The Land of Eternal Winter: Vortex Saga

By T. E. Waters

In snowbound Ruxalia, northern kingdom of ravens and pegasi, a cult seeks to beget the Eternal Winter of prophecy.

Neris, a resistance leader from the south, ventures into the frozen wastelands to recruit an old friend to her cause. But when neither idealism nor sentiment prove enough to persuade the remorseless killer-for-hire he has since become, she must resort to more drastic methods — methods that inadvertently entangle her in the affairs of a land not her own.

Meanwhile, fire-wielding mercenary Firiane searches for a missing comrade, thought to be in possession of an artifact long theorized to be the key to stopping the prophecy. But she is not the only one on the hunt, and even her own allies seem to stand in her way…

What none of them realize: the world has already changed. Fundamentally. Irrevocably.

Winter will soon be the least of their concerns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. E. Waters
• Release date: Dec 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386593058

Book preview

Prologue

Dianore looked at the package sitting on her pallet and hoped dearly that it was only a severed head. The last gift the king had sent her, ten years ago now, had been along those lines. But times had changed. And Conar had never been one to repeat his stunts. It bored him.

Shivering, Dianore stood. Added another log to her hearth.

The package, a squarish, nondescript box, wide enough for a head but perhaps not deep enough, was wrapped discreetly in auroch hide and unaccompanied by any note. She had received instructions warning of its arrival almost a week ago, but even then they had included no description of what she might find. Her sister, arriving with package in hand at some unearthly hour before the second sleep, had suggested something rather crude, not realizing, perhaps, the identity of the sender; though even if she had, Dianore suspected she would have said something worse.

Being no caster, she could sense nothing of the elemental makeup of the contents. Regardless, some unidentifiable urge that was not quite squeamishness made her reluctant to handle the box. She paced over to where she had laid out her clothes by the fire and pulled on jerkin and robes over her inner shift, followed by boots and gloves. Thus outfitted, she knelt back down and reached for the sinew cord tied around the package.

Then she drew her hand away as if scalded. Looked up with a guilty start. Footsteps skidded to a stop outside her door, followed by panicky rapping.

Dianore shoved the package under a pile of furs in the corner and went to greet her early visitor.

It was a young trainee, her cheeks flushed dark and her breath steaming. She touched her fingers to her lips and said, gasping, There’s been another one, Lady Commander.

Another package, Dianore thought, until she realized what the girl must be referring to.

That marks the fifth, doesn’t it?

Yes, my lady.

Dianore sighed. Have the remains disposed of as usual.

Yes, my lady, the girl repeated, then hesitated.

What’s the matter?

Captain Atharia’s been saying that we must purify the springs, my lady. She says the sacred law must have been broken, that some outsider must have desecrated the grounds. That’s why the springs’ve been acting up, why the births have been —

And how, Dianore asked mildly, does Captain Atharia intend to accomplish this?

The Blessed Daughter! If we seek aid from her, surely —

Only three weeks remain until the Solstice. She and her mother do not winter in these parts. Even if we send a message to her today, it’ll take her the greater part of that time to make it up here.

But if we fly her up?

Dianore’s breath hitched. ’Tis a dangerous thing you suggest.

Why? demanded the trainee. She’s not afraid of heights or something, is she?

What was that Atharia teaching her girls?

It is disrespectful to even suggest such nonsense. The Blessed Daughter is busy investigating the attacks at the border. We need not trouble her with the matter of the springs.

The girl’s face twisted in mix of shame and frustration. But this has never happened before! What if — what’ll happen to us all if —

Dianore softened. I know. But you must realize this has been a long time coming. The births have been declining for generations already. And pegasi are longer-lived than we. Ages after we are gone, still they shall remain.

At that the girl looked down, jaw set stubbornly. Dianore fought the urge to sigh again, recognizing that nothing more could be said.

Go. Double the watch, if Atharia puts so little faith in her sister-captains. No intruders have trespassed upon the holy grounds, and even if they had, the power of the springs is not so easily disrupted.

Yes, my lady.

The girl saluted again, then retreated.

After the door creaked shut, Dianore sank back down on her pallet and buried her face in her hands. The power of the springs… What a terrible lie that was, when really she knew no better than Atharia or anyone else what was to come. Too many of the old songs had been lost. If there were some way to restore the holy grounds to the fecundity of old, it had been surely lost with those songs, along with the green days of Spring.

