by B. V. Larson
After a long march across the uneven stones, they reached a spot where Karn halted and took up an attitude of listening. The muck on his ribs and skull had dried now into dirty stains. His skull shifted and twisted.
Gruum began to ask what he was doing. The words never left his throat. Nadja shushed him, and the question he’d been about to ask drifted from his mind as he watched events unfold.
Karn spun on his wooden foot and pushed past them, running in the opposite direction. His feet clattered on the stones.
Gruum heard the pursuer then—he heard the squeaking brass wheels of a heavy cart. It was one of the gatherers, he had no doubt of it. The driverless, horseless cart clicked and clattered on the far side of a set of pillars, moving at surprising speed to pursue Karn. Gruum drew his saber and took three steps toward it.
Nadja laid a hand on his wrist. It was a very cold hand. She looked up at him with round, dark eyes. “Don’t,” she said. “You cannot defeat the gatherer.”
“Can he escape it?” asked Gruum.
She looked after Karn and shook her head. “I don’t think so. It is too close now. It has slowed him.”
Gruum watched in fascinated horror as the cart rolled in pursuit. The luminescent green vapors that roiled in its two forward lanterns brightened, as might a predator’s eyes when prey was near. Karn moved now as if he strode through deep water.
“It slows the dead?” Gruum asked.
Nadja laughed. The sound was bright, cheerful and totally out of place here. “How else could a brass-wheeled cart catch anyone?”
They stood and watched as Karn was reduced to a shivering pile of bones. Whatever sorcery allowed his bare bones to move as though motivated by muscle had been interrupted. Gruum could see him struggle, but the closer the cart came the more helpless he became. He now understood the flopping limbs of those that rode on the cart. The dead struggled, but could not force themselves to rise. He wondered if they felt any pain when the priestesses dismembered them. Worse, were they still somehow aware and awake as they were torn apart and rebuilt into a new shape?
“Are you troubled?” Nadja asked.
“It’s a sad end for a good man. He deserved better.”
They watched as the gatherer rolled close, then one of its wheels reversed direction. Gruum noticed there were spikes in the brass wheels. These spikes caught on Karn’s bones and dragged Karn up onto the cart. Rattling and shivering, Karn lay like a broken marionette on the flat back of the gatherer. A dozen other corpses shivered there beside him. The gatherer turned and rolled away toward the northern end of the Necropolis. Gruum saw the wooden foot of his lost friend dangling and clattering on the brass wheels.
Gruum took a deep breath, then stepped after the cart.
“What are you doing?” asked Nadja.
“I’m going to get him away from that thing.”
“Oh no, Gruum. Don’t try it!”
He stopped and turned to face her. “Why not?”
“Because I do not want to see you on the back of that cart.”
Gruum blinked at her. “What if I broke its lanterns?”
“Then the vapor would blind and choke you.”
Gruum slammed his sword back into its sheath. “Why did he lead us down here, anyway? Didn’t he know it was dangerous for his kind down here?”
“Yes, I think he did. And I think I knew where he must have been taking us.”
“Where?”
“There is only one interesting spot along this wall. The priests of Yserth have a shrine nearby. They think no one knows about it. But I do.”
Gruum looked at her. “Show me.”
-6-
Gruum smelled the priests, before he heard or saw them. Next, he saw the pinkish glow of their burning incense. Their chanting was so low in tone, so bass, that it felt like a vibration in the stones he tread upon rather than the voices of men.
Nadja led the way. Both crept upon their bellies to a high bulge of cairn stones. Gruum smelled sweat, intoxicating incense and dust. He peeked out over the stones and saw a surprising sight.
A dozen men lay prostrate upon the stones. With their bodies they encircled something Gruum had not expected to see here. A pool of inky black water. As he watched, the priests continued to drone with their humanly deep voices. They quaked, their muscles taut with strain. It was as if every one of them were being stretched upon the rack. Each man was bare to the waist. Red flowing robes covered their lower bodies, and their heads were plucked clean. They lay prone with arms outstretched toward the watery hole in their midst.
