Imprudent: Chapter 7: Plans

Regardless of what has happened to Nephaas specifically, it is abundantly clear that something catastrophic has happened to our society, as we originally feared before we set out. The Primal Arts are not functioning as they should, but we have seen instances of the people on the planetary surface engaging in some form of Art. We had a lengthy debate among the crew on the possibility of attempting contact and learning what the local population knows, but our ship was not designed to land and take off again. And it seems doubtful that we would be able to make use of the local production infrastructure to manufacture replacements.

###

Stylio

Sitting in one of the splendidly plush armchairs, Stylio closed her eyes and leaned her head back. After the discussion earlier, Fia broke down completely; she’d spent most of a month inside of a trunk, unable to move and unable to die. So they’d found the master bedroom for this suite and put her to bed to rest a bit. Gambling that her Death Blessing merely healed her injuries but didn’t do anything more, Stylio had stood over her and given her a brief prayer—a spell that she’d been taught, once upon a time, to weaken nightmares and aid the mind in dealing with horrors.

And now the Lady slept. Raavi was watching over her for the first shift, to help calm her in case of nightmares, while Yufemya had claimed first call on the washroom.

Which meant…

“Hey.”

Stylio opened her eyes to see her ward standing there, hands on her hips.

“So… you were right. I’m sorry.”

Giving a small, patient smile—enough to acknowledge the concession, but not so much as to gloat—Stylio said, “I understood your skepticism. But it wasn’t as if we had had other plans.”

“No, I guess we didn’t.” Zoy sagged into the other chair. “But didn’t it make you suspicious? Even a little bit?”

“Of course it did. And if it turned out that we were walking into a trap, I was expecting you or I to spot it first.”

Zoy frowned and crossed her arms before sighing. “Fair enough.”

They sat in silence for several moments as Stylio reflected. At the Equal-Night, the midpoint of Autumn, when the day and night were of the same length, she and Zoy had been traveling around the kingdom, helping as best they could. Healing here, some legally dubious but morally important aid there…

They had stopped at a roadside inn, only to have the proprietor tell them there was mail waiting for them, and that it was about time that they’d arrived, as it had been there for three days already. Accepting the letter, addressed to women of their descriptions, they’d opened it. Inside, they’d found a passionate plea from one of the kingdom’s most renowned seers, telling them that she had had a prophetic dream, brought on by overuse of her skills, and that the two of them needed to be in the town of Rhaanbach within a month of Winter setting in or doom would come for thousands.

Zoy had been skeptical to say the least.

But they had heeded the letter, and now they were here as a direct result of it.

“Do you regret coming with me?” Stylio asked.

“No. You know I don’t. You might be a stubborn old cuss, but you’re practically my mother, and where else would I go?” Zoy scoffed. “Back to the Empire? Be a street mongrel?”

“You could be a mercenary, or a pirate. Perhaps Lady Fia could make introductions,” Stylio said with a smile. “You would get more opportunities for some fighting and glory and loot that way.”

“You’re right. I could. But I’m not going to.” Zoy smiled at her—and then jumped as there was a knock at the door.

Zoy went to pull a knife, and then scowled as she came up empty. Moving in a crouch, she walked over to the door as Stylio watched, amused, and then opened it a crack. “Who is it?”

“King’s orders, ma’am. Intelligence and other documents for Lady Fiaswith. I’ll need a signature,” came an unctuous man’s voice from the hallway.

“The Lady is currently resting,” Zoy said.

Stylio rose. “I will sign for them in her stead. I am apparently known to the people here.” Not that she was that person anymore, but if she had the reputation, she might as well use it, even for something as minor as shielding Fia from being woken.

The man—dressed in a sharp blue uniform, with a starched cap over his hair, his skin a shade or two lighter than her own—stared at her. “Y-yes, ma’am.” He held out a clipboard and a pen. “Sign here.” Standing next to him in the hallway was a handcart laden with two crates packed with folders and papers.

Trying not to smile or sigh, Stylio took the proffered items and signed before handing them back. The man fled, and Stylio watched him go.

