Blue Diamonds (Book One of The Blue Diamonds Saga) (32 page)

Every time Ambrosia spoke, the nearest spirits would twitch and search in Baymar’s general direction. He realized then that they could also hear her voice.

“What stopped you from going to the light?” he said.

The light emits a powerful energy that purifies. It submerses your entire being outright, with an incredible feeling of content, oneness, and newness. I would be lying to say that it wasn't a magnificent feeling after a long, hard life.

“It sounds nice enough.”

Yes, but the closer I got to the door another feeling rose behind me. It’s an altogether different feeling that tingles up from the lower of your back and massages it’s way upward until it grips the back of your neck, firmly. It was like a cat was securing one of her kittens, and I was the kitten. That was a feeling that I didn’t like at all.

Then, the sky was suddenly poured over with bright, red light. It was so bright that Baymar flinched and cowered closer to the ground in fear. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked to the heavens to find the very thing they came for.

She’s beautiful,
Ambrosia said, and there was nothing Baymar could add to do the vision justice.

It was the dragon’s soul, now freed from its cage. With wings spread wide, it calmly hovered up and down in the breeze, yet it was so large that the breeze could have been coming off of it. No longer the enraged beast, it poetically swayed side to side like a giant, lazy butterfly being kept in place by a cool summer breeze.

Lighting the other half of the starry hemisphere was the red soul of Baymar’s big friend, Aga. The giant turtle was suspended in time, facing his winged spirit companion in wonder. The giant turtle seemed to be lost in thought, over whether he should bite at the hovering dragon, or maybe give it a gentle kiss. Now Aga reminded Baymar of the green sea turtles he swam with as a child. His eyes trailed Aga’s shell pattern down its body and Baymar couldn’t help but to laugh. The elemental had all four of its legs.

He and Ambrosia watched in silent awe until the sun whispered away some of the dark. After he felt they’d had enough Baymar patted out the candles, abruptly trading the lavender light for the natural colors of predawn. He then stood and stretched out the tightness in his back. He was now satisfied that the diamond had been destroyed, and was ready to head back to the city.

Where do we go from here?
said Ambrosia.

“The Prince and his friends are waiting at my school, so we’ll round them up first.”

How do you know that?

“Let’s just say that a little squirrel told me.”

And are we going for the other diamonds?

“Do you even have to ask?”

No, I suppose not,
said Ambrosia.
I suggest that we go for the one I sent to the desert next.

“Then I’ll have to dress lighter,” said Baymar.

Then the wizard checked his belongings, kicked away the powder runes on the ground and began his trek home.

Whether you have read your way to this page, or if you just like to take a peek in the rear now and then, I thank you for your time as much as I do your cash. I do work hard, and will continue to do so for the rest of my novels, which I intend to keep writing for as long as I am able. I am a reader like you, although I find that I have the need to escape further, and when I slip away into the depths of my daydreams I find friends and places that I must write about. I hope that you enjoyed Blue Diamonds, and continue to follow what adventures may come for Somerlund’s heroes. Also, if you’re curious you can find my bio at rembooks.com. I’m not as technical as I’d like to believe, and I’m less social than I am technical, but I intend to answer any questions on my site, as well as post things once in a while, like artwork and book release information.

Once again, thank you.

All the best, Robert

P.S. I've included a sample chapter from part two in the Blue Diamonds series, Fire and Sand. Not to toot my own horn, but I assumed that if you've read all the way to this point, you might be interested.

P.S.S. If you don't mind, it only takes a minute of your time to rate / review Blue Diamonds on Amazon, and it helps so much! You rock!

P.S.S. I also have a twitter @REMurphys and yes, it's actually me :)

Into the Hammerheart

It was a pleasant day. There was a breeze with a hint of chill in it, but it didn't have the bite of winter in it yet. It was just the normal chill. The great mountain was always shaking a little cold sass down from her frozen peak, regardless of the season.

“Are ye ready cousin?”

“Aye.”

Pall looked Scuttle in the eyes, a last gut check, and nodded. He hoped that today would be the day, the day they were rewarded for all their hard work, but he picked up the hammer that was leaning against the wall at the cave entrance the same way that he had for the last couple of weeks, bracing for an upset.

The hammer wasn’t as heavy as it looked, and when it touched the skin of his palm it began to vibrate from some unknown source, yet Pall wasn’t startled. He'd become so familiar with the tool that he expected the sensation. The markings etched into the arms-length handle would have been a hint to anyone about the power within the tool, but Pall never had to think that far on it. From the first day he saw them, the very minute he cracked open the wooden crate even, he knew the hammers were enchanted. The gleam always gave it away. It would take a whole lot of time out of the day to keep a shine like that, and nobody spends time polishing tools meant for crushing stone. You would think they could make an enchantment that lets stuff get dirty, thought the dwarf. A bright, shiny, new looking hammer was a peculiar and strange looking thing to him, and slightly sad to be truthful. A good hammer showed a little wear and tear, his father used to say.

