There was a saying that Liz knew from before: ’all roads lead to Rome’. It had become a proverb meaning that multiple methods could be used to reach the same result. Its literal meaning—that every major road led to the heart of Roman power—emphasized the centrality and reach of the empire. Their roads linked conquered territories to Rome itself, and were a large part of the reason the Roman culture had spread so far and wide on Earth.
Fundamental infrastructure like roads was the bellwether of a nation. If a territory could not manage its roads, there were likely more areas in which it failed.
For a place such as Drakuhl, the distance between settlements and the ruggedness of the terrain made the task all the more difficult. When tons of snow buried the land in a suffocating blanket and the temperature dropped well below freezing, the first thought on most minds was not the maintenance of the roads. Neglect for routes of travel over the long, harsh winter would be deadly if compounded year after year.
In Drakuhl, the military maintained the major roads with the help of mages and engineers, but only up to a point. Beyond that, the land became wild and hostile.
Bette stood at the edge of the road, gazing out over the beautiful and untouched land below. The lingering early morning mist had unraveled to reveal a downy blanket of snow, dusting peaks and settling into drifts in the valleys between. Trees in the distance peered over the tops of the sheer cliffs that dotted the mountainside, warning of the danger of wandering blindly into this white-faced world.
The sky above shone a brilliant clear blue as far as the eye could see; not one cloud drifted across the endless expanse. It looked fake, as though it were merely a smooth, domed ceiling painted cerulean. The sun glittering off the rolling land threatened to dazzle her, and she blinked away tears as she turned away.
Such fair weather was rare in the winter months and Bette prayed it was a sign of good fortune. If it held, they might make it to Eurythion without too many losses. And, she hoped, they would make up for lost time.
Next time we go on an urgent diplomatic mission, Bette thought, we’re leaving in the middle of the night.
They had been ready to leave three days after her birthday. However, a group of nobles that had attended her celebration had gotten wind of their plan to head south. They had opted to stay a while longer and leave along with their party. Instead of the small, swift group she had wanted, their procession of lords and ladies paraded through the streets of Zenith, drawing a throng of curious watchers. It was the middle of the day by the time they left the city’s outer walls. A trip that should have taken only a few hours had more than doubled in length with their bloated posse.
They volunteered places to rest and refuel as they travelled, so it was useful in its own way, but still so aggravating.
She’d been stuck in her carriage nearly the whole eight days it took to reach the last way-station. It was silly. Had it just been she, her father, and their retinue, she was certain he would have allowed her to ride alongside the sleigh. She wasn’t a child anymore!
But she was also not yet a soldier. It wouldn’t do, as a highborn lady, to mount a horse and ride with the soldiers, especially not with so many lower-ranking nobles around to behold her if she should be so undignified.
Bette scowled, turning her back on the beauty of nature. Instead she watched the soldiers as they scurried back and forth, unloading the road carriages and reloading the supplies onto the more maneuverable sleighs. They passed boxes and bags from person to person with efficient, practiced ease.
One sleigh was a more traditional type: a sort of boat-like shape on metal runners, in the process of being filled with all manner of goods, which would be tied down and covered with a tarp. Weight was distributed strategically to ensure the thing would glide smoothly over the compacted snow. At its head, three enormous reindeer waited impatiently to be underway. They tossed their heads and snorted, their hot breath making frosty clouds before their nostrils. They pawed at the ground, trying to turn to follow the motion of the humans around them. While horses were good, these beasts were better in the snow and cold for long distances, especially when pulling heavy loads.
She breathed out and watched her own breath freeze in the cold.
The other sleigh was more of a carriage on runners, navy blue with silver fixtures. The crest of Drakuhl was painted proudly on the side, declaring its intended occupants to all.
She did not intend to occupy it for the journey, but she didn’t mind having somewhere to sit. She rapped sharply on the door with her knuckles and it opened in response.
