Last Life

Book 7: Chapter 26

AFTER ALL THE FORMALITIES around my meeting with Marshal di Lorenzo were sorted out (a process that took several days), I arrived at the bank of a small river, where the Atalian commander’s campaign tent had already been set up.

As I approached, I could see wonder and bemusement on the faces of the strykers in the Golden Lion’s bodyguard. After all, the only bodyguards I had brought with me were Aelira and a few werewolves. Basically, it was the same scouting unit I had sent to follow the Atalian forces in the first place.

Sigurd and the “Savages” were needed back at camp, where they could keep a close eye on the Atalian Prince. I couldn’t allow anything to happen to Adrian.

The lunari was also back at camp, but Ignia and the efirel had both come with me to the meeting. Or rather, they had both come to the SITE of the meeting ahead of time, in order to get a sense of the seriousness and genuineness of the Atalian Marshal’s intentions. And to my surprise, the Duke di Lorenzo hadn’t set a single trap or ambush. Apparently, he really just wanted to talk to me. This was further evidenced by the fact that he had come with only five strykers, none of whom were avants.

As I came within earshot and ordered my companions to halt as I continued my approach, the Marshal himself emerged from his tent.

For a few moments, we just stood there in silence, staring intently at each other. Despite his fifty years, the Duke di Lorenzo didn’t look a day over forty. A healthy, active lifestyle, plus the obvious attentions of a mage-healer, meant that the Marshal’s energy system was in excellent shape.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered, blond man with long, wavy locks and a handsome aristocratic face — I figured that the Duke di Lorenzo was probably pretty popular with the ladies. Basically, everything I had been told about his external appearance had turned out to be accurate.

The Duke di Lorenzo seemed every bit as intrigued by me as I was by him. Admittedly, his eyebrows rose slightly the first time he turned to look at me. But he suppressed any emotion in his expression almost immediately.

“Monsieur.” The Duke addressed me first; this was standard etiquette, considering that he was hosting the meeting. “You may not believe it, but I’m very happy to finally be meeting you.”

The Duke was smiling as he spoke. His Vestonian was impeccable. Only a barely-perceptible southern accent gave away the fact that it wasn’t his native language.

“I thank you, Monsieur,” I replied. “For my part, I have to say that your invitation intrigued me greatly. And it surprised me as well.”

“In what way?” The Duke asked.

“In that the infamous, invincible commander known popularly as the Golden Lion had any interest in meeting a bastard whom nobody’s ever heard of,” I said with a slight tilt of the head.

The Duke threw back his head and burst into uproarious laughter, which gave me a good look at his perfectly white and straight teeth. Hm, I thought... He’s obviously got a really good healer. I don’t think I’m wrong in saying they must be an avant.

“Don’t even try that, Monsieur,” said the Duke as he wiped away his tears with a handkerchief. “That trick won’t work with me. I know exactly who’s standing in front of me. Which is the exact reason that my army is moving toward the Atalian border right now, rather than into battle against yours.”

Hm, I thought to myself. He’s certainly speaking frankly. I guess I’ll answer with frankness of my own.

“I’m glad of that, I won’t deny it. I’ve never liked having to bury my people, and that battle would probably cost both of us very dearly indeed.”

The Duke di Lorenzo shook his head solemnly. He obviously appreciated the sentiment in my words.

“I suppose you’re probably hungry after your journey?” He changed the subject as he gestured toward the entrance to his tent, before adding: “I suggest we continue this conversation at table. Alas, I can’t boast much sophistication or variety in terms of food... But I think my wine might have some surprises in store for you. How do you feel about southern varietals?”

“My very favorites,” I answered honestly as I followed the Marshal into his tent.

Despite the outward friendliness and courtesy in our conversation, the tension in the air was palpable. It was the kind of tension that usually hung in the air when two predators eyed one another across the boundary between their respective territories. When neither was planning to attack, but circumstances meant that plans might change at any moment. One wrong move — one offensive word or passing glance that an opponent might interpret differently — and the encounter might erupt into bloodshed.

The expression on the Duke di Lorenzo’s face, and the activity in his energy system, suggested that the Duke di Lorenzo was experiencing exactly the same emotions...

It was quite bright inside the tent, and very warm. Actually, I’d say it was decidedly hot. As we sat down at the big, wide table, which had already been set in accordance with every rule of etiquette, the Duke recoiled ever so slightly and rubbed his palms together.

