Blue Diamonds (Book One of The Blue Diamonds Saga) (23 page)

“We’re nearly there!” announced Arthur Cornbott.

The Berwyn man's mood had lifted quite a bit, compared to earlier when they were back in the castle, when after pleading Berwyn's case to the king he and his friends were confined to a room with hardly a nod. While in the waiting room, it took nearly an hour for his townsmen to calm him enough to stop cursing the king. They weren’t particularly happy with the situation either, but they were rather concerned that Arthur was going to get them thrown into the dungeon. Then, just as Arthur was convinced they were being imprisoned, General Stark marched into the room and declared that they would immediately ride for Berwyn.

Arthur's attitude made a complete turnaround upon learning that Somerlund’s beloved general would personally lead the convoy to Berwyn. It showed in the way Arthur took to Dugan’s side, smiling and chatting the entire trip.

The general did not mirror Arthur’s jubilance. For most of the march his soldiers wrecked his nerves with the inexcusable amount of noise that they made. The weathered warrior had given up on controlling the men’s lackadaisical mindset half way through the excursion, eventually sympathizing with the lack of experience or practice they possessed. Seventy-five percent of the troop hadn't lifted a sword in actual battle, while the other twenty-five percent hadn’t in a very, very long time. It didn’t help that the majority of them didn’t even believe in the purpose of the march. As far as they were concerned, some farmers probably ate the wrong kind of mushroom and hallucinated around the campfire, or so told the snickering jokes floating around the regiment.

“The Kingston clears ahead of us, and then we'll be within the town limits," said Arthur.

"I've lived here all my life, and know the land as good as anyone.” Arthur pointed forward through the trees ahead, looking back to his townsmen for approval. They nodded apathetically, quite tired of the way Arthur leeched to the general for attention like an ambitious child to a teacher.

"There's a bench coming up, at the clearing," Arthur continued. "Every morning my father went hunting, and I'd wait on that bench for his return. Twice a day, actually. First for his lunch break, then again at the end of the day."

General Stark held his tongue, overcoming the urge to let Arthur know how little he cared about what he knew, where he’d lived all his life, or what his father did. Instead, he pretended to listen as he gazed at the interlocking branch ceiling above. For the last hour the only evidence of day had been the pinholes of light slipping past the dense foliage. As if the gloom wasn’t dreary enough, the woods also seemed much too quiet. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard so much as a bird, and it was twisting his guts in a knot.

“It is always silent before the hunter strikes,” he often preached to soldiers in training.

Moments into the thought, a thick fog rose from the ground about twenty yards ahead of them, enveloping the woods so suddenly that it caused the horses to jerk and whinny in displeasure. It was as if a grey wall they hadn’t noticed was suddenly there. Stark pumped his right fist in the air, the signal to stop, which was quickly copied by the men behind him, and so on, spreading like a wave until every last man in the battalion was frozen in their tracks. The cheery banter vanished, replaced by the sound of nervous hooves and the metallic sounds of readying weapons.

“Is it smoke?” asked Arthur.

“No. Smoke has odor. This is not natural.”

If this grey barrier were normal, the general knew, it would have been susceptible to the steady breeze flowing from behind them, which it clearly was not. The grey mist did move when the breeze struck it. It only rolled and folded on itself without actually going anywhere, like it was contained in a glass box.

“Then we need to hurry! Berwyn could be under attack!”

Stark waved off Arthur's panic without a second thought.

“No, we wait. This isn't something to rush into. Only a fool marches with his eyes closed,” warned the general.

Arthur then reverted into the irrational man he’d been back in the castle, visibly shaking with anger.

“You're here to defend us, not cower away from an afternoon fog! If you're afraid, then my men and I will lead the way.” Arthur glared at the general, then waved for his townsmen to follow as he willed his horse into a trot.

“Wait!” hissed the general.

