Blue Diamonds (Book One of The Blue Diamonds Saga) (19 page)

A section of foliage quivered, and then five white blurs burst from the tree line, zipping into the open plains south of the Evernight Forest. Breathing hard in excitement, while minding to maintain his balance, Shomnath glanced over his shoulder from atop his bison. He was searching for any sign of pursuit.

Twice they were nearly caught by their assailant before reaching the clearing, and although they led the elemental into several loops and turns, he was sure that Aga was somehow still hot on their trail. His search ended when the enraged elemental plowed through the area of trees from which he and his friends came, blasting the section of tree line into mulch.

“Can these things go faster?" shouted Pall. "He’s pretty darn fast fer a three legged turtle! Haha!”

Making jokes was Pall's way of coping, but underneath his thick exterior, fear clung steadfast to his thoughts. He couldn’t get over the fact that the very weapon they'd set out to find had been sitting right above his home the entire time. The dwarves couldn't have known what was hidden atop the mountain, but that didn't ease the guilt. While he was out adventuring with his friends, his family was in grave danger.

“If we keep this speed, we'll gain a good hour on him by the time we reach Loyola,” answered Baymar.

The bison were much faster than the elemental, and the only reason the behemoth was even able to keep up, was because the rock giant didn't have to maneuver through all the twists and turns of the Evernight's foliage. Aga literally ran through everything that got in his path, crushing through any obstacle in the way, which was exactly what Aga intended to do to the wizard once he caught him. Although for now, the turtle was already starting to shrink into the horizon. Nothing could keep up with the magic bison on a flat, open field, and now that they were free of the Evernight, it was all flat land ahead, all the way to Loyola. The bigger question at hand, was whether or not the dwarves could help fight against such a powerful beast, even if they had time to prepare. Pall recalled that the catapults were just being finished as he was heading for the city.

Hopefully your gambling is better than your spell casting,
said Ambrosia.
I'm not in the mood to die again, especially not from being crushed under a giant, stone foot. Being burned to death was unpleasant enough.

No matter how hard Baymar tried, he couldn’t shut out Ambrosia's voice. When she spoke it was as clear as his own thoughts, possibly clearer.

“Can you just stop? Could I have five minutes to myself?” pleaded the perplexed cleric.

As much as it burdens you, master cleric, I am here to stay and will more than likely remain with you until you die,
said Ambrosia.

“Then what will happen, after I die?” he said.

I don’t know. Hopefully, our souls will separate and go their own ways.

Hopefully
,
was not the word Baymar wanted to hear. Living the rest of his life hearing the woman's voice could be tolerable. He'd always take solace knowing that if it proved intolerable he could simply end his own life and maybe live as a free spirit for a while, but suicide would be redundant if he were sentenced to share his afterlife with the sorceress as well.

“We can’t run forever!” Rolo's voice ripped the cleric's mind from the thought. The giant man was hunched over the back of his bison. He still held tightly with both hands, like before, only now Rolo didn’t fear the ride. Now he was just worried that he might fall off. The healing magic, plus a good night of rest had worked wonders on Rolo, but he was still light headed, and was using every bit of his concentration just to maintain a steady grip on his steed.

To the right of Rolo, Kala was in similar condition, quietly watching the terrain ahead with tired eyes. She was still upset with herself, absorbing the responsibility of his injury. Some of the night Rolo pretended to sleep while Pall tried to convince her otherwise, but it were to no effect. Her feelings were rooted in a culture and that formed over eons. Behind the simplistic nature of the elves was a desperate need for perfection, which not only helped to create their surreal aura, but also their deadly reputation.

Growing up in the high pressured environment of an elfin adolescence is much harder on the girls, than it is for the boys. Kala, like most elf girls, was pushed into a state of over hyper self-consciousness. Instead of accepting the position that boys were bigger and stronger, thus making them the better warriors, she strived to best the elf boys in everything, especially combat. So vicious was her competitiveness that she rarely lost these contests. Now, she felt that Rolo suffered because of her failure to help him sooner, when in truth her bravery saved them all from suffering greater tragedy.

Although Kala may never accept it, Rolo knew that it was only because of her bravery and selflessness that the hole in her own defense was opened, a hole that gave the griffon a clean shot at her. Suddenly he was seeing the elf girl in a new light, not only as a friend, but also now with warrior admiration.

The giant man found himself staring at her. For the first time he noticed how the sun set her red hair ablaze. It contrasted against the yellow and green landscape that blurred by. He felt a strange connection to her, like he was meant to be riding along side of her, and her along side of him. Then she looked at him. He accidentally locked eyes with her before pulling his gaze away, only to turn back to her with his normal stone-face, brows furrowed. She hadn't looked away.

“How you holdin up?” he said, as gruffly as possible.

“Better now,” answered Kala, who was now glowing.

“Good. I was jus wonderin,” he said, before shifting his focus back to the landscape ahead. Only now, the stone-face was a little harder to maintain. His brows relaxed and a smile almost donned his lips. Almost.