“This cursed damp,” he complained as he noticed my quizzical expression. “I still can’t get used to the climate here. The constant rains, the gloomy mountains, the impenetrable fog, and the damnable wetness that seems to seep into one’s marrow... A cold, savage country.”

Well, I thought — you should have stayed home. You could be eating grapes and swimming in the warm ocean... Out loud, however, I said something quite different:

“They say the rainy season will be here soon, and that the frosts start as soon as that’s over. Not the best time for long journeys.”

The Duke looked at me, and a smile of understanding spread across his lips. I had tacitly confirmed his assumption that my army wouldn’t be pursuing him into Atalia.

“They also say that next year’s going to be just as cold and rainy as this one — maybe even the year following,” the Duke replied, looking me firmly in the eyes as he spoke. “Long journeys will have to be put off for quite some time.”

An obvious hint that my army would have nothing to do in Atalia anyway. And that nobody would be disturbing me from that quarter for several years to come. As I had suspected, the Duke di Lorenzo had decided to take care of business in his homeland.

“And anyone who IS planning a long journey would do best to head south, or maybe east,” I replied, my eyes still locked on his. “The climate’s nicer, and the locals are more welcoming.”

The Duke di Lorenzo’s eyebrows shot up. Well, come on, I thought — what did you expect? Neither of us was planning to sit around twiddling his thumbs for the next few years. Bergonia would be ready for a new invasion.

Just then, our conversation was interrupted by a well-dressed, middle aged man. Carefully attired and clean-shaven, he stepped over and poured wine into our glasses; then, with a courteous bow (but without any superfluous obsequiousness, he asked if he could begin bringing the food in.

The Duke just nodded silently, and over the following minutes the table began to fill with dishes of fire-grilled game, three different types of cheese, pate, and freshly-baked bread. A true display of wealth, by the standards of this world. Especially considering that, because of the war, most of the locals in this part of the country would probably face death by starvation before too long.

As the servants set the table, we sat there in silence, taking only the occasional sip from our silver goblets of wine. The Duke hadn’t been lying: this southern varietal was really tasty. And there was no poison in it, by the way... Lorin, who had been totally certain that they would try to poison me, had just lost our bet.

After the Duke’s servants left the tent, we sat down to eat. We ate in silence, unhurriedly, exchanging occasional glances as we studied one another.

Finally, the Duke broke the silence. After wiping his lips with a napkin, he locked his gaze on me and said:

“I’ll be honest, Monsieur: the first thing that surprised me when I saw you approaching on your horse was your youth. You’re clearly younger than my page. For a moment, I even thought that the Margrave de Valier had sent his squire to cancel our meeting. The look in your eyes, however, dispelled any remaining doubt. It was like the eyes of a grown man, looking out at me from a young man’s body. Do you know what the priests of the Scarlet Temple told me about you? They say you’re a demon in human form. And that I must get rid of you as soon as possible.”

Wow, I thought... If only you knew how close to the truth that actually was...

“Hm,” I shook my head. “It’s strange to hear that coming from a bunch of demon-worshippers.”

The Duke di Lorenzo chuckled, obviously having taken my words as a joke. Which was fine — no harm in having him think I was joking. He would simply be in for a bit of a surprise at some point.

“Now that I’ve seen you with my own eyes and spoken to you, I’m more than certain that you’re not a demon at all,” the Duke continued with a smile. “You’re a talented, goal-oriented young man who’s prepared to compromise — a man with whom one can carry on a dialogue. More to the point, you’re someone with whom one can negotiate. Which, as it happens, is exactly why I proposed that we meet.”

“I’m all ears, Monsieur,” I nodded.

I could tell that the Duke di Lorenzo wasn’t going to beat around the bush; and sure enough, he looked me right in the eyes and continued:

“I need Prince Adrian. And I’m prepared to discuss ransom terms for His Highness.”

“Well...” I leaned back on my chair.

To be honest, I had predicted something like this when I first received the Duke’s invitation.

“We both know very well that you’ll be getting similar offers from other quarters in the very near future,” the Duke continued with a haughty smile. “I don’t think I’d be mistaken if, for example, I were to assume that as we speak, a messenger from the King of Atalia is headed toward your army from the south, and that another one is headed to you from the west — from the King of Vestonia. Carl has almost certainly been informed of your victory in the battle against the Duke di Spinola, and he knows that you’ve got Prince Adrian in captivity. I know him too well... I’d swear by all the gods that Carl’s already got a messenger on the road.”

