Chapter 789 — A Foreign Land

"To commemorate all who gave their lives," Philip said, looking into Count Dulle's eyes. "The collapsing rock swallowed the victims; the aftershock of the spell fused flesh and blood with stone until they could not be told apart. We hauled those boulders, fused with flesh and blood, out of the pass and shaped them into a memorial, set at the end of the Karlin Pass—the place they had tried to break through and failed. Its back is to the Bersel Range; it gazes out over the eastern plain.

"For a train to sound its whistle after passing through the Karlin Pass, and for soldiers to salute when they pass the memorial—that is the custom on this line."

Matilda listened quietly and intently, her expression betraying little change.

The envoys from Typhon all listened in silence; some seemed puzzled, some seemed lost in thought.

Count Dulle, the great investing nobleman from Aldernan, black of hair and beard, could not help looking out the window toward the direction where the memorial had already fallen behind. Amid the whistle that seemed still to linger in his ears, he could not help muttering:

"A monument that size... even with mages at work, it cannot have been easy to build."

It might well have been enough to build another textile mill.

Matilda listened to Count Dulle's murmuring and watched the plains of Cecil recede swiftly beyond the train.

A foreign land, far from home...

...

Wind from the far northern seas swept across the towering mountains, stirring the snows between the peaks. The banner of the Dracokin flew high above the massive spires of Long-Approach Fortress, its tail end streaming southward, fluttering without cease.

"The delegation has been chosen and will set out within days," said Dragonblood Duke Bayang'er, standing on the broad stone terrace of Long-Approach Fortress and gazing down over the snow-clad realm. He spoke to the courtier at his side: "Sir Golosh, with you at its head, there can be no doubt of success."

"The mission shall be accomplished, Your Majesty," Sir Golosh said, bowing his head, his voice low and grave.

Bayang'er nodded, his tone unhurried: "We have indeed been sealed away too long among these bitter, frozen mountains. The world beyond them is worth a look as well.

"Be the eyes of the Duchy, then—observe this Cecil Empire of theirs closely, and see what it is that makes them so extraordinary.

"Let it be said that we 'exiles'... did not fail to honor Talund's goodwill."

"Talund..." Sir Golosh's eyes shifted slightly. "How much longer must we wait..."

"From the very beginning, this has been a wait of near-eternity," Duke Bayang'er said without haste. "Only by holding to hope with a heart utterly without hope will our patience endure."

"...Yes, Your Majesty."

Bayang'er fell silent a moment, drew back his gaze, and looked at the trusted courtier beside him. Suddenly he smiled faintly: "Speaking of which—it has been a long time since you last saw your daughter, has it not?"

"...I caught a distant glimpse of her once, five years ago," Sir Golosh said, a note of helplessness and embarrassment in his voice. "A wild child... running amok in the human world, with no regard for propriety at all."

"The young are supposed to be rash, or rebellious—did you not leap from Dragonfall Cliff yourself when you were young?" Duke Bayang'er shook his head with a laugh. "Think of it as a brief sojourn in the human world. Wander for a few decades, a century or so, and once she has had her fill of play she will likely come home."

Sir Golosh was silent for a moment, then sighed. "...I hope so."

...

A cold wind blew past, and Maggie, walking beside the flight test grounds, suddenly could not help but sneeze enormously, feeling a strange chill rise in her heart.

Rebecca, walking at her side, glanced at her Dracokin friend with sudden curiosity: "Eh? What is it? Caught a cold?"

"No... I don't think so," Maggie rubbed her nose hard, rather puzzled. "I just suddenly felt a bit cold, and couldn't help sneezing."

"Are you sure it isn't just the cold weather giving you a cold?"

"Definitely not," Maggie shook her head with great certainty. "A Dracokin's body is very strong—especially against the cold. I grew up in places colder than this. In the depths of winter we would even go 'ice-chute racing' in nothing but our underclothes—now that is a cold sport."

Rebecca's eyes lit up at once, her interest immense: "Ice-chute racing? What's that?"

"Ah, it's a little game popular among Dracokin children," Maggie said, and perhaps because she was recalling happy childhood memories, she could not help laughing. "The main idea is to stuff yourself into a sturdy barrel and roll down a pre-carved ice chute from the top of a mountain. At the foot of the mountain you see who stands up first—oh, right, if you throw up you're disqualified outright, even if you're the first to stand."

Rebecca: "...Whoa!"

Soyou, walking on the other side, stared wide-eyed at Maggie with a peculiar look: "You people of the Holy Dragon Duchy... played that sort of thing as children?"

Maggie thought it over, then shook her head: "Of course not every child played it that way."

Soyou breathed a sigh of relief. "That's what I thought..."

"The girls played the way I described—the boys didn't use barrels."

Soyou: "?"

Truly the customs of a foreign land... hard to imagine.