by B. V. Larson
“Out with it, man.”
“I believe she means Nadja,” Gruum said. “She is your daughter, but is she not also the—the offspring of our dark lady?”
Therian stared at him for a long moment. At last, he inclined his head in understanding. He returned his attention to Anduin. “But when you charged me with this task, Nadja was not yet conceived.”
“Time is not as linear for me as it is for you, young King. Possibly, our unborn daughter was not yet in your thoughts upon the moment of our agreement…but she was very much in mine.”
Therian took a deep breath. He stood tall. He did not move while he pondered what had been asked of him. Gruum wondered if he could be so cold as to kill his own daughter—even a girl as strange as Nadja.
“If I do this thing, you will care for her here?” Therian asked.
Hearing his lord’s words, Gruum felt deflated. His master was not adverse to the idea. There was truly no boundary which he would not cross in pursuit of his goal. Gruum had hoped—but no.
“Her death in your world will bind her to me, as you know. She will join her many siblings in my court. We will hold festival! And you will be my living Champion upon your cold Earth.”
“And thus I will be able to warm it again,” Therian added.
“Of course, should that be your desire. You will be the sole wielder of all the sorcerous power I can provide.”
“Why would you wish to gather your children here to you?” asked Therian, tilting his head to one side. “To commit all their souls to your domain…does this not represent a diminishment of your power and reach?”
Anduin’s claws stretched as might a cat’s. The black talons were shiny and finely pointed. “My designs are my own. Suffice it to say, I will be greater for having their power in my court. You will be the only tendril of my strength to walk your Earth. Is that not enough? Is that not what you wanted from the beginning?”
“I hear you,” Therian said. “I will do what is needed.”
Anduin stood up. She had been crouching before, but now she rose to her full height and took a step toward them. “Very well. This intrusion is at an end.”
Gruum, wide-eyed, thought to hear footsteps rush by him while he watched the Dragon uncoil itself. He turned toward the sound and saw Therian sprint to the nearest cliff. The King ran over the edge and vanished.
Gruum heard no shout, nor impact. “Where did he go?” he asked.
“He is still falling,” rumbled the Dragon, her voice sounding very near.
Gruum whirled his head around. Anduin loomed over him. Her mouth formed an unlikely smile. He crouched to run, but before he could take a step, her massive clawed foot stomped down. Gruum was smashed flat.
-6-
Gruum awoke in a brightly lit room. He blinked in confusion. How could this be? He gazed to his right, where the windows lay. These windows were very familiar. They looked like the arched windows of the palace. How could he have returned to Corium? Always before, he had awakened in his home world in the exact spot from which he had begun his journey through the dreamlands. The altar and the vortex were nowhere to be seen, however.
Outside, past the blowing gauze-like curtains, was the pale disk of the Sun. The city which the Sun shone upon certainly looked like Corium. There were silver rooftops on every tower in sight. They reflected the sky with polished brilliance.
“Sleepy head! About time you woke up.”
Gruum snapped his head to the left. There she stood. Nadja looked at him with eyes wide and bright. He could not tell if her look was one of delight or hunger. Perhaps, with this young woman, such expressions were one and the same.
“How did I come to be here?”
“I found you,” she said. “Far below the palace on the floor of grandfather’s entombed shrine. I took you from that place. I wasn’t sure how else you were going to get out.”
Gruum opened his mouth. After a moment, a coherent thought formed, and he spoke it aloud: “Void magic.”
“Exactly. What is odd is how much trouble I have in your dreams. I think now the only reason I was able to share that dream with you was because it wasn’t really your dream at all. It was father’s and Anduin’s.”
Nadja walked to the window and gazed out. The curtains luffed around her, circling her like an extra layer of skirts. Gruum sat up, and realized with certainty where he was. This was the princess’ private apartments. He was sure of that—and he was equally sure he must get out quickly.
He hesitated, however, looking at the girl in the window. “Are you lonely, Nadja?” he asked.
She nodded. “I suppose that I am. But can a person truly be lonely, when they’ve never known companionship? I mean, that’s like longing for flight, when one is not a bird.”
“I wish I could fly sometimes,” Gruum said.
Nadja turned suddenly and came to him with rapid steps, laughing. “You say the maddest things! That must be why I like you.”
“I thought you hated me.”
Nadja looked down. “Yes, the part about Gawina. I’m sorry about that now. At the time, I thought vengeance would taste so sweet. Now, I’m not sure.”
Gruum looked at her, not knowing what to think. She seemed just like a normal young woman, full of life and uncertain of what she wanted. But he knew she was far more than that. He gave his head a shake and stood up. He found his boots under the bed. He put them on without asking how they had gotten there.
“Must you go?” Nadja asked. “Stay and be friends with me.”
Gruum looked at her. He knew a moment of pity for her. She was such a strange creature, but that was through no fault of her own. He felt the allure of her youth and beauty as well. It was almost unearthly. He saw a human girl and a monster, all wrapped up into one. He wondered then if he might be the only person she had ever called friend.
He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I will tell you something, but you must never let on where you heard the words.”
Nadja clapped her hands and came near. “A secret! I love a good secret.”
