Snowfall

by Brandon Cornwell

  Chapter One

  Full Frost Moon, Year 4367

  Amethyst stormed down the hallway, the sound of her footsteps muted by the thick woven rugs that covered the stone floor. Upon reaching the door to her chamber, she flung it open and slammed it shut behind her, locking it with the bolt. The impact echoed her ire down the hallway, making the patrolling guards startle and look back down the corridor.

  She paced furiously around her room. There was a knock at her door, and she answered it by snatching a crystal goblet from the bedside table and hurling it. It shattered against the door with a resounding crash, causing the person on the other side to exclaim in surprise.

  “Your Grace? Is everything alright?”

  She threw another goblet at the door and braced herself for any intrusion into her tiny private realm. Silence greeted her, followed by the sound of footsteps walking quickly away from the door.

  Fuming, the young elf stalked to a desk in front of a window on one side of the room. Raindrops spattered gently against the panes, distorted by tiny imperfections in the glass. Stones, mineral specimens, and uncut gems scattered across the table; a raw tiger's eye, an uncut opal, rubies, and emeralds suspended in their original matrices. Across the back of her desk were quartz crystals of different hues, each with a different name. Yellow citrine, rose, smoky, and the colorless rock crystals all had their place, though her pièce de résistance was a cluster of deep purple, nearly black amethysts. From the center of the piece grew a thick, tall crystal that matched the color of her eyes, as long as her hand and half the width of her wrist.

  One of her favorite stones sat on a corner of the desk; a long, thick rock crystal with its bottom cut flat, nearly a foot long and as thick as her forearm. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands as she sulked, looking at the rainbow reflections in its depths.

  There was a sharp rap on her door. She reached for something else to throw, but the only things near enough were her crystals. She hesitated, not wanting to throw those. A voice called out from the hall.

  “Amethyst, open this door.”

  She winced and closed her eyes. Quickly, she unbolted the door and opened it, standing out of the way as her father walked into her chamber. Long black hair hung halfway down his back, streaked through with silver. He wore a waistcoat that was studded with tiny blue and red gemstones, gold embroidery scrawling over the blue velvet. His trousers were the same embroidered blue velvet, sans the gemstones, while his shoes were made of blue-dyed leather. With one hand, he leaned against the ornate gold figurehead of a polished wooden cane.

  He looked down at the glittering shards of crystal littering the floor. Glancing back up at his daughter, he lifted one fine black eyebrow. “Really?” His tone was more exasperated and disappointed than scolding.

  Amethyst looked down from his gaze, crossing her arms over her chest, not saying a word.

  The elf closed the door behind him and walked over to sit down at her desk, stepping with a slight limp. Easing himself down, he leaned his cane against his leg. He looked at Amethyst and set his jaw.

  “Amethyst, who are you?”

  She rolled her eyes, hoping in vain that the older elf didn't take notice. “Amethyst Leonus, princess of Lonwick.”

  “And who am I?”

  With the same annoyed tone, she said, “Alberic Leonus, King of Lonwick's mountains, valleys, forests, and seas.”

  Alberic leaned back in his chair. “Ah, so you do remember who I am. I thought that you had perhaps forgotten and that you may feel your little outburst in court had some merit.”

  “What had no merit was your command that I be confined to my quarters!” Amethyst snapped. “I haven't been able to ride Lucidus for over a month!”

  Alberic looked at his daughter as though she were mad. “No merit? It's raining as if the valley were going to flood!”

  “Well, it wasn't when you forbade me to leave!”

  A torrent of wind-driven rain spattered against the windowpanes as the storm outside intensified. Alberic sighed.

  “You know that there have been reports of orcs traveling through our lands. I told you this before your tantrum. We put them down as quickly as possible, but we don't always catch them in time. What if you were to encounter one on your ride?”

  Amethyst scoffed. “You always insist that I bring some sort of army with me. They could deal with it.”

  “I hardly think that five soldiers count as an army.”

  Waving her hand, she turned away from her father. “They slow me down! They insist that I just canter about and I have to ride sidesaddle! I can't go into the forests or the orchards, and I can't ride to the hills or mountains!”

