Last Life

Book 8: Chapter 12

AS I WATCHED from a small hill as the new arrival filed in, I came to the conclusion that the people of Baron di Festa’s lands (or at least this particular headman and his retinue) had been living a very different lifestyle than the residents of Fort de Gris and its environs.

Their horses weren’t purebreds, but they were healthy and well-kept. Their wagons and carts were sturdy, their clothing and weapons simple but attractive. Put simply, these peasants of the fugitive Baron looked positively wealthy (or well-off, at the very least) in comparison to the population of the “capital.” That said, I also couldn’t help but notice their average age. They were mostly elderly.

Given that one of our patrols had met the caravan out at the approaches to the city, the headman of Bonvalle (for such was their village’s name) had almost certainly already asked my soldiers a few questions about the new Margrave by the time the caravan arrived.

For this exact reason, I made sure that the commanders of our patrol units were instructed beforehand about what to say during such encounters. They had certainly done a good job this time, because the old men were standing there, open-mouthed, as they looked around at the hubbub of activity in our camp. No doubt they had already noticed the quality and condition of our soldiers’ equipment, the cleanliness and order in the camp, and the herds of thoroughbred horses and livestock that the new Margrave had brought with him.

First, our guests were escorted to my healers, whom I kept on duty in shifts around the clock, and who were responsible for examining all the locals and anyone who might arrive in the city. Meanwhile, Lorin secretly got to work on their animals. Pestilence, after all, was the very last thing we needed. Either among humans or among livestock.

True, that wouldn’t be a risk while I was personally present. My golden gift enabled me to liquidate any infection, no matter how far it might have progressed. I had already proven that to my own satisfaction on a number of occasions. But I wouldn’t always be at the Fort. And diseases come in all shapes and sizes. Something could always come along that I wouldn’t be able to overpower. In light of that, and the fact that a strict quarantine was simply out of the question given the circumstances, a thorough examination by our healers was the next best thing. Thankfully, there were no epidemics (certainly nothing like that horrible blood fever) raging in Fort de Gris when we arrived.

The same was true for the animals. Lorin was very skilled, of course. He could detect maladies in the animals, and he knew what to feed them to counteract those maladies, but if the disease progressed beyond a certain point, he was powerless. They would have to be sent to the slaughter. We had the very best animals in Bergonia. Specially selected for future breeding purposes.

And some of our healers were true gifted, who had sworn an oath of loyalty to me personally before undergoing the transformation ritual. They, too, were extremely skilled, but they weren’t all-powerful. Eventually, I planned to create a second, similar unit, whose healers would use golden mana. But that wouldn’t happen for a very long time. I knew I would have to come to grips with my parasite first.

It was satisfied and malleable for the time being. I was giving it regular feedings of black energy. Little clots — nothing more. Thanks to this, I was able to keep working on transforming my energy channels and nodes in peace. At the same time, I also kept working on mastering the werefox webs. For the time being, it was just the ones that the lunari and I had managed to fish out of my dormant memories.

I was trying to be careful about expending energy. The most important task, for the time being, was transforming and strengthening my energy system. Assuming, of course, that I had correctly understood everything I had heard in that strange dream, the golden parasite that the spirits had referred to as a “gift” would eventually submit to my will. But when, exactly, could I expect that to happen?

I was certainly glad that the parasite wasn’t throwing itself on any convenient mana source like a ravenous wolf, the way it used to. Several small clots of black mana were normally enough to see me through a week, and then some. Even with that, though, the first black brut was already halfway empty.

As for what might happen when I finally ran out of black crystals... Well, I was thinking about that pretty much all the time. I had a supply of bruts on hand, as well as a supply back in the basement of the Fox Den. I could certainly have them sent to me. It would take time, of course, but it was doable.

But what about when those bruts ran out? I wasn’t planning to move north and start hunting Frost Knights any time soon. First and foremost, I needed to figure out what the Scarlets had been so intent on getting from Shadow Pass. What had the Gray Reaper discovered there, to make him move in so many soldiers?

Alas... Chevalier Duval had no idea about that. As I had already gathered, Baron di Festa was the one who had first made the discovery in Shadow Pass and passed the word to the Scarlets, and Duval’s relationship with him wasn’t exactly a friendly one.

Naturally, Duval and his people had their guesses. Each one more outlandish than the last. Despite the contradictory information, though, I had nevertheless managed to establish a few things with a fair degree of certainty. First, the destination: the place where the Scarlets’ unit of combat mages had been heading. Bone Grotto, they called it.

Unlike the Barrier I had crossed myself some time before, the Barrier in this place took the form of a big, rocky mountain range — hence the name Shadow Pass.

Nobody ever made their way into the Shadow through the mountains. And there were good reasons for that. First of all, there were no reliable paths. Frequent ebbs and flows usually altered the area beyond recognition in a very short span of time. Second, the flora and fauna were highly aggressive, having lived and bred in the Shadow-altered mountains for centuries by that point. Local hunters referred to these super-predators as chimeras. Meeting one of them was a death sentence, even for a large unit of experienced combat mages.