“You will not like this one,” he said. He repeated to her the important points of the conversation between Anduin and her father, the King. When he was done, he was sorry he had spoken. She looked crestfallen.
“So, they intend to murder me,” she said.
“I can’t be certain of that. It was only a dream after all. Perhaps in their version of the dream, events went differently. Perhaps it was only a warning for you, an echo of thoughts—”
Nadja put a freezing finger to his lips, stopping his words. The gesture reminded him, more than any other she had ever performed, of Anduin. The Dragon had once stopped Therian from speaking in just such a fashion.
She shook her head and smiled at him. “It’s all right. To them, it’s not even murder. Why, it’s more like confining their daughter in the home of one or the other.”
“Could you ever come back?”
She shook her head and gazed at the stone tiles. “I don’t think so. The rules vary, you see, from one world to the next. When you sleep and dream here, you can travel there. When you die there, you come back. But if you die here…you are gone forever to another place.”
“Unless someone captures your spirit,” he said, thinking of Egred, trapped in his flask of carven amber.
“Yes, barring that.”
“What will you do?” Gruum asked.
Nadja slid her eyes up to him and gave him an impish smile. “Something…unexpected,” she said.
Gruum felt a sudden urge to leave. He knew that if he remained there, he might attempt to take hold of the maiden’s hand. His lips might even brush her cold fingers. As strange as it may be, he felt himself inexplicably attracted to her.
He made his good-byes and left the apartments through a quiet side-passage. He felt her staring eyes upon his back as he left.
-7-
Therian caught up with Gruum the next day while the rogue sat having a mug with Sir Tovus. The two ha
d chosen a pub known as the Curled Leaf in the lower districts of Corium. The ale was cheap and passable. Better still, the wenches were less surly than most.
A brooding figure dressed in black appeared in the doorway of the common room. Upon his appearance, many patrons made a hasty exit. Gruum did not notice the King at first, but continued telling a ribald joke to Sir Tovus, until the old knight tapped his wrist urgently and tipped his head toward the door. Gruum looked over his shoulder and Therian’s eyes met his. He knew instantly his master was in a grim mood. He put his mug down slowly.
Therian entered the room with long, sweeping strides. He placed a flask upon the table between the two men, and then leaned forward on his gloved hands. It was the amber soul flask. Inside, Egred’s trapped soul shimmered with yellowy light.
“Good to see you are back, milord,” Sir Tovus said as lightly as he dared.
Therian took no notice of him. He stared only at Gruum. “Do you know where I found this?” the King demanded.
“No sire,” Gruum said.
“Liar!” Therian roared. With a shockingly fast motion, he kicked over the table between the two men. The flask went flying, but Therian snatched it from the air and placed it on a neighboring table.
“I don’t understand, milord,” Gruum stammered.
Therian’s twin blades, Seeker and Succor, leapt out of their sheaths. They shone brightly in the flickering lantern light of the tavern. Therian’s black-gloved fingers clasped each hilt tightly.
Gruum crouched reflexively. His blades appeared in his hands as well. In his left was his heavy saber, the edge of which glimmered blue, reflecting light from another place. His broad-leaf dagger was in his right and held low.
The patrons and tavern wenches who had remained to watch now fled for their lives. Even the Innkeep ran up the stairs, dropping a load of mugs upon the wooden steps as he went. Each mug shattered and the chips scattered unnoticed.
Sir Tovus, who was perhaps the most surprised of anyone that day, got to his feet and stared at the two men. “What’s this all about then, gents?” he asked, his voice wavering.
The other two did not take their eyes off one another. “It’s about my daughter,” Therian said.
“Oh—aye,” Tovus said, taking a step back. He shot Gruum a look of amazement. “I’m sure this matter can be—sorted out.”
“He wants to kill her, Tovus,” Gruum said.
Therian moved his weapons into an offensive stance. Gruum shifted his own into a defensive position, preparing to catch his master’s onslaught and hold it as long as he could. He had no illusions of beating the King. But he thought he might have a chance to pull a surprise or two.
“Kill her?” echoed Tovus in confusion. “Oh now, it can’t be as bad as all that! I’m a father myself, you know sire—”
“Shut up,” the King said.
“But sire—”
“You know not of what you speak. That flask was left by me in Gruum’s keeping. I found it under my daughter’s bed.”
“Ah,” said Tovus, putting up his hands and taking a step toward the two. “These things happen. She’s grown up so—fast. I can understand how this might be a shock.”
“You understand nothing, cretin,” Therian hissed. He struck then, with both blades at once.
Gruum barely caught Succor, while Seeker came flashing down from above. He could only sidestep. The tip of the sword pierced the overturned table.
“Milords!” shouted Tovus, “Seriously, let’s discuss this matter like gentlemen!”
The two men separated, circled, and then came together again with swords flickering. Sir Tovus made a very poor decision at that moment. Perhaps it was the drink, or his disbelief that these two comrades, both heroes of his dying land, might seriously attempt to butcher one another over a nighttime dalliance.
