Late Bailem
MOSLEY STROLLED THROUGH THE PRIESTESS’ PALACE and stopped beneath the banner praising Helmep. After reading it, he then trotted down the long corridor lined with pillars and entered the herb room. The priestess was inside. “Good evening,” the wolf said with a rested voice. “I trust your most recent visit with the Dragon Council went as planned this morning?”
Fosalia Rowaine turned from the stone bowl that she was using to mill herbs she had collected after meeting with the council. “Oh, yes,” she verified. “If only I could’ve taken you with me, Mosley. Everything on Shaymlezman is grand … and massive.” Her eyes widened. “Monstrous even!” The priestess giggled. “I feel like I’m a speck of dust whenever I stand before the Source. And though the others on the council pale in comparison to the Ancient One’s size, they still tower leagues above me.”
Mosley smiled as a wolf would. “I can only imagine. I’m not familiar with the name Shaymlezman. Is this the designation the Source gave to the new dragon world?”
The priestess’ brows furrowed. “Yes, it’s the name he bestowed, but there is nothing new about that world. It has always been.”
Mosley bit his tongue to remind himself that his memories were different than other mortals who occupied the worlds. To them, the dragon world had always existed. The gods had adjusted their memories, and the writings on each world had also been adjusted to document Shaymlezman’s history.
To compensate for the awkwardness, Mosley conceded. “Forgive me. I simply misspoke. If only my eyes could’ve seen what you have.”
The wolf’s comment caused Fosalia to ponder. “Perhaps they can.” She squatted in front of Mosley. “Allow me to put my hands on your head, and I’ll show you what I imagine a bird would’ve seen as it flew over the meeting.”
Mosley stepped forward. “I’d like that.”
The priestess whispered, “Then close your eyes.”
After watching the wolf comply, Fosalia placed her hands on Mosley’s head. The command flowed from her mouth like a song. “Sez yalla tafoe og tomaloyo.” It was not long before the priestess’ hands began to glow, and a vision appeared in the wolf’s mind.
“I can see the Source,” Mosley uttered. “You’re right, he’s monstrous. I can also see the other dragons, and they tower over you just as you said they did. Ahhhh, and now I see two tiny beings. They’re standing near some sort of pillar. I can only assume one of them was you.”
“It was,” Fosalia responded. “The being standing beside me was Helmep. My Lord set up the meeting so that I could ask the Source for permission to gather the herbs that grow across the valleys of his new world.”
“Did the dragon agree?”
“He did. I was milling some of them when you entered.” She pulled back her hands and allowed the vision to fade. “Oh, Mosley, I can’t express my excitement. The medicines I’ll discover because of the plants that grow on Shaymlezman will be far superior to any that I can produce from those that grow on the lower four worlds.”
“What about Dragonia? Will the medicines also be better than the ones produced from that world?”
The priestess’ eyes filled with confusion. “I don’t understand. I’ve never heard of Dragonia.”
Now, fellow soul … I should explain something before we go further. Since Lasidious manipulated Mosley’s mind and caused the wolf to forget about his journey into Northern Grayham, Mosley had no idea that stasis fell across the worlds. Despite this fact, Mosley still possessed godly memories. The rest of the wolf’s mind was unaffected when the gods manipulated the minds of the others who lived throughout the worlds. Because of this, the wolf’s memories of Dragonia were still intact, though in Fosalia’s mind, Dragonia never existed—or so she allowed the wolf to believe.
Because Mosley did not know about stasis, a confused look appeared on his face. “Of course, you’ve heard of Dragonia,” Mosley insisted. “I was there 10 seasons ago when your mother met with Bassorine and Helmep to discuss a cure for the ailments of a dying forest called Pordrilian.”
Fosalia held firm. “You’re mistaken. I’ve never heard of that world, nor did I lay my eyes upon a man named Bassorine.”
Mosley growled in frustration. “How could you not remember? Bassorine held you in his arms when he greeted you. Do you not remember how honored you felt to be hugged by a god?”
