by B. V. Larson
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 BVLarson.com for more information.
Of Shadows and Dragons
(Hyborean Dragons #3)
by
B. V. Larson
Copyright © 2011 by the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
From the Chronicles of the Black Sun:
Seeking to rekindle the Sun over his lands, the newly-crowned King of Hyborea dared to dream with the Dragons. Therian found an interested—if not sympathetic—ally in Anduin the Black. He beseeched her for aid. The Dragon in turn charged King Therian with tasks to become her champion upon the Earth:
“And then you must retrieve my children, as we agreed,” she said. She looked down upon King Therian’s companion, the barbarian rogue known as Gruum. “Also, young King, you must retrieve that which this jackal has stolen from you.”
-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 Gruum became increasingly concerned, knowing his master had withdrawn from the world of sunlight and sparkling waves.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.
-2-
Gruum awoke in a different place. Lines of hard stone cut into his back. He felt blindly around his prone body, eyes still closed. He felt no decking. He was, as far as he could tell, lying upon a series of stone steps. He opened his eyes a fraction. He knew from experience that this new place was likely to be terrifying, and he was in no hurry to look around.
The stone steps beneath him led up to a throne of carven obsidian. With one widening eye, Gruum dared look at the being that lay draped upon the throne. She was a creature of exquisite beauty. He recognized her as Anduin the Black, but she looked different than she had upon their first meeting. She retained the lithe figure of a young woman and her silky, black hair. She was attractive and frightening all at once. But Gruum recalled her having pale skin and eyes of pale green. This time, her eyes were a malevolent shade of lavender and her skin was dusky. Did this mean her mood had changed, or perhaps her attitude toward them? Or was a change of eye color as natural to the Dragon as the changing of her shape?
Therian knelt before her. Gruum thought it strange to see his King kneel before another. He’d never seen him give such deference to another being, not even a Dragon. Had this creature beguiled him? Who was using whom?
“Your jackal stirs, King,” said Anduin. Her voice was soft and sibilant.
“Pay him no heed, Mistress. I ask you again, may I become your Champion?”
“Yes,” she said, lifting her hand to be kissed.
Therian took her long fingers and brushed them with his lips. Her fingers ended in a set of reflective nails. Each curved nail had been polished to an iridescent sheen.
“But you must perform another service for me,” the Dragon said softly.
“I have returned Humusi—”
Anduin pressed her finger against his lips. Therian’s words halted.
“You will finish the tasks I’ve already laid before you, or my favor will end,” she said. She removed her finger from his lips to allow him to speak.
“Yes, milady,” Therian said. “I ask for guidance.”
“Follow the wind of my breath. Seek that which does not sleep. And there is one other there whom you must meet.”
“I do not—” Therian began.
Anduin’s hand reached out and clasped the top of his head. The fingers splayed. They became longer, and thicker. The skin now showed black scales intermixed with flesh. The polished nails had become inch-long claws.
Therian’s words stopped abruptly. He sagged down until his chin rested upon the obsidian throne. Gruum realized his master had slumped and fallen instantly asleep at the Dragon’s touch.
Anduin arose and came gliding down the steps. Gruum had been crouching where he’d awakened, but now he jumped to his feet. Seeing the Black Dragon approach him, and seeing his master insensate, he thought to run.
Gruum turned away from the throne and looked at the world around him for the first time. In horror, he realized there was nothing for his rolling eyes to rest upon. A hanging mist of gray shrouded the steps and the throne. There was no floor beyond the base upon which the throne stood. The throne and the stone steps leading up to it simply hung in space, as if drifting in a gray void. He felt a wave of vertigo. It was as if he were already falling, as if the throne and all that stood upon it fell together forever into an endless abyss.
As Gruum studied his impossible surroundings, he lifted his hands to his sides, fingers grasping at air for balance. His eyes grew wider as he felt her come nearer, walking up behind him as he teetered upon the edge of an unknown drop. The instinct to run was very strong, but there was simply nowhere to go. He felt like a rabbit in a snare, with the tread of a hunter coming fatefully closer.
Anduin was behind him—very near. He could smell her faint perfume, a scent that was at once both acrid and sweet. His fear was a live thing that pounded in his chest and gibbered in his mind.
“What do you wish of me, great Lady?” he managed to whisper. He dared not turn to face her. He dared not look into those lavender eyes. He knew with the certainty of a dreamer, that to do so was to be lost. For a moment, he felt the hot sweetness of her breath on his neck.
Her sibilant voice whispered in his ear. “Do you trust me as you do your master, Jackal?”
“No Lady, I do not.”
“I shall be rid you then,” she said, her words like drops of hot rain on his back. “But you have yet to play your part, Jackal. I will suffer your existence until you do.”
Then Gruum felt the Dragon’s claw upon his back. In the highest silver tower of Corium he’d faced death at the whim of another and had known a similar moment of terror. He was reminded, in an instant, of the moment he had felt Therian behind him. Then as now, he had looked down into a misty drop into nothingness and been at the mercy of another.
But this time, the hand stiffened. Anduin shoved between his shoulder blades, harder than any woman should have been able. She sent him hurtling, flailing and screaming, out into the void.
&nb
sp; A cold wind whistled past him and his cloak and hair flapped wildly as if he were caught in a gale. Gruum spun around slowly as he fell. He looked up and watched as the tiny island of sanity he’d been standing upon shrunk to nothing very quickly. He could see the base of it, carved of fine, black stone.
“I’ll greet you in Hell, Dragon!” he howled.
Gruum’s fall continued. He believed each terrifying second to be his last.
#
Gruum crashed upon the deck of the Innsmouth. He rolled in pain and fear on the boards. Splinters prickled his back and he crawled to his knees. He felt his back with probing fingers, but he was not seriously injured.
Looking around in bewilderment, he realized it was now quiet morning. The sun was invisible, hidden by a pall of thick mist which clung to the ship like an old man’s shawl. Bathed in sweat, he sat up and tried to catch his breath. He shook his head like a dog. He’d been dreaming, he told himself, and he had startled himself awake. It had been a nightmare when one falls at the end—nothing more, his sanity insisted. He felt a flood of relief at this idea, but unease and uncertainty lingered.
Something bumped into him, and he felt about in the dark for it. He picked up one of the leather cups. He dropped it again, and it rolled about dribbling rum upon the deck planks.
Gruum looked over at Therian then, who still slumbered deeply beside him. He lit a lantern and gazed upon the King’s face. Therian was pale and drawn, but he drew breath yet.
A breeze grew until it ruffled their sails, and then swelled further until it was a soft, steady wind. Despite the breeze, the strange mist clung to the ship like a gauzy glove. Gruum went to the helm and drew his dagger. He slashed the ropes that tied the wheel. He would let the ship go with the wind. He would let the sails decide their course.
Gruum walked back down to the deck, where Therian still slumbered.
