The sounds of merriment and revelry grew louder as the soldier, the demon and the wounded Revenant approached the town centre. Ready for trouble, Shakkar strained his ears for any sound of approach from behind them. The open streets gave way to narrow alleyways, increasing the possibility of sudden ambush.
Erik proceeded in a staccato sequence of movements, his black weapon at the ready, his head flicking from side to side like that of a snake scenting prey. At each street corner, the soldier pressed his back against the wall, waiting a few moments before leaping into the open in a crouch, the muzzle of his weapon weaving back and forth as Erik danced about, trying to surprise any lurking enemy.
So far, they had been lucky; no encroachments had been made upon them.
"The Brianstonians’ much-vaunted security cordon does not impress me,” Shakkar declared.
"A small perimeter is much easier to defend than a large one,” Erik said from the corner of his mouth. “I suspect the real fun lies closer to the town centre."
"You'll be feeding our beloved Uncle by the day's end,” the captive Revenant hissed, his face contorted and his teeth bared, like those of a cornered hound.
Shakkar dug his claws deeper into the impudent mortal's abdomen, drawing an agonised groan from the man.
"Put all futile thoughts of defiance and courage behind you, human,” he growled. “I fancy we may be able to find our way now, without your encumbrance. The only reason you still live is you may prove valuable as a hostage. Do not try to be brave, or I may decide that you are not worth leaving alive. Your only function is to lead us to Baron Grimm and his companions."
"And I will do so, devil, as I promised. However, I can't speak for the other members of the Council. The first checkpoint's coming up-we'll see how you fare then."
"Any ideas, Lord Seneschal?” Erik asked. “You know my rifle's no good against these Revenant types."
Shakkar scratched his leathery jaw with his free hand, producing a sound like a steel rasp on granite.
"Perhaps an advance scout might be an advantage,” he suggested. “Brother Thribble, would you be willing to fulfil this role?"
The tiny demon, clinging to Erik's webbing, nodded. “I, too, prefer action to inaction, friend Shakkar. Yes, I will do the deed."
"Where is nearest of these ‘check-points', worm?” The Seneschal added just a touch of emphasis with his steely talons.
"Ah!” The solid dream-entity, winced. “T-turn left ahead, and you'll see it-” Shakkar slapped his plate-sized palm over the Revenant's mouth, lest he cry out to his fellows.
Thribble scurried down Erik's body to the ground. “I will return in a few moments, when I have assessed the tactical situation,” he squeaked, with just a trace of self-important pomp. The demon scurried away like a frightened, grey mouse.
Several anxious minutes passed before he returned. “There is but a single Revenant at the station,” he shrilled, “but he is in direct sight of at least two others. There seems to be an unbroken line of communication around the entire inner area. Questor Grimm's prison is in the very centre of this. A stealthy approach appears impossible, and there must be fifty or more of these so-called Revenants. If they attacked in unison, even you, Brother Shakkar, might be at a considerable disadvantage."
Shakkar thought back to his encounter with just one of these creatures. A single Revenant had managed to bring him to his knees, and he recognised the truth in Thribble's tactful words.
"I could act as a decoy,” Erik suggested. “Maybe, if I made enough noise, I'd distract their attention, so you could sneak in."
Shakkar pondered the Sergeant's proposal; it seemed plausible, but the soldier might well pay for his boldness with his life. Despite the demon's former contempt for the human species, he found himself unwilling to countenance this.
"Your brave offer does you much credit,” he rumbled, “but I would prefer to examine alternatives before we commit ourselves to any one course of action. Brother Thribble, do you have any suggestions as to how we might proceed?"
"Perhaps I do, friend Shakkar,” Thribble piped. “This entire city appears to be no more than Gruon's dream. If we woke the sleeping entity, the Revenants and most of the buildings might cease to exist."
At these words, the captive Revenant began to struggle, thrashing in Shakkar's grasp as if possessed. The demon, acting on the purest reflex, drew the man's head to his chest in an attempt to subdue him. The human's strength was phenomenal, and Shakkar squeezed rather more tightly than he intended.
After a crunching, clicking sound, the man's struggles came to an abrupt end, and Shakkar realised he had broken the Revenant's neck. He could not bring himself to grieve as he let the corpse fall to the ground in an untidy heap, its head twisted at an unnatural angle.
