Death After Death Ch. 48-49 (Patreon)

Ch. 48 - End of the Road

They went south for three days, though they didn’t go particularly fast to avoid wearing out the horse. Given that now they were sleeping on the hard bed of the wagon between a row of crates and the wall, Simon considered this a real improvement. In his mind, nothing was wrong with being pressed against a woman as lovely as Freya every night, but he knew it wasn’t permanent. They couldn’t just stay in the wagon forever. It was no way to live.

The first two villages they stopped in seemed too small for strangers like them to fit in. Still, they were a fine place to settle for the night. Now they claimed to be peddlers to befit their wagon instead of adventurers, though Simon had no idea what he should charge for the random pots and cutlery the previous owner had been selling, and as Mr. and Mrs. Jackoby, sellers of odds and ends, they seemed to treated much better than Simon the adventurer and his companion Freya.

Simon spent a whole afternoon just searching the back of the thing, and it seemed like the previous owner had just stolen whatever wasn’t nailed down and taken it on the road with him. There were copper kettles, cast iron cookware, knives of various quality, strings of garlic, a box of potatoes, and a half-full bag of flour. These were hardly the trade goods he’d have expected of a merchant in a fantasy world. There wasn’t a scrap of dragon hide or a vial of fairy dust to be had.

Still, they received a warm enough welcome thanks to his silver, and Simon and Freya put the inn’s beds to good use most nights. He still couldn’t understand her, though. Sometimes she seemed like she was falling for him, and other times he half expected to wake up and find her gone. This mystery was finally resolved when she said, “You know, I always thought that when someone proposed to me, it would be more romantic, but I don’t think there’s a single romantic bone in your body Simon Jackoby!” during one of their tiffs.

“Married?” Simon asked dumbly, not connecting the dots.

“What? You’re keen enough to sleep with me and to introduce me as your wife, and now you’re going to what… say that it was all some big act just for show?” He could hear the fury in her voice getting ready to erupt if he made a misstep here. However, he wasn’t quite sure what to do, so he tried to channel his inner rom-com again, even as his mind grappled with the fact that this might not be the random fling he thought it was.

“I would be delighted for everyone to know you’re my wife,” he said finally as he pulled her down to sit on the bed beside him, “But I don’t want you to be with me because you know - you have to. Danger and zombies aren’t very romantic, but—”

Freya eventually shut him up by kissing him before he could ruin the moment. “You stupid, stupid man,” she said softly, “how could I not love the man that saved my life!”

Simon really didn’t know what to say after that. He’d only ever dated two women longer than six months, and both of those had ended poorly a decade ago. He was pretty sure that he’d proposed to Freya just now, or she’d proposed to him. He honestly wasn’t sure which, so in the end, he just held her while he tried to sort out his feelings about what had happened and how he felt about it.

Regardless though, she was in better spirits after that, so on the fifth day of their journey away from the undead, they found another small village, and while Freya was busy at the inn restocking their supplies and trading them a little bit of this, for a little bit of that, he took a trip over to the blacksmith and paid the man the scraps of gold that would be leftover to turn one of his coins into a nice ring for his girl. In the end, it was an ugly thing, and he was sure he’d tragically overpaid for it, but she loved it just the same. They both agreed it was a strange relationship and an even stranger courtship, but what could they do with the world falling apart like this?

“I always thought I’d save up a decent dowry and marry one of the men that worked the river boats or maybe one of the city guards,” she said one night, lying next to him. They’d managed to sell or trade almost half the crap in the back of the wagon now, so there was actually room to lay down. “But a foreigner with a strange accent and a knack for killing monsters? Never.”

Simon didn’t really know what to say either. He never expected to fall for, well - anyone, really. Anyone that wasn’t a 2d waifu anyway, but here he was, holding a half-naked woman that might even stay with him once the danger passed. It seemed too good to be true, but he vowed to enjoy it for as long as he could.

. . .

On day eight, they exited the woods they’d been riding through on a particularly dreary day and discovered Crowvar. They’d known it was coming from the last couple of villages they’d gone through. Apparently, the little town that occupied a strategic hilltop location in the otherwise flat region they’d been traveling through wasn’t considered the nicest place. The reputation of their lord, Baron Raithewait, wasn’t considered the best either, but he had something no one else had so far: walls, and that was enough for Simon to decide that this might be the place.

