A steady southern breeze began to blow as the iron portcullis was raised, and the vanguard spilled down the hill like a stream. Marshal Perdiccas was riding up and down the column to keep it snaking forward.

Beside her was Tomas the Tall, a fair-skinned blond who was a half a head shorter than her. At the sponsorship of Hystor Theios, he had arrived from the Thalassian Athenaeum some months prior, borrowing the family library for some manner of research. More a scholar than a priest, she reckoned.

“You came highly recommended by Hystor Theios for this journey,” Mydea said in the High Speech.

The hystor tipped his head. “I am glad to be of service, Lady Advocate,” he answered in the Old Tongue like her grandmother would, much to her surprise. It was mandatory to know Ilyosi at the Thalassian Athenaeum, but not everyone took to it so well.

Mydea took a moment more to study him. He was a Syngian of some stripe with skin like that. Monsi perhaps? It was the most common ethnicity in the Deeplands and would explain his height. “You speak our language well,” Mydea said.

“Might I provide my credentials?”

“Please do.”

“I’ve dabbled in histories and divination, though I regret to say I was never so gifted as to know the future,” Tomas said. “My specialty now lies in languages. I am fluent in five, and can converse in several more including Tuskarii.”

“Impressive,” she said. Mydea herself claimed mastery over three languages, and could converse in two more. “Are you a diplomat by training, hystor?”

Tomas blushed and showed her his unmarked palms. “Ah, please, no need for the honorifics, my lady. I am not yet inducted into the hystors.”

“Really?” Mydea asked. “But surely you qualify already.” There were hystors serving in villages and towns who knew little and less.

“I wish to avoid the teaching requirement for a while longer,” Tomas said with a sheepish grin. “It would distract from my research.”

“Your family must be wealthy to afford the fees,” Mydea said.

He nodded. “My father runs a silk trade across the Sundered Sea.”

It was a mistake to view all strawborn as the same. While many had straw roofs, some lived under spun gold. “I’m surprised you agreed to come north if you care so much for your studies,” Mydea said. An aristocrat’s request was rarely dismissed out of hand, but she had no means to compel him without inviting retribution. Any family that dared abuse the athenaeum’s hystors and pupils might find their descendants barred from those halls, or even suffer sanction from the Empress.

“My reasons are not entirely altruistic,” Tomas confessed. “I am studying the Tuskars, and while House Kolchis’ library has provided a wealth of knowledge, there are some things I must see for myself.”

“I must disappoint you then,” Mydea said. “The first raids follow winter, and not before.”

Tomas frowned. “Do they? But the histories—”

“Raids during the other months have occurred in the past, but they are exceptions rather than the rule,” Mydea said. “None of the tribes have deviated from their norm since my grandfather’s death.”

He looked around at their party in their chainmail and hauberk. “Forgive me for asking then, but why is your retinue dressed for battle if we are not expecting one?”

“Merely pageantry,” Mydea said. “The soilborn must feel protected, and they know not how to judge strength from the illusion of it. It is simply easier to reassure them if we dress the part.” In truth, the retinue they’d brought was not a war party, but a mix of greener mages that needed seasoning and a dependable core of knights just in case things went awry. “I must say, for a merchant’s get you seem well-versed in military affairs.”

“A result of my interest in history,” Tomas said, then sighed. “Well, I suppose I could still speak with the people who live by the border. Their accounts about the Tuskar raids might shed some light on things.”

“If testimonies are what you desire, you might speak with my marshal. He has faced them before,” Mydea said. She caught said man’s eyes, and gestured for him to come over.

The marshal came thundering over on his winged warhorse, leaving deep gashes in the snow. Unlike the others, the stout, towering man was outfitted in a series of bronze plates that left his lower legs uncovered. He was armed with a sword and shield on his person, while his squire was never far behind with a spear, a bundle of javelins, and his personal standard. Marshal Perdiccas was just in his forties, Mydea knew, but already his hair was turning from soot to snow.

“You called, my lady?”

“If it’s not too much of an imposition, our companion would like to ask you some questions about the Tuskars,” Mydea said.

“I can spare some time now that we are on the move,” Perdiccas said. He turned to his squire. “Ensure the rear keeps up with us. I will not have our party strung out like melted cheese!”

“Aye, sir!” the squire said, before beginning to make his rounds.

“Meaning no offense, but what of Lord Aetos?” Tomas asked. “I hear he is a formidable fighter. Surely he has something to add to this?”

