“Kind of a dreary looking house for a wizard," said Kala.
“Not wizard, he's a cleric now,” corrected Rolo.
“Same thing if ye ask me. If a tiger went vegetarian he'd still be a tiger," added Pall. "And clerics be using magic all the same. Just look at the sign.”
Pall pointed his friends to the sign above that read Fundamentals of Spell Casting and Cosmic Energies. With Invitation Only! Was scratched underneath in print so small it was probably missed more often than not.
“So what’s it say?” asked Rolo, who never had a liking for reading.
“It’s a barber shop, and ye can’t come in on the account of yer big bald head,” teased Pall.
“Wha? Why would…”
“Shhhhh, quiet you two, I hear someone coming,” interrupted Kala. Rolo and Pall immediately hushed up, as elfin ears were always reliable.
As the wooden door swung open, the creaking hinges brought life into the alley. Then, out from the darkness Baymar materialized, a thin old man with a grey, short trimmed beard. Nothing really stood out about Baymar in particular. In fact, average would be an adequate description, although Kala did see at once that the man had genuine wisdom, and kindness in his hazel eyes. From what she knew of humans, she guessed him to be a man in his fifties.
“That’s who Shomnath called on fer help?" Pall whispered under his breathe. "Who’s gonna be in charge of watching out fer him?” he added. The gray-haired, frail form standing in the doorway didn’t impress him one bit.
Then, with barely a flick from Baymar’s walking stick, two slick, black vines sprouted from the ground beneath Pall. In a blink they were twirling around his ankles and snaking their way up his thighs, and by the time they'd reached his shoulders he was fully lifted from the ground. It happened so quickly that the only sound was the breaking of the ground from which the vines emerged, and the clang of Pall’s axe as it fell to the ground. Baymar stepped forward, and was now standing at eye level with the dwarf.
“An honor to meet you, Pall Hammerheart," he said. "Please, don’t feel obliged to look after this old man. I'll do my best to stay out of the way.”
“The honor be mine,” squirmed Pall.
“Welcome to my home! Come in, come in," he said. "And you must be the lovely Kala.” The old man waved Rolo in and put his arm around Kala to guide her inside.
As his companions disappeared through the doorway, Pall was still dangling in mid air like a fruit on a vine, but just as he was about to swallow his pride and call for help the plant dispersed into a mist and dropped him to the ground. Although his feelings were hurt he held his tongue, picked up his axe and scurried to catch up. The door closed by itself behind him, and for a moment he could have sworn the hinges laughed a creaky laugh.
Once inside, their eyes widened at all the oddities on display. There were massive murals, painted across every wall that wasn't covered in bookshelves, of strange places that favored bridges and tall, slender buildings of silver. Every shelf in his school was filled with books, and the spaces without held small trinkets, glowing crystals, and statues of animals that even Kala hadn't heard of.
After passing by a few of the long shelves, the friends were reunited with Shomnath, who was sitting on a large golden chair. He had a map spread over his lap, and was so deep in thought he didn't notice their entrance. The grave look on his face was instantly infectious, bringing his friends down to a solemn mood. He was like a brother to them, and his expression spoke volumes. He wasn’t contemplating travel routes on the map. Something was troubling him. He was concerned, deeply.
And why wouldn’t he be? They ultimately looked to him as their leader, which indirectly made him feel personally responsible for their lives. It wasn’t a role he chose, but every group needs to have a leader and he was literally born to lead.
“Prince.”
Baymar broke the silence. Shomnath lifted his head and faced his companions. He couldn’t help but smile, as he looked each of them in the eyes.
“I'm happy you guys came,” he said, and then Shomnath rose from his chair to receive the customary round of hugs and arm slaps.
"Of course," blurted Rolo. Pall and Kala nodded agreement.
“I know you're wondering where we're going this time, but before we set off I have to be straightforward with you. This time is different. This time we aren't searching for adventure, this time we’re searching for a nightmare. An ancient weapon has been unearthed. It's a weapon that can grant its owner power beyond sense and we are going to get it before someone else does.”
