The Swords of Corium Page 7
Only Therian stood apart from the celebration. He stood on the aft deck with one hand on the tiller and both eyes gazing somberly out over the ocean. The sun was setting in the west, turning the skies pink, the ice blue and the sea an inky black.
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The city celebrated as it had not done in a century. Fireworks lofted over Corium to hang and glitter in the sky, shining more brightly than had the aurora borealis the night before. Reflected by the silvered roofs of the towers and the sea beyond the walls, all who saw the display marveled at its beauty.
Gruum drank more than he should, and in his final hours of consciousness, he sought out old Tovus to have a toast with him. The other was of a similar mind, and together, they mounted the walls and stood above the gates along the parapets. Evidence of the battle was apparent. The walls had taken great punishment that day, but remained standing.
“I thought she would buckle, I did,” said Tovus, running his hands over the crenulated stonework. Blackened, chipped and even melted in spots, the battlements crumbled at his touch.
“Did you stand here as the breath struck?”
Sir Tovus shook his head. “I had walked this length no more than an hour before. I patted their shoulders—the men who were about to die.”
“Who were these men?” asked Gruum. He put a hand onto the walls and felt them flake away. Stone had been turned to ash here.
“Archers for the most part. Fine men, who peppered the attackers with volley after volley. But then the Breath came, and they were gone. Look here, I see a final bit of one archer at our feet.”
Tovus leaned down with a heavy grunt and lifted into view a buckle. Blackened and twisted by extreme heat, the buckle was barely recognizable. Tovus put the remnant into Gruum’s hand and closed his fingers over it. He swayed and looked at Gruum intensely.
“We should take that down and give it a proper burial!” he said. His drunken eyes were bloodshot and bulging.
Gruum nodded and gave a gentle snort. “We’ll do that, I’m sure. Let’s head down. I think it may be time to call it a night.”
Tovus threw off the hand Gruum had gently placed on his shoulder. He reached out and snatched back the buckle. He leered over the walls down at the guttering fires of the enemy, who still camped there, trapped at the foot of their walls. With their fleet gone, they had no supplies and no hope.
Tovus lashed out with his arm, throwing the buckle into space in the direction of the enemy camp.
“Tomorrow,” Tovus said, swaying and staring, “we’ll ride out there and butcher the lot of them. Filthy wretches.”
“Perhaps we can capture some and ransom them back to their cities.”
“Ha!” roared Tovus, wheeling around. “The ones that die under my blade will be the luckiest. The rest we’ll feed to dogs and Dragons alike, in bits and pieces. Will you ride with us, Gruum?”
Gruum thought for time. Truthfully, he had seen enough of murder and mayhem for the rest of his days. “My place is at the King’s back. Remember?”
Tovus nodded and clapped him a blow upon the shoulder that staggered the smaller man. “Right you are! Well said! And you did right with that traitor Bryg, as I heard the tale. Let’s go down now, I need to pass out, and this would be a poor spot to do it.”
The two men climbed down from the burnt battlements together. They soon found safer places to rest.
As he passed from consciousness into sleep Gruum hoped fervently that he would have no dreams this night. He was disappointed in the deep hours of the darkness when his dreams were filled with bloodshed, screams and dead things that moved.
End of Hyborean Dragons, Book #4
BONUS Excerpt:
The Sorcerer’s Bane
(Hyborean Dragons #5)
by
B. V. Larson
-1-
The ice surrounding Hyborea did not begin breaking up until early summer. By that time, the people of the island were thin and hungry. Their bluish skins hung around their eyes and their cheekbones were sharp and prominent. Hyboreans were famous for surviving with little sustenance for long periods, but this last winter had been extreme. The King himself came down to the docks on the day the ice broke, and there was a celebration. The Sun, a pale disk in the sky, was clear to see and the cool radiance was deemed by all to be better than nothing.