General Stark watched helplessly then, as all but two of the Berwyn men charged after Arthur. Then, as quick as the rash decision to gallop into the grey mass was, the riders vanished equally as swift when they passed through the fog. When the beat of the stallion’s hooves diminished as abruptly as they disappeared from sight, the general knew that he was facing some kind of magical barrier.

“Form a line!” called the general, raising his golden spear horizontally into the air, the signal for the command.

Then, for the next few minutes his soldiers practically fell over each other trying to spread out evenly into two straight lines. It was a standard formation and one the general spent extra time on in drills, but in another show of inexperience the movement took the troop much longer then it should have.

Sword and axe specialists adorned with heavy shields made up the front line. The tall, steel shields had foldout kickstands, so that after wedging their pointed bottoms into the ground, soldiers pulled out the kickstand to support them upright. These stands served a dual purpose. Not only did they fortify and strengthen the defenses, but they granted the soldiers a chance to surprise their foe. The shields enabled them to spring forward from the left, or the right side.

It wasn’t a random move, but a coordinated swarm tactic that relied heavily on communication. If the person next to you said they were going to their left, you could attack left knowing you will have your left side open to dodge towards without being crowded or bumping into each other. The soldiers who breach the steel wall live or die by their freedom of movement, because once they cross over they will have the enemy in their face and a shield wall to their back.

The rear line consisted of soldiers bearing bows and spears. Once the shield wall was set, they fit their spears into notches in the upper right corners of the shields. Dugan personally, and proudly, designed the shield, as he started out his military career as a spear-bearer himself. He found the old style of randomly jabbing into any opening you could find inefficient. His design allowed the rear soldier to grab and level his spear quickly, and with only one hand. It also reduced the time it took to switch from an offensive posture to a defensive one, which was crucial when it was time to brace for a barraging attack.

With the simple notch, something that was once a hassle became quite simple and much more effective. The improvement also improved the archer’s efficiency, as they now had extra time focus on aiming, instead of helping their partners with their large, cumbersome spears. It was efficiencies like these that gave Somerlund's army its deadly reputation.

As the two hundred and fifty soldiers maneuvered into position nervous chatter filled the air as they turned to each other for advice. Although they'd drilled the formation countless times before, fear had overridden their training. The archers were so startled that they could hardly fit their arrows to string. Through the entire ruckus the general just stared at the fog wall, trying to mask his worries.

The general’s instincts were right on target, for on the other side of the magical fog waited a rage engulfed dwarf, who’d been observing the noisy battalion for a good while. The enchanted mist Baylor conjured blocked the opposing side’s vision and hearing completely, so the general didn't hear Arthur's, or his companion’s screams when the dwarf took them down.

Baylor didn't try to be sly, as he had with Jeb Rockford, because the time for cunning was over. As far as he was concerned, the war had begun. Baylor simply froze the ground in front of the men's horses, causing them all to tumble hard onto each other. They were slow to rise, but it didn't matter as Baylor calmly walked to each of the Berwyn men and rapped them on their heads one at a time, turning each into a frozen statue like he had with Burt Hammerheart. Baylor even froze the horses, and when he was finished he broke down in maniacal laughter, pleased at his new ice sculptures.

This was not the same Baylor who posed as an alchemist at Fort Hammerheart. This was a dwarf being slowly overcome by the powerful magic he so irresponsibly wielded. He’d called the dragon forth from its diamond cage twice now, without resting, unaware of the repercussions that were taking effect. With each summons the dragon tightened its grip on Baylor’s mind, breaking down his mental capacity and pulling him into a state of delirium.

Along with his mind, Baylor's physical appearance was also beginning to change. Black rings circled sunken, exhausted eyes, and blood tainted sweat profusely beaded across his forehead. Baylor was so drunk from the dragon’s power that he hadn't noticed the veins in his arms now pulsed black, from his fingertips to his neck. His heart was becoming one with the dragon, and in turn pumping the same black evil into his blood.

