Amethyst held up her hands as the conversation heated up. “I am certain that King Brynjar is no fool, nor have I heard of him or his countrymen having any sort of traffic with the dark beasts.” She set her hands on her lap as everyone at the table stopped speaking and looked at her. “The beasts are becoming more active all over Lonwick. Something seems to be making them restless, and I don't think it is our neighbors.”
The young man with red hair, Bryce, spoke up. “It's probably some dark wizard, riling them up for his own purposes.”
Brickenden thumped his fist against the table. “Now, there's no proof of that! If a dark wizard were involved, we'd all be doomed! This is just a few pig-faced monstrosities wandering through the province. So long as we keep putting them to the sword, there's nothing to fear.” He turned to Amethyst. “We've got the northern border under control, Your Grace.”
“That is good to know. I am sure the fine men and elves of Rockhill benefit from your competent and skillful leadership, Lord Brickenden.” Amethyst lifted a lace napkin to her mouth and gently dabbed at her lips, signaling that she was done with her meal. A servant came and took away her plate, leaving her goblet of wine, which she had only half emptied.
“Now, Lord Brickenden,” she said, “ I assume you have a tailor in your employ?”
Sitting back, the mayor nodded, lifting his goblet to his lips. “Of course, Your Grace. Do you have some clothing that needs to be mended?”
Amethyst shook her head. “Not quite. I have been riding sidesaddle for the better part of a week. My wardrobe is not conducive to riding my horse astride. I would like to see if your tailor is able to put together an appropriate riding outfit that not only allows me to ride in comfort, but staves off this cold better than a riding cloak might.”
“Absolutely, Highness. I shall have him sent to your chamber immediately so he can take your measurements. He will have an outfit to you by dawn, or I will have his hide.”
“No need for such dramatics,” she said, chucking. “If your tailor is able, then I would appreciate it. However, I am tired, and right now what I crave more than anything else is a warm bath and a soft bed.”
Amethyst stood, and everyone at the table stood with her. She nodded slightly towards the mayor. “Lord and Lady Brickenden, the crown appreciates your warm hospitality this night. I must bid you good evening. Though the dawn comes late during the Frost Moon, it is still earlier than I would like.”
There was polite laughter around the table, and she took her leave, a servant escorting her and her guards to the chamber that had been prepared for her. As they reached the plain, iron-banded oak door, two servants bearing large pails left the room, leaving the door ajar behind them. She paused in the hallway as one of the guards went inside, checking the chamber before she entered. He returned, bowing to her as he took his post to one side of the entrance.
“The room is safe, Princess. The only one inside is the tailor you requested.”
She nodded to him. “Thank you. Remain outside the door until he leaves, then one of you go to the barracks and send two others up to take your place.” She turned to the other guard. “When they arrive, join him in the barracks. Take your food and your rest. Both of you have earned them.”
They clasped mailled fists to their chests in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Your Majesty!”
She entered the room to find a slender man waiting for her. He wore a simple woven tunic and trousers with a leather apron over the top, long tapes with evenly marked segments hanging from pockets sewn into the outside, as well as spools of thread, pins stuck into strips of cloth, and several swatches of fabric. He bowed low as she entered, holding a hand to his pockets to keep the contents from spilling onto the ground.
“Your Majesty,” he said as she entered, and she beckoned for him to stand straight.
“I trust that you have been briefed on what it is that I want?”
“Only in passing, Majesty,” he said, keeping his hands clasped behind his back.
She told him what she needed, explaining the discomfort of the trip, and he nodded, listening intently.
“I have just the thing,” he said, once she had finished. “The hunters brought in some supple doeskin that I have just gotten back from the tanners. Is Your Grace opposed to leather? It should shed water better than silk or cotton.”
She nodded, considering. “Leather is heavy and can tend to stick to the skin. What can we do about that?”
“Perhaps a cotton lining? I have some new fabric from the Burning Sands. The threads are fine enough to be almost like silk.”