“What could be so powerful?” asked Kala.
“There are four diamonds out there, each granting its master the ability to summon a dragon.” The word dragon hung in the silence that followed.
“Ye saying yer bringin us out to hunt fer a dragon?" asked Pall, "because I heard them big lizards been gone a long time.”
Baymar cut in before the prince could answer.
“Actually, they hold trapped souls of dragons. Souls trapped and forced into diamonds by a powerful sorceress nearly two hundred years ago. They should be blue, as blue as the bluest midday sky, and about the size of a chicken egg. If summoned, we will witness something never before witnessed. The beast will not be a dragon like in the history books, but a demonic version of the slain beasts, with powers unthinkable. None would be able to stand against these devils! They would devour cities! They-”
“Thank you for that Baymar,” Shomnath had to pull his friends attention away before the cleric talked them out of coming.
“Ye want us to catch a devil?” asked Pall.
“Or kill a devil,” added Rolo.
"Well that's a relief, because I left me devil net at home," Pall added, coaxing a giggle from Kala, but a scowl from Shomnath.
“Be serious guys, this time we aren’t just poking around for thrills. This road won't be easy, and the odds are against us. Someone out there is already searching for the stones and is days ahead of us. It might already be too late.”
“It’s good yer a prince, because ye make a terrible salesman,” joked Pall.
“That is the point I’m trying to make.” Shomnath put his hand to his chest, “I’m not selling this adventure.”
“So ya don't want us to come?” Now Rolo was confused.
“I think what he’s trying to say,” interrupted Kala, “is that the decision is entirely ours to make.”
“Thank you Kala,” said Shomnath.
“He wants us to be totally sure that we want to come along, on what might be the greatest adventure ever!” she added.
“No, I want you to understand that we really could die on this one.”
No one spoke for a few moments. Shomnath broke an unspoken rule amongst the band. Never say die, no matter what. Yet Shomnath didn’t stutter. They needed to see this was serious business. “It’s not fun and games this time.”
“No, it don't sound easy,” answered Pall as he jabbed the floor hard with his axe, a spark tumbling away from the impact. “But let me tell ye what it does sound like. Sounds like a true-life storybook adventure. The kind of storybook adventure I imagined we were on, even when we were just out adventurin and laughin in the woods together. So if the choice be mine, the answer is easy. Aye.” Pall rested his axe on his shoulder and looked over to Kala.
“You know that we ride as a team, no matter what lies ahead. So if you want to save the world, well, we’ll just have to save the world together.” The elf shrugged and flashed her crooked smile.
Rolo spent more time with Shomnath than the others, and didn’t have to say a word. The prince knew the blank look on Rolo’s face meant he was already tired of all the talking. The big man had been daydreaming about adding the title ‘dragon slayer’ to his repertoire since the meeting at the Black Cauldron. He really, really, really wanted to slay a dragon.
Shomnath gave Rolo a nod, and then looked to Baymar, who was putting on a peculiar hat. It was cone shaped with a circle visor that jutt
ed out about a foot wider than the cleric's shoulders. The hat was made of a golden cloth that was as thin as silk, but oddly reflected a purple, silvery sheen. Stitched in the center of the hat were two red stars. Between them, a tall yellow and white feather stuck out. He also wore a loose, long-sleeved robe that was made of the same gold/purple material.
“Must not like the sun,” whispered Pall.
“Then it is decided," said Shomnath. "If you're ready, Lord Baymar? We have quite a journey ahead of us and we should get moving.”
“Ready? Oh yes, I'm just about ready. We can camp outside the city limits tonight, then start our journey at sunrise,” said Baymar, as he reached into a peculiar sack. The cleric seemed to be in his own world, fidgeting with the black, triangle bag that hung from his shoulder. It was the blackest leather Shomnath had ever seen; so black that it appeared devoid of any texture. No folds or creases, just an empty black triangle space that hung from two skinny strands of cord.