“Do you think one day they’ll stop treating you like that?” Zoy said, moving out to the cart and wheeling it inside.

“When I’m dead and forgotten, maybe,” Stylio said. “It has been… nice, these last few years, this far from… home, to be able to travel unrecognized.” She looked at the crates. “Come on, let’s get this organized so we know what we’re looking at.”

Zoy sighed. “Can I go sneak upstairs and eavesdrop on the King instead?”

“No. Too much chance you’d get bored and try to steal his belt or something.”

“That was one time, and it’s been four years.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t funny,” Stylio said with a smile, heaving a crate up onto a chair and taking off the lid. “I could use your help here.”

With another dramatic sigh, Zoy took the other crate and started unloading it.

They were about halfway finished when the door to the washroom opened and Yufemya, dressed in a robe with a towel wrapped around her head, came out. “Oh, that was nice. Who wanted to go next?”

“I think Zoy can go. I’m going to be busy with this for a bit,” Stylio said.

Zoy gave her a grateful look and moved into the washroom without hesitation.

As the door closed, Yufemya looked up at Stylio. “What’s this?”

“Intelligence reports and the like. Just delivered a few minutes ago. I was going to start going through them. Want to help?”

“Sure.” Yufemya bent over, making a stone on a chain dangle from her neck.

Stylio eyed it. It looked like a six-faced quartz cylinder, etched with runes, about the size of her thumb. Perfectly respectable to use for foretelling, but most people didn’t like the cylindrical style, citing it as too hard to read, while others swore by it, saying that the points made for additional means by which the foretelling could work. And Yufemya had said that she’d had a prophetic dream… and while Stylio didn’t quite believe her, it was perfectly understandable that she would keep her die with her at all times. People could be superstitious that way. She had once met a man who had believed that his dice needed to be aligned with magnetic north at all times when not in use.

But rather than call attention to it—she wasn’t in the mood for Yufemya getting defensive over how she carried her dice—she just continued unpacking the crates. Fortunately, whoever had packed them had some sense, so organizing the papers went quickly. By the time Zoy emerged from the washroom, also dressed in a robe and towel and looking very pampered, they had things sorted.

“You need to try the shower dial set all the way to the left,” Zoy said with a grin. “I feel clean.”

Stylio smiled and rose. While she certainly did not regret her choices in life these last few years… she wasn’t going to begrudge herself a little pampering.

As she passed, she glanced at the table, and the map, with the dozens of attacks and raids along the kingdom’s western flank marked with red.

No, she wasn’t going to begrudge it at all. Not now.

#

Raavi ava Laargan

“So what do we know?” Lady Fia asked, leaning over the table, her hands braced on the surface. The remains of the food that had been delivered from the Tower’s kitchens sat in a cart next to the table. Good brown bread with butter and cavern-ripened cheeses, berry preserves, and a carafe each of tea and what Lady Fia had identified as “coffee”. I’d only ever heard of the stuff, and after having tried a taste of it, I’d decided to stick with the tea, which I’d sweetened with some stewed cherries at Zoy’s suggestion.

I shrugged and sipped at my tea. Oooh. I could taste the cherries and I liked them. “So the attacks began right after Winter started along the western reaches of the Kingdom, near the White Mountains.” I pointed to the map and the high mountain range that formed the western border of the kingdom. “No idea if they’re also attacking our neighbors, though. Reports only started reaching here a few days ago, due to the difficulty in travel; some people were able to use the main courier routes but given the difficulty in getting to the smaller towns and villages, it’s almost certain that this isn’t anywhere near all of the attacks.”

“Definitely not. And there’s… at least fifty reported so far. That’s… bad.”

“So what do we know about the attackers? For sure?” Yufemya asked.

“Well, they’re oathwalkers,” Lady Fia said. “I’ve fought some before.”

I frowned. “What’s the difference between an oathwalker and a normal revenant? Is there a difference? You’re talking like there is one.” I was thinking of Beeno and what lore I did know—which wasn’t much.

