Blue Diamonds (Book One of The Blue Diamonds Saga) (21 page)

“That’s it!" he declared. "There just might be one person that I know of who could fill Horace’s shoes.”

“There is, your highness?” said Alexander, but Shomnor was ignoring him.

“Dugan," he said, "I approve of your decision on troop placement. Make it happen in the next few hours. Also, I want you to personally accompany the two hundred and fifty to Berwyn. Once there, send scouts to the mountain. Their orders are to quickly gather information, and if possible, contact the Hammerheart clan. If the threat is real, I don't want you to battle the dragon right off. Rather, evacuate the entire village and rejoin the thousand we will have waiting in the forest outside our walls. We need to learn how one goes about killing that which has no life, and we need to learn it before the fight.”

“And if they do not wish to evacuate their homes?” asked the general. He already foresaw a difficult time with that task.

“Then we've fulfilled our promise. We are offering protection, but only through evacuation. You are not to waste any time forcing them to leave. If they wish to die at the hands of this demon, inform them that you will not deny them their death wish. Only evacuate the willing, understood?"

“Right away your grace,” answered General Stark, before promptly storming out of the room.

“Is there anything that you might need from the church, your highness?” Alexander asked from where he had slowly and silently inched away to, several feet from the throne.

“Well, I don’t need you to go and pray for us,” stated the king, at which the Archbishop meekly smiled.

“Go to the library," ordered the king. "Ask the monks to bring me every piece of literature Horace acquired over the past year. On top of that, bring me any books on soul gems. And dragons!”

“Is that all, sire?” Alexander didn't hold back his sarcasm.

“Actually, no," answered the king. "I want to know who, from the Mage’s Guild, is next in line to be Archmage.”

“As you will my king," said the bishop with a low bow. Then he quickly skirted away before Shomnor could think of more tasks.

The tasks he'd been assigned were not simple requests. Alexander knew that just finding someone in the guild able to perform the simplest magic would be difficult, let alone finding someone powerful enough to fill Horace's shoes. What Shomnor didn't know was that Horace, in all his pride, had single handedly strangled the progression of the mage’s guild.

First, Horace outlawed the young wizards from performing spells that he didn't personally approve. Then, he hoarded all of the magic texts to his private study. The elder magi were the first to leave the guild, with many more to follow until the only students who remained were the ones with nowhere else to go. All that was left of the guild today were orphan boys and servants. Still, the king demanded to see the next Archmage, so Alexander was going to find him.

"Londo?" called the king, after the Archbishop was out of sight.

“Yes, your majesty?” boomed the deep-voiced Londo.

The captain of Shomnor's personal guard emerged from behind the tapestry to the left of the throne. Londo was a pale, lanky, seven-foot tall. His black, overhanging locks of hair did little to hide his dead stare, which was usually enough to thwart any ideas of aggression toward the king.

“I want you to visit a small school in the northern district of the city. You won't miss it,” Shomnor smiled in recollection. “It’s the only house that's missing a front door.”

“And what would you have me do at this school, my king?” said Londo. Londo hoped it wasn’t another assassination. Those types of secret missions had become more consistent of late, and while killing wasn't a moral problem for Londo, he preferred to conduct those missions in the shadows of night.

“The school is run by an old man," said the king.

"An old man?" said Londo.

"Yes. His name is Baymar. Don’t harm him, just bring him to me.”

When the friends arrived at Fort Hammerheart, Pall was the first to dismount. From far down, at the beginning of the lone, gravel road, he already noticed the peculiar stillness. The only thing more unnerving than the stillness was the maddening silence. There was no clang of iron picks, chipping away at rock, no dwarves singing in cheery cadence, not even a whinny from the horses that should have been pulling loads of rock out of the mountain. There was only the teasing breeze, declaring a lifeless cave that should have been bustling with productivity. After hopping down from his bison, he hesitantly walked to one of the hammer statues. He was transfixed on two figures that were slumped at the base.

Before he was within a throw's distance, Pall realized that he’d been looking at Colt and Tuck, the entrance guards, or rather all that was left of his two cousins. Their mithril, ram horn helms and hammer crested chest plates still gleamed in the sunlight as if they were new. It contrasted with the ash-crusted skeletons and the heat-warped, iron chain mail that covered their limbs. He stopped cold, his feet no longer listening to his thoughts. Without taking a single step into the fort his worries were realized, and his fears manifest.

By the time his companions touched feet to ground Pall had already fallen to his knees and buried his face in his hands, trying hard to stop the tears from finding his cheeks. The attempt failed, but he was quick to wipe them dry with fistfuls of his coat. He would not enter the cave. From the black, charred frame of the main entrance, Pall assumed the worst. They were too late, and his kin were dead.

Shomnath turned to Kala, who was beginning to weep.

“We'll figure out what happened, but right now I need you to get to high ground and see how far Aga is behind us,” Shomnath said to her, softly, yet firm enough to get her attention.