She nodded. “That will do nicely. Can you have it done by dawn?”
The tailor paused, then nodded. “My assistants and I will work through the night, Your Grace. It will be done.”
“Excellent. Let's get the necessary measurements. I am in need of rest, and you have a long night ahead of you.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
The man was very efficient, measuring her waist, hips, and bust, marking down notes on a piece of parchment. He also measured her across her shoulders, from her ankle to her hips, and from her hips to her collar. When he had everything he needed, he bowed to her and excused himself, leaving her alone in the richly decorated room.
Her business done, Amethyst looked around the room. It was decorated in a different style from her chamber in Castle Lonwick, though it wasn't unattractive. The furniture was built thick, with sturdy wooden beams featured prominently in the chairs, tables, and bed frame. A chandelier hung above the center of the room, made from large antlers intricately woven together and hung from the ceiling with a thick chain of polished steel. The walls were covered in wide planks of some finely grained dark wood, sanded so smooth it seemed to almost catch the light. It smelled pleasantly of cedar and pine, with hints of leather and sandalwood. It was all quite earthy and comforting with the flickering light of the candles and small hearth that heated the chamber.
To the left of the entry was another door, through which she could see a broad copper basin waiting for her, steam rising from inside. She entered and closed the door behind her, sliding a bolt to lock it before undressing and climbing into the piping hot water. It was scented with lavender and some sort of citrus, and she sighed appreciatively as she slipped into the bath. The north might be less civilized than the capital, but it had its own charm. At least here, she didn't have the overbearing eye of her father judging every move she made.
The news of the orcs, though, was concerning. What was causing the sudden increase in activity amongst the orcs, ogres, and trolls? That they were making trouble all the way from the southern reaches to the north was very unusual; in her one hundred and sixty-two years, she had never heard this many reports of attacks from the dark beasts in such a short period.
She sank lower into the water, pulling the ribbon out of her hair and dropping it to the side. She was neither a hunter nor a guardsman. Such things were not her concern. Brickenden and his city guard would handle any threats that might come Rockhill's way. All she needed to focus on was the upcoming Choosing. She didn't know how much longer she had, but she knew that it couldn't come soon enough. In the long lives of elves, having something new and exciting to look forward to was a novel thing indeed.
~~~
New Moon of the Long Night, Year 4367
Amethyst sat astride Lucidus, comfortable for the first time since leaving Castle Lonwick. The tailor had delivered on his promise admirably, and the clothing she now wore was masterfully crafted. It was almost like she wore a second skin – neither too tight nor too loose – the soft, supple leather fitting her perfectly. A layer of thick cotton insulated her against the weather, which had taken a marked turn for the colder in the night. Not only had he made her a pair of trousers and a long tunic, but also new riding boots lined with sheepskin, the wool left intact. Her wolfskin cloak had been cleaned and returned to her, as had the rest of her garments. They were now wrapped in clean, dry cloth and again in
oiled canvas, to keep any water at bay.
A covering of white frost sparkled in the clear light of the rising sun. It gave an ethereal beauty to the landscape as they rode away from Rockhill, approaching the mountainous northern border of Lonwick. In the far distance, she could see a snow-covered peak rising above the landscape.
“That is the great Stromgard mountain,” said Rasul. “That is our destination.”
“Is it really that close to our borders?” Amethyst asked. “I understood that it was well into the Northlands.”
“Not precisely, Your Grace. It may seem close, but it is two days of riding away. We will camp on the road this night, and cross into the Northlands around midday tomorrow. Thankfully, the weather has cleared enough for our passage through the mountains. We should reach the base of the mountain tomorrow evening, and make our ascent the next day.” He glanced over at her. “That is when you will need to send your entourage back home.”
She nodded. “I would like to keep at least five guards with me, but the rest can be dismissed.”
Rasul shook his head. “If the Master objects, then they will all need to be dismissed. None of the other Hopefuls are bringing guards.”
