Crypt of the Moaning Diamond

by Rosemary Jones

  “It is headed outside,” whispered Zuzzara to Ivy.

  “What is?” Ivy hissed.

  “The diamond. It wants out,” Zuzzara answered. “Look! It has found a way out. That staircase leads outside.”

  “Fresh air,” explained Gunderal.

  “Even I smell that,” her sister elaborated.

  With a sweep of his arm, Archlis motioned them all forward to the staircase. His head still bent down to stare into the depths of the Moaning Diamond. The Siegebreakers looked at each other, their eyebrows rising in question. Ivy shrugged and then gave a slight nod. The group silently began the climb upward to daylight. Archlis came behind them, the Moaning Diamond gripped in one hand and the Ankh in the other.

  “I thought we were deeper in the tunnels,” Zuzzara whispered.

  “Wrong again,” Gunderal murmured as she drifted ahead of her large half-sister. “I could tell that we were near the surface.”

  “So what do you smell now?” Zuzzara asked.

  With a quick glance over her shoulder, Gunderal whispered, “Trouble, bloodshed, full-scale, all-out warfare.”

  “Oh good. All stuff we can handle.”

  Ivy reached out a hand and touched Kid’s shoulder. She leaned close to his ear to say softly, “Whatever happens, stay on the far side of me, away from Archlis.”

  “I can take care of myself, my dear.”

  To Mumchance, climbing the stairs in front of her, she said, “Get your eye ready.” She saw the back of his head nod.

  And as she passed Sanval, still held between the two bugbears, she whispered, “Stay alert.”

  His lips stiff, his face expressionless, he whispered back, “I am always alert.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The stairway twisted up, one endless turn after another. They climbed and climbed and continued climbing. The air was no better here, still close and musty; the one whiff of clean air had dissolved into dust. Ivy had hoped for a fresh breeze to indicate that they neared the surface and an escape from the ruins of old Tsurlagol.

  “I guess we were deeper than I thought,” said Gunderal.

  “Or we’re going higher than we should,” said Mumchance. “We should be level with the city streets by now.”

  “Or our knees are so tired we think we’ve climbed more steps than we have,” Zuzzara muttered.

  “Quiet!” whispered Archlis behind them. He was still leaning over the Moaning Diamond in his hands as if the gem were speaking to him in some occult tongue.

  “Look how the stone of the stairs has changed,” observed the dwarf, ignoring the magelord’s command. “Ivy, I think we are inside the city walls.”

  “How can we be in the walls?” Ivy asked.

  “Don’t know. But the stair is forming inside the wall. Look. It’s the same stone as the outside of the southwest corner. The stuff we surveyed earlier.” Mumchance trailed his hand over the stone as they passed. Cracks ran up the walls surrounding the staircase. “It’s being shifted from the inside by Archlis. This was all filled with rubble or mortared closed, and he’s forcing it open—changing the stones of the wall to make the stair. And I don’t think the wall wants to be opened here.” The stones of the stair creaked and groaned around them.

  “So what does that mean?” Ivy was not sure that she wanted the answer.

  “Lots of stress on the stone. Stress on stones is good if you want to break a wall.” Mumchance was talking very softly, almost speaking to himself. Wiggles ran up the stair ahead of him, but the little dog was uncharacteristically silent. Not a yap or yip or whine.

  Ivy stared at the stocky dwarf climbing in front of her. “Not so good if you happen to be inside the breaking wall.”

  Mumchance squinted over his shoulder at her. His one good eye looked very worried. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Ahead of them, Zuzzara gave a surprised grunt. Ivy peered past Mumchance’s shoulders to see the dazzle of daylight silhouetting the half-orc’s head.

  “Hey, we are going outside.” Even with a crazed magelord, the Moaning Diamond, and a couple of bugbears behind her, Ivy could not help feeling pleased by the sight of sun shining ahead of her.

  “Ivy,” Zuzzara said sounding unusually worried. Her large frame blocked the exit, a hole in the wall where the stairs ended. It was neither doorway nor arch, but rather a jagged entrance that looked as though some force of magic had blasted away a section of the rock. Zuzzara spread her large hands on either side of the hole and leaned forward. “I don’t think we want to be here.”

