Blue Diamonds (Book One of The Blue Diamonds Saga)

by Murphy, R. E.

  Now the game of tug-o-war was at a standstill, albeit still perilously close to the bubbling water. The griffins pumped their wings hard, alternating between jerking the helpless cleric and swatting at Shomnath and Pall with their free talons. Shomnath tucked Baymar’s leg under his arm, freeing his gauntlet hand to block the attacks.

  Rolo tried to reach them, but was quickly intercepted by three swooping griffins. Together, they looped in one after the next, in an organized attack against the largest of their enemies. He desperately swatted at them with his staff, grounding one after scoring a breaking wallop to its wing, then catching another with a solid blow to its side that sent it screaming away into the fog.

  The third learned from the others and kept its distance, bobbing in mid-flight, snapping at him with its razor sharp beak while grabbing for crusher with its claws. The flurry proved overwhelming and it scored a deep bite into Rolo's right wrist, slicing easily into his flesh, and then crunching hard onto bone as it locked its beak.

  Rolo fought through the pain and instinctively yanked in the bloody hand, pulling the griffin in. It allowed him the ability to lunge forward hard, leading with his left hand so that he could pound the opposite end of his staff into the big cat’s body. Ribs cracked and the griffin released Rolo's wrist. The hit sent the beast tumbling to the ground with its tail tucked, whimpering in misery. The whining ended with a loud PLOP and FZZZZ, as the winged lion tumbled farther then room allowed. Unfortunately, the ordeal opened Rolo’s left side to an attack by the griffin he'd grounded earlier, and who had since been patiently sizing up the giant.

  It pounced onto Rolo’s back, hooking its talons on his shield while it viciously pecked at his head, neck, and shoulders. He dropped his staff and raised his arms, flailing in a futile attempt to block the cat’s attack, only to have his hands shredded in the process. For the first time in many years, Rolo felt panic in the heat of battle.

  Kala was horrified. Rolo’s face and chest was painted crimson, but she was too busy to aid. The sixth griffin, the female and by far the largest of the pack, hovered between her and Rolo. Her eyes locked with the griffin's then, in a deadly standoff. A griffin pride, the opposite of a pride of lions, consists of several males and one dominant female, who is usually the largest and strongest of the animals. Inside, a small part of Kala wished they didn’t have to fight the majestic creatures.

  “Please…” she lipped.

  The griffin’s eyes denied her any possibility for peace. She knew she had no time to dance with the alpha female. Rolo needed help, and his situation wasn’t improving. In a last attempt at avoidance, Kala tried to juke the alpha female to the left then dash to the right, but it was to no avail. As fast as the elf could move, both lion and the eagle were in the same league of speedy reflexes.

  Seeing no way to get around the animal, she decided to palm her deadly blades, desperate for a clear line of sight to Rolo’s assailant. Between the female’s wide wings and Rolo twisting about, she was just as liable to put a blade in Rolo's skull.

  Instead, she chose to take a more drastic action, because if she didn’t get the griffin off Rolo’s back it was liable to tear his head off. Also, she could see that the griffin Rolo had batted into the air earlier was once again on the prowl, stalking for a chance to get revenge on the giant man. Now, with Rolo's hands reaching for the cat on his back his torso was an open, easy target. She had no time to lose if she was going to save the man she loved.

  She chose a dangerous maneuver, in an attempt to exploit the only weakness the creatures might possess. A lion is a master of the stalking kill, using its explosiveness to frighten and overwhelm, before dragging its prey to its death, tearing at it along the way. An eagle catches its prey in similar fashion, except instead of using tall grass and brush for camouflage it swoops in, using its superior eyesight and reflexes to ambush from a distance. In both instances the animal thrives off the element of surprise, so she did the only thing she could imagine the griffin wouldn't be ready for. Holding a single blade in her left hand, while keeping several for throwing in her right, Kala took two running steps and leaped high into the air, straight at the hovering female griffin.

  The strategy paid dividends as the momentarily confused griffin waned lower to the ground, not used to being on the defensive. It cowered low but kept its deadly maw aimed upward ready for the elf to rain down an attack, but this was not Kala’s intention. Instead she let her momentum carry her into a front flip over the low flying griffin.