But what else was she to say to these poor girls? Young, inexperienced, afraid. Still unfamiliar with the world beyond the north.

She would have to speak to Atharia. Make her understand. Before more reports came in from the border, encouraging further talk of Shadow and taint.

But first, there was Conar’s gift to deal with.

1

In Ruxalia, solitude was death. But Firu, who was no gambler, walked alone and did not fear. She was unarmed, her burden light, her step steady and untroubled despite the bitter wind.

And when the shadows of the trees bent toward her in the dimming light and quiet enveloped her in an icy cloak, she bared her teeth in a smile.

Come, she murmured.

No response materialized, save for the whisper of her own breath escaping her lips in a puff of white. Above her, bare branches leaned down in a half-formed embrace. She stretched her arms out as if to welcome them. Closed her eyes.

She spoke again, louder this time. I know you’re there.

They had followed her across the frozen rivers and through the tangled dark forests of the eastern hills. Common bandits, she had thought at first, but bandits would not have been so persistent, and the border watch would not have been so obvious or inefficient. In the end she’d taken pity on them, if only out of curiosity, and slowed her pace.

Only idiots would have kept following her after that.

Idiots with purpose.

Sure enough, this time they took the bait. Footsteps crunched against the snow, stopping a careful distance away.

A woman’s voice rang out, marked with a regional accent Firu could not place.

We know why you’ve come north, outlander!

Firu bit back a snort. Do tell. I hardly know myself.

She’d not questioned her summons, nor had she bothered to figure out the reasons for it. Quicker to find out in person. So she’d dropped everything and come running north at once like some obedient dog, though it had been years since she last stepped foot in Ruxalia, and she hadn’t planned on amending that for another few years yet.

Don’t play the fool!

She was familiar enough with northern humor to have to stop and consider if this was their idea of a joke.

What do you want?

This time, it was a man who spoke. Give us the Seal!

Despite herself, Firu’s heart skipped a beat. All her senses drew into focus.

But even with her back turned, she refused to let her surprise show.

The Seal? she repeated.

The wind rose and fell in response to her voice.

We know you’ve found it! Now hand it over!

Hmm. And if I don’t?

You’re alone, growled the woman, as if that were reason enough.

Firu had heard enough.

She unstrapped the pack from her back. Dropped it. Raised her gloved hands, took a deep breath, and turned. The air around her grew cold and still, but she barely noticed it over the flush of her own skin. One woman brandishing an Imperial blade. A bowman, arrow notched and pointed. And a third man with a five-armed cross inked on his cheek.

Good, said the man with the cross mark, stepping forward. Same one who had spoken before. The leader? Now —

Firu launched herself forward. The other man crumpled to the ground with a smoking hole in his chest, bow and arrow burning to ash beside him.

The woman howled, brought her sword swinging down before crumpling as well.

Leaving the marked man, who stood gaping as Firu skidded to a stop. Bright flame leaped and danced along her outstretched arms. She grinned and took a step toward him.

Oh great merciful Satos, who has seen into the Void, the man muttered, eyes wide with fear and bewilderment. My lord, lend me your strength…

He raised his own arms and a slushy wave of water slid from his fingertips and arced through the air to bind her.

Firu frowned. Batted away the slush. The flames surrounding her arms hissed, but did not expire.

She took another step forward.

He backed away, but she took yet another step, and the distance between them closed entirely.

So. Who’s Satos?

None of your business, outlander!

I’m afraid you’ve made it my business. She pointed two fingers at his heart.

Strange that they hadn’t ambushed her until now. Incompetent as they were, they must have been confident in their numbers, and Firu had dangled openings at them even a cannier merc would have taken advantage of.

Beads of sweat ran down the man’s face as he eyed her flaming fingers, but he remained silent.

There was something wrong with his elemental signature. Weak as he was, she should have sensed his affinity long ago.

But she had not identified any of her stalkers as casters. And even now, her reading of him was of one who had never manifested.

Too bad, said Firu. I don’t have this Seal of yours. Whatever it is.

That, at least, got a reaction from him.

You lie! They told us! She said the Keepers —

Firu tensed again. The man’s protest turned into a strangled yelp as one of her flames licked too close and singed his cloak.

Keepers? she murmured, the corner of her mouth twisting into a wry smile. Never heard of them. Then, rifling through his clothes with her free hand, she said, So who sent you? The League? The Empire? The IMA? Or this Satos fellow?