She also turned to face the path ahead, all but forgetting the situation with the griffins. At the moment, even the pursuit of the giant elemental was lost from her mind. As Kala daydreamed, Shomnath zipped to the head of the pack and called back to his companions.

“I'll have a plan by the time we reach Loyola, where we can hide or make a stand," he called.

"Sounds good boss," answered Rolo.

"For now, everyone keep your eyes forward and make sure you don’t stumble along the way,” he ordered, specifically making eye contact with Rolo and Kala. Kala blushed, but the giant man cast a threatening look at the prince, who just chuckled.

Shomnath was feeling a bit relieved now that Aga had shrunk in the distance to the size of a dog, while their magical bison continued to pump on with amazing grace. Then the cleric deftly rode up next to him.

“We still have the job of climbing the mountain,” reminded Baymar.

“You wouldn’t happen to have another amulet, maybe for summoning magic birds to fly us to the peak?” smiled Shomnath.

“No, I forgot to bring those,” said Baymar, returning the smile.

Novice,
jabbed Ambrosia.

Shomnath shrugged and looked back to the shrinking elemental. “What are the chances it'll give up?”

“Not likely," Baymar said. "The only thing greater than an Elemental's memory might be its anger.'

“Can we just run until we lose him?”

“Also not likely. He can see as far as the horizon, and his hearing may be just as keen. In fact, Aga might be listening to us right now.” Baymar nodded to Loyola, which was quickly growing in the horizon. “We’ve bought some time to plan, but the monster will follow.”

Shomnath stared at the mountain, his mind racing through possibilities. Every scenario he envisioned seemed shrouded in failure. He imagined that this was how the life of a king really was. Running races that never end, and constantly wasting your time fighting battles you couldn’t possibly win. Except the battles of a king weren't always fought with sword and shield, but with pen and coin.

Are you sure the boy king is the one you want making the decisions? He seems to have quite a load on his shoulders,
said Ambrosia.

“I have faith in his judgment. The boy has a great future ahead,” answered Baymar, under his breathe.

I hope you're right, not only for our sake, but for everyone who will witness the power of the dragon,
said Ambrosia.

Jeb Rockford and his riders travelled just a few miles before they pulled their steeds to a slow trot, surprised by a strange, sudden thunder. Jeb looked to the sky and found no sign of rain, but a peculiar black streak in the air high above. It was like a flaming arrow, if one could be shot so high up, but unlike an arrow it shifted in direction every few seconds, if not ever so slightly. He'd never seen anything like it, but it worried him deeply.

“What is it?” the rider to his left whispered.

“I don’t know,” answered Jeb.

“It points to Loyola,” said the rider to his right.

“As well as Berwyn,” Jeb said.

“The forest seems quiet,” added the rider.

Then, bringing their eyes back down from the skies, a shout erupted in the forest ahead of them.

“Help! Oh please help me!” the voice whimpered.

Jeb nearly fell when a hooded dwarf materialized ahead of them, causing his horse to jerk in surprise. The little man was frantically waving his hands in the air, and didn't seem to be dangerous, so Jeb steadied his horse and forced it to a slow trot forward. The horse nervously stamped its hooves, but nonetheless obeyed.

“Easy little fella,” Jeb urged the dwarf to calm, raising a palm. “Are you coming from the mountain?”

“Yes! Oh thank the gods, have ye come to help?” The question rolled over Jeb and the two riders like a runaway boulder.

“So it’s true? One of our townsmen saw a flaming monster attack the fort last night. We’re off to see Jevon now. I also sent a posse to Somerlund to warn the king.”

The dwarf cringed at Jeb's last words, but then went on frantically, as if he was nearing tears.

“Thank the Gods for Berwyn,” said the dwarf as he continued to approach the men. “But yer too late. I be the only one left.”

“The only one left?” gasped Jeb.

Now the dwarf was within a few yards of them. All three horses jittered a little more as the dwarf neared. The dwarf eyed Jeb and his fellow riders carefully from below his dark hood. They had no weapons. He almost let out a laugh.

“Aye. They’ve all been murdered,” hissed the dwarf, and the riders gawked.

“Murdered?” asked Jeb.

“Aye. Every last one of them,” said the dwarf. The three riders dismounted from their fidgety horses and approached him on foot, leading the animals by rein.

“So, we are too late,” remarked Jeb solemnly.

“Tell us what happened,” pleaded one of the riders.

“Well, it really is a tragedy,” the dwarf began at a whisper, drawing all three of the Berwyn men closer.

"What was the tragedy?" asked Jeb.

“That I had to kill them,” smiled the dwarf.

The three men were shocked speechless, and before they had a chance to voice their thoughts three spears of ice extended from the dwarf’s hand and pinned their chests, stabbing right through each of their hearts in unison. They dropped to their knees and died slowly, staring incredulously at the dwarf as he laughed. Baylor was surprised to find that each time he killed the act brought him more pleasure than the last time. He smiled as the three bodies slumped down and continued walking to Berwyn. He was eager to catch up with his pet, which was already soaring to Berwyn high above.

