The Swords of Corium (4 page)

There was a large structure up ahead. From it, shafts of cold white light shone through the natural fog of the under-city Necropolis. The fog gave the light a ghostly quality, Gruum thought. Or was the effect caused by the Necropolis itself? He was uncertain.

Ahead of him, Nadja hopped lightly from stone to stone, never seeming to misstep. Gruum, on the other hand, found that every rock rolled when he pressed his foot down upon it. Normally a sure-footed man, he found the Necropolis more difficult than ever to traverse as they moved closer to the source of the cold light.

Gruum stopped. Something felt
wrong
beneath his feet. The sensation did not hearten him. The stones were harder to navigate because they gave way under his weight when he trod upon them. Each stone
sank
downward, ever so slightly, as if the ground beneath were spongy turf or shifting mud. He shuddered uncontrollably. He knew then, without a doubt left in his mind, that he walked upon mounds of the dead. The rocks covered them, but they must be thicker here, more common and perhaps—fresher.

“Come
on
,” hissed Nadja, turning back to wave him forward. She held her skirts up so they wouldn’t drag, pinching up folds of cloth. Her quick feet blurred over the stones. Perhaps her light body had less trouble with the shifting stones.

Wincing, Gruum pressed onward. He focused on the girl and the light and tried not to think about the bodies beneath him. Then a new thought struck him.

“Nadja?” he called.

“What?”

“Why does it not reek down here?”

“Because, silly Gruum, we are not barbarians!” Nadja called back, giggling as if she ran in a sunlit field. “We preserve our dead.”

“People should be allowed to rot properly,” Gruum muttered. He swallowed and forced his legs to keep striding after her.  He had a thought as he marched grimly onward. Perhaps this process the girl hinted at, some kind of
preservation
, had something to do with the tendency of the dead to walk here. What if the process went awry at times—what if it went too far? Occasionally, instead of keeping a body from rotting, the alchemical rituals and ointments might provide a corpse with some semblance of false life. As disgusting as his theory was, Gruum felt it might explain a lot.

They came in time to the source of the cold, white light, and found it to be a mausoleum of sorts in the midst of an area empty of great columns. Dozens of figures moved here, and Gruum sprang forward to snatch up Nadja.

She squirmed and he clamped his hand over her mouth.

“Be still, girl,” he whispered in her ear. Her hair smelled of dust. “We don’t know who these people are.”

Nadja stopped struggling, but when he caught sight of her face, he saw she was glaring at him. He removed his hand from her face.

“I almost bit you,” she said. “You don’t want me to bite you, Gruum.”

“Sorry, but I—”

“I know who they are,” Nadja said. “I’ve been here often. The priestesses are here, working on their great project.”

Gruum eased her back onto her feet. “Sorry. Just the priestesses, you say? Not the carts or the walking dead?”

Nadja grinned. There was a dark delight that danced in her eyes. “Oh no, there are dead, and there are carts. They bring their loads here to this spot. And there is one other. Someone special. Come, I will show you!”

She trotted off again, giggling. Gruum chewed his lower lip, gazing after her. He really didn’t want to see anything new. He’d seen enough, and he hadn’t liked any of it. But he had accepted Therian’s assignment, so he felt he must see it through to the finish. He’d said he would find her, and would a father not want to know what his daughter had been up to? With a heavy heart, he followed the child toward the mausoleum.

The outer part of the great structure was white marble. Open columns held up a slab of thicker marble. The huge slab formed a roof, a single piece of stone, mottled-gray and unimaginably heavy. Gruum was reminded of an acropolis.

The priestesses were surprised to see him. There were dozens here, bustling about. They dragged pallets full of oddments. Strips of what looked like tanned leather. Mounds of thick dishes—or were they seashells? Stacked shafts of thick… Gruum stopped and stared.

“Are those bones?” he asked a passing priestess.

She flicked her eyes to him, then to Nadja. “You do not belong here. Leave us to our work, for the good of Corium.”

“I am the King’s man, on the King’s business,” Gruum said.

“Long live the King,” muttered the priestess. She pressed past them and kept going toward the central chamber. Behind her, she dragged a pallet of what had to be fifty gray-white shafts.

“Of course they are bones, silly,” Nadja said. “And the leather strips are carved from the backs of the dead. Only their backs have long enough single pieces without folds or creases that weaken the leather.”

“And those seashell things?” Gruum asked numbly.

Nadja tapped herself on the top of the head. “They are skull caps.”

Gruum nodded. They were indeed harvesting the dead. But for what strange purpose? He dared to stop another passing woman. She dragged behind her a mass of hair. It was uniformly long, straight and black. Perhaps fifty scalps had been scraped clean to create such a mound of hair.

“Milady, excuse me,” Gruum said. “I am on the King’s—”

“We know who you are.”

“Well then, please direct me to your mistress.”

She stared at him, glanced at the girl, then pointed a long finger toward a side chamber. Gruum turned and headed that way. He did not watch to see if Nadja followed. He knew now where she liked to play. He could find her again if she vanished.

