Strength is Power. The Power to build and destroy. To be strong is to be a giant among lesser folk. This is its great gift. This is its terrible price. The strong will wear armour and wield weapons beyond regular folk, crushing all before them on the field on battle. You’ll carry great loads without trouble and raise homes with your own two hands.

You’ll also break door handles, chairs and plates.

If you’re lucky, you’ll never break someone or something important. If you aren’t, one day you’ll come down from the bliss of joining your lover to find the bed sheets covered in blood. Or find your child’s spine broken by a careless hug.

Strength is Power, Wield it Well.

Or it will break you.

Kaenash guide us through these trials.

Begin!

-The First Lesson, a near universal teaching given to every fresh recruit of every people at their first serious Strength lesson. Known among veteran solders and warriors by many names, such as Lover’s Lament, Father’s Folly, Mother’s Misery and The Only Warning.

***

It was embarrassing to admit, but Frank hadn’t learned the names of either the caravan master, or his wife. They moved in different circles, and when he was addressing him, it was in an official capacity. The Master merchant’s master title was how he preferred to be referred to, much like Deadbeat was Deadbeat.

Before the boon, the solutions he needed now weren’t exactly necessary, with his injuries.

Which made it even worse to walk up to the married woman and ask her questions, while she sat surrounded by other traders. Inside a cavern where conversations carried, no matter how softly he spoke.

The giggles and laughter from the other merchants and servants listening in wasn’t helpful.

Thing was, the Empire was big on bloodlines, the spread and preservation of them. It actually somewhat subsidised the trade of such things, if the prices he was quoted now were right.

Either that, or the woman was aware of the looks Deadbeat was giving him. He could feel the heat in them on his back. While he had some funds left over, that was for emergencies. The caravan was a saturated market, as far as his product was concerned.

The fact that Last Light sales had gone badly was turning into a real issue. Because no matter how he twisted it, this was something he wanted, not needed. And the difference between the two had been made clear, both back home, and in the refresher course he had when he walked of the field a half-husk and delirious with pain. The month after taught him well to be frugal, and how long bone bits, a handful of coppers or a few silvers could last.

Frank could blow his funds on a very good time, and risk going into debt or worse, or he could walk away. His Bargaining wasn’t good enough, either for her, or for the situation, to lower the price any.

He left their corner of the cave frustrated. Which wasn’t helped by the looks he was getting. He needed a wiser, male head to speak to. Preferably of the local quality. And he knew just where to find one. That it would also get him out of the same room as the woman he’d be discussing was a bonus.

Half-way to the exit, he was accosted by Cherna again and filled her in as well. Why she’d lingered with the guards wasn’t any of his business.

Mauricius was standing by the entrance, just behind the line, leaning one of the larger spikes rising from the stone floor.

“Hey Rio.” Frank greeted him, and got ready for the deluge.

“Franky boy! Hear you’ve been having some woman trouble!”

Who would even… “Gossips, all of them.”

“Isn’t it girl trouble?” Frank asked, lightly.

“Deli, maybe. Deadbeat? Know better than to say any such where she might overhear. Take issue with that, she might.” The watchman joked.

Frank thought about it. He didn’t know her well, or much at all, but he could see how she might. He conceded the point wordlessly and moved on: “You mind talking, man to man?”

“Sure. What’d you need?”

“I don’t want to offend. You’re a blunt folk, and not easily offended, but I’d rather nor risk it.”

Mauricius stared at him for a moment. Then he started laughing. “I’ll take that as praise Franky boy. But I’m an Empire boy Frank, born and raised. Barbra snagged me on my way back from my pilgrimage, and I ain’t never looked back.”

He shook his head in that odd side to side motion of theirs. “Well, it was a more mutual snagging if you catch my drift, but it’s good to know I fit in well enough to fool a green robe.”

He looked happy about it, so Frank skipped the apology. “Even better then. You’ve already been through this.”

“True, true.” He agreed. “Now, when she jumps you, you’re gonna want to take her up by her cheeks and-“

“No!” Frank cut him off. “Not that.” He looked around, feeling self-conscious. But as always, the other guards didn’t care. They mostly didn’t, if one didn’t talk up how great the Empire was.

