Blue Diamonds (Book One of The Blue Diamonds Saga) (5 page)

Trying his best to be inconspicuous, Baymar began tapping on Shomnath’s hip frantically in an attempt to get his attention. He wasn’t ready or willing to take part in any of this, and wanted to voice his concern. The creeping predator standing to Rolo’s left took the movement as an act of aggression and went for his sword. Then, at the precise moment Baymar was sure the villain was going to spring Shomnath surprised everyone by erupting with an announcement.

“Ah Yes! Wonderful idea cleric,” declared Shomnath. He pumped a fist high up in the air flaunting a small, bloated pouch in his grip. “To show no harm is done I’m buying our new friends a few rounds of drinks!”

The itchy swordsman inched back a bit, but his hand remained on the hilt of the menacing blade hanging at his hip. Baymar exhaled in relief.

“In fact,” Shomnath raised his voice, turning around full circle while jingling his pouch for effect, “put the gentleman down Rolo, because drinks are free tonight!”

Baymar could not believe what he was hearing. Moments ago he thought they were going to have to fight their way out of the place. Now there was a thunderous roar of praise as every mug in the house, even the ones the fat man's friends had put down shot up in a glorious, drunken hurrah.

No one was happier than the fat man though, who aside from dripping with perspiration was returned to the ground unharmed. It’s always an eye-opening event in life when you come within inches of losing your own, especially after envisioning it being beaten out of you by two massive fists. The fat man turned to smile at Rolo, who didn't return the gesture.

“Yer lucky,” growled Rolo, just loud enough for him to hear it. The fat man swallowed hard and turned to join the party. The noise of the tavern once again thundered, and the drinks flowed.

Baymar was unsure about what made more of an impression on him, the complete awareness and control Shomnath had over the situation, or that the crazy plan worked in full defusing effect. It was mind-boggling how fast the tension in the room was sedated. The power of the drink, thought Baymar.

After tossing his pouch to the barkeep, which drew an additional cheer from him, Shomnath saw the opportunity to slip away from the commotion. The prince motioned and led them to a corner table farther back in the shadows of the tavern.

As Shomnath and Baymar slid into the more secluded booth, Rolo loosened a large shield that was strapped to his back. The giant flipped it on the floor outside their alcove dome up and used it as a makeshift seat. It seemed like a sound security measure, but the truth was that he couldn’t fit into the booth if he wanted to.

Rolo was a curious sight to behold. Sitting on the shield the man was still taller than they were, and he was easily wider than they were even if they sat shoulder to shoulder. It worked out well now, as Rolo's shoulders were so wide that he gave them another layer of privacy. If Rolo noticed Baymar staring, he didn’t mention it.

“Good job,” complimented Baymar, locked in wonderment.

“I coulda just broke his legs with the same effect,” Rolo pondered out loud, looking at a portrait hanging by their table. It was some terrible outlaw turned idolized hero.

“And what about the four others?” asked Shomnath, giving Baymar a knowing grin but directing the question toward Rolo.

“Just four? No problem, I’d be warmed up from the fat one,” snorted Rolo. He then gestured to the barkeep with his anvil-sized hands for three pitchers of mead. Two were for Rolo, while the third was for Shomnath and Baymar to share.

“I don't doubt it," said Shomnath, who added with a sly wink, "Although, then you’d be the greatest challenge in this joint, and we both know how great challenges appear to the drunk. The next thing you know, the entire pub would want a piece of us.”

“Humph, sounds fun. I got enough for everyone.” Rolo locked his fingers together and extended his palms away from his chest, creating a crackling of knuckles so loud it gave Baymar goose bumps up his arms.

“I agree with the fun part, but tonight I wore my favorite cloak and you know I hate cleaning blood off of it. Also, it wouldn’t aid in our purpose for coming here, which is to convince lord Baymar to come with us on our journey.”

From the way that they spoke to each other, it was easy for Baymar to see these men were close friends and that Rolo was not merely a bodyguard as Shomnath had declared.

