“What sort of challenges will I be facing?” she asked Rasul. “Will it be like history or theory?”
The dark-skinned man shook his head. “No, not at all. Giriraj doesn't care what you know or think you know, he is only concerned about the potential you exhibit. He will tell you everything you need to know and show you how to do what you need to do, and it is up to you to follow his directives to the best of your ability.”
Amethyst frowned. “That seems terribly illogical. Why would he want someone who didn't already bring some knowledge to the position?”
“When someone begins carving a statue or relief into a piece of stone or wood,” he said, “one doesn't want a piece that has already been chiseled on by another. The perfect stone is one that is smooth, unaltered, with a fine grain that willingly accepts the finest strikes from a hammer and chisel. The perfect slab of wood is one that has a straight, even grain that does not twist or pull the blade into preconceived directions. The knots must be in the correct places to not disrupt the design.”
He gestured to her with one hand. “The mind of an apprentice is much like a stone or plank of wood ready to be carved. Previous learning is like work done by other carvers. Knots in the grain and inclusions in the stone can be compared to ideas that are already firmly entrenched into the minds of those who think they know part of what is being taught. My master wants as flawless a stone as he can find from which to mold a powerful apprentice. A blank canvas upon which to paint.”
“Were you ever his apprentice?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. Rasul seemed to know an awful lot.
“I am not a magus myself,” said Rasul. “I have a limited potential with the energies we work with, which I achieved early on in my studies. This makes me unsuited for apprenticeship. Now, it does not mean that I cannot perform many of the spells or rituals, but I do not possess the exceptional talent that one needs to aspire to the position of Master. I am, however, useful for ...other things.”
“I see,” said Amethyst, still somewhat confused. “I suppose I will find out more once we arrive in the Northlands. Is the passage safe?”
Rasul shrugged. “As safe as it can be, considering the local climate. Your father was wise in his caution. King Brynjar is a just and noble man, but the rest of the lords of the North... well, perhaps the same cannot be said about them. Thankfully, we will only be traveling to Brynjar's hold of Valtheim, so the risk should be significantly muted.”
“I am familiar with Valtheim. Trade with the north has strengthened considerably since Brynjar's family has taken control of the Northlands.”
“Then it should all go off without a hitch,” said the messenger. “Though I must warn you – elves are not thought of very fondly in the Northlands. I would keep my head down as much as possible, if I were you. Some exposure will, of course, be inevitable, but it would be best if you were to keep the trappings of royalty to a minimum.” He glanced over his shoulder, back towards the five servants riding the cart at the back of the column. “I did mention, after all, that you should leave the servants at home.”
“My father insisted,” said Amethyst, rolling her eyes.
Rasul sighed. “Perhaps we can dismiss them at Rockhill. You can enjoy their service until then, perhaps?”
She nodded. “I am certain that the soldiers can erect my shelter for me.”
“Or, perhaps, just as a suggestion, it might be a worthwhile endeavor to learn how to erect it yourself?”
Amethyst was slightly taken aback. “A princess doesn't assemble her own tent!”
“Perhaps not, but an apprentice does.”
Chapter Three
14th Waning Frost Moon, Year 4367
Amethyst was not in a good mood. Not in a good mood at all.
The ride from Castle Lonwick had started out exciting enough. The trip north was novel and invigorating, and the conversation was lively and informative. By the end of the day, Amethyst was just a little stiff, but her determination to press forward was unbent, unbroken.
By the end of the third day on the road, she had come to resent her saddle. The weather had been dreary and overcast the whole way, with a few intermittent showers that lingered just long enough to soak them through their clothing before petering off to a slow, consistent drizzle. Each day they traveled farther north, it got colder, which was to be expected. Even though the month of the Frost Moon was not technically winter, it did signal the end of autumn and the start of the coldest part of the year.
She had switched to her wolfskin cloak, but her clothes still stuck to her with their dampness. Everything she owned was drenched, except her books, thankfully. The small fire that burned in a firepot in her pavilion hardly had time to dry them before they were back on the road. As they plodded along, she wondered if she would ever be warm and dry again. She had given up on brushing her hair that morning, and since all of the servants her father had sent were men, she had elected to not ask for help. Instead, she had simply gotten it as straight as she could and pulled it back into a simple ponytail, tying it with a blue ribbon and hiding it under her hood.
One of the soldiers that rode with them paced her. “We will reach Rockhill by late afternoon, Your Majesty. We should have been there yesterday, but the roads have been muddy, which has slowed down the cart.”
“I know,” she said, doing her best to rein in the irritation in her response. “There is nothing to be done for it.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
He lingered for a moment, as though he were trying to make a decision. “Your Grace?” he said again. “May I ask you something?”
Furrowing her brow, Amethyst glanced over. “Yes, you may,” she said, curious despite her foul mood.
“Some of the soldiers say that you are traveling into the Northlands to learn how to be a wizard.”
Amethyst paused, holding her breath for a moment. While she hadn't been careful to keep her destination a secret, neither had she gone out of her way to advertise her purpose. “Well... that is a statement. What is your question?”
“Is that true, Your Majesty?”
