The Swords of Corium Read online

  -4-

  Three long winter months passed, then the month of Tau came. It was a time that should have been spring, but wasn’t. No birds sang anywhere on the frozen island of Hyborea.

  A male Priest of Yserth accosted Gruum on the second day of Tau.

  “Excuse me, barbarian,” the Priest said.

  Gruum turned his head this way and that, looking for the source of the voice. He quickly spotted the man, who stood in an alcove beside a statue of fine pink quartz. He wore the traditional crimson robes and his pate was shiny in its utter baldness. Gruum knew the priests of Yserth often burned away each individual hair on their bodies to demonstrate their devotion.

  Gruum took two steps toward the priest and placed his hand nonchalantly upon the pommel of his heavy saber. “What can I do for you, shaman?”

  The other’s eyes widened in surprise at the title, then narrowed. He opened his thin-lipped mouth as if to say something, but then thought the better of it. He forced a smile instead.

  “I’ve heard things about you, sir. I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time?”

  Gruum stared at the man for a second. Then he walked past the priest and continued down the long, echoing corridor. Hard tiles made a snapping noise with his every footstep.

  “Have I offended you?” asked the priest, hurrying after him.

  “You worship Yserth?”

  “Naturally.”

  “My master follows Anduin.”

  A hand lightly touched Gruum’s arm, seeking to stop him. This was too much to be endured by Gruum, who had lived with these sneering priests for far too long. He drew his saber in a fluid motion and interposed it between himself and the shocked priest, who let his hand fall away from Gruum’s sleeve.

  The priest, after he’d gotten over his initial shock, stood his ground, however. “I apologize,” he said.

  Gruum stared at the man. The other stared back with surprising calmness. The man had guts, Gruum had to give him that.

  “Apologize for what?” Gruum asked.

  “For triggering your baser instincts.”

  “My instincts?”

  “Territoriality. Response to physical domination.”

  Gruum laughed. “Even your apologies are insulting!”

  “Honest statements cannot be insulting by definition,” said the priest, as if he were quoting a proverb.

  “Wrong. You need to strike that one from your scrolls,” Gruum told him, then turned and walked away again.

  “I hear you are having dreams, barbarian,” the priest called after him.

  Gruum stopped and looked back. “What man does not dream?”

  The priest stepped forward slowly, seeing he had Gruum’s attention now. Gruum’s saber was still in his hand, and the tip of it rested on the marble tiles. The priest approached anyway, as if he were not inches from swift death. His vermilion robes rustled over his sandals.

  “Don’t you want to know why you are having these dreams, man of the Steppes?”

  “Tell me,” Gruum said.

  “There is a fleet headed to Corium,” the priest said.

  Gruum frowned. What did this have to do with his dreams? His frown turned into a frustrated glare. Always it was with priests that they had to make matters complex. “Speak plainly, man.”

  “Has the King not told you? A fleet of barbarian ships gathers. They will come with the first thaw of spring. They will come to sack the city.”

  “And why?”

  “For vengeance. You killed one of their lords, remember? A power has risen up to replace him. A power that knows your part in what happened in Kem.”

  “A fleet from Kem? They are nothing but rabble.”

  The priest shook his head. “Not just Kem. They gather from many city-states up and down the coast. The broken provinces of the Empire of Solerov are reforging themselves anew for this campaign.”

  “Vosh…” Gruum said. “He is behind this, isn’t he?”

  “You slaughtered everyone in their palace.”

  “It was a hunting lodge. And Vosh killed more people than we did.”

  The priest shrugged. “The details of the story hardly matter. The wound has been delivered. Over the harsh winter, it has festered. We in Corium are perceived as weak—and rich.”

  Gruum nodded, seeing the way of things. “A bad combination. Now, tell me of my dreams.”

  “It is not Vosh himself who fuels this vengeful fleet. It is his lord, the High One, Yserth the Red.”

  “And so the Dragon invades my slumber?” Gruum asked.