“Next time we get to do it my way,” said Rolo.

“Okay, next time my friend,” said Shomnath. Then, addressing Baymar, “Cleric, let me properly introduce you to Rolo Grandstep, of the Day-lost.”

“Grandstep?” Baymar recognized the name. He was suddenly much more interested in what the prince had to say.

The Grandstep giants were a bit of folklore all the children of Somerlund grew up hearing. According to the story, at the base of the Day-lost mountain range, the range to the north of Somerlund lived a tribe of giant humans. These humans, who bore the surname Grandstep, were a unique barbarian tribe with a bloodline of human crossed with mountain giant.

Legend has it, and any respectable ten year old could tell you, that the king of the mountain giants who resided atop the mountains once birthed a wee runt of a daughter. In fact the daughter was only half the size of a normal, infant giant. In their culture this would have been viewed as a weakness, and giants did not tolerate weakness. The king was afraid, and rightfully so, that his council would demand her sacrifice to Goza, their god of power, as is custom when cursed with children bearing any handicap.

Unfortunately, handicapped was an extremely vague term amongst the giants, wherein even a baby that was slow to cry was immediately discarded, classified as overly needy. So out of fear and love the king stole her away to be raised in secrecy, even from her own mother who was told that her child died at birth.

Although the twisting tunnels of his mountain palace ran deep into Gozer, the largest mountain in the range, the king of the giants knew that he wouldn’t be able to shelter her existence from the rest of his tribe forever. So again, out of love and fear, once he felt she was old enough to fend for herself he begged her to leave and never return. Understanding her father’s dilemma, the teenaged princess of the Day-lost gathered a few provisions and set on a lonely course with no destination.

After several years of hiding in the forests and hills surrounding her kingdom, one day this twelve foot princess crossed paths with a young barbarian prince, who instantly fell in love upon first sight. While barbarians are another culture that shunned weakness, she was definitely the most beautiful, and more importantly most powerful woman he’d ever laid his eyes upon.

To conclude the story, the barbarian brought her back to his tribe and wedded her immediately. They brought many children into the world, and thus formed the first and only mountain giant crossed with human bloodline.

There was no doubt in Baymar’s mind that Rolo was of the same lineage. In all his adventures he'd never seen a man of his stature. Suddenly the cleric felt giddy, delighted in actually meeting one of the fabled tribe.

“Well met Rolo Grandstep! Or for my sake, luckily met,” Baymar said, and saluted him with his pipe.

“Well met yerself, cleric. So are you with us, or do I get to break yer legs?” quipped Rolo before taking a mug sized gulp from one of the pitchers that was placed before them by a nervously smiling barkeep. Baymar failed to see the humor. He turned to Shomnath to answer the giant's question.

“Honestly," he said. "I doubt real precedence for this quest even exists.”

“Real whacedence?” Rolo asked, and Baymar couldn’t help but smile. Shomnath remained silent, full of confidence.

“Let me ask you a couple questions,” continued Baymar, finally giving up on searching Shomnath’s face for any sign of bluff. “First, what’s your motivation behind this hunt for dragons? And secondly,” he lowered his voice now, “why would Prince Shomnath lead such a quest?”

Shomnath nearly fell from his chair in surprise, but his face held a bright, jovial smile. Being recognized had become such a rare occurrence for the prince, that every time it happened he was more entertained than paranoid.

“You’re as wise as people say," he said.

"You shouldn't listen to those people. Wisdom is relevant to perspective, and I’ve known some dull ones in my time,” said Baymar. He wouldn't be buttered by flattery.

"I guess you're right, but how in the world did you know?” said Shomnath. At that moment the prince seemed very young to Baymar, so jovial and animated. When he looked at the younger man's face he couldn't help but to be flooded with memories of his youth.

“Two reasons,” said Baymar, before pausing to entertain his pipe for another pull. “First, I was a friend of your father long enough to recognize his face in yours, even behind the grime.”

