Of Shadows and Dragons by B. V. Larson

have died of old age.”
    “I will place them each in a different dimension,” Therian replied. “Time will stop and the Dragons will fight their final battle ere you are whole again.”
     “Stop! I would offer you an arrangement.”
    “Why wait another year and another day to finish matters between us? You serve Yserth, I serve Anduin. Never can there be peace between us.”
    “I know that which you seek. I know where it lies.”
    Therian hesitated. “You dare speak of my Queen? Have a care, for you are in my power now.”
    “Stop your depredations, and I will give her to you—and the child.”
    Therian placed his boot upon the great neck of linked bone. He leaned close to what had been a face seven hundred years before.
    “Speak, and your torment will end.”
    Vosh told Therian where his bride had lain for many long months.

    #

    When Gruum was brought back to his senses, he found himself in the gray light of day. They were still within the walls of the hunting lodge, but behind the Great Hall. They were in a quiet spot circled with highborn graves. Gruum climbed to his feet.
    “How is it I still live, milord?” he asked. His voice was scratchy, as if he had spent the night screaming. Perhaps, he thought, he had done just that.
    “There are few enchantments two sorcerers can’t break when they wish to.”
    “Vosh helped you?”
    “Not willingly, but yes. He has moved on from this place now.”
    “Where are we?”
    “At my wife’s crypt.”
    Gruum looked around, blinking in alarm. He saw only one grave that might qualify as a crypt. It was built of hand-carved stones and crusted with ice. The iron grille that covered the entrance had been torn open. Blackness and a faint odor of decay met them as Gruum followed Therian toward the opening.
    “What’s inside, milord?” Gruum asked.
    “Steps.”
    “And where do they lead?”
    “Downward, to a chamber.”
    Smelling earth, frost and death, Gruum hesitated on the threshold of the tomb. He thought then to ask if either of them were still mad. “What of the Duke?” he asked instead.
    “Strad would not cease to be, so I buried him—in several places.”
    Gruum’s eyes traveled the tiny graveyard. There were indeed fresh spots dug down into the frozen ground. He wondered if Strad’s parts still twitched down there, where they had been buried. The idea made his stomach roll uneasily. When he looked back toward Therian, he found the other had vanished into the crypt.
    “Come man,” Therian called. “I need your help. At the very least, its warmer down here.”
    Gruum followed Therian downward into the earth. There were indeed steps within. They were very steep, and went winding down in a spiral. The ceiling was so close overhead he had to duck down to pass within.
    They found Therian’s Queen on a slab of marble in a chamber beneath the earth. She appeared to be sleeping. She wore a blue dress that had once been velvet and finely made. But now, the hem was soiled and ripped. The neck and bodice were stained with splatterings Gruum suspected might be old blood.
    “Is she dead, milord?” Gruum asked.
    “Oh yes,” said Therian. “I—I think this is as good a place as any to leave her.”
    “I don’t want to leave mother,” said a very small voice behind them.
    Gruum startled to hear the words. He whirled, one hand on the hilt of his saber. He tensed, but did not draw. He saw now the source of the words. There was a small child in a nightdress standing in a dark corner of the crypt.
    “Who is this then?” Gruum asked.
    “This is Nadja, my daughter.”
    Gruum tried not to stare, but he failed. “She speaks? She can be no more than—”
    “Time runs differently in some places, Gruum,” Therian said.
    “You mean, they’ve been with—”
    “I believe so,” Therian said, interrupting.
    The little girl looked at them very seriously. “I do not want to leave mother,” she repeated.
    “I am your father, Nadja. Your mother must rest here. I