The celebration went through the night and into the next morn, when the tradeships from the south were expected to arrive. Everyone in Corium counted their gold and excitedly discussed the fresh fruit, meats and wines they would purchase when the ships came rolling in over the open seas. The merchants of Corium were the happiest of all. They rode out in a steady stream, heading southward with a fair wind. They would ply their trades and bring back wealth and goods for all.
But the first days slipped by, and then a week followed. No ships came, and none of the Hyborean merchants returned. Therian ordered his war arks out to see what was amiss. A blockade was discovered. A fleet from the Solerov city-states blocked the seas between the southern kingdoms and Hyborea. When met by the Hyborean navy, they would not stand and fight. The barbarians ran from the slower war arks. Still, their blockade was effective, as there were too few war arks to protect the merchants.
Therian called a council of war. Gruum stood in the darkest corner. He listened, and kept his face shaded by his hood. His expression was as grim as any noble in the chamber. He was not worried about Hyborea this day, however. He was worried about the King’s safety. The people were hungry and desperate. They had felt hope—then had their hopes dashed. No leader in the city was safe from the desperation Gruum saw in the dark, staring eyes of the commoners.
“We could break the blockade with a flotilla,” suggested Scatha, a priestess who had been invited to the council chambers. She wore the traditional black robes of Anduin.
“They would not trade with us if even if we sailed our war arks to their ports,” a priest in red immediately scoffed. His name was Feond, and he followed the Dragon Yserth.
“Then we will force them to do so!” Scatha shouted back at her rival.
“Do you seriously propose we go raiding?” Feond demanded. “We can’t send out our few arks and leave nothing behind to guard our coasts. That is their clear purpose, to begin a new invasion!”
Gruum saw Sir Tovus roll his eyes and heave a sigh. Gruum agreed with the sentiment. They had all heard too much of this bickering. Therian had invited representatives from both the Red and the Black Orders, only to receive people who denounced every word the other said. Rather than being helpful, they only brought greater strife to the council chambers.
Therian himself sat apart from the rest on a small throne covered in white snow-ape pelts. His eyes flicked around the chamber. He appeared to be annoyed with everyone. Gruum could not blame him.
Scatha, her eyes wild with passion, opened her mouth to make another snarling statement toward Feond, who stood with his arms crossed and a smug expression on his face. Gruum wondered at the health evident in their bodies. Neither the priests nor the priestesses ever seemed to go hungry. They were not fat, but neither did their skins hang from their limbs as was so often the case with the common folk.
Therian lifted his hand. Everyone in the chamber fell silent.
“We have no need of wine,” the King said. “We have no need of fine cloth. We only require foodstuffs. These, I can provide.”
“How sire?” Feond asked.
“Do not insult our monarch by asking how,” Scatha scolded him. “What King Therian says he will do, will be done. I would only dare ask when, sire?”
Therian stared at them. Gruum read a weary annoyance in his eyes.
“It will be done now,” the King said. “I require the presence of both of you, to help me with the ceremony.”
“Are you sure, milord?” Scatha asked. She cast a disdainful glance in the direction of Feond. “I’m not sure that the true Dragon would appreciate—”
“Let us walk down to the edge o
f the sea. Both of you will accompany me.”
Muttering amongst themselves, the councilors stood and formed a group. Their assistants carried various items of comfort, including extra cloaks, goblets of wine and hats with plumes too voluminous to be comfortably worn indoors.
Therian made a slight gesture. Gruum stepped to his side, recognizing his master’s summons.
“Yes sire?” Gruum asked.
“Bring me my belt and swords, will you?”
“Of course, milord,” Gruum said approvingly. “One can never be too safe.”
Therian glanced at him. “Quite.”
Gruum hurried to a locked box and opened it, the hinges creaking. He brought Therian his swords and soon they were buckled into place. The other councilors took note, but said nothing.
