Relieved at the success of his speech, Grimm forced himself to keep his voice sombre and calm. He raised his head to look the demon in the face. "Thank you for my life, Shakkar. I intend to attempt to keep my side of the bargain in full, as well as I can. I swear on the ring I bear as a Guild Mage that I will release you from this vile turret, or die in the attempt. You must know no Acclaimed Mage gives his oath lightly."
Shakkar nodded. "I have faced many a powerful mage in my time, and few even of these have chosen to fight me. None succeeded, save for Starmor, but not even that foul-hearted bastard son of a jackal ever gave a false oath to me. He lied to me often, but never in the form of a solemn pledge.
"I will… I will trust you, Questor Grimm."
Grimm paused for a moment, noting the demon's clenched fists, guessing at the effort such an utterance must have cost Shakkar. He knew what he needed to say next, but he felt diplomacy and tact must be of paramount importance.
"Shakkar," he said, "I know well from my studies that the word of a demon is always good. Our species are all too often brought into conflict, but treachery has never come from your kind. It is for this reason I would ask for your solemn word on two matters."
His eyes hooded, Shakkar gave a noncommittal nod. Grimm forced himself to look the gargantuan creature in the face. "Firstly, if I am successful in my attempt to rescue you, you will not attack my companions or me for any reason, should we in turn act in good faith. I swear my companions will answer to my wrath, should they choose to act against you."
Shakkar nodded again. "Granted; I so swear. However, I reserve the right to succumb to the needs of my stomach should you be returned here. I trust this corollary is acceptable to you?"
"I agree," Grimm said, "even if I find this a fearsome prospect."
"What is the second of your conditions?"
Grimm drew a deep breath before continuing. "The second of my conditions concerns the fact that my colleagues are also doubtless held captive in similar situations. I may need to grant Starmor his life in order to secure their release. Could you bear to forgo your vengeance against him under these conditions? It goes without saying that I will bring you back from here, no matter what your answer may be. Nonetheless, I cannot leave my companions to their respective fates. I trust we can reach an amicable settlement on this issue."
Shakkar's tail thrashed in a blur of motion; Grimm guessed the demon was struggling against the strong grip of conflicting emotions.
At last, the demon said, "It is a… a difficult condition, but I will condescend to this stricture, should you agree that under no circumstances will you countenance the granting of Starmor's freedom. You may spare his life if-and only if-he demands it as a strict condition for the ransoming of your companions. You must also demand that he offer no treachery, on his sworn word. The least deviation from his complete submission must void all other conditions."
"I agree, Shakkar," Grimm said, maintaining a stern expression. "Should Starmor deviate by one iota from the terms offered him, you may wreak your rightful vengeance upon him, if you are able to do so. Otherwise, he will die at my hands and those of my friends."
"It would seem I have little choice, young human," Shakkar snarled, swinging his tail in a manner that reminded Grimm of Crest's deadly whip.
"Very well," the demon said at last. "My power is at your disposal. Do what you must."
"Thank you, Shakkar," Grimm replied, forcing himself to hide the blessed relief he felt. "I must perform the spell whilst my mind is clear. Be so kind as to kneel before me. I do not ask this in order to humble or belittle you, but I must lay my hands upon your head."
Shakkar stared into Grimm's eyes for a few seconds, as if looking into the mage's soul, but he sank to his knees.
Grimm closed his eyes, placing his hands lightly on Shakkar's ridged head, and he began to mutter in his personal spell-tongue. A faint blue coruscation played across his slender hands as he drew Shakkar's essence into himself. The mage's brow began to furrow and bead with sweat as he fought to contain the demon's mighty energy. His hands began to shake a little, but the steady chant did not waver one iota, thanks to Magemaster's Crohn's strict tutelage. Long moments passed before Grimm removed his hands and opened his eyes, feeling them burning with potent magical power. His voice seemed to blaze with energy.
"Thank you, Shakkar," he cried, his voice cracking with joy. "At this moment, I feel as if I have enough strength to move mountains. I know I could obliterate even a mighty demon like you in a moment."