Whatever the cause, Tovus stepped between the combatants at the very moment they both moved to strike again, seeking to separate them. Gruum’s flashing weapon slashed open his back, a minor wound. But Succor came in low and directly into the big old man’s gut. The knight whuffed and sagged down.
Both Therian and Gruum stared down at Sir Tovus in shock.
“You are right my lord,” Tovus said, his lifesblood spilling out upon the straw-covered floor. “I’m an old fool. Do you have need of my soul, sire?”
Therian blinked and knelt. His rage faded away. He reached out a gloved hand to touch the knight’s white hair. “No, I do not. Die in peace.”
“Thank you, my liege.”
When the King stood again, Tovus’ body had slumped down in death. Therian looked around the Curled Leaf, but Gruum had vanished. The amber flask was gone as well.
#
Gruum grasped Nadja’s intensely cold hand. He could feel her chilled flesh even through the leather of his glove. The two hurried through the palace passages.
“I’m not sure if he’s ordered your arrest yet,” Gruum said, “but it seems likely.”
“Yours as well,” she answered.
He nodded. Nadja had appeared in the tavern when her father had accidentally slain old Tovus. She had taken his hand and stepped into a fresh void, bringing him back to her apartments.
“I should have pushed Tovus back,” Gruum said, half to himself.
“The old knight was sweet,” she said. “I’m sorry to see him pass on.”
“He was a better man than I.”
“I would not go that far,” she said, laughing.
Gruum looked at her. He did not know what to think. Would she laugh so if he were to tragically die on the tiles before her in the next minute? Did that make her full of life—or full of malice?
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“That we should move on,” he said. “We should use void magic to take us off this island. Hyborea is soon to be ice-bound, and will stay that way forever more. But that doesn’t mean we need to stay here to watch the Kingdom freeze and die around us.”
They both slowed to a stop. Nadja looked up at him. “I can’t take us that far,” she said. “I can only go to places I’ve been—ones I remember clearly. Corium and her surroundings—that’s it.”
“But you travel to other worlds freely enough.”
“That is a matter of dreaming. When I dream I slip between worlds, from this one to another, just as every dreamer does. I can only move while awake to places I’ve been.”
“In that case, I must think.”
“I know just the quiet spot for that,” she told him. She led him to a level he’d seen before. It was full of warm steam. Together, they stole into the passages like forbidden lovers.
Nadja led Gruum to an area he’d never seen before. It was warm here, almost too warm. She had a bed in this place, along with a basket of small candles and other supplies. He looked the place over.
“You sleep here, don’t you?” he asked.
“I dream here,” she said. “I’m not sure I ever really sleep. For me, slumber means I’m traveling—someplace else.”
He nodded and sat upon the mattress. It was a simple cloth bag stuffed with straw, but it was soft enough. He put his head in his hands. He had no idea what to do next. If they could not leave Hyborea, the King was bound to catch them eventually. They might well both be executed.
Nadja came and sat beside him. She moved with gentle slowness. She offered him a flagon of wine and he took it for his own. In his mind he watched Tovus die over and over.
“You are upset,” she said.
Gruum nodded.
“I’m sorry if I brought you grief.”
He looked at her in surprise. Sorry? He could not recall one of her kind ever apologizing for a hurt they’d done another. Still, he said: “It was not your fault.”
“You think I’m too young, don’t you?” she asked suddenly.
“What?”
“I’m not, you know. I’ve lived a full life—just not in this place. To me, you seem like an ageless man. Someone who’s always been here w
hen I come back to visit this slice of the nine worlds.”
“Do you know other people in the dreamworlds? Do you have friends there?”
“I do. Even lovers, occasionally,” she said. Catching his expression, she laughed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t had lovers in dreams!”
Gruum smiled with half his face. He snorted and drank more wine. “Probably many times more than I’ve had in reality.”
She stared at him frankly. He studied her, seeing she was indeed a woman and a lovely one at that. In fact, she was advancing through time so quickly she might be older than he was. It was so very odd.
“What are we going to do now?” he asked.
“I think we should dream together.”
“Of what?”
“I can’t seem to join you in your dreams—I’ve tried so many times. But I wonder if you could join one of mine—by lying alongside me as we slept.”
Gruum thought about it. “All right,” he said.
The two of them drained the flagon. In truth, Gruum drained it while she politely sipped and watched him, smirking. When there was no more wine he heaved a great sigh and lie back on the straw mattress, which now felt as warm and soft as eiderdown.
“I must ask you something, Nadja,” he said. “When Gawina was behind me, when she had a knife in her hand and you struck her and knocked her into the pit—was she about to strike me? Or did you somehow arrange for her to look guilty?”
“She was about to strike you,” Nadja said.
“But she had been so friendly. She wanted my aid. I thought perhaps that she liked me.”
Nadja made a quizzical face. “She was attracted to you—but she had to kill you. You had laid hands upon her. Anduin demands her priestesses be chaste. She was honor bound to kill you even if you saved her. Even if she loved you.”
Gruum shook his head and sighed. “Hyboreans are such a strange people. But I know you are not telling me the full story. You placed Therian’s liquid shadow in a pit and bade her to lay in it. Why?”
Nadja examined distant objects. “I suppose I was jealous. I was very young, then.”