact, he has a sixth sense for high quality items. He knows how to pick the best artifacts and potions.”

“Gifted?” Aelira asked in surprise.

“No, I’d have sensed it,” Sigurd replied.

“Tight-fisted like all merchants then?” Aelira kept grilling him. The young aristocrat had suddenly caught her interest. There was something unusual about him.

“He’s rational,” Sigurd replied after a brief pause. “He’s no spendthrift, he makes purchases for the sake of the deal. After the Count de Mornay’s representative came to discuss buying back trophies, Renard agreed to accept money for everything except the bruts. And he was impossible to convince. And you know what he did after the crystals were delivered? Gave them all to me. Now I have eighteen of them.”

“He getting ready for war, or what?” Aelira asked, cautious.

“I don’t know,” Sigurd shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m getting the impression he’s always preparing for something. And that he always has everything under control. But after all, he’s just twenty years old. Other aristocrats in his place would be letting loose without people watching their every move, binge drinking without end. But this guy… Well, like I said, we’ve found ourselves a very unusual employer. My sixth sense is telling me we need to keep our eyes peeled with this one.”

“Not just him,” Aelira added quietly.

“What do you sense?” Now it was Sigurd’s turn to get on guard. He always took his wife’s words seriously. Thanks to her phenomenal sixth sense, he had avoided all sorts of traps in the past.

“It’s hazy for now,” she shivered slightly and pressed up harder to his arm. “I feel something coming… Something very bad… Did you see how many members of shapeshifter clans came to Fjordgrad?”

“That’s easily explained,” Sigurd responded. “Sharptooth declared the Trial.”

“Yes, but many of them here won’t be taking part,” Aelira objected. “I also heard at the market that a big camp of a hundred tents has formed outside the city. The shapeshifter jarls even took their common warriors. And the camp keeps growing. But I’m not even talking about how many priests of Hoar the Wicked I saw.”

She practically spat out the last sentence. She hated the butchers with all her heart.

“Hm,” Sigurd stroked his thick beard thoughtfully. “You think Harold Graywolf is preparing something?”

“Otherwise, why would he bring a whole army to Vintervald? It can’t be to support his son who will take part in the Trial.”

Aelira spent a little while in silence, then added in a quiet voice:

“There’s something swirling in the air… I sense that much blood will be spilled.”

Sigurd didn’t even consider objecting.

“So no matter what happens, we will be ready.”

“There’s another thing…” Aelira said tensely. Were she in her other form just then, the white fur on the back of her neck would have been standing upright.

Sigurd felt her fingernails dig into his arm slightly.

“Something scare you, my love?” he asked with agitation.

“You know my sixth sense never lets me down…”

“Yes, I do… What did you sense?”

“Werewolves have appeared in Fjordgrad,” she came with a slightly quavering voice.

“You sure?” Sigurd asked in an icy tone. “The territory of the werewolf clans, unlike that of the northern ulfhednar, is to the south. Normally, wolves do not enter the hunting grounds of other wolves without particularly good reason.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Aelira answered firmly.

“A pack?”

“No, just two, but they’re seasoned.”

“And the locals haven’t torn them to bits yet?” Sigurd snorted. “That must mean the lords of this land gave them permission to hunt.”

“Like I said, something is up…” Aelira came softly and buried her nose into Sigurd’s warm shoulder.

“Take care, my love…” she whispered.

“I will…”

They spent some time lying there in silence, enjoying the warmth, then Sigurd heard a measured snoring from his beloved.

He lay there staring at the ceiling and thoughtfully watching the shadows creep over the walls. In his heart was a mix of timid hope and sharp anxiety. Delight that he had finally found an employer who would serve as his travelling permit for the way south, and anxiety about what Aelira said to him. He would have to redouble his vigilance in order to defend the woman he loved.

Sigurd tenderly ran a hand over her snow-white hair, thinking back on the day they met and found something they’d long been seeking in one another. He remembered the promise he made to himself to defend this woman, who was his everything. He was aware that these promises were now more important than ever because they now had hope for the future.

Soon enough, Sigurd felt his own eyes were getting heavy and his concerns retreated, ceding space to the soft haze of dreamland. He embraced Aelira harder and closed his eyes, surrendering to sleep’s embrace.

