Chapter Four
1st Waxing Moon of the Long Night, Year 4367
The northern horsemen charged up the hill towards them, lances held high, and Amethyst's breath caught in her throat. Why were they charging? There was no reason for them to attack. If she wasn't mistaken, they weren't even properly in the Northlands yet; the ridge they sat on was the border. In front of her, Rasul, and the cart, the soldiers were forming ranks between them and the approaching Northmen, drawing their bows and nocking arrows to strings. The captain held up his hand, signaling for them to keep their arrows pointed down.
“What are they doing?” she asked Rasul. “Why are the Northmen attacking us? We haven't done anything to them or their land!”
“They aren't attacking us,” he replied. “If they were, their lances would be low, pointed at us rather than the sky.”
“Then why are they charging?”
Rasul shook his head. “That is not a Northern charge, Your Grace. Northmen range out wide, to better use their lances before closing for the melee. They just have quite a bit of ground to cover, and the best way to do that is quickly.”
Amethyst shifted in her saddle, still uneasy at the sight of nearly three score Northmen galloping towards them, armed to the teeth. They were enormous, larger than any elf or human she had ever seen. Their shoulders seemed impossibly wide, with beards that hung down their chests in red, black, brown, and blonde. The horseman in front wore incredibly ornate armor, stylized to look like a bear, with the visor of his helmet down, obscuring his face. As they drew closer, the Northman reined in his mount, slowing to a canter then a trot as they drew up to the ranks of Lonwick soldiers.
The Northmen stopped, forming up in a semicircle around the Lonwick soldiers, who kept their bows low but ready. The man in the bear armor dismounted his horse, and Amethyst could see how truly large he was. He stood at least a foot taller than the tallest elves, taller even than most humans. His legs were like tree trunks underneath him, clad in polished steel plates, while his chest was thick and round like a barrel.
He reached up to his helmet and drew it off, and Amethyst was surprised to see that he was a very old man, his black hair and beard streaked through with white and gray. His face was deeply lined with age, though his eyes were still bright and alert, appraising the force of elves in front of him before settling on her. He set his helmet on the horn of his saddle and stepped towards them.
“Why is there a detachment of Lonwick cavalry crossing into the Northlands?” he said, his deep voice heavily accented. “I have received no word from Lonwick to expect this. According to our treaties, there is to be no military action in the Northlands from Lonwick. Are we at war?”
The Lonwick captain shook his head. “No, Your Highness, we are not. We come only as an escort. Our business is at Mount Stromgard.”
Lifting an eyebrow, the old man pointed at Amethyst. “Who is that, that she requires forty armed cavalry as an escort? Even wealthy merchants from your lands travel lighter than that.”
Looking back towards Amethyst, the captain paused, not responding.
Rasul dismounted from his horse and made his way through the ranks. “This young woman is a member of an illustrious southern family, on a pilgrimage to the summit of Mount Stromgard, Your Majesty. Her father was gravely concerned for her safety, and wanted to make sure that she was well defended on the long road north.”
The old man fixed his gaze on Rasul. “Ah, so you've returned.”
Rasul smiled and bowed. “I have, King Brynjar.”
Brynjar whistled and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Obediently, the arms of the semicircle of horsemen fell back, gathering behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the dark-skinned man. “It is a good thing that you traveled armed, I suppose. I have received word of beasts in the southern reaches of my kingdom. We were hunting them when we saw you crest the ridge.”
The Lonwick captain signaled to the cavalry, and they removed their arrows from their bows, stowing them back into their quivers. “The beasts are no more, Your Highness. They ambushed us on the road, inside of Lonwick's borders. They were dealt with to a beast, and will trouble nobody anymore.”
Brynjar frowned. “I heard that there were at least two score of them. Were any of your fighting men injured?”
The captain shook his head. “No, Your Highness. We lost one horse, but we all survived the encounter.”
