Last Life

Book 8: Chapter 11

A WEEK HAD PASSED since the day of our arrival at Fort de Gris, although it felt like no more than a short day.

I wasn’t in any hurry to settle into the castle’s keep. It would have to be cleaned up a little bit first. All the old, mouse-ridden, stinky junk would have to be thrown out, the roof and walls would need to be repaired, new windows and doors would need to be installed.

A cadre of builders from Romont was already hard at work on all this; they had come to Gondreville from Romont the previous autumn, and I had signed a long-term contract with their foreman.

Unlike the refugees, these builders had no intention of bringing their families to join them (at least not yet). Exchanging the comforts of the capital for a backwater Margraviate on the border with the Shadow would have been far too bold a step for a comfortable and well-respected brigade of craftsmen. Besides that, we didn’t even have anywhere to live yet.

To help address this, my people were working in gradual stages to lay out a superb field camp atop a big, elongated hill with a broad river running along its base. As they did so, of course, they were keeping in mind that it would only be needed for about a year.

That said, the camp could well develop into a city of its own, with houses taking the place of the tents. To account for this possibility, we established an orderly layout for the camp with extra space between the rows of tents, as well as designated spots for smithies, cowpens, and stables. After all, cities used to develop from the army camps of a very famous ancient empire in my own world. I’ll admit, however, that I wasn’t planning anywhere near that far in advance quite yet. I knew that we had bigger priorities that would need to be handled first.

And I took care of one of them right away by conducting a thorough examination of the fortress and the settlement surrounding it (which must have gotten labeled a “city” due to some sort of misunderstanding). I wanted to see the quality of the walls, towers, gates, and other key points with my own eyes, and also check every single square inch of the place for any secret stashes — and any magic booby traps that the Scarlets might have left for us.

In the end, I came to the conclusion that the keep (which was basically a mini-castle all its own) had been built by Mage-Artificers. It looked like a pretty solid structure. Everything that had grown up around it, however, was clearly the work of less-gifted people.

As for booby traps and stashes... I didn’t find a single one of the former, but I found about two dozen of the latter. Most of them, by the way, were scattered throughout the town itself, rather than the fortress.

Mostly, they were simple deposits in basements and attics, apparently left by former owners who (judging by the characteristic magical emanations) had been true gifted.

There wasn’t much of value in those small stashes. Mostly, it was just silver coins, cheap jewelry, and other trinkets like that. There had clearly been some bigger stashes in the fortress itself, but they had all been opened and emptied. Either the former owners had taken their goods with them when they left, or the Scarlets had a pretty competent treasure hunter in their ranks.

The condition of the city and the fortress suggested that the Gray Reaper hadn’t paid much attention to the upkeep of either place. According to Chevalier Duval, Master di Lanzi had taken advantage of Baron di Festa’s hospitality. The Scarlets had used his castle as a base. Fort de Gris, by contrast, held just a small garrison, which ironically ended up being the only unit of Scarlets to survive the war.

I still hadn’t made it to Baron di Festa’s lands, or those of Baron de Vilar, but I knew that the “capital” of my Margraviate had to take priority. Especially since the fugitive Baron probably hadn’t left us anything valuable in his castle, and the executed Baron de Vilar’s lands were probably still engulfed in chaos...

While I was busy examining and assessing the condition of all my new property, a permanent garrison had already begun its period of service in the fortress. The city and its environs, meanwhile, were being patrolled by a unit of the March Guards, who all had my sigil emblazoned on their clothing and armor — the product of an entire winter’s hard work by Gondreville’s seamstresses and armorers.

Establishing control of the key routes in and out of the city would be a vital step in preventing any potential marauding or banditry. The core of the garrison that would ensure such control was already in place. We hadn’t wasted any time during the preceding winter. All we really had to do were make a few adjustments to the plan, to account for the specifics on the ground. And that’s exactly what my commanders were doing.