Shakkar stood, his heavy brow clouding, but Grimm waved a hand and shook his head. "Do not worry, friend demon. I will not break our pact. I will keep my word to you in every respect. Your remaining hours on this dismal cylinder are numbered. I will rescue you and my companions or die in the attempt."
He opened the leather bag at his waist, bringing forth two pouches, one deep blue and the other bright green.
"These herbs are Trina and Virion," he said. "They are the substances I need to carry out the task awaiting me in the mortal world. I need you to find dry tinder or the like to build a fire."
Shakkar seemed to show no offence at the fact that this mortal had issued him with an order. Moving at an astonishing speed for such a behemoth, he gathered up dry lichen, blood-stained rags and splintered hafts of weapons from the surface of the pillar, eagerly laying them in a pile at Grimm's feet.
"Here is your tinder, mortal. Have you a flint?"
Grimm growled, "I'm a Questor, Shakkar. I don't need any bloody flint." His nerves felt more than a little frayed, and he had begun to find his pose of cool confidence difficult to maintain.
Remembering his time with the often-irascible Crohn, he pointed at the motley assortment of items and directed the tiniest portion of his will towards it. This spell was so basic that he did not even need to speak or gesture. Fire leapt in the middle of the pyre and took hold, and Grimm again thought of his earlier explosive experiments.
Taking forth his pouches of herbs, he considered what the dosage should be. He knew the quantities he would need for the treatment of the sick, but he feared this might be insufficient for the task ahead. With as much aplomb as he could manage, he took forth a considerable quantity of each herb, muttered an incantation to invoke a spell of immunity to flame, thrust his hand into the fire and breathed in the fumes.
A creeping torpor seemed to seep into Grimm's bones.
No more strife, no more difficult decisions to make… it's so easy…
He sank to his knees and gave a languorous sigh. The struggle was over and he needed to fight no more. With a rapturous smile on his face, the young Questor's eyes first bulged and then closed. He toppled onto his side, snorted once and lay as still as a corpse.
Chapter 7: Chains
Shakkar looked at the fallen mage and grimaced in a manner of which only his kind was capable. He had bided his time in this loathsome prison for a seemingly interminable period; his only sustenance, the few mortals that Starmor had chosen to send him. For the first time since his banishment to this dismal pillar, he had seen and believed in the hope of salvation. But now Grimm was dead.
With genuine sorrow, he bent to consume the body of a human he had begun to regard as a friend. However, even a demon had to eat, and he could not stomach cold meat. Shakkar opened his fearsome jaws and prepared to eat the young Questor. At that moment, Grimm's eyelids sprung wide, revealing cool yet somehow intense purpose. The demon stepped back, astonished at the sudden change the drugs had wrought.
****
Grimm shook his head as if clearing a cloud of midges, and unbidden words began to pound in his head: I am Grimm Afelnor. I am strong. I shall prevail.
He scrambled to his feet as if drunk, but he managed to steady himself before the titanic figure of Shakkar with an expression of implacable, emotionless determination on his face.
"The herbs have done their work, Shakkar. I know what I must do, and although I am filled with resolve, no taint of emotion cl
ouds my judgement. I am ready. Fear not, for I still have every intention of fulfilling our compact. Thanks to the power you have given me, I feel confident of success."
"Good luck and good hunting, human," Shakkar growled.
Grimm muttered nonsensical phrases and began to draw power into his sensorium. The rhythmic babbling rose in volume and tone as a blue glow began to shimmer about the Questor. He struggled to contain the mighty energies as he cast the spell, knowing that the consequences of a miscast spell could be disastrous. As the magical tension rose within him to an almost unbearable volcano of inner flame, he gained clear, magical Sight of his goal and pushed.