"Well, I guess that's one less problem to worry about,” Erik said. Kneeling down, he asked Thribble, “Do you know where this Gruon character is, demon friend?"
"When I first searched the town, Sergeant, I saw the appearance of a strange apparition, some kind of mud golem. A bizarre creature it was, and the Brianstonians began to panic as it moved through them. However, they soon seemed to forget the mud-being; I imagine that such fantastic creations are commonplace in this peculiar place."
"What of this mud-thing, Thribble?” Shakkar growled, beginning to find his fellow demon's loquacity wearing. “What does this phantasm have to do with Sergeant Erik's question?"
Thribble gave a whistling snort. “Why, Brother Shakkar, I saw it disappear into a large, stone temple with Gruon's name on it. I know where the mausoleum lies from here."
"Then that is what we shall do,” Shakkar declared. “It is time for this dream to end."
Erik raised his hand. “Just a moment, friends; do you know what sort of creature this Gruon is?"
"Some sort of dragon, I hear,” the imp said, with a shrug.
"A dragon?” Erik said, raising his eyebrows. “Is there such a creature?"
"There is,” Shakkar said, feeling the inexorable descent onto his heart of the cold hand of uncertainty. “Dragons come from a dimension much akin to mine. Their skin is like stone, and their breath is blue flame. My nest-brother, Akkin, had the misfortune to meet one in single combat. He was scorched to a crisp before he could land a blow on the being.
"It shames me to admit it, but I am almost the runt of my litter. Akkin was twice the demon I am. If he could not defeat a dragon, I would surely stand little chance against one. Perhaps direct assault against an angry dragon is not our best option."
Erik rose to his full height and stretched. “What else do we have? It doesn't sound like easy duty in paradise, sure, but we're running out of choices here."
Thribble screamed, “The roof! The domed roof of the prisoners’ compound! The walls seem to be thick stone, but the roof must be made of weaker, lighter material. If you could fly onto that, you might be able to batter your way through."
"That sounds like a better plan,” Erik said, “unless they have bows or guns."
"I have seen no evidence of such weapons,” the imp replied.
Shakkar nodded. “That does seem a more harmonious option,” he said. “Let us fly now."
Thribble scurried onto Erik's shoulders, and the soldier bent his back so that Shakkar might catch hold of his webbing. The titanic demon grunted, launching himself into the sky on whispering wings.
Grimm scanned the domed roof with wondering eyes, assessing the possibilities. He thought back to his confrontation in the Pit at Yoren, and his clumsy, but successful, attempts at flight.
"Putting off the moment, eh, Questor Grimm?"
The mage started at the voice of General Quelgrum, close behind him.
"What do you mean, General?"
Quelgrum shrugged. “Let's face it, Lord Baron; you lost a lot of respect after you had your little breakdown. We're into a damage limitation exercise, now. You've got to try to convince these people that it was just a momentary blip, and that it won't happen again. You really can't put it off any longer. Staring at the ceiling won't help you."
Grimm did not take his eyes off the dome high above him.
"That wasn't what I was thinking about, General,” he said. “I just thought that ceiling looks pretty thin-relatively thin, anyway. I can fly, after a fashion, and I reckon I might be able to break through. It might take a lot of my energy, but, once outside, I should be able to summon my staff, Redeemer, assuming they haven't put it in some iron vault."
The old soldier sighed. “And then? The Revenants can flood this place with gas; I've used it myself, on occasion, and I can promise you it works pretty fast. And what if they have put Redeemer in an iron vault?"
"They'd have to get here first, General,” Grimm said. “Up on the dome, with the aid of the strength I've stored in Redeemer-or even without it-I should be able to do something before they arrive. If I fall, Guy can take over."
"And then?"
Quelgrum sighed. “Look, Lord Baron, I'm pleased you're trying to think of ways out of this hole, but I do think we ought to be aware of the whole situation before we act. By the sound of things, Uncle Gruon can last a time before he needs another dose of blood from us. It might be better to bide our time and wait; at least we know they'll feed us well in the meantime."
"A woman is going to die tomorrow, General Quelgrum!” Grimm snapped. “Don't you care? And then there'll be another, and another, until we admit defeat and become happy little slaves, measuring out our lives in generous meals designed to enrich our blood for dear Uncle Gruon's delectation! I say we try something-anything-while we still can!"
