Last Life

Book 5: Chapter 5

THAT VERY SAME DAY, after dinner, I went down to the basement to add a few more notes to my diagram. I chatted to my nisse for a little while, and she told me all about the military operations she’d been conducting in the basement of the castle while I was away at the Duke de Bauffremont’s palace.

The main battle with the army of rats unfolded in the mansion’s holy of holies — the big underground icehouse, where all our stores of food were kept.

The nisse even let three wolfhounds out of their cages to serve as reinforcements, and as strange as it might seem, they worked in perfect harmony with the cats. By the way — the speckled cat, beloved by Agnès, quickly saw the error of his ways and was soon at the front with the others, locked in battle with the gray hordes. For this, he was rehabilitated and graciously allowed to return to the food bowl.

Itta set her hands on her hips and raised her chin proudly into the air as she reported how the rats eventually fled in disgrace, and how she organized a nice little feast for her faithful warriors in the rear grounds of the castle next to the stables.

For this, the nisse borrowed a big jar of sour cream and a couple bones full of rich beef marrow from the icehouse. I didn’t know how she was going to square this with Agnès, and I didn’t really want to know. They could figure it out on their own. However, I did insist that everything be put back in its proper place eventually.

Bertrand, by the way, also reported that the shrieking, grunting, and hissing in the depths of the icehouse had really freaked the servants out. Just to be safe, everybody steered well clear of the icehouse all morning.

When all was said and done, everyone was really surprised by the number of dead rodents, both in the basements and all around the rest of the mansion as well.

And without the drain on resources due to the rodents, Agnès was able to adopt no less than three new cats and keep them fed on scraps from the kitchen. As an aside, however, Charles Simon never did figure out how three wolfhounds managed to get out of their cages all at once. After all, he remembered testing their chains himself. Basically, this epic battle was going to be the talk of the town for a long time to come. Its name alone — the “Rat Slaughter” — virtually assured that. A legend in the making, no doubt.

After chatting with the nisse, I went back upstairs and decided to take a walk around the pond, something that had already become habitual for me. On the way, I spotted Benedict, who was pulling a cart loaded with gardening supplies toward a little shed located deep in the back garden.

Seeing me, the gardener stopped and bowed, then kept moving. He was calm and collected, as always. His fastidiousness continually impressed me. And what was interesting in his case was the total lack of any “recruiters.” In marked contrast to Marc, Benedict didn’t seem the least bit scared or worried. But the fact remained — the sum that had suddenly and miraculously appeared in his hands was far too much for a simple gardener to have acquired honestly.

My nisse was keeping a close eye on him, but so far, whoever he was in league with hadn’t made an appearance. And Benedict was behaving exactly as he always had. If we eventually confirm that he’s a spy, I thought, I’ll have to applaud his coolness and composure under pressure.

I made a mental note to have a thorough chat about him with Marc Ducos. Although I decided to postpone that for the time being. Benedict — or whoever he was in reality — might sense that something was amiss.

As always during my evening walks, Sigurd was following, about ten steps behind me. Even on our territory, where Tom Davis’ men were constantly on patrol, my bodyguard was scrupulous in performing his contractual duties to the letter. Although on this particular walk, Aelira was following a little ways behind him. This always happened whenever the couple had questions come up that were intended for my ears only.

Standing at the edge of the pond as the sun set, I nodded and quietly addressed them:

“Out with it, already.”

I had no doubt that they could hear me. A few moments later, Sigurd and Aelira came to a stop right behind my back.

I turned part of the way around and glanced inquiringly at my bodyguards.

“Your Worship,” said Sigurd, his voice as quiet as always. “We’re heading back to that alley tomorrow... Please don’t get me wrong. As your bodyguard, I need to know what to prepare for. You never know how a conversation with witches will end... It’s best not to get involved with them at all unless there’s a real need for it.”

Aelira nodded in firm agreement with her husband’s words. It was clear that they both wanted to understand why a young nobleman (albeit a very unusual one) wanted to meet with witches at all, and on their territory, no less.