Stylio spoke up. “That is a good question, and we should examine it to make sure we’re all on the same page.” She nodded at me. “Yes, there is a difference between ‘normal’ revenants and oathwalkers. Normal revenants have some form of unfinished business or obsession that binds them from moving on, but they will continue on once that business is complete. Over time, they tend to go insane. They can still eat, drink, and to some degree sleep, but they have no Breath of Life and their healing can only be done by someone donating Breath—although they need food to give their body the materials to work with. Generally, they’re still the same person they were before they died, but outside of that specific unfinished business they are dealing with, they tend to be missing some ‘spark’ and last for less than ten years before they either go insane, need to be destroyed, or finish their business and move on.”

I nodded. “That fits with what I know. What are ‘oathwalkers’, then?”

“Oathwalkers, through some closely guarded secret, are voluntarily revenants. We know that it involves some form of formal oath, but the particulars of how are unknown outside of the few groups that have them.”

“Wait, nobody’s studied them?” I asked.

“And potentially discover some weakness? Not that I’m aware of, but then again, I’m not a scholar.”

“We should ask at the Willworker Institute,” Lady Fia said. “Get those blowhards to actually do something useful for a change.”

“That’s a good idea, but I wonder if they will find anything before we have to leave. Time is precious, after all.”

Lady Fia frowned. “Yeah. You’re right. So, I’ve fought some oathwalkers before—yes, I’ll tell you that story later, but it involved a prince traveling incognito and me and my pirate crew finding that the fat trade ship we’d just boarded had some fangs—and getting this is a good place to start. So, continue?”

“Yes. As the Lady noted, the royal guards of a few kingdoms are oathwalkers, sworn to forever serve and protect the royal line,” Stylio said, tapping her chin. “Little is known about their capabilities, but I do know for a fact that they can survive for centuries in following their oath.”

“Unless they run into a pirate who treats getting stabbed through the chest as an annoyance,” Lady Fia said with a grin. “I kept that sword for two years. It was a good one. Made up for the shirt they ruined.”

“I shudder to consider your clothing budget,” Zoy said dryly, and I snickered.

Lady Fia glanced at her and smirked. “You should. Fortunately, I often manage to get myself a discount. But getting back to the matter at hand, I’m fairly certain that these revenants are oathwalkers.”

“Why?” Stylio asked.

“The sheer number. There were a hundred or so when we fought them and they’re ranging out across most of the kingdom, meaning that there’s probably thousands of them.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how often someone goes revenant, but it can’t be more than one in a thousand. And when they go revenant, they focus on their task, like you said. I escorted one once across the Center Sea back to his family so he could bless his son. He spent the entire trip when he wasn’t helping with the sails standing on the prow, watching the horizon. So for them to be ordinary revenants, we’d be talking about, what, a few hundred thousand people all dying and having enough of a grudge against this kingdom to come rushing in in the middle of winter to cause havoc?” She shook her head again. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“My thoughts went in similar directions, so it’s good to see that we agree. Also, it’s known that the steppe tribes to the west have oathwalkers.”

“Tell us about them,” Lady Fia said. “Especially since we’re going to go see them, apparently.”

“Of course. So what is known is distressingly fragmentary, layered on with hearsay and supposition and more than a fair portion of lurid exaggeration.” Stylio scoffed and smiled thinly as she raised one eyebrow. “For example, I highly doubt that they routinely duel to the death over basic matters of honor. You tend to run out of duelists in short order, but the idea is repeated as fact in a number of these stories—I won’t dignify them by calling them ‘reports.’”

“Cobble-sized grain of salt noted. So what do we know?” Lady Fia asked.

“Not much. They are apparently great traders and warriors with noted skill at horseback archery. Past attempts to settle past the White Mountains have been repulsed by groups of horse archers within a year or two, but otherwise they tend to stay on their side of the mountains. In terms of trade, they’re exporters of high quality cloth, various craft-works, and slaves, and buy metal, weapons, and other manufactured goods.” She pulled out one sheet of paper. “There are a few trading posts and military outposts along the passes through the mountains. Lurid tales are one thing, but tax reports are quite another.”