*************************

To see birds bolt, and then suddenly fly away from their trees isn't a rare thing for folks who spend most of their days in the wild. Something as simple as a fox catching a rabbit is often enough ruckus to warrant such a reaction. What isn't normal is when every bird in the forest takes to the air and flees in one, massive grey cloud.

That is exactly what happened shortly after Jeb and his riders left for Loyola. It happened as Scuttle was cloud watching. He had just lain back in the grass and locked his fingers above his head, when the living cloud passed overhead. The mass of birds was so thick, that it cast a shadow spanning well beyond the width of the village.

Scuttle leapt to his feet, his eyes to the sky and mouth wide open. He recalled a story his uncle Burt had shared, about when the seagulls flew east, away from the coast and over Somerlund. Animals can sense natural disasters, and they were right to flee the coast. That same afternoon, the shore was battered by massive waves that reached upwards of fifty feet. It was the worst disaster to hit Somerlund. It wiped out the pier, ninety percent of her boats, and killed hundreds of fishermen. When several deer and rabbits shot by Scuttle realized that not only the birds, but also the animals of the forest were running in fear, just like the seagulls in the story.

Out of reflex Scuttle swung around and looked to the sky towards home. Against every ounce of hope in his heart, it was there. From the general direction of Loyola, a black, pointed stream of smoke was moving straight for Berwyn. It split the sky in half, streaking towards the town like it was being pulled across the sky on a fishing line. When the spark at the tip of the cloud came into view, time slowed for Scuttle.

The small fireball grew into what looked like a giant flying snake, bursting with flames. He quickly realized how frighteningly fast the creature was approaching. In a few breathes time it was close enough for him to see a bundle of horns protruding from behind the monsters head and widespread, bat-like wings outlined in orange flame.

Scuttle hadn't seen anything like it, not even in picture books. It barreled forward with its legs tucked to its torso, and writhed through the air like a fish muscling through a strong current. Scuttle questioned his eyes and prayed to wake, but the dragon took control over his world like a forgotten nightmare come true. In mere seconds the nightmare was upon the town, passing by in a mockingly low swoop so close that Scuttle could see the dragon's glowing eyes and fire lined scales. It didn't attack, but passed and cut upward, straight into the sky. Scuttle thought he heard yelling from the town, but couldn't comprehend what they were saying.

He wanted to look away. He wanted to turn and scream a warning, but everything happened too quickly. At the peak of its ascent, the dragon twisted around and reversed its course. With impossible speed, it shot straight down towards the town. It did not slow, but picked up speed, all the way down until crashing directly into the Rockford house, obliterating it in a splash of flame, cinder and broken wood. A shockwave of heat from the impact radiated outward, setting every structure near the house instantly ablaze. Scuttle was about fifty yards away, but the explosive force from the impact still took his feet from the ground and sent him rolling several feet, until a tree abruptly stopped him. The monster’s ear-splitting screams were the last thing Scuttle heard, just before slipping out of consciousness.

The families of Berwyn didn’t have a chance once the dragon landed. The first group of townsmen to emerge from their homes to investigate the loud blast stopped in shock, awestruck at the very sight of the writhing beast. It stood in a nest of what was left of the Rockford house, shaking off debris and cinder like water from a wet dog.

Seven brave townsmen immediately rushed to the noise, carrying a mix of axe, spear and water buckets. Each item went slack in their hands when the beast's black eyes locked onto them. With a quick jerk of its powerful neck, the demon opened its terrible maw and released a long twisting stream of fire. The engulfing flame brought a fast end to this brave group of seven, swiftly reducing them to crusted skeletons. Death found them so swiftly that there wasn’t a single scream. The fire then flowed from the dragon's gaping mouth, until the very dirt they stood over had morphed into puddles of molten glass.

Then, the monster sporadically whipped its head left to right, casting flame back and forth as a fly fisherman would his line, setting ablaze the Rockford farm's neighbors. In a matter of minutes, the four households of Berwyn had been savagely reduced to one.

Observers from the last remaining house sheepishly watched through their windows. The Tatum home stood diagonally across the main street courtyard from the Rockford home. Terror stricken, the family chose not to run. Instead they held tight to their loved ones and prayed, or cried, resigned to hoping the demon might eventually bore and leave. In taunt, the dragon screamed at the last house so loud that the floorboards jiggled and picture frames fell from the walls. Their hope was misplaced.

The dragon let loose its fire once again. This time the flame was less intense, although it wasn't out of fatigue, but out of cruelty, as the dragon slowly circled the house spitting its fiery venom. The demon intended to make the people inside suffer a slow, agonizing and fearful death. It intended to make them feel the magnitude of its own suffering. It was the suffering of being imprisoned in a diamond cell for over two hundred years.

In the end, only a few charred bodies and a smoldering clearing remained as evidence that there ever was a town to begin with.