“You’re right,” I nodded. “It’s best not to if there’s no need. But there is a need. And an urgent one, at that.”

Sigurd and Aelira still didn’t know who I actually was. Maybe they had guessed something, but if so, they hadn’t mentioned it. But it seemed like it was time to lay my cards on the table, especially since I had been planning to do it soon anyway. I certainly wasn’t worried about Sigurd or Aelira spilling the beans to anyone else. At least for now. Later, though... Well, later it wouldn’t really matter. It would be hard to hide the fact that I was a mage. More than that, I was intending in the not-too-distant future to take full advantage of the privileges that came with such a status. But that would come later. For now...

Sigurd exchanged a worried glance with Aelira, and they both turned to look at me.

“The owner of the things we took from that castle... They came to see me,” I said.

“But how?” Sigurd’s eyebrows shot up. My bodyguard’s expression was one of total uncomprehension. “When could that have happened? We’ve been by your side the whole time...”

“Their messenger wasn’t made of flesh and blood,” I answered, then added: “It was a shade.”

“But how did you survive an encounter with an evil spirit?” Aelira asked as she took an impassioned step forward. “I don’t sense any protective amulets on you...”

“I don’t need them,” I said. With that, I lowered the invisible energy shield that prevented them from seeing my true nature.

Aelira flinched and took a step back. Cocking her head slightly to the side, she took a deep breath in through her nose.

“You’re a spellsword,” she whispered. “A Fox...”

A grin spread across Sigurd’s face. Unlike his wife, he didn’t seem to be very surprised.

“This explains a lot,” he said with a devilish grin. “Quite a lot indeed...”

He turned to look at the darkening castle behind me and added:

“The Fox Den... Heh... But then why do you need the witches?”

“My home and my people need protection from the undead,” I replied. “But I’m lacking certain important ingredients that only witches can obtain for me.”

“Your Worship, are you planning to let witches into your home to perform a protective ritual?” Sigurd asked, sounding extremely skeptical. “That tribe is worse than any undead.”

“No, I’m going to do it myself.”

“So...?” Even Sigurd was surprised. “That kind of magic is accessible only to the most powerful members of that tribe.”

“My mother was an Elder Witch, who transmitted all her knowledge to me,” I replied calmly, watching with a grin as my bodyguards’ eyes widened:

“How else could I survive a run-in with a shade?”

* * *

My carriage rolled up to the “herbalist’s” shop around noon. This time, I had Jacques driving, and Aelira was with me as well as Sigurd. Although my orders were for both my bodyguards to wait outside. I didn’t want to irritate the witches before I was ready.

As for weapons, I had my sword, as well as my dagger made of the fang of the Shadow snake. That was enough. I made it very clear to the owners of the place that I came in peace.

As I crossed the threshold into the shop, I was met immediately by the owner’s steady gaze.

“So you came after all,” she said. Her tone was somewhere between a question and a statement. A wry smile seemed to be frozen on her lips.

That day, unlike our first meeting, she looked somehow pale. As if she hadn’t slept well at all.

“Yes,” I replied as I walked over to the counter.

“I’ve upheld my end of the bargain,” the witch announced as she stepped to the side, permitting me to pass behind the counter. Behind her back, I could see that the little door was open, just a crack. “The Elder Mother’s in there.”

I nodded silently and laid the promised brooch down on the counter; the witch immediately whipped a hand out and squirreled it away. As she did so, she was keeping a nervous eye on the door.

No longer paying any attention to the herbalist, I continued in the direction she’d indicated.

The door led into a long, dark hallway, at whose end I could see an exit. I carefully scanned the walls, ceiling, and floor, then walked through the hallway and walked out into the shop’s tiny interior courtyard.

I looked around. Hm... Seemed nice and quiet. A little booth, some neat flower boxes, and some tidily-trimmed bushes. Birds were chirping. It was idyllic.

In the little booth, on a rocking chair, sat a short, dark-haired woman of about thirty — she might even have been younger. Her coal-black hair was pulled back into a simple, dense braid.