  “Oh dear,” said Gunderal, peering around her big sister. “I think she’s right.”

  The press of Siegebreakers pushed behind them, and one of the bugbears hissed out an inquiry, starting to lower his glaive to prod the reluctant half-orc in the back. Sanval stumbled against him and knocked the glaive’s blade into the wall with a harsh scraping sound. Zuzzara looked back over her shoulder at them, and her brows drew together in distress, unwillingness clear in her expression. Then she shrugged and stepped through the hole, and Gunderal followed her large sister out into the open. Ivy popped through the hole in the wall to sidestep around Gunderal and Zuzzara, swinging by them on her long legs so that she stood in front of them. If there was an enemy here, she preferred to be in the lead.

  Ivy found herself standing on the top of one of Tsurlagol’s city walls, a flat pathway of stone built to be used by patrolling guards. The view of the fields beyond the wall was magnificent—clear sky, brilliant sunlight, and fresh air best of all. She could see the line and cornering of the wall, the tumble of city buildings on one side, and the slope of hill on the other, falling away to the patchwork of fields trampled into dust by the summer-long siege. If she squinted, she could even make out the dark outline of the forest that the Thultyrl had wanted to use to shield his troops before their charge of the western wall.

  But far closer than the forest were the other troops who occupied the besieged Tsurlagol. Ivy found herself sharing the top of the city wall with a full complement of orcs and hobgoblins, all looking quite stunned to see her and the other Siegebreakers suddenly pop out of a magically appearing hole in their fortifications.

  Ivy never could decide which she disliked fighting the most, hobgoblins or orcs. Today she thought the orcs were the bigger problem. The hobgoblins were larger, better equipped, and smarter, but there were only four of them.

  On the other hand, there were a lot of orcs on the wall. Short, ugly creatures covered with tufts of stiff black hair, their little red eyes glittered in their mottled gray faces, and sharp tusks protruded from their lower gums. And there were taller ones too—mountain orcs by the look of them, with big pig snouts and even redder, madder eyes than their gray kin. Fottergrim’s troops wore armor that was a hodgepodge of stolen bits, which Ivy could not fault as her own gear fell into that category. But at least she cleaned off the dried blood and rust whenever she could. They wore the blood and rust proudly, and added bright orange and purple rags of clothing. They moved in a crouched stance, and those who lacked helmets blinked rapidly, reminding her that bright light bothered the eyes of most orcs. It was one of those facts that might never be useful but was worth noting. In battle, who knew what information was or wasn’t useful? She didn’t underestimate the orcs. They might not be the smartest fighters, but these orcs carried enormous weapons, and all she had was one empty scabbard.

  Both type of orcs were snarling at each other. But none snarled at the four hobgoblins forming an honor guard around the big orc commander who barreled through them. That puzzled Ivy. Hobgoblin mercenaries usually controlled orcs, not the other way around, but here the hobgoblins pushed back the smaller orcs to allow this one large orc to march toward them.

  Ivy expected them to rush her. She planted her feet in a wide stance, her arms spread in front of her company so that the line building behind her on the walkway was less visible. Let them think she led an army that snaked down the steps and would emerge in great numbers—at least un
til she could determine their strength.

  “What is this? What is this!” An enormous orc was pushing to the front of the troops, shoving past his hobgoblin guards.

  “What are you doing here?” the orc continued. His high forehead slanted beneath his helmet, and his face seemed all big pig snout and enormous jaw. He was almost as tall as the mountain breed but with clearer silver skin. Wiry tufts of chestnut hair sprouted between his lupine ears. Ivy wondered what type of orcs his parents had been—the clever kind or the stupid kind? Because as all the gods knew, there were both in the breed, as Zuzzara always said. Ivy rather hoped that this orc descended from an exceptionally stupid and slow family, because all she had at the moment was a fast tongue and a heart full of regret for her lost sword and missing dagger.

