along the length of Seeker’s blade, which was still planted firmly in Karn’s ribs.
“I beseech thee, milord,” shouted Gruum. “Damn him not!”
“Aye! Aye!” cried the crewmen.
“Have mercy, sorcerer!”
The helmsman spoke for the first time. “He does not deserve an eternity with the Dragons for defending himself.”
Therian gritted his teeth while the lights did play upon his blade. The spell was unfinished. He turned his wolfish gaze upon the Captain. “How say you, master of this vessel? Is he at fault or were you?” he hissed out.
The Captain blinked and his mouth sagged as he faced of the horrors of sorcery. “He does not deserve to sleep with the Dragons. I gave him cause for his mutiny.”
“Very well,” Therian snarled. He ripped the sword from Karn’s ribs and allowed the corpse to sag down upon the deck. The lights upon the blade dimmed. In moments the twisting sparks turned to silvery gossamer and floated away toward the stars. The spell had been broken.
The terrified crewmen crawled upon the rigging and tried to cower into the very deck of the ship in their fear, but upon a small vessel at night in a frozen ocean, there was nowhere to hide. With terror and fascination, they watched the sorcerer. Even as they stared, they desperately strove to avoid his attention.
-2-
“I’ve had my fill of your evil stench, Hyborean witch,” said the Captain, his face twisting into a scowl. “You should not have interfered. Time to put you off my ship.”
“Agreed,” responded Therian. “I’ve breathed enough of your stench as well. Put in to the nearest port and that will be the end of my passage.”
The Captain’s scowl twisted slowly into a dark grin. He rumbled with what could only be laughter, and Gruum realized that he had never heard him laugh before until that instant. “No, worm-skinned freak. I’m putting you off right here,” he said, indicating with his bloody pinion the black, icy sea that slid beneath the ship. As Gruum watched, he took it up with a new, purposeful grip.
Therian approached the Captain. He took one step, then two. His eyes narrowed. He stared coldly, and then nodded. “Do you maintain that Karn was an innocent man and should not have died?”
“He was mistreated, yes.”
“Then by your own admission, Shipmaster, I have slain an innocent man and the fault is yours. I demand satisfaction.”
The Captain gaped like a dying fish. “This is no duel, fool!” he roared. He waved to his men. “Cast him over the rail, and that land-loving nomad with him!”
The crew shuffled, uncertain. Gruum tensed, but no one made the first move to follow the order.
Seeker rose up as if it had a life of its own and the tip paused before the Captain’s nose. Succor, in turn, slid quietly out of its sheathe, as a snake might flow from a rat’s burrow. The Captain shook himself awake. His eyes narrowed. He reached out a hand to his crew.
“Very well then, a duel it is. A blade, my men!”
For a moment, no one moved. Gruum looked down upon his own saber, and felt an urge to give it to the man, but with a spike of shame in his heart, he did nothing.
Then the helmsman stepped forward and pressed the hilt of a heavy cutlass with a sharkskin grip into his master’s hand.
The Captain nodded his thanks. He turned back to Therian, cutlass held high.
“I’ve never liked you, nor any of your arrogant people. I’d rather feed your corpse to the leviathans than spend your gold.”
They both slashed at one another. The cutlass and Succor clashed together, sparks flying in the night. More strokes were quickly exchanged, each was parried. It quickly became evident that Therian was much faster, and more skilled, but he lacked the strength to face the Captain.
After several passages of arms, the Captain played a foul trick. He grabbed the cabin boy by the tunic. He was a blond lad with teeth that were very white, but which had been planted at random angles in his mouth. The
“I beseech thee, milord,” shouted Gruum. “Damn him not!”
“Aye! Aye!” cried the crewmen.
“Have mercy, sorcerer!”
The helmsman spoke for the first time. “He does not deserve an eternity with the Dragons for defending himself.”
Therian gritted his teeth while the lights did play upon his blade. The spell was unfinished. He turned his wolfish gaze upon the Captain. “How say you, master of this vessel? Is he at fault or were you?” he hissed out.
The Captain blinked and his mouth sagged as he faced of the horrors of sorcery. “He does not deserve to sleep with the Dragons. I gave him cause for his mutiny.”
“Very well,” Therian snarled. He ripped the sword from Karn’s ribs and allowed the corpse to sag down upon the deck. The lights upon the blade dimmed. In moments the twisting sparks turned to silvery gossamer and floated away toward the stars. The spell had been broken.
The terrified crewmen crawled upon the rigging and tried to cower into the very deck of the ship in their fear, but upon a small vessel at night in a frozen ocean, there was nowhere to hide. With terror and fascination, they watched the sorcerer. Even as they stared, they desperately strove to avoid his attention.
-2-
“I’ve had my fill of your evil stench, Hyborean witch,” said the Captain, his face twisting into a scowl. “You should not have interfered. Time to put you off my ship.”
“Agreed,” responded Therian. “I’ve breathed enough of your stench as well. Put in to the nearest port and that will be the end of my passage.”
The Captain’s scowl twisted slowly into a dark grin. He rumbled with what could only be laughter, and Gruum realized that he had never heard him laugh before until that instant. “No, worm-skinned freak. I’m putting you off right here,” he said, indicating with his bloody pinion the black, icy sea that slid beneath the ship. As Gruum watched, he took it up with a new, purposeful grip.
Therian approached the Captain. He took one step, then two. His eyes narrowed. He stared coldly, and then nodded. “Do you maintain that Karn was an innocent man and should not have died?”
“He was mistreated, yes.”
“Then by your own admission, Shipmaster, I have slain an innocent man and the fault is yours. I demand satisfaction.”
The Captain gaped like a dying fish. “This is no duel, fool!” he roared. He waved to his men. “Cast him over the rail, and that land-loving nomad with him!”
The crew shuffled, uncertain. Gruum tensed, but no one made the first move to follow the order.
Seeker rose up as if it had a life of its own and the tip paused before the Captain’s nose. Succor, in turn, slid quietly out of its sheathe, as a snake might flow from a rat’s burrow. The Captain shook himself awake. His eyes narrowed. He reached out a hand to his crew.
“Very well then, a duel it is. A blade, my men!”
For a moment, no one moved. Gruum looked down upon his own saber, and felt an urge to give it to the man, but with a spike of shame in his heart, he did nothing.
Then the helmsman stepped forward and pressed the hilt of a heavy cutlass with a sharkskin grip into his master’s hand.
The Captain nodded his thanks. He turned back to Therian, cutlass held high.
“I’ve never liked you, nor any of your arrogant people. I’d rather feed your corpse to the leviathans than spend your gold.”
They both slashed at one another. The cutlass and Succor clashed together, sparks flying in the night. More strokes were quickly exchanged, each was parried. It quickly became evident that Therian was much faster, and more skilled, but he lacked the strength to face the Captain.
After several passages of arms, the Captain played a foul trick. He grabbed the cabin boy by the tunic. He was a blond lad with teeth that were very white, but which had been planted at random angles in his mouth. The
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