Frowning, Gruum dared lift his head higher for a better view. None of the men were looking toward him and they seemed preoccupied. He eyed the area, looking for clues as to their strange behavior. Then he saw the piles of cairn stones. All around the region, they were stacked unusually high. He understood now that the very stack he hid behind was one such pile of stones. Then his eyes swung back toward the pool of water they surrounded. The water surged rhythmically.
“What have they done?” he whispered.
Nadja shushed him, but he rose higher and stared. He recognized the surge and retreat of the water, slight though it might be. It was the movement of the sea. It could be nothing else. Had they dug a tunnel to the ocean? Had they opened a way to some underground cavern full of seawater? Did they seek to drown Corium in her sleep?
Nadja gripped his shoulder then, from behind. So intent was he that he sought to shake her hand off. Surprised at her strength, he snapped his head around.
Nadja was not there. Instead, a fanatical priest loomed above him. The man released him and picked up one of the cairn stones. The priest lifted the heavy, head-sized stone upward in both hands with the clear intention of striking down and dashing out Gruum’s brains.
The stone flashed down toward Gruum’s face. He rolled away, and the priest missed. Gruum had his dagger out and he buried it in the man’s leg. The priest did not react with pain or fear. He reacted as might a man who felt nothing. He reached for a fresh stone to smash down.
Gruum pulled the dagger out of the man’s thigh and reached higher this time, gutting the priest. The man only grunted, but kept chanting and grimacing. He lifted his new stone high overhead, his muscles standing out with the strain.
Stabbing again and again, Gruum ruined the man’s belly. Entrails slid out of gaping wounds. The stone still came down, and caught Gruum upon his wrist, smashing it painfully. He dropped his dagger and scrambled away. The priest staggered after him, but now the lost blood took its toll. The priest looked no less determined in his task. He did not retreat. He slid on the stones, his sandals making streaks of blood as he shuffled forward. His arms refused to lift the stone fully overhead, but still he kept coming.
Gruum had his feet now, and he had his saber out in his good hand. He had trained himself for years to fight almost as well with his left hand as his right, and tonight the work paid off. He cut off the man’s hands with the first slash, causing the head-sized stone to fall and clatter down upon its countless brothers.
The priest kept shuffling forward, slower now, stumps still upraised although they no longer carried a stone. He kept up the bass chanting as well, his lips working and buzzing as if nothing was amiss. Suddenly, his mad eyes focused upon Gruum’s own, and he spoke words that were intelligible as speech.
“Mote of flesh and dust,” the priest said, in a voice so deep it could not be his own. “Fear the priestesses.”
“You speak to me now?” Gruum asked. He lowered his saber a fraction.
“The witches of Anduin build that which must not be freed,” said the priest. The man took a last step forward, half staggering. His stumps flowed blood as he held them upraised before his body, as if he believed he still held aloft a stone with which to dash out Gruum’s brains. The blood ran down to his elbows and dribbled from those twin spots, splashing upon the cairns like rainspouts in a storm.
Disgusted and frightened, Gruum took off the man’s head. Behin
d him, the other priests rose from their positions of worship. Each of them picked up a handy stone and headed in his direction. They moved in shuffling trots, however, and he soon outdistanced them.
Gruum found Nadja waiting for him in the black, dirty chutes that led up into Corium. She so startled him, he raised his sword to her. She laughed then, and he recognized the sound. He let his saber down slowly.
She lit a candle for him, a small one of the type people carry in pockets for dark moments such as this one.
“You left me,” he said.
“You didn’t stay quiet.”
Gruum considered her for a moment, and then nodded. “All right. I think it is time for us to go see your father.”
“Must we?” she asked.
“I’m definitely going. Come along or not. It is up to you.”
