The Tear of Gramal

by Phillip Jones

  Beaming, Payne ran inside. “Mom!”

  George shut the door and then walked down the steps. “Are you ready to go?”

  Kepler lowered to his knees. “I am. But I can only travel with you until Early Bailem tomorrow. Then I must leave for Merchant Island.”

  George climbed onto the saddle. “It was nice of Brayson to secure you a ride. Are you sure you want to go? Who knows what Dragonia will be like now that the dragons are gone?”

  Rising to his feet, Kepler responded. “The condition of Dragonia matters not. The moments have come for me to find a mate. Only there can I find one worthy of my companionship.”

  George patted Kepler on the back of his neck. “I hope you know what you’re doing, big guy.” They vanished.

  A moment later, Lasidious stood from his rocking chair and extended his hand to help his brother up. “I hope the cat perishes while he’s on Dragonia. It’s too bad George isn’t going with him. I wouldn’t have to plan his demise that way.”

  Nodding, Alistar changed the subject. “I hate to sound like George, but are you sure you know what you’re doing? Once you journey down this path, there will be no return.”

  Lasidious put his left arm around Alistar’s shoulders. “You worry too much.” The God of Mischief led the God of the Harvest across the clearing to the steps that led up to the entrance of Susanne’s home. Once there, Lasidious faced Alistar and placed his hands on the outside of the God of the Harvest’s arms. “Hold steadfast, brother … for upon my return, the power to rule the gods will be ours.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right.” A long embrace followed. “I love you.”

  Lasidious smiled. “I love you, too.”

  Alistar vanished.

  The Mischievous One stared at the emptiness that Alistar had left behind for a moment before he redirected his thoughts. He walked across the porch and stepped through the wood of the front door without opening it. Once inside, he crossed the foyer and stood on the teleportation platform. When he reappeared, he was standing in the upstairs hallway not far from the door that led into Garrin’s bedroom.

  The door was cracked open, and Susanne’s voice could be heard behind it. Once again, the Mischievous One passed through the door and stopped a few paces on the other side. From within his invisible veil, he smiled as he watched Susanne carry Garrin from the changing table to his crib. She lowered the boy onto his back and then rubbed the top of his head until the god-child was asleep.

  Satisfied that all was as it should be, Susanne headed for the door. To get there, she had to pass through the unseen god. Instantly, she covered her mouth with both hands to muzzle her sneeze.

  The Mischievous One enjoyed Susanne’s discomfort as she fought to quiet her reaction to keep from waking Garrin. An ample series of moments passed before she shook off the chill and wiped the snot from her nose with the cuff of her sleeve. After ensuring the baby had remained asleep, she left the room.

  Once the door shut, Lasidious stepped out of his invisible veil and walked to the crib. He bent over and lifted Garrin into his arms. The motion caused the toddler to stir, but the god was quick to react. With the child’s head lying on his left shoulder, he rocked his son back to sleep while speaking in a fatherly whisper. “You have grown so. Your hair is changing. Soon it will be the color of your mother’s. It appears the moments are ripe for us to become acquainted.”

  Reaching inside the crib, the Mischievous One grabbed a light-blue blanket and tossed it over his right shoulder. “This should come in handy.” They vanished.

  Not long after, Susanne reentered the room. Upon seeing Garrin’s empty crib, she ran from the house, shouting for Brayson as she crossed the clearing to her mother’s home. She burst through the door and ran to the kitchen where Mary was standing at the sink cleaning potatoes.

  “Mother! Mother! Where’s Brayson?” Susanne demanded. “Garrin has done it again! The potion Brayson gave him didn’t work!”

  “He did it again? Really? Brayson is with Boyafed and Dowd. They’re discussing the details of Kepler’s palace. He won’t be home until morning.”

  “But … but, Garrin is gone! What do we do?”

  Mary smiled. “First, you must stop shouting.” Mary tossed the potato peeler into the sink. “That little guy is becoming quite the handful. Just relax. I’m sure he couldn’t have gone far. Brayson did say he’s only capable of teleporting to locations he’s familiar with.”

  Mary grabbed a towel and dried her hands. “Call the rest of the family to the clearing. Garrin has to be around here somewhere.”