  As the arc of her flip peaked, she reached down with her left hand and planted a blade deep into the griffin’s shoulder. Once her blade caught, she curled her legs to help momentum swing her close to its body. She let gravity do the rest as her blade ripped a long gash down the center of the griffin’s muscular back. The griffin instantly screamed in agony. The lion meat was all corded muscle, as she suspected it would be, and the effort it took for her blade to slice through it slowed her fall. It slowed the fall, and gave her enough balance to steady her right hand.

  Rolo was still twisting and jerking about, but a moving target wasn’t a problem for her. Now that she passed her obstacle and gained a clear line of sight she had full confidence in her aim, and out of instinct she let loose with furious speed. Two loud thuds emitted from the griffin that was on the giant’s back. One blade sunk into its eye, another straight through its ribs and into its heart. It immediately fell in a lifeless, twitching heap.

  Kala remained latched on to the female a moment longer, her blade still lodged at the end of a bloody gash that stretched from shoulder to tail. Before shaking loose, she twisted her blade to make her point. The point was well taken. She pulled her blade free from the wounded griffin, and without hesitation it flew away screaming in defeat. Kala was still several feet in the air, so she became weightless, as only elves can, and floated down slowly. She never took her eyes off of Rolo, who was on his hands and knees now.

  Kala was so lost in concern for her giant, that she overlooked the griffin that'd been stalking. What she didn’t know was that upon hearing his queen’s screams, the scrawny male had switched targets. Kala was his new prey, and just as her toes reached shell it sprung at her, slamming into the middle of her back with a fierce head butt. Rolo had made eye contact with her the moment the beak made impact with her lower back, right before she went flying several yards and then landing in a motionless pile. Her assailant followed, confident in his victory.

  “No,” muttered the giant.

  Rage took over, numbing Rolo from all pain, sound, or feeling. He’d lost too much blood, much of it now drying over his body and clothes, but he found fuel in the sickening wrath bubbling deep within. It was this primal rage that lifted him almost mindlessly from his knees and directed him.

  At one moment, the griffin pawed at Kala the way a cat inspects a dead mouse. The next moment, a sprinting giant was planting a boot into the griffin’s body with such force that the lion's heart exploded on impact. A limp form sailed away from the kick, only to sail into the hungry, green acid.

  Rolo then turned to Shomnath and Pall, who were still struggling to hold ground deathly close to the water. The prince was frantically blocking swiping, claws all while trying to keep his grip on Baymar. They were merely inches from being pulled overboard.

  “Nuff,” growled Rolo, now nearly a beast himself. If he wasn’t on the last leg of consciousness, other words may have followed, but at the moment it was all that his feral mind could harness. In four apish strides he was upon them, scooping up Pall’s axe somewhere along the way.

  “Nuff,” he repeated.

  Then in one hooking, whistling swing, he sliced both of the cats that held his friends completely in half, sending four pieces of cat splashing into the bubbling sea. Shomnath and Pall rolled back from the sudden slack, with Baymar falling in tow.

  The axe fell from his hand as Rolo swiveled around to the motionless Kala. He willed himself to go to her, but instead dropped to the ground as his surro
undings faded into darkness.

  As the giant fell from consciousness, the world shook. It wasn’t his body going into the spasms of death that he’d seen in others so many times before. The world shook because Aga had bulldozed onto shore. They made it across the Boiling Sea.

  7) Top of the World

  Burt Hammerheart loved the cool, clean air of night. Every night, ever since the move to Loyola, he enjoyed the fresh air by taking long walks throughout the forest that surrounded the mountain. He enjoyed his hikes so much that before long he'd formulated a new goal, which was to hike all the way up to the peak.

  After three months of conditioning and studying the angles of the mountain, he was finally making the climb. He knew that it had to be now. He had to do it before winter set in and made the already low temperatures unbearable. He dreamt of becoming the first Hammerheart to caress the peak, and being the first at anything was all the motivation that a competitive dwarf such as Burt needed. For the first half of the climb he wore a childish grin.