I wasn’t about to answer. With an imperturbable look on my face, I just sat there and waited for him to continue.

“I prefer to call things like I see them,” the Duke continued. My reaction hadn’t thrown him off in the least. “On the one hand, you got very lucky indeed... The heir to the throne is a very valuable trophy, worth a massive ransom no matter what the circumstances. On the other hand, though, having the future King of one of the most powerful governments in Mainland as a personal enemy isn’t exactly an enviable situation. Prince Adrian will never forgive you his humiliation, and he will most certainly try to avenge himself. He will forever be remembered as the King who was purchased for three barrels of gold, or exchanged for some borderland barony. Believe me — neither my King nor your King will give you much more than that (especially your King). Knowing Carl, he’ll probably just order you to give him the Prince without any ransom whatsoever. And he won’t give a tinker’s curse that this prisoner is yours by right. So in the end, Prince Adrian will hang onto his grudge, and sooner or later he’ll try to seek revenge on you...”

“Do you mean to say that you can offer me something more?” I asked.

“Exactly,” the Duke exclaimed as he tapped his fingertips against the edge of the table. “I propose an exchange. I’ll give you Prince Philippe, and you give me Prince Adrian. What do you say?”

His mouth widened into a big, predatory grin. I felt like lion’s fangs might pop out at any moment.

With feigned surprise and anxiety, I leaned forward just a little bit. I wanted him to think that I hadn’t known about Prince Philippe’s fate until that moment.

It seemed to work, because he turned up the pressure. Like a traveling trickster, who had managed to snag the attention of a gullible bystander, he was trying to carry me away into his hypnosis.

“You can be sure that you won’t be getting three barrels of gold from MY King,” the Duke continued with a laugh. “But just think of how delighted Carl will be when you save his eldest son from captivity! You’ll return home a hero! Your King will shower you with honors and all manner of riches! Believe me — he will. Nobody would understand it if he didn’t.”

Somehow, none of that seemed very plausible to me... In fact, any joy Carl felt at me saving Prince Philippe would probably be vastly outweighed by his anger at me letting Prince Adrian go.

“What makes you think that I would have any problem with my King doing exactly what you described a moment ago?” I asked. “I could give him Prince Adrian and let him sort out his son’s exchange himself.”

The Duke di Lorenzo leaned back against his own chair; narrowing his eyes slightly, he said:

“Alas... If you do that, it’ll lead to a catastrophe for you personally. You’d be driving yourself into a trap. Let’s suppose for a moment that you received an order from your King — right here, right now — that told you to send Prince Adrian to the capital with all possible speed. You, as a faithful and obedient subject of your King, would therefore reject my offer and comply with your King’s instructions. Here’s what would happen after that... Very soon, Carl III and the entire Vestonian court would learn that you had opted not to secure the release of His Majesty’s eldest son (and likely heir to the throne) when you had the chance. You, in turn, would try to justify yourself by citing the order you had received, at which point Carl himself would accuse you — very rightly, as it happens — of failing to inform him that his son was in captivity in the first place. After all, the King couldn’t have known about Prince Philippe’s captivity at the time he sent you his original message. Put simply, they’d make you into a scapegoat. Carl will never, ever admit to being guilty of anything. He’s a King, right?! In the end, your brilliant victories would soon be forgotten, and you would go down in history not as the savior of Bergonia and Vestonia, but as the man who was content to see the eldest Prince languish in captivity.”

I’ll admit it: the Duke di Lorenzo had given voice to something I was already thinking. And while of course he was trying to dramatize the picture and make his offer look as appealing as possible, I couldn’t deny that he was basically right.

Besides everything he had said, there was another factor that had to be considered as well... The army currently at my disposal meant that I was the only effective power not only in Bergonia, but in Vestonia as well. Of course, the King could always call for a new army to be assembled, and nobles from all across his Kingdom would answer his call. Not all of them, certainly, but most of them would probably make an appearance. But how long would that take? Months would pass before Carl could possibly have a new army ready at his disposal.

And while he waited, the knowledge that a battle-ready army with a string of proven victories to its name — composed mostly of mercenaries, hangmen, and savage mountain men, and commanded by an unpredictable traitor’s bastard — was lurking somewhere nearby... Well, that was bound to make him feel uncomfortable.