  When Lasidious and Garrin reappeared, they were standing inside an invisible veil next to the window of Sam, Jr.’s bedroom chamber. With the King of Southern Grayham abandoning the city, and the queen still trapped inside the Eye of Magic, the moments were perfect to implement yet another part of the Mischievous One’s plan.

  The baby prince was lying at the center of a heavy blanket that was spread across a thin padding placed on the stone floor. His caregiver was tickling the soles of his feet, and the prince was laughing so hard that he could hardly catch his breath.

  Lasidious would have taken a moment to enjoy the baby’s excitement, but the prince’s laughter was causing Garrin to stir. The Mischievous One quickly lifted his hand toward the door at the far side of the room and motioned as if he was knocking.

  The caregiver stopped tickling the prince. She stood from the floor and walked to the door. Grabbing the black, iron hasp, the young woman pulled the door open and revealed the empty hallway.

  As she stepped beyond the threshold to investigate, Lasidious rushed across the room. He scooped up the Prince of Brandor and the blanket Sam, Jr. was lying on with his free hand just as the woman reentered.

  All the caregiver saw was the prince hovering above the floor. A moment later, the baby vanished. The woman screamed as she ran out of the room calling for the guards.

  Meanwhile, Northern Grayham

  Atop the Ice Above

  The Under City of Hydroth

  Slips squirmed within his bonds as the Frigid Commander tugged at the knot he had tied to bind Sagar’s hands to one of the many totems the Isorian army used to tether their harugens. The top of the totem was nearly twice Slips’ height, and it was equally as thick as his body. Almost 40 paces below his feet sat the undercastle.

  Sagar’s eyes scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Sixty officers of the Isorian army stared back at him. They knew nothing of the order he had been given by Gablysin to tunnel to the wolf, and in their mind, he was a traitor. There was no escape. The ruby eyed man was the only being who could clear up the mess he was in.

  A moment later, a voice called out from behind the crowd, “Step aside!”

  A pathway opened as the men scurried to allow the ruby eyed man to pass. Working his way through the crowd, the wind ruffled his hair as many of the officers touched his person. Their blue hands contrasted against the white tribal markings that spanned the width of Gablysin’s chest and the girth of his upper arms. On his hip hung the short sword of the Frigid Omayne, the title of his commission.

  Darosen greeted his second in command as the ruby eyed man emerged from the crowd and stopped near the totem that Slips was tied to. After shaking Gabs’ forearm, the Frigid Commander stepped aside and pointed at his prisoner. “We have a traitor amongst us, Omayne. He was found tunneling into the dungeon. I was about to troblet him to learn of the wolf’s destination, but alas, I haven’t enjoyed the first punch yet.”

  Seeing Slips’ frightened face, Gabs directed his attention toward the Frigid Commander. The ruby eyed man knew he was responsible for his friend’s capture. He had been the one to ask Slips to accept the risk. He despised the way Mosley was treated, and he knew the wolf was not a threat because he had taken the moments to understand the wolf’s mind when Darosen was not around to threaten him.

  “Has the prisoner uttered an excuse, Commander?” Gablysin questioned.

  “Not one. He refu
ses to talk.”

  Gablysin led Darosen across the ice 40 paces beyond the opposite side of the row of totems. Once sure they could speak freely, Gabs continued the conversation. “I know this Isorian. His name is Sagar. As a child, he was, and still is, my friend. Perhaps his intent has been misunderstood. Leave him to me. There’s no call for his suffering to be made public. I shall gain an understanding of his trespass and punish him for you.”

  “And if he doesn’t speak?”

  “If necessary, I shall troblet him until he cries for mercy.”

  The Frigid Commander reached out and patted Gabs’ right shoulder. “I bet you would. But friend or not, I cannot pass up an opportunity to inflict suffering. You know that about me.”

  Darosen grinned and then returned to the front of the totem where Slips was tied. Without wasting another moment, he lunged forward and buried his left knee into Sagar’s abdomen.

  Gablysin cringed as Slips cried out.

  Again, the Frigid Commander struck, but during this series of moments, he slugged Slips on both shoulders. His knuckles sunk to the bone and caused Sagar to cry out again.