Pall balanced the tool in his hands, and then exhaled long and slow. It was very hard for him to stay back in Somerlund when Shomnath, Kala, Rolo, and Baymar all left for the desert in search for the next diamond on Ambrosia’s list, but he had to find closure on his family and their death. When he looked into the would-be entrance of Fort Hammerheart, the fort that his family was building to start a new life, and the fort that bore his own namesake, he truly felt that he was looking into a grave. The dragon was so powerful, so unbelievably superior to anything that he’d ever seen, that he could not imagine anyone or anything surviving the attack. Scuttle witnessed the carnage that one of the demons could create first hand, an event that ended with the utter destruction of the town Berwyn. Only a handful of people survived that disaster, and when Pall looked into the younger dwarf’s eyes, he could clearly see the despair that was there.

In spite of everything that happened, or what they saw, Pall believed there was still a chance. He saw the proof in the mountain itself. While he and his friends didn’t defeat the dragon themselves, it was beaten by the giant earth elemental Aga, who happened to be made of the same type of granite as Mt. Loyola was made of. This was enough to spark his hope, but there was more.

Above the entrance to the fort, there was a straight, black path, which was burned into the mountainside from the top of Fort Hammerheart’s door all the way up to the peak of the mountain. It mapped out how the dragon had grazed the mountain on the way down from where it was summoned, just above Ambrosia’s den at the summit. It mapped out a vicious surprise attack, for nobody would have expected the fort to be attacked from above.

What first struck Pall as odd, was that although the molten path was impressive, it really only slightly penetrated the surface of the granite. This gave him more hope, that if the mechanism that was designed to collapse the main tunnel was triggered in time, then maybe the dragon wasn’t able to pump the cave system full of its hellish flames. Sure enough, on close inspection Pall found that it was a possibility. That wall that waited within the fort’s entrance was smooth like glass, but what was encouraging was how little ripples radiated outward from the center, telling him that the dragon’s gale of fire might have slammed into a wall of stone.

It was enough to raise his hopes, if not sway his belief. Either way it was better than nothing, and easily enough for him to stay back and give hope a try. He wasn’t going anywhere without being sure about his family, and the sooner he found that closure, the sooner he would be able to shed the guilt of not being with his friends. If everything went quickly, he figured that he might even be able to catch up to them later.

At first, Pall and Scuttle were the only two at the mountain. They each came back to Loyola armed with hammers, picks, and whatever strength their bodies would give them. As far as provisions, they brought sleeping sacks, a few sets of clothes, a pot, a pan, and fishing nets that they put into good use at Pall’s old fishing pond.

Pall learned that by having Scuttle walk up and down the shore at night with a torch, fish could be easily corralled into the nets. The trick never failed, and every night they always had more fish than they could eat. There was so much extra fish that Scuttle began drying the filets in the sun to make a fish jerky, that he dubbed Scuttlefish. The fish were very fatty, and they fried them up with some green onion and garlic that Scuttle dug up. Pall was always in charge of the fire and the actual cooking. They'd finish the fry with the juice of an entire lemon and eat so happily that their troubles, if only briefly, submitted to their taste buds each night at dinner. For dessert they ate blackberries until they were sick of them, which always ended with Scuttle rubbing his full belly until falling asleep. Pall would always end the night with a smoke of some merryweed flowers, which was freshly plucked from a nearby bush.

Now it was the start of another workday. Pall looked down the long, windy path that led up to Fort Hammerheart and his heart skipped a beat. On the second day of their excavation, several familiar faced dwarves appeared, bringing more tools but more importantly more helping hands. Many of the Somerlund dwarves didn’t leave the city with Pall’s father Jevon to build the new dwarven stronghold, but that didn’t mean that they kept any bad feelings. There wasn’t a single dwarf who stayed behind who didn’t secretly root for the Hammerhearts to succeed. When it came down to it, the move was amazingly civil as far as civility goes for dwarves, and it showed with how the remaining dwarves let go of their differences so quickly in order to help Pall in his tragedy.

What was more surprising was when humans, and then elves began showing up to help. While there were more than a few times he can remember some human asses at a pub making stupid comments about how the Hammerhearts had no heart, or were worthless quitters, or cut and runners, he forgave everything the moment he saw two humans come up that hill on foot the way everyone else did and offer their unconditional help. It made Pall debate whether his father’s decision to leave Somerlund was completely justified. There seemed to be much more heart left in the city than his father could ever believe.

Today, only weeks after he and Scuttle began the dig all by themselves, Pall witnessed a sea of faces that must’ve numbered in the hundreds. They all, dwarf, elf, and human, stood eager, staring with sympathetic yet energetic eyes as they did every morning prior. He still couldn’t believe what he saw, nor could he describe the painful warmth in his chest that made him want to cry and laugh all at once. He held his composure and did what had also become customary, by lifting his hammer to the crowd in a salute, signaling the start of another workday. The people didn’t hesitate to roar back in cheer, loud enough to send birds that were perched on the side of the cliffs face above darting into the sky.

