The Dragon-Child (4 page)

“Only one creature was there.”

“You mean… my dream was true?”

“One vast being,” repeated Therian, as if he did not hear Gruum. He stared out at the sea thoughtfully. “Did you see anything, when I worked with my lure—that tiny blue light that burned in the water?”

“I thought I did. I thought I saw something moving down there. It seemed as if the entire seafloor were shifting of its own accord.”

“You did see it, then. My sorcery tends to attract
things
…. In this case, it has attracted a being of significant power. It has followed us to this island out of curiosity.”

Gruum blinked in alarm. “So, if we leave the island….”

“Yes, the creature’s curiosity might grow. It may decide to take action to encounter us.”

“What does it want?”

Therian shrugged. “To know who dares to work sorcery in its domain. To protect that domain. Perhaps, just to know what we taste like.”

Gruum swallowed. “What will we do?”

“We have a bit of time until the crew figures out the spirits are not leaving their ship. Night will come in a few hours. I suggest we eat what we can find and prepare to meet with this being of the deeps.”

Gruum dreamt of another place. It seemed to him that he awoke there, and that the real world was a hazily recalled dream.

He did not awaken on dry ground, but rather suspended in deep water. The water wasn’t cold, but rather pleasantly warm. It was very dark, the only sources of light being a white, wavery shimmer far above and a lurid, red glow far below. He could not breathe, but he felt no urge to, and no panic for the lack of it. Experimentally, he moved his limbs and found them operable. He stroked toward the surface, naturally enough. He proceeded at a leisurely pace. There was no need for air, no hurry to reach the distant surface.

Something caught his attention during that long slow rise toward the roof of this watery world. Movement, huge and dark gray. A shadow loomed. He regarded it, hands drifting at his sides, hair floating like seaweed in his face. A tiny stream of bubbled rose from his nostrils.

A huge face regarded him thoughtfully. It was not a human face, but rather that of a leviathan. A monster of the deeps. Gruum returned the stare, and slowly, as the black eyes stared back, each as big as his own puny skull, he began to feel fear grow inside him. It was a familiar, but unwelcome sensation.

What if this was the
real
world? What if—somehow—Therian had worked a spell while he slept that let him breath in the deeps? Such a sorcery he could easily believe. The King had done things far more surprising than that. Gruum stared at the monster a moment longer. Maybe he had no need to breathe, but he certainly could be consumed, if this were the real world he floated within.

Gruum screamed. His mouth opened, and bubbles shot outward. A silvery mass of them. He could hear his scream, muffled and indistinct, in his ears. Knowing not what else to do, he swam upward. He grabbed at the water as a man might grab at the earth while sliding over a cliff. With desperate clawing motions he swam upward. But the surface seemed so distant, so impossibly far.

The creature followed him, nosing along in his wake. He could feel its presence. Perhaps it was curious about him. Perhaps it enjoyed the chase. Those jaws. He had not yet seen them open, but he had no doubt they could swallow him without chewing. He was no more than a gulp to this creature. No more than a wriggling sardine in a fisherman’s pinched fingers.

#

The dream tore to shreds and Gruum sat up, gasping. He coughed and spat. Ants had swarmed over his body while he slept. He clawed at his face and slapped at his hands. He coughed further, gasping for air and blinking in the night.

Gruum looked around, befuddled. Therian lay sleeping beside him. A dozen paces away was the bubbling lake. Gruum stared at it. Had he been down there? Had he seen the future, the past—or had it all been a world of phantoms, like most dreams. For a time he sat there, allowing his breathing to slow and become even. He smashed the last of the ants with his thumb and stood up.

What had awakened him? Were the cutthroat crewmen of the
Innsmouth
creeping near? It seemed insane to him then that they had both slept out in the open, waiting for their enemies to set upon them and slay them in a helpless state. He vowed he would not soon go on another of Therian’s dream journeys without good cause.

