The Diamond Tree by Michael Matson Page A

pretending it was his brother Ardros, he came upon a wrinkled old woman resting under an oak tree. Beside her was an enormous, many-patched bag overflowing with wool, which she was carding and winding onto a spindle as she rested.
     
    Prince Dall stopped kicking his apple and glared at her, but the old woman continued to work without looking up. Prince Dall threw his apple into the air, drew his sword and sliced it into eight perfect pieces before it struck the ground. The old woman gave no sign that she even knew he was there.
     
    Prince Dall advanced menacingly, thrust his sword into the ground inches from the old woman’s feet and growled. The old woman ignored him.
     
    Not knowing what else to do, Prince Dall sat down. And, as he did, his frustration left him. He no longer felt angry, simply disappointed.

    The old woman finished her task and put her tools away in the enormous, many-patched bag. At last she looked up.
     
    “Why are you so upset?” she asked.
     
    “Because,” said Prince Dall, gloomily, “there is nothing left to do.”
     
    “I have not always found it so,” sighed the woman. “But perhaps it is true. Please explain.”
     
    So Prince Dall explained how his brothers had slain the only dragon, defeated the only giant, outwitted and killed the only evil wizard in the shape of a flaming serpent and rescued the only princess in distress in all the surrounding kingdoms. And how, now that it was his turn to have adventures, there were no adventures to have.
     
    “I see,” said the old woman. She closed her eyes, folded her hands on her lap and, for a very long time, she said nothing. She was so silent for so long Prince Dall thought she might have fallen asleep. He was just about to poke her to find out when she opened her eyes again and spoke. “It is true,” she said, “that all the dragons, the giants, the evil wizards in the shape of flaming serpents and the princesses in distress have been used up. If these are the sort of adventures you seek, you are out of luck.”
     
    “I already knew that,” said Prince Dall petulantly.
     
    “But,” said the old woman, “if you seek adventure of a different sort, there is the Diamond Tree.”
     
    “An adventure is an adventure,” shrugged the prince. “Tell me, are there ogres or spells involved?”
     
    “There may be,” said the old woman. “I can’t swear to it since all I know is the story, and that was told to me so long ago I can’t remember who told it or even if it is true. If you would like to hear it, I would be glad to repeat it and you can decide for yourself.”
     
    “Fair enough,” agreed the prince.
     
    The old woman scratched her chin thoughtfully and began. “If I remember correctly,” she said, “the story goes something like this. Across many mountains and several seas there is a land in which lives an evil monarch whose name is Y’ruf, Prince of Rage. This angry prince lives in a dark and somber castle which has no windows and is surrounded by a murky moat. He is attended day and night by dozens of knights in black armor and guarded night and day by a strange and horrible creature named Slither, which some say resembles a kraken and some say doesn’t at all.
     
    “The Prince of Rage hates daylight. Therefore no sunshine is permitted to enter any of the castle rooms or courtyards except one. In that courtyard grows a tree, lovely and slim, with a straight, white trunk and deep, emerald green leaves. It is said that the tree mysteriously weeps, and its tears turn to perfect diamonds.
     
    “The evil prince never enters the courtyard. Nor is anyone else permitted to enter except an old man who never strays far from the tree’s side. It is he who protects it from blight, feeds it and, although his real voice has been taken away from him and he can make nothing but meaningless sounds, even talks to the tree in a way it seems to understand.
     
    “Each day, the old man gathers the diamonds as they form and