The Swords of Corium (3 page)

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.

 The temple stood in the Northern region of the palace. The structure was unexpectedly small and round, like a squat pillar built of black stone. Each brick was differently sized and shaped, and yet they all fit together precisely, like the interlocking pieces of a puzzle. The entrance was a grate of thick bone.

Gruum stepped up to the gate and attempted to open it. He found it did not budge. He looked for a lock, which he felt sure he could master, but found none. He rapped on the bones, but they only stung his knuckles.

“Hello?” he called into the darkened interior. No response was forthcoming.

Becoming annoyed, Gruum cast about for another entrance. Could they be avoiding him? Was he too dirty or unsightly to be allowed into the temple? He, who had met their god personally? For the thousandth time, he grew weary of Hyborean slights.

Then he found something. A tiny silver bell hung above the bone grate. He reached up and tugged at the hanging chain harshly. It rang with tiny, tinkling notes.

Soon, a shadow appeared behind the bone grate. He could tell by the shape it was a female in the black robes of Anduin. He was unable to make out any more details, however.

“How do you wish to serve the Lady?” asked the priestess.

“By completing the King’s business,” Gruum replied.

The priestess remained motionless. “The King has sent you? What does he seek? We have no more geyser lizards—”

“It is about his daughter.”

The priestess stood for a moment longer, then turned and vanished into the chamber behind her. Gruum lifted a gloved fist to rap harder on the grate when he realized it was retreating upward, silently rising. Soon, the entrance stood open. Gruum ventured inside.

The priestess had a light now, a flickering taper of black wax. Gruum followed her between long rows of benches. He guessed this might be a place of worship. Gargantuan statues stood all around, looming over them. Each stature was in the shape of the Black Dragon. The statues depicted the Dragon with claws extended and eyes blazing. Red rubies flickered in the eye sockets, reflecting the light of the priestess’ taper. Gruum felt a pang of wanting. The rubies were exquisitely cut and each was the size of a human iris.

“Where are we going?” Gruum asked his guide as they reached the back of the chamber.

“Down to the Necropolis.”

“Where is everyone else?”

“Most live upstairs. This tower is only a small part of the temple. When we are not at rest or worship, we now work for the defense of Corium and our Lady’s honor.”

“Work? Where?”

“As I said, they labor in the Necropolis below the city,” the priestess said.

Gruum saw two staircases. One rose up into the hanging gloom of sweet incense. The other wound downward into the bedrock of the city. The priestess vanished downward. Gruum followed her down a set of slick, black steps. They wound around seven times, reached a landing, and then wound around nine times more. He had been deeper than this before, he knew. Therian had led him deep below the dungeons themselves.

Gruum felt cold air from below wafting up into his face. He wiped away a few droplets of chilled sweat and wondered what kind of work could be going on so far below the city streets.

“Some places beneath the city are cold, while others are hot,” Gruum said.

“Very observant,” the priestess commented.

“Could you please explain the discrepancy?”

The priestess glanced back at him. He caught sight of one almond-shaped eye. He had the immediate impression of youth and beauty. This surprised him, as he had expected a crone.

“The South temple belongs to Yserth and sits near the hot springs. The North temple honors the true Dragon, Anduin. Lacking a source of steam, our Necropolis is cool.”

“Frosty, more like,” said Gruum, pulling his cloak around him.

“We find a cool region is best for the storage of the dead.”

Gruum nodded, unable to argue with her logic on that point. The stairway ended in a broken, cracked section of steps. Gruum eyed the jagged stones, but did not ask how the stairs had become damaged. He took a large jump from the final intact stair, then turned and offered his hand to the priestess.

She pointedly ignored his proffered hand. She took small, cautious footsteps down the outer stone lip of the stairway on one side instead, as the framework around the missing stairs remained intact. Gruum shrugged and looked away from her. He took the time to look around. Thick stone columns rose up in abundance, holding aloft the vaulted ceiling. The chamber looked to be one third columns and two thirds void. In the spaces created between were great arches. On the ground were piles of head-sized stones which were stacked at random. Looking up, Gruum realized the palace must be sitting upon this foundation. How fantastically heavy all that stone above must be, he thought. Just looking up at the arches made him want to shiver with a claustrophobic reaction.

“I see no dead,” Gruum said.

“They may not wish to be seen.”

Gruum looked at the priestess in alarm. “They walk?”

“Those that are able,” she said. She stepped away into the gloom.

Gruum paused. He looked up at the broken stairway. He longed to leave this place, despite the fact he had only just arrived. Finally, recalling his promise to the King, he trotted after the priestess before she vanished completely around one of the massive, squat columns. The floor was full of fallen rocks. They were heaped everywhere, unevenly. Walking here was difficult.

“You said the priestesses of Anduin are working for Corium’s defense.  What did you mean?”