Nadja smiled at him. “Of course it is,” she said.
-7-
They made their way back up into the palace from the Necropolis. When Gruum and Nadja reached the level below the servants’ laundry, Gruum noticed something odd. Before, there are had been steamy heat here, but now the chambers seemed colder and dank. He shrugged to himself, dismissing his observation. It only made sense the laundry would shut down in the wee hours.
They splashed further into the chambers and twisting stone passages. The chill increased until he stepped upon a puddle that had iced over. The ice cracked and the water beneath was so cold it formed slush upon his boot as he lifted it back up.
“Oddly cold in here now,” Gruum said.
Nadja did not turn, but kept moving ahead. “I like it,” she said.
Gruum frowned and reached up to one of the bubbling outlets in the walls. Small vents let the warm water flow down into these chambers from the laundry above. This level operated as a giant drainage system. Gruum found the water coming down out of the vent was warm—almost hot to the touch. He ran his hand down the wall further, wondering at what point it turned cold. It was when his hand touched the floor itself that he recoiled in pain.
“Ah!” he gasped, pulling back his fingers.
Nadja stopped and returned. Her fluttering candle flame was a welcome sight. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“The floor. It is so cold that it burned me.”
Nadja crouched at the spot. She ran her bare fingers down the wall as Gruum had.
“Careful,” Gruum cautioned her.
She smiled. “Hyborean skin is not so delicate as that!” she assured him. She ran her fingers freely over the floor where the hot water touched it and turned to slush, then rapidly to ice. She seemed completely comfortable with the experience. Just watching her touch the floor with bare fingers made Gruum wince.
“You are right, it is cold,” she said in an odd tone of voice. “Even I can feel it. How very odd.”
“What is below us?” Gruum asked her. “Right here?”
She shrugged. “The servants’ quarter.”
Gruum frowned at the walls. He put his hands on his hips and looked at the vent closely. It was shaped like a lion’s yawning mouth. He pulled up his tunic and cut away a long strip of cloth from the bottom. He rolled this into a tight ball and shoved it into the lion’s mouth.
“What are you doing?” asked Nadja stepping near.
“Perhaps we can find out where this vent leads by blocking the outlet.”
Nadja giggled. “An evil trick. How do you think of these things?”
“I’ve spent a lifetime performing evil tricks… according to some.”
After they’d left the drainage level and wound up the side stair into the quiet corridors of the palace proper, Nadja put out her candle and took her leave.
“You will not accompany me to the royal apartments?”
She shook her head. “Father will be cross with me.”
Gruum smiled. “I didn’t think you feared anything.”
“I fear father. And you should too.”
Gruum nodded. He watched her glide away down the hall and disappear. He noticed that she did not bother to relight her candle. He doubted she needed the tiny flame to see.
He shook himself and made his way up to the King’s doors. He lifted his gloved hand to rap upon them, but found them standing ajar. Wary, he drew his saber and advanced into the room. The lamps were lit, and the room was brightly illuminated for once. A figure sat upon one of the silver-clawed chairs.
“My King?” Gruum asked.
The other turned. He could see now it was not Therian. It was in fact a woman dressed in black. It was a priestess of Anduin.
“King Therian is away,” she said.
Gruum eyed her warily. “What have you done here?” he asked sharply.
“It is not what I have done!” said the priestess, standing and staring with blazing eyes. “I did not ask for this duty!”
Gruum took another step, but then halted. He eyed not the priestess, but the floor. There were tiles everywhere, many with stubborn stains that would never bleach out. There were rich carpets as well, under each piece of furniture. He dared not walk upon the carpets. He knew that the shadow creature that dwelt in his master’s apartments preferred the carpets and liked to slip under them.
“You’d best come away from there,” Gruum told the priestess.
She stood and took several steps toward him. “Why? How do you dare to order me about? You are no more than one of these rugs to him—did you know that?”
Gruum smiled. “It is the rugs themselves that I’m worried about. They get jealous, you see.”
