Read Online Blue Diamonds (Book One of The Blue Diamonds Saga) by R.E. Murphy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R.E. Murphy
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between two small hills. This side of Loyola caught the brunt of the draft that rushed down from the top of the mount. The constant breeze kept the hottest of days bearable, but also filled the air with a restless orchestra of stressed wood and flapping leaves.
He didn't feel much like lying down now, so instead he strolled into the trees, casually grabbing the handle of his heavy, double-bladed axe from where he’d left it leaning against a sapling. Passed on to Pall by his uncle Burt Hammerheart, the massive axe was even more massive in reputation. His uncle had a whale of a war story to match each of his four hundred and eighty seven years of being alive. That would give the axe four hundred and eighty two years of action, considering uncle Burt claimed to have wielded the axe at the tender age of five.
The axe had cut down orcs by the hundreds, giants by the dozens, and was never on the retreating side of a battle. The stories were suspect, but the axe had definitely done its job when Pall needed it most.
Today Pall was going to use the prolific orc slayer to carve himself a canoe. He wanted to reach deeper parts of the lake sure to be full of tasty fish just begging to be fired up. His mouth watered at the thought of crisped skin, just off the fire and squirted over with a little lemon.
He just needed to get himself a nice log, split and hollow it out and presto, he’d be on his way to endless fish feasts. He was still undecided as to what method he would use for this hollowing to happen. The humans bored out their dugouts with hot coals, turning the core of the tree into embers that they would scrape out before the burn spread to the outer ring of trunk. It was a good technique, but if you fell asleep on the job, you wake up to a pile of ash instead of a boat.
After searching the landscape for a good fallen log without result, he instead chose a perfect fir growing thirty paces into the tree line. Pall circled around the tree several times in inspection, approving of the thick, straight, healthy trunk. He then measured where the first chop would best be placed. He spread his legs and wiggled into a stance suitable for a powerful swing before a sweet musical voice interrupted him.
“Don’t you think that’ll be awfully painful?”
Pall was startled, but not frightened. It could only be one person in the entire world, his best friend Kala. Kala was a Redwood Elf.
“Actually, no Kala, this won’t hurt me one bit,” Pall said, as the corners of his lips very slightly curved into a smirk. He had a feeling that it was her he sensed earlier.
“You know I’m talking about the tree silly,” she said with a giggle. The slender wood elf materialized before him, leaping into the scene from somewhere just outside of his peripheral sight. He imagined she must’ve been standing somewhere to his left.
Elves in general are the most private of creatures, and shunning other races was often the norm. Kind, jovial, and happy were all common words often used to describe the stealthy ones. These descriptions were false. Better to use the words fair, mindful, and forever unobtrusive. They are the end result of pretty people breeding for millennia. They only look happy, as all beautiful people look happy.
The truth is that if an Elf had to choose between saving his garden or a human, it wouldn't be that difficult of a choice. Then, after the human’s body began to decompose the elf would use the carcass to fertilize his tulips. Once an elf decides someone doesn't sum into his or her equation, that same someone will probably be missing in the not so distant future. Kala, on the other hand, was a rare exception. To her, every creature summed up to something no matter what the race, and didn't believe that it was the forest and the elves against the world, as is how most elves see it.
“Couldn’t you use a fallen tree?” she said.
“I could, but I don’t see one around, and I’m not fer dragging a darn tree through
He didn't feel much like lying down now, so instead he strolled into the trees, casually grabbing the handle of his heavy, double-bladed axe from where he’d left it leaning against a sapling. Passed on to Pall by his uncle Burt Hammerheart, the massive axe was even more massive in reputation. His uncle had a whale of a war story to match each of his four hundred and eighty seven years of being alive. That would give the axe four hundred and eighty two years of action, considering uncle Burt claimed to have wielded the axe at the tender age of five.
The axe had cut down orcs by the hundreds, giants by the dozens, and was never on the retreating side of a battle. The stories were suspect, but the axe had definitely done its job when Pall needed it most.
Today Pall was going to use the prolific orc slayer to carve himself a canoe. He wanted to reach deeper parts of the lake sure to be full of tasty fish just begging to be fired up. His mouth watered at the thought of crisped skin, just off the fire and squirted over with a little lemon.
He just needed to get himself a nice log, split and hollow it out and presto, he’d be on his way to endless fish feasts. He was still undecided as to what method he would use for this hollowing to happen. The humans bored out their dugouts with hot coals, turning the core of the tree into embers that they would scrape out before the burn spread to the outer ring of trunk. It was a good technique, but if you fell asleep on the job, you wake up to a pile of ash instead of a boat.
After searching the landscape for a good fallen log without result, he instead chose a perfect fir growing thirty paces into the tree line. Pall circled around the tree several times in inspection, approving of the thick, straight, healthy trunk. He then measured where the first chop would best be placed. He spread his legs and wiggled into a stance suitable for a powerful swing before a sweet musical voice interrupted him.
“Don’t you think that’ll be awfully painful?”
Pall was startled, but not frightened. It could only be one person in the entire world, his best friend Kala. Kala was a Redwood Elf.
“Actually, no Kala, this won’t hurt me one bit,” Pall said, as the corners of his lips very slightly curved into a smirk. He had a feeling that it was her he sensed earlier.
“You know I’m talking about the tree silly,” she said with a giggle. The slender wood elf materialized before him, leaping into the scene from somewhere just outside of his peripheral sight. He imagined she must’ve been standing somewhere to his left.
Elves in general are the most private of creatures, and shunning other races was often the norm. Kind, jovial, and happy were all common words often used to describe the stealthy ones. These descriptions were false. Better to use the words fair, mindful, and forever unobtrusive. They are the end result of pretty people breeding for millennia. They only look happy, as all beautiful people look happy.
The truth is that if an Elf had to choose between saving his garden or a human, it wouldn't be that difficult of a choice. Then, after the human’s body began to decompose the elf would use the carcass to fertilize his tulips. Once an elf decides someone doesn't sum into his or her equation, that same someone will probably be missing in the not so distant future. Kala, on the other hand, was a rare exception. To her, every creature summed up to something no matter what the race, and didn't believe that it was the forest and the elves against the world, as is how most elves see it.
“Couldn’t you use a fallen tree?” she said.
“I could, but I don’t see one around, and I’m not fer dragging a darn tree through
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