The prince could not let them fall to pieces now, even in the face of such sorrow. Kala glared at Shomnath in disbelief for several moments, but the rumbling in the distance couldn’t be ignored. He glared back at her, half in control, yet half pleading. She gave Pall another glance, and then nodded before turning away.

Shomnath’s brow loosened as she walked away. He knew they had ample time before Aga caught up to them, but he needed to put Kala on a task away from Pall. If she broke down he would have been swept up in a tide of emotion along with her.

“I'll go with her,” offered Baymar, and Shomnath nodded his thanks.

As the cleric caught up with Kala he put his arm over the girl's shoulder. They made their way to a narrow path that winded around and up the left side of the hammer statues. It went on to zig zag higher up the cliffside that the fort was built into. Once they turned the corner, the Shomnath acknowledged Rolo, who was stoically standing in the background.

“Scout the base of the mountain for tracks. Be cautious, and come back quickly,” Shomnath said. Rolo nodded, understanding Shomnath wanted to get a little alone time with the dwarf and backed away to do the task without a word.

Shomnath turned back to Pall, who had yet to move. He walked to him and slowly knelt at his side for what seemed like hours. Pall didn’t make a sound, and for a moment Shomnath was worried the dwarf had stopped breathing. He just sat on his heels with his face cupped in his hands.

There was nothing the prince could say. Not in his entire life had he dealt with a loss like this, not even on a small scale. Shomnath’s mother had passed away, but it happened when he was too young to truly remember it. This was death on a genocidal level, the likes of which hadn't happened in many generations. He wished that he could at least imagine the pain, but he couldn’t, and it put guilt in his heart.

“We weren’t even close. The fire’s long burnt, and whoever got yer diamond is probably long gone,” Pall whispered. His hands fell to his lap now, but he still stared at the ground.

Shomnath knew Pall was right, and it was plain to see. The tunnel entrance was covered in thick soot, yet the scent of burning was light. It took all the strength he had not to be emotionally crushed by his guilt. He had failed his friend and the cost of failure was massive.

"I'm sorry," Shomnath said.

“It aint yer fault.” Pall said, although instead of relief the words struck another nail into the prince’s heart.

Shomnath answered after a long swallow. “I’ve always admired your love for your family, and I never knew what family meant until I met yours. You say it isn’t my fault, but if it weren’t for me… I called you away from your family.”

“If it weren’t fer yer calling, I’d be dead with em. Nothing more. Not a whole lot better than being the last of yer kin if ye ask me, but...” Pall shrugged and huffed.

“You’re not the last of your kin," said Shomnath. "You’ve always treated me like a brother, and from today on I am your brother. You are part of the royal family of Somerlund now, and anything that is afforded to me will be afforded to you.”

Surprisingly, Pall took a deep breath, and then sprang to his feet.

“Well then, brother. Save yer pity fer whoever did this to me family. Fer when I find ‘em…” Shomnath stood and stopped Pall mid sentence.

“No, when
we
find who did this,” said Shomnath. He held his hand out to be met with Pall’s iron grip, which was even stronger in grief. “I swear to you we will find who did this and make them pay, together.”

“That thought will keep me dwarven heart pumping strong fer hundreds of years to come,” said Pall, and the fury in his eyes told the prince the truth behind the words. Then, Rolo reappeared from scouting.

“Tell me ye found something, big boy!” said Pall.

Rolo was initially surprised by the dwarf's energy, but not so much. They were young, but they were warriors also. He recognized death, as well as revenge, and both were painted over his little friend's face. He remained stoic, although a whirlwind of irritating emotions began to churn beneath Rolo’s stone exterior. The big man was eager to show his feelings the only way he knew, and that was by finding the source of the feelings and breaking its legs.

“Nothin to find, an I mean nothin. Not even a bird in a tree,” reported Rolo.

“We can inspect the fort,” suggested Shomnath.

“No. Now isn’t the time,” said Pall, stunning them both. “Don’t need to go in to know what I’m to find.”

It was just an honest observation. Aside from the charred walls, the place appeared untouched. Whatever fate was handed to Fort Hammerheart, it came on swift and furious. Pall believed in his heart that the tunnel led to a tomb, and there was no time for mourning, or closure, until whoever was responsible for this was a permanent resident of the spirit realm.

“Are you sure?” asked Shomnath.

“The only peace I’m to find today, will come from wetting me axe,” said Pall, and the look in his eyes chilled the prince.

“Then we move out the minute Kala and Baymar returns,” he said.

Speaking of which, several hundred feet above and on the northern face of the mountain, Kala and Baymar were witnessing a discouraging sight. Aga, like a low cloud in the horizon, was still coming on strong. Baymar estimated that they gained about an hour of separation from Aga. It was a nice amount of time, yet there was something surreal about watching a beast as large as a castle stampeding through the fields, doubly so when that beast has nothing but your death fueling it.

