that her soul would have a fine, light taste. A taste like that of spring water in summer.”
Gruum could not restrain himself. He turned on the Duke. “How is it a mortal man such as yourself has retained the services of such a creature? This is no physician. This is a monster, a thing that should not speak, nor stir from its grave.”
“Vosh is not my retainer. I would not conceive of such an arrangement with so great a being. He is a guest here—as are you, mouthy commoner.”
Therian took a deep breath, as if faced with an unpleasant task. He struck Gruum a sudden blow to the cheek, using the back of one hand. Such was the force of the strike that Gruum was spun around and nearly dashed to the ground.
“I apologize, Duke Strad,” Gruum heard Therian say over the ringing in his ear. “He is a good man, but addled by the storm. He’s lost sight of his place in this world.”
“I accept your apology,” said the Duke formally.
“I must admit, however,” Therian said with carefully chosen words. “That I am surprised by your choice of houseguests.”
“Indeed,” the Duke said, smiling with half his mouth. “A Hyborean Lord, a Lich, a barbarian from the steppes and a wayward girl. This shall no doubt be an entertaining lodging.”
-11-
They were ushered to a room and brought hot stew and hot brandy. Gruum sipped and sniffed the food distrustfully.
“My good man,” said Therian in amusement, watching him. “They would not bother to poison us, should their intent be to break their word.”
“Something is not right here, milord,” Gruum responded. Reluctantly, he dipped a crust of bread in the stew and chewed. The flavor was good, but he could not enjoy it.
“Something is not right?” asked Therian. “I rather would say that nothing is right here. This is a cursed placed full of cursed beings. And I do not hesitate to include ourselves in that description.”
“I’ll not be able to sleep here,” said Gruum sitting on a cold, musty bed. The sheets so cold as to be half-frozen, but he had to admit the goose feather mattress was softer even than the snow outside.
“As you will,” Therian said. He folded his cloak over a trunk and addressed his own featherbed.
“What do you think they are doing with that poor girl, milord?”
“Hopefully, they are allowing her to get some sleep before dawn grays the windows.”
Gruum finished his food, then fretted and stretched on the bed. The sleep of exhaustion crept upon him and snatched away his mind. He could not resist the velvet blackness of slumber.
Sometime later, in the stillest hour of the night, his eyes snapped open. Had something entered the room with them? He sat up.
There, in the corner of the room, a pool of deep shadow lay. This was strange only because there was no bright light. The windows had grayed with the dawn, but there was no sunlight. Nothing, at least, that could be responsible for casting a shadow of such black depth.
“Milord?” whispered Gruum. He watched the shadow. Did it twitch? No, it could not have. His eyes ran to the ceiling, expecting to see an assassin hanging there, but there was none. There was nothing in the room that could have cast that shadow. No source of harsh light, nor an object to block it.
As Gruum watched, the shadow did move. There could be no doubt of it. The darkness left the corner. It crept to the foot of Therian’s bed, where it halted and lay in an ovoid puddle like thick, spilled ink.
“Milord?” Gruum called, his voice louder.
“What is it, man?”
“There is something … something that lies at the foot of your bed.”
“Yes,” said Therian, sighing. “Take care not to step in it. Do not turn the beam of a light directly upon it, either.”
Gruum thought these statements over for a moment before speaking further. While he watched, the shadow crept beneath the thick, round posts of Therian’s bed. Gruum was reminded of a cat, withdrawing from unwanted scrutiny.
“What
Gruum could not restrain himself. He turned on the Duke. “How is it a mortal man such as yourself has retained the services of such a creature? This is no physician. This is a monster, a thing that should not speak, nor stir from its grave.”
“Vosh is not my retainer. I would not conceive of such an arrangement with so great a being. He is a guest here—as are you, mouthy commoner.”
Therian took a deep breath, as if faced with an unpleasant task. He struck Gruum a sudden blow to the cheek, using the back of one hand. Such was the force of the strike that Gruum was spun around and nearly dashed to the ground.
“I apologize, Duke Strad,” Gruum heard Therian say over the ringing in his ear. “He is a good man, but addled by the storm. He’s lost sight of his place in this world.”
“I accept your apology,” said the Duke formally.
“I must admit, however,” Therian said with carefully chosen words. “That I am surprised by your choice of houseguests.”
“Indeed,” the Duke said, smiling with half his mouth. “A Hyborean Lord, a Lich, a barbarian from the steppes and a wayward girl. This shall no doubt be an entertaining lodging.”
-11-
They were ushered to a room and brought hot stew and hot brandy. Gruum sipped and sniffed the food distrustfully.
“My good man,” said Therian in amusement, watching him. “They would not bother to poison us, should their intent be to break their word.”
“Something is not right here, milord,” Gruum responded. Reluctantly, he dipped a crust of bread in the stew and chewed. The flavor was good, but he could not enjoy it.
“Something is not right?” asked Therian. “I rather would say that nothing is right here. This is a cursed placed full of cursed beings. And I do not hesitate to include ourselves in that description.”
“I’ll not be able to sleep here,” said Gruum sitting on a cold, musty bed. The sheets so cold as to be half-frozen, but he had to admit the goose feather mattress was softer even than the snow outside.
“As you will,” Therian said. He folded his cloak over a trunk and addressed his own featherbed.
“What do you think they are doing with that poor girl, milord?”
“Hopefully, they are allowing her to get some sleep before dawn grays the windows.”
Gruum finished his food, then fretted and stretched on the bed. The sleep of exhaustion crept upon him and snatched away his mind. He could not resist the velvet blackness of slumber.
Sometime later, in the stillest hour of the night, his eyes snapped open. Had something entered the room with them? He sat up.
There, in the corner of the room, a pool of deep shadow lay. This was strange only because there was no bright light. The windows had grayed with the dawn, but there was no sunlight. Nothing, at least, that could be responsible for casting a shadow of such black depth.
“Milord?” whispered Gruum. He watched the shadow. Did it twitch? No, it could not have. His eyes ran to the ceiling, expecting to see an assassin hanging there, but there was none. There was nothing in the room that could have cast that shadow. No source of harsh light, nor an object to block it.
As Gruum watched, the shadow did move. There could be no doubt of it. The darkness left the corner. It crept to the foot of Therian’s bed, where it halted and lay in an ovoid puddle like thick, spilled ink.
“Milord?” Gruum called, his voice louder.
“What is it, man?”
“There is something … something that lies at the foot of your bed.”
“Yes,” said Therian, sighing. “Take care not to step in it. Do not turn the beam of a light directly upon it, either.”
Gruum thought these statements over for a moment before speaking further. While he watched, the shadow crept beneath the thick, round posts of Therian’s bed. Gruum was reminded of a cat, withdrawing from unwanted scrutiny.
“What
Similar Books
