The next day, the light glittered on the new snow, casting shadows through the needles of evergreen conifers. As their luck with the weather seemed to be holding, they decided to start early and gain as much distance as they could with the help of the sun.
This meant a quick breakfast: mostly dried fruit and jerky, as well as salted nuts. If she complained they would, of course, make a full breakfast for her and her retinue, but Bette did not wish to trouble the soldiers.
Truthfully, she wasn’t very hungry at all. She had not slept well after her… nightmare? Vision? She didn’t even know what to call it. It was like the first, the one she’d had when she was six. Then, the ‘dragon dream’ had followed the accident that she suspected led to regaining her memories of her past life. She thought they might be connected. Though, it didn’t seem to be a scene from the games she’d played; everything had been terribly real, from the gleam of weapons held ready and the roar that shook the heavens.
If it was not a memory from her past life, she wondered then if they were part of the curse the dragon had supposedly lain on the ruling family— a gift from the dragon Drakuhl to its prophesied “descendant”.
But assuming that was true— loathe as she was to assume any such thing— why had the dragon seen fit to send them to her? Or, more likely, to embed the curse with these flashes of another time? If they were from the dragon, it stood to reason they would serve a purpose. Something about them must play a role in bringing about the ‘ruin’ that she had promised to Kuhn all those years ago.
She tried to focus on anything that felt different. She didn’t feel like committing atrocities against all humankind. She wasn’t any less loyal to her family, country, and the Empire as a whole. If she was supposed to somehow resurrect the Dark Ages and usher in a new world order, she did not believe she was any closer to figuring out how.
That didn’t necessarily mean anything. If the dreams were supposed to program her into a sleeper agent, she supposed it made sense she wouldn’t be aware of it until it was too late. The fact that she had traced the effects of these episodes down to her very soul was cause for concern.
She peeked over at Windale, who was shivering in their saddle beside her on a ymaek of their own. She had opted to ride Odameir once again and her loyal knight was forced to follow suit. She had considered, briefly, allowing them the pleasure of riding in the carriage, but honestly she did not want to spend the day cooped up inside of it.
They would have to sacrifice for her, as any knight should.
“Are you not from farther north than this?” She asked incredulously. “How are you not used to the climate here already?”
“No one where I’m from is fool ‘nough to travel in the dead o’ winter, yer Highness,” they grumbled. “We ‘kin hole up in our dens when it gets like this.”
Well, she couldn’t deny the sense in that.
It was foolhardy to brave longer journeys in the Northern winter. They would not have even considered it had the situation not been dire. Traveling between cities in Drakuhl was bad enough when the sun was up for a short time and the temperatures plummeted after. Traveling beyond the low-lying lands where most of Drakuhl was built, into the mountains, was tantamount to suicide.
“Plus, I’ve got a delicate constitution,” they continued, adopting a posher city accent, nose held high in the air.
She giggled despite herself.
After a moment, Windale broke their companionable silence.
“Why’d ye leave the carriage last night, Princess?”
She whipped her head around to look at them.
“I… didn’t realize you were awake,” she started.
“Eh,” they shrugged, making a wobbly hand gesture. “So-so. Just stirred a bit when ye left. Didn’t sense danger so I wasn’t really awake, I ken.”
“Ah,” she acknowledged. Then, she answered: “I had an unusual dream. I wanted to get some air.”
“A nightmare?” They asked. Their voice was carefully neutral.
Bette pursed her lips.
“… Not a nightmare, per se.”
An expectant silence greeted that pronouncement, but she did not continue. Windale sighed and stretched their arms above their head. The sigh elongated into a yawn and their sharp teeth flashed in the sunlight.
Bette glanced back at the carriage to check on it. The sleighs were very useful for carrying supplies (along with people) but they were coming to the point when they might have to abandon them, depending on the conditions ahead. Tibby was gleefully kicking her feet up as she gazed out of the window. She seemed to notice Bette’s look, and responded with a cheerful wave.
Lisbette smiled and gave a small wave of her own.
Windale looked back as well. Tibby stuck her tongue out at them.
She didn’t see their reaction, but it made Tibby laugh.