Digging with enchanted tools was quite a different experience than working with a normal rock hammer, and the non-dwarves who were there to witness it gained stories to tell their grandchildren. Not only did they get to watch how it was done, but also they received the privilege to learn and participate. Pall assumed the lead position at the molten portal with his hammer at his side, which was one of twenty identical that were present. The powerful tools were loaned to him with condolences from Somerlund’s underground dwarven sector, Ol’ Town. Baymar had offered to try blasting through the stone with magic, but even with the assistance from Ambrosia, Pall didn’t want to risk it. He knew that if the explosion was too strong it could easily cause a collapse inside, crushing any survivors. No, he decided, they needed to use dwarven tactics to get them out. They would dig, and they would do it with tools, sweat, blood, and cheer.

The other nineteen fell into line behind Pall, the way they were taught, each taking care to give several paces of space to the person in front of them. When a dwarf quips the age-old saying “strong as a dwarven chain,” most tend to think they are talking about literal chains. Given the dwarves affinity for chains -Pall’s own leather jacket was stitched together with thin chains-it seemed the obvious guess. Although the chain that these twenty men, women, and dwarves formed now with magical hammers is actually the type of chain the saying refers. Most of the crowd backed off and went down the hill to prepare food, watch the children who came along with their parents, or any other general work that could be done around what was becoming a small town in its own right. A dozen or so stayed near enough to be ready substitutes for the work line, while a few who were newer to the worksite remained just to see the spectacle of the dwarven chain for the first time.

As they were designed to do, when the hammers were all finally in position they began to pulse stronger and harder, filling the wielders arms with strength and a slight pinpricking sensation. The less experienced races released a loud, collective, pleasured sigh from the feeling, as the energy that the hammers put out is actually a very pleasing one that can overwhelm you if you aren’t prepared for it. The dwarves only smiled and soaked in the feeling that could only be explained by them in one word, home.

“High!” called Pall, as he lifted his hammer up with both hands. When he did, the twinkling that reflected off of the steel changed from a soft white, to a hard, piercing red that blanketed over the cliff with rippling, red worms of light. The rest of the hammers were now tuned to his, and the other nineteen went up into the air in the same fashion.

All the other hammers then pulsed with the same red energy as his did, only not as brightly. Pall’s ball of red light shined with twice the intensity, and tethered to the rest of the hammers by tendrils of energy that reached out from his hammer to theirs. The line of hammers all went up in unison, like a giant red centipede suddenly standing at attention. The line rose, partly because of the power within the hammers themselves, but mostly because now the hammers were connected to Pall’s thoughts, and they could feel his mind willing their arms up. As long as they willingly held onto their hammers his will was irresistible. They couldn’t hear his thoughts, or feel his emotions, but he had cognitive power over their arms as though they were his own.

Pall looked at the melted door to his home and focused at a point at about his chest level, a point that he had been pounding at for the last two weeks. It was hard to believe that after all the sweat and tears they’d put into the damned thing, that they had barely penetrated an inch into the molten cap. Even so, it didn’t discourage Pall in the least.

I’m coming dad, he thought, as he adjusted his two handed grip on the hammer.

“Ho!” He screamed the second half of the ancient dwarven chant of power, and whipped the hammer down at the wall with all the power he could muster. On cue, every hammer in the chain behind him also whipped down, only to suddenly stop midair, as if the giant red centipede encountered an invisible barrier. The sound of Pall’s hammer crashing into the black wall was tremendous, as the impact came with the force of all twenty of the enchanted hammers, and then magnified by the lead hammer wielder’s own will. The mountain around them shivered from the hit, causing small streams of pebbles and dust to trickle down from overhead.

“High!” Pall called again, not waiting for the dust to settle. He knew the sound of denial, and did not intend to stop pounding on the wall until it sang of an opening. Just one crack, he kept thing to himself, just one crack is all I want to hear.

“Ho!” he yelled again, and whipped his hammer into the wall again, and again their world shook, if only for a moment.

This is how it went everyday, from the morning until the sun began to set. Whenever someone in the chain became tired, they would simply call out for a replacement and step out to the side. The next in line in the chain moved forward to close the gap, and then whoever received the hammer from the person who fell out took his place at the back of the line. Without missing a beat, they became lost to the power of the hammer, and immediately joined in the drumming of steel on granite.

The pace only stopped if the lead fell out, and that never happened. Every day, without fail, once the drumming at Mt. Loyola started it didn’t stop, because without fail Pall held the lead position from beginning to end. When his muscles burned from the constant motion he would make slight adjustments in angle, sometimes swinging from the side, sometimes even striking as low as his shins, but always shifting to trick his muscles into thinking they were getting a reprieve.

“High!” his chain began calling with him.

“Ho!” they followed, and again the foundation of Loyola was rocked. It went on and on, the same way everyday until sunset.

Although the chant always morphed into a song long before that.