by B. V. Larson
Gruum stood a polite distance away, saying nothing. He dared not disturb the King’s bizarre arts. He eyed the pattern of dribbled wax with a scowl. It looked like a random pattern at first, but then.… He frowned, thinking to see something in the twists of it—the bumpy, organic shape seemed to flow, to live in a formless way, as might a strange worm-like creature from the blue depths of the ocean.
Blinking, he averted his eyes. His scowl deepened. It was just this sort of thing that drove him to beg for his leave.
“What is it that disturbs you, faithful Gruum?” asked Therian softly. He never took his attention from his work, but rather kept waving the taper’s dancing flame over it. Another drop of hot wax was added. It splattered and sizzled upon the cold flagstones.
“Inactivity, milord. I’ve grown restless.”
Therian nodded. “An almost honest answer.”
“My lord, I’ve come to—to ask you something. You see, this is difficult to say, but it must be—”
Therian lifted his hand. Gruum halted his rambling words. Therian fixed Gruum with an odd stare. Gruum felt the words in his throat freeze.
The chamber dimmed around them. The oil lamps along the walls flickered and ebbed, producing less and less light. There were no windows, so soon the only light was from the wavering taper in Therian’s hand. Another droplet of wax splattered against stone.
“Milord,” said Gruum, putting his hand over his eyes. “Please cast no enchantments.”
Therian laughed suddenly. “The spell is not upon you, my comrade.”
“But the room darkens, milord.”
“That is the effect of the creature I’ve called, not an illusion in your mind.”
Gruum took his hand from his face and looked about in alarm. The lamps were almost out now. In one corner squatted a pool formed of the total absence of light. The sight of it ran chill fingers through Gruum’s body. The hackles stood up on the back of his neck and cold sweat ran down his arms and ribs beneath his shirt.
“I see it, milord,” whispered Gruum.
“Very good, Gruum. But have a care, don’t look at it too closely.”
Gruum eyed it a moment longer. It seemed to ripple and flicker, like a flame, but it was the opposite of flame in that it sucked the light from around it.
“Gruum? Gruum!” said Therian sharply.
Gruum startled and tore his eyes away from the phantom with difficulty. He looked at Therian in confusion, and then realized that he felt very cold and had not drawn a breath for some time. He gasped and choked like a man drowning in a cold river. Shivering, he fell to one knee.
Therian went back to his design. Another wax droplet fell and splattered. The design grew ever larger and more complex, and with each sizzling droplet it seemed the chamber grew darker.
Gruum kneeled and kept his eyes upon the flagstones, not daring to look at anything else. He said in a hoarse voice, “Milord, I beg to speak.”
Therian sighed. “If you must.”
“Milord, though you might set a Living Shadow upon me, though you may suck the marrow from my very bones, I must pray ask thee…”
“To release you?” interrupted Therian, his voice rising. “You take your oath of fealty very lightly, Gruum.”
“No, milord, that I do not.”
“And why do you wish to leave me?”
Gruum managed a gargling laugh. “I hug the flagstones, choking, shivering… in a state of mortal terror! What must I further explain?”
“You said you were restless.”
“Aye. I joined you to rekindle the sun. This latest summoning seems to me to be the furthest thing from it.”
“Setting the sun ablaze isn’t something one does with the flourish of the hand,” said Therian with sudden intensity. “I put to you that perhaps the sun is not weak, but rather is obscured. I put to you that I must first study what darkens it, before I can learn how to remove the veils that shroud it.”
Gruum considered that. “Ah, so you summoned the Living Shadow in order to study it? In order, perhaps to learn how to slay its darkling ilk?”
Therian gasped at his words. Gruum looked up and followed his master’s gaze to the thing that skulked in the corner, and his eyes flew wide as well. The Living Shadow had left its corner, and even now rippled forward. A nine-fingered hand of purest jet stretched out and grasped his throat.
