The Swords of Corium (5 page)

Corium sat upon the sea. Along the seaboard side, the walls did not stand upon the edge of the ocean. South of the southern wall a large dock district existed. Between the docks and the rest of the city stood a heavy gate, which normally was left open all day and closed by night. To the west side of the gate was another archway. Seawater let into the structure there, into an enclosed naval base made of brick and natural stone. Half natural cavern and half built of carved granite bricks, the naval base hollowed out a great section of the nearest mountain that shouldered up to Corium. The caverns sheltered the great ships of the Hyborean navy from the bitter winters. The ceiling inside was fifty feet high and the channels were the same in width. The water was twenty feet deep, allowing the great ships to pass into safety each fall and exit during the late spring thaws.

When dawn rose over the city, turning the silver towers pink, a passage through the ice had been completed by the summoned beings of light. Dark seawater showed like a roadway, guiding the ships out to the open sea a mile away. The beings summoned by Therian had completed their long labor, and the ships were able to exit their frozen port two months before the summer thaw.

The Hyborean fleet sailed with the Royal Ark in the lead. Ten more war arks followed the flagship. Each massive vessel boasted nine masts, which were lowered to the decks until they could get under the archway and out onto the open seas. The men strained and cried out with exertion, using oars, small sails and great poles to drive the ships down the channel to the sea. Once out in the open, the crewmen strained and clockwork systems clicked until the great masts rose up. The masts, each carven from a tree trunk of Hyborea’s hardwood forests, were locked into place. Only then did the sailors unfurl the sails and catch the light breeze, gratefully setting aside their poles.

Each of the eleven vessels sailed out and immediately turned west. The plan was to head out to sea and wait until the barbarian fleet landed on the ice shelf. A signal would come then from Corium via flashing lights. When the signal came, they would rush forward and catch the invaders half on the land and half on the sea.

Therian and Viscount Bryg discussed the plan in the captain’s cabin. Gruum stood off in a discreet corner, watching everyone.

“What if the news does not come for days?” asked the Viscount. He was clearly distraught at being outside the city in her hour of need. “What if a heavy fog rolls in?”

“We will deal with such issues when the time comes,” Therian said. “The signalers must flash a beacon to us every hour. If they do not, we will know something is amiss.”

Viscount Bryg nodded. He stared down fiercely upon the rolled charts that laden the captain’s table. “I don’t like any of this, sire.”

“The most difficult part of battle is the waiting,” Therian agreed.

“Permission to send out a scout, sir,” Bryg said. “I want to spot that fleet. They could be a week off or a day.”

“Permission denied,” Therian said calmly.

“And why, if I may ask, my King?”

Therian stared at him for a moment. Gruum thought it was a dangerous stare. Viscount Bryg, despite his no-doubt good intentions, seemed to be irritating the King with his persistent queries.

“I will permit this question, as you are my Admiral. But I would point out that a man in your position should not require such hand-holding.”

Bryg winced, but held his tongue.

“What is the point of this trap, man, if we go out and show ourselves?”

“It would only be a single war ark…” Bryg began.

“Vosh was not a fool when he was alive, and he’s had seven hundred years since then to grow ever wiser. He will see we escaped the ice with one ark, and will immediately surmise the rest are nearby. The entirety of our plan will be revealed to his mind.”

The cheek muscles on Bryg’s jaw line twitched. Gruum watched him closely, with each of his hands resting on the hilt of a weapon.

At last, Bryg nodded. He rolled up a chart and marched out of the cabin to the decks. Gruum stepped forward out of the shadows when Bryg had gone.

“That one bears watching, milord,” Gruum said.

“He’s a good officer.”

“He’s very passionate.”

“The best officers are.”

Gruum shrugged. Mentally, he marked Bryg down as a man who would never be allowed in the King’s presence alone.

Within hours, the fleet had reached the point where they planned to lie in wait. When evening came, it was as windy as the day before had been calm. Half the sails had to be rolled and stowed so the great arks could stand at anchor without heeling over. The hours rolled by, and the lights flashed from the main island. Each time the all-clear signal came, there was a wave of relief and boredom that swept the fleet. Men both wanted to stave off the inevitable, and yet wanted to be done with the waiting, at the same time.

An hour after dawn the next day, a last signal came. It was forty minutes early. From the blasting of horns and rolling thunder of distant drums, Gruum knew without asking anyone what had happened. The invaders had been sighted.