The priestess stared at him uncomprehendingly. He looked into her veiled face. He thought perhaps he recognized her.
“Are you the one that led me to the mausoleum? Gawina—is that not your name? Tell me your tale. Why are you here, fair lady?”
The priestess appeared surprised. “You recognize me? Through my veil?”
“It does not hide your eyes. Nor does it mask your voice and demeanor.”
“I am no fair lady, I’m the handmaiden of Anduin. Only she is fair amongst my Order.”
“Ah!” said Gruum, letting the tip of his sword drop so he could rest the point on the floor. “I understand now. Anduin does not let you show yourselves out of jealousy. Only she can attract the eye of a male, is that it? Well, in your case, she has failed to obscure you sufficiently.”
Gawina looked angry. “You mock me.”
“Far from it. I mock your jealous god.”
“That is worse. Far worse. How dare you?”
Gruum shrugged. “I’ve had personal dealing with Anduin. She is not a forgiving creature. There is no love lost between us.”
Gawina stepped closer. “You do fascinate me. I have heard this—that you have dared dream with the Lady herself. I can scarcely believe she would choose you rather than one of our own Order who spend every night trying to beseech her.”
Gruum looked the girl up and down, wondering what charms she hid under her robes. He smiled. “Do you want to know more? Do you want to know how to meet her in your shared dreams?”
Gawina’s eyes were hungry and shameless. “Yes.”
“Take off your veil then, that I may see who I’m speaking with.”
She hesitated. “You mock me still.”
“How so?”
“I cannot remove my veil for fear of violating my vows.”
“Come now, I have met your god in the flesh. Don’t you think I know what might insult her?”
Finally, the priestess reached up and removed her veil. Gruum drank in her beauty. It was intense and unspoiled. He wondered what might have made this lovely woman give up her life to serve the callous Black Dragon.
“I feel as if you violate me with your eyes,” she said, staring back at him.
“Sorry. A man can’t help but notice a beautiful maiden.”
“That is exactly why we wear veils. Now, tell me of my Lady, as you promised.”
Gruum nodded. “There are two methods I’ve learned to visit her. First, you can find a
place of power, a spot such as an ancient altar where many sacrifices have been performed. If you dream there, and the Dragon dreams too, you may meet her.”
“And the second?”
“You must follow her breath, and notice its movement. When the breath is slow and deep, she slumbers. If you can find her breath as she sleeps and dream in that spot, you can meet her.”
She stared at him. “There must be more to it than that.”
Gruum shrugged. “Possibly. Perhaps the Dragons must be interested in the person doing the dreaming as well.”
“Then the question becomes, why are the Dragons so interested in you, Gruum?”
Gruum frowned. “I can’t say.”
The priestess took a few steps closer, studying his face. He in turn studied hers. He liked what he saw. She seemed to have forgotten about replacing her veil, and Gruum didn’t bother to remind her. She now stood within arm’s reach, and Gruum’s arms ached to reach for her.
Gruum sheathed his sword and lowered his voice as he spoke to her further. “I would ask you a question now. Why are you here, fair lady?”
She eyed him and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I was sent her, to beg for the King’s patronage. The Red Order of Yserth seeks our doom. They yearn to burn all of Corium.”
Hearing her words, Gruum realized why the priestesses had sent Gawina and no other. Clearly, they believed her beauty would be persuasive to the King. He could have told them otherwise.
“Coincidentally,” he said, “the red priests say the same of your Order.”
“Yserth’s minions are foul twisters of words,” Gawina hissed, her face suddenly overtaken by rage. “They would naturally speak such blasphemy and slander. They should be burned out, since they love flame so much!”
Gruum was taken aback by her vehemence. He looked her up and down, and chanced to see something near her feet. There, he thought to see a shade. It slipped out between two circular carpets, sending a probing tendril to see who it was who had dared tread upon it.
