You never really know your friends from your enemies until the ice breaks.
Ancient Northern saying
Moore spotted the dirty white figure. Both Johanna and Tom were sleeping, but Moore’s unsleeping perspective and the almost-finished candle allowed him to see what was happening, as Tom slept on his back. So, when he noticed what looked like a furry at a comic convention, his first question was, what is that level 7 explorer wearing?
He immediately realized his mistake, of course. It was a genuine fur, covering the entire 6-foot humanoid, like some diminutive albino version of Chewbacca. With just a sash that wouldn’t be out of place on a Wookie and an incongruous-looking pair of wraparound glasses that framed large orange eyes, still somehow visible under the slightly smoky glass lenses. He realized that it was almost certainly the same wendigo he’d spotted yesterday on the battlefield, directing the battle from a safe distance, before he’d been driven away.
Then the figure drew a long knife from his sash, and Moore panicked. He automatically pulled up the interface, slowing down the furry’s movements to a halt.
Goddamn, can’t wake them up. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Both Laura and Peter were similarly sleeping, so Moore had no idea if there was anyone close that might spot an assassin that had somehow managed to sneak in.
Wait, how did… oh, yes. Explorers get a 1× on Reconnaissance. I’m betting he has it. If he’s real careful, with decent stats plus that level…
Moore considered his options. He had never felt as powerless as right now. The only interaction he knew that might trigger something was a re-specialization. The brutal shock to mana/stamina reserves might be enough to wake them up since they all visibly reacted to the change in specialization, but after improving their builds, he no longer had the 4000XP required to even think of dropping even Peter’s specialization and then re-add it for free.
And besides, draining their reserves with an enemy present was certainly a bad idea too.
Moore released the UI. There was nothing. Nothing to be done, but pray to whatever deity ruled this afterlife to save them.
The figure bent and… stopped. It was sniffing, Moore realized. Sniffing and bending over Johanna.
Wait, is that a wendigo pervert? Someone who gets the hots for the… non-furries?
The wendigo rose, but even though Moore couldn’t read his facial expressions under the fur, he would have sworn it was some sort of confusion. About what? Moore had no idea, although he welcomed the distraction. Anything to avoid assassination, anything in the hopes that someone would notice something.
The wendigo turned and started searching the room. Moore was barely seeing it. Although he had a good view from the perspective of Tom, and a partial view from Johanna’s perspective, his enhanced sight was far from omni-directional or anything.
Then, he spotted the wendigo at the door. The furry silhouette seemed to take a breath, then slipped out, leaving the two sleepers alone.
Okay, I’m confused. What was he after?
Things remained unchanged for almost twenty harrowing minutes, as Moore kept watch through all four perspectives, and Johanna and Tom’s candle dwindled. But the wendigo didn’t show up in Peter and Laura’s bedroom, as he half-expected to, and whatever he was after, he couldn’t guess.
After all that waiting, Moore suddenly spotted the wendigo next to the door, closing it. He hadn’t realized it was there, which only cemented his hypothesis that the Explorer had access to stealth. Of course, at that level, he needed to be parsimonious and careful, avoiding contact where Peter would breeze through, but that didn’t make it less useful or dangerous.
Then the wendigo drew his knife again, and Moore’s abstract anxiety returned. He knew he was acting on memories of what it was – his non-brain immune to the neurotransmitter floods that would have paralyzed him if he was alive. But even with the abstraction… he was still paralyzed. Powerless.
The wendigo put his knife at Johanna’s throat, then reached with his furry paw, and Moore briefly looked at the descriptor that broke through as the changed creature started waking up her.
Snowbound “The Great Hunter” Glatteis
Male wendigo, 37 years, 2 months
Explorer
Level: 7 (21000 XP needed)
Endurance: 9/32 (+17/hour)
5 unallocated skills points
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
XP: 17522
STR: 17
AUT: 13
AGI: 18 (3000 XP needed)
PER: 18 (2811 XP needed)
Accurate Pierce (7)
DEX: 18 (229 XP needed)
Reconnaissance (25)
EMP: 13
Johanna woke up with a cold sensation at her throat as she was rolled slowly on her back. The first thing she saw was a face full of white fur, with glowing eyes. She briefly blinked, forgetting the cold metal at her neck, because that was manalight. An enormous amount of manalight, with swirls connecting to it from outside of the room. From all four corners, as if the angles served as anchors. The view was almost as powerful as what she’d seen with the Skeleton, but not quite.
As strong as what she saw yesterday, on the battlefield.
The furry figure raised his other hand, putting a finger where a mouth would be, in the universal gesture for silence. She stifled her cry of surprise, realizing finally that the wendigo was holding a knife at her neck.
She’d have risked something if Laura was around. But the time to reach her… assuming a throat cut was fixable…
“You are way too young to be a power,” the wendigo said, with a weird accent.
Johanna blinked. Whatever the wendigo wanted, that wasn’t what she’d expected. She swallowed, still feeling the cold of the knife.
The wendigo stayed silent, until she ventured, “I hadn’t realized it was a question.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Then what?” she asked before she realized her position.
