"WAGON’S STUCK!"

A raging snowstorm roared and writhed at the convoy. Hissing, snarling, seething it was a white beast trying to waer down and exhaust the men and women trying to brave their way to Ssanjuu. It was even worse outside of the protected wards the teams of Imperial mages that had created the route ahead of them. At least within the relative safety of the magicked path, they could see more than a handspan's width in front of their face. Of course, that provided little comfort when the astronomers had predicted that there'd be nothing but a light snowfall on what was supposed to be a single day's journey.

It had been almost two days since they set out from Guanyo. The route pathed for them was circuitous and winding as they followed the thin, fragile-looking markers that was all that delineated the harsh storm that befell them now and the roiling, impenetrable mass of white on the other side. There was barely enough room to keep the convoy in a single line - the hazards of doing anything less was too dangerous to risk. The caravan master had personally witnessed one of his men stumble and fall over the ephemeral barrier, only to then have the rest of her be whipped and disappear into the maelstrom. Her scream was short and brief, the rest drowned in the winds. Pan could only hope her life had ended in the same fashion.

“Which wagon was it?”

“One of Rashad’s, Master Pan. A wheel got stuck in the drift and broke as he was trying to move it.”

A string of curses that was unbecoming of the usually unflappable caravan master spilled out faster than pieces from a Yeng-Shi brat’s coin pouch.

“Can one of the mages fix it?”

“The witch is working on it, but the work is slow and she is saying the wards are interfering with her magic.”

“Ai-yo. How long?”

“Two hours, maybe.”

Better than spending the better part of a day fixing it without her, but it still wasn’t time they could afford. Pan didn’t know how long this winding path would take them, which was compounded by the fact that they had to drive the train at an agonizingly slow pace.

“Very well. Tell everyone to pack in.”

Then a sound. Something that Pan couldn’t hear - at least not over the howling winds - but something he could feel. The old soldier looked out into the blinding white, then looked back down at the attendant.

“And have Rashad distribute the cargo on his broken wagon out to the others. We can always put it back later tonight once we camp.”

---

"The Caravan Master says to shift the load into the other wagons and leave this one!" The man had to shout to be heard above the tempest of wind and al-Rahman eyed him incredulously for a moment. To empty the wagon, and move it to the side of the trail, would require a ridiculous amount of time, far more than they likely had in this blizzard.

His cloak, made of bear fur, was pulled tight about him as he waved toward the dark line of shapes that showed where his own soldiers waited. They were a stoic lot, much like their master, and equally as well dressed. Never let it be said al-Rahman did not care for his people.

The mage, still trying to work her magic on a problem that al-Rahman could have fixed some time ago, was pushed aside and the crew went to work. They had not been in this business for as long as they had without a decent knowledge of how to replace a broken wheel. Skis would of course have been more practical given the weather but he had believed the astronomers and was now paying the price. He resisted the urge to snarl at the mage. It wasn't her fault but but it sure felt that way.

Using several blocks of wood as a base they quickly drew two long sturdy logs, reinforced with iron brackets, from another wagon. Using a simple lever with four men sitting on the end, they were able to lift the damaged wheel mere inches off the ground; high enough to remove the offending piece and push the spare into place. The locking pin was hammered into place and the lever lowered until the wagon rested firmly on its wheels again. The whole procedure took less than half an hour, far less than the hour or two it might have taken to empty the wagon and repack the others.

al-Rahman flashed a thumbs up at Master Pan since speaking was impossible. The two lever logs and their supporting blocks were returned to the wagon and the signal to move out given.

At the head of the wagons, their huge shaggy backs almost like moving snow drifts, the Kanaliz Oxen, bred by the locals for just such a climate, bellowed whips cracked and the wagons slowly began to roll forward again.

al-Rahman walked alongside, as did his crew. There was no advantage to being mounted in this chaos, it would only serve to put his head above the magical barrier, and horses were no meant for such poor weather.

The horses, along with some of their equipment, had been left in Guanyo under the guard of four men to sick to travel into a winter wasteland. The journey was already days overdue and al-Rahman planned to drop what he had brought, turn around and get the heck out of town before real winter closed in. He had no interest in staying this far north longer than needed. The cargo was paid for, the trip was paid for, all he needed to do was make the delivery.

The fine silk cloth felt strange on Wen's skin. She had never been one for unnecessary finery, her salary would not have permitted it, even if she had. The garb of an aristocratic noblewoman, the layers of fine fabric, the tasteful embroidery, and the hastily acquired jewelry that she wore felt like heavy weights bearing down on her lithe body.

Wen had made only modest efforts to hide her strangeness, wrapping a length of silk over in her head and horns in the shape of a hood. Jia Li had been a strange man, all knew this. Few would question his widow being stranger still. Wealth purchased much in the way of acceptance. She heard the whispers, of course, the quickly muffled chuckles and quietly breathed comments about Jia Li's peculiar tastes in women. Even in death, the old merchant would serve the Heavenly Emperor. What remained of his person, his reputation, provided Wen with persona she needed to remain hidden.

