Death After Death-Chapter 198: Worth the Wait

Simon’s trip south gave him only one chance to experiment with his blade, and that was against a group of drunken mercenaries that took him for a helpless old man. Though he didn’t kill all of them because they weren’t bandits or worse, he did take the fingers on one man’s right hand, and he cut the pectoralis major and latissimus dorsi muscles on the other man’s dominant arm when he took him under the armpit, ensuring he’d never be able to fight again either.

He left both men bleeding and crippled but alive. He also learned that a single dose of life force, even from a human, wasn’t enough to make him fiend for more. That was good but also troubling.

“So let’s say I can stab someone twice without feeling like I need another hit tomorrow,” he told himself. “That’s just enough for one word of power or enough to counteract a month of natural aging. That means I’d need to fight all the time to keep from getting old.”

Or I’ll need to build up a tolerance so I can drain more energy on the occasions where an opportunity presents itself, he added belatedly.

Realistically, the only way he’d be able to keep up with the way he used magic, even sparingly, would be to lead a very bloody existence. While he’d certainly done that in the past, in lives where he’d participated in Brin’s civil war or fought against the centaurs at Crowvar, he didn’t expect that he’d suddenly be plunged into anything similar in this life. One thing he knew for sure was that he didn’t want all of his lives from now on to be bloodbaths, even if he eventually died of old age now and then as a result.

Still, he had a long time to think about all of these issues and more on his long walk south. Along the way, he visited with Niko and met his old apprentice’s young family and admired some of the other works of art he’d painted years before, but mostly, he mulled things over. He thought about what he should do with his next life, he thought about where his evil twin had ended up, and most of all, he thought about how he was going to handle reunification with Elthena and so much time with a son.

My son, he repeated, almost disbelievingly. He’d painted several large murals of the boy, but he’d never seen him. Truthfully, Simon had never even imagined he’d become a father. Not even after he and Freya had almost had a family of their own. Such an idea was too painful to be allowed to be anything but a distant dream.

It wasn’t painful now, though. Despite his initial trepidation, his heart grew lighter and lighter as he approached Ionar, and by the time he reached the city itself, the day of his son’s eighth birthday was drawing near.

Simon had himself a fine new toga sewed for the occasion and spent those last few weeks hobnobbing with the city's elites as he put his reputation to use. Though he never presented himself to court, by the day of the audience, his name was on the lips of everyone who mattered. It felt strange for him to seek out attention like this, but it was what needed to be done. The Queen said she would choose him, but he knew better than anyone the Queen did not always have the final say in these things, not when she had to think about the opinions of her advisors.

When the day finally arrived, and he presented himself to the court, he was one of dozens of faces that were there seeking the role. Some of them he’d heard of, but most were opportunists. They were simply men eager for the fame or the salary that would come with working for the royal family. Simon strove for neither, but then, at least according to their words, neither did they.

Simon had expected other applicants. That did not bother him, though he was slightly disappointed that Seyom wasn’t there in person for him to see.

All the other men had flowery words about public service and young minds in the brief speech each of them was presented to make. Simon largely eschewed that. Instead of lavishing himself with elaborate praise, he let his accomplishments speak for himself. “I am Ennis of Coramin. I need no introduction. I have tutored Lord Alexin’s children and created many public works of art. You may see them and judge them for yourself if you wish to know me better.”

“Thank you, Master Ennis,” the Queen said when he was done. “I have seen the mural that you did in Thebian, of Seyom and I. It was quite lovely.”

He, of course, bowed at that but said nothing else. Instead, he simply studied the aging beauty on the throne. The Queen had gray hairs of her own now and more than a few smile lines around her mouth, but that didn’t make him love her any less. Not after all these years.

After that, he endured another pack of introductions, each of which was longer than the last, before they were finally permitted the next portion of the very public ceremony. Slowly but surely, the field was winnowed as each of the would-be teachers were themselves tested by nobles with standing in the city.

The results ranged from impressive to humorous, depending on who it was that asked a question and how hard it was to achieve the answer. The assembled men of learning were made to do complex math problems and explain how they did them as if they were speaking to a young child. If they failed to get the correct answer, or they got the correct answer but explained it in such a way that a child could not grasp it, they were escorted out of the grand hall.

Simon was never the best at math, so he felt fortunate that the good people of Ionia had never invented anything more difficult than simple geometry and basic algebra, so everything was within his abilities, more or less. The explanation portion, though, was where he really excelled. It turned out that spending years teaching children made you good at pretending to teach to imaginary children, and Simon’s response for how one would calculate the perimeter of a circle received a smattering of applause when he was finished.

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The oratory portion and the art portions gave him even less trouble. He read a poem about the Queen’s grandfather and the great curse, which was apropos, though he did not let on to his cynicism there. That section only took out a few men who were poor public speakers, but combined with the math, there were only half a dozen remaining applicants left for a very public art project.

