Blue Diamonds (Book One of The Blue Diamonds Saga) (20 page)

On the same day, mid week, from high sun until dawn, the court of Somerlund held the Day of Resolutions. Aptly nicknamed the
day of disappointments
by the common folk, it was a tradition the city held for nearly as long as there had been a king to rule over it. This was the only opportunity commoners had to freely voice their issues, directly to the king. Not alone of course, as he was always flanked by the eyes and ears of his trusted counsel, as well as a few of the quickest swordsmen around.

Every week the day would commence in the same fashion, with commoners materializing from every shadow to line up in the castle's courtyard, all for a chance to declare their grievances. On a normal day, a thousand claims would be heard before lunch.

Once, about twenty years ago, there was a snowstorm that was so bad, that every city worker had to stop what they were doing (including the Day of Resolutions) and focus on rescuing citizens that had been trapped in the massive snowdrifts. It was a horrendously hard situation, which resulted in sixteen deaths, and it was King Shomnor’s fondest memory of the Day of Resolutions after nearly forty years of holding the throne.

Thus said, it comes as no surprise that the Day of Resolutions always concludes in the same fashion every week, with Shomnor sitting alone in his courtroom chair, mentally exhausted, contemplating how he might discontinue the wretched service to his people. This usually lasted until he drank enough wine to dim his senses.

He played with the idea of assigning the task to another in the royal family, but always resigned the thought. He concluded that this would only open more avenues for corruption, or more aptly, corruption that he couldn’t readily control. The only person he wanted to bestow the miserable job upon was his son Shomnath, who when asked, not so subtly informed his father that he would have nothing of it. Shomnor hoped his son might come around to the idea one day, but that was years ago.

The king really thought that today might be different, and why not? His breakfast was ready for him the moment he opened his eyes, a cool breeze blew in hints of autumn (his favorite time of the year) and the sky was blue, far into the bend of the horizon.

Now, halfway into the day, lunch had been even better than breakfast, and the cool breeze still caressed him. Yet now it had to penetrate through the ridiculously heavy, shiny, cloak of resolution. It was a brightly colored ceremonial dress that was peppered from top to bottom with the crests of Somerlund’s most prestigious families. The king hated the ridiculous garb, and wearing it was Shomnor’s least favorite part of the ceremony.

The first hours went so smoothly that it was almost a day of relaxation rather than resolution. The problems of the week seemed so petty and small that Shomnor had even considered calling it a day ahead of schedule. This was all before a man named Arthur Cornbott, accompanied by several men from Berwyn came strolling into his court and crushed any hopes he had for an afternoon of hunting.

While listening to the Berwyn men, King Shomnor's knuckles went white from how tight he gripped the golden arm rests of his throne. He clung to them as if they might help to anchor his composure. He tried to hide how he was handling the overwhelming news that the men had given, although the paling of his skin was telling the story clearly. Many moments had passed since the man's shocking announcement and the king still remained quiet. The men from Berwyn didn't know what else to do, or say, so they simply stood there and waited for the king in awkward silence.

King Shomnor was accustomed to routine complaints. Staple complaints, such as theft, lack of sewage in the poor district, or the occasional fool arguing against taxes. These types of problems were always solved easily enough. Assign more soldiers to the market, tell the poor to piss in the forest, and give the tax-evading bastard a week in the dungeon.

Yet now, this simple farmer from a small town presented a problem that leaned on the more complicated side. He declared that a flying fire monster was spotted less than a days travel from his city. Just to make such a wild accusation was news. Every man, woman and child in Somerlund knew what King Shomnor did to people who lied to him on the day of resolutions. The ripple affect of Arthur's news could be heard in waves of whispering, which quickly spread down the marble hallway and then out into the plaza.

“Your highness?” Arthur brought the king back from his long, pondering silence.

“Oh? Yes. Arthur is it?" said Shomnor.

"Yes your grace."

"Yes," said Shomnor, still staring at the Berwyn men as if he would be able to see through them if he looked long enough. "Please, excuse me and wait in my private guest quarters, as I must discuss your issue with my advisors.

"But," Arthur began, but was cut off when w set of armored soldiers surrounded him and his townsmen.

"It will all work out," smiled Shomnor. "Guards, take these men to the guest quarters, and close the main doors, we are adjourning the Day of Resolutions early.”

Arthur was appalled, and a bit scared. Was he going to be flayed for asking the king for help? A brief moment of protest erupted outside the courtroom, before it was cut off by the thunderous slam of heavy, black, iron doors.

“King Shomnor, did you hear what I said?" called Arthur. "Jeb Rockford requests your army. You have to protect Berwyn, in case we are attacked next! We're not within the walls of your city, but we give your soldiers quarters the
many
times they pass through our village. And we never failed to pay your tax collectors from our harvest. Not once! Berwyn is asking for your help, your highness, not for discussion!”

Several menacing soldiers swiftly surrounded Arthur and his men after the outburst, each one eager to teach him what kind of tone isn't acceptable when addressing their king.

“Stand down, let them be,” Shomnor interjected.

“I understand your passion," Shomnor said. " I assure you, I will not make haste, but I'll make my decision without your presence, if that's alright with you."

"Y-yes, your highness," stammered Arthur, although reluctantly.

"Now please, go with the soldiers and await my verdict,” said the king.

The king’s smile lacked the intended effect, yet Arthur and his companions calmed, and then hesitantly followed the soldiers through a concealed door to the right of the throne. The look on Arthur’s face was less than trusting as he and his kin emptied into the dark passage. King Shomnor held his smile the entire time, keeping full eye contact until they disappeared from his sight.

