Last Life

Book 7: Chapter 19

Northland

Valley of Gales

FIVE DAYS HAD PASSED since Helga first crossed the border of the Frost Temple’s lands and started moving up the Valley of Gales. The soldiers from her unit had stopped ten days before in order to hold off her pursuers; they were almost certainly dead by that point, and her last horse had fallen the day before.

Helga was alone. In terms of weapons, she had a dagger and a hatchet hanging from her belt. For food, she had a few stale crusts of bread and some frozen strips of horse meat in the bottom of her bag. The most valuable items in her possession were an amulet with a half-full scarlet brut inside it and a bracelet containing five smaller scarlet bruts. That was all that remained of her stock of magical stones after the battle at the Frost Temple, where Konung Bjorn Sharptooth’s army had been destroyed and the Konung himself had fallen — together with almost all his comrades-in-arms, one of whom was Helga’s father.

She had seen it all happen with her own eyes: how a terrifying Frost Knight priestess had run her black, magical blades through the Konung before turning and doing the same to her father.

Poor Erik, Sharptooth’s son, also fell. Helga would never forget the look of surprise and confusion on the young man’s face as one of the Frost Knight priests drove a black-tipped spear through his chest.

Death magic... Helga’s old mentor, who had taught her everything he knew, had often told her about ancient times. When the legendary aurings still protected the world from the demons.

He told her a great deal about death magic, which (thanks to the great Wizards of the Wastes) had been cast out of the world and fallen into the Abyss forever, together with the last, most powerful demon of them all.

At that time, Helga had considered all these stories to be little more than legends and fairy tales. That battle outside Hoar the Wicked’s Temple, however, had proven them to be very real indeed. The Frozen Spears had used death magic, against which even stryker armor was useless. The black blades sank through metal shields as easily if they had been made of thin parchment.

Helga still couldn’t believe that Konung Sharptooth’s massive army, which had roamed the North in an unbroken string of victories up to that point (so much so, in fact, that it had eventually stopped meeting resistance altogether), had been destroyed so suddenly and completely. After all, there had been no sign of impending trouble at all.

Bjorn Sharptooth had even hinted to Helga that he and the Frost Temple’s priests had some sort of understanding. Obviously, though, things had not gone to plan for the Konung. Helga remembered the look of surprise on his face as he first beheld the enormous army blocking his way. The Frozen Spears had done their work well, gathering all of Sharptooth’s enemies under their banners as they kept him complacent with protestations of loyalty. For his part, of course, the Konung was confident in his own strength and majesty, and in the end he let his guard down.

Helga, who had miraculously survived, was hurrying back to the capital to warn Astrid of the coming danger. That the priests would soon turn their victorious army on Vintervald was something that Helga didn’t doubt for a second.

By the end of the day, an exhausted, tormented Helga finally managed to make it to a small settlement, where she remembered that there was a small inn.

The owner, a powerfully-built redhead who had served the late Konung’s predecessor as a company commander, immediately recognized the exhausted and frozen young woman for the renowned healer she was.

He gave Helga his very best room on the second floor of the house. After a simple but filling dinner, the owner’s wife and eldest daughter quickly helped the poor young woman get washed up before she laid down to sleep (by that point, she was barely able to keep her eyes open). Helga fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She was awoken during the middle of the night, however, by a noise that was obviously coming from somewhere below. Acting on pure force of habit, she pulled a small clot of mana from the smallest of the bruts on her bracelet and sent it coursing through her energy system.

Now fully awake, Helga took a quick look around the room. Her magically-enhanced eyes could see perfectly well in the darkness, so she didn’t light a candle.

She noticed that her clothes were missing. Apparently, the innkeeper’s wife had taken them off to wash them. Her shoes were missing too. Most likely, they were drying next to the fireplace, along with her cloak and outer garments.

She found her belt and dagger hanging from the head of the bed.

Helga quickly whipped the blade out of its scabbard, rose silently from her bed, and then, holding the hem of her nightshirt against her side with her left hand, she quietly approached the door.

