The Frontier


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 The Frontier 
 
 
 by Alexey Osadchuk 
 
 
 
 
 Last Life 
 Book#2 
 
 Magic Dome Books
 
 
 
 Last Life 
 Book # 2: The Frontier 
 Copyright © Alexey Osadchuk 2023 
 Cover Art © Valeria Osadchuk 2023 
 Designer: Vladimir Manyukhin 
 English translation copyright © Andrew Schmitt 2023 
 Published by Magic Dome Books, 2023 
 ISBN: 978-80-7619-853-1 
 All Rights Reserved
 
 
 
 This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. 
 
 This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any correlation with real people or events is coincidental. 
 
 
 
 
 
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 Table of Contents: 
 Chapter 1 
 Chapter 2 
 Chapter 3 
 Chapter 4 
 Chapter 5 
 Interlude 1 
 Chapter 6 
 Chapter 7 
 Chapter 8 
 Chapter 9 
 Chapter 10 
 Chapter 11 
 Chapter 12 
 Chapter 13 
 Chapter 14 
 Chapter 15 
 Chapter 16 
 Chapter 17 
 Chapter 18 
 Chapter 19 
 Chapter 20 
 Chapter 21 
 Chapter 22 
 Chapter 23 
 Interlude 2 
 Chapter 24 
 Chapter 25 
 Interlude 3 
 Chapter 26 
 Chapter 27 
 Chapter 28 
 About the Author 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 IT WAS EARLY MORNING on the day after my controversial duel with de Lamar and the departure of my “dear” relatives. Just as I was finishing breakfast, Madame Weber barged into my annex like a whirlwind of snow, sweeping away everything in her path. 
 
 As it turned out, while I was busy handling my problems the day before, Leon Weber’s wife had kept herself busy with a flurry of activity surrounding my departure. 
 
 In the morning, she stormed the main office of her husband’s trading house to prepare all their covered wagons for inspection, sent all idle staff out to purchase feed, provisions, and travel accessories, then dispatched couriers to all my creditors with bundles of cash. 
 
 Overall, Weber and Sons’ main office spent the whole previous day preparing for my departure. It gave the impression that Madame Weber was more interested in my safe arrival at the frontier than I was. 
 
 At any rate, I was not surprised by her enthusiasm — she was a doting mother who now saw a glimmer of hope to save her son Ruben’s life. Just one final step remained — for Chevalier Renard, i.e. me — to make it in one piece to Westerly Fort as soon as possible with a copy of our contract, notarized in Abbeville’s chancery, and present it to the commander, Captain Louis de Rohan. 
 
 The moment I was entered into the rolls of the Shadow Patrol, young Ruben would be freed of his obligations. Essentially, he was free already, but only as long as I was still alive. In other words, if I now got shanked down some Abbeville alleyway, or on my way to Westerly Fort, the Webers would have to start over from square one. Madame Weber said as much to me openly while admonishing me to pack and get on the road quickly. I’d bet my hand if she had her way, she’d have personally escorted me out of town all the way until noon today. 
 
 I had to put a slight damper on her enthusiasm, explaining that I needed at least one week before I could depart. First of all, I had to prepare diligently for my journey. And second, in one week, a caravan of several dozen recruits would be departing, and I was planning to go with them. Traveling with an armed group was much safer than going alone. 
 
 I ended my speech with assurances that I myself wanted to leave town as quickly as possible, because the spring floods were right around the corner and would be turning all roads into an impassable swamp. 
 
 Madame Weber, with a heavy sigh, had no choice but to agree with my conclusions. After that, she introduced me to a Monsieur Dormael who she claimed was one of the trading house’s best clerks and told me that he was mine to command until I completed my preparations. Beyond that, she loaned me a comfortable coach to facilitate my travels around town. Believing her mission complete, Madame Weber then returned home. 
 
 The clerk, a short balding man of fifty years with intelligent gray eyes and a neatly trimmed wedge beard was on the contrary not planning on going anywhere. Serious, unsmiling, taciturn — he stood at the door patiently waiting. 
 
 “Monsieur Dormael,” I addressed him with a nod at the table. “Have you eaten breakfast?” 
 
 “You have my gratitude, Monsieur Renard,” he nodded curtly. “But I have already eaten and am ready to perform my duties.” 
 
 “Good,” I said, getting up from the table. “About the coach...” 
 
 “It is parked outside the guest house’s main entrance,” he got ahead of me and added: “You may take it wherever you