The once-pristine city of Brianston now looked as if it had been hit by a tornado, after the brief battle. Gruon had toppled several small buildings, and Grimm saw many scorched bodies and piles of ash, mute testament to the power of the dream-creature's awful flame weapon.
Even the huge, solid stone roundhouse in which the Breeders and Sacrifices had been confined bore many scars and blackened areas on its thick, metal-reinforced walls.
"It looks like it'll take a fair amount of reconstruction, Lord Baron” Quelgrum observed, walking just behind Grimm's right shoulder. “I could send a team of engineers from Crar."
Grimm could not have cared less if the whole place crumbled to the ground."We have a Quest to fulfil, General,” he said. “Or had you forgotten?"
"I do not forget my duty, my Lord."
The officer's voice was low and calm, but Grimm realised he must have stung the old soldier with this unnecessary, rhetorical barb. A little diplomacy might be advisable.
"Of course not, General,” he said, trying to inject a conciliatory note into his voice. “You are a devoted and trustworthy officer, and I beg forgiveness for any implication to the contrary. That was unfair of me."
"There's no need to apologise, Lord Baron,” Quelgrum replied. “We're all under a lot of stress right now, I guess. Let's get this over with, and we can get back on the road.
"That must be Murar's vigil, Lord Baron,” he said, as a huddled crowd of Brianstonians came into view in front of the shattered ruins of Gruon's temple, weeping, moaning and screaming.
I could have guessed that, idiot!
Grimm bit back the harsh words before they reached his lips, restricting himself to a simple nod.
As the three companions approached the devotees, several citizens looked up at them. A few hurled insults and imprecations, but they did not attempt to attack. Nonetheless, neither did they move aside, blocking the passage of Grimm and his two companions.
"Please stand aside, friends,” Quelgrum said, moving ahead of the Questor. “We mean you no harm. We just want to see Revenant Murar."
The Brianstonians made no move to comply with the soldier's request, but Shakkar's low, threatening growl had the desired effect, and several Dreamsters scuttled aside, some remaining on their hands and knees as they did so. A clear path opened up, and Grimm saw a bright scarlet flash in the centre of the crowd, easily visible amidst the grey and brown robes of the ordinary citizens.
The Questor felt his teeth grinding as he looked at the old man; a picture of devotion, he might be, but he had brought up countless human beings as mindless cattle, expected to go to their deaths with a song on their lips. He felt nothing but hatred for the Revenant, and he felt the power building in his pounding head.
"May I handle this, Lord Baron? Please?"
The General's tone was deferent, but Grimm recognised the urgency contained within it. He had to acknowledge that his skills of negotiation were not good at the best of times, and this was not one of them. As if in a dream, he nodded.
"Go ahead, General."
"Haven't you done enough?” the Revenant cried. “Please, just leave us in peace."
"We will do so, Revenant Murar,” Quelgrum said, “as soon as you have considered a few additional matters."
"What do you want?” the old man demanded, tears running down his face.
"First of all,” the soldier said in a cool, businesslike tone, “we require our wagon, our horses, our weapons and our supplies."
Murar climbed to his feet. “They're all in the storehouse, over there, Realster,” he said, pointing to a small building to the north of the Breeder pen. “The horses have been well treated and fed; we are not monsters."
Grimm, clenched his teeth, biting back a bitter rejoinder; Quelgrum's style of negotiation was less likely to lead to unnecessary bloodshed than a self-serving tirade.
"If that is all you require, we have no need to talk any further,” Murar said, but the soldier shook his head.
"We have other demands, Revenant."
"What are they, Realster? Perhaps you wish us all to commit suicide?"
Quelgrum sighed. “Murar, this war was not of our making. You seized us for the purpose of providing blood for Uncle Gruon. Would you have submitted willingly to such a fate? Under those circumstances, would you have risked your life to spare the very people who took you prisoner?"
"Perhaps not,” the Revenant admitted, “but we were desperate. Very well; what more do you want from us?"
Grimm squeezed his eyes shut and heaved a hacking sigh.
If I'm to lead this expedition, I have to take charge, he thought, marshalling his emotions.
"Excuse me, General,” he said. “I'd like to say a few words."
Quelgrum nodded. “Of course, Lord Baron."