The prince scowled at the statement, obviously unhappy to hear he bore such a likeness to his father. What he didn't know was that Baymar saw Shomnath's mother in the young man all the more. Baymar was surprised that he still felt a pain in his chest at the mere thought of her, all these years after her passing.

“Secondly," added Baymar, "and this is really what solidified it for me, is how you tamed those thugs with nothing but words. Your father is the only man I’ve met with such gifted gab. He could talk a crab from its shell.”

“Bullshit," Rolo interjected. "It's what my people call it.”

“Yes, thank you for the constant reminding.” said the prince.

“Oh anytime boss,” answered Rolo, who hid his smile behind a tug of his pitcher. He drained it of half its content with a single pull. The mead left thick foam over his lip, which he roughly wiped with his forearm. As quickly as it came, Rolo’s smile was gone.

“Actually, I never said that we were after a
live
dragon, but as far as my motivation goes,” the prince pulled a worn scroll from under his cloak, “you’d better take a look for yourself.”

Minding the secretive posture in which the prince passed the scroll to him, Baymar took it and pressed his shoulder against the booth's wall before opening it. A quick glance at the giant squatting at end of their table gave him all the confidence he needed to continue.

The moment Baymar began to untie the unique red and gold ribbon that was tied around the scroll, he felt the vibrations of an old, powerful magic. His fingers immediately began to tingle, and he felt his aura dancing down his back. Slowly, his fingers gained a sensation like he’d plunged them into a bowl of freezing water.

Baymar paused and looked up at the prince, who was attentively watching him. His expression was half knowing, and half urging. Cautiously, Baymar continued, but only after determining that the energy didn't spring from some magical trap. It did not take long for him to see that it wasn't an aggressive spell, but a strong preserving ward.

Once the ribbon was off and the parchment unrolled, Baymar found the origin of the power in the form of ancient looking protection runes. The intricate drawings were stamped on all four of the document's corners. It was similar in to runes he himself writes on occasion, only these were much more potent as well as complicated.

Sorcerers often placed protection wards on important messages, not only to ensure that they would be able to survive a long journey, but also to protect from the decay of time. Printed in bold royal letterhead and scribed in symbols unused by today’s conventional mage, Baymar immediately realized that he was handling an important, valuable artifact.

He spread out the scroll, and quickly noticed one peculiarity. There was writing on both sides of the parchment. One side contained a short, formal looking letter in black, while a sloppily scribbled message was scratched over the back in red.

He slowly read the message written in ink, just because it seemed that it would be the original. It was writ in such fancy prose that its destination could only have been royalty. This message was brief, requesting the safekeeping of some four gemstones. It was the message written in blood that took the color from his face.

The enchantment protected any medium applied to the scroll, and Baymar appeared disheveled as he read through the red words that could only have been written in blood. The protective spell kept it as fresh as if it had been written that morning. A few drops of the blood smudged over his fingertips as he handled the scroll, and it made him flinch as if the blood was freezing cold. The prince looked at him in surprise, but the old man gave away no clues to what he was thinking.

When he pulled his fingers closer to observe the red speckles, and away from the protective range of the wards, the dots of blood quickly coagulated. First the blood went dark brown, then into black clumps, and then finally into grey flecks of ash that lifted away into the air before vanishing into nothingness, revealing just how old the blood really was.

Without so much as blinking, Baymar rolled and re-tied the ribbon very slowly. He then placed the scroll onto the worn, wooden table and traded it for his pipe, looking absolutely dazed. It wasn’t until after several puffs of smoke from his pipe that the cleric finally came out of deep thought.

“I must go to my study and prepare," he said finally. "Shall we set out tomorrow?”

"Perfect!" smiled the prince. "I’ll be at your house at high noon. Rolo will rally the gang and meet us afterward. There’s only two more who’ll be joining us, and I’ve already sent for them.”