****
Grimm found himself standing in the treasure store of Starmor's tower. A dim, cool portion of his brain told him he must act quickly, before the wizard became aware of his presence. The door to the winding stairway was locked, but Grimm still felt Shakkar's power surging within him. It took but a moment to pocket the Eye of Myrrn and to step through the open doorway. He made his way up the worn stone steps and, although assailed on all sides by the tormented voices of Starmor's entombed victims, he felt no fear, protected as he was by the effects of the Trina leaves whose fumes he had inhaled. An imposing doorway stood before him and Grimm found it unlocked. He entered into a huge and splendid hall furnished in crimson and gold. In the centre of the room stood an ornate throne, in which was seated the familiar figure of Starmor.
"Greetings, puny child," the pale Baron sneered. "I see you have won free from the tender mercies of the witless Shakkar. You will, alas, find me a far more formidable foe than you can imagine, as you should well realise even with your worthless excuse for a brain. Attack as you will. It will avail you little, and you will soon be whiling away the remaining dregs of your miserable existence and wishing with every fibre of your being you had let Shakkar eat you."
Grimm reached forth a hand and loosed a spell of what he thought of as Nerve Fire. The spell splashed against Starmor, and the wizard just managed to fend off the coruscating green tendrils that played over his body. A small frown crossed his face as he released a counter-spell that Grimm dismissed with an easy gesture.
"Starmor, enough of this foolishness," Grimm said, without rancour or irritation clouding his mind. "I am protected against any magic you may command, for I have full control over my emotions. You will return my companions from their respective prisons, or I will destroy you. Witness the extent of my power."
Grimm muttered a well-learned runic chant and made a complex series of passes with his hands; a glittering pentacle appeared on the oaken floor. Visualising clearly the ebon pillar where he had been imprisoned, he chanted a series of syllables and pulled Shakkar through the ether to the centre of the pentacle. The demon spun on his clawed feet, taking in his new surroundings. As he noticed Starmor, he bounded forward and met the invisible and invulnerable wall of the pentacle. He looked towards Grimm.
"Questor Grimm: you are a friend indeed! Free me from this cage, so I may mete out to Starmor his just deserts!" He scrabbled with his huge claws at the invisible, adamantine wall of the pentacle.
"Shakkar, I regret I must restrain you," Grimm said, shaking his head. "My companions remain imprisoned, and Starmor is the only mortal who can bring them back to this world. Be patient for a little longer. My promise to you remains intact." Shakkar's tail thrashed in frustration but the demon ceased his struggle, his red eyes blazing with hatred and fixed intently on his mortal enemy.
Grimm turned to Starmor and casually flicked his hand, causing the wizard to flinch as if he had been struck.
"Starmor," he said, "you will die soon. I have no emotions to allow you the full extent of your powers. Whilst Shakkar has hate aplenty, his emotions are safely contained by the pentacle and therefore unavailable to you. Refuse to return my friends to this world and I will relinquish my hold over the spell, whilst retaining full control over you. Powerful you may be, but I fancy Shakkar will reach you long before you can reach out for the power of his hatred and use it on him or on me. Your death will be slow and unpleasant. If you do as I say, I will ensure your passing is swift and painless. These are your only choices."
Sweat glittered on Starmor's forehead. "What will you do if your companions are dead?"
"You may not attempt to bargain with me, Starmor," Grimm replied, unsullied by worry at this prospect. "Your life is all but at an end; your only choice is in the manner of its ending. However, I swear your death will be as torturous as Shakkar and I can devise, should you fail to ransom my colleagues."
"Very well, child-mage." The Baron sighed, casting nervous eyes at the rapacious demon clawing at the walls of his prison. "Your alternatives are unappealing, but I cede you victory. However, I will be unable to muster sufficient strength to bring back your companions, or their cadavers, from their respective prisons without access to a modicum of emotion. Can you not restrain Shakkar in some other way and dissolve your pentacle?"
Grimm shook his head. In his normal state of mind, he might have chuckled, but his stony expression never wavered. "I am no fool. You would use the energy in an attempt to destroy Shakkar and me, or to escape. Instead, you will allow me free and unfettered access to the inner recesses of your mind so I may cast the charm. I will restrain you while I work the magic.