Nodding, the northern king said “Good, good. Well, no sense in continuing a hunt for a quarry that's already dead. Come, my men and I will escort you to the mountain.”
Rasul held up his hand. “Your Majesty, that is not necessary. We wouldn't want to trouble you.”
Brynjar mounted his horse. “Seeing as how this is my kingdom, I will decide what is and isn't necessary. It would trouble me more to hear that you came across some unsuspecting citizen of my lands and got into a skirmish than it would for me to ride through my own kingdom.” He wheeled his horse around, starting down the hill. “Come along, the night comes early this close to the solstice. Your lady can ride along with me.”
The Valtheim horsemen were already heading down the hill, passing their king to range out in front of him. Rasul mounted his horse and looked over at Amethyst. “I think you should take him up on his offer, Your Grace, but try not to let slip who you really are.”
Amethyst furrowed her brow, still processing everything that had happened. “Why not?”
Rasul spurred his horse forward, and Amethyst followed him, the Lonwick cavalry forming two columns behind them as they caught up to Brynjar. “While under Brynjar's protection, we won't need to worry about any highwaymen, bandits, or dissidents from the Northlands accosting us. However, if word gets out that there is a member of the Lonwick royal family in the North, well, one hardheaded fool or another may take it upon himself to send a message that the south can't ignore.” Rasul shrugged. “You may not be enemies with the Northlands, but elves are not thought well of in these lands.”
She scowled. “Why not?” she asked again. “We've not battled with the North in well over two centuries! That should be long enough to be considered at peace.”
“Those battles were very bloody, Your Grace, and that blood has left stains on the people of the North.”
She and Rasul caught up to Brynjar then, and the dark-skinned man dropped back, riding behind her, the Lonwick captain next to him. Brynjar turned to look at her, his stern face softening, and he smiled.
“Welcome to the Northlands, lady...?”
“Ah, Quartz,” she said, thinking quickly. “My name is Quartz.”
Brynjar's brow lifted almost imperceptibly. “Quartz, eh? Not a common name for a young woman.” He glanced at her ears. “Even for an elf.”
“My father was fond of the stone,” she replied, her cheeks flushing slightly at his scrutiny. “He said that I was as fair as the crystal when I was born.” She didn't like lying, but if what Rasul said was true, it was a small thing to do to ensure her safety.
“Well, he was not mistaken. I prefer the women of the North, myself, but only a fool would miss beauty over preference.” He faced forward, sitting easily in his saddle. “From where do you ride, Quartz of Lonwick?”
“We left Greatport about a week ago,” she lied again. It surprised her how easily she was able to build this character of herself, filling in the blanks as Brynjar made conversation. “We stayed in Rockhill on the new moon, to rest and replenish our supplies.”
Brynjar nodded. “A good plan, riding up the valley instead of along the coast. I hear the northern road of Lonwick can be as treacherous as our lands in the winter.”
“I hear the same. It mostly just rains in Greatport.”
Brynjar laughed. “Would that it did the same here! The winter is not kind to my bones and breath. The cold brings on an ache that doesn't let go until the spring grass breaks through the frost.”
It was Amethyst's turn to look over at Brynjar. She studied his face,
the deep creases of age marking his strong features. Though he was obviously a powerful man, there was something kindly in his manner as he spoke to her, and she found herself warming to him quickly. “Are the winters here severe?”
Brynjar scoffed. “Lady Quartz, severe is not the word for it. There are parts of these lands where the snows fall as deep as a house, and my people have to dig themselves out to tend to their cattle. Here in Valtheim, it is less so, but even the mountain you travel to stays capped in snow all the year round. We have already had one good snowfall this season, though the late autumn has melted it away.”
Amethyst nodded. “I see. I have heard stories of the Northlands, but I was unsure if they were hyperbole.”
Brynjar raised a brow at her. “Hyperbole, eh? I can say that we haven't heard that word in the Northlands.”
Amethyst blushed again. “My apologies. It means an exaggeration, said for effect.”