Inside the chamber, Gruum found an ancient crone. White hair hung down to drag upon the marble floors. Her bare feet shuffled from spot to spot as she walked around the chamber, touching various idols and gleaming instruments.

“Priestess of Anduin,” Gruum began.

She whirled on him, eyes wide and bulbous. He recoiled from her ancient, half-mad face. “You’ve gotten what you came for,” she said. “Leave us to our work.”

“I serve King Therian. I would ask, in his name, for some description of your work which I might take back to him.”

“Don’t you know by now? Or are you as thick as you appear?”

“I believe you are harvesting the dead that wander here,” Gruum said. “I believe you are doing so to fashion a weapon for the defense of Corium.”

The crone nodded. “Not as thick as I first thought,” she said. She shuffled forward and put her hands on her knees, staring at Nadja. “This is the offspring, eh? I’ve been told of her, how she flits about among the dead as if she picked daisies in a field.”

“I’m not sure I care for your tone,” Gruum said.

The crone ignored him. “Someday, this creature will be more dangerous than the thing we are making here,” she said. She continued to gaze into Nadja’s face, as if she studied an asp found coiled in her garden.

“And what, High Lady, is this thing you are building?”

“It is the Bane of men. A creature that is an abomination upon this world, and which will slay all who meet it. If you want to know more, ask your King. He can tell you the history of such constructs. And remind him he was the one who removed all his father’s bans on sorcery. We will aid this city in her hour of need, but we will do it in our own way. In the manner of our long, long dead matrons.”

Gruum escaped the crone’s presence as quickly as he could. On his way out, he found a central stairway, which led up to the top of the marble slab the columns held aloft. His eyes drifted to the roof. They were constructing something up there.

His foot snaked out and touched the first marble step. Before his second foot could mount the stair a dozen priestesses converged upon him.

“You may cut several of us down barbarian, but we will send your soul to Anduin before we’re done!” shouted the crone from behind him.

“That Dragon and I have already met,” Gruum said. He turned to face the old woman.

The crone’s eyes flashed, and she stared at him. She cocked her head finally, nodding. “You speak the truth. But it matters not. Be you the King’s man or no, none can see the Bane before it is complete.”

Gruum nodded. “My apologies,” he said.

“Let’s go play, Gruum,” Nadja said, appearing at his side. She took his hand with her own small, pale fingers. Each finger was as cold as a tendril of frost growing upon a window pane at dawn.

They left the mausoleum. Eventually Nadja showed him the way out of the Necropolis. The girl followed him up into the clean, echoing halls of the palace, skipping and humming. He did not ask her for her company, but neither did he discourage her.

When Gruum and Nadja reached the King’s apartments, they found them empty. Gruum glanced about, and found his master’s usual attire was laid upon the bed. Checking an open armoire, he discovered the armor was missing, as were the twin swords. Therian, wherever he was, had dressed for war.

Gruum headed for the council chambers, and found the King there, consulting with a group of nobles. All of them wore fine armor and carried gleaming weapons. Plumes fanned from their helmets, red or black or both, depending on which Dragon their house worshipped. The nobles ignored Gruum as he entered, but a few eyes slid to Nadja and paused there.

“Their fleet will arrive within the week,” Therian said.

“This cannot be, sire,” insisted Viscount Bryg, a tall man with green eyes and a mashed nose. “The ice is much too thick. We have two months at least, maybe three.”

Therian did not look at the Viscount. He stared down upon an ancient map of Hyborea instead. “The fleets come. I have seen them. They will land troops upon the ice or break through it somehow. Do not forget, they wield the sorcery of Yserth. The power of flame is theirs.”

“In that case our fleets will be useless, sire,” Viscount Bryg said. “We will have to meet them on the ice, or atop our walls.”

Therian shook his head slowly. “In battle, it is best to do the unexpected. I will open a way for our war arks. Vosh is not the only sorcerer involved.”

The nobles eyed one another in concern. “We have so few men, sire,” said Viscount Bryg, choosing his words with care. “Perhaps we’d best stand the walls.”

Therian looked at Bryg finally. He wore an expression of disdain. “If we allow them to take our outer lands, they will siege us and visit rapine upon our people in the provinces. I’ll not let a single barbarian boot set itself upon the lands of my ancestors. We shall sink them in the ocean, and spit upon their watery graves.”

The Viscount stared back defiantly for several moments. Finally, he lowered his pale, green eyes and nodded. “It shall be as you say, King Therian,” he said quietly.

“Long live the King!” Sir Tovus shouted.

“Long live the King,” echoed the other nobles in a ragged, murmured chorus. To Gruum, they seemed unenthusiastic.

“Prepare the war arks,” Therian said. “How many do we have in the cavern locks that are seaworthy?”

“Ten sire, in addition to the Royal Ark.”

“Very well. We shall sail with no more than ten. We will set out in the morning. Viscount Byrg, you shall be my admiral and see to the preparations. I will see to the ice.”

The Viscount nodded, accepting his role. The other nobles appeared alarmed at the timetable. They did not ask how their ships would be freed from the masses of ice that encased them. That was a matter for Therian.

The meeting broke up into smaller groups, and Therian came to speak with Gruum.