Gruum tried to relax, but could not. The dream had left him restless. He rubbed his eyes with briny water from the lake, but could not wash away the image of the sea monster. He paced about the cone of the mountain. He reasoned he could leave the spot. If Therian trusted they were in no danger slumbering here, then certainly nothing worse would happen if Gruum went for a walk. He could scout the night, if nothing else. If he spied the sailors, he would alert his master.

Reaching the far edge of the cone, he looked downslope. He could see their fires on the beach. There were two of them. He thought he heard something, gazing down that long way. A scrap of sound was brought up to him on the night winds from the direction of their camp. Had someone cried out? Or did someone blow upon a flute? He could not tell. Curious, he walked downhill into the gloom beneath the trees. He moved with stealth, staying in the deepest shadows.

Unlike his sorcerous master who did not bother with security measures, Gruum knew the pirate band was likely to have placed pickets in the forest, watching for just such a scout as he. Fortunately, Gruum spied the  lookout before the other man spied him. He left him alone, however. Moving with care, he traveled down the mountain and circled to come out upon the beach a hundred paces or so from the beach fires.

Gruum had many thoughts as he snuck down to scout the enemy. Had he thrown his lot in with the wrong side after all? Was Bolo a better man than Therian? Maybe he could parlay with these men. When the sun and the tide came in, they could sail away from this place of nightmares. He would forget about the northern lands and live in the south, where a man could still find a warm port and a warm woman.

He stepped out on the darkened beach and carefully surveyed the scene. Out in the lagoon the ensorcelled ship rolled, half-turned upon its side. When high tide came in the morning, it would be free of the sandbar it sat upon. But the ensorcelling spirits were still there. They twisted and roiled around the masts, sparkling and blowing at the last tatters of the
Innsmouth’s
sails.

Now that he was close, the scraps of sound Gruum had heard had grown in volume and clarity. He was sure of it now, he had heard someone cry out. A voice moaned, sobbed, and shrieked in pain. Could the wind spirits have caught one of the crew and decided to torment him for sport?

Reaching the beach, Gruum lifted his spyglass and eyed the two fires. The first was circled by a smiling lot of sailors. They had broken out the rum, probably to make their predicament more palatable. Despite the wind spirits circling their lolling ship, they seemed to be in a celebratory mood.

Then Gruum moved the glass to spy upon the further fire, one that sat apart, under the trees. It seemed at first that a face was there, silhouetted above the flames. A shock went through him. Were they burning one of their own?

It took him a few more moments to understand what it was he gazed upon. He felt sick when the flickering tongues of flame loomed high enough to allow him to understand what he was seeing. They had built a framework of sticks. Upon it was lashed a figure. The flames danced and blew, and when the wind was right, they loomed up to scorch the naked, straining body.

Gruum knew before he saw the face, who it must be. It was the cabin boy. They had finally, fully, exacted their revenge upon his young person. They were roasting him alive.

His jaw set in a firm line, Gruum slipped away again into the trees. It took the better part of an hour, but he managed to come near the boy. He studied the situation, his stomach rebelling. There was no hope for the lad. He had already chewed out his tongue in his raving—or perhaps they’d tired of his begging and cut it out for him. Parts of his limbs were missing, burnt away to charcoal. It was a wonder he was still conscious.

Gruum knew he could not best a score of men single-handedly, but he could end the torment. He took careful aim and flicked out a knife from the shadows under the trees. The knife sunk into the boy’s throat. The lad gargled, and the fire sizzled as blood spattered down into it. But in a few minutes, the boy quieted and slumped for the last time.

Gruum retreated into the gloom of the trees. His face was twisted in a grimace of disgust. These men had no right to their lives nor even their souls. He would not parlay with them. Better the devil that he’d sworn himself to, than these men, who were true barbarians, and who had no higher purpose.

In the morning, it was Gruum who roused Therian from his slumber.

“Milord? I believe the men are mounting the slopes.

