Free The Swords of Corium by B. V. Larson Page A

him the ship was ready to sail. Gruum licked his lips, then gazed at the cord that hung over the side. At last, he nodded. “We’ll set sail—ten minutes from now.”
    “Why the delay?” asked the cadet, exasperated. “We need to get to the ice shelf before the sun sets, or we’ll be stuck at sea until morning.”
    Gruum nodded. “Ten minutes more.”
    They sat there drifting over the seas for ten minutes, then twenty, and finally thirty. At last, Gruum stood up and sighed. He called for the cadet in the dented armor.
    “All right. Let’s set sail.”
    “Upon whose order?” asked a voice.
    Gruum and the cadet rushed to the side. There, clinging to the hull like a tidal crab hugging a boulder, Therian gazed up at them. Ten white fingers gripped the hull like widespread claws. The tip of each finger sank in the wood itself, as if it were clay. Seawater and slush ran from Therian’s face, hair and clothes. His black hair was frosted with ice and salt. His eyes were as red as the blood that oozed from a dozen wounds.

    #

    “You were the one who dropped the cord?” Therian asked Gruum. He stood upon the deck of the carrack, sipping hot wine from a leather mug. The frost in his hair had melted away now, but the color had yet to return to his face.
    “It was I, sire,” said Gruum.
    “The cord was too thin to bear my weight, you know.”
    “I had hoped it might at least guide you.”
    Therian nodded. “It did that.” The King paused the conversation to swill more wine. “I was lost, you know,” he said, a minute or so later.
    “The sea is deep and dark.”
    “The ship was yours for the taking, but you did not sail her?” Therian questioned, staring toward the silver towers of Corium.
    It was Gruum’s turn to hesitate. “I was your bodyguard. I did not wish to fail in my duties.”
    “Admirable,” Therian said. He swilled more wine and sighed. The light of the many souls he’d consumed this day no longer glowed in his eyes. Surviving the cold depths of the frozen ocean had taken its toll. He seemed like a normal man, albeit tired and spent.
    The crewmen cut down the red flag of Kem and raised the black and red of Hyborea to flutter from the mast. The carrack sailed toward the ice shelf. One of the arks was there, working to ram through the thin crust of ice that had already formed in the channel which Therian’s summonings had created the night before. With luck, the surviving arks and the captured ships would be safely harbored inside the naval caverns tonight.
    “What of the enemy troops that were left behind at our walls?” Gruum asked.
    Therian shrugged disinterestedly. “There is no urgency in dealing with them. They can’t break the gates alone. Some will flee into the mountains to be hunted down or die in the snow. Others will surrender. The wisest will fall upon their swords forthwith.”
    “Vosh said something, sire. Something that disturbed me, before he sank into the sea.”
    “What was that?”
    “He said he had the strength now to do what must be done.”
    Therian looked at Gruum for several seconds. Then he turned away again, and nodded slowly. He sniffed and let out a heavy sigh. “As I suspected.”
    “What did the lich mean, sire?” Gruum said.
    “Just what he said.”
    “Then he will return in time?”
    “I’m not sure. But whatever he does, it will be unpleasant.”
    The crew as a whole became celebratory as the carrack followed one of the arks into the naval caverns. They were nearly home, and had survived. Best of all, the day was theirs. They were returning heroes, a thought that finally penetrated the terrors and horrors of the battle they’d witnessed. Gruum asked if they could be allowed to break into a barrel of fine rum they located in the hold. A single nod gave assent.
    Gruum soon joined the sailors on the forward deck, locked arm-in-arm. The drunken group swayed to and fro as they sang a strange song with lyrics full of dragons, ice and blood. Gruum sang with