Warlock

did not attack the larger growths. Whether for reasons of its innate nature or because it was losing potency, I could not say. For a while, however, it crystallized the ferns, the smaller and simpler forms of plant life. And then it lost its hold and real ferns returned, crumbling the diamond plants beneath them.”
        
        “Why don't we just load up on this stuff and return to Darklands?” Crowler asked. “We wouldn't have to fight Oragonia then; we could buy the whole damned country!”
        
        “Aye, return and find we've carried nothing but ground glass across the Cloud Range and the Banibals!” someone said, and the laughter at Crowler's remark ceased.
        
        “What about it, Shaker?” Richter asked. “Real gems or glass we walk upon?”
        
        “Real,” Fremlin said before the Shaker could make testament to his ignorance on the subject
        
        “And how would you know?” Richter asked.
        
        “I have some small interest in stones myself, Comander,” the Squealer master said. “My brother is a jeweler in Dunsamora, back home. I've spent time with him, learning the trade. When I get too old for scaling mountains, perhaps I'll take my birds and open some jewelry shop somewhere.”
        
        “Aye,” Crowler said, “and have them flit around and steal your wares for you. A smart way to build an inventory!”
        
        Shaker Sandow desperately wanted to cease this conversation-or at least to finish it as they walked. But he could see the salutory effect this jocularity had upon them, and he was not going to be the one to break the first mood of optimism to pass through the ranks since they had left Perdune. All of them needed to laugh. Even he and Mace and Gregor. But the sun was going to be behind the mountains soon, and the forests of diamond trees lay so close ahead…
        
        “But real, then?” Richter asked Fremlin.
        
        “Yes, real. Or as near as couldn't tell the difference. But real I think.”
        
        “Hear this, then,” Richter said, sweeping the men with steady, clear eyes. “I will permit every man to pack upon his person the equivalent of two pounds of the gem stones, though no more than that. This has been a hellish journey, and the very least that all of you deserve is a moderate wealth upon our return to the Darklands!”
        
        There was a rousing cheer delivered there, hands raised in the fisted salute of appreciation for their master. The troops were positively beaming with good humor.
        
        “But mind you: no more than two pounds. For one thing, a great abundance of gems in the Darklands will only bring the prices down. For another, climbing back across the Cloud Range and then the Banibals will be task enough-without a huge burden of diamonds and emeralds on each man's shoulders.”
        
        “Aye, but maybe we are destined to return home by air!” Crowler said, his tone not argumentive, only friendly. He was acting as a bit of comic relief, and he knew it.
        
        The men cheered that thought.
        
        “And maybe not,” Richter said, acting as the balancing force of sobriety.
        
        Whether or not they have planned this act and used it before, they are excellent at it, the Shaker thought. One works to raise the men's spirits while the other works to dampen them just enough to add caution to their good nature.
        
        “In any event,” Commander Richter said, “two pounds and not a stone more. But I would also advise you that you wait until we find this place which the birds have reported, for there may be higher quality gems to be found.”
        
        In agreement, men began emptying their pockets of the treasures they had stored there, and they picked up the pace of the march again-faster and more jubilant than ever.
        
        The trees around them were shot through with strips of bright jewels, like veins of coal or gold striking through earth, beveled and fractured, casting back amber here like the rustling silk of heavy curtains… here crimson as bright as blood… here blue like deep waters… here blue like a high morning sky… now and then catching their images, casting them back in multi-faceted fantasies… cold to the touch of a hand, cloyding with the evaporation of perspiration from the offending flesh… here orange and shimmering with the stinging beams of filtered sunlight