These facts did little to change how she felt. The remarks distressed her with their deep distastefulness and it was a credit to her teachers that she maintained the unwavering calm expected of a noblewoman doubtlessly far above acknowledging such base and improper rumors. She knew what she was, but she could not help but feel sullied by the implications, and she was left with a growing desire for a long, cleansing bath in the warmest water she could find so far from any settlements of note.

Guanyo, had been familiar, safe. The walls of the fortress city were a reminder of more than danger to Wen, she saw the long arm of the Imperial Army reaching towards the wilderness, and it comforted her. She was pleased with the caravan master, Chungho Pan. He had shown himself reliable and calm, even when the caravan suffered a most unfortunate casualty.

The matter of the curious wagon, heavily guarded by veteran Imperial soldiers, and accompanied by no less than a witch-artificer had been a source of much discussion in throughout the caravan. Wen feigned polite disinterest and did her best to avoid Imperial soldiers and especially the Imperial magician. She had no wish to be spotted and to be recognized as an Imperial magician, even by her own kind. The thought almost caused her to nervously run a hand over the fine gloves she wore, the Imperial Mark felt as if it was burning beneath the silk gloves that she wore.

She sat within the wooden wagon, mercifully sheltered from the rough weather. Lu Long, the owner of the wagon, sat nearby, slowly breathing sweet smoke from the pipe that never strayed far from his lips. Middle aged, Lu had the wrinkled brow of a merchant steeped in the worries of his trade. He was polite, affording Wen an endlessly respectful distance. Wen could see the growing worry in his eyes, but Lu couched his growing anxiety in gentle pronouncements on the long journey and small talk about the intricacies of trade throughout the Empire. The four young men that accompanied him, his retinue of employees, were busy loudly complaining over the most recent delay. They were eager to arrive in Ssanjuu, more eager to complete their business, and unabashedly hungry to the return to the familiar comforts of the capital city.

Lu nodded at Wen, releasing a heavy cloud of smoke, as a hand ran thoughtfully through his beard,"Lady Jia, I trust that you are comfortable? Do you require anything?"

"Thank you, Master Lu, all is well. I was merely thinking about my poor husband, he often spoke of his journeys to the Northern lands, and the difficulties he encountered, although I recall no mentions of winter storms quite as bad as the one that currently assails us."

"A great man," Lu sagely offered, "He was true servant of the Empire and a gifted merchant. To deal in textiles for so long and with such notable profits, was truly an admirable feat and the mark of a most carefully sharpened mind."

"Indeed," Wen agreed, forcing her mouth into a soft smile.

Mention of the recently passed Lord Jia, sent a shiver of excitement through Lu's workers and they quickly fell into their own hushed banter. Content to let Lu carry the conversation, Wen asked polite questions regarding his recent mercantile ventures. She knew well that he had recently purchased a significant stake in a trading company operating a small fleet of ships from the great port of Haifeng. She could see the spark of pride in Lu's eyes as he explained the particular venture and sensed a deeper reservoir of ambition in the middling merchant than her handlers had assumed.

The easy flow of their conversation was interrupted, by a familiar expression, the twisted word used to invoke those Aspected assuredly cursed by some vengeful deity.

"Accursed," one of the assistant merchants said, his voice rising thoughtlessly as his voice rang with unconfined glee. Lu's subordinates had an unfortunate habit of gossiping, Wen knew. They sought out rumors and fresh stories with a relish that she found disquieting. The frown that Lu shot the young men did little to dissuade them and wishing to avoid unnecessary conflict, Wen simply continued her conversation with Lu, inquiring about his daughter, a young woman that Wen knew had been recently married to the scion of a wealthy family of spice traders.

In a brief moment of silence, Wen could not help but overhear the conversation of the assistant merchants.

"Yes, I heard from Madame Song that the old man was distastefully fond of exotic companions, there was even a sordid song composed about his many affairs, You know the one, it began-" the trader continued with a snicker that faded only with the worried looks of his companions. His face turned an ashen white as he caught himself, realizing his mistake, and looking away from the golden eyes that shone towards him with obvious anger.

The silence that followed was painfully awkward as Lu's face twisted with barely contained rage. It was his wagon. It was his subordinates. To offend a guest...to purposefully offend a guest, Wen knew this to be an unthinkable to the merchant.

"Pardon me for a moment, Master Lu, I find myself suddenly in need of some fresh air," Wen said, allowing Lu to save face. Her cheeks burned red with fury and she buried her tightly balled fists, shaking with anger in the sleeves of her gown as she rose from beneath the comfortable warmth of the thick blanket that she had wrapped herself in.

"Of course, you may have my horse," Lu apologetically offered, casting a furious glare at his subordinates who cowered under his ferocious expression.

Wrapping herself in a thick fur robe that trailed past her ankles, Wen stepped out of the wagon, managing to mount Lu's horse just as the caravan started moving again. She could hear yelling from within the wagon and the sudden unmistakable sound of well-shaped leather meeting raw flesh.