The Swords of Corium Read online

  Gruum stared ahead, his eyes wide. He strained, but of course he could see nothing of the distant enemy fleet. A hundred ships to spare? Just how many enemy vessels did they face?

  Therian went down to the middeck and called his wind spirits. He spread black wax, splattering it upon the planks in profusion. He summoned a group of women dressed in black to encircle him. Nine of them did so. Gruum watched, realizing they were priestesses of Anduin. They swayed and rippled seductively, with their arms raised up over their heads.

  In time, the wind spirits came with their glowing eyes. These spirits were greater in size and more purposeful than those Gruum had seen before. He reasoned this was as it must be, as the Royal Ark was far more ponderous than the Innsmouth had been, and thus would require much more effort to move at speed.

  The elder wind sylphs each grabbed up one of the swaying priestesses. None of the women screamed or struggled as they were taken—not even when they were dropped onto the decks from high above, their bodies broken.

  Then the sylphs set themselves close to the sails, one stationed at each of the nine masts. They created a gale that set Gruum’s hair and cloak to flying.

  -12-

  The Royal Ark approached Corium at unnatural speeds. Gruum stood upon the command deck in the stern, with Therian pacing in front of him. The winds caused their clothes to fly and flap like pennants high above a castle. He marveled most, however, when he looked over the side of the ship and noted the white furls of water. Birds flapped overhead, working hard to keep up with the giant vessel. The wind spirits had frightened away most of the seagulls, but for a few determined ones. The sylphs worked at the sails, pushing them with their breath as slaves might push a cart.

  “Milord!” Viscount Bryg shouted over the howling winds. He stood at the King’s side. “We should dampen the winds. The sails are beginning to tatter.”

  Therian glanced up and eyed the sails. “I’ll not break the spell yet. We may have need of it for maneuvering.”

  Bryg scowled, but said nothing. He stalked away to check upon the catapults and the boarding parties.

  Gruum eyed the mountains of Hyborean, which stood tall and gray in the distance. At their foot a white skirt of ice grew and grew until it filled the horizon. A thinner, darker row of ships became visible dotting the ice shelf like stones cast over a snowy field. Gruum nodded to himself, knowing he saw the enemy fleet. It seemed to stretch for miles. There was no counting of them, but there had to be hundreds of brigs and galleys.

  Above the fleet stood Corium, her walls of dark, carven stone blocks stacked a hundred feet high. Surely, thought Gruum, no army could breach those walls. Even as he had this thought, a brilliant flare rose up from the ships aligned against them. It was hued an unnaturally deep shade of red. The flames gushed toward the walls of Corium and scorched them. The fireball struck the gates, but to Gruum, it seemed they survived the blast.

  “Sorcerous fire!” Gruum shouted, stepping up to Therian. “Vosh wields his magic against your walls, sire!”

  Therian nodded. His eyes and mouth were flat lines. “The breath of the Dragon,” the King said. “He is truly Yserth’s champion.”

  Bryg climbed the stair to join them on the command deck. This time, his scowl was gone. His eyes were wide with fear. “Sire! What can we do against such a foe?”

  “We can slay them.”

  “But milord, they’ve spotted us…” Byrg trailed off, gazing toward the line of ships. Moving as they were at great speed, the enemy fleet was visibly closer every minute. Two squadrons of galleys had left the edge of the ice and wheeled, coming out to meet the Royal Ark.

  “Excellent,” Therian said.

  Byrg gaped at him. “This can’t be what you planned, milord!”

  Therian glanced at him in surprise. “This is exactly what I planned.”

  “But sire, what if they turn that flame against us? This ship will become a torch!”

  “Then we will burn to death. But I doubt Vosh can summon the Dragon’s breath freely. He needs it to breach the walls, not burn ships. In any case, your lack of resolve is irritating to witness. I suggest you return to your duties, Viscount, or I will have to appoint a new Admiral.”

  Chastened and red-faced, Bryg stalked away again.

  “Perhaps you should not taunt him so, milord,” Gruum said.

  “Why would such a thing concern you, Gruum?” Therian asked.

  “It is my duty as your bodyguard to give you such warnings.”