Ribald talk wasn’t common, but it wasn’t special either. It was mundane to the people of the Confederacy. Less so, in the Empire. Frank wasn’t quite as blasé about the whole thing.

He stepped up, trying to keep the talk at least somewhat confidential.

“I’m more asking about children and the teas. What’s the stance on them?”

Mauricius looked over his shoulder at the other guard. “And what are you looking at? Take a damn hike and drink some snow if you’re that thirsty!”

The other guard scoffed, but did give them some space.

“I tell you, we gossip here like my old folks plotted.” He grinned at Frank. “Aye, I can share a few things. But nothing is free.” He said, eyes shining with mischief.

***

Childcare and families went three main ways in the Confederation, as Mauricius filled him in. In towns, the cult ran what Frank would name orphanages. They called them Cult schools. The Cult of Perseverance ran them, taking in children of all ages. It was a sin to kill a child, but little stigma was attached to giving one away to the Cult.

In the Empire, abortions were part of the whole culture of managing bloodlines. In the Confederation, they were a sin. It was prevention or birth, no in between. Religion was involved, but Frank didn’t much follow the details.

Point was, the Cult of Perseverance would take any child, usually with plenty of questions, but if one insisted, with none. For the child, they’d get the choice when they were twelve if they wished to seek an apprenticeship or their parents first.

The parents could visit once they gave up a child, but not take them back, not until they were twelve and if they wanted to return. The Cult took care of them and taught them everything they needed to survive. But some didn’t. Didn’t learn, and didn’t live.

It was a long, slow climb that the kids were put through. One of the fundamental lessons instilled was self-reliance. Not entirely, not self-sufficiency, but every child needed to develop skills to survive each winter, by his or her own Skills, or by trading with others, or service to them. Or Leadership of them, in a few cases.

Which was interesting from a cultural perspective, but not much relevant to Frank for his situation. Well, except for the abortion part. He wasn’t sure how to reconcile German abortion law with actual souls in children. Not without knowing how that whole part worked, and Mauricius didn’t know.

He would probably ask a priest if it came up, not that it was likely in his present position.

Abortion wasn’t a thing here. Check.

The other option were families in which both parents worked. Depending on the jobs, they could trade times caring for the child, though the mother tended to hover for the first year, and the father for the second. Milk was a matter of milk-mothers in towns, or a formula from a goat/sheep hybrid common to the region. Which were also responsible for much of jerky and other meats available, that wasn’t from game and hunts.

Mauricius told him firmly it was best if the mother breastfed for at least the first three months, which matched how the Empire did it. Though both people preferred six, and considered a full year a luxury to be taken that helped with growth and progress. If the parents could afford it and had the milk supply.

Not all could.

Point was, it was prevention, Cult, of family. Marriage was a thing, and so was divorce, though the second tended to get involved and become a whole thing. One married for life, in theory. One could have and raise kids without marriage too, if the parents agreed to it. Bastardy wasn’t a thing here, and inheritance was handled by wills, or through the preferences of the parent, which was usually both obvious and known in the community.

Sole parents happened, usually through loss. The widow or widower was encouraged to move on. There was a stigma against raising a child, or multiple children alone. It was seen as reckless. To be accepted, one had to move in with a family member, or at least a companion that would serve as an adopted parent, if not lover. The accepted solution for those that didn’t want to seek a lover again, and couldn’t find a companion, was to pair up with another sole parent, share duties during winter months.

Which was all more a matter of Frank satisfying his curiosity. He wasn’t ready to be a father yet, not in this world. Not until he found his feet and fully understood what it meant to raise a son or daughter in a world with Abilities and magic.

The cruelty of it was, that parents split along two lines. The ones that followed tradition and the Cult and the ones that didn’t. Tradition was to teach and guide your kids, but also test them with ever greater trials, so they’d be ready for adulthood. The trials had consequences, sometimes permanent ones.

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As they got older, some of them could be lethal, if the kid was still stupid and hadn’t been taught, or learned right. And the parents were supposed to allow it. Save themselves the heartache and greater loss, in love, in time, and in resources. Sunk into an offspring that wouldn’t make it on their own.