Gruum made no sound, for he could not. He was hoisted effortlessly aloft by that great hand, fashioned from the stuff of void and absolute nothing. Feeling his life ebb rapidly away, he drew his broad dagger and sought to stab out the eyes of the thing, but could not find them.
Therian dipped the taper, which the last flickering light in the chamber. He touched it to the design he had so carefully fashioned upon the flagstones.
The design ignited and a great flash of light filled the chamber. The Living Shadow screamed a soundless scream that could only be heard in the mind. Gruum dropped a dozen feet to the floor, senseless.
-8-
When he awakened, Gruum found himself upon a litter beside a roaring fire. He stretched and felt a dozen cramps and sore muscles. He rubbed his head and moaned aloud.
“Not only do you plot to abandon me,” said Therian softly. “But you seek to sabotage my work as well.”
Gruum groaned and sat up. He stared into the fire, basking in its warmth and light. “My apologies sire.”
“You have a very hard skull, barbarian.”
“It serves me well, sire,” replied Gruum. He found a flagon of wine left at his feet by servants. He took it up and half-drained it.
The warmth of the wine eased his pains. They were silent for a moment, and then Gruum said, “I thought I had seen the last of light and felt the last of warmth.”
The two sat quietly, feeling the heat of the blaze.
“So, you’ve been restless?” asked Therian. “Perhaps you think I’ve been idle?”
“Milord, clearly you have been stretching your arts. But we’ve not left this castle in months and I don’t see how we are going to right the world from these cold chambers.”
“Wrong you are, Gruum. I’ve left this castle many times. Do you wish to journey with me?”
Gruum turned and looked at Therian for a long moment. Gruum wondered where they may travel and what strange sights he might see on such a journey. He felt sure that if he knew what lay ahead, he would flee screaming. He felt thrilled and terrified at the same time.
“The High Mother has cursed me with the curiosity of a barn cat and the brains of a monkey,” sighed Gruum.
Therian chuckled. “I take it that you wish to journey with me, then? Good, we leave at dawn tomorrow. However, I beg you, bait no more phantoms which we may meet.”
“Phantoms?” said Gruum, fighting to keep a quaver out of his voice. “Where might we be going, milord?”
“Why, into Anduin’s domain, of course. We will take counsel with the dragons.”
-9-
How did one dress for dinner with a dragon? Gruum asked himself. He pondered salting and buttering his tough flesh, then thought the better of it and donned a leather cuirass studded with burnished iron rivets. He added tough boots of sharkskin and a simple cap of steel. He considered a chain shirt, but decided it was best to make as little noise and be as fleet of foot as possible when bearding dragons in their personal lairs. For weapons, he wore a brace of throwing knives, each light and carefully balanced. Strapped over his back in the manner of his people was his heavy saber of hammered steel. On his belt was his broad-bladed dagger forged and drawn into the shape of an elongated leaf.
Arriving at the King’s chambers, he was vaguely surprised to find Therian wearing a light chainmail shirt, a silvered helm and bearing Seeker and Succor. Today the King seemed to have strength in his limbs, perhaps greater than the natural strength of a young man. There was color in his face, and his movements were sure and quick.
Gruum could not help but look past the King into his private chambers as they
exited. Eyeing the basalt altar before the servants could push shut the great doors, Gruum thought to see the pathetic, furry hulk of an eviscerated beast sprawled upon it.
Gruum suppressed a shudder, and averted his eyes from the corpse. What was it? An ape, perhaps? It was difficult to say. Gruum decided it was best not to ask. At least, he told himself, it was not a man.
Gruum discovered Therian studying him. Gruum returned the gaze evenly.
After a moment, Therian nodded. “You are prepared?”
“As best I can be.”
“Come.”
Therian led him to the foot of the highest of Corium’s silver towers. Gruum bit back his questions. The sorcerer would only snarl or laugh at him, and he cared for neither.
A hundred sets of stairs, totaling a thousand curved, steep, stone steps, left Gruum in a lathered sweat. His sides heaved like an abused beast of burden. Therian, however, seemed tireless. Ever did his master’s long legs flee away from him with rapid, steady strides.