Amethyst raised an eyebrow. “I am also assuming none of the other Hopefuls are royalty.”
“As far as the Master is concerned, none of you are royalty, Your Grace. He is not called a Master for nothing. All are equal in his eyes.”
Amethyst huffed slightly. “I suppose we shall see when we get there.”
Rasul nodded. “Yes. We shall see.”
The day of riding was uneventful as they traveled, warming slightly as the bright sun melted away the frost and thawed the top layer of the road. The sparse woodlands of the northern valley had given way to the thicker forest of the mountains, and Amethyst noted the marked absence of oaks and cottonwoods – abundant in the valley but missing from the slopes of the hills around them. Towering fir and pine, interspersed with cedar, cast their shade over the ground on either side of the road. The massive trees kept the forest floor in perpetual shadow while also sheltering it from any heavy frost.
Along the side of the road, where sunlight could penetrate into the dense treeline, there were short, scrubby bushes with round, fleshy leaves of gray-green, their black bark flaking away to reveal a bright shock of red underneath. Rasul identified them as manzanita, which meant 'little apple' in one of the many dialects of her people. He cut a small cluster of the scarlet berries and handed them to her. They had a tart flavor with a hint of what tasted like cinnamon, but were not unpleasant.
They made camp in a wide, level clearing on the side of the road that night, and were up early again the next morning. The terrain was growing much steeper. Though he was quite young and spry, even Lucidus was huffing as he climbed, the heat from his exertion warming her legs. The frost lasted a little longer than it had the day before, and some of the puddles that dotted the road had a thin crust of ice over the top of them, crunching under the hooves of her horse.
They were nearing a long, broad ridge when there was a strange whistle from ahead of them, causing Rasul and Amethyst to rein their horses in, coming to a stop on the road. The soldiers drew up behind them, the loud clattering of the cart ceasing behind them as they paused, listening.
“What was that?” Amethyst asked quietly. “Some sort of bird?”
“No, Your Grace,” replied Rasul, his blue eyes narrowed against the darkness of the forest to the east. “No bird that I know of makes a sound like that.”
Immediately, the cavalry formed up around Amethyst and Rasul, while the servants urged the horses that were drawing the cart forward. The soldiers readied their bows, nocking arrows to strings as they formed a ring around the noncombatants. They waited in silence, peering into the depths of the forest.
Minutes passed, the only sound being the soft nickering of the horses. Amethyst was about to signal for the caravan to continue their ride when there was another shrill whistle, and dozens of orcs rushed from behind the trees towards the tightly-packed soldiers.
In almost perfect unison, the soldiers raised their bows, took aim, and loosed their arrows, bringing down the green-skinned beasts with devastating accuracy. It wasn't quite enough, though, as some of the orcs took their hits and kept charging, closing with the elven cavalry with a rabid ferocity, screeching from their wounds and holding crude swords and axes high.
Before the elves could nock more arrows, they were clashing with the creatures, the warhorses rearing up and kicking at the orcs as their riders drew swords, some of them dropping their bows rather than sling them over their shoulders.
Where the orcs brought surprise and savagery, the elves had discipline and skill. The sound of screaming orcs and clashing steel filled the air as the cavalry defended the travelers in the middle of the ring, hacking and cleaving about themselves as the orcs tried to cut their way through the soldiers. Amethyst struggled to maintain control of Lucidus, who was spooked by the sudden action, but almost as soon as it began the skirmish was over, with the last orcs turning from the battle, trying to flee into the forest. Their flight was cut short by the arrows of the cavalry, seeking out the last of the ambushing beasts before they could escape.
Lucidus paced underneath her as she clung to the reins, trying to calm him as the soldiers dismounted, seeking out any survivors and dispatching them with their swords.
One of the soldiers, who wore a red sash across his chest marking him as the captain, called out to the rest of the cavalry. “Sound off! Do we have any wounded?”
Each of the elves sounded off, with no casualties. One of the cavalry had lost his horse, an orc having cut it down before being slain itself, but all in all, they were whole.
