Blue Diamonds (Book One of The Blue Diamonds Saga) (12 page)

“Why did you stop being a battlemage?" said Shomnath. "Were you really so attracted to the slow life of a healer?” The prince couldn’t imagine someone leaving such a grand life of adventure. Before they disbanded the battlemages were the greatest force in Somerlund’s military, though a branch of the Mages Guild.

“Do you think my life is so slow?” Baymar leaned into the question.

“Oh no. I didn’t mean to say-”

“Relax prince, I’m only teasing," Baymar said, as leaned back and blew smoke to the stars.

"Some men become clerics because they despise violence, and they would rather heal the injured than see the front lines of battle. Others, like me, simply grew tired of fighting. We become clerics to balance all the pain and suffering we’ve caused, hoping that it will make a difference.”

“A difference in what?”

“Exactly," Baymar snapped his fingers. "That is the question.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” said Shomnath.

The prince wasn’t going to put any effort into decoding the old man’s riddle tonight. Instead, he bundled himself in his cloak, slid from the tree root, and stretched out on the cool ground extending his hands and feet as far as he could. The prince drifted into sleep watching the cleric blow fluffy clouds of smoke into the starry sky, each one looking more like a dragon than the last.

The shadows have eyes.

At least they did to Scuttle, who was frightfully trekking a slow, paranoid path back home. It had already been a full day since Pall left him to fend for himself, and he hadn’t even made it halfway home yet, due to his frequent emergency stops. Emergencies such as diving into the bushes for cover from enemies, which were actually just darting squirrels, rabbits, birds, and sometimes only figments of his imagination.

He departed from Somerlund early that morning, after a sleepless night spent sifting through the great library for his top-secret cargo. He could have found the books immediately with a little help, but made the gut call not to ask the grumpy librarian for assistance just in case it attracted unwanted attention. He preferred to find the books, check out and leave unnoticed. He was so paranoid that he didn’t even pass through Ol’ Brook to holler a friendly how-do to old friends. As scatterbrained as Scuttle could seem, largely due to his age, when given the right motivation he remained quite the diligent little dwarfling.

With great determination, Scuttle began his journey at sunrise, marching straight into the Kingston Forest, the woods to the south of Somerlund. Opposite to the jungles in the northlands, the Kingston is mostly barren, aside from the brownstones, which were the largest trees in the known world. Due to their towering height, these massive trees dubbed
king of the evergreens
commanded the right of passage to any sunlight that reached the forest floor. The light-hungry canopy of the large trees kept the wood in a perpetual state of shade, while the Brownstone's roots sucked the ground dry, leaving the forest floor barren.

The kingly tree's canopy drank all the sunlight, thinning the foliage so that most of the forest floor was nothing but a carpet of fallen pine needles and dry leaves. It only allowed for randomly scattered brush that thrived off of whatever sparse glitter of light escaped the brownstone ceiling. On the positive side, the pine needle carpet made for easy walking, because Scuttle chose to stay off of the main road that he and Pall took into the city.

The City Road, as it was simply named, is the main route in and out of Somerlund, and is usually alive with traffic from all of the merchants hauling in their wares. While hiking through the forest instead of the highway made him feel a bit safer, it made the travel slower, and terribly lonely.

Now, shades of nightfall were spreading over the forest, and Scuttle’s mission would just have to wait another day. He decided that he'd rather be late than risk an attack from spies, who were surely waiting for the opportunity to spring out from the cover of night. So, after a bit of searching, he found a large hollowed stump that he could use as shelter for the night.

He climbed in and carefully hung his cloak over the opening at the top, mindful to keep a slight opening for air to escape. Once satisfied with his makeshift ceiling, he took out a small candle that he'd pocketed from the library and lit it using the flint at the butt of his knife. Then he went outside once more to inspect his stump for any leakage of light. After he was satisfied that the candlelight was concealed well enough, he sat down on a large rock that he rolled inside earlier.

After several minutes of straining his ears for any suspicious sounds, finally satisfied with the sound of the crickets, Scuttle pulled a tight cloth bundle from beneath his shirt and carefully untied the knot in the cord binding. Curiosity had infected him the previous night while he was searching the Library for the books, and now that he had some free time he was going to indulge.

As he unfolded the cloth that he'd folded over the cargo he immediately daydreamed of how proud his cousin was going to be when he learned how brave little Scuttle had unearthed the books without any help.

The first two of the books,
Rare Minerals,
and
Cave-work: A Handbook,
were not new to him. These were common texts, seen in any dwarfling’s classroom. Yet the third book,
Spirit Stones
, seemed an odd pick. It was definitely the oldest of the three, collecting dust in a long forgotten corner of the Mystic section, a section of the library rarely utilized by humans, let alone dwarves. This book was meant for wizards.