“Ah. No, Lady Quartz, it is not an exaggeration.” He pointed past the Stromgard mountain, to the north-northeast. “In my northernmost hold, Tiefuhr, they have had snow since the end of the Autumn moon. I don't expect to hear from them again until near the end of the Hunger moon, in three months. Beyond them, the snow never melts, and the ice is as thick as a mountain.”
He stretched out his arm to the west. “My kingdom stretches to the coast, where the seas will be freezing soon, blocking our ships from fishing and trade until it thaws in the spring. To the east, the mountains that border the Burning Sands keep the worst of our winters from crossing, but even there, the high cities and villages will be frozen within a month.”
Amethyst nodded. “It sounds as though your kingdom is a very harsh place to live. It must require great strength and endurance to live here.”
“The men of the Northlands are as hard as steel and twice as sharp,” said Brynjar. “We survive on our wits and the strength of our beating hearts.” He thumped his mailled fist against his breastplate. “We have withstood the test of time for thousands of years, and with luck and wisdom, we will survive for thousands more.”
When he spoke of the Northlands, Amethyst could sense a swelling pride in his land, almost as if he were talking more about a lover than a kingdom. He smiled under his beard, the corners of his eyes crinkling with well-worn crow's feet.
He looked back at her, and saw her watching him. He smirked, then looked back to the road. “So, your manservant says that you come on a pilgrimage to the great Stromgard mountain. It is said to be one of the homes of Terra, the goddess of Earth. Are you a priestess?”
“No, not a priestess.”
Brynjar furrowed his brow. “Not a priestess, but on a pilgrimage? That's curious.”
Amethyst nodded, her mind racing to come up with a suitable reply. “My father felt that it would be prudent to send me to a place of worship, to attempt to instill a sense of piety.”
“Ah, so he's the religious one, then?”
Amethyst laughed. “More so than I am, that is sure.”
Brynjar smiled as well. “I have never had much use for the gods and their ways. There is a temple in my city, and the people seem to enjoy its presence, but if the gods speak to me, I don't hear them.” He looked up at the mountain that loomed before them, both of its peaks shining in the afternoon sun, tinged blue from the distance. “Still, I can understand if one gets a sense of wonder and awe when upon her slopes. If the gods dwelt anywhere on Erde, it would be there.”
He looked back over to her. “I hope you find what it is that you seek, and I hope that it is enough to appease your father.”
Nodding, Amethyst fixed her gaze on the mountain. “Thank you. I do as well.”
~~~
Brynjar guided them towards the mountain, taking the road past Valtheim, skirting wide around the bowl-shaped valley in which the capital of the Northlands had been built. Amethyst caught a glimpse of the city through the trees as they crested a ridge, and though it was by no means as large as Castle Lonwick, it was impressive in its own right. Eight walls formed an octagon, each corner buttressed by a large, round tower, protecting what looked to be a thriving city inside. Two buildings rose above the city – one in the center, and another, shorter structure on the north end. Brynjar explained that these were the Great Hall of Valtheim and the Temple of the Sky, which was dedicated to Tempest, the god of Air. In Lonwick, they called him Aeros, but as Brynjar described him, he seemed to be more or less the same deity.
It was dusk by the time they reached the gently rising slope that marked the bottom of the mountain. The snow-capped peaks shone red in the light of the setting sun, casting the landscape in a strange, double-sided glow.
Between two long, low arms of the mountain was a camp with numerous tents of different designs, most of them with small campfires burning in front of them to ward off the growing chill of the night. The forest had ceased perhaps a mile before, leaving the camp unprotected from wind or weather.
Brynjar sat on the back of his charger, looking over the campsite. “Well, Lady Quartz, we have arrived. I trust you can find your way from here?”
Amethyst nodded. “I can, Your Highness. Thank you. Rasul can guide me the rest of the way.”