Therian drew in a deep breath. He sat up and frowned around him, as if he did not fully see the same surroundings that Gruum did. “They come to speak with us,” he said.

“Or to slay us.”

Therian dug fruit from his pack. He leaned against a rock, and delicately sliced the fruit into thin wedges. He ate each piece thoughtfully. “Where were you in the dreamlands, Gruum?”

Gruum told him of the leviathan he’d met while suspended in deep, boundless water.

Therian nodded and sliced his fruit. Gruum gazed downslope. “The men will come up on the opposite side of the steaming lake, if they take the most direct route.”

“How big would you say it was?”

“The sea monster?”

“Yes.”

Gruum shook his head. “Perhaps as big as the
Innsmouth
. Longer than that counting its great neck, surely.”

“Would you say that it was an intelligent creature?”

“Milord, I—I can’t see how we have time for this discussion. The men who are coming will be in a foul mood.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you didn’t release the spirits that haunt their sails, for one.”

“And why else?”

“Because—because I may have interrupted their plans.”

“You?” said Therian, looking up from his sliced fruit for the first time. “I see. Well, it is a small matter. I have made arrangements.”

“Arrangements, milord? I think I see them. Yes, at the far side of the lake.”

“You still have not answered my question, Gruum.”

“What was that, sire?”

“Was it an intelligent creature?”

Gruum blinked at his master. Sometimes, he truly did think Therian bordered upon madness. He cared more for a phantom of a half-forgotten dream than he did for the score of approaching men who hunted them with murderous intent.

Gruum sighed. “Yes, milord. Now that I think of it, the monster did act as if it were capable of curiosity at least.”

Therian nodded and seemed pleased. He stood up and brushed his black-gloved hands together, banishing the scraps of his breakfast. “Good. I had hoped it would be so.”

Gruum spared his master a final quizzical glance then crouched. The men across the way had brought crossbows this time. He could see them clearly, as well as the glint of the steel bolt-heads with which they were loaded.

Bolo cupped his hands. “Sorcerer! I demand you do as you promised. Release the spirits! The high tide is upon us, and we would prefer to be away.”

Therian lifted his arms into the air. Seeker and Succor gleamed overhead. He spoke foul words of Dragon Speech. The men winced and ducked as if each word were a bat, determined to fly into their faces.

Between the two groups of men the lake bubbled. A massive white froth erupted in the center of the steaming pool. Every man there, save Therian himself, stepped back a pace and eyed his surroundings with dread.

“What are you doing? Release my ship, blue devil!”

“It is done,” shouted Therian suddenly. He lowered his twin blades and crossed them over his chest. A wind blew up suddenly, rippling every cloak and dry lock of hair. The wind was a fetid thing, like the exhalation of a rotting mouth.

“Did you truly release their ship?” asked Gruum, unable to see the shoreline.

“Do you doubt me?”

“No, sire.”

The men looked downslope behind them toward the shoreline. Some of them whooped with happiness.

Bolo called for their attention. His men gathered around. Gruum and Therian watched. Gruum felt a growing disquiet as the men showed no signs of retreating down the mountainside.

Bolo called out orders to his crew. They broke into three groups. Two groups began to approach, taking opposite routes around the lake. The third group stood with Bolo himself. These last seemed preoccupied with their crossbows.

“Sire! They betray their word to us!”

“Naturally. That is the sort of men they are.”

“But why?”

“Would you leave a sorcerer behind you? One who might conjure up a boat and follow in the night?”

Gruum thought about it. “I would if I’d sworn to do so.”

Therian smiled. “That is why you serve me, and not these others. What are you doing down there, Gruum?”

Gruum had dropped down to his knees, crouching behind an outcropping of crumbling stone. “They fire their crossbows, sire!”

Therian stood and stared. The crossbow bolts flew, but they sailed by harmlessly. At a distance of well over a hundred paces, fired through steamy currents of air, the enemy would have to get lucky to strike them. But Gruum wasn’t taking any chances. He hunkered down lower.