There was the cruelty.

Not all parents followed tradition. Deli was an example of the second kind.

From what Frank gathered, the trials were, at least in theory, meant to get every child to an even two in all Attributes, at a minimum. Or get them to develop the Skills to make up for it.

Deli hadn’t.

Frank understood the logic, but found the idea of watching your own child die when you could save them cruel and repugnant. Killing a child was a sin, but letting a teenager die from the elements, or because they didn’t know or understand better, that was fine?

Sometimes he really didn’t understand people.

He was meandering again. It was a bad habit he picked up after the whole… thing, back on Earth. It hadn’t mattered then. When you’re rudderless, what does it matter where you’re going?

Point was, prevention.

Condoms or things like it weren’t a thing in the Confederation. They had teas and concoctions. A popular one was something made with help from remains of some kind of spectre. One that ensured there’d be no conception. Which the merchant had already tried to skin him for.

“Well, I guess I’m just fucked then. Or not, as the case is.” Frank concluded.

“Not necessarily.” Mauricius told him, eyes still filled with that same mischievous sparkle.

“What?” Frank asked, feeling like he was the butt of a joke.

“Well, Frank, you ain’t wearing a knot.”

“So?”

“So if she’s prancing around in a skirt, it’s her job to pick up the drink, if you wish it.”

Frank wanted to smack him. Yes, he’d learned a lot, but he could have lead with that.

He tried to steep away as Mauricius started laughing, but the watchmen held him back.

“Now, about that price….”

***

The price was both embarrassing and helpful. It got Deli off his back, at least for a little while, for she’d made clear this wasn’t over.

She was off in a corner, speaking with the only musician in the caravan that had stuck with them, one that wasn’t part of a noble party. Frank had done his evening session of carving early, in preparation.

Somewhere through it Deadbeat had showed up and perched on a raised stone to watch him work, like a bird would a mouse. He found her a bit put off when he came out of it. She’d probably been trying to distract him, but come on. He’d lived in a world with VR porn that was a just the press of a button away, and all the knowledge, music and entertainment of the whole planet at his fingertips. Not to mention food industrially designed to make him want to eat it.

She was not in the same league with that level of distraction or temptation, though he was self-aware enough not to mention it. The arrogance that nothing here could, had nearly gotten him ensnared when a professional seductress came after him.

No, Frank found her attempts refreshingly honest.

And with a glance at Deli once he was done, he had patted the blanket next to him.

They’d chatted, a bit, while Deli got everything going. Small talk, not a strength of Frank’s.

He’d spoken of some of the more ridiculous plans he’d seen in the Empire, and she of how she earned her Deed.

***

“So I’m just relaxing in the hot spring, while there’s a war going on out there. Between messengers who all want to invite me to a different gathering of young men and women and show off their third daughter. But the worst part is, the nobles aren’t even doing anything about. All they’ve done is, one of them has offered a golds bounty, to whomever delivers the letter first.”

She chuckled. “A golds for a simple letter. No soul here would refuse it, I’ll tell you that.”

“Right. But within minutes of the announcement, half the city knows about it, and all the gangs want in on it. They start selling protection and interception to all the runners, and moneylenders start betting on the outcome. Before you know it, it’s chaos in the streets where everyone is pretending they don’t know anything about it, but everyone is participating.”

“And you know nothing?” She asked, her eyes shining with mirth.

“Not at the time. My own servants did not like to disturb me with ‘lesser’ matters.”

She snorted. “Empire.” then blushed. “Not that I mean to insult your family.”

“You aren’t. We’re from far to the west, from the foothills of the Heavenly Serpent Mountains. We’ve more in common with dwarves than the Empire, really. I find the whole thing as convoluted as you do.”

Frank wasn’t going to be fully frank with her. The whole Hero thing attracted attention, and might call in assassins. He’d prefer not to use his first name either, but names were a big thing in the Confederation. Lying about yours could get you in big trouble, only a little less than lying about a Deed.

While he knew little enough of the other kindred, Dwarfs were said to stick to their word, and be an industrious lot. But they rarely ventured from the east provinces, which was a shame. Who wouldn’t want to meet a real, live, dwarf?