  Ivy drew herself to her full height, then cheated a little, rising up on her toes so that her eye level was as close to his as possible. With her fists jammed into her waist, she turned her body slightly to the side so that he could not immediately see that she had lost her sword. She jutted her chin forward and challenged the big leader confronting her as belligerently as she could. “Looking for Fottergrim, sir! Have an important mission! Need to go past immediately, sir!” She barked out her sentences in a fine loud herald’s voice, hoping the troops would part and let the Siegebreakers advance to wherever Fottergrim was encamped in Tsurlagol. With good luck, Fottergrim’s headquarters would be a long, long walk from their present location—a long enough walk to allow them time to ambush Archlis, disarm two bugbears, and make a dash for freedom.

  It was, Ivy would have been the first to admit, a fairly shaky plan, but maybe with enough shouting she could bully her way past this big and hopefully stupid orc. What she was going to do about being on the completely wrong side of the besieged city’s walls—well, she would figure that out later, gods willing. Right now, she just needed to get past the troops all goggling at her like she had said something extraordinarily surprising.

  “Need to report to Fottergrim, sir!” Ivy repeated. “Immediately, sir! Let us pass!”

  The silver orc stared at her in bewilderment. “I am Fottergrim! What is this?”

  “Oh dear,” whispered Gunderal behind Ivy.

  Ivy did not even blink. “Reporting for duty, sir. Glad to find you so quickly. New troops. Returning your magelord as you commanded.”

  “What!”

  Ivy reached behind her and grabbed the magelord as he emerged into the sunlight and blinked. Her strong fingers balled the front of his robe into a knot that just happened to pull the cloth tight around his neck. Archlis sputtered, caught off balance and unable to catch his breath. If he had not kept such a desperate hold on his Ankh with one hand and the Moaning Diamond with the other, he might have been more difficult to handle. Grabbing his shoulder with her other hand, Ivy swung him in front of herself. She pushed him, hard, at Fottergrim. “Here’s Archlis, sir. Just where you wanted him!”

  Upon seeing Archlis, Fottergrim let out a bellow of rage. His boarlike tusks curved from his lower gums over the outer corners of his upper lip. “Traitor! Where have you been?”

  Osteroric, seeing the supreme commander of the orcs confronting his master, gave a surprised squeak, sounding like a terrified mouse. The bugbear dropped his hold on Sanval and grabbed his brother, whispering something in Norimgic’s ear. The two started backing away from Archlis.

  “I bring you victory!” yelled the magelord, holding up the Moaning Diamond.

  “Some little gem! You abandoned me for that! Look, look! We are under attack!” Fottergrim pointed to the fields clearly visible from the wall. The silk banners of the Thultyrl’s army snapped in the breeze, and the beat of the cavalry drums could be heard on the wind. With a howl of rage, Fottergrim slapped Archlis, sending the Moaning Diamond rolling out of his hand, and screamed, “Use your magic. Set them on fire! Or I’ll toss you down on the first man to reach the wall.”

  With a howl almost as loud as Fottergrim’s, Archlis dived after his Moaning Diamond, snatched it up, and safely stowed it in his shirt. “You stupid orc!” he cried. “I almost lost it! Fire, fire, fire … Do you think that is all that I am capable of! Well, enjoy my talent!” He raised the Ankh and shouted a word of command. The bouncing sphere of fire that he had used so effectively against the hobgoblins suddenly appeared, spinning toward Fottergrim. The orc obviously knew the trick, because he picked up one of his lieutenants and used the frightened orc to knock the sphere over the edge of the wall. Tossing away his cringing minion, Fottergrim charged at Archlis with a great shout of rage. He grappled with the magelord, trying to tear the Ankh from his grasp.

  Seeing Archlis and Fottergrim locked in each other’s grasp, Ivy spun on her heel and ordered the Siegebreakers to run. As she passed Sanval, standing alone and free of the bugbear’s clutches, she shouted, “Pick up your feet, man!”

  She led them at full speed toward a round tower that anchored one end of the wall. Such towers usually had stairs leading to the guards’ rooms and, with a little luck, a door to the outside.

  “Come on,” Ivy called. “We’ll take this way out!”

  She skittered to a halt. Out of the tower’s doorway boiled fresh troops—big mean orcs with enormous double-bladed swords and huge warhammers. The orcs drove a troop of orange goblins before them. They were small, quick creatures, half the height of a human. Their bodies were twisted and gnarled, their limbs thin and powerful, and their fingers taloned. Their small faces were all features: wide mouths, huge slanted eyes, and wide flat noses. Large pointed ears grew up through their stiff tufts of hair. The goblins’ armor was little more than torn bits of leather strapped together.