Meanwhile, the noise from below was growing louder by the minute. She could already hear threatening male voices pretty clearly. One of them belonged to the innkeeper, who was speaking with somebody else in a raised voice. The former commander was threatening to call the local guard if the newcomers didn’t leave his house immediately.

For just a moment, the noise abruptly stopped, and Helga (whose heart felt like it was about to burst out of her chest) thought that the innkeeper’s threat had done the trick. Maybe the rowdy nocturnal visitors had turned around and left. Just as suddenly, however, a burst of loud cursing erupted, together with the clang of steel and a sickening female scream. The threat hadn’t done the trick at all. On the contrary, it seemed like the rowdiness was only just beginning...

The woman’s scream suddenly stopped, to be followed by a dull thud. It sounded a lot like a body hitting the floor. Then came another scream, higher-pitched than the previous one. Helga recognized the voice — it was the innkeeper’s daughter.

A rough male voice shouted some sort of command, which was followed by the clomping of boots. Helga closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, then slowly let it out again. She turned her attention entirely to her hearing and started counting...

First... Second... Third... Okay, she thought. Three of them against one of me, then...

Judging by the hurried sound of footsteps, the first intruder had rushed in a little ways ahead of his companions.

Helga took two steps back from the door and pulled off her nightshirt — it was absolutely vital that nothing should interfere with her ability to move. She whipped the hand holding the dagger behind her back, then froze.

Just an instant before the door opened, Helga shot a quick glance at the tiny window with its bull’s-bladder pane. A blizzard was raging outside. She could have run for it, but she wouldn’t have gotten far without any clothes. It would mean wasting the mana in her bruts. Besides, she was sick of running. The jarl’s daughter could sense the blood of her warrior ancestors pounding through her veins. Not for nothing was she known as Helga the Valiant.

Meanwhile, the door swung open to reveal an unfamiliar, broad-shouldered beast of a man in simple leather armor.

Helga let out as convincing a scream as she could manage (trying to make it sound like a scream of surprise), and tried to cover her nakedness with her hands as she turned away from the man who had walked into the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the soldier’s eyes bulge, as a predatory smile spread across his stubbly face. The sight of a beautiful naked woman shifted the big man’s brain into a whole new gear.

From beneath her disheveled hair, Helga could see him stretching his right hand out to her.

“Caught you, little birdie,” he said in a sinister sarcastic voice. “Don’t be afraid. Come over here.”

Most likely, the very last thing the big thug expected was for the naked beauty to do exactly as he asked. Still less, perhaps, that she would throw herself at him so quickly that he didn’t even have time to be surprised.

A rapid swing of the hand — and a razor-sharp piece of Shadow steel sunk itself into the big man’s armpit. All he could manage was a muffled groan and a twitch of the shoulder before the lethally-sharp piece of steel slid silently across his throat.

Eyes bulging (this time with horror), the thug started sputtering and choking on his own blood, trying to grab his own slit throat as he slowly began to totter backwards. Just then, the next soldier happened to step into the room.

“Cnud, you idiot, what the hell are you doing?!” The black-bearded northerner growled; no sooner did he do so than his comrade’s considerable bulk collapsed back-first onto him.

The second soldier’s hands flew up immediately to push the big man (who was still choking as he died) forward with both palms. Thus distracted, he didn’t even notice the slim female figure that darted out from behind Cnud’s dying carcass. Nor did he notice the blade as it slid twice into his exposed neck.

While both bodies collapsed to the floor, Helga closed the distance between herself and the third soldier, who was hurrying to check in on his comrades-in-arms. This one was still young and inexperienced. He didn’t even have time to put a hand on his sword before a naked, black-haired beauty with the eyes of a killer appeared next to him. With one single, fluid motion, she whipped her blade across his throat and left it wide open.