But while he didn’t know dwarves, the disdain the whole Empire had for the provinces abutting the mountains was widespread. For everything the nobles and servants disdained in them, Frank admired. They weren’t honest, so much as like the fey from stories back home. Sticking to the letter of their words, while twisting around the spirit of them like contortionists.

Anyone could lie. That took real skill.

***

“I’d explored further then I should, that was all.” Deadbeat demurred.

“And?”

Her eyes grew distant. “And faced the fate many a huntress will, when she grows too bold. I fell into an ambush of Bones.” Her eyes were focused on some point on the wall, lost in memory. “First thing they did was rip my axe from my belt. After that, there was a lot of running. I tried to circle around to it, but they were quick.”

She focused back on him. “The Bones, they aren’t tough, not to down. But until you break them, they’ll keep getting back up, and they’re quick. As quick as you , if not me.” She grinned, playing with the hem of her skirt. It drew the eye, and Frank let it. If she was going to tease him, the least he could do was play along.

Girls, women, could mistake it for lack of interest if he didn’t play along. It was one of the dumber lessons he’d learned in college. He’d thought he was being respectful, until a friend explained it from the other side:

If a girl was taking the effort to dress up and show off for you, you were supposed to look. The difference between being a creep, and being welcome, was knowing if she was showing off to you, or another. Not looking was safe, but it meant that if you didn’t know how to see the signs, you came off as a cold fish to the ones that were trying to attract attention.

People. They were complicated. Give him an input-output equation any day over it. Then again, no equation ever held his hand.

He’d had to share with Deadbeat, that between his people, the holding of hands between two that were interested in each other was considered a sign of romance.

From what Frank saw, it amused her. He cared little, as long as it wasn’t mocking. And he was teaching her all about soft touches, the little dances of fingers two could get up to.

The women, the people of the Confederation, may eschew subtlety most of the time, but they weren’t stupid. She’d taken that as a challenge. That kind of body language wasn’t possible with thick gloves, but with bare hands?

She was an enthusiastic student. If one that didn’t know her own Strength. At least that wasn’t a total mismatch. One point of difference was alright. Frank did not want to be on either side of the Lover’s Lament.

A soft touch ghosted over the underside of his wrist.

“Hmm?”

“You do that a lot, Frank.” Deadbeat told him. “Get lost in your own head?” Her smile was soft, and it made her whole face come together. She needed more laugh lines.

He smiled back, but knew his wasn’t as clean as hers. “I do. Have a lot to think about.”

She lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of his. “You do?”

He smiled, feeling warm within. “Well. A bit more now. These ones are nicer.”

Deadbeat smirked. “Glad I could help. But as I was saying…”

Right, not paying attention when a woman was telling your about herself. That was bad. It’s one of the cardinal rules. “Listen, pay attention, Frank.”

He ducked his head in contrition, before remembering that wasn’t how they did that here. Mid-gesture he switched to turning his head to the side to show his cheek. That was the right one, right?

She looked at him in a moment of confusion, before it cleared up. “Dwarves, you say?”

“From very far away.” He confirmed, even if he wasn’t totally honest.

“Well, mister Dwarf” she teased, “Once I realised they weren’t about to let me get my axe, there wasn’t much point running.”

“So what did you do?”

She shrugged, blushing a bit. “I grabbed the largest fallen branch I could find, and started beating them with it.”

“All four?” He asked, fascinated. If the Bones moved as fast as she said, four on one weren’t easy odds.

“I took some blows at the start, but I’m not one to cave at the first sign of trouble.” She tried to play it off, like it was no concern, but her hand tensed at the mention of it. Frank soothed her with gentle caresses, brushing the tips of his fingers over her knuckles.

She noticed and smiled, lifting them up between them to look at them. “Tree broke them up well enough, but wouldn’t cut it for the breaking of bones. So I had to do it myself.”

She gazed at the knuckles, and Frank noticed small scars on them, like many small nicks of the blade.

Her eyes rose to meet him, and they were proud of the scars, proud of the violence. “So once all four were down and putting themselves back together, I jumped on one and pummelled it into the snow, till it cracked. And then I did the same to the other three.”