The quaint little town with its tightly packed houses and their red-tiled roofs spilled out from behind its city wall and part way down the slope, and it wasn’t a proper castle that protected it, but that was still good enough. For Simon, a small and imposing keep beat life on the road indefinitely. He was tired of looking over his shoulder, and he would never know if what was growing between him and Freya was real until they could settle down and have a normal life together. Not that he really knew what normal was in all this.

Once they reached the town, Simon saw the buildings weren’t in the best shape, but the guard at the gate did give him many problems. He just asked them for their names and their business and sent them on their way. Simon paid for a week at the inn, which definitely wasn’t the worst place he’d been to, and then they did some exploring. The market was hardly thriving, but they discovered there were enough artisans and craftsmen they’d be able to get his needs addressed regarding armor and a new backpack, which he didn’t really need but desperately wanted.

“Well,” he asked Freya after they’d finished wandering around the place in a few hours. “Could you see yourself staying here a while?”

Simon had explained his desire to find somewhere defensible, and she’d agreed with that, but despite the lovely chapel and the reasonably friendly people, she didn’t seem convinced.

“I mean, it’s nice enough,” she said, holding his hand, “but it’s hard to think of any place as home when I don’t speak the local tongue.”

Simon swallowed hard. He hadn’t realized that they’d transitioned to a new region or country or whatever, and he had no idea that he’d switched languages at some point. He’d wanted to ask her when exactly it was that he stopped speaking northern and started speaking southern, but he really didn’t want to explain one more strange thing about him just yet.

Instead, he said, “That’s fair. I understand.”

Her answer was good enough for him, though, and first thing in the morning, he decided to see if Lord Raithewait was receiving visitors, so he went to talk to the man’s guards. As it turned out, the answer was rarely, but when he explained that he was a mercenary that could be useful if trouble made it this far south, they told him they would see if there was any need for his services.

Simon honestly didn’t think he’d be hearing from the Baron and set about trying to find a cottage that they could buy or how it was that you got one built in the era before DIY and general contractors, but he didn’t have much luck there either. That was when the Baron’s messenger arrived.

“My Lord would welcome both of you to dinner tonight at six,” the haughty young man said with a sniff. “Please wear something appropriate, if that’s possible.”

It wasn’t, really. Freya had spent much of the week sewing a new outfit after he’d bought her a few bolts of cloth, but for the moment, neither of them had anything but the clothes on their back. Still, they showed up. The worst thing that could happen was that they’d be told to leave, and though Simon liked this spot, he was sure there would be other places they could find instead.

Dinner turned out to be roasted suckling pig with the elderly man and his two sons. While Baron Raithewait wasn’t quite out of villain central casting, his gray hair and high cheekbones certainly made it possible that he was the villain in some horror movie. The room that they ate in didn’t make things any better. It was a large room that wasn’t quite a dining hall, flanked by two very large fireplaces, and the southern wall was covered in weapons and trophies of various victories. Still, he was nice enough to them both, though, and once Simon name-dropped Baron Corwin, the man became almost warm.

“Gregor is a good man, though it has been an age since we’ve been able to meet with all the recent troubles,” Lord Raithewait said with a small toast of his glass.

None of that affected his son’s attitude toward them. Even after the pumpkin soup and the lamb chops, the two younger Raithewaits still spent much of the night looking down their nose at them. When they found out that his wife was from near Schwarzenbruck, they asked no end of hurtful questions about the whole affair. Fortunately, she couldn’t understand a word they said, and he could pad the jabs quite easily with a little tact here and a few omissions there.

“How does it feel to know that everyone you knew is dead now?” became “What was it like to live through that?” and so on. Simon had dealt with passive-aggressive bullies like this his whole life. It was the reason he’d dropped out of school, but he was long past, caring what strangers thought about him. He had a beautiful woman that loved him and a couple spells up his sleeve, and it would have been the easiest thing in the world to burn every asshole at this table alive.

Instead, he just held Freya’s hand under the table a little tighter and tried to smile while he told them all about their harrowing and completely fictional escape from a city full of zombies.

“You two must have been together for a long time then if you were together when Schwarzenbruck was actually overrun then. That was years ago.” the younger son, Jeffery, said. “You’d better start trying for children sooner rather than later. Your bride is getting a little long in the tooth.”

Jeffery snickered at his own awful joke even though it earned him a rebuke from his father, but Simon was too distracted by what the man had just said to be offended. Years? Had it really been so long since the city had fallen, and the problem still wasn’t completely resolved? Did that mean the gateways were in time as well as space? It was a shocking revelation, but it wasn’t exactly something he could discuss with anyone.