“Did I see Nadja at your side?” the King asked.

Gruum startled and looked around, but realized the girl had vanished again. “Yes sire,” he said. “I found her and brought her here, but the princess seems to have wandered off again.”

“No matter. She is safe and well. You did as I asked as always, Gruum.”

Gruum nodded. “What of the battle? May I choose my place to stand?”

“Naturally.”

“I choose to stand at your side.”

The left corner of Therian’s mouth twitched. It was a cold flicker of a smile. “At my side, and slightly behind me, is that it? Do you know, you are the only man in Corium who thinks of my safety? But do not worry overmuch. I don’t think any of these fops have the stomach to plant a blade in my back.”

“All the same, milord….”

Therian nodded. “I said you may stand where you will. Now, I have much work to do. Meet me on the decks of the Royal Ark at dawn. She is beneath the city, stored in the underground docks. I believe you are familiar with the area.”

“Indeed I am,” Gruum said.

Therian strode out of the council chambers and headed for his apartments. Along the way, he gave strange orders to servants and retainers alike. A dozen eels—all alive and none torpid with cold, were to be delivered to his study, along with an assortment of other things. Candles fashioned with human tallow, the fruit of distant plants and choice parts of snow-apes, pickled in their jars. Along with these specific items a vast array of rare dusts, powders and creams were requested.

Gruum watched as the castle guard was summoned to execute Therian’s orders. Armed groups of men formed, some among them the same hard-eyed, black-armored cadets he’d watched training. The soldiers headed to the twin temples of Yserth and Anduin. Gruum wasn’t surprised. The only local repositories of many of the strange substances were the two temples.

Gruum recalled the last time they’d gone and raided Yserth’s temple for a geyser lizard and demanded passage below the palace. That had been the first time they’d met Vosh and awakened the very conflict they were in now. Once again, he wondered if the Hyboreans would be better off slaughtering one faction or the other. If only one dragon was worshipped in Corium, much future conflict might be avoided. He shrugged to himself and let the thought pass. In his experience, people rarely handled such matters logically. Besides, it was none of his affair.

The night that followed began differently than most. There were no clouds to be seen and the air was perfectly still. By midnight, it was as quiet, cold and crisp as a morgue. Every star was vibrant and crystal-clear to the eye.

In the wee hours, the northern lights began to shimmer and flash, splashing great gouts of color upon the sky. Gruum knew all peoples attributed such shows of nature to the gods of their choosing. He wondered if the people of Corium theorized their Dragons were playing at cards or fighting a battle.

Leaning against Therian’s door, which had stayed quiet and shut for hours, Gruum’s eyelids drooped. He thought of getting a soft chair for the vigil, but chided himself. If he did so now, he would surely fall asleep.

The borealis continued to play outside the windows, lighting the skies green and magenta in broad stripes. He closed his eyes, opened them wide, then let them droop again.

His eyes snapped open again. Had he heard a sound? A most stealthy approach?

There, at the broad window at the end of the hall, stood a figure. Looking upon it, he relaxed in recognition. He walked to the end of the hall and stood gazing outside onto the gray snowy fields and the colorful lights that flickered in the sky.

“Oh Gruum, isn’t it lovely?” Nadja asked him as he stood beside her.

He glanced at her sidelong. Was she an inch or so taller than yesterday? He gave his head a tiny shake. It was best not to notice such things.

“Yes, the lights are quite bright tonight…” Gruum began, looking outside. But he stopped in shock.

Things were different in the city tonight. Living far in the north, there had always been a flickering show of natural beauty, the strange spectacle of dancing, ghostly lights. But tonight was different. Tonight, the lights had come down from the skies to walk the snows between the houses of Corium.

Shapes, figures of glowing light, walked through the city streets. They all walked in a single direction, toward the snow-laden docks.  Once there, they set to work. Vaguely man-shaped, but much larger and with blocky, indistinct outlines, each figure stood taller than a nobleman’s house.

They dug into the snow with their ghostly hands. They ripped up chunks of ice ten feet thick. They hauled them away and stacked them to the side, then went back for more. The cold, the ice in their hands and the frothing, half-frozen seawater below the ice shelf did not discomfort them in the slightest. For they were beings of flickering, colored light and shadow. Creatures half-imagined, and half-ethereal. As Gruum watched, a hundred figures colored as many different hues joined the effort. A trench through the ice quickly grew and widened, heading out to sea.

Gruum cast a wary glance over his shoulder toward Therian’s shut door. What went on in there? He heard what he thought was a sighing sound, and the sounds of things that dribbled and splattered on stone. As he watched, a shimmer of golden light not unlike those that labored upon the ice shined under the crack at the bottom of the door. The golden shimmer faded to be replaced by a single lavender shaft of light that beamed through the keyhole.

Nadja continued to watch at the window. She gasped and whooped with excitement, as a normal child might at a summer fireworks display. Gruum tried to hide his discomfort and fear, forcing himself to smile and nod when the princess exclaimed and pointed out details to him. Far below out on the ice shelf, glimmering figures toiled. The crack and crash of the breaking ice reached his ears with echoing reports.