The Tear of Gramal

by Phillip Jones

  Blandina glared at Shamand, but the nasty message within her stare was not received as it fell on clouded eyes.

  Knowing the hate in his wife’s heart, Thoomar shook his head. “As I have said, Shiver is to become king, and Bumps shall be his advisor. There shall be no further discussion on the matter.”

  Once again, Thoomar looked at Darosen. “Do you understand my orders, Commander?”

  Darosen bowed his head. “Indeed, My Lord. To what else am I to bear witness?”

  Thoomar motioned for Clandestiny to come to him. Without haste, the child rushed to stand before him. Despite being on his knees, Thoomar’s size was more than double Clandestiny’s. The powerful Isorian reached up and pulled the girl into a seated position on his lap while he leaned back on the calves of his legs.

  With Clandestiny’s hands in his palms, Thoomar looked up at the Frigid Commander. “Darosen, this child, the daughter of Shamand, shall be given the Tear of Gramal to hold and guard as sacred. She shall keep the Tear safe as the High Priestess commanded in the event that I was to leave this world. Clandestiny shall be provided a proper place of solitude to prepare for her journey beyond the Pass of Nayala, and you, Commander, shall ensure the priestess is summoned from Harvestom. It may take many seasons before the child can learn to communicate with the Ko-dess in its own tongue.”

  It was clear to see that Clandestiny had a question, but Blandina ignored the child’s desire and snapped out a question of her own. “And who is to advise the girl? Am I to be kept from helping this child as well?”

  Thoomar took a deep breath. “You may help Bumps with the girl’s training.”

  With another nasty glare, Blandina responded, “I suppose I should be thankful that you’ve found a use for me.”

  Thoomar sighed, his heart heavy. “For a woman who is about to lose her husband, you seem to be overly concerned with matters pertaining to your own desires. Perhaps you could find it in your heart to console a man who desperately wants to feel the love of his wife during his moments of need. Garesh, woman! Have you no heart?”

  Blandina forced her beautiful face to soften and then feigned another look of caring. She moved to pull Clanny off of Thoomar’s knees and then helped her husband to his feet. She pressed her bosom against his stomach and then looked up. “You’re right. I’ve been selfish. Please forgive me. I shall fall to pieces once you’ve expired.”

  Though Thoomar knew his wife was lying, he still embraced Blandina for a short series of moments before he redirected his attention to the Frigid Commander. “Leave now, Darosen, and go into the city. Tell the council that I’ve given all that I am to save the ruby eyed child. Tell your men to spread word that Shiver shall be their new king, and Clandestiny is to become the protector of the Tear. Ensure that all Isor know that Shamand is to be their advisor.”

  The Frigid Commander jumped to his feet. “Shall I speak of your wife’s role regarding the girl?”

  Thoomar shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.”

  The Frigid Commander nodded. “By your leave, My Lord.”

  “Be swift,” Thoomar replied. “Go.”

  Blandina watched the Frigid Commander run past Medolas and mount his harugen. As Darosen’s beast skittered into the night, Blandina waited until the commander was out of sight before she turned to walk to the edge of the swimming hole. As she stared into the water, she rolled her eyes while she thought. Just hurry and give your life’s source so the chosen one may live, fool. Advisor to our son or not, Shiver shall listen to his mother, and I shall find a way to control the lives of the Isor.”

  Blandina grinned inside. She turned to look through the darkness in the direction that Darosen had traveled and further thought, Shiver is not of your loins, Thoomar. The boy’s roots have been well planted.

  Thoomar motioned for Blandina to come to him. As she strolled across the ice, she forced a tear to roll down her cheek and then lowered her head against his chest. “I fail to see how to carry on with what is left of my existence without you.”

  “Hmpf!” Shamand growled without hesitating. “No doubt that you shall find a way.”

  Yet again, Blandina’s nasty glare was shot in Shamand’s direction while Thoomar rebutted, “Bumps! Perhaps this is not the moment to pick a fight, old friend.”

  Despite his disdain for Blandina, Shamand reluctantly nodded and crossed his arms.