All through the climb, he and Therian said nothing. Gruum was determined to ask no questions. He would not speak first, not even if his Lord marched to the top of this accursed tower and threw himself from the cupola. Not a word would he speak. He let himself become stubbornly focused on this vague, half-imagined contest of wills, and it became something that kept him going.
When at long last they reached the highest watch chamber, directly beneath the conical, silvered roof itself, Gruum staggered and doubled over, hugging the tower walls. Therian paced the tower unconcernedly. His sides did not heave. His breath didn’t blow out in great white puffs. There was good color in his cheeks, but they weren’t flushed and glistening. The strength of the sacrificed creature upon the altar far below still flowed through his body. Gruum thought that the King wore this strength as a fine gentleman might wear the pelt of a great beast of the forest.
The round tower chamber had seven broad openings that allowed a fantastic view in every direction. There was no glass, nor even an iron grille to keep the careless from falling. Chill winds knifed through the openings and flung about bits of snow and ice sharp enough to cut a man’s bare, sweating face.
Therian went to stand in one of these openings. Inches from a fantastic fall, the King placed one black-gloved hand upon the stone and leaned out, looking down.
“Have a care, milord,” croaked Gruum, struggling to straighten himself and come to the King’s side.
Therian turned his head to look back at Gruum, and there, a ghost of a smile did play upon his thin, pale-blue face.
Gruum scowled and blinked, realizing in an instant that he had broken his vow—he had spoken first. He had lost he contest. And what was worse, Therian’s smile confirmed that it had indeed been a contest. For a brief flash Gruum wanted nothing more than to shove Therian out into the frozen space that yawned below.
Therian saw this flash of anger, and the ghostly smile broke open to show a few fine, white teeth. The King turned back to the view, with no more concern than before.
Gruum rested his hands on his knees and stared at his lord’s back for a moment, sides still heaving. Would such a fall kill a Sorcerer? Would the world be a better place for it?
Gruum wiped the sweat from his upper lip before it could freeze there. He swallowed and breathed more evenly. He blinked, relaxing. The moment of anger had passed.
“Gaze, my man,” spoke Therian, “Drink in the best view in beautiful Corium.”
Gruum stepped forward carefully, and put both hands upon the stone walls before leaning out of an aperture.
Stark beauty such as he had never seen before smote his eyes. All the rest of the city lay buried and invisible beneath an ocean of white mist. Not even another of the great silver towers was in sight. It seemed as if they were on an island, a tiny stone island that thrust alone above the thick clouds. Only the purple-blue peaks of the Dragon’s Breath range reached higher.
“I feel as though I could step out and walk upon the clouds,” gasped Gruum, overcome.
“And look above. Have I not returned the sun to thy face?”
Gruum raised his head and squinted into the brightest sun he had seen for months. He marveled at the feeling of its warmth upon his upturned face.
Gruum laughed. “You have indeed, milord.”
When Therian spoke again, it was from directly behind Gruum. In fact, he now hissed words into Gruum’s ear. “That is why I brought you here, Gruum. It was a matter of trust. In order to walk where we must, we have to trust one another. For nothing that we see nor hear in that place may we trust, save for each other.”
Gruum stiffened to realize the King was right behind him. Unbidden, the image of the Maiden Sloan and his hand in her escape leapt into his mind. He gazed out into open space, wondering if he were about to feel the sudden thrust of his lord’s gloved hand upon the small of his back. He longed to slam himself backward, to knock the man away, to throw himself down the narrow opening that led into the dim, spiraling stairway.
He restrained the urge and shrugged. He did not even look back over his shoulder.
He felt his lord retreat and move back to his own aperture.
“Yes. It is a matter of trust,” repeated Therian.
Gruum thought about that while he watched the swirling mist that shrouded the city far below. Corium seemed as dead and buried as the ancient kings in their snow-carpeted cairns. How much stranger a place would they soon wander?