Marching through the palace, the group’s approach sent every servant scurrying out of the way. Guardsmen stood tall and snapped salutes. Maids rushed to drag away scrubbing buckets so the nobility would not trip or complain. The councilors took no note of these lesser people, and instead argued amongst themselves. A large number leaned toward a raiding strategy, but a stubborn contingent demanded their navy hug their shores to face any new attack. Among the factions, the most vociferous were the priest and priestess.
Therian marched them down from the palace and out into Corium proper. Guardsmen ran ahead of them, shouting: “Make way for the King!” All traffic was halted and any unfortunate left behind in the cobbled streets was kicked harshly aside. Beggars, cartsmen, the elderly and errant children were herded away with equal disregard.
At last, they came to the end of the High Street. The gates stood open and beyond them was the dock district. Blackened and scorched, the gates had been undergoing repairs since the brief siege of Corium. New timbers had been slow in coming down from the mountains due to the heavy snows.
A strange figure stood in their path as they reached the yawning portal that led outside the walls. It was a woman, and she was gaunt and pale in the extreme. She held a child’s hand. Gruum was startled to see the woman was Nadja’s handmaiden, and the girl was none other than the princess herself.
“Sire, may I speak with you?” asked the handmaiden, who Gruum knew was named Ymma. She seemed barely able to stand upright.
Therian halted. The group halted behind him. None knew how their King might react to this interruption of his plans, so they wisely kept quiet.
“What is it, Ymma?” Therian asked.
“Your daughter, milord. I can no longer care for her.”
Gruum looked upon the girl. She had grown taller over the last few days—a phenomenon he was no longer surprised to see. She resembled a child of nine years of age, if he were forced to guess. She had long tresses now, hair which hung in two braids of shiny black. Impossibly, her hair was a foot longer than the last time he’d met her in the Necropolis. Gruum and the councilors around him tried not to stare at the two females, but failed.
Therian stepped forward and looked at Ymma, who looked back with round, vacant eyes. He nodded once, curtly.
“Gruum,” Therian called.
Gruum hurried to his side.
“Take this maiden and guide her gently. She will come with us. She can be among the first to benefit from the feast I plan.”
“Yes, sire,” said Gruum, taking Ymma’s hand. He soon found he had to encircle her waist with his arm and lift her slight weight so she could keep walking. As he marched after Therian, he wondered that the King would so starve a personal servant.
Nadja came skipping after the two of them. “Hello, Gruum,” she said.
“Hello, princess.”
“Do not drop Ymma! She has been so sweet to me.”
“I will not,” Gruum assured her.
Ymma, for her part, stumbled along like one in a trance. She blinked up at the Sun now and then. A thin, shadowy smile played over her lips as she gazed into the sky. Everyone in Hyborea smiled at the Sun whenever it bothered to show itself. No matter how weakly it shined, its thready warmth was always welcome.
Gruum frowned at Nadja and she smiled back at him. His eyes slid to Ymma’s pale body. Surreptitiously, he tugged at the cloth of one of the woman’s sleeves. A length of blue-white forearm was revealed. His breath caught in his lungs. There, upon Ymma’s arm, he saw a dozen scabbed-over punctures. Gruum turned toward Nadja, thinking to admonish the princess, but then he eyed Therian who marched just ahead. He sighed and held his tongue.
END Excerpt
To purchase the entirety of the fifth book in the series, search for The Sorcerer’s Bane on your Ebook Seller's website, or go to BVLarson.com
HYBOREAN DRAGONS SERIES
To Dream with the Dragons
The Dragon-Child
Of Shadows and Dragons
The Swords of Corium
The Sorcerer’s Bane
The Dragon Wicked
HAVEN SERIES
Amber Magic
Sky Magic
Shadow Magic
Dragon Magic
Blood Magic
OTHER BOOKS
Swarm
Extinction
Mech
Mech 2
Shifting
Velocity
Visit www.BVLarson.com for more information.
Table of Contents
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