Lady Fia snorted. “That they are. All right, what else?”

“Well, they were never under the dominion of the Dormelion Empire, so the language they speak is completely divorced from most of the tongues around the Center Sea,” Stylio said. “Only a few people are at all skilled with their language, and most of those are at the mountain pass forts and posts.”

“And therefore either dead or in trouble,” Zoy said. “Great.” She leaned forward. “What else?”

“Very little of substance. They have a king who rules over a number of their tribes, but little is known of him beyond the fact that he has a capital by a river and a lake a few hundred miles from the mountains—or at least, that’s where he was when the King of Wintersfenn sent an envoy to make a treaty after one of his attempts to plant a settlement on the western side of the mountains was repulsed and they sent raiders through the passes, but that was a hundred years ago. They possibly have a number of other settlements where they overwinter, but that’s mostly supposition. What we primarily know is they occupy a vast grassland on the other side of the mountains, generally keep to themselves as nomadic herdsmen, and trade quite sharply. They’re accomplished artists and artisans, and there’s a ready market for their wools, silks and other fabrics, plus what they have for their small scale crafts.” She nodded towards Lady Fia. “You’ve probably gone through a fair bit of their materials over the years.”

“Probably. So that’s it? That’s all we know? They’ve been neighbors with this kingdom for centuries and that’s all we know?”

“At least here. There might be more in the archives, but if there is, we weren’t given it. And there’s a rather tall stone fence in the way, I’ll point out, and the kingdoms tend to be more concerned with their other neighbors and the Empire than to try to settle a marginal grassland.”

“Point. Anything else?”

“Yes, but mostly more lurid materials that I don’t want to repeat in the same context as verifiable facts.”

“Such as?”

“I’d want to go looking in the archives back in the Empire for other sources, but according to legend, the Empire did make an effort to conquer them, and they defeated the Empire in a great victory, destroying the armies sent to pursue them, and taking the survivors as slaves. This would have been centuries ago, though. Nearly a thousand years.” She shrugged. “Other rumors of the sorts told about foreign peoples everywhere. That their men can survive in the winter with only a loincloth. That their women are either steadfastly monogamous or care not for who they sleep with. That they tame dragons and can speak with trolls. That sort of thing. There was one source—and I hesitate to give him that much credence—who claimed that their strength is because they live in hard conditions, unlike the weak, soft, overly civilized conditions here. That every man of theirs is a warrior. That sort of thing.” She smirked slightly. “I remember reading another book once that had a similar line of thinking, speaking about how overly soft and decadent the Dormelion had become, and that we should aspire to be more like the simple, strong Kalltii with their ‘strong, barbaric ways.’”

“Wait, what?” I blurted.

They all looked at me, with Stylio smiling. “Yes, Raavi?”

“But… but… I’m Kalltii! What was this person talking about?”

“Remember that your people—the Kalltii—were once conquered and subjugated by the Dormelion Empire,” Stylio said politely.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Hundreds of years ago. And then when the Empire weakened, we split off into our kingdoms.” I spread my hands out. “What are they talking about?”

“Think of it as less a comment on your people, Raavi, than as a comment on the people saying these things. They’re trying to say to their own people that they dislike something about themselves and want to change it, so they point to this other group as ‘Hey, we should be more like them,’” Stylio said politely.

“And it’s usually the men saying that,” Zoy commented dryly.

I turned and looked at Yufemya. “You’ve been quiet. Do you have anything on this?”

She shrugged. “Not much. I’m not terribly familiar with these people, so I’m listening as well, and wondering what our plans are?”

“Yes, we’ve gotten a bit off track,” Lady Fia said. “So we know next to nothing about them. But we do know that they have oathwalkers? How?”

“Reports from the forts, primarily. Apparently the traders will occasionally show up with some in tow, helping carry trade goods, and they recognize some of the revenants from year to year. At least some are decades old, judging by the descriptions, but there are also some that serve their King in his capital, based on the report from that Wintersfenn envoy.”