"If you're determined,” Quelgrum said with a shrug, “then I suppose I can't stop you. But it sounds like a hare-brained plan to me. None of us, except perhaps you and Questor Guy, has any weapons."
"I've spent a lot of my life thinking, General. The essence of being a Mage Questor is to act! Are you with me or against me?"
Quelgrum raised his eyes to the slate-blue dome above him, and back to the young mage. “All right,” he said. “I advise you against it, but I won't balk you if you're determined to go ahead. I'll get the others."
"Thank you, General Quelgrum. That's all I can ask of you."
Despite his confident tone, Grimm felt far from convinced of his chances of success. His first and only attempt at flight had been a clumsy balancing act, a semi-controlled tumble to the ground, and he had been able to draw on the aid of Redeemer to sustain him. Even assuming he managed to rise smoothly to the centre of the dome, he would still need to break through the structure.
The middle of the ceiling could be opened from the outside, to allow the Sacrifices to be extracted. Perhaps the opening mechanism was accessible from inside the rotunda. Then again, if the roof was reinforced with pure iron, like the walls, his magic might be nullified. His bare hands would never suffice to break through the structure.
As the General moved off to discuss the plan with the other warriors, Grimm continued to stare at the ceiling, considering his options.
"So Dragonbluster, here, thinks he can get out of here and take on the whole of Brianston?” Guy said, snorting. “Let him try it, say I!"
"I never said I could fight all of them, Brother Mage!” Grimm protested. “But I do feel we should do something, while we still can!"
"Something?-such a lovely word!” The Great Flame's voice dripped with contempt. “Perhaps this marvellous something will take us all to paradise in a golden carriage! Perhaps we can all-"
Grimm raised his hands in exasperation.
Can someone shut up this big-mouthed, self-opinionated-?
At that moment, as if in answer to Grimm's prayer, he heard a thunderous thump, high above him. He looked up to see the wooden chair swaying in sympathy with the loud, rhythmic noise.
Breeders began to run from their chambers, staring in wonder at the vibrating dome, some screaming in terror. Now, a fine tracery of cracks could be seen, running through the slate-blue ceiling. Fine dust fell with each dull, pounding sound, and the chair, hanging at a crazy angle, crashed to the ground. Larger shards of material began to crumble away from the cracks, and Grimm saw the dome begin to deform and quiver with each thump.
"Get away from there!” Quelgrum cried, waving frantically at the milling Breeders. “I think it's about to-"
With a crunching, tearing, groan, the very centre of the dome fell in a tangle of wood, rope and tackle, and Grimm could see a pair of grey, black-clawed hands tearing at the rent in the structure, widening it.
It's Shakkar! the mage thought, his heart leaping in his chest. I don't know how he found us, but thank the Names he's here!
Further lumps of metal and stony material tumbled to the floor, sending the Breeders scurrying away to the walls.
The onlookers stood, open-mouthed and silent, as a huge, grey-green figure thumped to the floor of the rotunda in a welter of dust, blue shards and metal. Shakkar fell heavily, landing on top of the remains of the chair, shattering it into splinters with a tumultuous crash.
For a few moments, the demon lay still, atop the pile of debris, and Grimm feared that Shakkar had been hurt. However, the netherworld titan was no vulnerable construct of frail, human flesh and bones, and he soon staggered to his feet, shaking his head and raising a veritable dust-storm of detritus.
As the dust began to clear, Grimm ran over to the dust-clouded Seneschal and crowed, “Shakkar! It is so good to see you!"
Shakkar offered a clumsy bow from within his attendant cloud of grey-blue motes and shards. “I apologise for my-aah… aah… CHOW!-for my lateness, Lord Baron."
Grimm turned to the open-mouthed older Questor, trying to give the impression that this destructive spectacle had been planned from the start. “It's Seneschal Shakkar, Questor Guy. Aren't you pleased to see him?"
The Great Flame's mouth worked to no effect, and Grimm smiled.
"Don't stand like that, Brother Mage,” he chided. “Somebody might mistake you for a fish and reel you in on the end of a line."
Crest, Harvel, Quelgrum, Numal and Tordun, overcoming their astonishment, rushed to greet the towering apparition.
"Shakkar! You couldn't have come at a more…"
"…I was just saying…"
"…needed a miracle…"
"…answer to our prayers!"