  Gablysin closed the distance. He moved into a position between Slips and the commander. “Please, My Lord. Allow me to speak with the prisoner.” The ruby eyed man stepped forward and whispered into Darosen’s ear. “Please. This display is for naught. The prisoner is the son of Ohedri.”

  The Frigid Commander stepped back and spit on the ground. “This weakling is the councilman’s offspring?”

  Gabs’ eyes narrowed. “This ‘weakling’ is my friend.” He paused and allowed his voice to soften. “To punish the heir to the seat of the Meslan Clan without an understanding of his actions would bring disgrace to your commission.” The ruby eyed man leaned in close yet again and spoke so that only Darosen could hear him. “Stand off, Commander. You’ll accomplish nothing doing this.”

  Caught off-guard by Gablysin’s stance, the Frigid Commander stood in silence. It was not long before he responded. “I lead this army, not you, Omayne.” The Frigid Commander motioned for Gabs to step aside. “Get out of my way.”

  Gablysin took a step back and unsheathed his sword. He had no choice but to defend his friend. Pointing the tip of the blade at the Frigid Commander, he challenged, “I said, stand off!”

  The gathering of officers surrounding the totem murmured, unsure what to do. On one hand, the ruby eyed man was said to be the prophesied one, and on the other, Darosen was their ultimate superior.

  Recognizing the situation, Darosen addressed the crowd. “Stand back. I’ll handle this.” A moment later, the Frigid Commander unsheathed a blade of his own.

  The murmurs of the crowd turned to cheers as Gablysin and Darosen started to circle. The Frigid Commander lunged with the tip of his blade aimed for the ruby eyed man’s head, but Gablysin defended the strike. He pushed the blade to his left, and watched as the Frigid Commander spun out of his lunge to strike again with a slice to his mid-section.

  Again, the ruby eyed man defended the attack, but during the next series of moments, he took the offensive. With his left foot, he kicked the commander in his groin. The blow was severe and sent Darosen to his knees where he vomited on the ice.

  Gablysin pointed his blade at Darosen. “Yield, Commander. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  The crowd went silent, except for two men who were standing at the front. They were encouraging the commander to stand and fight.

  Darosen remained on his knees for a long series of moments before he was finally able to stand. After catching his breath, he lifted his sword. “You should’ve finished me.”

  The ruby eyed man shook his head. “As I have said, I don’t want to hurt you.” Gablysin pointed the tip of his sword at Slips. “Allow the council to determine his fate.”

  Everyone in the crowd agreed with the ruby eyed man’s suggestion except the two officers who stood in support of the commander.

  Darosen’s eyes darkened. A few moments later, they softened, and then he lifted his arms horizontal to the ice and backed up toward the totem where Sagar was tied. “Perhaps you’re right, Omayne. I’m being too hasty. The council is more than capable of determining his fate.”

  Gablysin exhaled and then lowered his blade. “Thank you, My Lord.”

  Seeing that the ruby eyed man had lowered his guard, Darosen spun. With a high slicing strike, he severed Slips’ head and watched it fall from his shoulders and bounce across the ice.

  While the ruby eyed man stood in shock, Darosen walked past the slumping body to retrieve the head. He snatched it by the hair and lifted it off the ice. Extending his arm in Gablysin’s direction, he exclaimed, “I command the army, and I alone!” Tossing Slips’ head to the ground, Darosen watched the yellow blood spew across the ice as it rolled to a stop near Gabs’ feet.

  Enraged, Gablysin kicked Slips’ head aside before he rushed toward his enemy with his sword ready. A wicked series of searing, metal clashes filled the morning air before the ruby eyed man found the vengeance he was after. With a fluid spin, Gablysin’s blade made a clean cut.

  Just as Sagar’s had, Darosen’s head toppled off his shoulders and tumbled across the frozen terrain. His milky-gray eyes saw the ice up close as his head rolled to a stop, looking in the direction of his own corpse that still remained standing.