She looked at him directly now, her purple eyes focusing on him with her practiced royal attitude. “And if it is?”
“I would not presume to judge or question the decisions of a member of the royal family, my Princess,” the soldier said hastily. “It's just that... we've all heard the stories from the priests of the great evils committed by the wizards, their blasphemies in the eyes of the gods.” He looked away from her baleful gaze, quite obviously uncomfortable.
“I assure you, soldier, that I do not travel to the Northlands to commit blasphemies, no matter what my end goals are.” She turned back to the road, adjusting her seat on Lucidus's back. She absolutely despised riding sidesaddle, but in the presence of all of her father's soldiers, she couldn't rightly sit astride in her skirt. She had wanted to dress more appropriately for the trip, but again, her father had insisted that appearances be kept up. Maybe it had been a subtle way to discourage her. She wished that she had packed some proper riding clothing anyways.
“Of course, Your Grace. I would not presume otherwise.”
Amethyst sighed. “Say what you want to say, soldier. You have my permission to speak candidly.”
The armored rider bowed his head slightly. “My Princess, please, turn around and go back to Castle Lonwick. Abandon this errand! The wizards are not like you and me, they do not hold reverence for the gods. They pervert their wills and abuse their essences for their own gains! I know that you have the best of intentions, Your Grace, I trust you and I would willingly ride to the Abyss and back at your order, but these humans know not what they tamper with!”
Amethyst raised an eyebrow at the soldier. “Then, do you not think that an elf's presence would not go amiss?”
The soldier shook his head. “I do not know, Your Grace. Perhaps it would be best if we simply did not meddle in such things at all.”
“Well, your opinion has bee
n noted, soldier. You may return to your comrades.”
The rider bowed in his saddle. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
She faced forward, scowling at the road ahead of her. Rockhill could not come quickly enough. A warm bath and dry clothes surely awaited her there when they stopped in the city for the night.
~~~
Rockhill was an enormous, sprawling city surrounded by a single massive wall, built from blocks cut from the quarry. All the buildings were constructed of the same reddish-gray rock, the only real variances being their size. The entire city had been built several thousand years ago by the dwarves of the nearby mining settlement of Silverdeep, to support the quarry from which Castle Lonwick had drawn its stone.
They approached the city from the west, climbing up the long, winding road into the foothills of the mountains that formed the northern border of Lonwick. Instead of mud, the way was paved with finely crushed and packed gravel, which allowed the cart to travel much more easily up the gentle slope than it would have otherwise.
The sun was setting behind them as they reached the western gate. At last, the sky opened up, releasing its burden in the downpour that had been threatening for the last week. It was much colder here than it was in the southern reaches of the valley, and Amethyst shivered as she waited for the heavy iron banded gates to be pulled open. As soon as word spread throughout the city of her arrival, a crowd gathered in the streets to watch them pass, escorted by the Rockhill city guard.
As with most cities in Lonwick, the largest building stood in the center of the settlement, towering over everything else, including the temple and the walls themselves. A massive square structure, it was a castle in its own right, dominating the center of the already fortified city.
Amethyst dismissed all but two of her escort to the barracks to take their rest. Rasul stood by her side for a moment, before glancing back into the city.
“If it is all the same to you, Your Majesty, I could much easier find my own place to stay for the evening.”
She nodded to him. “Of course. You are not one of my subjects, you do not need my permission. I will be ready to travel again in the morning.”
He bowed to her. “Absolutely, Your Grace. I will return one hour after dawn.”
Rasul turned away and vanished into the city, leaving Amethyst alone with her two remaining guards. She gripped the worn iron rings of the front doors of the building and drew them open, stepping out of the cold.
The entry hall of the mayor's manor was toasty warm, a stark contrast to the dismal weather outside. Amethyst stood in front of the roaring fire that filled the enormous stone hearth, her clothes steaming from the radiant heat. The servants of the manor assured her that the mayor of Rockhill would arrive shortly, though she hoped he didn't hurry too much. She enjoyed the relative peace of the empty room, with only the sound of the crackling flames to break the quiet. Her escorts stayed near the doors of the manor, standing at attention.
The front of her dress had almost dried by the time the mayor came to greet her. He was a short, somewhat fat man, dressed in fine velvet clothes of brown and purple. The top of his head was bald, though he had a fringe of graying brown hair around his ears and the back of his head. This far north, most of the cities were populated and run by humans, so this was unsurprising. He was likely close to a third of her age, though he looked much older.
“Your Highness! We expected you last night! Was there trouble along the road?”
She shook her head, turning to let the fire warm her back. “Not unless you call the abysmal northern autumn trouble. The way was long, slow going, but clear, Lord Brickenden.”
Mayor Brickenden clasped his hands together. “Excellent! I am glad to hear it. Come, come, I am certain that you are tired and hungry from the road. I have already had a meal laid out!”
Amethyst held a hand up. “Have a bath drawn first. I am more cold than I am hungry.”
Brickenden paused. “Your Highness, I am afraid that it will take some time to heat the water and carry it to your chamber. However, there is roast meat and bread fresh from the ovens already waiting for you, if you wish to accompany me?”