Long story short, nobody ever went very high up into the mountains. Local hunters ventured into the Shadow by going under the mountains, rather than over them. They used a series of Barrier-altered tunnels and shafts left behind by the great Empire. Somehow, a few of these had managed not to disappear or collapse over the centuries. That said, their interiors were completely transformed. So much so, in fact, that there was no vestige whatsoever to remind one of the fact that the tunnels had been created by human hands.

It goes without saying that these tunnels were dangerous after an ebb, but a solid unit of strykers could nevertheless stand a decent chance of making it into the Shadow by using them.

Long story short, Bone Grotto was one of the entrances into one of these tunnel networks, and it could be reached by traveling through the lands that had once belonged to the fugitive Baron. I was planning to pay the place a visit in the very near future...

Our guests barely had time to sit down and think after their examination by the healers (which they endured with admirable stoicism) before they found themselves at the mercy of Raymond, our priest. The wily old man quickly changed into his best outfit — a spacious, flowing black robe with gold-embroidered lettering and a deep-lilac hood. His servants were dressed more simply, but they were still presentable.

Seeing a real-life Priest of the Forefather (the chief god of the local pantheon) appear before them in the middle of this backwater came as a huge shock for the headman of Bonville and everybody else in the caravan. Which, of course, was the whole point.

At first, the peasants just stood there, eyes wide; a moment later, they all started falling to their knees, making a sort of circular sign across their chests as they did so. I could see that some of their shoulders were shaking as they knelt there with their heads down, and a number of them had to wipe their eyes on their sleeves. The priest had an even more powerful effect than I had anticipated. Those people were genuinely moved.

Reverend Raymond, however, didn’t seem at all surprised by the reaction he inspired among the peasants. He slowly approached the kneeling believers and began to expound something to them in a piercing, forceful bass. Like people in a trance, the peasants started shaking their heads from side to side, which caused their thick beards to tremble and whip back and forth as they moved. They were looking up at the priest as though he were the Forefather himself, come down from the heavens to bless his flock.

Judging by the way Reverend Raymond was periodically pointing to me with his big priestly finger, the second stage of our ideological campaign was already well underway.

As we had agreed, the priest had moved on to emphasize the fact that the new Margrave had brought law and order back to the land — a land that, by the way, he had first rid of the Scarlets and their despicable ringleader the Gray Reaper.

Finally, with the necessary dose of information administered, the representatives from the peasant community of Bonvalle turned and made their way toward me, led by their headman.

I met them where I was, sitting in my armchair beneath the canopy of my tent. Five strykers stood motionless behind me; Sigurd’s imposing face was prominent among them. Aelira had taken off on yet another hunt, together with a unit of hunters.

The peasants stopped a few paces away from me and fell to their knees once again, at which point the headman nervously snapped the fur cap off his head and began to speak in a dry voice:

“Your Lordship, Benevolent Master Margrave... We, the elders and headmen of the villages of the Barony of Festa, humbly present ourselves to you in order to express our deep reverence and loyalty. Each of us is responsible for the welfare of their society, and we’ve gathered here today as proof of our loyalty to you, the lawful ruler of this land. We thank you for the opportunity to present ourselves in your luminous sight, and we hope that under your wise leadership our lands will flourish and grow strong in peace and good order!”

Hm, I thought... For a peasant, this old man speaks with a lot of sophistication. Without stumbling once... Sure, Vestonian obviously isn’t his native language. But we can deal with linguistic obstacles later on.

As it turned out, this delegation wasn’t just from a single village: it contained headmen from several of them. I glanced at Chevalier Duval, who was standing a few paces away from me. He noticed my glance and merely shrugged, as if to say that this was as much a surprise for him as for me.

Which made sense, I guess... After all, how was he supposed to know the names and faces of every headman and elder in the country?

In my mind, I rubbed my hands together gleefully. Perfect, I thought. They had come on their own. I wouldn’t have to go chasing them around the forests and mountains. I couldn’t help wondering, though — how had they managed to react so quickly? Most likely, they had some winged postal service of their own.

The problem of how to spread news to the population at large, however, was just the tip of the iceberg. After all, I would have to make a binding decision here. Something was telling me that the quick reaction from the peasants was mainly the handiwork of this particular old man, who was staring intently at me from where he knelt on the ground. There wasn’t even a wisp of fear in his eyes. But there wasn’t any spark of cunning, either. More than anything, it was a mix of concern and a little bit of hope... It seemed like the old man probably carried a lot of weight in these parts. He had pushed through a decision to go kneel before the new Margrave, and now he was worried: what if that decision turned out to be a mistake?

“Please rise,” I said.

I spoke with restraint, but I still sounded confident. I wanted to make it clear to them all that I was used to giving orders. And more importantly, that I was used to seeing them obeyed immediately.

The elder from Bonville didn’t take much convincing. I could see it in his eyes — I had already made myself clear. And the expressions of his companions said the same. Apparently, they were already convinced that while the new Margrave might be young, he had certainly managed to win the respect of the people around him.

When the peasants stood up, I turned to the elder from Bonville:

“Your name?”