I would have liked to summon all the local leaders, headmen, or whatever other influential people were still alive. I felt certain that there still WERE such people, but unfortunately none of them seemed to be in any hurry to get in touch with me.

Sure, we had some conversations with a few of the more reasonable-minded locals (people who, for the most part, simply had nowhere to flee to outside the city), but they seemed pretty reluctant to share any information with us.

We had to loosen their tongues with some truth serum, but even then they really didn’t have anything specific to say. They merely confirmed our working assumptions. After giving them a little money and ordering that they be fed, I sent the poor people on their way with my blessing; this was a pleasant surprise to most of them, but they were also slightly puzzled by the experience. As it turns out, they were all expecting to meet a grisly end in the keep’s torture chamber, as so many had under the Scarlets.

Whatever the case, though, at least we had finally established contact. As the Margrave and the new master of these lands, I was consciously playing the role of a wise and just ruler who was prepared to listen to his people, find out what they were dealing with, and simultaneously make it clear to everyone in the Margraviate that order had come to this unruly, chaotic land.

And I had already started demonstrating my sincerity in that regard. My soldiers were already patrolling and examining all the roads and alleys in the cities; moreover, they maintained a friendly attitude while they did it, although they stuck strictly to their orders. I wanted it known that this attitude was what the population should expect from the Margrave de Valier’s people.

Given such good behavior, and the fact that my seneschal’s minions had been spreading word among the people that these same soldiers were the very men who had so recently wiped out a huge part of the Atalian army, I expected that the city elders would make an appearance any day.

One of the main stimuli, though, would undoubtedly be the news about provisions. That much was clear after one look at the faces of the locals as they watched our baggage train roll by. News that a huge quantity of food had just arrived in the city would spread like wildfire across the land, and before long it would send living rivulets of people from the surrounding towns and hamlets pouring into the city. Hans had reported as much to me the previous day, with a cunning smile on his face.

Long story short, the situation in the settlements all along the route of our march to Fort de Gris was basically the same as it had been in the first days of our campaign along the Imperial track, when the army was still officially under the command of Viscount de Leval. Every town, every tiny village, was completely empty. The locals had hurried into the forests, trying to get as far away from our forces as possible.

The quality of the road, on the other hand, came as a very pleasant surprise. More than once, I found myself thanking the late Alberto di Lanzi for the repairs he had made to my Margraviate’s main road, which was known locally as the Northern track. Apparently, the Scarlets had used it quite a lot as they hauled off everything they had stolen. They didn’t even skimp when it came to bridges, either: several of them had been completely restored.

As soon as we arrived in Fort de Gris, therefore, I sent Vaira to Baron Reese with a message about the condition of the roads and orders to set off for my Margraviate with our main army and wagon train. We would have plenty of time to prepare for their arrival while they were en route.

In a separate message, I reminded Baron Reese not to take his eyes off of Viscount d’Angland and his noble friends, whom I had saved from their miserable fate in that underground dungeon.

At first, the scions of the traitorous western nobles had kept quiet and made themselves scarce. Due to the ordeal their Atalian captors had put them through (especially its dietary aspects), some of them had only recently recovered.

As soon as all these gentlemen-aristocrats felt better, however, they started to show their true colors. The best thing the geniuses could think of was to gather all their things and head back to Herouxville in one big pack. Once there, they would ask for an audience with Carl III, whom they genuinely considered to be the most just and wise monarch in all Mainland.

“Of course His Majesty will hear us out and understand!” The Viscount d’Angland had assured me that day; it was clear that he spoke for the whole group. “We’re completely confident that if the King gets a chance to hear our side of the story, he’ll let us return to our lands immediately. And once we’re there, if it pleases the gods, our relatives might get a royal pardon too...”

True, the Viscount was a lot quieter as he uttered that last sentence, and he didn’t sound confident in the possibility at all. I knew that even HE probably didn’t believe what he was saying.

