Chapter One
A diamond glows
Olban squinted at the diamond. The red glow of the cavern’s fire dulled its white light, yet it still outshone the crystal cups and precious gems glittering from ledges lining the rock walls. He turned it in his thin fingers, bringing it closer to his green-eyed gaze. The finest of all his jewels, legend said it had been dug by strong-armed dwarves from dark mines in a far distant country, the name of which had long been lost to him and his forebears.
He flicked back a strand of black hair before taking up a tiny brush to dust away a spot of grit. The jewel rewarded his careful effort with a quick shaft of brilliance. Olban started back a step. The glare faded.
He lay the diamond, now quiescent, on the oak bench next to the dank and brittle book Hestia had brought him several days ago. The title, translated from Old Sleih, was most intriguing to a Sleih Seer: The Conjuring of Spirits and Powers. Underneath, in great detail, the author had warned that the contents were not to be read by any novice in the magical arts, but should be pondered exclusively by those with long and successful experience in the use of spells and potions – and diamonds.
‘Why diamonds?’ Hestia had asked Olban. She ruffled her great feathered wings. ‘Diamonds have never played a more special role than other gems in Gryphon magic.’
Olban shrugged. ‘Perhaps because they’re among the most valuable of all gems? The longest in the making? The rarest of all?’
Hestia had been intrigued by the long paragraphs hinting at, never mentioning directly, a mysterious strength which apparently lay deep beneath the caverns.
‘There are tales,’ Hestia said, while the hairs on Olban’s neck prickled, ‘tales from the Old Ones of a strength beyond strength said to dwell in the deepest depths of the earth.’ Hestia shifted her eagle head to fix Olban with one dark eye. ‘A legend passed down through the Gryphon line, in told tales only. Until now…’
Until this crumbling book, this first written hint of such a power. But the references were obscure, and the pages which might have told what dreadful deeds this power could wreak on those unfortunate or silly enough to waken it, had been torn away.
Olban was entranced. In the deepest depths of the earth? Further below than even the Sleih dare go?
However far below, it was this power that appeared to require a knowledge of the inherent sorcery of diamonds to bring it to life, according to what Hestia had been able to translate from the faded pages.
Olban had spent days poring over the tiny writing, searching for clues as to how that might work. The unknown crabbed hand had written in an ancient version of Old Sleih, a language almost forgotten even by the Sleih seers and the gryphons. It made the covert references to the power more inscrutable than they might have been, the reason why Hestia had sought Olban’s help in translating.
He could not recall the last time he had been so engaged, excited even. He neglected all other duties, often forgetting to eat, while he studied the text and peered into the diamond, turning it in his thin-fingered hand, thinking, thinking …
Yesterday, Hestia had come looking for him after he missed yet another meal. She found Olban turning the diamond in the light from a glow stone, the book open on the bench before him.
‘I worry about your obsession with this jewel, old friend,’ she said. ‘Perhaps it’s best left alone.’ She tapped a talon on the smudged paper. Olban cringed. ‘Whatever power is referred to, it doesn’t appear to be for good, if I’ve read this old text at all well.’
Olban stiffened. ‘As a seer with long experience of matters magical and spiritual’–he stared at Hestia–‘I’m sure I’m best able to judge such matters for myself.’
Hestia had sighed, folded her midnight-blue wings more closely about her tawny lion body and padded from the cavern.
Olban suspected Hestia wished she had never drawn his attention to the book. It had lain in a dark corner of Lord Gryphon’s vast repository of manuscripts, maps, charms and potions until the young Sleih prince, Varane, had fallen over it. Varane and the ’prentice seer, Ilesse, had been playing tag in the repository – Olban pursed his lips at this testament to the current general slackness which reigned in the caverns of the High Alps of Asfarlon – and he suspected the book would have been kicked aside by the prince if Ilesse had not been drawn to its flaking gold title in a language she did not recognise.
Behind him, the fire in the pit crackled with a sharp snap.
As if in response, the diamond bloomed with another quick shaft of brilliance, brighter this time, bringing to glistening life the heaps of gems about the walls so the whole cavern glowed with a rainbow of colour. Only for an instant, before all fell back into its normal gloom.
Fire? Olban smiled. Every little sign edged him ever closer to the mystery of the power and the diamond.
But why would someone tear out the pages? Assuming they were the ones which explained all. Olban’s gut told him they were.
His stomach rumbled and his attention finally wandered to food. He left the room with a last glance over his shoulder at the diamond, dull now as any piece of dirty glass.
Image credits
Image by Gerhard G. from Pixabay; Image by Bohdan Chreptak from Pixabay