"At the slightest deviation from total acquiescence on your part, I will clamp you in a potent holding spell and visit exquisite torments upon you until you are all but dead. Then, when you are in no condition to attempt magic, I will allow Shakkar to vent the full measure of his wrath upon you. I imagine you will find he can be quite imaginative in the range of torments he can visit upon you. Were I not in full control of my emotions, I might be moved to mercy. In my present state, however, I am pragmatism personified. I feel no such compunction."
After many minutes, Starmor frowned and said, "Very well, Questor Grimm. Work your Divination. I will not attempt to baulk you."
The young Questor tied Starmor tightly to his throne with a length of strong cord from his pack, laid his hands on the Baron's temples and began to mutter in his strange language. Fleeting images from the wizard's mind flitted through Grimm's sensorium. Although the images would normally have filled him with all-consuming revulsion and anger, the effects of the herbs kept him intent on his task.
Long moments passed before he raised his hands and invoked multiple spells of translocation. Blue phosphorescence filled the chamber as the power flowed forth from Grimm, and figures filled the room. The first to arrive was Dalquist, a tight and humourless grin of defiance on his lips as he raised his hands to cast a mighty spell against a foe no longer present.
Then came Harvel, bearing a number of deep cuts on his muscular body but standing in a proud, defiant attack posture, his deadly sword poised before him.
Finally, Crest came forth, his silver whip running with blood. The half-elf was bedraggled and he bled from many small wounds, tottering on trembling legs and barely clinging to consciousness.
Grimm made to speak as the adventurers moved towards him, but darkness clouded his vision. With a sense of horror that grew as the effect of the drugs began to wane, he realised his recent prodigious expenditure of power had reduced the magical energies taken from Shakkar to a low level, and he realised he had overextended himself.
The voice of Magemaster Crohn seemed to ring in his head; "You really must learn to ration your strength, Afelnor. Do not always be so eager to expend it in a single spell, as you will be left vulnerable thereafter."
"I'm sorry, Magemaster Crohn," Grimm muttered as he sank to the floor, dazed and confused.
At the moment he fell, Grimm saw a grey-green flash of movement from where the pentacle had been mere moments before. With astonishing speed, Shakkar leapt across the room before the fettered Starmor could react, and tore off the Baron's head with a single, swift movement. He held the severed head high above him.
"I am avenged!" the demon howled. "I have waited many years for this, but it was al
l worth it for this brief moment of joy!" The demon bayed like a wild dog, a keening, high-pitched overpowering sound that felt like a rough thread being drawn through Grimm's ears. The demon hurled the head to the far wall, where it impacted in a wet, bloody explosion. Grimm heard rending, smashing sounds and then darkness enveloped the exhausted Questor.
****
Insistent, unwelcome clamour roused Grimm from a confused and chaotic dream. Nausea wound through his entrails like the tendrils of some kind of insidious polyp. With some effort, he forced open his eyes and his head spun. He found himself draped across the broad shoulders of Harvel, whilst Dalquist carried Crest in a similar manner.
Where once had stood Starmor's imposing throne now lay what seemed to be a pile of bloody rags and shattered sticks, and furious oaths and smashing sounds came from within an adjacent annexe. Grimm realised his pentacle had dissolved the moment he lost consciousness, and Shakkar had been freed to wreak vengeance on Starmor and his property. Grunting with the effort, Harvel and Dalquist began to race for the turret's spiral staircase. The whole tower shook with each of Shakkar's blows and, halfway down the staircase, Grimm lost his unequal battle against nausea, vomiting heavily down Harvel's back. The fastidious swordsman did not slow his flight for a single heartbeat. The fleeing party reached the portal, and a curt word and gesture from Dalquist flung it wide open, as the adventurers reached the sanctuary of the narrow street outside the tower.
A crowd of Crarian citizens stood by, their expressions blank and confused. Freed from the odious geas placed upon them by Starmor, they seemed also robbed of its guiding influence. The people milled around the tower in an aimless mass as the building rocked from side to side, while Shakkar wreaked destructive vengeance on the abode of his hated enemy, Starmor.
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