Each of them was given an easel with fine paper, charcoal, and an hour and told to draw whatever they liked. Simon had to think about it only for a moment before he started putting charcoal to paper and skillfully blending it to create the sketch of the work he’d planned. With only an hour there was only so much to do, even after all these years he held the image so clearly in his mind that he felt like he was halfway done before everyone else had done more than sketch the barest outlines.

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There were many things he could draw that would let Elthana know that it was him as if there was any doubt, but there was only one that was perfect for this moment. It was a place that only the two of them had seen. And as the minutes ticked by, he sketched out the tiny cloud city of the oracle, one stroke at a time. The wispy clouds along the rim were easiest, and after that came the still lake in the center and the city proper. When their hour was declared up, he wasn’t quite done with all the terraced fields that lined the rim, but he was close.

The end result wasn’t even close, as far as he was concerned. To a man, every other applicant had drawn either Seyom in a way that made him look less like a boy and more like a young demigod or Queen Elthena as she might have looked when she was a little younger and prettier. He knew that she would hate all of those.

Still, she pretended to appreciate them and gave all the other men praise as she walked around the hall judging the results. “What is this place then?” she asked when she reached him.

“It is, at least according to the sages, the place where the oracle dwells,” he admitted. “No one but the Kings and Queens of the realm might go there, of course, but this is how I see it when I read the myths and legends.” Ɽ𝘈N𝘰BĚṥ

She said nothing to his response and walked on, but he saw her eyes tear up briefly and knew his art had found its mark. When it was all said and done, she allowed three contenders to stay, including him. Then, she allowed the court to debate the issue for a time.

Simon felt certain he was the front-runner and that all he had to do was bide his time and politely answer further questions. Still, when one of the local Lords loudly complained, “A boy who will one day be King should not be educated by an artist. It will give him too many feminine sensibilities.”

“Who would you suggest that he be trained by then?” Simon asked amiably.

“He already has one mother,” the man proclaimed, causing a few laughs. “I say he does not need a second one. Let him be trained by some retired general. Or perhaps a nobleman that has served in the army.”

“Our prince will doubtlessly need to know how to fight,” Simon agreed. “The world is a dangerous place. How is your skill with a blade, sir?”

“Impeccable,” the lord proclaimed, striking a pose as the rest of the court started to wonder exactly where this was leading.

“Excellent,” Simon said. “Duel me then, and we shall ensure that the future is in good hands.”

There was a long silence then, before the man finally croaked, “Excuse me?”

“I said, you require that Prince Seyom’s skill with a sword to be a priority, therefore, let me, or any of the other candidates for his teacher duel you, as a final test.”

This made the Queen lean forward in interest, but she said nothing. Instead, the man said, “Well, surely there are other people who are better equipped to—”

“Do not change your mind now, good sir,” Simon insisted. “Not in front of all these fine Lords and Ladies, lest they confuse your pragmatism for cowardice. Surely, you are not afraid of one old artist.”

That was the push the noble needed, and with a look at the Queen, he strode forward and said, “Please, Your Majesty, let me put this charlatan in his place.”

“I’ll allow it, but to the blood or the surrender only. There is nothing here worth dying for,” she said mildly, gesturing for one of her guards to lend me his sword. “We shall consider this the final test then. If good master Ennis prevails, he can be my son’s tutor. The other learned men will, of course, be allowed to challenge him in turn afterward if he’s so confident.”

Simon repressed the sarcastic thank-you he almost gave her for that second part. Instead, the floor cleared, offering the two fighters wide berth as Simon and his opponent moved to the center of the floor and loosened up. For his part, Simon pretended to be stiff and inexperienced with the type of blade he’d been given, but that was just to make the show that was going to happen next that much better.

He could tell from the first few moves that his noble opponent had made that the man had studied dueling in his youth but had done little with it in the remainder of his very important life. He’d certainly never fought in a war or killed a man.

When the duel started, the noble came out quick and hard, hoping to end this quickly. Simon stayed just out of reach, parrying only now and then as he led the man around the room by his nose for half a minute to get the measure of him. Still, he waited for him to get frustrated and shout, “Strange behavior for one who insisted on this battle.”

That was when Simon struck. He didn’t even move too fast. He just lashed out with a series of blows to force his opponent on the defensive. Then, when the man’s pommel was where Simon wanted it to be, he struck it instead, disarming him immediately as his blade soared through the air.

Simon had meant to catch it and end up with both blades, but his angle was off, and the thing went wide. Drama aside, his blade was still pressed against his opponent's neck when it was done, and the applause that followed was raining down on him, not on the humiliated noble who had been talking such a big game.

Simon immediately offered both other prospective teachers the opportunity to fight him. “You can come at me together if that would make you feel more comfortable,” he offered, though they both hastily declined.

After that, there was nothing left for him to do but accept the Queen’s offer, meet his son, and settle into his new life, or at least what was left of it.