  “That is how a lady should ride. The forests hide threats, Amethyst, you know this!” Alberic scowled. “Besides. You always leave them behind. It's not like they do you any good.”

  “Maybe they should learn to ride better, then.”

  Alberic's scowl deepened. “Perhaps you should learn manners befitting a lady.”

  She spun to face her father and shouted, “Perhaps you should spend more time governing your country, and less time governing me!” Her hands balled into fists as she stomped one slippered foot against the furs that covered the floor. As she did so there was a distant rumble, and the room shook. The large rock crystal she had left on her desk wobbled, threatening to topple over. Alberic reached out and caught it before it fell onto the floor, steadying himself against the desk.

  Amethyst turned her face away from her father. “Even the earth agrees with me!”

  Using his cane to push himself to his feet, Alberic stood. “Amethyst Leonus, an earthquake has nothing to do with the discipline you require, nor does it have anything to do with your childish tantrums.” He took her chin in his hand, turning her face towards his. His piercing blue eyes locked onto her deep purple ones, and she saw the edge in them that he used against unruly nobles or impolite diplomats. Though she did not fear her father, per se, despite her outbursts, she had a healthy respect for him.

  “You will do as I command, as your father and as your king. If you choose not to behave in the manner of a lady, then you will remain in your chambers. That is my decision on the matter.” He pointed to the shattered goblets on the floor. “And if you cannot respect the things that are provided to you, then they shall no longer be provided to you. Am I in any way misunderstood?”

  “No,” Amethyst said, turning her face away.

  Alberic nodded slowly. “Good. Now, I will be sending Tionna to clean up after your fit.” He held his finger up, chiding her. “She had better only be cleaning up two broken goblets. I expect that to be the end of your tantrum.”

  Amethyst nodded still not looking at her father. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Alberic frowned slightly. He hated it when she called him by his titles instead of 'Father,' and she knew it. “Very good. If you feel like you can behave again, you can rejoin court tomorrow. Until then, I suggest you use this time to contemplate your actions, and how they reflect upon you, me, and our kingdom.” He set a hand on her shoulder. “If you are to rule when I am gone, then you will need to earn the respect of your subjects. This is not the way to do it.”

  She glanced up at him, scowling. “I suppose I could always follow in your footsteps, and crush a rebellion. That's how you did it.” She paused, then added, “Your Majesty.”

  He shook his head and took his hand off her shoulder. “Would that you had known your mother. Her tongue wasn't nearly as sharp as yours.”

  “Hmm. Then I must get that from you.”

  Alberic held his finger up, shaking it at her as a warning. “Careful, young lady. This is not the time for attitude.”

  She curtsied to him, bowing her head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
/>
  He turned away, walking to the door and shaking his head. “The Eight couldn't have spared me from this daughter?”

  He shut the door behind him, and Amethyst flounced over to her desk, plopping in her seat. She scowled at the window as the rain pounded against the outside of the castle. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. It would have been foolish to go out riding. If she had come across trouble, she could have escaped on the back of Lucidus, or the soldiers that always tried to accompany her could have defended her as she fled, but she couldn't outrun this storm.

  She huffed a sigh. She would remain in her room for the rest of the day. Her father could do without her in court until tomorrow.

  Her eyes passed over the bookshelf that stood next to the window. It was filled with books from the palace library, ranging from love stories to adventures, histories and scientific texts; there were volumes about the Burning Sands to the east, the Greenreef Islands to the far west, and the Northlands. Treatises written about the gods and their presence in Erde that had been required reading by Father Hugo, the old priest who had acted as her tutor. She put little stock in matters of religion. Dragons had been seen, wizards and magic were known, but the gods? Hardly more than the mumbling of cranky friars.