“I remember nothing of the sort,” the priestess defended. “Your mind has clearly been deeply affected by your journey into the neutral lands on Southern Grayham. Perhaps you need further rest.”
The wolf took a step back. Instead of arguing, he took the moments to think about previous discussions he had with the priestess when she looked in on him to ensure he had been fed. Why would she continue to believe I was found on Southern Grayham? I’ve already claimed that I wasn’t there. And if I was, and my memory has failed me, why would I not remember the face of the man she claims brought me here?
Still unnerved, Mosley spoke. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll retire to my den and collect my thoughts. Perhaps we could speak again in the morning?”
Fosalia nodded. “Of course.” She knelt in front of the wolf and scratched the bottom of his jaw. “Try to come prepared. I’d like to begin your training. I’ll see to it that you’re fed well.”
Mosley left the herb room and began a walk that would take him through a maze of hallways before he reached his quarters. As the wolf periodically stopped to sniff the corners of various corridors, he continued to struggle with the holes in his memory. Why can’t I remember this Barramore? Who is he, and how could he have found me in the neutral territories. And if he did, how could he have known that I speak the languages of the Ancient Mystics and the Swayne Enserad? And why would he bring me here, and what is his relationship to the priestess?
The wolf lifted his head from the corner he was sniffing and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. A long period of moments passed before he opened them. He spoke aloud, though the hallway was empty. “The last thing I remember, I was speaking with Celestria on the banks of the Blood Sea on Southern Grayham.”
Rounding the final bend, Mosley used his magic to command the door to his bedroom chamber to open. As the door closed behind him, he thought, I also remember speaking to Cadromel, but why do I feel as if something is missing from my memory of those moments? Perhaps I should seek the wisp once I possess the ability to teleport between worlds. Perhaps the sphere could enlighten me.
Dragonia
The New Hell
The Old Merchant Island on Hell
After 250 push-ups, 500 sit-ups, 250 body-squats, and various other exercises to pass his moments, Sam flopped onto his back. “Aahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” he shouted. “I’m so bored!” He rolled over and looked at Kael.
The sword was still ablaze and shedding light. Their current location was on the far side of the planet that still had not seen Hell’s new sun.
“I can’t stand this anymore, Kael! If I have to sit in this bubble much longer, I’m going to go insane!”
Sitting up, Sam grabbed one of the apples that Lasidious had left behind and whipped the fruit past Kepler’s haunches toward the protective barrier the Mischievous One had established. Sure enough, the fruit passed through the bubble, but it did not fly much farther than a pace before the apple stopped and froze solid, mid-air. It was now trapped in stasis just like the jaguar.
“Dang! Did you see that, Kael?”
Realizing his question was ridiculous, Sam grabbed another apple and chucked it as hard as he could. The fruit made it only a hand or two beyond the first before it, too, froze solid. “Of course you didn’t see it!” he grumbled. Punching the ground with his right fist, Sam screamed again, “I’m so bored!”
The blade allowed a moment or two to pass before he responded. “Are you finished complaining? Your tantrum will solve nothing.”
“Easy for you to say,” Sam rebutted. “You’re a piece of metal. You were designed to hang around and pass your moment
s meaninglessly. I could put you into a corner, and you’d be happy as a lark.”
“I wouldn’t allow you to place me in a corner.”
Sam crossed his arms. “You’d have no choice. I’m the master, not you.”
If Kael would have had eyes, the blade would have rolled them. “Your complaining has become tiresome. Why don’t you stop?”
Sam snapped, “Don’t tell me to stop! Who are you to tell me anything? I own you, not the other way around.”
The blade did not offer a response. Instead, Kael’s flame intensified. “Allow me to demonstrate who the master truly is in this union.”
Sam stood in defiance as the temperature within the bubble began to rise. “Don’t speak to me in that tone! Have you forgotten what you are?” The king held up his hands and rolled his fingers. “Without these, you’d be just another sword that collects dust. I wield you … not you me.”