  Darosen’s fading brain processed the scene. The nerves inside the Frigid Commander’s body caused his legs to take two steps forward before his corpse collapsed onto the ice toward his severed head. The final spurt of his life’s source erupted from the gaping hole above his shoulders and landed on his forehead. The commander realized that he had been ended as his blood clouded his eyes before they went dark.

  The two officers who had been cheering for the commander were now standing in silence while the rest of the crowd shouted praises for the ruby eyed man. Amidst the commotion, Gablysin leaned down and lifted the commander’s cape to wipe Darosen’s blood off his sword, but as he did, he discovered the gills on the inside of Darosen’s shoulder blades next to his spine.

  Gablysin dropped the cape and used the tip of his sword to lift the arch of each gill, exposing the filaments beneath.

  Whispers emerged from the crowd. “He’s Tormal,” one Isorian said. “He is a traitor,” another added. “How could this be?” a third questioned. From the back of the crowd, a fourth voice demanded, “Let me through. I want to see for myself.”

  Studying their faces as they moved in to get a closer look, the ruby eyed man’s eyes stopped on the two men who had cheered for the commander. They were working their way toward the back of the crowd. Gablysin lifted his blade, pointed its tip and shouted, “Seize them!”

  Only a short series of moments passed before both men were on their knees in front of the ruby eyed man. The omayne reached down to his right ankle and unsheathed his dagger. He could see the fear in their eyes as he cut the strings of their capes and allowed them to fall to the ice. With their backs now exposed to the crowd, Gabs’ suspicion was correct. They were Tormal.

  Curses spewed from the crowd. A moment later, a large Isorian officer stepped forward. A heavy, milky-white growth of hair covered most of his chest, back, shoulders, arms and legs, and his eyebrows spanned the width of his forehead without a break in the middle. His commission was one rank beneath Gablysin’s—Frigid Lamayne.

  Lamayne Bridemoore, 597 seasons old, shouted, “A travesty has fallen upon the clans! Not only does the Isorian throne sit occupied by a half-blood, but there are Tormal hidden amongst our ranks. Check every man’s back. Every traitor must be exposed. We must cleanse the undercastle. I say we slay the king and his shanavel of a mother.”

  The crowd roared in agreement. Gablysin was forced to think fast. The ruby eyed man held up his hands and shouted, “Hear me! Hear me! I say, hear me!”

  As the crowd settled, they turned to face him and listened. “The king who sits upon the Isorian throne is the descendant of Thoomar.”

  A voic
e shouted from the back of the crowd. “But he’s a half-blood! He isn’t one of us!”

  Remembering his conversations with the king, Gablysin threatened, “You will not challenge my command, for if you do, this Peak has not yet seen enough bloodshed! I won’t say it again! Shiver is one of us!”

  Scanning the crowd, the Frigid Omayne waited for an objection. When none came, he gave the crowd someone else to hate. “Shiver may be one of us, but I cannot say the same for his mother! She’s a traitor!”

  Absorbing the phrases, the ruby eyed man lifted his sword and pointed the tip of the blade in the direction of every man. “Heed my command! You will leave the king in peace, but Blandina is a welcomed hunt!” He lowered his sword to his side. “If my words have been spoken with clarity, confirm it now!”

  Once again the crowd erupted, sensing their future enjoyment of Blandina’s demise. Lamayne Bridemoore ripped his sword clear of his sheath and pointed the blade skyward. “Follow me to the undercastle! Let no Isorian harm King Shiver!”

  As the frenzied group rushed across the undulating shelves covering the frozen tundra and dove into the hole that led down into the ice, Gablysin cut Slips’ bonds and allowed his friend’s headless corpse to fall. Taking his knees, Gabs lowered his forehead onto Slips’ chest. The omayne’s yellow blood-tears stained the pale white skin of his old friend who had lost his color.

  Meanwhile, Inside the Undercastle of Hydroth

  Shiver’s Throne Room

  Shiver was sitting on his throne. His left leg was bouncing in anticipation of his grandfather’s entrance as Blandina ascended the steps to the throne and stopped to wait beside him.

  Reaching out, Blandina passed the fingers of her left hand through Shiver’s hair.

  The king pulled away.

  Smiling, the sorceress spoke. “One Peak, your love will return for me, my son.”

  Shiver looked away. “Never.”