  Lifting Blandina’s chin with his right hand, the blood-red light of the Tear of Gramal lit the Tormalian’s face as Thoomar spoke ever so softly to her. “Would you allow me one last kiss before I say goodbye?”

  Blandina forced a smile and then placed her lips against Thoomar’s. The exchange was far from passionate. Her lips remained hard and failed to offer the tenderness that Thoomar was seeking. She quickly pulled away and pretended to be overwhelmed as she rushed back to her harugen and pulled its fur around her for comfort.

  A deep sadness and regret of so many seasons spent with a wife who failed to love him appeared on Thoomar’s face before he dropped to his knees next to Gablysin’s body. Many moments passed before he was able to gather his thoughts. He looked at Clandestiny. “Once I pass, you must seize the Tear. See to it that no other touches it. It’s to be immediately placed around your neck. You must allow it to dangle above your heart, and don’t remove it until your training is complete. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Clanny replied in a shallow voice. She turned to bury her tear-covered face into her father’s robe.

  Medolas wanted to comfort Clandestiny, but to do so would not have been considered acceptable, so he remained steadfast while the conversation around him continued.

  Shamand reached down and rubbed Clanny’s back while he spoke to Thoomar. “I shall miss you, old friend.”

  “And I you, Bumps.”

  Shamand gently pushed Clandestiny aside and then moved to embrace Thoomar. Both men held each other for a long series of moments, each knowing their lifelong friendship, since the age of three seasons, was about to end. “Your name and bravery shall become eternal on the Scrolls of Old,” Shamand professed.

  Thoomar cupped the back of his friend’s neck and grinned. “You’re the finest companion a man could have. Please turn my son into the king I know he can become. Troblet him thoroughly if you must.”

  Shamand allowed a sly grin to appear. “I give you my word. If I can find his backside, I shall undoubtedly kick it. Now quit stalling. You act like you’re about to end yourself. I’d wager that you have some sort of foolish notion that your passing shall, somehow, benefit this kingdom.”

  Both men pulled each other close and chuckled while Blandina stood within the draping fur of her harugen, tapping her right foot.

  Hearing the suction cups on the bottom of his wife’s foot suckle the ice, Thoomar released Shamand. His eyes welled as he once again took his knees beside the ruby eyed child’s corpse.

  Clandestiny began to sob. She knew this was it.

  Seeing her pain, Medolas broke protocol and moved to take her into his arms.

  Taking solace that Shamand’s eyes were unable to see Medolas’ actions, Thoomar ignored the boy and lifted the Tear of Gramal skyward. He shouted, “Helmep, bless your loyal servant with your healing power! A soul for a soul, a breath for a breath, an eye for an eye and an end for a rebirth! I give freely what is mine to give so the chosen one may exist again!”

  Suddenly, the night sky filled with the brightest of light. Blandina, Medolas and Clandestiny were forced to cover their eyes to shield them from harm, but Shamand did not bother to cover his. Instead, the old warrior smiled. The light was strong enough to allow his eyes to see the powerful silhouette of his friend’s last moments. As the light faded, so did what was left of Shamand’s sight as Thoomar’s body fell limp across Gablysin’s body. Shamand would enjoy the fact that he, too, had sacrificed something on this night.

  As the last bit of life escaped Thoomar’s body, the blue of his skin began to fade. A quiet series of moments pas
sed before the ruby eyed child’s chest began to heave.

  Medolas ran to help. He pulled Gabs out from under Thoomar’s dead weight.

  The look in Gablysin’s eyes was one of confusion as he watched Clandestiny kneel over Thoomar’s body. “What happened, Clanny?” Gabs asked as she retrieved the Tear of Gramal and draped it around her neck.

  As the light inside the Tear faded, Clanny tried to explain, but Blandina commanded her silence. “Enough of this foolishness! Hold your tongue, girl!”

  The children moved to stand next to Shamand and watched as Thoomar’s widow rushed toward her harugen and mounted it. Grabbing hold of the mammoth’s reins with her right hand, she pointed at Thoomar’s body with her left index finger. “See that this fool’s body is brought to the city! I want him prepared for the ceremony to light the pyre of his passing! His memory will blow away with his ashes!”