Hearing the insult, Kael lifted from the ground and hovered. His flame pulsated and crackled as the temperature within the barrier elevated. “Is that so, King of Nothing! You’ve lost everything.”
“Really?” Sam sneered. “And what have I lost that I can’t reclaim?”
Kael’s laugh was devious. “I shall provide you a list. You’ve lost your home, your wife, the respect of those who bowed to your crown, and you’ve even lost your self-respect.”
“That’s it?” Sam jeered. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“No, King of Nothing. I have more to say.”
“Let’s hear it then.”
“As you wish, Master,” Kael responded in a condescending tone, the pulse of his blade matching his mood. “You have also lost your son … a son that was never yours.” The blade’s voice turned cold and shallow. “Did you truly believe you were the father? Your seed was not responsible for the fruit that was produced by Shalee’s womb.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Shut the hell up! Just shut up! Don’t talk about my kid that way!”
Kael’s laugh pierced Sam’s soul. “Does the truth hurt, King of Nothing? Your son is a bastard child.”
Sam retaliated by grabbing Kael’s blade. He wanted to throw the weapon beyond the barrier, but he was forced to let it go since he was no longer protected from the flame. Staring at the boils on his right palm, the king shouted, “Damn you! Who do you think you are?”
The fire enveloping the blade intensified, but Sam remained defiant. “I command you to stop!”
The blade hovered toward Sam and stopped just as the king’s backside was about to pass beyond the barrier. “You no longer command me. This Peak will be your last.”
Sam tried to stand firm, but the heat emanating from the weapon became too much to bear. The King of Nothing dropped to his knees. “Please,” he begged. “Please, stop!”
Kael did not respond. Instead, he waited until Sam fell forward onto his stomach. As the king’s eyes shut, Kael allowed his flame to dissipate. He hovered close and then lowered onto his point. The weapon spoke only after he was sure that Sam was unconscious. “You’re too valuable to terminate. Perhaps the moment has come for you to consume the rest of Yaloom’s potion.”
Meanwhile, Eastern Luvelles
The Village of Specks
The Misplaced Inn
George lowered his mug of ale to the bar and placed his hands on top of it. The counter was warm. The structures here must be alive as well, he thought.
Like his home, the bar had a pulse, and he could feel the structure’s heartbeat as its life’s source coursed through the vein that passed beneath his hands.
Looking across the bar, the warlock watched as an elderly, chubby, half-elf male dried a stack of wooden plates and then placed them to the right of an expansive mirror that hung on the back wall. “Didn’t you say your name was Jackson?” George questioned.
The innkeeper tossed his rag to the counter and turned around. “Aye, I did.” Jackson pointed to George’s mug. “Would you be needin’ another ale, lad?”
The warlock pushed the mug across the counter. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“You just sit tight. I’ll be back in two shakes of a nanny’s tail.” Jackson grabbed the glass and walked toward the far end of the bar.
As he did, George questioned. “What’s a nanny?”
Jackson stopped. “Whatdaya mean, lad? Every Shale knows what a nanny is.”
George shrugged. “Well, I don’t, and I don’t know what a Shale is either.”
Jackson’s expressive brows dropped. “Truly?”
“Yes … truly. I wouldn’t lie about that.”
“How could a lad like yourself not know such things?”
“I’m not from here.” George reached behind his ears and pushed them forward. “See? No point.”
Jackson’s eyes widened. “Well I’ll be,” he marveled. He lifted his voice and called, “Grazenna! Grazenna! Come out here and take a look! I have a human settin’ in front of my eyes.”
Holding his gaze fixated on George, Jackson placed the warlock’s mug beneath a silver spigot that had been attached to a large, wooden keg. He slid the mug down the bar after he skimmed the bubbles off the top. “You must be a young one by the looks of you.”
“A young what?” George responded.
“Human.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. I am young, I suppose. Why?”
“No reason. Just an observation. What number of seasons do you claim?”
“Ummm … do you mean how old am I?”