  “Apparently. I was shocked to learn of his direct contact with one of your—status. Yserth makes his own choices, however. We in the priesthood have talked the matter over, and certain realities have become evident.”

  “Speak.”

  “Firstly, King Therian has refused to embrace Yserth. Worse, he refused to maintain a balance between the two Dragons. Instead, he has become foully entwined with Anduin. Now, in what is a naturally foreseeable outcome, his actions have brought fresh doom upon this land and its people.”

  Gruum took a step toward the priest. The tip of his saber scratched the tiles as he came closer. He nodded for the other to continue.

  “Secondly,” said the priest, unperturbed by Gruum’s glower, “you are close to our errant King. You have personal access to his chambers, his habits. If King Therian were to suffer an accident, all of Corium would be grateful. The invasion would not occur. Countless lives would continue, and a great deal of wealth would be at your disposal.”

  Gruum stepped closer still. “I would know your name, priest,” he said quietly.

  “Jamal.”

  “Jamal,” Gruum said in a formal tone of voice, “I reject your offer.” He lifted the point of his saber from where it rested upon the marble. Calmly, precisely, he jabbed it into Jamal’s foot. The tip bit into the bare foot, the sandal beneath and drove deeper still, until it scratched the flooring upon which the sandal rested.

  Jamal howled and attempted to pull his foot away, but Gruum kept it pinned to the floor. Blood welled up and ran onto the slick marble, filling the lines between the tiles.

  “You have injured me!” Jamal said through clenched teeth. “Why?”

  “Because,” Gruum replied, “it is bad luck to kill a priest.”

  -5-

  Gruum found himself standing before the tall, dark doors of the royal apartments again. He lifted his hand to knock, but hesitated, and then let his hand drop back down to his side. How was he to bring these matters up to the King? Talk of assassinations and war? He thought, too, of what he might discover on this occasion when he opened the doors. He had no desire to face a fresh nightmare today.

  Not for the first time, nor would it be the last, he thought of escaping this city full of cold people who dreamt of past glories. He lifted his hand again, however. This time he knocked, rapping sharply upon the door three times.

  The door opened. Inside, there were no candles burning. There was no light source at all save a small, choking fire burning on the hearth.

  “Enter,” Therian said quietly.

  Gruum stepped inside and the door closed itself behind him. He stood, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He could not see Therian, his wicked daughter Nadja, nor any of their wandering beasts.

  “Milord, I have news,” Gruum said.

  “Have you come to slay me?”

  Gruum chuckled nervously. “I would not dream—”

  “Remember, I’ve shared dreams with you, Gruum. I’ve shared your dreams when you were not aware of my presence. I can even recall dreams of yours which you forgot instantly upon awakening.”

  “Ah, well,” Gruum said, flustered. “A man cannot control what he dreams of, can he?”

  “I can.”

  “But I am no sorcerer, sire.”

  “No,” Therian said. “And I believe that may be the key to your surprising longevity.”

  Gruum had pinpointed the source of the voic
e now. It came from very near the fireplace. His master was not in an expected spot. He did not lie on the velvet divan in front of the sputtering fire. He was not on the canopied bed. All the stuffed chairs of embroidered silk with silver, clawed feet appeared to be empty. But the voice was still there.

  Gruum suspected his master was near the hearth, but standing off to one side, where the firelight left him in deep shadow. He took several steps closer to the divan and the hearth.

  “Should I stoke your fire, sire? It appears it is about to go out.”

  “That would be unwise.”

  Gruum looked about, and took three more steps. He stood only a few paces from the hearth and the divan. His eyes slid this way and that. He felt something—a presence. He’d grown sensitive to these things now, probably due to much exposure. There was something in this room with them, something that studied him coldly.

  Gruum looked up toward the ceiling, thinking perhaps Therian hung from there, but his searching, squinting eyes fell upon nothing but soot-stained frescoes.