The captain approached Amethyst. “Highness, are you alright?”
She nodded, her heart beating fast in her chest. “Yes... yes, I am fine.” Everything had happened so fast that she had been caught entirely by surprise. “What shall we do with the fallen?”
The elf looked around them, curling his lip derisively at the dead orcs. “The birds and beasts will take care of them, I have no doubt. If not, I can arrange for Lord Brickenden to send a detachment to dispose of them.”
“That would be a good idea, I think.”
She sat on Lucidus, looking around at the carnage. She took a deep breath to calm herself, but the scent of the orc blood in the air made the hair stand on the back of her neck. The captain watched her for a moment, then said, gently, “Highness, if you are ready, then we can leave this place. It will do us no good to stay here any longer.”
“Yes. Of course. Let's go.”
They abandoned the bodies of the orcs, pushing them off into the ditch that ran along the side of the road, and continued their climb to the top of the ridge. As they left the battle behind them, Amethyst's hands began to shake as she gripped the reins. Her stomach felt weak, as if she might be sick.
Rasul set a hand on her shoulder, startling her. “Do you need to rest for a moment, Your Grace?”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. No, I just need to leave that place. The quicker, the better.”
The dark-skinned man nodded. “Of course.” He waved to the captain. “The princess would like to move quickly, if we could.”
The captain nodded and called for the cavalry to break into a canter. Ten riders stayed with the cart, which had trouble maintaining the pace, but the other twenty-nine soldiers kept up with Amethyst as she spurred Lucidus faster. As they climbed the long road to the ridge, she leaned forward, and her horse leapt into a gallop, pushing ahead of the pack. Behind her, she could hear the mounted soldiers giving chase, though only Rasul stayed even with her, unburdened as their mounts were compared to the heavily armored elves.
By the time they neared the ridge ahead of them, the soldiers had fallen behind by twenty or thirty yards. Rasul shouted out to her that she needed to slow down, but her eyes were fixed on the ridge. Something about holding on to Lucidus as his powe
rful muscles propelled them forward was calming, driving away the orcish howling that burned into her ears. She closed her eyes and saw their twisted faces, the jagged edges of their swords and axes. She saw their blood as it sprayed through the air, their bodies falling to the ground to land in crumpled heaps. She heard the screaming of the horse as it was dragged down. She had never seen any of the dark beasts that close before.
Monsters. They were monsters.
She heard Rasul's voice fade away behind her and she opened her eyes. Lucidus had far outdistanced the rest of the riders, and the top of the ridge was almost upon her. She pulled back on his reins and begrudgingly, the spirited stallion slowed to a canter, then a trot, before coming to a stop in the middle of the road at the top of the ridge. She looked back into Lonwick from her vantage point to see the soldiers pounding their way up the hill behind Rasul, the cart and its escort lagging far behind them.
As Rasul reached her, she could see that he was out of breath. The frown on his face told her that he was not pleased.
“Your Grace,” he said, clenching his jaw slightly. “It is not wise to separate yourself from me – or your bodyguards – this close to the border. We don't know if there are more orcs in the area. You could have put yourself in genuine danger.”
As the soldiers arrived, gathering around her as she sat in her saddle, catching her breath, she looked over at Rasul. “But there were no more orcs. No harm was done. Besides, it was you that asked if I wanted to ride faster.”
“I did,” he said, still frowning, “but I did not intend for you to abandon your entourage. Two score of charging cavalry is bound to draw attention from someone.”
Amethyst spread her arms. “There is nobody nearby to see. Whose attention could we have possibly drawn?”
Rasul glanced past her, down the other side of the ridge, and cursed in a language she had never heard before. “Theirs, as an example.”
She looked where he pointed and saw mounted horsemen riding up the opposite side of the ridge towards them, fifty or sixty strong. Many bore long, wickedly pointed lances, flying pennants of green and white, the colors of Valtheim. It would seem that the Northmen had taken notice.
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