  She sighed again. This day was going to be exceedingly dull.

  ~~~

  2nd Waning Frost Moon, Year 4367

  Amethyst sat in the throne to the right of her father. While his seat was a massive, garish affair made of gold and shaped to look like a dragon, hers was a more sensible design; a large block of stone cut from the plateau the castle had been built upon, carved to look like a cluster of rock crystals. Though her throne wasn't decorated with precious stones or metals, she liked it infinitely more than Alberic's – or even her late mother's – which was made to look like a gem-encrusted tree had grown in the chamber. It was vacant, as it had been every day in Amethyst's memory.

  The usual flock of petulant merchants and nobles clustered in the throne room, waiting for their turn to approach the king and bring their matters to his attention. The petitioner speaking was a human, a farmer from the southern reaches of the kingdom, and Amethyst was only half listening to him. Apparently, some beast had killed his flock of whatever he raised, and he was requesting help in hunting them down.

  “Your Majesty, all I have is my family, my land, and my goats. Just this season, I've lost half of my herd to the ogres. We barely have enough to last through the winter, let alone breed them come spring. If we lose any more, we'll starve!”

  Alberic leaned forward, resting one hand on his silver cane. “Have you no neighbors who can join you to slay these beasts?”

  The farmer spread his hands. “Orcs we can handle, Your Majesty, but the ogres are much too strong! My neighbor, Vilentis, he lost two sons in the last year to them! If I am killed, my wife and children will be not only without a father and husband, but without a livelihood! They'll be reduced to begging in the streets of Greatport or Lonwick, if they even survive the winter!”

  Alberic nodded. “Very well. A score of my soldiers will accompany you back to your farm, and hunt down these beasts that are attacking your goats. If they can find their den, they will flush them out.”

  The farmer bowed deep, clutching his hands in front of him. “Yes, Your Grace! Thank you, Your Grace!”

  As the farmer stepped away from the dais, a group of dwarves approached, dressed in the finery of their kind. Thick tooled leather vests over woven tunics with long sleeves covered their barrel chests and thick arms, while high riding boots adorned their feet, their simple wool trousers tucked into the tops.

  The dwarf in front, an older fellow with dozens of braids keeping his long, wild red hair in check, bowed to Alberic, his beard nearly sweeping the floor.

  “Yer Grace, my name is Alban. I hail from Deepmountain, just north o' Greatport.”

  Alberic's lips turned almost imperceptibly downwards. “I know where the cities of my kingdom are, Alban. What brings you before the crown this day?”

  The dwarf nodded, his expression neutral. “Of course, Yer Majesty. I meant no offense. What brings us before ya is the issue o' trolls. I heard that the far southlands got ogre troubles, well, we've had more'n a few beasts ourselves. Orcs an' trolls're comin' outta the woods and attackin' our mills.”

  Alberic frowned. “Has there been an effect on the production of lumber from Deepmountain?”

  Several of the dwarves behind Alban frowned, glancing amongst themselves. Alban stood a little straighter, looking up at Alberic. “No, m'lord, Deepmountain has hit every quota we've had this year, despite havin' a number of our people wounded or killed by beasts. However, It's gettin' too dangerous fer us t' keep venturin' into the woods t' log fer trees.”

  The stout dwarf spread his hands. “If they get too bold, yer majesty, they might start movin' into the caverns where we live. That'll disrupt our iron minin', as well as cost more'n a few lives.”

  Alberic leaned back, drumming his fingers against the arm of his throne. “So, I presume you're asking for assistance in rooting out these beasts?”

  Alban shook his head. “No, Yer Grace. My people're proud an' capable. We can take care of 'em ourselves, but we need more'n a woodsman's axe t' hunt with. If you allow us t' carry weapons, we can post guards along with our loggers and sawyers, an' won't have 't bother Lonwick fer protection.”

  Alberic shook his head. “Absolutely not. The ban on dwarves bearing arms stands.”

  The dwarf was silent for a moment, before nodding slowly. “As y' say, Yer Majesty. How then should we protect our workers an' keep meetin' Lonwick's quotas?”

  Alberic sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “When the soldiers we are sending south are finished hunting the ogres, they will deal with your pest problem for you. Is that sufficient?”

