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With Vosh’s power broken and his separated parts no longer existent upon this world, Hyborea knew a few months of relative peace. The people were saddened by their losses and the destruction of fully a third of Corium, but they had fresh hope. The summer months, fleeting though they were, proved fruitful. The southern kingdoms fell to bickering amongst themselves, forgetting about their dreams of reviving the Solerov Empire. Vosh’s spell over their minds faded, and soon they gave up their hates and lusts for Corium and instead began to trade with her. Fresh fruit, sweet wines and a hundred other luxuries were brought to the docks and traded for bright silver from Hyborea’s infamously deep mines.
Hale and full of food again, if not good cheer, the people set to work rebuilding. By midsummer, winter loomed close in their minds, and they knew their city had to be prepared for another long hibernation. They rebuilt the burnt sections of the palace. They replaced the great gates with fresh timbers from the mountains. Longest and most difficult of all, they patched the gaping hole in the central square that let sunlight down into the Necropolis. It would not do to allow the light to burn their ancestors, who now slumbered peacefully again.
Overriding the quiet urgings of Gruum, the King did not disband either of the two temples of Corium. Therian considered instituting sweeping changes in the nation’s religious Orders, but his councilors begged him not to, pointing out that the people had suffered so greatly already. As most of them had perished anyway, he did not punish the Black Order for having lost control of the Bane—nor did he persecute the Red Order for having plotted with Vosh to stop those of the Black from building it. He did admonish both Orders to bury their centuries-old rivalry and return to the tradition of respectful tolerance…a tradition that had recently been abandoned by all sides.
The King did act in the matter of the walking dead, however. He ordered that each fresh body that was laid down be permanently disabled, so that if it should awaken some day in the distant future, it would not be able to cause great harm. It was decreed that every corpse must have a spike of silver shot home at the base of the skull. The spike, driven completely through the back of the head to a point just between the eyes would, by alchemical principle, prevent the dead from rising. The injury would be almost unnoticeable to the grieving relatives, and it would not cause the body to decay. But they could no longer be used to walk like puppets for future necromancers.
Some doubters, Gruum among them, pointed out that while such precautions were well and good, an enterprising enemy need only remove the spikes. His unwelcome mutterings were not heeded, and the problem was publicly declared solved, to choruses of wild cheering from the surviving citizenry.
The day after Therian changed the laws of the land, Gruum and Therian stood in the atrium overlooking the freshly rebuilt town square. The citizens of Corium labored below and the Sun shined with relative warmth overhead.
“Gruum,” the King called. He stepped away from the window.
Frowning, Gruum came close. “Yes, milord?”
“I take it you still do not approve of my decrees.”
“It’s not my place, sire, but—”
“Exactly,” Therian interrupted. “It is not your place.”
Gruum bowed his head, leaving his chin to rest upon his chest. He did this to look contrite and also to hide his grimace.
Therian stepped back to the window where he could watch the people mill upon the square. “They look happy out there. Too bad it will be such a short-lived time of cheer.”
“What is amiss?” Gruum asked.
“Winter will soon return.”
“But it is midsummer, milord.”
“According to our auguries, this warmth will soon pass, and it will not return.”
“Never?”
“Never. The ice will form a skirt around the isle of Hyborea as usual, but this
With Vosh’s power broken and his separated parts no longer existent upon this world, Hyborea knew a few months of relative peace. The people were saddened by their losses and the destruction of fully a third of Corium, but they had fresh hope. The summer months, fleeting though they were, proved fruitful. The southern kingdoms fell to bickering amongst themselves, forgetting about their dreams of reviving the Solerov Empire. Vosh’s spell over their minds faded, and soon they gave up their hates and lusts for Corium and instead began to trade with her. Fresh fruit, sweet wines and a hundred other luxuries were brought to the docks and traded for bright silver from Hyborea’s infamously deep mines.
Hale and full of food again, if not good cheer, the people set to work rebuilding. By midsummer, winter loomed close in their minds, and they knew their city had to be prepared for another long hibernation. They rebuilt the burnt sections of the palace. They replaced the great gates with fresh timbers from the mountains. Longest and most difficult of all, they patched the gaping hole in the central square that let sunlight down into the Necropolis. It would not do to allow the light to burn their ancestors, who now slumbered peacefully again.
Overriding the quiet urgings of Gruum, the King did not disband either of the two temples of Corium. Therian considered instituting sweeping changes in the nation’s religious Orders, but his councilors begged him not to, pointing out that the people had suffered so greatly already. As most of them had perished anyway, he did not punish the Black Order for having lost control of the Bane—nor did he persecute the Red Order for having plotted with Vosh to stop those of the Black from building it. He did admonish both Orders to bury their centuries-old rivalry and return to the tradition of respectful tolerance…a tradition that had recently been abandoned by all sides.
The King did act in the matter of the walking dead, however. He ordered that each fresh body that was laid down be permanently disabled, so that if it should awaken some day in the distant future, it would not be able to cause great harm. It was decreed that every corpse must have a spike of silver shot home at the base of the skull. The spike, driven completely through the back of the head to a point just between the eyes would, by alchemical principle, prevent the dead from rising. The injury would be almost unnoticeable to the grieving relatives, and it would not cause the body to decay. But they could no longer be used to walk like puppets for future necromancers.
Some doubters, Gruum among them, pointed out that while such precautions were well and good, an enterprising enemy need only remove the spikes. His unwelcome mutterings were not heeded, and the problem was publicly declared solved, to choruses of wild cheering from the surviving citizenry.
The day after Therian changed the laws of the land, Gruum and Therian stood in the atrium overlooking the freshly rebuilt town square. The citizens of Corium labored below and the Sun shined with relative warmth overhead.
“Gruum,” the King called. He stepped away from the window.
Frowning, Gruum came close. “Yes, milord?”
“I take it you still do not approve of my decrees.”
“It’s not my place, sire, but—”
“Exactly,” Therian interrupted. “It is not your place.”
Gruum bowed his head, leaving his chin to rest upon his chest. He did this to look contrite and also to hide his grimace.
Therian stepped back to the window where he could watch the people mill upon the square. “They look happy out there. Too bad it will be such a short-lived time of cheer.”
“What is amiss?” Gruum asked.
“Winter will soon return.”
“But it is midsummer, milord.”
“According to our auguries, this warmth will soon pass, and it will not return.”
“Never?”
“Never. The ice will form a skirt around the isle of Hyborea as usual, but this
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