  “Is there something here—something that does not like bright flame?” Gruum asked. He took two more steps forward, moving between the divan and the fire.

  “Don’t tread upon me, man!” Therian hissed suddenly.

  Gruum startled and retreated. He looked down. There on the floor, on the woven carpets from the southern cities, was Therian’s face. Surrounding the pale face was a shifting mass of deep shadow.

  Gruum gasped, but did not cry out. He had seen too much, in his days of service to this lord, to scream at even the most alarming sight. He felt a wave of revulsion, fear, and fascination. He slowly knelt on the carpets beside the King. He looked down into his lord’s face with wonderment.

  “You wear it like a blanket, milord,” Gruum said.

  “Yes, I am training it. But like any wild beast one seeks to tame, it must not be startled, or it may again turn feral.”

  Gruum studied the sorcerer. Therian’s face was all that visible. All around him, like a soupy shroud, a shadow squirmed. Underneath both the shadow and the sorcerer was a large, circular carpet. Gruum had no doubt the shadow was the same creature he had carried back from Kem in the pouch it called home.

  “What do you teach it, sire? Do you hope it will come to love you?”

  Therian huffed. “Hardly. I hope only for tolerance, for contact without being—bitten.”

  “What purpose may it serve?”

  Therian’s eyebrows shrugged. “One may fill a yard with feral beasts, but isn’t it better to have a loyal watchdog that can be trusted with the children at night?”

  Gruum thought of Nadja then, and had to suppress a shudder. He thought that the girl might be able to lie happily with a shadow, but he dared not speak such insults. He decided to change the subject instead.

  “Milord, I’ve been asked to assassinate you.”

  “Did you accept the assignment?”

  “No, I stabbed the traitor through the foot.”

  Therian gave a tiny nod of appreciation. “That would seem to comprise a definitive refusal. I’m glad you chose to remain loyal. You may, however, someday come to regret your decision.”

  “Loyalty is its own reward.”

  Therian chuckled. “Such odd statements you make from time to time, Gruum. You have dwelt among the blue-skinned folk of Corium for years, but still you retain the mind of a barbarian.”

  “The traitor said there was a fleet coming, sire,” Gruum said, pressing ahead.

  “Yes, indeed there is,” Therian said. “I’ve been expecting it. I’m getting too close to my goals, too powerful. Several times Vosh and I have met. I have defeated him each time. He now seeks to gather a host and wipe me out through the might of a thousand minions—since he cannot manage the feat himself.”

  “Can they defeat us?”

  The shadow that enveloped Therian shifted, sliding its form in a spiral pattern. Had it been disturbed by their words, Gruum wondered? He saw a glimpse of pallid skin beneath the shifting mass of blackness, as holes opened up in it and revealed Therian’s body lying calmly underneath. Gruum realized, with a small shock, that the King was unclothed. Perhaps direct contact with the shadow was the ultimate test. If it didn’t attack him then, it never would.

  “Centuries ago,” Therian said, “the threat would have been laughable. The Hyborean navy was unparalleled. We would have sunk their ragtag boats before they reached our shores. And if by some miracle they had made landfall, things would have gone worse for them still. The Knights of Corium, resplendent in their ancestral armor, would have swept the field of such rabble without a qualm. The captives would have endured long lives of exquisite torment, providing royal entertainment and dog food for many years.”

  “And now, sire?” Gruum asked.

  “Now… I’m not certain of the outcome. We are weak, tired. We are not the people we once were. If ever we could fall, this would be the time.”

  “What will we do, milord?”

  Therian looked at Gruum and met his eyes. “Why, we will prepare. When they arrive, we will fight until one side or the other is broken.”

  “I suppose that’s the way of these things,” Gruum said, nodding. “I will take my leave now.” He stood up, moving slowly so as to not disturb the thing that slithered over Therian’s body.

  “Gruum, I would have you do one more thing for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “Find Nadja for me. She’s gone missing.”