Amethyst huffed a sigh, exasperated. “Yes. Fine. That will do,” she said, waving her hand as if brushing away her irritation.
The mayor smiled with relief. “Excellent! Right this way, Your Grace!”
She beckoned for the two soldiers to accompany her and followed him down a brightly lit passage to the dining hall. Several people already stood around a long table that was covered with food and candelabras. On either side of the long chamber was a hearth, just as large as the one in the entry chamber, keeping the room pleasantly warm. If nothing else, the northern provinces knew how to keep a castle heated.
Two servants loaded up one of the fireplaces with wood as she entered, each of them grabbing the end of some rather large logs and working together to toss them into the flames. Along the table were servants carrying carafes, probably filled with wine, standing a few paces back from the guests who had risen from their seats at her entrance.
Several roasted turkeys, sides of venison, and bowls of winter greens sat on the table. Platters of fresh, thickly-sliced bread were laid out next to dishes of melted butter and ground garlic. Each seat had a white ceramic plate on a woven placemat, with polished silver utensils on either side – forks, knives and spoons with delicately carved handles made of what appeared to be ivory, a rare material in Lonwick.
Brickenden led the way to the head of the table, which was a chair obviously regularly used by the mayor, as it was wider than usual and quite thickly padded. However, he took a smaller seat to her right, and after she sat down, so did everyone else.
To Brickenden's right sat a woman, maybe ten years younger than he was, with curly, gray-streaked red hair braided tightly behind her. Several young men and women filled the rest of the seats, some of whom were slouching, though they all seemed incredibly tense at her arrival. From what she could gather, these were likely the mayor's family members – his wife, sons, and daughters. The two older men had the look of their father; brown hair, thick limbs, and the older one's hair was thinning on top. The two women and the younger son, however, had the same shock of curly red hair that the older woman had. They were somewhat more slender than Brickenden, though still stockier than any of the elves of Castle Lonwick.
“This is my wife, Lady Margaret,” said Brickenden, gesturing to the older woman and confirming Amethyst's assumption. “Over there, to your left are my sons William, Gerald, and Bryce, as well as my daughters Wilda and Rosalind. We are all honored that you would grace us with your presence, Your Majesty.”
“It is my pleasure,” Amethyst said, sitting with her hands in her lap, back straight and chin high, as befit a lady of the royal court. “Now, so that we may all be more comfortable in your beautiful home, let supper begin. You have prepared a wonderful meal, Lord Brickenden. You should be proud of your servants.”
Brickenden beamed with pride. “Absolutely, Your Majesty. Rockhill prides itself on the skill of our craftsmen, and that includes our chefs.”
As the eight of them dined, the mayor filled her in on current events while she feigned interest. Truthfully, she didn't care one whit about production from the quarries or nearby Silverdeep, logging, or harvests. There were clerks and officials whose jobs it was to record these sorts of things, and it bored her, but the food was good, and she was finally getting warm again. Besides, the longer she was here, the less time she would have to wait for her bath after dinner. She found herself daydreaming about soaking in hot water while Brickenden prattled on, responding only as much as she needed in order to keep up the pretense of listening.
“Now, Your Grace, all has not been entirely easy here in Rockhill,” Brickenden was saying, snapping her out of her reverie. “We have had some trouble here in the north end of the Lonwick Valley.”
“Oh?” she said, setting down her fork for what seemed like the thousandth time. “What t
roubles are those?”
“Why, have you not heard? There have been bands of orcs seen roaming the countryside!”
“Matters of security are not usually my concern,” she said, lifting an eyebrow at the mayor. “I was under the impression that each hold took care of their own, and besides, I am the daughter of King Alberic, not his general or watchdog.”
Brickenden paled at her minor reproach. “Oh, of course, Your Majesty, I meant no offense, of course.”
Amethyst took a sip from the pale, fruity wine they were serving with dinner. “I am not offended, Lord Brickenden. I had not heard that they had come this far north... I was aware of orcs and trolls near Greatport and Deepmountain, and ogres in the south. What is this about bands of orcs? Are they ravaging your farms and livestock?”
The mayor shook his head and spread his hands. “No, Your Grace, that's the odd thing. Normally those beasts will kill, steal, rape, and plunder their way across the countryside until they are put down. The orcs that we find, when we find more than tracks, seem to be in a hurry to go somewhere, as if they were scouting or looking for something. Usually, we don't see them this far north, as they tend to stay further south, in the valley. However, we've seen them as far north as the border between us and those savages in the Northlands.”
Lady Margaret scowled. “Chances are they're being sent by those beastly men from Valtheim,” she grumbled, slicing a piece of venison from a steak. “We should never have opened the road into the North!”
Gerald and Bryce nodded in agreement, as did the two younger women, while the oldest son – William, if she remembered correctly – chewed a bite of steak thoughtfully.
“I don't know, Mother,” he said around a mouthful. “Trade with Valtheim has been good. I don't know why they would sabotage such an arrangement by sending beasts down to harry us. Their forging techniques are second only to the dwarves, and their steel is very high quality.”
Brickenden puffed up his chest. “It's nowhere near as high quality as our native metal, and our smiths could forge their patterned steel as well, if they didn't keep it such a secret.”
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