“Jacob the Gray, Your Lordship,” he said with a low bow.

“The Gray — that’s it?” I asked.

“They’ve been calling me that for a long time now,” the old man replied with a big smile. I certainly couldn’t deny it — his hair and beard were completely gray. “So long that I’m totally used to it, and I’ve forgotten my old name... Like I never even had one in the first place.”

He turned his head slightly to gesture at his companions, then added:

“Mind you, we’re all like that...”

The elders and headmen perked up and began nodding and murmuring their approval.

“Judging by your accent, I gather you were born somewhere else?” I moved on to my next question.

“Yes, Your Lordship,” the old man nodded. “My family came from the east. Came on a caravan. I was a little boy back then, when mom and dad decided to settle down in these lands...”

“Where specifically did you come from?” I wanted to know more, although I could tell by the old man’s face that he really wanted to keep his biography a secret.

“From Skaligrad,” he reluctantly admitted. From the unruffled looks on the faces of his companions, I could tell that this wasn’t news to them. “ It’s a small principality, right next to Snowburg.”

To be honest, this information wasn’t really all that useful. It was already clear that most of the people living in my Margraviate were settlers from other countries. Either refugees, or simply free farmers who had decided to start a new life in a new land.

I had only asked the question to give myself a short interval in which to scan the newcomers’ energy systems. While Jacob the Gray was speaking, I finished scanning the last peasant for any trace of a magical gift; not having found anything, I moved on to my next question:

“How many villages do you represent?”

“Three,” Jacob replied, before listing them off by name: “Bonvalle, Beaujolis, and Clairvaux.”

“Your Baron was certainly a pretty wealthy nobleman,” I said (keeping my tone respectful) before adding: “And I can tell by looking at you that he didn’t shake his peasants down too hard, either.”

Jacob the Gray didn’t seem at all put off by my words. Nor, for that matter, did anybody else in the group. They were obviously prepared for such a turn of events.

“You’re absolutely right, Your Lordship,” said Jacob the Gray. “Baron di Festa may have been strict, but he never took it too far. He never fleeced his peasants, although he didn’t neglect himself either. He knew we were free men, not serfs. If he had made our lives intolerable, we could have packed up and found ourselves a new master. That all changed when the Scarlets came, though.”

A shadow fell over the peasants’ faces. Jacob, however, just gritted his teeth as he continued:

“Those terrible devil-worshippers brought a lot of grief to our families. And Baron di Festa didn’t do anything to protect us. And in the end, he ran off with the last garrison of Red Cloaks when they left. He took a lot of our young men with him... So he not only abandoned us, but robbed us as he left. They took our horses and livestock... Our stores for the winter... They took almost everything. Many of our people starved to death over the winter. When we heard that the new Margrave de Valier had arrived, we hurried to meet you, in order to pay our respects and find out what we should do from here on.”

With that, Jacob the Gray bowed once more, and the rest of the peasants followed suit.

“Well,” I said loudly. “You were wise to come see me. And you’re absolutely right: by the will of His Majesty Carl III, I will henceforth be the rightful ruler of this land, and here, my word is law. As for your former master... By getting into bed with the Atalians, Baron di Festa became a traitor and lost the right to rule his Barony. His lands now belong to me, as do the villages within them. As law-abiding citizens of the Margraviate, you can rest assured of several things. Nobody will be taking your homes from you. Henceforth, you’re all under my protection. I won’t interfere with your way of life, either, unless of course there’s something in it that runs counter to the law. But we can talk more about that tomorrow. For now, you should rest and recover from your travels.”

Smiles of relief began to shine on the old men’s faces as I finished speaking. Jacob the Gray’s face was especially bright. Basically, he seemed to think I had handled everything perfectly!

All the same, though, there was no way we were going to let the elders spend the night in our army camp. So they set up a small encampment on the riverbank nearby. They didn’t want to spend the night in the city. And I could understand why.

I could have had a more detailed discussion with them that very evening, but I decided to give them a little time to rest, and also to get a closer look at the new power in the land. I wanted them to see that I was serious. And the old men took full advantage of the time I gave them.

At first, they spent some time in the city center — which, thanks to my people, had begun to liven up and transform a little bit. There, the old men paid another visit to the priest in his tent, where he was temporarily holding services while the main temple was being renovated. Then, from a distance, they examined the walls, which our teams were already hard at work repairing. They glanced warily down at the field hospital, where my healers were accepting new patients pretty much constantly. They took a walk in one of the central squares, which my seneschal had already divided up into a neat series of rows for market stalls where locals and merchants could rent a nice booth and canopy for the day.

Obviously impressed with the changes that were taking place in the city, the old men headed back to their camp, where they sat late into the night discussing what they had seen.

In Vaira’s absence, Selina played the role of spy for me. Just before I went to bed, she came and told me what the peasants had been talking about. After listening to what she had to say, I realized that I had done everything correctly. The elders were favorably impressed with what their new Margrave was doing. And that was after just one day. I planned to tell them about my future plans the following morning.

And after that, I planned to have a private conversation with Jacob the Gray. I was pretty sure that the old man would know something about his former master’s activities...