The Dragon-Child by B. V. Larson

-1-

    Upon returning from Anduin’s domain, Gruum found weeks had past, although it seemed to him he had spent but a single night in the Black Dragon’s strange domain. Therian laid plans to take to the sea at the first opportunity to fulfill the Anduin’s demands. The ice, however, had other designs. It was more than a month before the blue-white floes broke enough to allow ships to leave the harbor.
    Therian prepared carefully. He took pains to disguise their departure, telling his staff he would be away on a diplomatic journey of a discreet nature. By this time, the various stewards and councilors who had survived the first year of his reign gave him no argument. They murmured their approval and shuffled away, backing and bowing until they were out of his sight. Their velvet slippers made only the softest, whispering sounds on the flagstones. No doubt, Gruum thought, they would all be glad to see their grim King leave for as long as possible.
    They opted to depart quietly when the shipping lanes finally reopened for the season, making no fanfare about it. Identifying himself only as a Hyborean noble who sought warmer climes, a common enough theme among passengers leaving Corium, Therian took passage upon a nondescript smuggler’s vessel. They had reasoned that a Hyborean dreadnought, cruising toward southern ports, would surely warn the Queen of their arrival and give her time to flee. Barely forty paces in length, the Innsmouth was a ratty, two-masted brig with a mob of lean-muscled, gap-toothed men for a crew. The ship left the harbor ice behind and sailed away southward, unnoticed by the cheerless people of Corium.
    After visiting several of the nearest southern ports, they had found nothing. When they put silver into dirty palms and asked to be led to fine ladies, they found themselves presented with cackling crones and whores with missing clumps of hair.
    Gruum noted that Therian had spoken no more words to him about the Queen’s escape. He felt relieved, hoping that the issue had been resolved between them, at least for now. He wondered how things might go if they did indeed meet the fair Lady Sloan again.
    To curious crewmen, they traveled as a Hyborean lord whose lands had been lost to the glaciers, accompanied by his last faithful man-at-arms. It was a believable enough guise, and none questioned it. After learning more of Therian, the inquiries stopped. Word got around that asking questions of the moody noble was a dangerous pastime.
    With each passing week, Therian became more sullen and resolute. He spoke little, and the crew responded by falling quiet in his presence. As they traveled from port to port, Therian became known as a man who was quick to anger. It was said he often dueled with common folk in dimly-lit side streets. These fights would always end in bloodshed and, some whispered, a vile curse. Gruum suspected that Therian picked upon the surliest of the dock scum in the ports they visited that he might draw their strength from them and thus keep up his own. Over time, everyone came to avoid him.
    At the least, Gruum reflected, this far south the sun did give a hint of warmth, although it was only a fraction of what it had provided a decade ago. As was his habit of late, Gruum took to the stern deck and sat beside the First Mate, Karn.
    “Hail, Gruum,” said Karn, an easy-going man whom Gruum had come to like. He wore a cap of black felt and pantaloons of ragged silk. He offered Gruum a jack of hot mead, which Gruum took and sipped contentedly.
    “Well met,” replied Gruum. “This mead will do the trick to take the chill out of a cold evening.”
    The helmsman stood nearby. He was a saturnine man who took his job most seriously, and did not even acknowledge the other two. He worked the creaking wheel, his eyes distant as he watched the stars and the currents with dark, vigilant eyes.
    “Good to see you, Gruum. How is your master this evening?” asked Karn.
    “Sullen, and in a foul