Helga quickly glanced around at the dying, twitching soldiers, and a smirk flitted across her lips. The jarl’s daughter had been trained by her father’s best mercenaries. Even together, these three soldiers wouldn’t have been a match for any one of them.

For just a moment, Helga even found herself feeling irritated that her enemies had sent such total incompetents to catch her. Assuming, of course, that these men WERE her pursuers, rather than simple marauders who had decided to wait out the storm at the inn and rob the innkeeper while they were at it.

In a movement that had become habit after many years of combat, Helga wiped the blood off her dagger on the now-silent young soldier’s clothes and pulled out the sword from his scabbard (something he hadn’t managed to do quickly enough to save himself).

Her trained hand quickly discovered that the weapon was of horrible quality, and had even worse balance. That settles it, she thought... Ex-convicts, most likely...

Once again, Helga thought ruefully of the blade she had been forced to part with on the field of battle — the blade given to her by her former mentor. She had left it lodged in the dead body of a Frost Knight.

After descending the first few steps of the staircase, Helga froze and listened carefully. There was still noise coming from downstairs. Stepping carefully so as not to elicit even the faintest squeak from any of the stairs, Helga crept down a little farther until she could see the small tavern’s main room, which occupied most of the first floor.

The first thing she saw were the bodies of the innkeeper and his wife. They were lying near one another, in pools of their own blood.

A little farther away, squealing and groaning in horror, the innkeeper’s daughter was lying face-down on one of the tables in a badly-torn nightshirt. Behind her stood a lanky blond soldier, with his left hand pressed firmly over the girl’s mouth as he feverishly tried to unbuckle his belt with his right. Apparently, he hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might need to check his surroundings from time to time.

So much the worse for him... A quick swing of Helga’s arm, and the unfortunate rapist’s neck met the edge of his own dead comrade’s sword. With a clunky, poorly-sharpened piece of iron that didn’t even really merit the title of “sword,” of course, Helga didn’t actually sever the bastard’s head in one swing. Instead, a loud crunch split the air, and the blond man’s body fell to the floor with a hideous, unnatural bend in his neck. What mattered, though, was that he was already silent...

The innkeeper’s daughter shrieked and turned around. When she saw Helga’s naked chest, arms, and stomach completely caked in blood, her bright-blue eyes widened with fear and amazement.

“Shh, Inga,” said Helga quietly as she took a step toward the young woman. “It’s over... He’s not going to touch you again...”

Inga burst into sobs as her eyes flooded with tears. Helga embraced her with one arm and gently stroked her hair. The girl’s shoulders shuddered a few times; then, suddenly, she backed away and turned her head to the side. Seeing the bodies of her parents on the floor, she freed herself from Helga’s arms and rushed over to them.

“Mom!” Inga sobbed as she knelt down beside the bodies.

She turned to look at Helga with hope in her eyes. Apparently, she remembered who Helga was and what she was capable of. Sadly, all Helga could do was shake her head sadly in reply. Healers could sense death better than the rest of the gifted.

She was about to try to comfort the girl again, but she didn’t end up having time. The door at the tavern’s entrance suddenly creaked, and a tall, broad-shouldered figure in a hooded wolfskin cloak stepped over the threshold.

Helga crouched down slightly, frozen in a combat stance; when the new visitor threw back his hood, however, her lips spread involuntarily into a happy smile. Possibly for the first time ever, she was genuinely happy to see Hakon — Konung Sharptooth’s nephew, who had been in love with her ever since they were children. So happy was she to see him that she didn’t even think about the fact that, much to her irritation at the time, Bjorn Sharptooth and her father had agreed to give her to Hakon in marriage.

“Hakon!” Helga exclaimed with a smile.

Like a half-blind wild boar, Hakon turned to squint into the depths of the hall. His beady little eyes practically shot up onto his forehead when he finally saw his heart’s desire standing there naked in front of him.

He was next to Helga in a flash.

“You’re all bloody!” He said with obvious worry in his voice. “Are you wounded?”