* * *

Sigurd left the cozy den a few minutes before dawn. Aelira was still asleep, balled up like a little kitten. So warm, so lovely.

Coming outside, Sigurd filled his lungs with frosty morning air and breathed a loud sigh, releasing a thick cloud of steam from his freshly awakened lungs.

With another few breaths in and out, he looked around. The western part of the port quarter was deserted and quiet. The first rays of the sun were lighting up the narrow alleys, reflecting off the pure white snow and glimmering on the ice. The buildings, coated in frost, looked like a fairytale castle sparkling in the dawn light.

Flocks of snow slowly twirled in the air, creating a sense of calm. Taverns and shops had yet to open their doors, waiting for the city folk to awaken. Streetlights over the sidewalks were capped with snow, losing their dim glow in the light of the rising morning sun.

The only sound was falling snow. Thin wisps of smoke rose up from chimneys, dissipating into the cool morning air.

Sigurd walked the dark alleys of the port quarter, where the sun had yet to reach, out of habit watching everything around him. Recalling Aelira’s words, he was particularly cautious and suspicious of everything happening around him. His sharp hearing picked up every rustle and his intuition said that danger could be lurking around every corner.

But when the Copper Cauldron tavern was within arm’s reach, he spied a suspicious, scarcely noticeable movement in the shadow of a building, then he heard a dull clap, followed by another. To him, the sounds were unmistakable. Someone was trying to shoot Sigurd with a bow. Two people, in fact.

Lilac power flowed out through his armor, heading off the first arrow by just an instant. Were Sigurd just an expert or unexperienced medius, he’d have died.

The avant dodged the second arrow easily. Distantly, he thought that the ambush for him had been set up on the approach to the tavern where Renard lived. And that meant these enemies must have been unaware of the little den where he and Aelira were holed up. He had to be happy about that.

The Shadow Power ran down his channels as always and the battle mage started moving. For the record, no more shots were fired. Why? After all, an experienced archer could shoot over a dozen arrows in one minute’s time. The attackers must have decided the element of surprise had been lost and they couldn’t get through the stryker’s magic defenses. If so, they were making a mistake. If it were Sigurd in the archer’s place, he’d still have been shooting arrow after arrow, forcing his target to dodge and fill with anxiety. Plus, the energy in the bruts would surely run out eventually. The magic shield would drain it in immeasurable quantities with every hit.

He wondered who would be so bold as to break a ceasefire announced by the konung of Vintervald himself? Either someone very stupid, or someone confident they couldn’t be touched.

When out of the shadows there came two figures in dark cloaks and stryker armor, Sigurd realized that it was more likely option two. His former brethren from the Order of the Frost Spear had come to settle scores, not caring what the lord of these lands thought.

“Won’t you ever just knock it off?!” Sigurd cried wryly, continuing to turn his head. At any moment, an arrow could have come flying out of the darkness.

“You’ve run from us for too long, vile heretic!” the broad-shouldered warrior in the thick helmet cried back to him. Thick steam poured out of his visor.

“Thomas!” Sigurd laughed. “I see the order’s affairs are going so badly they sent a scavenger! Do you really think you can defeat me? And who’s the other one?”

“You die today, traitorous beast!” a crude woman’s voice came from beneath the second visor.

“Ha-ha!” Sigurd kept celebrating. “Greta! You’re still alive? What joyous news. Now I’m definitely going to end you.”

Sigurd tried to keep his voice steady, but in reality, he was tensed to the very limit. The most bloodthirsty strykers in the order had been sent after him. And archers had set up an ambush. Bad, very bad…

The voice that suddenly sounded from the roof of a neighboring building made Sigurd clench his teeth. He recognized that voice. Had Renard sold him out?

“Curious circumstances!” his employer commented, wry as ever. “Two against one.”

Sigurd gave a dull roar. Or rather, former employer. After finishing with these two, he would end the treacherous chevalier. And he would be right to do so. But what Renard said next made Sigurd’s heartbeat speed up even more.

“By the way, Sigurd, you don’t have to worry about the archers. Wrap things up here. We have a lot to do today!”