“I guess that’ll have to do,” Lady Fia said. “It’s not much, but I guess we can take that as confirmation.” She frowned. “Of course, now there’s the question… why now? If they’ve had these revenant oathwalkers for all of these centuries, what changed?”

“We’ll have to go ask them,” I said.

“Across the frozen winter, with most of the season still ahead of us, we need to travel…” Fia looked at the map, “seven hundred miles to the nearest pass as the bird flies, and then find this capital of their king, find out why they’re attacking us… in a language that none of us speak, and then return. All without being attacked and killed, or freezing to death, or dying of hunger.” She took a deep breath, and then said quietly, “Faalk, you are so lucky I love you.”

I shifted uncomfortably. I guessed that we were lucky too. Lucky that she loved her husband, lucky that Yufemya had found her out there in the snow and cold, lucky that Stylio and Zoy had come to the town… lucky that I had been building the ice boat.

We’d been very lucky.

Could we keep being lucky?

#

Seventy-two hours later, we were preparing to get underway; more reports had come in of additional attacks across the west, and we needed to get going. We’d rested, resupplied, and even rebuilt the ice boat. I’d gotten rid of the old oak canoe that I’d originally bought for it, and replaced it with a box made of prized steelwood, which was four times the strength of oak and yet only two-thirds the weight. It was a pain and a half to work with, though. Hilariously, the box had been cheap to construct—I’d literally raided the bin of cutoffs and ruined pieces from the shipyard and assembled my box out of that. The mast had also been replaced using the tip of a broken ship’s mast, and the sails were silksteel. I’d also built a better brake than the anchor—toothed levers that we could pull from the inside of the box to slow down, saving us the weight of the heavy metal plate. All told, we’d cut the weight by a fifth, despite adding more room, and added handholds to the outside.

Now, standing by the same canal dock that we’d arrived at, I took a deep breath, knowing what was ahead of us, and got into the ice boat. I turned to wave to the group of men who had come to see us off. Some of them were soldiers and officers, but others were workmen who had helped me rebuild the boat and wanted to see it in operation, and more were here to help push us off.

The boat rocked a little as the others boarded. Lady Fia, dressed in her new clothes, took her position by the sails, while Zoy and Yufemya went to the back; each of them would be ready to pull one of the brakes. Stylio took position behind me, next to our bags and supplies.

The winds picked up, coming from the south. The Night-Light was visible through the clouds, along with the stars, while a quarter of the way across the sky, the moon was a half-full disc.

“Are we ready?” Lady Fia asked.

I did a last check. “Supplies.”

“Six meals worth,” Stylio confirmed.

“Clothing.”

“Change of clothes for each of us, plus an extra for Fia, since she likes to bleed.”

“Runners.”

“In their brackets.” It had been a bit embarrassing to realize that, since they were attached to the bottom of a vehicle, they were technically runners, not skis. It had taken me and one of the workmen ten minutes and a comedy act to get that hashed out.

“Papers.”

“Two copies, Fia carrying one, and one in the strongbox.” The King had given us letters of authorization to draw supplies and ease our passage west. We had a long way to go.

“Maps?”

“Strongbox.”

“Tent?”

“Folded up and ready.”

“Lanterns? Oilsap?”

“Three, with ten gallons of fuel.”

“I can’t think of anything else. Can anyone think of anything we might have forgotten?”

“Sanity?” Zoy commented from her spot in the back.

Stylio made a production of patting herself down, and then patting me on the head. “Nope. We seem to be all out.”

“Then we’re ready!” I said, and we all laughed.

Lady Fia motioned to the men waiting by, and they started pushing us forward. With the winds from the south steady, we were in luck. It was going to be a problem when we would have to take the southward canals, however. Either we were going to have to tack, zig-zagging to make headway, or go cross-country on the runners.

For now, though…

The ice-boat lurched as Lady Fia opened the sails and they caught the wind, and we were off, speeding down the frozen canal by the light of the full moon and the Night-Light.

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