“Enemies’ blood,” she said with a vicious grin as she nodded at the blond soldier’s body. “Three more upstairs.”

With that, she whipped her dagger deftly around in her hand.

Hakon smiled back at her, then took off his cloak and wrapped it around Helga. Only as he did so did she realize how incredibly cold she was.

“Are you alone?” She immediately started peppering Hakon with questions. “How many men do you have left? How’d you manage to survive? What about your dad? Is he alive?”

With every question, Hakon’s face grew darker and darker, and soon he averted his eyes altogether. Helga interpreted this in her own way. She approached him and laid a loving hand on his cheek.

“Forgive me...” She said in a calm, placatory tone. “I promise you this! We’re going to avenge them all! All we need to do is make it to Fjordgard and warn Astrid about what happened!”

Suddenly, a mocking, slightly-hoarse male voice from the direction of the door made her jump.

“Oh! We most definitely WILL inform Princess Astrid, don’t you worry. But that’ll come later...”

Helga jumped and turned to face the door. There, on the threshold, stood three soldiers, one of whom was a red-haired Frost Knight in the bone armor of the Order of the Frozen Spear. The hoarse voice belonged to him.

“Hakon.” The redhead smiled as he nodded at the staircase, down which a thin stream of blood was still trickling. “You were right. Your bride is much more dangerous than we thought.”

Helga felt a wave of cold run down her spine. She raised her head and glanced into Hakon’s gloomy eyes.

“Gods of the North...” She whispered in shock. “You’re with them... You betrayed us... What about your father?”

At this, Hakon’s expression suddenly changed. A fire of rage and hatred appeared in his eyes.

“Shut up!” He snarled. “My father was a weakling who swallowed all of Sharptooth’s lies! Both of them rejected the Eternal One! And He has punished their apostasy! I personally drove a knife through my father’s heart in order to save him from the cruelest of tortures.”

Eyes wide with horror, Helga took an involuntary step back. Hakon... He had always been stupid and uncouth, but his love for her had always been totally genuine. Sure, Helga had always avoided him and disliked him for his persistent pestering, but never for a second would she have believed that Hakon would one day betray them all.

“Helga.” Hakon’s voice was a little softer as he stretched out his hand to her. “I’m here to save you. Come with me. There’s so much you still don’t know. You need to talk to them... You and I will be together from here on. They’ve promised me that they won’t lay a finger on you. You’re one of the most powerful mages in the North. The Eternal One needs servants like you!”

Helga could feel hot tears running down her cheeks. Dammit, she thought... What the hell have you done, you moron... How did they get into your head? How could something like this happen? Traitor. Patricide...

Suddenly, Helga calmed down. She scooped a big mass of red mana out of two of the small bruts on her bracelet. They crumbled to dust, but nobody seemed to notice.

She stretched out her hand and laid it in Hakon’s huge, calloused palm.

“Good,” he said in a sympathetic voice. “You’ve made the right choice — “

He didn’t finish. His eyes widened, then rolled back into his head. In the blink of an eye, Hakon’s massive, unbreathing body thudded to the floor.

“Such mastery!” The Frost Knight exclaimed rapturously. “You stopped his heart, didn’t you?”

The looks on the faces of his two cronies suggested they were much, much more dangerous than the incompetents she had snuffed out a few moments before. In unison, they moved expertly out to surround Helga on either side.

“Take her alive,” said the Frost Knight. His tone suggested this command was a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Helga just snickered at this. How naive, she thought... Taking a healer alive is one hell of an accomplishment. After all, mages who controlled scarlet energy were normally capable of killing themselves painlessly at any moment.

She threw the heavy fur cloak off her shoulders — it still smelled of the man she had once considered a loyal friend, and whom she had just killed without a second thought. Helga froze, waiting for the attack she knew was about to come. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Inga had pressed herself under the farthest table, and was biting down viciously on her fist so as not to make even the slightest sound.