  As Blandina’s harugen skittered across the frozen tundra, Shamand grunted, “What a shanavel!”

  “Father!” Clanny chastised, her voice filled with disgust. “No one deserves to be called such illness.”

  Shamand shrugged. “No one, but her.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Into the Darkness

  The Next Peak

  The Peak of Bailem

  NOW, FELLOW SOUL … before I continue this tale, allow me to tell you about the legislative chamber of the Council of the Seven. This expansive room was where the wisest of all Isorians gathered to create law. The chamber was located beneath the undercastle, the same castle that would become Shiver Veelion’s new home.

  A domed ceiling rested above a large, arena-style, circular room with a diameter of nearly 70 paces. There were hundreds of benches, dyed a golden hue, that sat in arching rows on 13 tiered levels. The floor of each level had been polished to a high sheen and the ice was dyed burgundy while black cushions had been attached to the surface of every bench. These benches were used to seat the members of the Isorian populace who wished to attend while the council convened.

  The esteemed Isorians who held positions on the council gathered around a circular table that was placed at the center of the chamber. Nearly eight paces in diameter, the table was not made of ice. It was predominantly black with a thick marble surface and veins of gold that branched in every direction.

  The floor where the table rested had been left white, the same color as the ice from which the structure had been chiseled. Its surface was polished, leveled and smoothed, and no visible imperfections could be seen.

  Though the chamber was grand, there was a focal point that no Isorian could overlook when entering. The symbol of the Isorian army, a metal image of the gashtion, had been plated with gold and hung above the council’s table since the end of the Great Thaw. This likeness of the gashtion was a gift that had been created by a community of dwarves on Trollcom. It was then transported by the Merchant Angels to Grayham before being delivered by Keldwin Brandor’s great, great, great, great, great grandfather, Nayton Brandor, who accompanied his army while sailing the statue to the western shores of Northern Grayham.

  There were also seven large, red tapestries that hung from the ceiling to symbolize the seven remaining clans. The tapestries were made of the finest silk spun by the kedgles on Luvelles. To add the final touch of perfection, black thrones were spaced evenly around the circumference of the table. They were covered with burgundy cushions that complemented the council’s white robes.

  Five of the six remaining members of the Council of the Seven had gathered in the Isorian’s legislative chamber.

  “Thoomar’s sacrifice brings need of another vote,” Poemas said through stained teeth while taking a seat on his cushioned throne. “This council cannot allow Thoomar’s son to rule. Shiver is not of pure blood. The Jene shall require us to vote anew.” Sitting back, Poemas rubbed his fat belly that protruded from his open robe and then continued. “Of course, we must wait for Shamand before we begin a discussion of this magnitude. But I think it’s fair to say that we all know who among us is best suited for a crown. I fail to see how this could be anything less than an expeditious vote.”

  A husky-looking female stood from her throne on the far side of the table. Her hair was short like a man’s, and her shoulders were broad. She was taller than the tallest male by nearly a hand, and with her weight behind her, she was an imposing force. Her milky eyes glared defiantly at Poemas as she spoke from beneath wavy hair. “I would wager that you think you’re the one this council should vote into this esteemed position. I laugh at the thought. Perhaps a strong queen is what our people need. I, alone, saw to it that the Polid survived the Great Thaw. I needed no husband for that. I have proven that the blood to rule courses through my body.”

  Despite Arath’s dominant posture, the others surrounding the table laughed. Many moments passed before Ohedri, the strongest of the four men, also the leader of the Meslan clan—the wealthiest clan behind Shamand’s—stood and responded with a voice to match his female counterpart. “Do continue to spoil us with your humor, Arath. Your boldness has created a pain in my belly. I can’t remember the last series of moments in which I’ve laughed so hard.”

  “I’m not your jester, Ohedri!” Arath shouted. Her brows lowered to deepen her scowl.

  Ohedri stopped laughing. “Please! Do this council good service, and shut up. There’s not a soul sitting at this table who would dare vote a woman into kingship. Your best and only chance at the throne perished along with your dejected representation of a father during the Great Thaw. Besides, we all know the opinions of the Polid are worth shallow consideration at best. Your people thrive at the bottom of the barrel, and this is where you and your clan shall remain. That is, if this council can find the means to fit your roundness into the barrel.”