  Now, after about sixteen exhausting hours of climbing hand over pick, Burt diligently plowed through powder and ice toward his prize, although the childish grin had long disappeared. It was well past the peak of night, and by his calculations he had to finish the climb swiftly if he was to achieve his secondary goal, which was to watch the sunrise from above the clouds.

  About halfway into the climb, he realized that he should have made the climb two months earlier. Fall hadn't set in, yet it was much colder than he thought it would be. It was a cold that he felt in his bones. The wind pounded flurries into him from random directions and sometimes from all directions at once. Clusters of icicles from his beard froze to his scarf, and his gloves cracked every time he moved his fingers, but being a true-blooded (humans translate this as ‘hard headed’) dwarf such as he, he wouldn’t succumb to such irritations. Or at least that is what he kept telling himself. Somewhere, deep down beneath his tough, thick exterior, Burt was starting to doubt his judgment. Even his burly fur coat was frozen through, making it much heavier than normal. Then, just as he was about to give up, his fingers felt a ledge.

  “Finally,” he moaned.

  He'd been crawling up an icy cliff face like a lost spider for the last hour, and it became very tiresome, very fast. He happily pulled himself to the ledge, hoping it would be deep enough for him to sit, or even better have a small cave he might rest in. He was more than ready for a short break. The winds had picked up, and between the blasting snowflakes and tears filling his eyes, his range of vision was reduced to inches. He was certain that he couldn’t have reached the summit yet, so he felt his way around the ledge with one arm while using his other to cover his face from the violent flurries.

  To his surprise, there wasn't a cave or nook, but a massive double-sided door. Incredulously, someone had built a shelter near the summit. The ledge was so shallow that the iron door was nearly flush with the mountainside. Ornate stone railing emerged from both sides of the door that broke off at the edge of the ledge, hinting that there had once been a full terrace. It was a truly amazing discovery. Somerlund had no record of anyone climbing to the peak, let alone building on it. He couldn't fathom what trouble it would've been to build in these conditions, even for dwarves.

  “Darn it,” he mumbled, grabbing over his shoulder out of reflex. It had been some time since he’d toted around his trusty axe, or any other weapon for that matter. To be honest it had been a long time since he even needed to be armed. A voice inside told him that now would have been a good time to have a weapon.

  He bent forward, and just as he placed an ear against the door a bolt unlocked from the inside. He sprang to the right of the doorway, and then balanced on top of the piece of stone railing. It was only wide enough for one foot so he kicked his other foot into the cliff for support. He had no orc slicing axe, but was luckier to have his ice pick and spiked climbing boots. He had just gotten a secure footing when the heavy door swung open and slammed into the rail merely inches from his foot. Echoes of the collision rippled down the mount before being swallowed by the wind.

  Peeking over his shoulder, Burt waited to see who might emerge from the door, but he could barely see through the barrage of ice and wind. The only thing he could see at first was how the snow around the ledge exploded with yellow and orange light that flooded out from the open door. Then, he glimpsed a shadowy figure walk out onto the ledge and pause, standing still for several moments. The wraith stood perfectly still, unaffected by a wind that seemed to lap at an invisible shell surrounding it. It was all a blur, until as fluid as a shadow, the figure walked right off the edge. Once the phantom disappeared from sight the door slammed shut once again. Burt scooted back onto the ledge, dropped to his hands and knees, and peered over the edge.

  At first, all he could see was wave after wave of unrelenting snow swirling and dancing along the mountain wall, capping the few random rocks that protruded the side of the cliff. Then he saw it. Who or what ever it was, it was obviously flying by how smoothly it glided down completely oblivious to the terrain. As sudden as the wraith appeared, it had vanished into the night. He quickly rose, turning once again to the tall door. It had to be fifteen feet tall.

  “Built fer giants,” Burt said, even though the phantom that exited couldn’t have been much taller than he was. Then he finished what he started earlier, and leaned the side of his head against the door in effort to listen for more life within. The metal was surprisingly warm to the touch, enough so that the snow covering his bushy eyebrows melted and ran down his cheek. To his surprise it sounded as though a party raged inside. He heard loud conversation, clanking silverware, music, and even women giggling in chorus. Whoever it was, the ruckus didn’t sound one bit threatening and his mouth began to salivate at the thought of hot food and foaming drink. Surely the host would be welcoming, understanding the effort he’d made just to reach his abode.