Baylor went to Arthur last, who used his last breath to curse at the dwarf. Once Arthur's body went stiff Baylor shifted his focus to the dilemma that was lining up on the other side of his magic curtain.

“I must hide,” he realized.

Baylor's bloodshot eyes darted left and right in search of a good place to position himself before the inevitable battle began. He found just the place between two massive roots at the base of an ancient tree. He smiled, sure that no one would see him squatting there, and rested his back against one of the tree's massive roots, clutching the diamond against his chest all the while.

“Damn you pigs of Somerlund,” snarled Baylor, spitting towards the fog wall.

It was only hours since Berwyn, where he’d labored hard to coax the dragon back into its diamond prison. It weakened him greatly, nearly to the point of blacking out, and now it looked as though his labor would be for naught, as the dragon would need to be loosed again. Although partially reluctant to release his powerful pet, Baylor knew that there was no way he could face the entire battalion of soldiers alone.

Baylor leaned back against the great tree, lips quivering, hoping the soldiers would not be quick to attack. The little sanity he had left told him that he needed to get some rest and recover. Yet deep within the dwarf a rage was bubbling, once again driving his mind into a sea of anger, set adrift from rational thought.

Every hateful word he knew saturated his thoughts, until a cyclone of hate and malice howled so loudly in his mind that he couldn't hear his own scream. Without realizing he'd done it, he held the diamond high above his head.

"
They are here to destroy us! Kill them all!"
he screamed.

Witnessing the desolation of Fort Hammerheart beforehand may have been a good thing, because it numbed the friends for what they found of Berwyn. Where the fort at least still had clues of habitation, the dragon had left none with Berwyn. What remained was no different than any other forest fire. Nothing remained here but ashes.

“Put away your steeds,” Shomnath said, the moment they crossed over the ash field. He dropped from his animal and then stuffed the jade amulet hanging from his neck under his shirt, instantly causing his bison to fade away into a mist, which drifted away into nothingness. Pall and Rolo did the same, and then instinctively drew their weapons.

“Whatcha see boss?” asked Rolo. He haunched his back and lowered his head, the best the giant man could offer as far as stealth. Beneath him Pall gripped his axe with both hands.

“Nothing,” Shomnath whispered.

“Nothing?”

“And it isn’t the normal kind of nothing, either. Look!” Shomnath pointed into the trees. Just within the natural shadows of the forest, there was a strange wall of grey smoke, stretching as high as the treetops, and as far to the left and right as Shomnath could see. He signaled for his company to follow as he slowly inched forward, wincing at each twig and leaf that crackled beneath the weight of their footsteps. The heavy-footed dwarf and giant behind him didn’t do much to help the effort.

“It’s a magical wall!” Kala announced as she suddenly fell from the sky and landed right in front of them, causing all three men to jump. Shomnath’s golden sword was out in a flash and he nearly took a swing at the smiling elf. A little giggle escaped her lips, deepening his frown.

“We need to work on a signal for you to use," said Shomnath. "Or one day one of us is going to accidentally kill you.”

“Really? Can my secret signal be a kiss on Rolo’s cheek?” she asked, getting a groan from Rolo. “And anyways, you three should be ready for anything, with all the noise you’re making. Wild boars make less of a ruckus than the three of you.”

“Yeah, yeah," interrupted Pall. "Speaking of noise, can ye skip to the part about what ye found up ahead?”

“Well,” she continued, winking at Rolo who immediately looked away. “This fog wall seems to circle around a wide plot of land, but I didn’t go far enough to see how wide. My guess is that whoever we’re looking for is hiding somewhere in here, and that your father's soldiers are on the other side.”

“It sounds as good a guess as any other," said Shomnath. "Good work Kala. You lead us in, but don’t leave our sight. We need to keep it tight from here on out.” Shomnath looked at the wall, and then took a deep breath. We’re walking into the devil’s playpen, he thought.

"Just try to keep up. And be quiet!" she giggled.

Once Kala vanished into the mist, the three men quickly followed, each nervously gripping their weapon.