The fish were leaping near the prow as they cut through the frigid waters. Gruum looked down at them, seeing occasional chunks of thin ice floating on the surface. He wondered just how cold that water was, and fervently hoped he would never find out. The ship became a frenzy of activity as she set full sails. Therian himself stood upon the rear decks, and Gruum stood nearby.

“I don’t like this,” Therian said to no one in particular.

Gruum stood the closest, and looked for something amiss. He saw nothing obvious. “What’s wrong, milord? Can I repair the matter?”

Therian gave him a faint smile. “Hardly. I don’t like the winds. They are not a direct headwind, but we will have to tack to get back to Corium. Our speed will not be the best. Did you notice the shift in the winds?”

Gruum shrugged. “Yes, some minutes before the signal came. But what can be done?”

“Much can be done. But I must question if it is worth doing. There is a hand at work here, other than my own. The shift in the winds was too precisely timed to be a work of nature. The enemy fleet has a perfect wind—one that goes against the grain of the seasons here in Hyborea as well.”

“You think Vosh summoned this wind? To bring him to Hyborea with speed?”

“Exactly,” Therian said. “I’m chagrinned not to have predicted it. If we had chosen a different spot to lie in wait, we might have shared his wind and thus sped in behind him. Now, if I wish to increase my speed, I must use my strength and warn the enemy at the same time. But if I do not, the enemy will have all that much more time to unload and begin their assault upon Corium.”

Gruum nodded slowly. He saw the dilemma clearly. “What will you do, sire?”

“I will summon the witch winds. For this ship alone.”

Gruum blinked. “Whatever for, sire?”

“We will gain less than an hour. When the enemy sees us on the horizon, it will slow their assault. With luck, they will send a group of ships to engage us, but not enough vessels to destroy us. The rest will keep unloading. Then the rest of my ships will arrive.”

“But what if the winds shift and we are left wallowing and fighting a dozen smaller, faster vessels.”

“A dozen?” Therian demanded. He laughed aloud. “One war ark has nothing to fear from a dozen barbarian scows. I would worry if they send out fifty—or a hundred—to meet us.”

Gruum stared ahead, his eyes wide. He strained, but of course he could see nothing of the distant enemy fleet.
A hundred ships to spare?
Just how many enemy vessels did they face?

Therian went down to the middeck and called his wind spirits. He spread black wax, splattering it upon the planks in profusion. He summoned a group of women dressed in black to encircle him. Nine of them did so. Gruum watched, realizing they were priestesses of Anduin. They swayed and rippled seductively, with their arms raised up over their heads.

In time, the wind spirits came with their glowing eyes. These spirits were greater in size and more purposeful than those Gruum had seen before. He reasoned this was as it must be, as the Royal Ark was far more ponderous than the
Innsmouth
had been, and thus would require much more effort to move at speed.

The elder wind sylphs each grabbed up one of the swaying priestesses. None of the women screamed or struggled as they were taken—not even when they were dropped onto the decks from high above, their bodies broken.

Then the sylphs set themselves close to the sails, one stationed at each of the nine masts. They created a gale that set Gruum’s hair and cloak to flying.

The Royal Ark approached Corium at unnatural speeds. Gruum stood upon the command deck in the stern, with Therian pacing in front of him. The winds caused their clothes to fly and flap like pennants high above a castle. He marveled most, however, when he looked over the side of the ship and noted the white furls of water. Birds flapped overhead, working hard to keep up with the giant vessel. The wind spirits had frightened away most of the seagulls, but for a few determined ones. The sylphs worked at the sails, pushing them with their breath as slaves might push a cart.

“Milord!” Viscount Bryg shouted over the howling winds. He stood at the King’s side. “We should dampen the winds. The sails are beginning to tatter.”

Therian glanced up and eyed the sails. “I’ll not break the spell yet. We may have need of it for maneuvering.”

Bryg scowled, but said nothing. He stalked away to check upon the catapults and the boarding parties.

Gruum eyed the mountains of Hyborean, which stood tall and gray in the distance. At their foot a white skirt of ice grew and grew until it filled the horizon. A thinner, darker row of ships became visible dotting the ice shelf like stones cast over a snowy field. Gruum nodded to himself, knowing he saw the enemy fleet. It seemed to stretch for miles. There was no counting of them, but there had to be hundreds of brigs and galleys.

