by Chris Bunch
Laughing, they’d rolled onto the bed, clothes falling away.
The next day Peirol had visited Sennen, outfitting horses and packs, finding a stable on the outskirts of the city to keep them hidden. All that remained was buying one tiny tool, from a fellow jeweler who was most envious of Peirol’s new lot.
The final day had passed quietly, peacefully, and Kima and Peirol had eaten lightly. Abbas was fasting. He told them the next day, the day that would mark the beginning of real power, there would be a feast. In fact, that would be a good time to announce the wedding.
Kima squealed happily, Peirol pretended equal joy. “I think,” she announced, when they were alone, “we should stop our constant lovemaking until we’re married.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you — and myself as well — to be as fevered as we were that first time by the pool, when we go on our honeymoon.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Peirol said, and Kima had looked a bit surprised, then smiled happily. He doubted if he would have been able to perform at all that night.
“I’m going to love being your wife, Peirol. I can’t see why we’ll ever have an argument.”
When Kima’s breathing became regular, Peirol had dressed, except for his sword belt and shoes, which he carried and left beside the door.
He moved carefully, using all the skills he’d seen thieves use, past Abbas’s bedroom, up into his study at the top of the tower. Peirol looked for the Empire Stone, saw it not, panicked for a moment until he saw a crystal case on a table, a case he’d never seen before.
He opened the case and took out the Empire Stone, keeping his eyes turned away. Peirol took his tiny tool, a jeweler’s scribe, from his pouch, and gouged the Stone deeply along one facet. He felt the groove with his fingernail, chanced deepening it once again.
He saw, through the window, a lamp go on below him, quickly replaced the Empire Stone, put it back on the table. Peirol found a corner, crouched until the gleam from Abbas’s bedroom below went out.
Very silently, thinking as a mouse, he crept downstairs, taking his sword and shoes, to the main door. He unbarred it without a noise and went out, closing the door behind him. The gate clicked when he pressed the studs in sequence learned from Kima, and he closed it. He pulled on his shoes and sword belt and trotted off toward the distant stables.
Now he sat, waiting, beyond the city.
The sky grayed, lightened.
Peirol felt his guts tighten. Abbas would be awake. He hoped he was leaving Kima to her sleep, fearing to let any outsider near when he was working great magic. He hoped the magician couldn’t sense the unbarred door and gate, Peirol’s absence.
It grew lighter still.
Peirol, having nothing of the Gift, felt his skin crawl, thought it probably his imagination, but knew Abbas was casting his spell.
On the far horizon a beam of light lit the world, the sun’s first herald.
In that instant, a greater ball of flame exploded atop Abbas’s tower, grew like a sun aborning, blinding Peirol for an instant. No sound at all came.
When his sight came back, the morning was growing, and birds were singing. Far across the city — he could see it as clearly as if he were within a third of a league — Abbas’s tower still stood. But its upper works were blackened, ruined, torn away.
Peirol was almost positive the room he and Kima had shared was below the damage.
Yasin and his nameless mentor had been right. The Empire Stone had been full, full of man’s and maybe gods’ evil. Maybe that was what had brought on the earthquake, the sea waves at Restormel. Or maybe the disaster had further filled the Stone with death and grief.
Perhaps it would have exploded anyway when Abbas’s spell struck it.
Or perhaps not.
Perhaps the cut Peirol made had weakened the Stone’s crystal, as a cut against a diamond’s grain can make it shatter under the first, gentle strike of the cutting hammer.
Or perhaps not.
Peirol thought about things. He could go back into Sennen. There would certainly be a reward for what he’d done, if he chose to claim credit. He could find a wizard who’d testify to the truth of his tale. That would make him rich, honored.
Desirable, even as a dwarf.
As for Kima … Peirol realized he was the fool, for having created a person from a conversation lasting but a brief moment. She was hardly to blame for not fitting the mold of his dream. As for her ambitions, were they any worse than those of any nobleman’s daughter? In time, assuming she yet lived, she’d no doubt forgive him.
Or perhaps not.
He shuddered at that thought.
He didn’t think he was much of a brave hero, but as for journeying forth …
Thoughtfully, Peirol of the Moorlands mounted his horse. Somewhere out there, in the welcoming wilderness, full of brigands and rogues, would be the diamonds of Osh.
Or even greater marvels.
Peirol laughed, tapping reins on his horse’s neck, and it broke into an eager trot east.
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Text Copyright © 2000 by Chris Bunch
All rights reserved.
Published in association with Athans & Associates Creative Consulting
Cover image(s) © 123rf.com
Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5338-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5338-7