The black satchel looked about as deep as Baymar's elbow, yet he kept reaching into it until his entire arm was in it all the way to his ear. The bag didn't stretch or even bulge from his arm! The cleric's guests watched in awe as he swayed back and forth, as if desperately reaching around for a coat in a dark closet.
“What?” asked the cleric, noticing he and his satchel had an audience, “Haven’t you ever seen a black pocket? It’s much better for storing than a black hole. Ha! Try getting anything back out of one of those.”
“I don’t think you heard me,” answered Shomnath, “We don't have time to camp. The trip to the Evernight is at least four days of travel, so we should leave immediately, and only spare stops for food.”
Both Kala and Pall started to whisper excitedly upon hearing the word Evernight. There wasn't a child in Somerlund that grew up without losing a little bit of sleep to nightmares that resulted from ghost stories about the Evernight Forest. Many a tune sung of brave men who ventured into the forbidden wild lands in search of fortune and fame, only never to return or be heard from again.
“I’ve found them!” cheered Baymar, pulling his hand from his bag, gripping five silver necklaces, each dangling a single, jade amulet that was shaped like some kind of a running, four-legged creature. Before Shomnath could ask, the cleric walked around the room and looped one over each of their heads.
“With these we can cut the journey down to a fraction of the time,” said Baymar. He hung one around his own neck and then tucked it under his shirt, motioning for everyone else to do the same.
“What are they?” asked Kala. She was holding hers up, studying the shape of her pendant.
“Bison charms, one of many that were left behind by the spirit of the bison before they left our realm. When you hold your charm in sunlight, a spirit bison will come out to play. They are twice as powerful, and five times faster than any steed you've ridden. These boys will get us anywhere we need to go, and best of all, magic bison require no food or rest,” said Baymar, glowing with pride.
Shomnath was especially beaming, delighted with the fortune of resources they’d already gained from Baymar, and they hadn't even started yet. He was turning out to be every bit as crafty as his uncle Dugan’s stories portrayed him.
“Well,” the prince looked to his companions, “then I guess I can’t see any reason not to eat and rest up before the trip.”
“And drink!” added Rolo.
"And drink," agreed Shomnath.
The first night in their quest began with the five of them, elf, dwarf, giant and human alike, walking out of Somerlund with the sun setting to their backs and the future on their minds. They found a good spot to camp out the night in a secluded grove northeast of the city, where they spent most of the night huddled around a dancing fire. It would be the last night that they could be loose, and they filled the night with laughter, drink, and the smell of roasting meat.
Under a full moon they recited stories of their friendship, past adventures, and laughed the night away, until the crackling fire dwindled to cinder. One by one they fell asleep, but Baymar sat awake, pipe in hand, reading the stars.
Shomnath rested against a large root at the base of a tree, watching his friends slip into slumber. Kala used Rolo’s arm for a pillow, slipping off into a dreamland where she found more than just a friends comfort in his shoulders. At least that would be the prince’s guess, from the wide smile that stretched across her face. Pall always slept the farthest away from the group, as was the norm, because his snoring was comparable to a distant thunderstorm.
“Why did you stop being a battlemage?" said Shomnath. "Were you really so attracted to the slow life of a healer?” The prince couldn’t imagine someone leaving such a grand life of adventure. Before they disbanded the battlemages were the greatest force in Somerlund’s military, though a branch of the Mages Guild.
“Do you think my life is so slow?” Baymar leaned into the question.
“Oh no. I didn’t mean to say-”
“Relax prince, I’m only teasing," Baymar said, as leaned back and blew smoke to the stars.
"Some men become clerics because they despise violence, and they would rather heal the injured than see the front lines of battle. Others, like me, simply grew tired of fighting. We become clerics to balance all the pain and suffering we’ve caused, hoping that it will make a difference.”
“A difference in what?”
“Exactly," Baymar snapped his fingers. "That is the question.”
“Okay, whatever you say,” said Shomnath.