Windale leaned down to offer their hand, which she took to steady herself as she mounted the step. They stepped aside as she slid in, returning to their spot on the opposite side.
“Anything changed in the last ten minutes, Princess?”
“We’re almost loaded up,” she said. She ignored the pointed look they gave her. She didn’t care if they thought she was silly. It was her carriage and she could jump out to pace around as much as she wanted.
Tibitha and Windale sat on the padded benches of the carriage with a small table folded down from a panel in the wall. They were playing some kind of card game, but she couldn’t tell what it was from the set up alone. They’d moved on from the previous game of rummy, it seemed.
“Leave her Highness alone, Windy,” Tibby said with a grin. “You’re just as jumpy! The only reason you aren’t joining her is because it’s so cold.”
Windale huffed, tossing down a card.
The carriage was made with the same warming runes that all of their personal vehicles had, and it quickly became too much to bear in her coats and scarf.
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“Tibby,” she sighed.
The maid put her cards down and slid over to her mistress, helping her remove the fur-lined cloak.
“I’m looking forward to riding in the open air,” Bette remarked, not for the first time, “now that we’re finally free of our entourage.”
“I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again: you lot have weird customs,” Windale commented. “What’s so undignified about riding a horse?”
“It’s the motion involved,” she replied. She didn’t want to elaborate more.
“Also it’s a bit dangerous. No one would want Betsy to get in an accident. Nope, she needs to be nice and safe inside her little box!”
Tibby had gotten her cloak unhooked, but she wrapped it around her shoulders again when she threw her arms around her neck and snuggled into the soft fur.
“Tibby!” Bette snapped, scowling. “It’s too hot!”
“Sorry, your Highness!”
No, she wasn’t. Bette’s scowl deepened.
“‘Too hot’, she says,” the beastkin muttered, “as though t’weren’t midwinter in the frigid North. Ain’t natural, this rune shit.”
“You’re slipping, Winny,” Tibby crowed in delight. “What about your knightly demeanor!”
“Come off it, Carroll! As if ye care.”
Tibby laughed.
Bette smiled despite herself, which she suspected was the aim of their little back-and-forth. Tibitha and Windale got on like a house on fire, neither feeling bound by certain strictures of high society. She sometimes envied them their easy camaraderie.
“What was the Duke up to, my lady?”
Tibby retrieved her cards. Then, she splayed them widely in one hand, wiggling the fingers of the other as she considered.
She picked a card and, with a flourish, set it on the pile.
“All that for a six?”
“It’s about the atmosphere! I’m setting a trap, you’ll see!”
Bette glanced toward the window of the vehicle. “I think he’s discussing the current state of the southern border with a lieutenant.”
Windale hummed thoughtfully. “What’s the word on this Eurythion guy, anyway? He got a grudge against us in particular?”
“Politically, no. I can’t think of anything the dukedom has done to undercut our southern neighbors in recent times. It might simply be because we have done nothing. Perhaps we are seen as weak.”
Windale and Bette both looked at Tibitha, who as the most recently returned from the capital had the most up to date information.
“People seemed surprised when I mentioned coming from the North! They didn’t seem mean, though. Just kinda ignorant about… our way of life? All the girls I debuted alongside were full of questions about us!”
“Could this be a kind of probing strike, ye reckon? Like a feint. Feeling out an unknown.”
Lisbette considered that. “It’s possible. Ill-advised, but that’s true of this whole farce.”
The idea that someone would come at them with such an aggressive move just to see what their reaction was– well, it was hardly a smart play. Perhaps Eurythion was confident in their political standing and economic fortitude. It was also possible this was a retaliation for a perceived slight about which they had no notion.
“Can’t ye pull back to Zenith and the other fortress cities? Let ‘em deal with the monsters themselves for a while and see what a good deal they got.”