  Frowning, the dwarf clasped his hands behind his back. “Yer Grace, forgive me, but we've got people gettin' hurt an' killed. If ya'd just let us protect ourselves, we'd not be a burden on Lonwick's fightin' elves.”

  Alberic was opening his mouth to answer, his eyes narrowing in irritation, when Amethyst spoke up.

  “Deepmountain has a number of blacksmiths, correct? I seem to remember many shipments of weapons coming from there – swords and axes and spears.”

  Alberic paused, closing his mouth and glancing over at his daughter as Alban nodded. “Aye, Princess. Deepmountain is known for its steel. We've got some o' the best blacksmiths south of Silverdeep.”

  Looking over at her father, Amethyst nodded, still addressing the dwarf. “So, I am to assume that you have at least some of the weapons that you need to take care of the troll problem?”

  Alban shrugged. “We've got everything we need. Crossbows, bolts, spears, swords, axes, all waitin' t' be shipped t' Lonwick. Yer recorder there keeps tabs on everythin' we make, and keeps it locked in the armory till we send it off.”

  Alberic looked at his daughter, raising an eyebrow. “What are you thinking, Amethyst?”

  Amethyst pondered. While the dwarves were generally left to their own devices, they did have several rules set upon them as a result of a rebellion they had waged in the northern reaches of the kingdom some two centuries before. One of these restrictions was that they were banned from carrying any sort of weaponry, though they were adept at forging it.

  “What if they instead borrowed the weaponry, and had it recorded by the armory master in Deepmountain?” she said, gesturing to Alban with one hand. “That way, the arms can be returned once the troll threat is dealt with, they do not have to wait for the soldiers who are otherwise dealing with ogres, and our soldiers do not have to go from one hunt right to another.”

  Sitting back in his throne, Alberic considered the proposal. “And if they raised up those arms against Lonwick or her agents?”

  Amethyst shrugged slightly. “It would be challenging to do so with such a limited number of swords and bows. If we only release enough weaponry for a small hunting party and ha
ve them immediately return it upon the completion of their hunt, then I think the possible threat would be negligible.”

  Slowly, Alberic nodded. He gestured to a member of the Royal Guard who stood at attention nearby, calling him over. “Send word to Deepmountain, that they are to release a score each of swords and crossbows to a hunting party, as well as a dozen bolts per crossbow. Bring me the orders once they are written, and I will sign and seal them.”

  The armored elf bowed and hurried out of the chamber. Turning back to Alban, Alberic leaned forward, resting his hand on his cane again. “I will also send word that twenty of your people are authorized to carry weapons until this threat has been dealt with. Depending upon their skill and professionalism, I may consider allowing a small defense militia to be assembled from your people, to deal with issues like this in the future.”

  He tapped the silver butt of the cane gently against the stone floor. “Is this solution acceptable?”

  Alban bowed low, nodding. “Yes, Yer Majesty. Thank you. We'll await yer word at Deepmountain.”

  Waving a hand, Alberic dismissed the dwarves. He beckoned to Amethyst, who dutifully rose from her seat, kneeling at her father's side.

  “Your suggestion was well received, my dear,” he said, speaking low enough that only she could hear him. “However, you must remember that those people are not to be trusted. They may be a part of our kingdom, but they are not our equals. They are useful, they are productive, but they can be treacherous.”

  Frowning slightly, Amethyst furrowed her brow. “But in the Truce of Rockhill...”

  Alberic shook his head. “The Truce of Rockhill was a political maneuver, you know that. When you have a stallion who is kicking the walls of his barn, you don't set him free, you let him out to pasture until his mood improves. These dwarves are out to pasture now... and we need to make sure that the fence stays strong. Do you understand?”

  Amethyst nodded. “Yes, Father. I understand.”

  He gestured back to her throne and she took her seat once more.

  The litany of merchants, nobles, and envoys from far away outposts continued, each vying for an audience with Alberic. Amethyst grew even more bored as she waited for the day to come to an end. She wanted nothing more than to return to her books and crystals, studying those things that fascinated her rather than listen to the frankly uninteresting concerns of people who thought they were much more important than they were.