  Ivy knew better than to underestimate these fighters who stood only waist high. They were small, yes, but cunning, and as pesky as wasps. Most were carrying modified goblin sticks, nicely sharpened to poke into any soft spot presented to them. A few were whirling rawhide whips to pull down their opponents and make it easier for the small fighters to overrun them. Or perhaps they just meant to use those long lariats on anyone storming over the walls. Such tactics often proved most effective in toppling siege ladders. However, once the orange goblins spotted Ivy and the Siegebreakers, they burst into squeals of their own language. Behind them the orcs screamed, urging the little fiends to fight.

  “Oh blast,” said Ivy, frantically waving behind her back at the others to retreat.

  “Hey, lads, look what we found.” Mumchance shifted in front of Ivy and called out to the orcs who led the charge. From both his hands dripped diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and other jewels that he had picked up in the crypt below. A few gems slipped between his blunt fingers and rattled on the stones. The orcs stared at the treasure in the same way that they would eye fresh meat. Beneath the overhang of their helmets, their little pig eyes blinked against the sparkling light of the jewels in the sun, and their mouths widened into ugly grins.

  The orange goblins hung back, darting glances at Mumchance, at the gems, and at the orcs. Obviously, they would love to grab the riches, but they knew that the bigger orcs would quickly overrun them and snatch any treasure away. Fear of their masters warred with greed, and they set up a series of grunting cries, obviously arguing within their own group.

  “A reward for Fottergrim’s loyal troops,” roared the dwarf, throwing the jewels at the feet of the largest orcs. Some even dropped their weapons to free their hands and extended their claws.

  As the orcs grabbed for the jewels, Mumchance shouted the word that ignited the gem bomb that he had concealed among the hoard. It exploded, shooting out sparks and force. The orcs squealed and screamed, blown off their feet. They stumbled into each other, knocking a few off the wall. Their weapons and armor clattered as they crashed onto the walkway and tried to grab at any ledge and at each other. Those who managed to stay on the wall scrambled to their feet, howling their fury and snatching up their weapons.

  Sparks flamed overhead. The orcs stopped, looked up, and bellowed. The explosio
n had set the wooden roof above the walkway on fire. The orcs turned and raced away, knocking each other over. Behind them, a group of hobgoblins coming out of the tower automatically raised their shields, and the orcs rushed into them, catching their outflung arms on the spikes. Blood and curses flew.

  The small goblins leaped to the edge of the walkway, then pulled themselves up easily onto the roof. With one last phhtt of outstretched tongues at their former masters, the goblins dashed through the sparks, cutting back and forth, until they reached the stone corner tower. Silently they dropped down to the far walkway beyond the flames and fighting.

  “I am going to miss that eye,” Mumchance declared, rubbing his empty eyesocket with his fist.

  “Best time to use it. Could not have done it better,” Ivy congratulated him, slapping him on the back. “Buy you another one out of the Thultyrl’s payment!” Looking at the pile up of orcs and hobgoblins fighting in the doorway of the watchtower, Ivy swung around.

  “Back, back,” she yelled at the group.

  Once again, going full speed, she passed Sanval, who looked slightly confused but was doggedly guarding the rear of their group. He spun around to follow her, now becoming the frontguard instead of the rearguard.

  “Ivy, the roof is on fire!” Gunderal screamed a warning. Ivy looked up. The fire was keeping pace with them. The crude wooden roof was built to shelter archers from stones flung by siege engines. The wood had dried out under the hot summer sun and now burned beautifully. Big roof timbers were starting to sag, and the smaller boards were burning right through and dropping down on the walkway, with an occasional thud as the wood hit the helmet of some hobgoblin or orc below.

  “That’s the problem with crude holdings like this,” Mumchance observed as he trotted at Ivy’s side. He sidestepped to the left to avoid a couple of embers dropping from above. “Too easy to set on fire. A couple of well-placed flame arrows, or a nice little gem bomb, and, whoosh, your defenses go up in smoke.”