  Therian glanced at him with eyebrows arched. “I was not aware I had a bodyguard. But it is a small matter. If it is your duty to protect me, then it is equally mine as King to command the defense of my kingdom as I see fit.”

  “Of course, sire.”

  The Royal Ark met the two squadrons of galleys and simply plowed into them. The massive prow smashed into three of the galleys and caused them to capsize. The enemy rowed furiously, trying to bring their rams around to hit the much bigger vessel amidships, but failed due to the larger ship’s speed. Catapults cast stones, javelins and burning pitch in both directions. The sails on three of the ark’s masts were set alight, but Therian communed with the wind spirits and put out the flames. The smaller ships were not so fortunate. Two succumbed to bombardment from the high decks of the ark.

  Therian wheeled his ship about, and did battle with the remaining galleys. They tried to close and board, but their grapples were cut or cast back. Gruum watched a Hyborean sailor, his leg caught by a grapple, as he was dragged to the rails. He raved as the limb was amputated by the movement of the vessels.

  Gruum knelt on the command deck in the stern, seeking to make himself a smaller target for missiles. Therian stood proudly, his cloak whipping about his body, his hands upraised to guide the wind spirits.

  They continued to circle among the galleys, destroying them in turn, until only a quarter of them remained. The survivors turned to run back to the protection of the invasion fleet.

  “I salute you, my King!” said Bryg, coming near again. He looked more hale and relaxed now that the enemy had been vanquished. “You were right, I was overly cautious. Now we have only to wait here for the bulk of our fleet to join us. The enemy will know fear after seeing a dozen of their vessels sunk!”

  Therian ignored him. He stepped forward and covered his eyes with the flat of his hand. There, out upon the ice shelf, the Dragon’s breath erupted again. It gushed over the gates as it had before. The fire was crimson this time, and licked up the walls and over. Gruum and everyone else aboard watched with great concern. The gates rippled with flame on their own for a time after the breath had flared and struck, but they still did not buckle and fall.

  “We will pursue and pluck them off the ice shelf one at a time, if necessary,” Therian said.

  “But… sire?” Viscount Bryg appeared dumbfounded. “The rest of the arks will be here in less than an hour.”

  Therian turned him a cold eye. “There can be no delay. The gates must not fall. We shall damage Vosh’s ships so greatly his men fear to continue the assault.”

  Bryg was pale again, but Therian presented him with such a terrible stare that he dared not argue further. He turned and screamed orders to his men. Spittle flew from his lips as he bellowed to be heard above the devilish winds.

  Gruum looked up at the vaporous wind spirits, who occasionally paused from their duties to look down at the soft mortals that scurried about the decks of the ark. What did they think of mere men? Were they curious, indifferent—or perhaps amused?

  -13-

  The barbarian fleet reacted in a near panic. Seeing the Royal Ark push forward, and worse, seeing ten more ships like it on the horizon, was too much. They could ignore this threat to their flank no longer. The men raced from their formations on the ice back to their vulnerable ships. They could not allow the arks to burn them all and leave them stranded on a skirt of frost, waiting for the summer thaw.

  Looking back out to sea every minute or so, Gruum saw the Ro
yal Ark’s sister ships sailing ever closer. They glided closer every time he looked. He doubted he’d ever seen a more heartening sight. He knew in his heart that the Hyborean fleet was as terrifying to the enemy as it was comforting to him. It was a sweet thought to savor.

  They were met this time with more than two squadrons of galleys. Instead, a flotilla of ships approached. Most were two or three-masted warships. A third were galleys, the vessels favored by the mercenary cities of the east. Atop several masts flapped the red pennant of Kem.

  Therian ordered the ark turned starboard and headed directly for these last. Gruum was unsurprised, as he knew his master still harbored ill-will toward the men of that place, who had helped keep his bride secret from him for a full year.

  The galleys scattered, but the sailing ships were slower and harder to bring around. The winds were wrong for quick tacking in any case. The Royal Ark managed to run one down, striking it amidships. The vessel broke in half and capsized immediately. Men screamed in the frozen waters, quickly dying. The second ship was more fortunate. They struck her in the stern and tore a great gash in the hull. The ship wallowed, crippled and rudderless, but did not sink instantly.