The northern king nodded in return. “Very well. My men and I have a long ride ahead of us, so I will leave you now.” He turned his horse back to the south and looked over his shoulder at her. “If you ever find yourself near to Valtheim, you should come see the city. There's someone there I would like to introduce you to... one of your kind.”
Amethyst was surprised. “An elf, in the Northlands?”
The king smirked. “Seems to be a lot of that anymore.” He looked over the Lonwick cavalry, the corners of his mouth turning slightly downward as he watched them setting up their camp. “I will say, though, that next time you come, don't bring an army with you. I know we're not at war, but having foreign soldiers on my soil makes me uneasy. Make your stay here as brief as possible, then return to your land the same way we came.”
Amethyst bowed slightly in her saddle. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Brynjar whistled to his horsemen, and they rallied, galloping back to the south on their way back to Valtheim.
Amethyst shivered as she dismounted Lucidus, passing his reins to one of the servants that had accompanied her. While the other four busied themselves with erecting her pavilion, Rasul approached her.
“Well, Your Grace, here we are, soldiers, servants, and all. It's a shame we didn't leave some of them back at Rockhill, as we had discussed, but it all turned out well enough, I suppose.”
Amethyst sighed. Truthfully, she had forgotten to instruct her servants to stay behind, but even if she had remembered, who would have driven the cart with her things? And besides, it had been a good thing that the soldiers had been with them, else the ambush with the orcs may have gone much differently. “It is a bit late to send them back by themselves now. If I am chosen, then they can return along with the soldiers. If I am not, then I will want them on my return trip.
Rasul frowned slightly. “Remember, Your Grace, what I said about your duties. You will need to be able and willing to function without a horde of servants at your beck and call.”
Scoffing, Amethyst pulled her cloak tighter around herself. “I would hardly call five elves a horde.”
“No, but it is five more elves than will be accompanying us to the lower summit, and it's five more elves than will be staying with you if you are found worthy of the position.” He gestured to the nearby camp. “None of the other Hopefuls brought servants, no matter their station before they made the decision to come.”
She stiffened slightly, standing up a little straighter. “I understand your concern, Rasul,” she said, her tone taking a slightly harder, more formal tone. “Rest assured that the issue will be dealt with as we discussed at an appropriate time.” She looked askance at where her tent was being assembled. “Now, if you do not mind, I am tired, hungry, and in need of rest. Will there be anything else?”
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br /> Rasul frowned, narrowing his eyes slightly. Though it was subtle, her change in tone was a hint that she was not interested in discussing the matter any further, and he had taken that hint. “Not this evening, Your Grace. We are up at dawn tomorrow, to begin the climb to the lower summit.” He gestured to her pavilion. “You will need to be able to carry what you need with you to the peak, so I would suggest dispensing with your large tent, and borrowing one from one of your escorts. Don't bother bringing more food and water than you will need for the day, as it will be provided when we reach the top.”
He bowed deep, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “I hope that you rest well, Your Majesty. You will need it.”
She scowled as he left her, and turned to wait for her tent to be assembled. She glanced to the side, watching as one of the soldiers set up the simple triangular shelters that they carried with them. It seemed like a relatively simple process. How hard could it be?
~~~
2nd Waxing Moon of the Long Night, Year 4367
Amethyst had never been this cold before in her life. The air was thin here, causing her to gasp for breath, feeling light-headed. The pack she wore – borrowed from one of the cavalry – was much too big for her and unbelievably heavy. She had thought that she would be able to handle it when lifting it to her shoulders, but now, near dusk, it was as if she had been trying to carry her horse up the mountain instead of the other way around.
The other Hopefuls were far ahead on the trail, walking over the ridge and out of sight. Staggering forward, she struggled to catch up, gritting her teeth and pushing through the fog that crept into her vision. She felt as though she might fall onto her face, as she had several times on the trail, but instead forced her legs to march forward, using her momentum to keep herself upright. She focused on the footsteps in the snow, where the passage of the others had broken somewhat of a trail for her.
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