Her dress was plain, and she wore short boots and some very simple jewelry — the coven’s Elder Mother (and judging by her well-saturated energy system, that’s exactly who she was) looked just like any other citizen. Neither especially rich nor especially poor. Attractive, but not exactly a knockout. A little bit of extra weight. You might say she looked exactly like one would expect the wife of a well-off shop owner to look. Except that she had the look of a predator in her eyes, a look so subtle it was barely visible through the mask of a typical representative of the mercantile class.

Her disguise, by the way, was excellent. Especially considering the way that the true gifted had fallen on such hard times. While some of them were being dismembered by a crazed mob out on the square, others — smarter than their comrades — continued to operate and even thrive.

The witch rocked gently in her chair, watching me intently as I stood there.

“Well, what’s the holdup, little fox?” She smiled. “You’ve come this far and you’re suddenly shy at the end of the road?”

Hm... She had a pleasant voice. Ever so slightly hoarse.

“Peace be upon you, Elder,” I said in witching tongue, with a polite bow of my head. “My name is Maximilian Renard.”

“Is it, now?” The witch seemed genuinely surprised as she, too, switched into witching tongue. Sparks of excitement and satisfaction flashed across her dark brown eyes. “A spellsword who speaks the ancient tongue, and one trained in the proper greetings, as well. Curious... A shame you told me your name, though. Although... Wait a minute... Hm... I can sense that’s not your real name. Am I right?”

“Who would tell their true name to a stranger?” I chuckled.

“I see you had a good teacher,” the Elder Mother nodded approvingly.

“I was raised by an Elder — she was my mother in everything but a biological sense,” I said. After I said that, the witch’s thick eyebrows shot up like two black birds.

“Well, I never...” She said pensively. “The little fox is full of surprises. By the way, aren’t you the same young chevalier who recently moved into the Fox Den?”

“The very same,” I nodded.

The witch chuckled.

“The Fox’s lair is never empty for long,” she said; her eyes narrowed as she spoke. “Even if the old fox leaves, sooner or later another red-furred tribe will move in and make itself at home. Hehe...”

A question was about to leap out of my mouth, but I restrained myself. Not today... Another time.

Apparently she knew the previous owner of my castle. Witches tended to live long and still look young in spite of their years. True, that required them to periodically drink the life force of a specially-prepared living victim.

That said, Vadoma didn’t do such things and she still lived quite a long life.

“Call me Madleyn,” she said; then, noting the expression on my face, she smiled, showing off her strikingly healthy white teeth:

“Yep, just like fine china. That’s actually what my beloved husband calls me — “my china doll.” Hehe... Surprised? Never seen a married witch before, have you?”

“I won’t lie to you,” I shrugged. “I haven’t.”

I wondered what she’d have said if she’d known what sprang to mind when I first saw her. In a lot of ways, I was right. Or rather, I just had to give Madam Witch her due — she was playing the role of a shopkeeper’s wife to perfection.

“Almost all my daughters are married,” she said with a heavy sigh. “It’s the only way to survive. We need to do it for the safety of the coven.”

I nodded my understanding.

“I understand that those witches who were torn apart by that crowd near the temple a few months ago failed to observe similar precautions?”

“Silvia...” Madleyn sounded tense as she spoke the name. The predatory look was once again visible on her face; the shopkeeper’s wife was nowhere to be seen. “She considered herself more powerful than any other. She thought she could do whatever she wanted. It wasn’t long ago that she could’ve taken a life with a mere snap of her fingers. Now there’s not even a trace left of her coven. Were you there that day?”

“Yes,” I answered. I decided not to mention the fact that Silvia herself tried to draw me into a suicidal scheme to save her granddaughter. “They were dismembered right in front of me. Actually, it was a miracle that I managed to walk out of there myself. And the same goes for the people who wanted to burn them in the first place.”

“Actually, speaking of them...” The witch’s voice was hoarse. Her mood changed yet again. The shopkeeper’s wife was gone for good. The Elder Mother of the Coven was back.

I could sense that the air around us had thickened. I squeezed the handle of my snake knife and switched to true vision. The witch’s energy system was visibly pulsing and flowing. Her aura was noticeably wider. I could see threads of energy stretching out in all directions around her body.