After hearing the Viscount d’Angland out, I read the message I had received from the capital aloud to him and his friends. It concerned him and his father directly, and it was obvious that its terms would apply to his friends and their families as well.

In that message, Susanna Marino told me that all the lands of the traitors had reverted to the Crown, and the traitors themselves (as well as all their children) had been declared outlaws. Any one of them who showed his face in Vestonia could expect arrest and prison, followed by a trial and (most likely) execution. The Count d’Angland and his son would be hanged as common criminals. I was completely certain of that.

Alas, I didn’t have any information about the Viscount’s wife and son. Most likely, though, the Viscountess had probably moved back in with her father, the Count de Brionne, who had taken no part in the betrayal.

At the end of our conversation, when Viscount d’Angland looked completely crushed, I said:

“Monsieur, I must recommend that you calm your friends down immediately. Every one of you needs to stay cautious, and trust me for the time being. It’s the only way I’m going to be able to keep you alive.”

“Monsieur,” the Viscount replied in a hushed voice. “My friends and I are grateful to you for saving us, and for your concern about our fates. I know the risk you’re taking by hiding us here in the Citadel... Nevertheless, despite what we’ve just heard, some of my friends are still intent on returning to the capital with the first caravan. It’s a matter of honor!”

The Viscount straightened his back and raised his head with pride. The look in his eyes told me that he was one of the people who were determined to head back north.

“I see,” I said. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid they won’t get very far.”

“What?” The Viscount was surprised. “But — “

“My people will turn them around, and they’ll have no choice but to return to the Citadel,” I interrupted him politely but firmly. “When they do, however, they won’t be returning as guests — they’ll be treated as prisoners from that point on.”

The Viscount d’Angland looked shocked.

“Please don’t look at me like that, Monsieur,” I sighed. “I understand everything. Matters of honor... The agony of uncertainty and vague information... But you must understand where I’m coming from as well. As soon as any one of you ends up in the hands of the royal chancery, it won’t be long before they know exactly who’s keeping the rest of your friends out of the hands of royal justice. As you’ve probably already guessed, I have no intention of taking that risk. Please make sure your friends understand that.”

“Why are you doing this?” The Viscount suddenly asked as he stared back at me quizzically. “Why are you taking this risk in the first place? Please, though — be honest with me.”

I leaned back on my chair, staring back at him for a moment, and then replied:

“Alright, then... First of all, it’s because I truly think you’re being treated unfairly. You fought for your King and shed your blood on the battlefield for his cause. Yes — in trying to save you, your father betrayed his King, and his actions got a lot of our men killed. But you shouldn’t have to bear responsibility for your father’s actions, and nor should your friends. And finally, second of all... The King is at death’s door. When he passes from the scene, the Princes will plunge immediately into a bloody battle for the throne. Battle lines will be drawn between east, south, and north. But there’s also the west... I don’t think anyone there will be very excited about the King’s decision to confiscate all their lands. And it just so happens that I have the scions and heirs of the west’s most influential noble families staying with me in my Citadel as we speak... In other words, I hope that what I’m actually doing right now is saving the lives of some future allies. Think carefully about what I’ve just told you, Viscount...”

Our conversation took place right before I left for my Margraviate. The Viscount left my office in a state of anxious pensiveness, and neither he nor any of his friends made any further attempts to return to Vestonia afterward. Still, though, I preferred to play it safe. I knew Baron Reese would be able to handle the task.

Besides, the Count de Poitiers was on the scene as well. Once again, the old Marshal had surprised me. It turned out that he completely shared my opinion regarding the young aristocrats and their basic innocence. And therefore, he promised to keep an eye on them for me...

Over the past month, as I finally got a chance to survey the lands that the King had conferred upon me, I eventually came to the conclusion that things weren’t really all that bad. To be perfectly honest, I had expected worse.

Sure, the entire area was one big scene of desolation and destruction. The Margraviate, which hadn’t been very populous in the first place, had become almost entirely depopulated. The local communities had fled as far as they could when they heard of our approach, but the traces they left behind made it clear that they were pretty small even at the best of times.

