Free Of Shadows and Dragons by B. V. Larson Page B

then they seemed to accept him. He was, after all, a man-at-arms in service of another strange lord. The armsmen could sympathize with his status.
    Therian then turned back to the Duke and addressed him. “I would ask a moment to convene with the gods of my homeland.”
    Duke Strad snorted softly. “Be my guest.”
    Therian threw back his cloak from his shoulders so that it hung behind him. He raised his arms overhead and closed his eyes. “I call upon thee, Anduin the Black, Lady of the night winds, to give me strength of limb and mind.”
    Everyone fell silent. A full minute passed, during which the retainers shuffled their boots in the snow. During this period, nothing unusual occurred. A few smiled at one another and shook their heads.
    Then a breeze rose up. It came in the form of a rushing sound that first touched the treetops outside the walls. Then it howled down with sudden force into the courtyard and picked up the finest granules of frost from the ground. The frost swirled around Therian’s feet and looped about his body in a manner that appeared—unnatural.
    All sneers and smirks died. The men standing in the gray daylight looked down in concern. Little swirls of white frost circled their boots as well.
    As the winds rose in volume, Therian began to chant. His words filled the volume of space around everyone within earshot. They tumbled forth from his lips, and became visible upon exit into the open air. Dark bubbles of vapor puffed from his mouth as he formed each alien syllable. The retainers clapped their hands over their ears and hunched as if they were turtles trying to suck their heads down into their shells. They staggered backward, away from Therian, widening the cleared circle around him.
    All the while these strange events played out, Strad stood in his doorway. He watched silently. His mouth was a grim line of determination.
    When the spell was done, Therian advanced toward the Duke. He removed his cloak with a flourish and tossed it in Gruum’s direction, who hurried to scoop it up.
    Therian bounded up the stone steps to the doorway, taking three at a time. The Duke backed up at his approach and let him pass within.
    Therian paused to stare into the Duke’s cold face. He dared put a hand on his host’s shoulder. The scene was an odd one, as the Duke appeared to be a head taller and possibly twice the weight of the Hyborean. Still, the smaller man showed nothing resembling fear. Instead, he appeared eager to get to the contest.
    “Come!” boomed Therian, his voice sounding louder than Gruum could recall it ever having sounded before. “Let us grapple then, Strad!”
    Therian pushed past his host and headed for the fire that burned high and brightly on the open hearth. Gruum, Strad and the retainers followed him.
    Grunting, Therian made a show of pushing aside the huge tables, shoving them toward the walls. The oaken tables were made of thick posts and planks. Each must have weighed as much as a horse. The furnishings scraped and groaned as they were forced over the flagstones.
    “So, you are a sorcerer,” said Duke Strad, pulling off his own gloves and stepping toward the open space before the fire. “Just as rumor has had it. I had not put much credit to the whispers about you, King Therian.”
    Therian did not seem surprised at the Duke’s mention his true identity. “As I did not put much stock in tales of your strange ways,” Therian replied, finished with the task of shoving tables about.
    “What tales?” asked Strad sharply.
    Therian shrugged. “The usual. Stories of drunken groping fingers, young children and whores found dead on the bed sheets when the light of morning comes.”
    Strad had finally had enough. He came at Therian then in a headlong charge. His thick fingers were extended like claws. A gurgling, growling sound came out of his throat.
    Therian reared up to meet the charge, his hands clasping Strad’s. The two locked fingers and strained for a moment. Neither