The Frost Knight was staring at Helga’s naked body with a greasy smile; whenever their eyes met, he would shoot her a disgusting wink.

“I can understand Hakon’s mindset a little better now,” he said. “He was absolutely obsessed with you. And you just broke his heart without blinking an eye!”

He didn’t quite finish speaking before his two warriors threw themselves at Helga simultaneously. She had already noticed that although these two soldiers were certainly head and shoulders above the ones she had killed before, they were still quite a bit less adept than she was.

Before a single minute passed, both her attackers were lying on the ground. The first missed a blow from her sword that quickly opened the side of his abdomen; the second was simply too careless and ended up too close to the healer, who reached out and laid a finger against his neck. That was enough for a clot of red mana to blow his heart to pieces.

“Stupendous,” the Frozen Spear said as he clapped his hands. Then, suddenly, he vanished.

Inside, Helga just snickered again. Another self-assured idiot. Most likely, he was still completing training tasks as a healer in his guild. Because trying to hide from a healer — especially one as experienced as Helga — was pure stupidity, as well as a waste of precious energy. A healer would always be capable of tracking a stryker by the sound of their heartbeat.

The Frost Knight seemed to have decided not to fight in the open. He was intending to move around Helga from the left, most likely so he could knock her out from behind. He probably wanted to deliver her to his priests alive.

Meanwhile, the young woman decided to lull her opponent into letting his guard down; she started looking around frantically from side to side. She could almost see the cunning, idiotic smirk on the stryker’s face.

More fool him, she thought... After all, only the most experienced combat mages, who were experts at concentrating energy, could possibly remain in stealth mode, maintain a shield on their armor, and launch an attack all at the same time. The man Helga happened to be fighting might have been a medius; if so, however, he was decidedly on the weaker end of the spectrum. That meant she had a chance (albeit a small one) of catching the stryker as he made a mistake.

Suddenly, she bent down over Hakon’s body and pulled the sword from his scabbard. His broadsword was quite heavy, but not so much that she couldn’t maintain balance while using it. And anyway, of course, this was just a spectacle for the stryker, who had already made his way around Helga and (to judge by his accelerated heartbeat) was preparing to attack. In order to seem even more frightened and helpless, Helga screamed into the darkness in front of her in a hysterical, trembling voice:

“All you strykers are COWARDS! All you do is hide and attack from the shadows! Come out here and fight like a man! Or are you frightened of a little woman?”

The whole time, she was standing with her back to the stryker, allowing him to get closer and trying not to miss the critical moment her mentor had always emphasized in his lessons on how to fight combat mages who relied on disguise or stealth.

She closed her eyes and froze. There it was! For just a second, his heartbeat skipped in its rhythm, and she could sense movement behind her with every fiber of her being.

Helga suddenly squatted down, and with one lightning-quick motion, she whipped Hakon’s sword out in front of her and launched herself back toward the stryker, repeating a move she used to perform in training. Had her master been alive to see it, he would certainly have praised her lightning-quick series of moves.

She felt a powerful blow; it actually cracked something in her wrist and sent a wave of pain through her shoulder, but a joyful smile nevertheless spread across Helga’s face. The stryker’s concentration had only been enough for two actions; he had decided to attack while still in stealth mode, and as a consequence he had opted to dispense with his magical shield.

His armor, made from the bones of some sort of Shadow beast, kept him safe from the steel, but the impact of the blow nevertheless threw the stryker back onto the floor and shattered what remained of his concentration.

The Frost Knight’s stealth disappeared, and he looked up to see Helga’s palm descending toward his cheek. She watched with a vicious grin as the man tried desperately to throw up a magical shield, although they both knew that he was just a second too late. In an instant, a blob of scarlet mana turned the Frozen Spear’s brain into porridge. Blood began to pour from the dead stryker’s eyes and ears.

Staggering backward, Helga raised herself up to her full height and glanced back at the door leading outside. In a second, however, her senses reassured her that there probably wouldn’t be any more enemies to fight — at least not that night...