Lord Satos is all-knowing… all-powerful… babbled the man. I do not fear you! I do not fear death. For we are the chosen. We shall be reborn…

Foreign backing was unlikely. Ruxalians were, all in all, an insular people.

Which also meant it was unusual for unorthodox cults to take root.

Not that Firu believed for one moment that this was just some simple cult.

Is Satos the one who told you about the Seal?

It is the key to everything! The end, and the beginning —

Hm.

Waste of time. She clearly wasn’t going to get anywhere with this one. Might’ve been easier to intimidate one of the other two, but just as likely they knew nothing at all either.

If it weren’t for the summons, she’d spare him, track him back to whomever he reported to. No time for that now, though. And she wasn’t about to take the risk of leaving behind loose ends.

Firu focused fire to the tips of her fingers, preparing to thrust.

Only for pain to explode through her entire body.

She screamed, but no sound came from her throat. A suffocating white light swept over the clearing, wiping all else from sight.

She floated away from herself, feeling neither hot nor cold, neither hollow nor substantive. Dancing through a shimmering kaleidoscope of color, an unrelenting storm of light that stretched on forever and into nothing.

It was so beautiful.

So beautiful, and yet so utterly terrifying.

Everything hurt. Hurt so much.

Tears streamed down her face, flying and whirling into the vastness. She wanted to die. She could not die.

Through the haze she made out a tall figure through the haze standing at the center of the storm, eyes glowing even brighter than everything else, hair whipping out in strands of pure power.

In the figure’s hands was a single bright sword, blinding to look upon, and yet drawing the gaze nonetheless.

"Celise? she moaned, barely conscious of what she spoke or screamed. Please…"

But the figure did not turn, did not respond.

Celise, she whispered again, pushing against the light, and lost the last of her grip on herself.

Everything was color.

Then nothing.

Nothing?

Firu blinked. Lowered her arms in the sudden stillness.

Realized she’d slumped to the ground and had been trying to claw out her own eyes.

Her skin still prickled, and when she tried to rise, her limbs refused to hold her weight and she felt as if her flesh would slide right off her bones.

Instead she turned her head, surveying the scene. Her pack was intact, but the bodies of the woman and the archer had disappeared, as had the tattooed caster, and the smell of seared flesh no longer clung to the air. The snow on the ground remained pristine, untouched, save for the footprints she and her accosters had left.

The only evidence they had ever been there.

Her surroundings were cast in an eerie deep blue. The gibbous moon glimmered hazily above the treeline. The meager fire element she had drawn on had long swirled away to rejoin the powerstreams, yet even so it seemed terribly cold.

Firu took a deep breath. Then another. Forced herself to stand. Brushed herself off and gingerly picked up her pack. Regathered her hair with a spare tie she found in her pockets and drew her hood back up. Almost laughed out loud when she realized there was no grime on her gloves either.

A quick probe of the area revealed no other signatures.

But that was only to be expected. She’d gone to a fair bit of trouble just to make sure no other casters were in the vicinity when she confronted those goons.

Dammit Celise, she said, just barely keeping her voice steady. Whatever the hell you’re up to, it’s not funny.

There was no response.

Dread welled in her chest, but she shoved it back down.

She closed her eyes. Released more of her power, letting it drain away so that her own signature would remain camouflaged as well. Reoriented herself.

She’d taken only a few steps before she realized how ridiculous she was being. Even under normal circumstances, Ruxalian winters were not kind to those of her affinity. With the amount of energy and control she had to exert to keep herself in balance with her surroundings, she’d be dead long before she reached the safehouse if she continued on like this.

No matter what, her first priority was to meet up with the others.

But the moment she relaxed her control, a woman’s scream pierced through the night.

* * *

Firu’s feet reacted before her mind had fully registered the sound. Even as she ran, however, no signatures flared to life.

Which narrowed the screamer’s identity down to three possibilities.

And Firu was fairly certain which it was.

Yet she sensed nothing. Heard nothing, saw nothing. Renewed wariness took hold of her.

Still she did not stop running, ducking low branches, dancing over exposed roots, her soles still prickling with remnants of Aura, as if her booted feet were bared to the very elements.

Where the hell was Celise? Firu hadn’t been expecting a reception of any sort, but at times like this, her thoughts inevitably turned to her. Even if the damn woman weren’t directly responsible for whatever had just happened, she’d no doubt be able to offer an explanation, at least.