Long story short, there was a huge amount of arable land in my domain that was open for settlement. Further, the peasant collectives and families that were supposed to arrive at the end of spring — the people to whom I was planning to lease the land — wouldn’t be meeting resistance from the locals when they arrived.

Of course, some conflicts were bound to pop up from time to time. But those could be handled by local magistrates, whom I was planning to handpick personally (at least for the time being). In time, once the situation in the Margraviate settled down a bit, and some natural leaders with reputations for honesty had emerged, the magistracies would become elective...

My Margraviate was particularly appealing to the Mertonians, especially the Glenns. The forests, which the peasants had once worked to clear and used as a source of wood, were starting to grow back pretty rapidly. The woods were expanding, swallowing up former fields and pastures that had long since been abandoned.

With no humans around to scare them off, the wild beasts had returned to the forests. Chevalier Duval told me that over the last few years, the animal populations had exploded. Deer, wild boars, and rabbits abounded, and predators like wolves and lynx had moved in to take advantage of that abundance.

Along the route of our march, I saw that dead trees were being left to stand until they fell down on their own. Their dry branches and trunks added to the general sense of desolation, but at the same time they provided a new home for a multitude of small animals and insects.

The region’s human population may have dropped precipitously, but its rivers and forests were teeming with life. When we arrived at Fort de Gris, the Glenns and the true gifted among the mountain men split up into small units and set off into the nearby forests to hunt. At the same time, they did some scouting.

I knew that before long, the boldest of the locals would start venturing out toward the city, and when they did I planned to entice them to help rebuild the fortress and restore order in the city.

They wouldn’t have to work for free, of course. I planned not only to feed them, but also to pay them in cash for their work — cash that they could then spend in Fort de Gris’ central market, which my seneschal was planning to have up and running within a few days.

Even before we left Gondreville, we had some idea of what we would discover when we arrived, and so we came with a huge supply of provisions and fodder — enough for our own use, and an extra supply to kick-start the local market. In addition to that, we had several wagons packed full of all sorts of household necessities. Tools, clothes, fabric, simple decorations, lamp oil, candles, etc.

The place hadn’t seen a merchant for a very long time, so a real-live market (especially one where the prices weren’t jacked up by a factor of ten) was bound to stimulate interest and bring at least some of my new subjects flocking into town.

One of the most important items on my to-do list was a renovation of the local Temple of the Forefather and the Most Luminous Mother, which the Scarlets had used for their own dirty deeds during the period of their rule.

As for what had become of the local priest of the ancient gods, I had no idea. We had brought a new priest and two acolytes with us. The old man had come to me on his own initiative and asked to accompany me to my Margraviate, in order to bring the prodigal flock there back to the true faith.

Basically, he beat me to the punch, which I was only too happy for him to do. It meant I didn’t have to go around trying to convince anyone to leave their warm, comfortable parish and drag themselves off into the unknown.

The old priest turned out to be insistent and stubborn, but also very active, which impressed me a great deal. True, at first he tried to work his religious manipulations on me, but I wasn’t having any of it.

I had to put him quickly and firmly back on track, by reminding him not to waste his energy on me when there was a whole new flock out there in need of a shepherd. Also, I assured the old priest that his temple wouldn’t lack for donations from my treasury.

In the end, we were pretty happy with each other’s attitude, and the old man promised that he would do everything in his power to make sure the Margrave de Valier was painted in complimentary terms in front of the parishioners. The locals needed to understand that real power had returned to their lands. We weren’t just the same fanatical robbers in a different guise.

Eventually, our working assumptions were proven correct. One day, a small caravan of locals rolled into Fort de Gris. I’ll be honest: they weren’t exactly the people I was expecting to see first. Chevalier Duval informed me that the leader of the caravan was the headman of the largest village in the fugitive Baron’s domains.