  The third ship turned about and came to help her dying sister.

  “That captain has made a grave error,” Therian said.

  Gruum nodded.

  The Hyboreans brought their massive ship around and turned every projectile they had upon the last able ship of Kem. It burned until the sailors aboard were left with two grim choices: stay aboard and die in flames, or jump overboard and freeze to death. Most chose the latter.

  The maneuvering had taken a good deal of time, however. The time had been used by the enemy to gather their strength and their resolve. They came on in an organized line, firing masses of missiles. Every sail on the Royal Ark was punched through a dozen times, and most were burned. Two masts were knocked down entirely.

  Viscount Bryg came near again, his eyes red with the smoke and fearful. “If they take down six of the masts, this ship will be helpless, wind spirits or no, milord.”

  Therian looked at him for a long moment. At last he nodded. “Good of you to advise me, Admiral. The enemy plan is clear. They can disable this ship, and eventually fire her through relentless bombardment. We have two courses available to us, we can run, or we can stand-to and fight.”

  Viscount Bryg relished the praise, faint though it might have been. Gruum watched as the noble took several steps forward.

  “Exactly, sire!” Bryg said. “Let us pull back and join our sister ships. Together, we will sink them all.”

  Therian stared at him thoughtfully. He then gazed out at the approaching swarm of enemy vessels. Javelins flew like raindrops from enemy ballistae, punching through sails, deck planks and the bodies of unlucky sailors.

  “I’ll not have a single man on the walls of Corium disheartened by the sight of their fleeing King,” Therian said at last. “We will stand-to and fight this ship until relief arrives.”

  Viscount Bryg made a sound like the wind itself. He drew a short blade and ran toward Therian with a sudden, unexpected burst of speed.

  The blade never reached Therian’s body, however. Gruum’s own heavy saber came whistling down and relieved the noble of his right hand. Viscount Bryg’s charge faltered, then halted altogether. He looked down stupidly at his hand, which lay on the command deck at his feet. The pale fingers still gripped the hilt of his blade. Blood flowed from his severed wrist, splattering the planks.

  The Viscount turned to Gruum and stared at him in disbelief. “Such speed,” he said, marveling. “I had barely noticed you standing there.”

  Gruum nodded smartly and lowered his weapon a fraction. He kept both eyes and a glaring brow focused upon the Viscount.

  “Well done, Gruum,” Therian said in a voice that seemed distracted, almost bored. He still gazed out to sea toward the enemy fleet, as if the Viscount was beneath his interest.

  “What shall be done with this dog, sire?” Gruum asked.

  While Therian considered the question, sailors came up and gripped the Viscount. They removed his remaining weapons.

  Therian’s fingers made a flicking motion toward Bryg, as if he were endeavoring to remove a speck of mud from his tunic. “Lash chains to him. Hang him over the stern rail.”

  “Hang him by the neck, sire?”

  “No, no,” the King said. “I wish him to witness the rest of the battle which he so feared to fight. Hang him by the feet.”

  The King’s will was done. Gruum, for his part, could find no pity in his heart for the traitor.

  -14-

  Before the rest of the Hyborean arks could arrive to support their flagship, the Royal Ark was listing and on fire. As there were no more sails to drive the ark, Therian sent his wind spirits on new missions. Each flew to an enemy vessel and began to blow their witch-winds upon the sails. Some ran the ships into other ships, colliding them together until their renegade ship went down. Others gleefully ran ships into the ice shelf itself, smashing hulls and the bodies of screaming sailors alike. Gruum watched as the desperate crewmen climbed the masts, hoping to lower the sails and thwart the wind-creatures. Bravely coming face-to-face with the elementals, these men were plucked from the rigging and tossed down into the dark, icy sea where they howled and died.

  Emboldened by the damaged state of the Royal Ark, a dozen galleys surged forward. They rammed her in unison from every conceivable angle, thrusting their great bronze blades deep into her hull. They reminded Gruum of starved wolves attempting to take down a great bear of the forest. After sinking their heavy rams home, they reversed their oars and rowed madly, trying to back out and let the seawater rush into the hull. Such was the thickness and strength of the ark’s hull, however, the galleys were often locked in place and unable to free themselves.