“Please forgive my son’s rude behavior,” the Baron said, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Of course,” Simon said, pretending to be gracious instead of oblivious.

“I think I might be able to find you the accommodation you’re looking for. Though I don’t expect that the zombie hordes will ever get this far south again, there are always good reasons to keep a few sell swords around, just in case,” the Baron said with a cruel smile as he steepled his fingers in front of him. “Of course, I’ll have to see if you can actually fight first.”

Ch. 49 - A New Home

Simon hadn’t been quite sure of what to make of the man’s words. He thought that maybe he’d come back and spar with a couple of the Baron’s guard’s tomorrow or something. Instead, once they’d all finished eating dinner, the servants moved the trestle tables aside to clear space in the large room. The way that they did so with such practiced ease made Simon think this was not the first time this sort of after-dinner entertainment had been arranged, either.

“What… Here? Now?” Simon asked, suddenly regretting his third glass of wine.

“Why not?” the Baron asked with a smile. “I could do with some entertainment. Now would you like to do the honors, Varten, or should I pick one of the guards to test his mettle?”

Simon breathed a sigh of relief when the Baron turned to his eldest son. He was a slender man who’d been somewhat reserved all night. Not only would he not be much of a challenge compared to some of the burly men Simon had seen around the sprawling home, but Simon was certain the Baron wouldn’t endanger his own heir with some kind of blood sport.

He was completely surprised when the boy drew a heavy saber already on his hip and held it up dramatically, letting the light dance along its razor’s edge before he pointed it at Simon. That was the moment he knew they’d planned all of this from the start. Of all the men at the table, Varten was the only one wearing a weapon and the only one with the look of a killer in his eye.

“As if I would ever turn down a challenge, Father,” he answered with a sneer before walking toward Simon.

“But my weapon and armor are at the inn, my lord,” Simon said, trying to think of a way out of this.

“Nonsense. This is just a quick exhibition, so to speak. To the blood or the yield, as it were. You may pick from any blade in the room,” the Baron said, gesturing widely to the trophies displayed on the south wall.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Simon said, quickly explaining what was going to happen to Freya as he rose from his seat. There was worry in her eyes and a quick shake of her head. She knew that he shouldn’t do this, and he agreed with her, but there was no way out of this short of preparing to leave the city now, and he wasn’t willing to do that.

The man might be perverse, but he valued the life of his heir, so he was sure that he wouldn’t let things get too out of hand with Simon.

Simon’s first instinct had been that the weapons on the wall had been nothing but display weapons, and he’d been right. Most of them were pretty decrepit. The shields were sundered, and the blades were chipped or worse. Simon picked up several before deciding they might not last for even one good parry before putting them back. Eventually, he selected a small steel shield that was much smaller than what he was used to fighting with, but he could find no weapon to pair with it. That’s when he noticed that the long swords the guards carried were just about twins of his own.

Simon walked to the guard with a nasty scar across his forehead at the nearest door and said, “Your blade, sir?”

The guard looked to the Baron for approval, but after a quick nod, he handed it to Simon Hilt first. The long straight blade would do nicely, he decided as he turned to face his foe.

Simon had never fought a saber before, or anyone taller than him, and Varten’s reach was nullified by Simon’s longer blade, so he could be fine, but he felt like there was something here he still wasn’t getting as he walked toward the center of the room to face off against the other man.

“So how do you want to—” Simon had barely opened his mouth to speak when his opponent lashed out with his blade.

The man certainly didn’t seem to be pulling any punches and almost put out his eye before he managed to step back. He lashed out with a wide swing of his sword just to force the other man back, though he easily avoided it. After that, the battle was joined.

Over the space of the next several seconds, they exchanged half a dozen blows. Steel clashed with steel, and though Simon was on the defensive the whole time, he didn’t have another near miss, at least. His opponent was faster and less concerned about hurting a stranger, whereas Simon had a shield but was worried he might accidentally strike the young man fatally if he went all out. He had very little experience fighting people for sport compared to the amount of time he’d spent killing monsters, while the other man had obviously spent all of his time in duels.

“You’re not so bad for a fat man,” Varten said softly as he moved close to Simon for another exchange. “Your footwork is abysmal, though. You can’t expect to beat me like that.”

Simon tried to slam his shield into the other man to make him pay for the insult, but obviously, his opponent had been expecting that, so the blow never connected. Instead, Simon found himself being shoved, and then he was falling backward, though he wasn’t quite sure how. It was only when he hit the ground that he realized that Varten had slipped his foot behind Simon’s, tripping him even as he toppled him.