For the most part, they kept the peaks of the western mountain range to their right, never ascending into the mountains proper but navigating through their foothills. Below the alpine line, the land was still mostly green and flourishing. Evergreens were prolific here. Stately conifer trees rose high into the air, towering over their train and fit to bursting with pinecones and needles. There were evergreen ferns as well, like the silverleaf that sheltered beds of tiny winter flowers readying themselves for the spring to come. Those plants that did hibernate in the winter looked like bleached lightning flashing through a green sky, bare and beautiful. Hardy vines climbed their trunks and mushrooms decorated their sides.
A few of the soldiers were growing bolder around her, daring to talk to each other. Some even began to point out different plants useful for foraging or for alchemy. The easing tension felt wonderful. With her friends at her side, and the soldiers coming to understand that she was nothing to fear, Bette was perhaps the most comfortable she’d been in her whole life.
On the evening of the second day, they came to the Navira River. Despite the sub-zero temperatures, the water was swift and sure, tearing apart any ice that tried to form upon it. She watched it warily. It was so clear it was almost impossible to tell how deep it was, but she couldn’t imagine they would be able to ford the river with that speed.
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This was, it turned out, where the military mages came in.
She watched intently as they began blocking out a formation in the snow. The curling lines of water runes hardened into jagged shapes, symbols governing motion and configuration spooling out in all directions. Occasionally, the two would consult with each other on one or two runes, adding one shape here or subtracting another. Slowly, over the course of two hours, a magic circle took shape.
She knew them, vaguely, though they’d never spoken to her. She’d taken note of their names, eyes sharp as she watched the way mana clung to them like drops of dew in the morning sun. Water mages, both of them. The man, Castor, was the son of a landless baron. His shock of red hair was unusual for the region, but he did have the face of a northern native. She assumed there was some southern or central blood in his line.
His companion, on the other hand, was a tall woman with thick, black braid wrapped securely around her neck and tucked into her shirt. Persha of Farwest—also a low noble. The second daughter of the Count, if she was not mistaken. She was the picture of a northerner, with sharp dark eyes that watched the world around her like a bird of prey.
They were both young, maybe in their early twenties, and would surely have been away in the capital if not for the military crest upon their coats.
Although every magic-capable child was legally required to attend the Royal Rose Academy, in some cases the Empress could grant a deferment of service. There were a few situations that warranted such a waiver. Among others, there were some obvious ones: if the mage in question was with child or nursing, if they were seriously ill, or if there was a natural disaster in their home territory that required their attention. If the family in question only had magicians, it became dangerous for the succession. So there was another special circumstance non-succeeding nobles: if a noble was not in the line of succession and also serving in their home military or guard, they could defer their tenure under the Empress until their service ended.
Parents might decide to send their ‘spare’ children to the military early to avoid the potential disaster of losing every possible heir at once. Many noble-born children in the north also decided on their own to join the military at sixteen to avoid leaving the only home they’d ever known. The imperial academy insisted on having any future mage rulers attend, of course. The Academy was a way for the imperial family to maintain its grip on the nation. ‘Reinforcing ties’, they might say.
These waivers also did not mean that the individual was free of their obligation to the Empress. Even if they were not trained as Blades, they could be called upon at any time if the Empress willed it. All magicians in the empire were considered the direct vassals of the imperial family by decree of the first Empress, the Lady of Light.
Finally, the redhead raised his hand to signal to the rest they were ready to put their spell into effect. The group stood far enough back to not be in the way.
Both mages knelt in the snow, gloved fingertips at the edge of their meticulous inscription.
Bette sensed the sluggish mana hovering within the snow and above the river begin to crawl towards the circle. It filled with natural mana, settling into the grooves the mages had carved with a few helpful nudges from their own magic. Then, when the circle was at capacity, mana peeled away from the mages, humming with potential. It moved so quickly compared to the environmental mana. She closed her eyes to focus on the way it darted here and there, building up in key points of the circle. The added kick sent the water mana in the circle flying into action.
It surged up and out, following the instruction and will of the mages. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the snow and ice following suit, carried along by the surge of energy. It collapsed into dense whips of ice, curving in the air above the river before planting themselves in the far bank. Back and forth, ice moved and condensed out of the mana.