“I suggest, sire, that we retreat down the slope, or better yet, charge one group or the other of the approaching squads of men. If we can take them as separate groups, our chances will be better.”

“It’s interesting,” said Therian, his tone that of a man who discusses a sequence of moves upon a chessboard, “that the two flanking groups come on without haste. Neither wants to meet us before the other, I would suspect. They would do better with a determined charge.”

Another flight of bolts fell among the stones at their feet. One flew high, a foot over Therian’s head.

“Milord, your bravery is legendary, but I would implore you to duck at least.”

Therian looked down as if noticing Gruum for the first time. “Stand up man, or you will miss it.”

“Miss what?”

But Gruum had no sooner spoken these words than an amazing event transfixed the attention of everyone present. A huge treetrunk exploded out of the water at the feet of the men approaching on their left flank. No, thought Gruum, it was a ship’s prow, perhaps one that had been released by the bubbling of the volcanic lake. Then, as the thing continued to rise up, higher and higher, fountaining steam and brackish water, he recognized it.

The great head swiveled once, taking in the crouching, shouting, retreating knots of men. The huge black eyes rolled over them, then the head dipped and lunged downward. The first sweep of the great jaws caught two men, and a great chunk of black earth with them. Legs drooped from its mouth. One man’s sandal fell away and splashed down in the frothing lake.

Gruum looked at those eyes and knew what he faced. It was the creature from his dreams. It was the leviathan.

The creature loosed a wild, undulating howl then. It heaved itself upward onto the shoreline with a tremendous effort, like that of a walrus humping up onto a rocky beach. It chewed as it came, and the moment it swallowed, the head dipped again. Another sailor was caught and consumed.

The crossbowmen around Bolo fired their bolts, but quickly broke. They did not have the stomach to stand and reload. Sticking out of the creature’s neck and scarred head, several crossbow bolts pierced its thick hide. They did not seem to seriously discomfit the monster, however. Gruum imagined a bolt would be like a pin stuck in a man’s side. Irritating, but nothing more.

Gruum himself crouched low, hoping the monster wouldn’t turn their way. Bolo could be seen shouting to marshal his men, but they ran in every direction. Finally, when those huge skull-sized eyes swung in his direction, he retreated as well, running down from the cone of the mountain into the forests.

Only Therian stood calmly throughout the affair. He watched with the idle curiosity of a man who was winning a small bet upon a public race.

“Did you summon this creature, lord?” asked Gruum, his voice shaking.

“No. I simply alerted it to our presence.”

“Then why does it attack them and not us?”

“Standing still is an excellent way of avoiding a predator’s attention. Especially when livelier game is available.”

Gruum stared at him, then turned his attention back to the monster. It had climbed out of the volcanic pool and now gave chase. Lumbering down the side of the mountain, it smashed down trees as a man might smash down tall reeds in a marsh.

“What do we do now?” asked Gruum.

Therian lifted a thoughtful finger and pointed it down behind them, toward the beach where they had first brought their own sunken vessel. “We will await them down there. Come.”

Gruum followed Therian down the mountain with many apprehensive glances over his shoulder. In the distance, they could hear occasional weird, warbling cries. The beast hunted in the forest, smashing its way through the trees. Finally, Gruum could not stand the tension any longer and spoke again.

“Sire, let us make haste to the beach!”

Therian turned him a surprised look. “And where would you have us go?”

“Further away from that thing. As fast as possible.”

Therian shook his head and snorted in amusement. “We are not trying to escape it. We are on an island. There is nowhere the chase will not lead. We will stand upon the beach and wait.”

“What if they go to ground and hide? Will it not find us standing in the open first?”

“Those that hide will be sniffed out and devoured. Those that run will live a bit longer.”

“And what of us, milord?”

“That remains to be seen.”