"…so glad to see you!"
Only Guy Great Flame remained aloof from the joyous, impromptu reunion, seeming to have regained his customary sardonic composure.
"A hole in the roof-how splendid!” he said, rolling his eyes. “I'm sure we all needed a little extra ventilation. How does that get us out of this place?"
"I can fly you all out of here, Questor,” Shakkar declared.
Guy flipped a contemptuous thumb at the holes in the wall. “What? One or two at a time? While you're doing that, the Revenants can fill this place with noxious vapours, demon. That'll really put a crimp on the operation, won't it? Great idea."
Grimm regarded the myriad, small openings, and he realised the older Questor might have a valid point. Would it be possible to block all the holes? Surely not; many, if not most, of them were far out of the reach of human arms, and Grimm could not trust his primitive spell of flight to keep him stable long enough to block even one.
"My colleague, Sergeant Erik, waits atop the building,” the demon said. “He carries Technological weapons, and he should be able to deter any interlopers, at least for a short while."
Guy hawked and spat. “Bloody Technology; I hate it! I'm surprised even at you, wonder-boy,” he said, turning to Grimm, his mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust.
The young Questor shrugged. “It may be our best hope, right now,” he said. “Only one of us needs to escape, and to wake Gruon. If only-"
He felt a rough hand on his shoulder and wheeled around. Facing him was a bulky, angry-looking male Breeder. The man's body might be soft and obese, but Grimm guessed there was muscle underneath the flab.
"What's going on here, mage? What is this abomination you have brought into our midst? And what's this blasphemous talk of waking Uncle?"
"Shakkar has come here to save us,” Grimm said. “All of us, including you."
"Save us?” the Breeder spat. “We have everything we need here, a simple, happy life in the service of Uncle. What do you offer but purposeless conflict?
"We refuse to aid you in this… this sacrilege!"
"What about me, Grimm?” the female Breeder, Arland, cried. “It's to be my last birthday celebration tomorrow! If you wake Uncle, you'll be murdering our providers, the Revenants and Dreamsters! You must be some kind of a monster!"
Other Breeders began to murmur and close in on Grimm's group. The situation seemed ugly.
The mage spat a single word at his rotund assailant: “G-shaat!"
It was not a potent spell, but it sufficed to send the male Breeder rolling away from him. The dull susurration from the milling crowd grew louder, and the young Questor began to worry.
I hadn't counted on this, he thought. They seem to want to remain slaves to those Names-forsaken dream-people!
In the distance, he heard a series of dull crumps, and an urgent voice sounded from the hole in the dome: “They're coming with some kind of siege engine, Lord Seneschal! I've tossed a few stun-grenades their way, but I don't think I can keep ‘em off forever-here they come again!"
"Lord Baron-we must leave, now!” Shakkar urged, as the mob of Breeders grew closer.
"Get out, Questor Grimm,” Tordun said, his eyes flicking back and forth at the massing crowd. “I'm not at my best at the moment, but I can still fight."
Even Guy now appeared worried, his face pale and sweaty. “Kill them!” he urged. “Between the two of us, we can wreak a lot of damage!"
Grimm shook his head and invoked a ward, an invisible, hemispherical wall between his group and the angry Breeders.
"These people haven't done anything wrong,” he yelled, as the irate crowd began to batter at the magical barrier. “They're misguided, yes, but that's not their fault. Promise me, on your honour as a Guild Mage, that you'll just hold them back until I return. In any case, you'd never be able to manage fifty death spells without War-maker at your side. Our only hope is to confront Gruon and dispel this bloody fantasy.
Guy turned to the demon. “Take me, Shakkar,” he said. “Questor Grimm seems to be doing well enough here. I will wake this Gruon creature."
Shakkar shook his head. “My duty is not to you, mage, but to the Lord Baron. I am taking him with me, one way or the other."
Guy shrugged. “I think you're making a big mistake, demon, going with this lightweight excuse for a Questor, but I guess you hold the cards at the moment…
"…All right, Dragonbluster, hand it over, but hurry up,"
In his days as an Adept, Grimm had practiced the transfer of spells between one Questor and another at great length with his friend, Dalquist, and the handover was smooth and uninterrupted.
Without waiting for acknowledgement from his Baron, the demon swept up his mortal burden in his arms and surged towards the ceiling.
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