A bridge grew between the banks at the behest of two young mages and a sketch in the snow.
The part of her that was Liz sometimes still couldn’t believe magic actually existed. It was one thing to feel mana. It was like the wind, flowing but invisible. She could believe that wind did damage despite being unseen. But watching a working like this? It was incredible. Engineers back in Liz’s world would have killed for the ability to create bridges in a couple hours with only the surrounding material and exertion.
That wasn’t to say it was easy.
As she watched, Castor’s body began to tremble. The mana leaving him was too much. His channels were likely constricting, protesting being drained so abruptly. He leaned back, breathing hard, as the form finalized. When he tried to stand, his legs collapsed beneath him and he fell into the snow.
He was sweating like he had just sprinted a marathon. A moment later, Persha joined him on the ground. She hadn’t even tried to stand—she simply fainted dead away as her mana stores bottomed out.
The rest of the soldiers worked quickly to get the mages into the Duke’s carriage, bundled into layers of blankets with the military physician attending them. They climbed down from their mounts to avoid putting too much weight in any one point of the bridge.
“That was exciting!” Tibitha declared when they began to move again, taking the carriages across the bridge in single file. “Magic is so cool!”
Bette squinted at her. Was that a pun?
“Is it always like that?” Tibby rolled her eyes back into her skull and pretended to faint. She fell into Windale and the beastkin hissed in surprise, nearly fumbling her cousin.
“No,” Bette denied. “They didn’t build the circle big enough, it seems. Not enough power gathered from the environment. The spell pulled on their reserves. They overtaxed themselves.”
She was a novice but even she knew that it wasn’t a sound strategy for mages to knock themselves out doing their own spells. They had underestimated the amount of mana they would need, and the circle forced them to draw more than they expected. Had it been somehow more difficult than usual to perform?
“That’s… not good.” Tibby frowned.
“Especially since we’ll have to cross at least one more river before we leave the mountains,” she agreed. They could technically go around the next river, but that would require detouring further up into the mountains, which would ultimately be just as dangerous while taking more time.
She chewed at her bottom lip. If it was just more mana that they needed, she could provide it. She wouldn’t be able to set up the circle as they did, but perhaps there was a way for them to plug her in like a battery. She had so much mana, after all. Why not use it to help them reach their goal more quickly?
They would likely recover before they reached the next major river. She would offer her services then.
They re-mounted when they reached the end of the bridge. After about ten minutes, the sound of cracking ice echoed after them. Bette looked back, watching as it began to decay. The magic holding the weight of the ice up folded and chunks crashed into the water. Miniature icebergs were carried down the stream, running off to join the rest of the waters in their journey to the see.
They continued on while the mages recuperated in the carriage. The Duke rode beside it, conferring quietly with the doctor. He was as grim-faced as ever, but the set of his shoulders seemed harder than before. The Duke and his carriage were ahead of her, so she saw her father motion for a soldier to join at his side. The man fell in step beside him, and they exchanged words too soft for her to hear over the rushing water below. The man bowed slightly, fist to his chest, and began to jog ahead.
“Hm, his Grace is sending a scout ahead,” Windale informed them.
Bette blinked at them. “You could hear that all the way back here, over the water?”
“Nah, I read his lips,” Windale said with a shrug.
She stared at them. They didn’t look at her. She stared harder.
“It’s just somethin’ I’ve been practicing,” they said finally, rubbing the back of their head nervously. “I dunno if I got everything, but I did see ‘scout’ so I’m pretty sure.”
Bette clicked her tongue, urging Odameir to pick up his pace until they were close enough that she could speak to her father without yelling.
“Father, are the mages alright?” She asked.
“They’re exhausted, but not dangerously,” he informed her. “It’s just taking longer than we thought for them to recover.”
“Did they use the wrong multiplier?” She wondered, partly to herself.
The Duke shook his head. “I’ve made similar crossings with them before. This has never been an issue. Winded, certainly, but drained? Peculiar indeed.”
She let herself fall back in line with her companions, unsettled.