“Of course, he does,” a grouchy voice grumbled.
George pulled his eyes off Jackson and directed them to the opposite end of the bar. He said nothing as two, black, swinging doors rocked back and forth after a fit, elderly, half-elf female exited the back room.
“Well, don’t sit there, lad. Answer the man!” she commanded. “Do humans not age as halflings do?”
George grinned. “How am I supposed to know? We age similarly, I guess. And to answer the question, I’m 24 seasons.”
Grazenna frowned. She grabbed a rag from the counter and threw it at Jackson. “How could you be feedin’ this child ale?” She looked at George. “Does your mother know you’re traversing the countryside without proper supervision?” Removing George’s ale from his hand, she replaced it with a mug of water. “I’d wager my last Helmep that she’d be swimmin’ in anger if she knew my husband was poisoning her child.”
“Oh, stop it, Grazenna!” Jackson barked. “He’s not a child. Just look at his chin, why don’t ya?”
Grazenna motioned for George to lean across the bar. “Come closer, boy.” She reached out and felt the warlock’s face. “I’ll be fit to giggle. This child has stubble.”
“Of course, he does!” Jackson snapped. “I can see it from here, and humans don’t age as we age. Even I know enough about them to know that.”
Grazenna reclaimed George’s mug of ale and then returned it to him. “Where do you hail from?”
“Earth,” George smirked. “Ever heard of it?”
“Can’t say that I have,” she responded, “but I’ve never been much for books and learnin’.”
Jackson slapped his hand against the bar. “That right there was the understatement of the season, lad. My wife isn’t the most reliable when it comes to knowledge of places beyond the village.”
The look Grazenna gave Jackson was enough to make the innkeeper step out from behind the bar. He took a seat next to George. “She can be a tad bit forceful,” he whispered.
“I can see that,” George whispered back.
Jackson looked away and smiled at Grazenna. “My love ... if memory serves me right, you were about to bake an ospliton pie.”
Grazenna grumbled, but did not say a word. She turned and walked back through the swinging doors.
Jackson patted George on the back. “Don’t fret none, lad. A moment from now, she won’t remember a thing.” He lifted his voice and shouted in the direction of the swinging doors. “I’ll be back in a moment, love. I’m goi
n’ to show the youngster what a nanny is and introduce him to a fine bunch of Shaloneans.”
The innkeeper placed his hand on the back of George’s shoulder and led the warlock out of the establishment. As they headed down the road, Jackson pointed to a structure in the distance that reminded George of a high-class, western saloon. “My good friend, Mordain, has an inn of his own. Whatdaya say we make it there and grab an ale or two?”
“What about your wife?” George questioned. “You just told her you’d be right back?”
“Don’t fret about her. Her memory is somethin’ awful. By now, she’s forgotten you were there. You could walk back in and take a seat, and she wouldn’t remember your face.”
“Must suck to be her,” George added.
Unsure of what George meant by “suck,” Jackson changed the subject. “What brought you to Specks?”
“I’m looking for someone to guide me to the island of the wood elves.”
“Wood elves, you say? A fair trek for a man who’s never been to their island.” Jackson reached up and played with his beard. “I can’t say I personally know of a man who has set foot upon it, so teleporting there might be a bit of a problem.”
The innkeeper reached down and grabbed a pebble off the dirt road. “You know, it’s been a while since I last spoke in conversation about those devils. Them wood elves are known for their feistiness and evil doin’s.” He stopped and faced George. “Tell me, why would a youngster such as yourself go lookin’ for trouble?”
George grinned. “I’m not looking for trouble. I can’t tell you what I’m looking for, but I can say it’s not trouble.”
“It’s your head, lad,” Jackson replied. “Whatdaya say I take you to meet the Slave Master in Drandel once we’ve polished off a few? Perhaps he can get you closer to the island than I can.”
“Sounds good to me,” the warlock responded. “Let’s get going.”
Jackson reached out. “Take my hand.”
The Tear of Gramal Page 34