  Gruum paused for a full second before answering. “Of course, milord,” he murmured at last. Then he left without asking any more questions about Nadja. He was quite sure he did not want to hear the answers.

  -6-

  Gruum sought Sir Tovus first. As he walked the long, lonely halls, he wondered if the vast palace had ever been full of people. He’d never really thought of that before. To him, the palace had always been a huge, mostly empty space. Now, as he walked the echoing halls he noticed how many apartments he passed that had locked doors and shuttered apertures. Judging by their number, Corium was three-quarters empty. Truly, there were more ghosts and dust here than living beings.

  Gruum found the old warhorse Tovus in the armory. There he trained with a dozen cadets, mostly the sons of elder knights. They were young, but hard of eye. Gruum could tell in an instant they took their training seriously. No one shouted or called out to a brother, except when performing a hard strike upon the other in mock combat.

  The most impressive thing about the cadets was their armor. It was lacquered black and red, with a red dragon’s head painted upon each black breastplate. Gruum knew without asking the black honored Anduin while the red honored Yserth. The military didn’t want either Dragon offended. Each piece of the armor was finely milled and fitted together in curved sections. Gruum watched as two cadets outfitted a third man. When they were finished adjusting the expertly designed armor, the cadet moved easily inside it. He resembled an automaton with a red plume on top.

  “I’ve never seen Hyboreans dressed in such a splendid fashion,” Gruum told Tovus when the group took a break.

  Tovus gave him a hard smile. “Ancestral armor. I’m not surprised you haven’t seen the like before. We keep this equipment under lock and key.”

  “And now they bring it forth?”

  “Yes. This is exactly the time for which it has been preserved.”

  “So then, you think the threat of invasion is real?”

  Sir Tovus eyed him. He nodded glumly, then turned back to watch the men practice in their armor. Each wielded two swords, or a sword and shield. As they sat there, more cadets arrived. Soon there were more than a score of them.

  “They say each suit took a decade to make,” Tovus said, “but they were all laid down in the lowest level of the armories so many years ago I doubt anyone remembers the secrets of its manufacture. Do you wish to be outfitted?”

  Gruum rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was not his way to go into battle clanking about. His natural method
consisted of avoiding enemy strikes, not absorbing them. “Perhaps another day, Sir Tovus,” he said. “I’ve come here on another mission.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “I need to ask something that should not be repeated.”

  “I’m not a washerwoman. Speak.”

  “I need to know… I need to know where dead things lie in Corium.”

  “What?”

  Gruum lowered his voice and drew a step closer to Tovus, who looked surprised. “Where do you keep your dead in this place? Where are your ghosts, crypts and the like?”

  “A strange question,” said Lord Tovus. “One which, I assume should not be examined closely. I would suggest you seek out those who serve the Dragons.”

  “The Priests of Yserth?”

  “And the Priestesses of Anduin.”

  Gruum twisted his mouth into a scowl. Neither of these groups was fond of him. “They care for your dead? Even the paupers?”

  “Yes. They prepare them for their odyssey. However, you may have better luck with the black priestesses. Yserth’s path for the dead lies through cremation.”

  Gruum nodded unhappily. “All right. Thanks for your help. Please, don’t mention my inquiry to anyone.”

  “I’ve already forgotten about it,” Tovus said. “I’m glad to help, although the request is disturbing. I would ask you a favor in return, however.”

  “Ask.”

  “Do not leave our King’s side, when the battle comes near.”

  “He has plenty of guards.”

  “Yes, but they are all Hyboreans.”

  Gruum nodded. “I understand.”

  “I’m sad that you do. I’m sad that I must rely on a barbarian of questionable repute for my own King’s safety.”

  Gruum chuckled and left the sparring area. On the way out, he counted the cadets and noticed their number had swollen to thirty-five. They strove against one another with grim determination.

  He headed for the Temple of Anduin. He tried to cheer himself by recalling he had yet to thrust a weapon into a member of the Black Dragon’s order.