  He braced himself in preparation to tug on the hexagon knobs centering the door, but paused when he saw letters etched into the iron just above. Half of the word was covered with ice, which he gingerly chipped away, careful not to make a sound. He wanted to walk in rather than knock and draw the attention of the entire party.

  “Ambrosia,” he read aloud. “So that’s yer name, mountain wraith.”

  The name wasn't familiar to him, so Burt disregarded it and went for the knobs once more. He gripped the handle for one moment, weighing the possible danger against the thought of food and drink. The decision was an easy one. With a strong tug he pulled at the knob, but to his amazement the door whipped open with weightless ease. A little too much ease, as the door swung out, slamming into the wall the same way it had earlier. The glare from the brightly lit room once again illuminated the storm, bringing colorful life into the dancing snowflakes. From within the open door the song and cheer of the party curtly stopped, leaving Burt alone with the whining wind.

  He quickly walked inside, crouching defensively. It only took a few steps for him to view the entire chamber. The open, five-sided room was devoid of any life at all, let alone any kind of a party. The room was brightly lit from five large torches in fancy, gold sconces in each of the five corners. The flames flickered and tickled the ceiling but did not permeate the room with the rippling sounds that flames their size should have. Nor did the dancing flames mark the ceiling black like normal flames would have. The room was so quiet, that he felt if he spoke his words would be sucked out of him and swallowed by the vacuum of silence. The uncanny quiet was hard to bear and definitely unnatural. The old dwarf had traveled through tunnels fathoms deeper than the deepest ocean, alone sometimes for months on end and couldn’t recall a silence such as this. It was deafening.

  After a quick scan of the chamber Burt quickly dismissed what he’d heard from outside as his imagination, played upon by his fatigue. It seemed more pleasant an excuse than magic, anyway. A nice bash would have been great, but reality was equally impressive. He was amazed that such a vast and rich
ly decorated room could be at the top of Loyola, let alone anywhere outside the riches of the city. The walls were covered with dozens of beautiful, intricate murals from floor to ceiling. The finely detailed art wasn’t colored by paint, but an elaborate mosaic combination of various metals, colored porcelain and gemstones. Within these were images of landscapes, ocean scenery, deserts, and peculiar animals he didn't recognize.

  To his left sat a pair of comfortable looking chairs. They were padded with purple velvet, and propped by golden legs, covered with detailed moldings of what appeared to be ruby covered roses. The furniture faced each other in a small, intimate huddle separated by a short table covered with fresh fruit and a crystal chalice filled with a deep red wine.

  Burt's focus then shifted to a wall across from the area where the chairs sat. There, isolated from the rest of the mosaic, was a floral border, built into the wall like a frame, wrapping a portrait of a woman. He was drawn to the painting, and before he knew it he had walked right to it, seemingly magnetized by gaze. Her hair was whiter than the snow outside, and her eyes bluer than a summer sky. She had high, yet soft cheeks and knowing eyes that burned right into your heart. Her beauty was hypnotizing.

  “Not bad lookin, fer a human,” he said. In truth, she was the most mesmerizing woman he’d ever laid eyes upon, even if only in portrait.

  “So, someone was snooping outside!” snapped a voice behind him.

  Burt’s world shattered as he twirled around on weak legs. He hoped the wraith was as kind as she was beautiful. Shocked, he found no beautiful white haired woman standing in the doorway but Baylor, Jevon’s new alchemist. The studious dwarf seemed much more menacing now, wearing a twisted grin and grasping a long silver dagger in his hand. He was obviously not the simple alchemist he claimed to be.

  “Baylor, ye dog,” growled Burt. His brow furrowed in anger, trying desperately not to show any sign of fear. He was scared though, for if Baylor was the wraith he’d seen earlier then he clearly possessed power. His mind went into rapid thought. He glanced for any other escape route besides the door Baylor blocked. There was no other way out.