After a quick wipe with his sleeve, the thin layer of dust he’d thought permanent erased effortlessly, revealing a maroon leather cover that glimmered as if it was wet. Upon checkout Scuttle received a long lecture from the librarian on the prompt return of the volume due to its age and fragility, but once the dust was wiped clean it appeared to be in band-new condition.

Too eager to start from the beginning, Scuttle placed the book on his lap and opened it straight to the middle. To his dismay, he did not recognize the language. The letters swirled and looped this way and that, not following any specific order or even rows and even appeared to shift when he tilted the book in different angles. When he tilted the book right the markings would crawl to the left, as if the writing feared it would fall off the page. He discovered the same results occurred when the book tilted in other directions.

“Now why would me kin want this?” he whispered.

After turning a few pages, he found something even stranger. Spread about three pages was a section of sketches devoted to weapons. There were swords, axes, spears, and even a spiked mace, all unique aside for one similar trait. Each wielded a large crystal somewhere upon the weapon's handle. This made a little more sense now.

“It must be fer our weapons assembly,” he gasped.

Scuttle immediately felt overwhelmed with honor. Uncle Jevon had been boasting the rise of the newly independent clan Hammerheart for some time, with new and improved weapons as the backbone of the clan’s future success.

“Me cousin,” he said, but choked on the words.

Thoughts of Pall entered his mind, realizing how much his older cousin must trust him to leave a mission of such grand scale in his little hands. It made perfect sense. The spies were probably following Pall this very moment. His cousin put himself out there, to be hunted down and ward off dangers unknown, just to clear a path for his little cousin to make it home safely. The enemy would never expect such a handoff. All of Scuttle’s suspicions that Pall thought he was nothing more than an irritating tag-a-long faded that instant. Pall obviously trusted him, and completely, to leave the future of their clan in his hands.

Suddenly the book in Scuttle's lap felt extremely heavy. The new awareness of the situation brought him back into defensive mode, and he swiftly rewrapped the books in the cloth, but this time he triple-knotted the cord. Once he blew out the candle he quickly fell asleep curled on the floor, holding the package tightly to his chest while wearing a proud smile on his face.

“I’m to be a hero,” was the last thing he mumbled as his eyes shut out the weary world, sending him off into deep dreams of celebration. A welcome home celebration, not for Scuttle the dwarfling, but Scuttle the champion.

If Shomnath had tucked his amulet a little deeper into his shirt, his slumber could have lasted another hour, but because he hadn’t, he was yanked from his dreams at sunrise. Even a sound sleeper as he couldn’t sleep through the pound of wet, warm tongue slapping the side of his face.

He slowly opened his eyes to the outline of a large, hairy mouth. Whatever the creature above him was, it didn’t seem like it was going to eat him so he relaxed some. From the sound of things he was the last one to wake. Kala was laughing somewhere off to the side.

The prince inhaled the cool, earthy morning air and then rolled over to push himself up. The smell of pine and burnt wood sent him reeling in nostalgia, a feeling that was intensified by the glowing spots of sunlight all around the camp. It brought him back to the few years his father had allowed him to be
just a boy
and engage in leisurely activities like camping. What weren't around on those trips were Baymar's magical animals.

The white bison were like husky bulls, with golden horns and silky, curly manes. Kala stood about fifteen feet from him, all red, curly hair and smiles, running her fingers through her bison’s locks, which curiously were as red as her own. Upon second glance he noticed that his bison had locks that were brown and wavy like his own.

The curious animal nuzzled his nose under the crook of his arm, working him for some attention. Its horns and hair shimmered in the spots of sun, but the eyes were what intrigued the prince most of all. Their eyes glared with authority, yet they were gentle, like the watchful look of a parent over their young.

“Aren’t they beautiful Shomnath?" chirped Kala. "They take after us, look at Pall’s.”

Just then, Pall crashed into the scene from the bushes holding onto his steed for dear life. His animal was much smaller than theirs, the size of a large hog. The bison dug its heels deep into the ground, coming to a dead stop and sending Pall soaring several feet and into some bushes.

“They’re a steady ride, but mind yer stopping,” he laughed.

Rolo’s bison was as big as a wagon. It was so ridiculously large that Shomnath almost overlooked it as part of the landscape. If his big friend wasn’t patting his animal’s shoulder, each rap emitting a loud hollow thumping sound, he might not have even noticed it.

“It’s good to see you’re all awake. Shall we be off?” announced Baymar. He regally trotted into the grove on his silver-grey bison. He looked so comfortable on the creature that he could’ve been floating in on a cloud.

“Yes," answered Shomnath. "We'll ride to the Boiling Sea, and then we'll cross by ferry. That'll save us the pain of navigating through the jungle to the north and south. But first, let us practice riding,” he requested, before slinging his bags over his own bison's back.

