The Dragon-Child (7 page)
Of Shadows and Dragons
(Hyborean Dragons #3)
by
B. V. Larson
-1-
Gruum and Therian rode upon the dilapidated decks of the
Innsmouth
. She was a two-masted brig whose deck had seen more than its fair share of blood. The pair of them had traveled the seas for months, meeting with wonders, terrors and sadness in equal measures.
As the skies darkened and the weather turned cooler, Gruum thought they might return to Corium. But instead, his master headed out into the open sea without stating his purpose. There they became becalmed, and for a full week, no breath of air stirred their sails. The days were long—and the nights even longer. Each morning, when Gruum arose and dared glance sidelong at Therian, he saw his master had become yet grimmer of aspect.
Therian’s lips grew cracked, but he would take no food or drink. His eyes seemed to expand in size, color and intensity, but he would not sleep. He stared upon Gruum when addressed, but he did not respond. Gruum became increasingly concerned, knowing his master had withdrawn from the world of sunlight and sparkling waves.
During the gray days Therian stayed in the darkest recesses of the ship’s stern hold. At night he came out and walked the decks while Gruum tried to sleep below. Gruum found sleep next to impossible. The boards creaked all night under his master’s pacing tread. Gruum’s heart pounded in rhythm to each of his master’s countless footsteps. When the steps paused, Gruum’s heartbeat paused with them, wondering what his master might be doing in the dark above. What strange thoughts must be twisting in the King’s mind?
In the middle of the eighth night, Gruum was unable to find sleep at all. Growing restless, he ventured to the deck. The ship had felt no breath of wind for days. No moon hung above them. Only cold stars gazed down upon the two men, who stood on the deck of the dead-seeming
Innsmouth
. In the starlight, Gruum could make out his master’s tall shadow.
“Milord?” Gruum whispered. “How is it you have not weakened? How is it you still walk when you do not eat, rest or—or perform sorceries?”
Gruum had asked the King a hundred questions over the last week, but all had been ignored. Up until that moment, however, he had never dared inquire as to the source of Therian’s continued strength. It was the question he had thought best left unspoken. Gruum had suspected that the answer, when he learned the truth of it, would fill him with horror.
The creaking upon the deck stopped. The night’s relentless pacing had come to an abrupt end.
Gruum retreated as Therian turned and approached him. Gruum’s father had often said he’d rather a dead son than a grown fool, and the old man had endeavored to beat what he called a ‘dose of sense’ into his boy. Gruum had developed an acute sense of self-preservation as a result. His feet moved him to the ship’s rail. He was very aware that the only being aboard the
Innsmouth
his master might feed upon was Gruum himself. He was determined to throw himself into the placid night seas rather than become the plaything of the Dragons this eve.
“You’ve asked the question,” rasped Therian, standing a few paces away.
Gruum tensed, with one leg lifted and the boot planted upon the ship’s railing. He calculated that if Therian lunged at him, he should still have the time to make it over the side. He prayed the Hyborean wouldn’t dive into the deeps after him and skewer him anyway. Gruum doubted he could swim faster than his master when the sorcerer was possessed by bloodlust. He wondered at the nature of his death, should it be fated to come now. Would the Dragons recognize their own speech if Therian spoke his foul spells underwater? Gruum wondered if he could drown himself fast enough to escape. And would he keep his soul, if he did?
“You’ve asked the question,” Therian repeated. “The question I’ve been awaiting.”
“Tell me the answer then, master—if it is your wish to do so.”
In the starlight Gruum could not see Therian’s burning eyes, but he felt them upon him. He waited for his master to either lunge or speak further. While he waited, he stared in the darkness and witnessed imagined events. In his mind, he saw bubbles swirling in seawater with clouds of his blood blossoming amongst them. Words meant to be spoken by a Dragon’s throat rose up, locked in colorful globes of breath. Each bubble shone silver, crimson or lime with eldritch light.
“Slaying the Dragon-Child Humusi has changed me,” Therian said, speaking at last. “The passage of such a soul was not like that of others I’ve consumed. Rather than a single powerful draught, it was a full meal. The strength of such a creature has sustained me much longer than might the mortal soul of a dockhand.”