The shop’s courtyard was positively stuffed with witching runes. They were everywhere. On the walls, on the edging of the flowerbeds, on the cobblestones. One word from her and a spell would spring every one of these pre-prepared traps.

“Why did you bring that abomination into my land?!” She hissed. Her voice sent a chill down my spine. “That lapdog of the northern priests, those worshippers of an outcast demon?! And that shapeshifter girl to boot!”

“They serve me, and no one else,” I replied firmly, trying to keep my voice steady as I spoke. “And I’ll tell you something else: they’re both sworn enemies of the ice demon’s priests, as am I. And I’ve come to your land in peace. But unless you want my bodyguards to smash their way into your daughter’s shop this very instant, I suggest you calm down. The shapeshifter girl is very sensitive. And you just let out quite a bit of power.”

“Are you threatening me in my own home?” The witch’s eyes narrowed, but I noticed that her aura was steadily contracting.

“No,” I shook my head. “I’m merely telling you what might happen here. You’ve already sensed, of course, that my bodyguard is no normal stryker. And the Snow Leopard’s daughter isn’t here just for fun either. The two of them cost me quite a hefty sum, and they’re very conscientious in the performance of their duties. Besides that, a squabble between us would attract unwanted attention to your home. And it’ll be noisy — that much I can guarantee you. I haven’t forgotten that this is your land. But you must also understand that you’re in the presence of a nobleman of a very ancient line. A hero of the frontier, and the victor of the Great Trial declared by the Konung of Vintervald. Can you guess whose side the royal inquisitors will take? But of course I, like you, have no need for extra attention or noise. I came here to propose a mutually-beneficial collaboration between us. Why argue when we can be friends?”

“You know how to negotiate, fox,” the witch snickered as her aura shrank back down to its normal level. “Just don’t forget that you’re talking to somebody who’s lived through the deaths of many, many kings.”

Of course, I thought — that must be why you’re scared to stick your head out of your little alley more than you absolutely have to. You’re not as strong as you want me to think you are. Old? Yes. But you’re still afraid of the priests and the knights. And I think you probably have plenty of other enemies as well.

“What could some upstart chevalier have to offer me? You won’t tempt me with gold. You won’t surprise me with any old charms. What’s wrong — cat got your tongue? You didn’t come here just for the hell of it. You must need something. Remember one thing: I was getting along just fine without you. Until you came and bedazzled my daughters with your gold, things were quiet and calm in my land. What do you want, fox?”

The witch’s final question came out sounding tired and argumentative. The exhaustion of centuries resounded in her voice, which sounded completely out of place coming from a thirty-year-old woman.

“I need ash oil and some other ingredients,” I replied.

“Do you, now?!” Madleyn sounded genuinely surprised. “And what do you need ash oil for?”

I could understand her surprise. After all, the main ingredient in that particular oily elixir was ash from the hearth of a coven, where a fire was always kept burning. Actually, it wasn’t a forbidden item, but it was the sort of thing that only the Elder Mother of a coven was supposed to deal with.

“For protection from evil spirits,” I replied.

“The little fox wants to protect his den,” the witch chuckled. “I understand. And what can you offer me in return?”

The story repeated itself again: I took the same little velvet bag out from behind my belt and sprinkled two little figurines made of dark bronze into my palm. They were shaped like birds with outstretched wings, and at the sight of them the witch’s eyes practically shot up onto her forehead.

I laughed inside my head. I had asked the nisse to choose something from de Clairmont’s collection — something that would pay for the ingredients, something we wouldn’t have a lot of use for ourselves but that might be valuable to the head witch. And the nisse predicted this sort of reaction as she handed me the artifacts. I wondered, just then — where did she get them? I didn’t remember seeing them as I was digging through all my new treasures. Maybe I was looking too fast, or not paying enough attention.

“Well, little fox, you managed to surprise me after all.” The witch raised her deep brown eyes to stare firmly into mine. “I think we’ll be able to work something out.”