She did not answer.

“Can you tell me your name, at least?”

“I am Gawina. Now please, stop asking so many questions. They do not like it.”

Gruum blinked at her, but stopped speaking. He followed the woman for a time, stumbling over large, loose stones. The air between the columns hung motionlessly. It felt cold and thick. It clung like a fog to the skin and the mind.

The priestess stopped at last and lifted her arm, pointing. Gruum followed her gesture. There, he saw a pool of dank, still water. Beyond the pool, he saw a shape moving. He frowned… was that a table?

He turned to ask the priestess, but she had left. He craned his neck and spotted her, wending her way back with the taper guttering in her hand. He snapped his head back and forth, eyeing the movement out over the pool of water and the retreating priestess, who now was only visible as a tiny, bobbing yellow flame. Had she left him here for a sinister purpose?

Gruum sighed and drew his heavy saber. He knelt and rested the saber across his legs. It glimmered in the darkness, still shining with its own internal light from whatever sorcery had been infused into it when he’d lost it in Anduin’s world.

He produced a small lamp and struggled to light it with flint and tinder. He struck the steel box again and again, but although the flint sparked against the box, the wick refused to light. He cursed softly, and flicked at it several more times.

Gruum heard something then, something strange. He thought it was a wheel moving, rolling over stone. He looked up and saw the thing he had thought to be a table. He realized now it was a cart, not a table. Four wheels rolled and creaked as it drew nearer. He stopped trying to light his lamp, as the cart had twin lights of its own. They were lit from inside, but not by any natural flame. Green, ghastly smoke roiled within the twin globes. Worse, much worse, he saw now that the cart had no animals pulling it. Neither was there a driver. Instead, it seemed to move of its own volition.

Gruum stopped breathing. He stared at the cart as it drew closer.
Things
were lying on the flat bed of it, he could see them now. Forms that were not entirely still. When the cart bumped over a stone, the shapes flopped and shifted. Feet and hands lolled off the sides. Not until the driverless, horseless cart reached the water’s edge and splashed into the still pool that separated it from him did he stand suddenly, thinking to flee.

“Be still,” a small voice said behind him. “Make no light or movement, and it will stop seeking you.”

Gruum froze. He knew the voice, for it was Nadja’s. Having her come so close without his knowing did not ease his state of mind, however. If anything, her nearness caused the hair on his neck to bristle even more. Being a veteran of her father’s strange habits, Gruum did manage to keep from screaming and running away blindly into the dark.

The driverless cart had rolled ten paces into the pool before it squeaked to a halt. The brass wheels were half-submerged. There it paused, as if uncertain. Neither Gruum nor Nadja moved.

“It cannot hear, nor see, but it can sense movement,” said Nadja quietly.

“It cannot hear?” asked Gruum. “Then we can speak. What is this thing?”

“They call it a
gatherer
. It hunts for the dead.”

“I see no dead.”

“But they are everywhere, silly Gruum! You are standing on them.”

Gruum startled, but froze again before he alerted the cart. His eyes slid to his feet. It was too dark to see the ground, even with the ghostly green light of the cart’s twin lamps. He thought of the rocks he had been stumbling over as he crossed the uneven flooring.

“The stones? The dead lie beneath the stones?”

“Yes. The flooring here is a vast pile of cairns. This entire place is a mound of dead, covered in heavy stones. But sometimes, the dead are strong enough to push their way free. That is when the gatherer comes.”

Gruum swallowed. “I have no desire to be mistaken by this cart for one of the escaped dead.”

“That is wise.”

They stood as still as they were able. The gatherer began spinning its brass wheels again at last, and exited the pool the way it had entered. It turned ponderously, wheels bumping and rasping over the innumerable stones. Then it rolled slowly way, seeking more lively game.

 When it had vanished beyond a column, Gruum slowly turned to face Nadja. He gave a start. The girl had grown dramatically in the short months since they had returned to Corium. She was much taller, there could be no doubt of it. Before, he had thought her to be three. Now, she could not be a day under six.

“It’s good to see you, Gruum,” she said.

“Thanks for telling me about the gatherer, princess,” he responded. He bent down to work his lamp. The only light he had was the faint blue-white glimmer of his sword, but that was not enough to travel the Necropolis. The flint and tinder worked this time, allowing the wick to spark and flare. A guttering, yellow light illuminated their faces.

“Did my father send you?” Nadja asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Do you always do what father says?”

“Usually,” Gruum admitted.

“Did he command you to take me back to him?”

Gruum thought about it. “No. He only said I should find you.”

“Good! Then can I show you where I like to play?”

Gruum looked this way and that, but saw no sign of the rolling gatherer. Nor did he see any sign of an exit.

“All right,” he said to Nadja at last. “Show me what you know of this place.”