Still no signs of enemy casters. But she’d gotten close enough now to recognize the dim flicker of human life amid the elemental powerstreams.

Not just one person, but two.

She’d been right about the first. But the other —

Mor?

She slipped past the last of the trees, and a single glance at the scene before her told her enough.

A body lying still and prone in the snow, swathed in dark robes and unnatural silvery mist. And a pretty, disheveled blonde kneeling beside him, dressed all in white, mittened hands clasped over her pale face.

The woman, Lendra, jumped at Firu’s approach. Her wide blue eyes filled instantly with tears.

Oh, Firu! I’m so glad it’s you! It’s Morzend! I didn’t know what to do! I was afraid he —

He’s alive. Firu crouched down beside them, careful to avoid touching the mist. What happened?

You received a summons too, didn’t you? She spoke in standard Imperial, but her accent, which Firu had never quite been able to identify, grew thicker with her distress. I ran into Morzend on the way here — but we were ambushed. It all happened so fast — he tried to protect me! But —

Despite Mor’s condition, there were few signs of battle to be seen.

Considering her own recent experience, this was not quite as disconcerting as it should have been, but nonetheless set her on edge at once. Was it a coincidence? If so, the timing was a little too damn convenient.

Who attacked you?

Those wide blue eyes blinked, and then Lendra’s whole face seemed to still. Not who, Firu. It couldn’t possibly have been human.

Always with that sense of the dramatic. Firu tamped down on her irritation, recognizing it as a symptom of her underlying anxiety. No one, nothing else was in the vicinity as far as she could tell. No sense worrying about it. If it, they, whoever or whatever was still out there, still waiting for a chance, there wasn’t much she could do to stop them from attacking again.

She probed what she could of Mor’s signature, feeling for anomalies.

Nothing she could sense there either. But that was no guarantee. Mor was no caster, but a medium. Or as most people referred to them, a ghostspeaker. Their power was far older, far stranger. Impossible for an outsider to understand.

There was nothing she could do but to trust in that power of his, and in his ability to wield it.

Where’s Zu?

Zunac? I don’t know, Morzend was already alone when I ran into him. He mentioned something about them splitting up before they crossed the border —

But why? It wasn’t that Zu couldn’t defend himself under most circumstances, but like Lendra, he was powerless. Against the likes of the idiot cultists from just now, he perhaps stood a chance. But last Firu’d heard, Zu and Mor had gone gallivanting off on some particularly risky harebrained lead in occupied Qoyenis. If they’d run into trouble…

Shit. Now was not the time.

Still, she could not resist one final question.

Did he — have anything with him?

You mean supplies? We pooled our rations — I think he left most of theirs to Zunac. He said Zunac would be taking a longer route.

Let’s get him to the safehouse. Firu eyed the mist warily. Tell me more as we go.

What about the others? What if our enemies have decided to pick us off one by one? What if that’s why we’ve been called up north, because —

What enemies? But Firu bit back the remark and said instead, They wouldn’t bother wasting their resources on such a half-baked scheme.

But —

Safehouse first. Celise will know.

The mist wasn’t dissipating. In all the time Firu’d known Mor, she’d never seen him tax his body to this extent, or sink so deeply into possession — usually a technique left as a final resort.

But she couldn’t exactly just let him freeze to death, or leave him to the mercy of whatever was still hanging around out there. If it was really still out there.

Feeling slightly foolish, she poked her finger at the curling edges of the vapor. It stirred, but did not snap at her or melt off her skin. Apparently whatever ghost or spirit currently held Mor in its sway did not see her as a threat. Assuming this wasn’t some new technique Firu’d never seen him pull.

Here, take my pack for me, she said to the hovering Lendra, who looked close to tears again. The only ones I’d worry about are Yena and the Professor. And the Professor’s in good hands.

While Yena had not been heard from ever since the fall of the Republic.

Mentioning the Professor seemed to stir Lendra at last. I guess…

Firu carefully pulled Mor upright, still checking for any physical injuries. His breathing was even, and aside from the color of his already naturally sallow face, he seemed more or less intact, which was some relief, at least.

Help me steady him, she said.

Between the two of them, they managed to get him onto his feet and then positioned on Firu’s back. Weepy though she tended to be, Lendra was not unreliable. She was the newest member of their circle, and probably the youngest after Yena. Inexperienced. Just barely out of girlhood, really. From time to time Firu had even suspected that the theatrics were merely a front. A front for what, exactly, she couldn’t say. But no one could survive on their own for so long without drawing from a core of strength.