Above the fleet stood Corium, her walls of dark, carven stone blocks stacked a hundred feet high. Surely, thought Gruum, no army could breach those walls. Even as he had this thought, a brilliant flare rose up from the ships aligned against them. It was hued an unnaturally deep shade of red. The flames gushed toward the walls of Corium and scorched them. The fireball struck the gates, but to Gruum, it seemed they survived the blast.

“Sorcerous fire!” Gruum shouted, stepping up to Therian. “Vosh wields his magic against your walls, sire!”

Therian nodded. His eyes and mouth were flat lines. “The breath of the Dragon,” the King said. “He is truly Yserth’s champion.”

Bryg climbed the stair to join them on the command deck. This time, his scowl was gone. His eyes were wide with fear. “Sire! What can we do against such a foe?”

“We can slay them.”

“But milord, they’ve spotted us…” Byrg trailed off, gazing toward the line of ships. Moving as they were at great speed, the enemy fleet was visibly closer every minute. Two squadrons of galleys had left the edge of the ice and wheeled, coming out to meet the Royal Ark.

“Excellent,” Therian said.

Byrg gaped at him. “This can’t be what you planned, milord!”

Therian glanced at him in surprise. “This is exactly what I planned.”

“But sire, what if they turn that flame against us? This ship will become a torch!”

“Then we will burn to death. But I doubt Vosh can summon the Dragon’s breath freely. He needs it to breach the walls, not burn ships. In any case, your lack of resolve is irritating to witness. I suggest you return to your duties, Viscount, or I will have to appoint a new Admiral.”

Chastened and red-faced, Bryg stalked away again.

“Perhaps you should not taunt him so, milord,” Gruum said.

“Why would such a thing concern you, Gruum?” Therian asked.

“It is my duty as your bodyguard to give you such warnings.”

Therian glanced at him with eyebrows arched. “I was not aware I had a bodyguard. But it is a small matter. If it is your duty to protect me, then it is equally mine as King to command the defense of my kingdom as I see fit.”

“Of course, sire.”

The Royal Ark met the two squadrons of galleys and simply plowed into them. The massive prow smashed into three of the galleys and caused them to capsize. The enemy rowed furiously, trying to bring their rams around to hit the much bigger vessel amidships, but failed due to the larger ship’s speed. Catapults cast stones, javelins and burning pitch in both directions. The sails on three of the ark’s masts were set alight, but Therian communed with the wind spirits and put out the flames. The smaller ships were not so fortunate. Two succumbed to bombardment from the high decks of the ark.

Therian wheeled his ship about, and did battle with the remaining galleys. They tried to close and board, but their grapples were cut or cast back. Gruum watched a Hyborean sailor, his leg caught by a grapple, as he was dragged to the rails. He raved as the limb was amputated by the movement of the vessels.

Gruum knelt on the command deck in the stern, seeking to make himself a smaller target for missiles. Therian stood proudly, his cloak whipping about his body, his hands upraised to guide the wind spirits.

They continued to circle among the galleys, destroying them in turn, until only a quarter of them remained. The survivors turned to run back to the protection of the invasion fleet.

“I salute you, my King!” said Bryg, coming near again. He looked more hale and relaxed now that the enemy had been vanquished. “You were right, I was overly cautious. Now we have only to wait here for the bulk of our fleet to join us. The enemy will know fear after seeing a dozen of their vessels sunk!”

Therian ignored him. He stepped forward and covered his eyes with the flat of his hand. There, out upon the ice shelf, the Dragon’s breath erupted again. It gushed over the gates as it had before. The fire was crimson this time, and licked up the walls and over. Gruum and everyone else aboard watched with great concern. The gates rippled with flame on their own for a time after the breath had flared and struck, but they still did not buckle and fall.

“We will pursue and pluck them off the ice shelf one at a time, if necessary,” Therian said.

“But… sire?” Viscount Bryg appeared dumbfounded. “The rest of the arks will be here in less than an hour.”

Therian turned him a cold eye. “There can be no delay. The gates must not fall. We shall damage Vosh’s ships so greatly his men fear to continue the assault.”

Bryg was pale again, but Therian presented him with such a terrible stare that he dared not argue further. He turned and screamed orders to his men. Spittle flew from his lips as he bellowed to be heard above the devilish winds.

Gruum looked up at the vaporous wind spirits, who occasionally paused from their duties to look down at the soft mortals that scurried about the decks of the ark. What did they think of mere men? Were they curious, indifferent—or perhaps amused?