Mydea glanced at her father, who had a distant look in his eyes as if pondering on the truths of the world. “I wouldn’t disturb him when he’s like this.” Inspiration could strike him at the strangest times, and to shake him free from it now would see it lost forever.

“In a battle against another mage in steel plate, Lord Aetos would best the best of them even without a sword,” Perdiccas said. “However, the frontier is not a contest of strength, but of speed. War with the tribes is different.”

The marshal was being polite for her sake. Even if her father could test himself against the Tuskar, he would leave the vast farming estates in such a ruin that they’d have been better off letting the tribesmen go freely. He was a hammer, but the world was not made from nails alone.

Tomas listened with intent, frowning. “Are the nomads truly so dangerous?”

“A different sort of danger,” Perdiccas said. “There’s little threat that they might storm a castle or siege a town, but for those same reasons, bringing them into pitched battle of any sort is nearly impossible. The tribes are not one people, but half a hundred groupings who might kill each other as readily as us. They build no villages, have no roots, and even the magic they use differs from each other.”

“There is something I do not understand,” Tomas said. “Lady Mydea says they raid during the winter?”

“That is so.”

“Would that not defeat the purpose of their raids?” Tomas asked. “The harvest has been gathered and stored by winter, much of it within towns or keeps. Would the tribes not have more success in the fall?”

Perdiccas offered him a wry smile. “You still presume the tribes fight like other armies do. They do not raid for food, though if they chance upon a shepherd’s flock or a granary, they will not leave it untouched. They will steal away medicines, tomes, and tools too, but the prizes they seek above all else are bronze and steel. They cannot mine without settlements, and they cannot settle if they do not farm.”

“If those are what they seek then why choose to fight in the winter when they’re expected? Surely any season will do. After all, metals are not subject to the whims of weather.”

“Because of the sun,” Mydea said immediately. Every child knew that answer.

“The sun?” Tomas repeated.

“Aye, the sun,” Perdiccas said. “The Tuskars are small, slender, and ever so pale. It is clear they do not see much of the sun in their frostbitten lands, and some men whisper their eyes are better at night too. Whatever the truth of it, the Tuskars and their Bloodless Ones believe they are stronger in the shade.”

Though the Aigean Way did not extend beyond Aigis, league upon league of dirt roads disappeared behind them. Mydea made a point to stop at a village or town each night and to share a word with the village headsmen and hystors. They were not the point of the journey, but little was lost impressing House Kolchis’ might on them as they passed.

The fields of the village had long, straight lines in them, as if a god had scratched the earth to wake it up. The soilborn popped potatoes out of the ground, root and all, with each stomp of their feet, before catching the airborne potato with a basket. Some of the children even made a game from it, while others wielded scythes that swept to and fro, the wind allowing its blade to reach further than it should. Swathes of wheat stalks fell with every swipe. Those without tools, Mydea knew, would tire first.

“A crude application of magic,” Tomas observed.

“They can afford to waste magic like this,” Mydea said. “Few of them must fight when war arrives.”

In battle, a man or woman whose only experience with magic was farming tricks would be worse than worthless.

“They hardly have enough control, I suppose,” Tomas said. “Violence ought to be applied like a sword’s stroke—narrowly and with intent.”

Mydea’s brow arched upwards. “You studied the classics too.” Those classes were essential for each and every steelborn aristocrat to succeed, but it was less common to see the strawborn take them unless… “Do your parents hope you’ll earn a magery?” A squiredom or even knighthood might be possible considering his talents.

It would certainly explain why they were fine with the fees when he could instead become a hystor, which already came with rights and privileges well above what the strawborn possessed.

Tomas was silent for a moment. “They’ve never said anything to me, so I can only assume. Still, I’ve no intentions.”

“Perhaps marriage then?” Mydea asked, already sifting through suitable prospects among her brother’s vassals. Strawborn of great potential, like her father, were often married into the steelborn to keep the blood strong. Here was a scion not only gifted in magic, but also gold. Such rarities did not go unhitched for long. “I could arrange something to your benefit.”

“I’m afraid I’m already spoken for,” Tomas said. “I’ll be meeting my betrothed soon enough, though I know not her family’s station.”

“A shame. Well, I should be glad to keep my offer open if your future partner is not to your liking,” Mydea said.

“I appreciate the offer, my lady,” Tomas said with a tilt of his head.