If we’re attacked again, drop everything and run.

Lendra gazed at her for a moment, eyes shining bright but expression otherwise unreadable.

Then she nodded.

* * *

The night grew deeper, and the wind more chill. But the darkness was peaceful, undisturbed by other signs of life.

Ominous.

Night bristled with activity in the deserts far to the south. Even here in the north, in the season of shadow, such emptiness couldn’t possibly be natural.

So. Not human.

It could not have been, Firu. It was — it was huge.

There had been no footprints, no signs of disturbed foliage. Her own accosters had left at least that much.

How huge?

I, I’m not sure. It moved so fast, I could hardly see. I did think it might have been a bear, but then I remembered the season, and they do not come so far down south, do they?

No.

And wolves, they travel in numbers, no? It was too big to be a wolf, I’m sure. An auroch maybe? But I hear they live far from the forests, out on the open tundras, in herds as well.

And Mor drove it off.

He tried to. I mean, he did, in the end… She suddenly stopped in her tracks, and Firu glanced over.

I’m so sorry! blurted Lendra, looking pale and small beneath the combined weight of her and Firu’s packs. I was so scared, I wasn’t expecting anything like it, and Mor was doing everything he could — while I, I couldn’t do a thing. It was awful. All I could do was watch, but now I can’t even tell you anything useful —

It’s fine, Firu said, gentling her tone as best as she could. That’s normal.

But, but —

It’s fine. You’ve been in the Empire recently?

Y-yes?

The capital?

Yes. I received my citizenship papers just last month, and I thought perhaps I would try to gain access to the imperial library.

Firu allowed herself to crack a smile. The latter was an exponentially more complicated process, all the more so for colonials and naturalized citizens.

But of course the girl knew that. Knew she had the best chance of any of them. Even the Professor, for all her decades’ worth of contributions to elemental studies, had been denied that privilege. The Catayan Empire hoarded its records, its history, its knowledge, all too aware that just the slightest drip of information in the wrong hands could be a most dangerous thing.

More information was what they’d needed. But depending on what Mor and Zu had gotten themselves into this time, that might not be the case anymore.

Firu, however, said none of this out loud. Nothing was certain. Too much had happened, too quickly.

And, dammit, she was worried about that awful woman after all.

Aren’t you tired? said Lendra, peering over anxiously at her. Will you be okay?

Plenty of time to rest when we get there.

They fell silent after that, and Firu lost track of time.

Before long, the trees parted into a clearing and the safehouse came into view, a low structure built in the traditional Ruxalian manner, camouflaged against the landscape and disguising the more extensive chambers burrowed below in the earth.

The wind stilled.

Firu froze.

What’s wrong? whispered Lendra, her voice sounding tinny and far too loud in the hush.

A soft glow flickered into view, distinct in quality from the moonlight. Pulsing. Alive.

"The Shadow is that which exists without light."

In an instant, all worry fled her mind. The surge of relief only seemed to amplify the exhaustion that had been creeping up on her.

"The Aura is that which abolishes all darkness," she muttered in reply.

The glow flickered again.

Hello, Firiane, said the low voice, with a lilting emphasis on the last syllable.

Only one person in the world insisted on calling Firu by her full name.

Only one person was allowed to.

She adjusted her grip on Mor as the glow grew, washing over the tall, slender figure of a blonde dressed head to toe in severe but elegant black.

Hey. Where’s the Professor?

The woman’s face was perfectly blank, but Firu had known her long enough to recognize her amusement.

Mother is busy at the moment.

Lendra ran forward. Oh, Celise! We were attacked! Morzend and I! We don’t know if… if…

Attacked! exclaimed another, sharper voice. Where? When? By whom?

From the entrance of the safehouse stepped a tall, dark-skinned woman wrapped in the charcoal gray robes of a certified imperial Windcaster.

Emorene! You’re here already too! Morzend and I —

As Lendra launched into an explanation that was no more coherent than the one she’d offered earlier, Firu exchanged a nod of greeting with Emorene. Though the woman’s gaze was keen as ever, she looked as if she had aged a decade in half that time.

Celise drew close, bending slightly to examine Mor and his mist.

He is fine, she murmured in Firu’s ear. He simply needs rest.

Firu let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Apparently he and Zu separated at the border. Khal and Tirnas aren’t here?