“Nonsense,” declared Baymar, before blowing a few short whistles.

In unison, each of the creatures hooked their horns behind their rider’s legs and tossed them up and onto their backs. Even Rolo easily went sailing up and onto his.

“They will teach you!” he laughed, before taking off in the lead. The others quickly set off to follow behind him.

Shomnath held his steed’s horns tighter than anything he’d ever held on to, as the magnificent animal suddenly thundered forward with reckless abandon. The bison sprinted through the woods the same way a dog runs through its yard, fully confident of its surroundings and ability.

After a while of gaining security in his balance the prince looked to his right, where he found Rolo frantically holding on to his bison. For the first time that he could remember he saw pure fear in Rolo’s eyes. The giant's face was smashed against the animal with no sign of loosening, as he secured a horn in one hand, while the other gripped a handful of the bison’s curly mane.

Just as he thought Rolo was going to scream for help, his view switched to Kala. She strode between them like a bouncing red comet. She was standing on her bison as it effortlessly glided by. The rate of speed morphed the scenery behind her into shifting waves of greens, grays, browns and yellows that contrasted with the bright red streak of her hair. It felt like they were falling forever forward.

“Relax guys! They don’t let you fall,” she called. She appeared to be enjoying every second. She even stretched out her arms like wings while the wind whipped around her cloak and hair.

“She is right you know,” added Baymar.

The Cleric rode up on Shomnath's left, sitting up on his steed cross-legged, his hands resting comfortably on his knees.

“When you wear the amulet the bison is an extension of you. Think of them as the legs you always wished you had. Wherever you wish to go is entirely up to you.” The cleric looked ready to read a book, rather than to ride cross-country.

Shomnath chose to believe his eyes and loosened his grip, letting the blood rush back into his fingers. Miraculously, aside from the wind that blew back his hair, he felt no pull of gravity. He was truly one with the magical bison, moving freely and effortlessly. He leaned over the side and saw that when ditches or other obstacles came the bison were not jumping over them, but rather gliding over. He immediately sat up and chose not to think about it, or the fact that he couldn’t hear any hoof beats. The thundering he heard was the deep drumming of the animals huffing. It was the sound of an angry bull mixed with a hint of thunder.

“I’ll give ye this wizard, ye travel in style.” Shomnath heard the voice coming from below. “I could fall asleep like this.” It was Pall’s bison whizzing by. He was lying on his back, paying no mind to the landscape rushing towards them.

“I’ll warn you when we’re about to stop,” announced the cleric.

Pall gave him two thumbs up in response, before locking his hands behind his head. With the wind in their face and the sun to their backs, they whisked through the woods and open fields as free spirits, with Kala's loud laugh filling the air most of the way.

Only two hours had passed by the time they could see the Boiling Sea. By this time they'd become quite polished in their riding, able to command most maneuvers with a thought. Even Rolo had loosened his grip and sat up. Near the end he even smiled once, but only Kala noticed it. Before she could think of something witty to say, they were already trotting up to the beach.

In disappointing contrast to the previous hours of scenic landscapes, the Boiling Sea was a disheartening spectacle. Its polluted waves broke against the beach into green foam and various bits of decaying debris, hissing fits and spitting nasty vapors over the black sand beach.

Barren, rock cliffs rose up from the left and right of the green-grey horizon, showcasing silhouettes that promised sharp peaks. The beach, if you’d call it one, wasn’t covered with the soft sand normally equated with the word. Upon closer observation Baymar noticed the shore was actually covered with black pebbles, only these pebbles were the course kind that scratched instead of soothed. The grains ranged in size from tiny to thumb nail.

“Obsidian,” said Shomnath, as if reading Baymar’s thoughts.

It cleared a lot of questions. Mainly the one about how the beach could survive thousands of year’s worth of acid waves crashing onto shore. The older man wondered if the sea floor was a giant obsidian basin, a protective lining keeping the acid lake there for all time.

Unmoved by the wind, a dark grey mass perpetually hovered over the murky seascape, rolling and curling within itself, making the prospect of sailing through just as depressing a notion as attempting to scale the bordering cliffs. The Boiling Sea was named after the constant bubbling produced from the acid in the water. The
sea
is actually a lake, but was named before anyone thought to put a little more thought into its name.

“And ye thought the wizard’s house was gloomy,” joked Pall. Kala was silent, disgusted with their surroundings. For someone who so easily found beauty in all things, she struggled to find any here.

It was then that the first disappointment of their quest materialized. After a quick investigative gallop up the black beach they found their ferry, only it was now a shipwreck. Shomnath recognized it right away to be the ferry they were looking for.