The prince wasn’t going to put any effort into decoding the old man’s riddle tonight. Instead, he bundled himself in his cloak, slid from the tree root, and stretched out on the cool ground extending his hands and feet as far as he could. The prince drifted into sleep watching the cleric blow fluffy clouds of smoke into the starry sky, each one looking more like a dragon than the last.
5) Scuttle
The shadows have eyes.
At least they did to Scuttle, who was frightfully trekking a slow, paranoid path back home. It had already been a full day since Pall left him to fend for himself, and he hadn’t even made it halfway home yet, due to his frequent emergency stops. Emergencies such as diving into the bushes for cover from enemies, which were actually just darting squirrels, rabbits, birds, and sometimes only figments of his imagination.
He departed from Somerlund early that morning, after a sleepless night spent sifting through the great library for his top-secret cargo. He could have found the books immediately with a little help, but made the gut call not to ask the grumpy librarian for assistance just in case it attracted unwanted attention. He preferred to find the books, check out and leave unnoticed. He was so paranoid that he didn’t even pass through Ol’ Brook to holler a friendly how-do to old friends. As scatterbrained as Scuttle could seem, largely due to his age, when given the right motivation he remained quite the diligent little dwarfling.
With great determination, Scuttle began his journey at sunrise, marching straight into the Kingston Forest, the woods to the south of Somerlund. Opposite to the jungles in the northlands, the Kingston is mostly barren, aside from the brownstones, which were the largest trees in the known world. Due to their towering height, these massive trees dubbed king of the evergreens commanded the right of passage to any sunlight that reached the forest floor. The light-hungry canopy of the large trees kept the wood in a perpetual state of shade, while the Brownstone's roots sucked the ground dry, leaving the forest floor barren.
The kingly tree's canopy drank all the sunlight, thinning the foliage so that most of the forest floor was nothing but a carpet of fallen pine needles and dry leaves. It only allowed for randomly scattered brush that thrived off of whatever sparse glitter of light escaped the brownstone ceiling. On the positive side, the pine needle carpet made for easy walking, because Scuttle chose to stay off of the main road that he and Pall took into the city.
The City Road, as it was simply named, is the main route in and out of So
merlund, and is usually alive with traffic from all of the merchants hauling in their wares. While hiking through the forest instead of the highway made him feel a bit safer, it made the travel slower, and terribly lonely.
Now, shades of nightfall were spreading over the forest, and Scuttle’s mission would just have to wait another day. He decided that he'd rather be late than risk an attack from spies, who were surely waiting for the opportunity to spring out from the cover of night. So, after a bit of searching, he found a large hollowed stump that he could use as shelter for the night.
He climbed in and carefully hung his cloak over the opening at the top, mindful to keep a slight opening for air to escape. Once satisfied with his makeshift ceiling, he took out a small candle that he'd pocketed from the library and lit it using the flint at the butt of his knife. Then he went outside once more to inspect his stump for any leakage of light. After he was satisfied that the candlelight was concealed well enough, he sat down on a large rock that he rolled inside earlier.
After several minutes of straining his ears for any suspicious sounds, finally satisfied with the sound of the crickets, Scuttle pulled a tight cloth bundle from beneath his shirt and carefully untied the knot in the cord binding. Curiosity had infected him the previous night while he was searching the Library for the books, and now that he had some free time he was going to indulge.
As he unfolded the cloth that he'd folded over the cargo he immediately daydreamed of how proud his cousin was going to be when he learned how brave little Scuttle had unearthed the books without any help.
The first two of the books, Rare Minerals, and Cave-work: A Handbook, were not new to him. These were common texts, seen in any dwarfling’s classroom. Yet the third book, Spirit Stones, seemed an odd pick. It was definitely the oldest of the three, collecting dust in a long forgotten corner of the Mystic section, a section of the library rarely utilized by humans, let alone dwarves. This book was meant for wizards.
Blue Diamonds (Book One of The Blue Diamonds Saga) Page 9