“He's magnificent,” stated Kala. The scene momentarily pulled her from her sorrow. Baymar looked at her, surprised to see she wasn’t fearful of the elemental, but in awe of it.

“Magnificent and bloody mad,” he said. From where they stood, Aga looked like a brown beetle, dragging a line through the sand, clumsily trudging along with no particular purpose.

“That’s not fair,” she said.

“Really?” asked Baymar. “And what do you know about earth elementals, elf girl?”

“All that I need to know. Most importantly, that they are one with the world we walk upon, which to me automatically places them on a list of creatures we should deem sacred. As strange as Aga looks, he's part of nature’s holy circle. And second,” she smirked, “he wouldn’t be so mad if it weren’t for us.”

Baymar was thoroughly impressed with the girl's answer, and said, “How old are you Kala?”

“One hundred and three, in human years,” Kala replied.

“Just as I suspected. Although your age surpasses mine by many years, you are quite young on elf terms, correct?”

“Yes, and?” She turned to Baymar, waiting for his point. He continued to stare out at the elemental.

“And, gods willing my dear, you will live far longer than any of your companions waiting below. Even longer than Pall, who could easily live another four hundred years.” His words tugged at her heart. With seemingly little effort, Baymar tapped into a well of her deepest fears. She turned away from him.

Kala’s mind went to a memory of her father, of when he discovered her friendship with Pall. Without even asking about her feelings, he forbade their friendship. He warned her that elves were absolutely forbidden to form personal relationships outside of their own race. It was a rule as old as their race, one that promised banishment upon breakage. It was one of the few remaining bits of culture that was still shared between them -forest dwellers-and their city dwelling cousins. It was a cultural rule that went beyond region. After endless arguing she finally submitted to her father, although her decision was made. She would keep their friendship a secret from him.

In Pall she found the one thing she couldn’t within her tribe, someone who didn’t scrutinize over every little thing she did. Someone who didn’t judge or berate her, and someone who was satisfied with who she was. She never had that kind of rapport before, and she loved him for it. She always knew she would outlive him, but locked the thought away somewhere deep down inside.

Are you trying to give these people a hard time? Can't you see that the girl is already shaken up over her friend?
scolded Ambrosia.

“I don’t say these things to hurt her, I mean you, Kala,” said Baymar.

“Then why?” Kala was barely able to get the words out of her mouth. Her eyes were beginning to well up.

Yes, why are you saying these things you old fool?
Ambrosia said, making Baymar wince. He was getting a little better at ignoring her, but Ambrosia's voice could get loud enough to drown out the sounds of his environment as well as his own thoughts.

“An old elf once told me why elves reject outsiders," was his reply, and it caught Kala's attention.

"He said that it has nothing to do with mixing races. It’s because of the shortness of everyone
else’s
lives, that forced elves to avoid other races at all costs.”

For a moment Kala wondered if the old human had read her mind, and was seeing memories of her father. She considered him a strict, old, heartless hermit sometimes.

“That's a terrible thing to say,” she said.

“That’s what I thought too. Or at least I did at first, until he explained his meaning. He said that experiencing loved ones constantly dying on you is dreadfully difficult to endure.” Baymar placed his hand on Kala's shoulder and continued. “What he meant was that it's much easier to live out your years of immortality in isolation, rather than in sorrow.”

“Avoid loving others?” she asked. “Just so you won’t have a reason to mourn when they're gone? What foolishness. Sorrow isn’t the only pain in this world.”

“You are absolutely right,” answered Baymar. “And I’m glad I was able to call him my friend. He was, like you, a rarity of your kind. Although elves hold all life sacred, so few are so brave, so daring to reach out and risk a little heartache. Even the city elves rarely socialize with other races, or at least outside of normal, daily business.”

“Daring? That’s an interesting way to put it.”

“Bravery is hardly restricted to combat,” Baymar replied with a wink.

She understood. The elves evolved ahead of the other races by thousands of years. Their civilization accelerated in reading, writing, and even spoken word, millennia before the other races even emerged from the earth, yet the reputation of their reclusive culture far out-shined their intellectualism.

“I asked your age only to offer some perspective. You have many more years to live, daring young Kala, and you will see friends come and go like the leaves of an oak. You need to prepare yourself, in order to endure the heartache to come.”

“I know what you are saying," Kala admitted. "I try not to think about it. It’s as if I want to go on believing nothing bad will happen to us, but now…” she turned her eyes back to Aga.

“I have some advice on enduring," offered Baymar. "It was also told to me by the same elf that I mentioned earlier,” he said.

"Oh?" This pulled her tear filled eyes back to his.

“He said that when it comes down to it, time would take what time is owed. The best you can do in life is to be there for the ones you love today, and then bask in the memory of those you’ve loved in the past. Only then will life open its doors to tomorrow.”

The words did not make her fears disappear, but they did bolster her courage. She instantly gained a new respect for the wise human sitting beside her, and she realized that he was a beautiful new leaf on her own tree of life.