-10-
The trip down the spiraling steps was nowhere near as taxing as the march upward had been. Reaching the chilly corridors of the castle again, Gruum breathed easier. He followed his liege without speaking now, but also without resentment. Somehow, he reflected, the lesson had been learned. He must give his lord his trust, for good or for ill, come what may.
Only when they reached the Great Temple of Yserth did he feel concerned again. The red-robed monks at the entrance cast themselves upon the stones at the approach of the King and the tall iron doors swung open silently. Gruum followed Therian inside with misgivings. He had never dealt directly with the purveyors of Hyborea’s ancient religions.
A thin dragon priest by the name of Lin met them inside. They waited politely for the masked man to finish a benediction that involved the slicing of flesh and scales from a feebly struggling geyser lizard.
The dragon priest uttered low words of Dragon Speech, and the sound of them made Gruum’s lips curl away from his teeth.
Having finished the ritual, Lin turned to Therian and bowed deeply. “Welcome to the home of Yserth, Lord! To what do we owe this honor?”
“I require the finest sacrificial reptile from your pens, High One,” replied Therian.
“Another? So soon, Lord? Has the last one gone missing perhaps?”
Therian stared at the man for a cold second. The other attempted an affable smile, but failed.
“I am not accustomed to repeating a request.”
“Of course. I’m sorry, sire. Acolyte!” shouted Lin, clapping his hands and gesturing at a shaven youth. He indicated the lizard slumped upon the altar, “Be quick, wrap up this creature for the King’s pleasure!”
The acolyte hastened to obey, but halted when the King uplifted his black-gloved hand.
“I am offended,” said Therian quietly.
A shiver went through the room. Gruum widened his stance and quickly took a mental headcount. There were seven priests in the chamber, perhaps as many acolytes, but they were merely boys. None of the priests were armed, but who knew what might be hidden beneath their flowing red robes or what sorcery they might be able to summon.
“Pray forgive me, sire,” said Lin.
Therian indicated the lizard. “You suggest that this half-dead reptile is your best?”
The priest spoke quickly, stammering his words, “It is only that such beasts are so difficult to breed, sire. Every year they grow more scarce. We can hardly maintain our holiday offerings as it is.”
Therian nodded. He turned t
o Gruum. “Slay this dissembling fool.”
It was Gruum’s turn to stammer. His mind played over the situation rapidly. He went from shock to anger in a moment. Another test? He had had enough of such things. Certainly, he wanted no animosity from the priests, but they had all heard the command from their King.
With a smooth motion, he drew his heavy saber from over his shoulder and swept it downward in a killing stroke. Such was the speed of his attack that the priest had no time to fumble his dagger free of his robes.
A shower of sparks burst over the cowering priest’s head. A loud clash of steel echoed in the chamber. Succor was out and had barely intercepted the saber on its glittering arc through the air. Therian had caught Gruum’s saber within the inner curve of Succor blade, turning away the killing blow at the last possible moment. Both blades had come to rest upon the sobbing priest’s shoulder.
Gruum looked at Therian in confusion and wonderment. How had he moved so quickly?
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Therian simply.
Therian strode to the altar where the pathetic reptile lay. He raised Seeker high and spoke vibrant words that could not be contained by the ears of those present.
He smote the beast and the altar a mighty blow. The stone cracked and shattered. Chunks of burnt rock showered the priests who placed their hands over their eyes in fear.
Gruum watched, open-mouthed, as Seeker sprang free of Therian’s hand and hung in the air over the altar, shimmering and twisting of its own accord, like a strand of gossamer in a morning breeze.
Slowly, diffidently, Therian reached for the hilt, like a man grasping for the head of a venomous serpent. It dodged, but finally he snatched it back from the air, and sheathed it.
-11-
As they walked away, Gruum glanced back toward the Great Temple. Priests, monks and acolytes looked after them with mixed emotions. Gruum lifted a cage and tapped the bars with his saber. Inside, a magnificent geyser lizard snapped at the blade and hissed.