Grimm stepped forward. “Revenant Murar,” he said. “I allowed you to live when I could have let Brianston vanish into nothingness, and you with it. I acted in your interests, while it would have been easier to let you all die.
"I only killed Gruon when he began to lay waste to Brianston, threatening to kill me and my companions."
"Agreed,” Murar said. “However, you were the one who awoke Uncle and killed him. Why could you not have just left us, allowing him to sleep on?"
The Questor shrugged. “The simple answer to that is that I was foolish and impetuous. However, I do not regret my decision: if we had gone, you would have continued your enslavement of Realsters to provide Gruon with their blood. I cannot, and will not, allow that situation to continue.
"Gruon is dead,” he said, giving the final word considerable emphasis. “Yes, I killed him, and I do not regret that. Yet you still live, and so do the others of my kind. If you wish to die, I can achieve that in the space of a single breath. I can do that; indeed, I want to do that, for all the pain and anguish you have visited upon blameless travellers over the space of decades. I despise you; I spit on your philosophy and on this maudlin grief over the death of an insane man's creation.
"You worshipped Gruon because he gave you life, but he is dead, while you still live, due to my actions, not yours. Whether you realised it or not, you worshipped death itself; death for people like me!"
Quelgrum turned to his Baron, his eyes wide. “Er… Lord Baron, I really think…"
"I'd really like to kill them, General,” he muttered. “But I won't, if I can get what we want-some sort of fair treatment for the Breeders."
The warrior shrugged. “You're still in charge, Lord Baron,” he whispered.
Murar shrugged. “So? What else do you demand of us, mage?"
"I want freedom for the Breeders, old man; integration into the very life of the city. Right now, they feel cheated because I have robbed them of their deaths, while you cry that you no longer have anyone to whom to sacrifice them."
"Breeders?” a young, female Dreamster screamed. “Haven't you done enough to us, murderer? Do you now want us to be ruled by those mindless, pathetic Realsters?"
"Do you want to live or die?” Grimm snapped at the now-murmuring crowd. “If you want to live, I can leave things just as they are, if you agree to a few, simple changes. If all you want is to die, I can achieve that in a moment. It is a simple enough question; answer me!
"Will it be death or life?"
"We want to live as we were!"
Grimm could not tell who screamed those words, but he did not care. He knew he could wipe out these people in the blink of an eye, if the need arose.
"My apologies,” he said through gritted teeth, “I cannot bring back Gruon, and I would not do so if I could. I'm not asking about ‘maybe’ or ‘perhaps', but about what you have, right now! If you have any problem with the concept of treating the former Breeders decently, I'll just snuff this bloody city out like a candle! That's all there is.
"Die, in the sure knowledge you've stayed true to your perverted little philosophy,” he said, allowing flame to flicker around his fingertips, “or live, and try to give these poor, pathetic Breeders a fair chance in this city. You never know, you might just find they can help you, after all. All you need to do is to persuade them that they really don't have to die to make a useful contribution to Brianston."
"Is this intended as some kind of bribe?” Murar demanded.
Grimm smiled, although he knew there was little humour in the expression. “If you want to call it that, Revenant, then it is."
He paused to let the words sink in, trying to keep the rising agony in his head from showing on his face. “We will be leaving shortly. However, we intend to come back this way when we've finished. If the Breeders are still treated as slaves, or if they're dead, then I'll just put an end to you!
"I don't want you to let them run the city, regardless of their abilities, but just to give them a chance. Support and help them, and I'll be happy.
"Just teach them that they don't have to die in order to serve this city. Is that really too much to ask?"
"Just take your belongings, Realster,” Murar growled. “We will go along with your unreasonable conditions, but we'll not put the Breeders on any sort of pedestal."
Grimm opened his mouth, trying to laugh, but only a harsh groan emerged. He felt the firm hand of the General on his shoulder.
"I don't think you can ask for much more than that, Lord Baron,” Quelgrum whispered into his ear. “Please, just let it rest here. You've done enough."
It would be so much easier to just kill the whole lot of them, Grimm thought, rubbing his aching brow as his mouth twisted into a painful moue. I never thought I'd have to deal with people like this…
He had stayed his tears ever since he had heard of Crest's death and Tordun's blindness, and it had seemed easy now to hold them in. Nevertheless, he found it impossible to speak, and he flapped his hands like a beached seal. His heart felt like a cold, heavy stone, and he shivered in the grip of what seemed like a shroud of ice, his eyes burning.