  Therian and Gruum stood upon the stern deck. Shouting men encircled them, casting burning pitch over the side to fire the galleys below. Streams of arrows flew in every direction, and Gruum had to wonder if he should have donned the black battle armor when given the opportunity by Tovus.

  “It is time, Gruum,” Therian said.

  “Sire?”

  “We must leave this vessel. She is doomed. She will go down within minutes.”

  “Where shall we go, sire?” Gruum asked. He looked over the side at the black seas. He did not relish swimming there until his arms numbed with cold and he slipped under. He noticed the Viscount as he looked down. He still swayed there below the railing, hanging from his chains and moving feebly.

  “We must take a new ship, since ours is finished.”

  Gruum looked at him. “You are tired, milord.”

  Therian nodded. “I need a fresh soul. But I hesitate to send any of these brave sailors to an undeserved doom. I will simply have to take an enemy down when we fall upon their decks.”

  Gruum nodded, but he thought to hear something. Words that were quickly snatched away by the freezing winds. He leaned over the rail, and then knelt, cupping his ear with one hand.

  “Send me to Anduin,” said the Viscount.

  “Viscount Bryg speaks, sire,” Gruum said. “He begs to strengthen you.”

  “Truly?” Therian asked. “Help me to haul the wretch back onto my deck.”

  Together, they brought the Viscount Bryg back onto the command deck. Unable to stand, the ex-admiral sprawled upon the wooden planks. His head lolled against the stern rails. He had been pale before, but after long minutes of bleeding and hanging over the side he had turned as white as an unburnt candle. He had caught two arrows at some point, one in his left thigh and the other in the gut.

  “I am moved,” Therian told the noble.

  Bryg watched them as a helpless man watches a snake that coils upon his lap. “I would make amends,” the Viscount said, coughing.

  “You know that a simple death would be infinitely better?” Therian asked. He produced Seeker, and scratched at the edge with his nail.

  �
��I am Hyborean. None know better the meaning of an eternity in the company of the Dragons.”

  Therian nodded. “You have thus redeemed your house. The Mark of Traitors shall not be carved into their doors, nor into their skulls.”

  The ship shuddered then, and the bow sank and rolled. When the tremor was done, two men had pitched over the rails.

  “Thank you, King Therian,” Viscount Brig said, ignoring the death of the ship that was evident all around him. “This is truly more than I had hoped for.”

  Therian spoke foul words of Dragon Speech then, and Gruum saw the Viscount’s ashen face grow fuller of terror by the second. Therian thrust once with Seeker, suddenly, even as the man opened his mouth to croak last words.

  Gruum stood and Therian stood with him. A feral cast had overtaken the Hyborean. Gruum knew the look well.

  “Do you think he might have been about to rescind his generous offer?” Gruum asked.

  Therian grinned at him. The light of a fresh soul shone from his eyes. “Of course. What cowardly dog like him could do other than change his mind when he heard the words consigning his soul to pain everlasting?”

  The starboard side of the vessel now canted ten feet higher than the port side.

  “Now, before we go down!” Therian shouted. “Drop the prongs!”

  Heavy ramps were levered out over the sides of the ship. The end of each ramp was hinged to the lower decks of the ark. At the other end was a great, black spike of iron. Lifted by ropes, the ramps were dropped, spike first, into the decks of the galleys clustered below. In all, seven ramps were successfully dropped into place. Doors yawned opened on the ark’s sides, revealing portals full of reavers. Dressed in the black battle-armor of Hyborea, the cadets rushed forward. Eager for the fight, they streamed out to assail the ships that had so determinedly worried at the ark’s sides.

  Therian and Gruum rushed down a plank in the midsection. They were met with stiff resistance on a war galley of carven spruce. The cadets, while almost impossible to kill in their armor, could be tossed overboard where they sank like stones. On each galley, the cadets were outnumbered fifty to six. They took a grim toll, but were eventually overwhelmed.