She looked at him, and her eyes were full of that same violence, and a hunger for something else. He could tell she was at a precipice.

Mauricius would have said to jump her, let hot blood boil with some violent lovemaking.

Frank didn’t want that. That’s not how you built people up.

He pulled the hands back to him, slowly, but firmly, meeting her intense gaze. And he went down the knuckles, one by one, laying soft, gentle kisses on them, each one. And when he was done, he told her:

“That must have been hard, to do all that on your own.”

Her face twisted, unsure, at ill ease. “Earned a Name of it.” She confirmed, glancing away, before looking back. Like she wasn’t sure what she was seeing, or what to feel. What he was doing.

“Come.” he told her, slowly pulling her in. At first, she almost jumped, but he didn’t yank. Frank slowly reeled her in, and she hesitated, before allowing it.

She settled in his lap, back to him, and he covered them both with his blanket, simply laying his hands on her stomach. A shiver went through her, at the contact. Her hands hung in the air, as if unsure where to go. They went back, tried to pull him in for a kiss, but he resisted, and she didn’t insist.

Instead she grumbled. “You’ve an odd way of courting, Dwarf-man.”

“It has its quirks.” He whispered in her ear, and kissed her cheek instead, once she gave up on pulling him in for a real kiss. His hands rubbed soft circles under her furs, not on her naked skin, not yet, but on the shirt under.

“Deadbeat. It’s a name to be proud off.” He started off.

She nodded firmly, on more familiar ground.

“But don’t you have another?” Frank asked, as compassionately as he knew how.

“It is of no matter.” She dismissed, coldly.

“It matters to me. Deadbeat. See how wrong it feels?” He’d whispered her name softly, with care. As a lover would. It was a violent name for a violent woman. But it didn’t fit in warm blankets and soft touches.

She squirmed, and the silence stretched.

Deli came up in to the middle of the room, and clapped her hands for silence. As the musician started playing, she started singing a ribald song about a woman chasing an oblivious man.

Deadbeat barked a laugh at the song choice, and relaxed, at least a little.

As the song got loud and others joined in, she leaned back into him, her hands grasping his by the wrists.

“It’s Vraga.” she whispered, like it was an admission of guilt. Squeezing his wrists in warning. Frank kissed her side, just below the ear.

“Vraga.” He whispered in it. “Isn’t that better?”

She shivered in his arms.

He pulled her in, fully against him, and between the heat stones he was still balancing, and the blanket, he knew he was as warm as a furnace.

It was the cold. It never stopped. Never. Not during the winter. And it bread a cold and harsh people. Cruel at times.

“For just one night, Vraga, believe me.” He told her, as the cavern rang with music and merriment.

“There’s food and drink, and warmth aplenty. You are safe here, just for tonight.”

She damn near froze in place for several heartbeats. Then turned to give him a sharp, cutting look, at the edge of insult. Frank didn’t hide. He wasn’t trying to weaken her, or expose her, or whatever it was a real Empire man would do as part of his games to weaken or ensnare her. He simply wished her well, and said as much:

“Even the sharpest axe blade needs a touch of the oil. It can’t all be whetstones, Deadbeat. You’ll wear it out.”

She laughed, but it was almost choked. “My Pa used to say something like that. Taught me to care for my tools. ‘You can trust your life to an axe that’s well cared for.’ he’d say.”

“The first tool we are given, are ourselves. Let me care for you?”

She scoffed, but licked her lips after. Assuming a haughty look she told him imperiously “Well if you insist.” like she was put out, but willing to indulge him.

He knew better.

They danced to some songs that night, and teased each other some more. The caravan master and his wife decided to enjoy the celebration in a more enthusiastic manner, but Frank was no voyeur.

When the time came for them to retire to their bedrolls, he did not go for passion, but warmth. She didn’t understand, not at first. Holding back to simple kisses and a few soft touches while they settled in left her hesitant, unsure.

Frank simply held her, long into the night, listening to her breathe, pretending to sleep. Still awake, because they hadn’t been worn out by sex. Feeling each other simply be there. Not because they had to, or for passion, but because they choose to.

Frank could feel her shiver in his arms and spoke not a word of it.

It was already pushing the limits of what kindness she would accept.