“Not good,” said the prince, as he let out a long, moaning sigh. He then dismounted from his bison, and when he landed from the drop his boots landed in the obsidian sand with a crunch.

“What’s the problem?” Baymar said.

The prince pointed at the boat, or rather a section of hull that wasn’t reduced to the splintered wood that littered the beach. The wreckage was so spread about that he could hardly tell bow from stern.

“There seems to be a slight problem with our boat,” said Shomnath.

“Ye think?” huffed Pall, still atop his ride. “What could’ve made this mess?”

“I don’t know,” answered Shomnath. "The ferry was an old war boat. It was retired from the Somerlund navy, but still well equipped with crew and cannons.”

This was no minor obstacle. Going around the sea meant weaving about the jagged, rocky, thousand foot cliffs. It would be slow and treacherous travel, even with the bison, adding days to their journey. Shomnath’s heart sank as he searched the seascape for another way across.

No boats appeared in the horizon, only shadows created by the dark grey mass that hung over the belching, green water. The only other option was to travel south, following the Somerlund Road under the eastern mountain range. Not only would this add precious time to their quest, but also Shomnath didn't know if he could find his way back to the ancient battleground coming from that direction. He only knew his way from the beach on the other side of the boiling sea.

He refused to feel helpless, and scanned the area for any other possible solutions. The entire beach was barren and flat, except for a single hill, with a single cave in its center. Shomnath glanced at the wrecked ship, then back to the cave. The sounds around him seemed to hush.

“Maybe someone's in that cave,” he said. Committed to the idea, Shomnath tucked his amulet into his shirt and his bison dispersed into a plume of grey vapor, without leaving behind even a hoof print in the sand.

“Or some thing. Kinda nasty place to live,” said Rolo. The giant was already beside him, happy to be standing on solid ground.

“Probably a wizard,” chided Pall. Baymar ignored the shot.

“Even
if
someone's in there, how could they help us cross the lake?” Baymar hoped logic would sway Shomnath from what was written all over his face.

“Maybe they'll know if there's another ferry," answered Shomnath. "But there's only one way to find out and that’s to go in and say hello.”

"Or, we could wait outside until they come out," said Baymar.

“Aye, the wizard has a point. Should we really go in there?” asked Pall. He didn’t approve the idea, but he knew what Shomnath's answer was going to be even before the question left his lips.

“Pall Hammerheart! Don’t tell us you’re scared of that little cave. You’re lucky none of your kin are around to hear you,” teased Kala.

“Well of course we aint scared of caves we be diggin fer ourselves, but we aint fer barking down mystery holes! As far as mystery holes go, this one tops me list. It just doesn’t look right.”

“What doesn’t look right?” asked Shomnath.

“Ye can’t see it?” Pall waved his hands around. "Yer cave shouldn’t be here. Why’s it the only thing on the beach, 'sides the busted boat, that aint made of this darned black stuff?” Pall shook one of his feet in the air and a handful of the scratchy sand fell from his sandal.

Shomnath looked at the hill, and then back at the shipwreck. The cave itself was an almost perfect circle, centering the base of the lone hill. He didn't recall seeing the cave when he came through here last, but he didn't recall taking the time to study the beach, either.

“Maybe the hill was there before the black sand. Who knows? Maybe it was here before the sea,” he answered, sounding more confident than he looked.

“Well, ye can go snoop around if ye like, me and me axe will be right here by this boat when ye need us. Just holler, your highness,” said Pall, and then he plopped down on a large piece of wood that had once been part of the ship's mast.

“Okay, we will,” said Shomnath as he looked to Rolo, who had been staring at the cave the entire time. Even to him something seemed out of sorts about the lonely hill.

“Well I can’t fit in that little hole,” stated Rolo. Shomnath exhaled then looked to Kala. Good, old, dependable Kala.

“I think it’ll be better if I stay out here with the boys. I mean, I should be out here watching your back,” she said.

“Alright,” he huffed. “You’re all missing out. You never know what’s waiting in there. It might be something great.” Shomnath turned towards the cave and began walking, but before he got very far he called back. “Let’s go cleric.”

"Excuse me?” asked Baymar as he shook to attention. Kala, Rolo and Pall chuckled as the cleric reluctantly shuffled after the prince. He caught up to Shomnath just as the prince breached the entrance to the cave.

“Good to see you made it,” said the prince.

The prince nodded his approval and then motioned ahead. As they took a few cautious steps inside, the first thing they noticed was that there wasn't any breeze blowing from within. It was a sure sign that there was no other way out. The next thing that stood out as odd was that the walls of the cave were as smooth as glass. It was like a giant drill bore straight into the hill. Then, just as Shomnath started to walk a bit deeper into the tunnel Baymar stopped him, gripping his shoulder.