The mage's arms and legs seemed beyond his control, and he saw the ground wavering beneath him.
"Please, Lord Baron, come with me,” Quelgrum said, wrapping his arms around the young man's shoulders.
In an instant, Grimm felt himself drifting away from the massed crowd of Brianstonians.
It seemed that he moved for a long time, although it might have been only for a few minutes. As if from a great distance, he heard the General's voice: “He's seen too much, too soon, Lord Seneschal… poor kid's never had any childhood… been plunged straight into it… tortured…"
"I killed Crest! Let me kill them!” The tortured words and hysterical laughter burst from someone far away, decaying into nothing; the mage could not be sure of their source.
He was a rabbit-warren, with small, fugitive creatures scuttling through his enormous, cavernous limbs, into his vastly-extended fingers and toes. Grimm had ceased to be: in his place was a busy community of burrowing creatures, running over and under and through him.
I am an… it… I am eternity! I am… nothing!
The rhythm of the universe sang in his head, a sweet symphony of nothingness; a pretty fugue for a bland, meaningless and worthless life. From leagues away came the faint, sonorous, repetitive crescendo: Murderer, Traitor's Spawn, Heretic, Pauper…
Long, loud laughter… somebody's arms and legs hurt, but he was not certain whose…
Someone was crying, but nobody's grief could be this powerful…
A long scream, drifting off into a long, dark corridor…
The world rumbled, shuddered and hurt.
Rough hands. Hot, sweet coffee. Too much!
"That's… that's enough.” This time, Grimm knew the spluttered words were his own. “Thank you."
Opening his eyes, he looked up to see Numal standing over him. The Questor found himself lying on a straw mattress in one of the Breeder cells, covered by a thin, woollen blanket.
"How long has it been, Numal?” he croaked.
"Two days,” the Necromancer replied, his face ashen. “I was quite good at Herbalism and Healing, so I've been tending you."
"I failed us all, again,” Grimm said. “I guess I don't have the self-control or presence to lead a group of adventurers. I don't know what came over me there…"
The Necromancer shook his head. “It wasn't loss of self-control, Grimm, it was concussion,” he said. “It's a wonder you managed to stay conscious as long as you did after that explosion."
The door opened, and Quelgrum walked in, a metal weapon in its accustomed place at his side. “Good to see you back with us, Lord Baron,” he said. “How do you feel?"
Grimm shrugged. “Numb. Strange."
With Numal's aid, he managed to sit up, the blanket sliding to the floor. He was naked, but he did not care.
"What's been happening since I've been away, General?” he demanded, his tone rather more brusque than he had intended.
The soldier shrugged. “I've been talking to Revenant Murar at some length, Lord Baron, and giving advice on the reconstruction of Brianston. A few of the older Breeders have been co-opted onto the Council alongside the Revenants. Most of them realise they don't really want to die just yet, after all, and I think they're beginning to persuade a lot of the others. Murar's issued an edict that the Sacrifices are at an end.
"It's not exactly one big, happy family yet, but just give it time. After all, they've got to change their whole accustomed way of life."
"Crest, Tordun and the others-how are they?"
"Crest got a decent burial,” the General said. “Some of the Breeders have erected a little monument to him; they realise that, by getting in the way of the blast, he saved a lot of them. Tordun's still poorly, but he's regained at least some of his eyesight. He can already tell the difference between light and shadow, although I reckon his fighting days are over.
"Questor Guy is working off a lot of energy by helping with the demolition work, although you'd think he was running the whole thing.
"However, the real force behind the work is Seneschal Shakkar. There's even talk of erecting a statue to him, too, although Guy thinks there should be one of him, instead-he's a little tetchy about the affair."
"That sounds like my dear Brother Mage,” Grimm said, smiling. “How is Harvel?"
The General shrugged. “A little… strange; he won't be coming with us, Lord Baron. He says he's had it with a warrior's life, and he wants to be a farmer here in Brianston. He's taken Crest's death quite badly."
Grimm sighed and nodded. “They were like brothers."
"Harvel doesn't blame you at all, Questor Grimm. Some of the Breeders and the other citizens weren't too keen on you after you defeated Gruon, but he stood up to them. He wants to see you before we leave."