“Where to leave you the mark of my favor, hmmm…” Varten said, standing over his defeated enemy. Simon had been worried the man might actually try to kill him, but he could see his game now. He’d noticed that almost every guard in the place had some kind of obvious scar, but in his mind, that just meant that Lord Raithewait had a penchant for blooded veterans. He had no idea that it was some sick game that this family liked to play where they marked their territory.

Even with that revelation, Simon stayed perfectly still, waiting for just the right moment as the fingers of his shield hand grabbed a handful of the throw rug that his opponent was standing on. It was only when Varten drew back his sword to strike that Simon put all of his strength into it and yanked the rug hard, momentarily throwing the other man off balance and giving Simon a chance to kick the legs out from under the cocky duelist.

After that, they both struggled to their feet, but Simon had tossed his blade aside, and instead of trying to match him with blades, he was going to put his weight to better use and pin the man beneath him. Varten tried to pull a dagger with his offhand, but Simon grabbed his wrist and twisted hard enough to make him drop it.

“Do you yield?” Simon gasped, half out of breath. Vatren ignored the request and continued to struggle fruitlessly to bring his blade around and run Simon through.

Simon ignored that and released the other man’s left hand long enough to pick up the dropped knife and bring it to Varden’s throat. “I said, do you y—”

“That will be quite enough of that, I think,” Lord Raithewait called from the far end of the hall. “You will have to forgive my son. He is not used to losing. You may be able to do this family good service, yet, I think.”

Simon was a little surprised that he’d won, but even more than that, he was wary of letting go of the other man since he hadn’t actually yielded, but in the end, when Simon stood and backed away quickly, his opponent didn’t try to run him through a second time, and only looked at Simon sourly, as he returned the dagger.

As they sat down to a desert of brandy and walnut-encrusted sweet bread, the duke complimented him on both his choice of weapons and on his unorthodox finale. “Never accept the obvious, and certainly never fight your enemy where they are strongest. These are the exact behaviors I look for in my men,” he said with a smile.

They left with the promise that in the morning, Varden would show them to their new home, where they could stay as long as they were in the Raithewait family’s service. That night Freya alternated between being angry at him for doing such a foolish thing and being proud of him for winning so decisively. They got very little sleep as a result.

In the morning, the Varden met them as promised, and though he congratulated Simon on his victory and suggested they should spar more often, he was sure that the noble still bore a grudge. The cottage he took them to was near the north wall, down a crowded, dingy street that stank of chamber pots. It had obviously been abandoned for some time, and part of the roof had given way completely.

Simon wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be an insult, but he thanked Varden just the same.

“It’s not much,” Simon said, holding Freya once they were alone, “but it’s home.”

“It will be lovely,” she said, “It’s the men that you’ve sworn yourself to serve that I’m less happy with. We can find men to fix the roof in a few days, but you can never fix that hole in that man’s heart.”

Simon agreed with her, of course, but there was little he could do. Even the zombie threat wasn’t as bad as he’d first feared; apparently, the world was getting to be a dangerous place. Centaur attacks from the east, and goblin raids in the south. Unlike the world he’d come from, this was a place of chaos, and Freya didn’t understand why a cruel man like Baron Raithewait was needed in places like this; Simon did, even if he didn’t like it.

Once they were done, and he and his wife decided what needed to be done, Simon sought out some craftsmen to help him resolve the most pressing work. They’d need to replace several of the timbers, replace the rotten shutters and redo the tile roof, but the walls were sturdy, the fireplace worked, and it would even have space for a small garden in time.

For now, they continued sleeping at the inn. Simon was in danger of running out of money any time soon, and it wasn’t like he could just pop down to Ikea to handle the whole no furniture problem. Eventually, though, he had to leave these things in his wife’s capable hands because his end of the deal was coming due: some of the farms under the Baron’s control had been burned out by goblins, and since he was such an expert on these things, the man had decided to give him a few men, so he could go handle it for him.

Freya was hardly happy about this, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about the arrangement. “First, you bring me into this strange town with these awful people, and then you just, what? Leave me here?” she demanded.

“You know I don’t want to, but Mr. and Mrs. Stravsen will take good care of you while I’m away, and by the time I get back, maybe we’ll finally be able to move into our place together.”

“I don’t want our place,” she said. “I want you!”

There was a lot of hugging and crying after that, but nothing could change the fact that the next morning he still saddled up and took five men with him to go see how bad these goblins really were.