  Without a response, Arath reached into her robe and pulled a knife. She began to circle the table toward Ohedri.

  Seeing her intent, Ohedri retreated toward one of two sets of double doors that rested on opposite sides of the room. As he did, he pulled a blade of his own, but his experience with the weapon was not as proficient as his tongue. All he could do was wait for Arath to close the distance.

  Arath’s bosom bounced as she chased the backpedaling Ohedri. The fear on the councilman’s face was evident as the burly, blue woman’s smile widened. Preparing her first strike, the older Isorian dropped to his knees and balled up like a beaten sudwal. As her blade made its first slicing descent, it did not find its target. Instead, a much larger hand grabbed Arath’s wrist and yanked. The next thing Arath knew, she was lying flat on the floor with the Frigid Commander’s blade pressed against her throat.

  Darosen’s voice was calm as he spoke. “Arath, your eagerness to slay could be easily matched by my own. Need I remind you of your position? There are laws that govern this kingdom … laws that this council created. I’d hate to see your dispute end with your last breath.”

  Arath growled. “You’d be stripped of your rank for taking my life’s source. Do I look like a fool, Commander? Allow me to stand, or I shall—”

  Before Arath could finish her sentence, the tip of the Frigid Commander’s dagger pierced the skin on the left side of her neck, but stopped just before a mortal wound was suffered. Darosen watched Arath squirm, enjoying the pain as it filled her milky eyes. “Or you shall what, Arath? You shall what? Who commands the army? Do you believe a passing as insignificant as yours would cause the men to change their allegiance? Are you truly so vain?”

  “That’s enough, Commander!” Shamand ordered as he held Doejess’ arm while entering the room. “Everyone … please … take your seats. There shall be no further commotion in my presence.”

  The Frigid Commander released his grip and allowed Arath the freedom to stand. Despite Shamand’s inability to see the gesture, the commander bowed. “Yes, My Liege.”

  Rolling to her feet, Arath shouted, “Are you going to do nothing, Shamand? His blade has been stained by my life’s source!” Arath reached up to wipe away
the yellow blood that rolled down her neck and moved back to her seat while she waited for a response.

  Shamand shook his head. “If the Commander’s blade was at your throat, I assume he had good reason for it being in such an undesirable place.”

  “I didn’t say it was at my throat, old man. Perhaps you can see better than you claim. How else would you know its location?”

  Shamand barked, “Woman, sit, and don’t speak another word! The army also serves me … just as it does the commander. Don’t make this blind, old man force this counsel into proper conduct.”

  The Frigid Commander gave Arath a half-cocked smile as she sat with a plop, her throne creaking beneath her weight as she did. Darosen moved to take his place next to Shamand as the most respected of all Isorians assumed control of the meeting.

  The voice of the kingdom’s advisor was strong as he spoke. “There shall be no other vote made by this council. The decision has been made as to who the clans’ sovereign will be.”

  Shamand paused, waiting for objections, but when none came, he continued as they all sat waiting for his explanation. “This council made a choice to put the crown on Thoomar’s head. It was his passing wish that his son be extended the benefit of this honor.”

  Grumbling came from all angles around the table, but now a new voice spoke. “Great One, I mean no disrespect, but I must object.” Drydeth was a slender Isorian male with a blotchy, blue face. He was completely bald, yet handsome, despite one of his blue ears sticking out farther than the other. He reached beneath his robe and removed a scroll. “This council was created to make these decisions. The decision of who is to be king was not for Thoomar to decide. His ceremony was not yet complete. Again, with all due respect, Lord Shamand, further thought on this matter is necessary … just as a vote is necessary. Please! Allow me to explain my point of view.”

  Drydeth cleared his throat before he continued. “My head is also well suited for a crown. And as you all know, it was my son who pulled Thoomar clear of danger when the ice fell from beneath his feet during the Great Thaw. Without my bloodline, Thoomar would not have survived. Nor would he have received the vote this council honored him with. Therefore, it is only logical that I become king.”