Bette grimaced. “As much as that would satisfy, that is nonstarter. Firstly, Drakuhl has grown beyond the capacity of the fortresses—we have internal agriculture, yes, but hardly enough to feed the entire population. It would also mean sacrificing the livelihoods and homes of a great many people for a personal squabble with another ruler, which is abhorrent. Secondly, it would be anathema to my family’s guiding principles. To be derelict in our duty for any reason is something we cannot conscience.”
“Plus, the fortresses can only take so much punishment,” Tibby interjected. “By the time the walls fall we’ll be overrun! It’s best to divide and conquer with monsters. If you let them get too entrenched, you’ll suffer for it.”
Bette nodded. She hadn’t considered that. Tibitha had been attending military training longer than her, so it wasn’t unsurprising she would consider the logistics of fighting the monsters after.
“Have you decided if you will take your military rotation yet?” She asked curiously.
Tibby paused, glancing up at Bette and then down at her cards.
“Nnnot yet?” She said, drawing it out like a question. Her cousin looked strangely uncomfortable with the question. Bette blinked, but decided to leave it alone.
Tibitha was employed in service to Drakuhl already, so she technically did not have to enter the military proper at all, unlike most Drakuhlian nobles whose service was mandatory for a period of three years. Lisbette, of course, would be the military commander of the entire dukedom. It was her military. Or, it would be.
Thirty minutes went by. She listened with half an ear to her retinue’s idle chitchat, glancing down at her pocket watch every so often.
The minute hand ticked slowly closer to the appointed time.
Five minutes ‘til, she yanked her cloak back on and fumbled with the fasteners. Tibby’s hands, as always, joined hers, gracefully tightening ties and buckles.
“Windale,” she ordered: “Be ready. You will ride alongside me.”
The beastkin winced but nodded, offering her a salute.
Bette flung open the carriage door for what was hopefully the last time, and descended. Her boots crunched on the compacting snow.
She spotted her father speaking with the soldier in charge of supplies and hurried forward
“…last, then, your majesty,” the man informed her father. “Safely secured!”
“Thank you, Stervin. You’re dismissed.”
The man tucked his fist against his chest and bowed before retreating from the scene.
Bette joined her father by his side. Tall as she was, she was nowhere near his height and she found it disconcerting how far back she had to bend her neck to see his face. He raised an eyebrow at her.
She bowed.
“My retinue is ready as well,” she reported.
“Yes, I see,” he said. He gazed over her shoulder and she looked back to see Windale jumping out of the carriage. They landed in the snow, shivering, pulling on the fur-lined cap that went with their uniform.
It was unfortunate that they couldn’t apply warming runes to fabric the way they could metal or wood. The material just didn’t hold up well to the strain, fraying and snapping easily, or else overheating and catching on fire.
“Tibitha has opted to ride with our supplies in the carriage,” she explained. “While Windale and I will ride.”
She said it matter-of-factly, trying not to betray her nerves. He gave her a long, unreadable look. If it weren’t so cold, she’d be sweating.
Finally, he sighed. “Yes, you will.”
She restrained herself from pumping her fist in the air. Victory!
She turned and gave Windale a smile. They returned it, though it looked more like a grimace on their face.
Permission received, she and Windale commandeered two yaks, already fitted with riding gear.
Well, they weren’t exactly yaks. The word was from an older Northern dialect and it did not precisely translate. Ymaek was a closer approximation of how it was actually said. They were a sort of cross between a yak, a goat, and an antelope. They were a dappled gray with thick, wooly fur and wide cloven hooves. Their snouts were shorter than a horse’s, with protruding tusks. Their rounded ears minimized the loss of body heat. Upon their head sat two straight, proud horns formed from bone.
While horses were a domesticated animal imported from the southern plains, the ymaek was native to the mountains. They were built for navigating rocky paths and steep slopes.
She petted the fur between its eyes, and it lowered its head to sniff at her hair.
“We’re going to get along,” she assured it.
It raised its head again and snorted, looking dubious but willing to see where this went.
She’d take it.