“A remark. An interesting one. Powers in the world are rare. But all are older. Even I earned my heroic feat in my early thirties. I normally wouldn’t risk sneaking in. Too many things can go wrong. Some people… can too easily see what is not meant to be noticed.”
Johanna blinked. Because that sounded suspiciously like what Peter did. Not that she was going to mention it, not to an enemy assassin.
“I guess your mate is a Power too. I noticed him yesterday. That’s something I realized after I saw you on the field. None of you should be a power.”
“What makes you think I am?”
“You are a sorceress. Throwing those balls of fire is hardly the mark of an ordinary officer. And besides, I can see the mana swirling around you,” he said, tapping the glowing glasses on his face.
She winced.
“And now you’re in my bedroom. Talking to me. With a knife at my throat. Why?”
“Why indeed. I was wondering how the Warden of the Montana had managed to secure great powers. Powerful mercenaries are hard to get by. Finding three… I was curious until I saw you. Until… I smelled you.”
Johanna blinked. Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t to be told she stank… maybe?
“That’s what being a wendigo gives me. A keen sense. It helps with the hunt, mainly,” the wendigo laughed lightly.
Johanna wondered why the conversation had turned from sorcery into such a mundane thing as smells while hunting.
“But that’s the kind of smell I’ve known twice before, in the tribes. It could be you, but I’ve looked in your room. And I couldn’t find it. That’s the kind of thing you’d keep close by if that’s what you use. But no.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You smell like a pregnant woman, but not quite.”
“What?!?” she exclaimed before the pressure of the knife stifled her, as the wendigo put back his finger on his barely visible mouth.
“Wait… you’re saying I’m with child?”
“No. I’m saying you think you’re with child, but are not.”
“Now I’m confused. I’m either with child or I’m not.”
“If your body thinks you’re already with child, it won’t let you add another. That’s an Ancient bit of knowledge. Quite obvious, if you think about it,” the wendigo stated.
“And?”
“I’m not entirely unfamiliar with the law, as it’s practiced by your Montana. If you had a child, you’d be exempt from military duties. Until the child is old enough.”
Johanna frowned.
“That’s not something you can command.”
The furry humanoid snorted.
“No. You can’t make it happen. But you can prevent it from happening. There’s a company, down in the south, that has an Ancient secret. A vat of strange microbes that makes it, a powerful mix of substances. They guard those well. But if you are interested in preventing conception… all you need is one dose every day. And that’s what the Warden is slipping you, I’d say.”
“He what?”
“Given your power and that of your colleague, the Warden will be quite anxious to keep you around. He can’t do that – by his very own laws – if you are pregnant and give birth.”
“He could… just do it?”
“Rulers who break their word, who flout their laws, invite more problems than they solve. Better not break it – technically – rather than risk making people wonder when he will next break the law.”
“And how do I know you’re not just lying?”
“They’re slipping it to you every day. Should be obvious. And you’re probably not bleeding anymore,” he replied.
Johanna startled. She’d noticed her latest was almost non-existent.
“You really are too young. Just now, you’ve realized what I say is true.”
“But… why?”
“What do you know about the wars of the Montana, young power? The righteousness, the way to bring security to the Montana? I assume they teach you that when you are kids.”
“The history of the Three Wars, yes,” Johanna replied.
“Did they tell you the Maistrys started each of those three wars? ‘Before the enemy strikes’, every time. The Warden’s ancestors always tried to push beyond their boundaries, and the only reason why this one was started by the North is that the Tribes did not want the latest Warden to start when he was ready? Each generation, the Montana has grown richer and stronger, and it’s been harder to stand against it.”
“The Warden says you attacked as soon as his father died.”
“The tribes knew what was coming. Better attack while he’s unsure of himself. The Maistrys have been nothing if not consistent. You can blame the Treaty of Union. Since the Wars of Reunification, the Montana has always looked toward its non-united territories north.”
“So, you’re saying your side is in the right, and the Montana is wrong.”
“No. I’m saying there’s the Montana’s side and the Warden’s side. Don’t mistake one for the other.”
The wendigo suddenly stood up.
“Think about it, young power. And next time we meet, tell me of your answer to this.”
He slid back to the door, and, without slipping his gaze from Johanna, added, “You’ll probably appreciate if nobody knows I was there. Too many awkward questions otherwise.”
He opened the door and turned, finally saying, “Good luck.”
“He said what?” Tom asked, the voice deceptively low.
“That we – Laura and I – were fed some kind of Ancient-made drug that prevents conception. To make sure… to make sure that they can keep us in the war legally.”
“And he slipped away?”
“All he said was… good luck.”
“That’s insane.”
“Let’s get… let’s get the others.”
“You had them, and you let them live? Are you insane, Glatteis?” Blauerschnee yelled.
“They are Powers. You’ve seen them on the field. I don't know the Hero, but the two are worth an entire company, even more. We’ve already lost this winter. The tribals are already calling her the Fire Demon. So, the best we can do is dig in, and hold, and we won’t turn the tide by simply removing them. Far better to turn one of the Warden’s allies into his enemy. They’ll do far more damage than simply being dead. Even if they just run, he’ll never feel safe.”
Snowbound Glatteis smiled, which made his teeth visible behind the fur.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, but it is certainly not going to be in the Warden’s favor.”