Their aid has been requested by the Ravenguard. Before Firu could say anything, she added, I believe Khalase mentioned something about a favor.

Tirnas and his damn favors. The others?

Oume has not been in contact, but Severn sent word about being occupied with various business dealings. Mum and Poethra had a fight.

Firu made a face. Ah. I was wondering why old Po hadn’t butted in yet.

Celise’s eyes crinkled in a smile. Come along, then. Let’s put him to bed.

You don’t want to hear about what happened? Firu said, but fell in step beside her as they walked out of the cold and into the warmth of the entryway. Behind them, Firu could still hear Emorene grilling poor Lendra.

I shall hear all about it later, no doubt. Although Mum will be quite troubled. I suppose it is Zunac who must have it.

Firu blinked.

… What.

How has your work been?

Celise.

Hm?

Busy. I reneged on my latest contract just to rush back up here. Just so you know. Don’t tell me they really —

It is not good to go back on your promises, Firiane.

I’m grateful for the concern, but my rep can afford to take a hit.

I see. I am glad you are doing well for yourself.

"Celise."

Here. Mum’s room should be best for now.

Firu sighed, but obediently followed her down the steps into the room and deposited Mor carefully on the pallet.

The color of his face looked even worse than before, but perhaps it was only the lighting. Even now the mist had not dissipated, and his breathing seemed as even as ever. If it weren’t for that clinging mist, he might as well have just been sleeping.

Firu unclenched her fist and turned to face Celise.

Her friend’s lips curved slightly.

Well, said Celise. Morzend and Zunac found it.

She’d suspected. And yet for all her mental preparation, Firu suddenly realized she had no idea whatsoever how to react. And Celise was just standing there watching her with that patient, knowing look that always drove her nuts.

She had to say something.

Even so, it was a few moments before she managed to find her voice.

After all these damn years.

Celise nodded. They were not one hundred percent certain it was the same artifact described in the records. However…

However?

It offered sufficient demonstration of its powers to convince them of its authenticity.

Firu stared. You’re kidding me. So what…?

But this time Celise shook her head.

I don’t know, Firiane. They did not go into detail, on the chance that their message would be intercepted before it reached me.

When was this?

Three weeks ago. I have heard nothing from either of them since then. I told no one else, but called for a gathering at once.

Must have separated some time after that. Taking caution against pursuers? But Zunac, alone? Too damn dangerous. Unless the demonstration had given them that much confidence… But then why had Mor and Lendra been attacked? All the way out here? The timing was all wrong. And whoever or whatever it’d been had backed off far too easily for something so vital.

Timing. Three weeks. From the former Republic it should’ve taken them only a week, week and a half at most to make it to this particular safehouse. It was definitely beginning to look like they’d run into serious trouble.

At the same time, three weeks ago was when Firu had received her summons. But it would have taken a few weeks more for said summons to have even made its way to her, considering how difficult she was to reach when she was on a job.

This isn’t why you called me up here, she said then, floating in the peculiar sharp clarity of apprehension.

Celise was quiet, and no longer smiling.

It’s my mother, Firiane.

The Professor? What happened?

But before Celise could answer, the earth shook with a tremor.

2

Neris had heard a great deal about the northern taverns and the type of people who frequented them. But all the hearsay in the world could not have prepared her for what she saw before her now.

Giggling women of all sizes and ages perched at the bar or lounged about at the tables, each of them armed with at least one knife in their belt, and probably more hidden elsewhere. A few had swords at their waists, and against the pelt-lined wall leaned a rack of spears waiting for their owners.

There was not a single man in sight. Not one of those taverns, then — though Neris had yet to be convinced those weren’t just salacious rumors made up by men with nothing better to do than gossip and fantasize all day long.

Hey there, stranger, called out one of the brown-skinned women gathered by the fireplace, in startlingly fluent Thaevian. She had an ugly scar slashing across her nose and a head of short, icy blue hair. Care for a drink?

A couple of her companions turned and eyed Neris as well, some of them clearly sizing her up, the rest already too drunk to care.

Neris stepped forward as she patted off the already melting remnants of snow on her shoulder. Then she drew back the hood of her cloak, shaking free her mane of long red hair.

I’m here on business, she replied in Imperial, raising her voice just enough to be heard over the noise. Where may I find Captain Julaire of the Eighth Wing?

The woman raised an eyebrow, shifting ever so slightly in her seat so that her