Chapter 32-1

The wind tried to wrest Sam’s cloak from her shoulders as she stole her first glimpse of the infamous Diamond Coast. In the great tomes of history shelved in the Duke of Haywood’s library, Sam had read that this land was once dominated by a massive volcano in the shape of an inverted soup bowl. No one seemed to know whether the rumbling of the earth caused the volcano to blow its top or the heat of its magma chambers prompted the earthquake. Regardless, the earth moved and the volcano erupted with such force that the entire mountain upturned and crumbled, burying itself in layers of ash and molten rock. Over the years, the lava hardened and the wind swept the ash away, leaving behind smooth and square-topped hills the color of onyx. Those brave souls who dared to make the journey west discovered that the exposed bowels of the volcano contained a treasure worth risking their lives: The deposits of blue-black rock that rose in stacks from the basaltic ground and surrounding sea glittered with diamond. A man could spend a day harvesting the crystal and make a king’s ransom—provided he could leave the Coast with both his bounty and life intact. Looking out at the crystallized rock and still aquamarine waters, Sam could well believe that a man would risk coming here for a chance at a lifetime’s fortune. She could see why the Coast was uninhabitable—there were no trees for wood or mud to use as mortar—but she saw no evidence of the demon infestation that made it so dangerous. “They’re here,” Tristan assured her. “They’ll make themselves known soon enough.” If Sam didn’t believe Tristan, Braeden confirmed it. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated and twisted. “So many,” he said, rubbing absently at his shoulder. He closed his eyes and shuddered, and when he opened them again the whites were faintly red. “Why haven’t they attacked yet?” Sam asked. Tristan said, “There are others afoot. Other people. Perhaps the demons are distracted.” “People?” Sam shielded her eyes with her hand and peered into the distance. “I don’t see anybody." “There, ahead,” said Tristan, pointing. “Do you see that heap of rocks by the beach?” Sam followed his finger to a large pile of rusted-over granite, forming a cobbled pyramid. “That’s a shelter, if a crude one. It bears the High Commander’s mark.” Sam gulped. “Is the High Commander here?” “Not yet,” said Tristan. “We made good time after Sander left. We’re at least a few days ahead of him.” “So who is there now?” she asked. “I don’t know,” said Tristan, “but we’ll find out.” The loose, slippery rock at the beach was treacherous to the horses, so Sam, Braeden and Tristan abandoned their mounts and scrambled towards the shelter on foot. A gap in the rock pyramid made for a doorway just wide enough to fit one person. Tristan went first to make sure it was safe. “You can come in!” he called out. “No one is here.” “After you,” said Braeden. Sam squeezed her way through the narrow entry, and Braeden followed her in. The inside was dark but airy. Light crept in through the spaces between the rocks, creating a speckled mosaic on the ground. A copper pot was strung over a small fire pit and rumpled blankets lined the perimeters of the shelter. Tristan ran his thumb along the bottom of the fire pit. The pad of his thumb was dusted with black coal. “Someone’s been here recently.” “Aye, we have.” Sam jumped at the new voice.  No, not new—she recognized that voice. “Sagar.” The Paladin squeezed his broad shoulders through the tight entrance and stepped fully into the small room. The bonhomie he had displayed while chasing paramours in Catania was markedly absent and there was a seriousness about him that to Sam seemed out of character.  “Lyons,” Sagar said coldly. Acknowledging them separately, he said, “Braeden, Sam. I see there are only three of you.” “Just us three,” Tristan confirmed, his mouth tight. “And where is Sander Branimir?” Tristan shrugged. “In Luca, perhaps? We have not been in recent contact.” “Did you even make an effort?” Sagar asked. “To recapture him? Sagar, the man saved my life. If you would listen--” “I have my orders,” Sagar said. “And unlike you, I will follow them, however distasteful I find them.” “Orders? What orders?” Sagar sighed and put his fist to the hollow between his brows. “The High Commander gave you one week to retrieve Sander. Tristan, it’s been ten days and you show up here without him. You know what my orders are.” Tristan’s laughter held an edge of bitterness. “What, the High Commander couldn’t be bothered to do it himself? You’re to be my executioner?” He shook his head disbelievingly. “I won’t give up without a fight, and you haven’t a prayer of defeating me.’ Sagar blushed a dull red. “I’m well aware who the superior swordsman is, Lyons. But I didn’t come to the Diamond Coast alone.” He turned to Sam and Braeden. “If you two leave now, the High Commander will forgive you everything.” When they didn’t move, he added, more sharply, “Don’t throw your futures away for the sake of friendship.” “Is that what you did, Paladin?” asked Sam, taking a step forward. “Throw however many years of friendship away because of one man’s order? And in the time you’ve known Tristan, has he ever been disloyal or anything less than a Paladin should be? Has he?” Sagar’s face grew darker. “D’you think I want to do this? I was perfectly happy in Catania, minding my own business, responding to the occasional demon attack. Then not three weeks ago, the High Commander sends me a missive ordering me to the Diamond Coast. No explanation, but it’s the High Commander, so I go. Then, I get here—” he gesticulated wildly—“and I’m told that Lyons is colluding with the enemy, and I’m to see him punished for it. Have you seen Tristan with a sword? I’ve no wish to die.” “Sagar?” a deep man’s voice called out. “Sagar? You in there?” “Aye, I’ve got Lyons here, too!” he returned. Sam couldn’t hear the man’s muffled response. “This is your last chance,” Sagar said to Sam and Braeden. “No? Well, then, the grace period is over. I hope your friendship warms your graves.” The Paladin unsheathed his sword and backed slowly out of the shelter. A tense silence filled the small room. Tristan’s face was stone. “You should go,” he said. “They’ll still forgive you if you go now.”