After the door shut, the king practically fell onto his throne and stared out the window facing southeast. It was the window that had a clear view of the snowcapped Loyola. The white, colossal mountain towered over a sea of green, penetrating high into the sky. Ironically, it was the same view the king woke to every morning from his bed, a view he’d specifically had his masons carve into the wall of his private quarter. If he didn't close his shutters nightly he would've seen what Arthur was claiming. Until the Hammerheart departure, the view had always provided a subtle comfort.

“Everyone leave the room, except General Stark and Archbishop Alexander.”

The obedient personal guard made their exit from the courtroom, along with several ministers of the church and the king’s personal butlers. The only two to remain, both advisors to the king, approached the throne and silently waited for the last set of echoing footsteps to fade away.

General Dugan Stark was a longtime friend of the king. They fought alongside one another from the time Shomnor was a young prince. The slightly older man rested a huge calloused hand on the hilt of his sword and the other upon the king’s shoulder. Shomnor looked up to him and nodded his thanks.

Next to the general stood Archbishop Alexander, the head priest of the Church of Somerlund. The king didn't have a lot of love for the Church of Stars, or any religion for that matter, but he understood the need for keeping the people of faith loyal. Not only did they tend to be the more civilized of his people, they generally didn't question higher power.

Alexander’s father was the Archbishop when Shomnor's father was king, and it was probably the only reason Alexander had the position. There was nothing particularly holy about him, but he was the king's cousin, as well as one of the best public speakers around. It turned out to be a fitting part for him to play, as he shared the same taste in lavish living that his father did, and the church was filled with as much coin as it was prayer.

“Has anyone found my son?” asked Shomnor, although he was directing the question toward General Stark.

Dugan spent more time with Prince Shomnath, than Shomnor did himself. Not only was he responsible for Shomnath's ability to command the army, but also for his aptitude in basic warfare. It was all in preparation for the day Shomnath would take over, yet in the midst of all the lessons, Shomnath and the general grew to be close friends. So close, that the king openly blamed the general for Shomnath's thrill-seeking disposition, accusing the general of telling the prince one too many of his grandiose tales. The general would always deny the accusation, countering that they were only stories the king should be sharing with his son himself.

“No one has seen him since the argument, your grace," Dugan answered. "It was the argument about Horace, and the diamonds.”

“You don't need to remind me why we fought. I have a perfectly good memory for my age,” replied Shomnor.

From the moment the man from Berwyn mentioned the fire monster, the argument with his son had replayed many times in his mind. When his son asked for one hundred soldiers to help search for some fabled dragon diamonds, Shomnor had snapped at him. He called him a foolish child, for wanting to waste precious time and resources in order to chase a fairytale. Now the king felt like the fool, unsure of why he’d reacted so strongly against his son that night. After all, he chased a good share of fairytales in his youth.

“Do you think Cornbott’s monster might be the same?” the bishop let the question hang in the air.

“Well, it would be one hell of coincidence if it isn’t,” said the general.

“More importantly," added Shomnor, "is if this dragon is out there, is it an immediate threat to the city?” The general and the bishop both looked at the king dumbfounded.

“Your highness," said Dugan. "Aren't we going to help Berwyn? They might be a rogue town, but they're asking for help. Not only could this bolster Somerlund’s pride, but you might win back Berwyn altogether.”

General Stark had been flirting with the idea of turning Berwyn into another outpost for his military. Not only would the outpost serve in securing the forest to the south, but also to keep a closer eye on the Hammerhearts.

“Along with winning back their taxes and tithe,” added Alexander, not concealing his smile. Alexander’s love for gold was no secret. When the frugal bishop prayed at the tabernacle, the king and the general held a private joke that he was actually doing the church’s accounting.

“I’m no fool," snorted Shomnor. "Of course we’re going to send aid. But the real question is how much aid will I send, and when? I want to know how many soldiers we can afford to send without hindering city security. Suppose someone out there really is walking around with his own pet dragon. Worse than that, suppose this person decides to attack Somerlund while her army is out protecting some insignificant town?” Again, Shomnor focused his questions in General Stark’s direction.

“We can send two hundred and fifty soldiers, leaving around two thousand to defend the city," said the general.

"And?" said Shomnor.

"And, I suggest we close off all doors to the city except the east gate. Then we can position half of our remaining army just outside of the gate, under the cover of the forest. This way, we can control the traffic into the city, as well as be prepared for anything that may come from the east. The soldiers posted at the gate will physically check whoever enters.”

Shomnor nodded silently for several moments, taking in the general’s plan.

“You would search and interrogate all the incoming travelers?" asked Alexander. "You don’t think that's a bit extreme?”

“Not as extreme as someone summoning a dragon in the center of the city,” answered Dugan. “I think that would be extreme.”

“This raises another question,” interjected the king, raising a hand to them. “If this monster exists, how do we even begin to fight it?”

None of them had ever seen a dragon, let alone fought one. Unfortunately Archmage Horace, the third part of Shomnor’s inner council, was dead. If ever there was a time for magic, it was now. Shomnor thought back on a time when Horace had demonstrated a simple summoning. He pulled animal souls from gemstones in what turned out to be an amazing show.

If there was one thing that the king took away from the demonstrations, it was that the animals were many times more powerful than when they were alive. The memory of a gorilla punching through a thick wall of stone burned vividly in the king’s mind. Basing his knowledge on what he read in fables and heard around campfires, he could not fathom what a dragon would be able to do in the same summoned, demonic state.

“It’s a shame that no one has stepped up to fill the Archmage’s shoes. A powerful wizard is exactly what's missing from this equation,” stated Alexander. Then the king’s eyes suddenly brightened.