Grimm shook his head. “I'm not sure that's a good idea, General. Perhaps it's better if-"
"Is there room in here for another one?” a cheery, familiar voice called, and the mage turned to see Harvel squeezing into the room. Grimm felt astonished to see plain working clothes instead of the warrior's usual, colourful regalia.
"I heard you were awake, Questor Grimm,” he said, smiling.
"Harvel, I'm so sorry about-"
"Enough said, Lord Mage,” the sword-master said, quickly. “The life of a warrior is a dangerous one, and both Crest and I knew the risks when we signed up."
"But now you've had enough?"
Harvel nodded. “I'm getting too old and too slow for this way of life, mage. Sooner or later, some young upstart will come along and hand me my head. Crest's death has made me think a lot about myself, and I've decided to take things a little easier from now on. I find this new life agrees with me."
"It does look good on you, Harvel,” the Questor agreed, admiring the warrior's tanned, athletic appearance.
Harvel grasped Grimm's right hand in his own. “Good luck, Questor. I do hope you find what you're looking for-I have."
With that, he was gone.
"When can we leave, General?” Grimm asked, thinking ahead to the Quest. He wanted, more than anything, to be able to bury the memory of this bizarre town. The soldier sat on the mattress beside him.
"Whenever you feel fit enough, Lord Baron,” Quelgrum said. “Perhaps a few days-"
"I feel fit enough right now, General. I'd like to have a meeting with the whole team as soon as possible. We have a job to do, and we've wasted too much time as it is."
The old soldier looked Grimm right in the eyes, and nodded slowly. “If you're sure you're all right,” he said.
"I am. And get me some Names-cursed clothes!"
"At once, Lord Baron!"
The remaining members of the team, now including Shakkar and Sergeant Erik, stood before the young Questor in the roundhouse's main plaza.
"We leave tonight,” Grimm declared, resplendent in new blue-and-yellow silk robes. “The Quest goes on."
"My, aren't we the cool one?” Guy said, with more than a trace of the expected sneer. “Still think you can handle it without blubbing your eyes out?"
Grimm knew he should feel angry at the older Questor's habitual disdain for him, but he did not.
"I apologise to all of you for my earlier, juvenile outburst,” he said, his voice loud and clear. “My attitude was unbecoming of a Guild Mage, and I assure you now that it will not recur. My duty comes first, and I will not forget that. Are you all with me?"
All signalled their enthusiastic assent except for Guy, who rolled his eyes.
"So our little Dragonbluster is getting all tough now, is he? Isn't that nice? Perhaps we can-"
"My cognomen is Dragonblaster, Questor Guy; a title now earned in deed. Do not forget it again!"
He locked his eyes on Guy's, compressing his mouth into a tight slit. Long moments passed as each mage stared at the other. Grimm felt his own, dark eyes watering as he poured his inner strength into the stare.
A bead of sweat ran down the Guy's right cheek, and the younger mage thought he saw a trace of a quiver in Guy's lips. Still, he did not look away.
At last, Guy averted his eyes. “All right, youngster; if it means that much to you, I won't forget it,” he muttered.
Grimm was not about to give up now."What is my title, Great Flame? Say it!"
"Your name is ‘Dragonblaster'.” The word was a whisper.
Still, Guy did not meet Grimm's burning eyes, looking everywhere but at his rival's face.
"All right: you are Grimm Afelnor, Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, called the Dragonblaster!
"Have we finished with these games now, Questor Grimm?"
"We have, Questor Guy. Will you, at last, accept my leadership of this Quest?"
The Great Flame shrugged. “I suppose so, Dragonblaster. If it makes you happy, yes, you're in charge."
Grimm decided to let the matter slide. He had faced down the contumacious mage and asserted his dominance. That would do for now.
"The wagon's provisioned and waiting, Lord Baron,” Quelgrum said. “Awaiting your orders, Sir!"
The others looked at him-Grimm Afelnor, the blacksmith's boy-and he felt a trace of pride leaking through his new-found composure.
"Let's ride, General. Nothing can stop us now."
"Famous last words,” Guy muttered, as the group strode to the shattered remains of the rotunda's main doorway, but Grimm chose to ignore him.
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