“Why then do we sit here? Can you not summon the wind spirits with your new strength to bear us on our way?”
“Why would I do that?” Therian asked. “This is exactly where I wish to be.”
“But we are
nowhere
, master. This place can’t be found on any known map. I do not know the name of this sea, nor even if it has a name. There is no land in sight in any direction by daylight. The stars are wrong here as well, and do nothing to guide me.”
“Yes, exactly. You describe the place I have long sought.”
“Why, milord?” Gruum asked.
“I wait to be summoned.”
“Summoned? By whom?”
“I await
her
. She who will call me to her dreams.”
Gruum paused, beginning to understand. “You wait for the Dragons?” he asked, whispering the last word lest it be heard by distant ears. The boot he had placed upon the railing slid down to the deck again. He realized he was in no immediate danger, but wondered if his next hours of life might prove worse than drifting at the bottom of this nameless sea.
“Like us, they must sleep,” Therian said. “They must dream. Only then can I meet them.”
“You cannot, ah, open a way to their realm?”
“This is not a place of power, and I do not know this part of the world well enough to find such a spot.”
“Perhaps, milord,” Gruum said, trying to hide the hope and pleading in his voice, “we should return to Corium? To the altar beneath the palace?”
Therian made a rustling sound and came a half-pace nearer. Gruum could not see, but thought he had thrown back his cloak. Was the King about to draw Seeker and Succor? Had this entire discussion been a ruse to lull him? Gruum’s left boot again found its way back to the top of the railing. He doubted he would have time to dive over the side, but knew he would attempt the leap anyway.
Therian froze in the attitude of one who listens intently. Gruum opened his mouth to speak, but Therian shushed him. For long minutes the two men listened to the sounds of the night. Gruum heard the slapping of water against the ship’s hull. He heard the timbers creak, rubbing against one another as the
Innsmouth
rolled gently upon the endless sea.
Gruum squinted suddenly. Was there a new sound buried beneath the rest? It was a
sighing
sound, which ruffled the mainsail. Could that be a breeze? Gruum’s heart leapt at the thought.
“Milord?” he said.
Therian lifted a single, black-gloved finger to shush him again. The breeze grew with a gentleness that was almost undetectable. Gruum mounted the steps and grabbed hold of the helm, which they had lashed down and which had set them upon this course to nowhere. He could not stop from speaking, such was his excitement. “The wind had returned! What course should I set?” Gruum asked in a whisper.
“There is no need.”
“But the breeze, milord,” Gruum hissed. “We would do well to catch it!”
“That is no breeze, faithful Gruum. It is the exhalation of the Dragon. She breathes in long, slow puffs when resting. Soon, she will fall asleep—and then we must slumber with her.”
Gruum blinked. Often, when traveling with Therian, the prospects of madness had been presented. He had all but grown accustomed to it. He had never discovered the true source of the madness, however. Was it his King, or the universe itself?
“What should I do then?” Gruum asked.
“Prepare us both a cup of strong drink. We will sleep now.”
Gruum went below and did as Therian bid. There, he dared to light a tiny lantern. His master had forbidden the use of any such light upon the decks at night. But down here, in order to pour drinks with his shaking hands, Gruum found a small flame was necessary. He caught sight of himself in a tiny, broken mirror as he worked. He wondered briefly which one of the dead pirates who’d previously owned this vessel had hung the mirror there. He looked at his distorted reflection and saw big, haunted eyes, a dark growth of bristling whiskers and a mouth twisted with worry.
Gruum smashed the mirror with his fist. He grabbed up two leather cups which sloshed with rum as he carried them up to the decks.
Sleep overcame him very swiftly. He would not have believed it possible, but the moment he lay down, darkness glided into his mind like a thief with whispering feet. Perhaps it was the strong drink, or the release of his pent-up worries—or even the breath of the Dragon which Therian insisted now surrounded the ship. He knew not and cared not. He fell asleep on the rough decking beside his lord.
END Excerpt
To purchase the entirety of the third book in the series, search for
Of Shadows and Dragons
on your Ebook Seller's website, or go to BVLarson.com
More Books by B. V. Larson
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.