The last thing I wanted was for the King to see me as a threat. Sure, Carl might not be long for this world. The black parasite would probably devour him very soon, but not soon enough to prevent him from lashing out at me and my loved ones. Not even Jacques and my nisse working together could hold off an attack by a unit of the King’s Shadows.

“But that’s not all.” The Duke di Lorenzo snapped his fingers to call me back from my contemplative daze. “There’s also another reason for Carl to be concerned about his eldest son being in captivity. Everyone already knows that your King is dying of his wounds. And while he hasn’t declared an heir yet, Prince Philippe will be the legal heir to the throne upon his death. Sure, he’s in captivity today, but who’s to say that tomorrow this same Prince might not serve as a banner around which to rally all those who want to free Vestonia from that horrible little dwarf and his accomplices — the people who’ve been using the King’s illness to take control of the country for their own benefit? I’m sure that the Atalian aristocracy could be convinced to support Prince Philippe’s bid for the throne, and that they would send an army to punish the traitorous dwarf and restore the rightful heir to his throne.”

Hm, he thought... I think he’s actually reading my mind.

“Many Vestonian noblemen would flock to such an army’s colors,” the Marshal continued. “The Duke de Bauffremont, for example.”

“Oh!” I had to look surprised again. “He’s alive, then?”

“And in excellent health, thanks to my personal healer,” the Marshal smiled. “The Duke de Bauffremont is my prisoner.”

“In that case, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that this genius plan actually came directly from Prince Philippe’s beloved uncle,” I snickered.

“You’re quite perceptive, Monsieur,” the Duke nodded with a cunning smile. “Can you imagine how happy he’d be to hear that his beloved nephew has been freed from captivity? He’d be forever indebted to the man who had saved him.”

“What does the Prince’s father-in-law-to-be think of all this?” I asked. “The Duke de Gondy?”

“I have no idea,” replied the Golden Lion. “The last time I saw him, he was galloping west as fast as his horse could carry him. I received reports that the Duke de Gondy was badly wounded in the battle. Which reminds me!”

The Duke di Lorenzo tapped his fingertips lightly against his temple and rolled his eyes.

“It completely slipped my mind up till now! I’ve got some good news for you personally. One of your cousins, Francois de Gramont, is alive. Although to be honest, he refused to meet with you. I wanted to bring him with me. As a gesture of goodwill, I’d be happy to add him to the exchange alongside Prince Philippe. The Duke de Bauffremont, alas, isn’t part of the deal. He’ll require a nice ransom.”

“I thank you, Your Grace,” I shook my head. “But there’s no need. I’ll leave the ransom to my cousin’s generous and loving father. I wouldn’t dream of taking such a wealthy prisoner from you without compensation. Any word on his elder brother, by the way?”

“Alas, no,” the Duke shrugged, his eyes still locked firmly on mine. My rejection of his offer to free my cousin seemed to have surprised him a little bit. “And there’s really no margin of error, either — I made special inquiries as to his fate before meeting with you... So, what have you decided? Shall we exchange Princes?”

I had already decided the answer to that question before coming to the meeting. With a small circle of my closest comrades, I had run through all my options and their various consequences. One of them would be to exchange the Princes, and simply accept the risks that such a decision would entail for me personally. Freeing Philippe from captivity was certainly my preferred option. And it was also the more profitable one...

Besides, after a few sessions with me and the lunari, Prince Adrian was feeling very ready to return home. The Duke di Lorenzo obviously didn’t intend to do him any harm. It seemed that my assumptions about an imminent change in management in Atalia were correct. The Golden Lion intended to place Adrian on the throne.

“I agree — but there’s a “but,”“ I replied, to which the Duke responded with an audible sigh of relief. “The only problem is that I don’t see this as a completely fair exchange. I suspect you understand that very well already.”

“Ah, you’ve decided to negotiate!” The Marshal exclaimed as he rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Well — I’m all ears! What do you propose?”

Under the Golden Lion’s predatory gaze, I picked up my glass and took a small sip. I set it back down on the table, took a moment to savor the superb flavor of the wine, then replied with a mischievous smile:

“Your Grace, the treasures in your wagon train are already the stuff of legend among my men. How would you feel about lifting the curtain on those legends, ever so slightly? Who knows — maybe you have something that might come in handy for me?”