Dragonblaster cogd-5

by Alastair J. Archibald

  "This braised liver looks good!” the older Questor exclaimed, heaping his plate high with meat and vegetables.

  Quelgrum laughed. “Good blood food, Great Flame. Good to build you up for Uncle Gruon's delectation."

  As the Breeders and their offspring melted away into their cubby-holes to eat, Crest, Harvel, Quelgrum and a shaky-legged Tordun approached the trolley for their own sustenance.

  "Not eating, Lord Baron?” the General queried. “It's prime quality food."

  "It could be drugged for all we know, General."

  "What if it is? You won't be any better off starved. If an escape opportunity should present itself in a week or a month, how can you take advantage of it if you don't eat? In any case, you told me you borrowed a gem that tells you if food is poisoned or drugged. Questor Guy has one, too, but he's eating like it's going out of fashion."

  Grimm shrugged. “I guess I just don't fancy fattening myself up for the slaughter."

  Although he tried to hide it, he could not disguise the sulky tone in his voice. General Quelgrum either did not notice, or he pretended not to do so.

  "Just tell yourself you're fattening yourself up for their slaughter,” the old soldier whispered. “Come on, eat."

  "I'm sorry, General, but I'm just not hungry. I'm tired, and I'd rather sleep."

  "You must eat, Sir,” the boy, Artur, insisted, his eyes wide. “See those holes in the walls?"

  The Questor nodded.

  "If the Rev'nants don't see you eating, they'll shoot you all with lots of little darts, and when you fall asleep, I'll ‘ave to push a tube down your throat and make you eat. I don't like doing that, sir. Please don't make me."

  Grimm had assumed the holes in the walls were for ventilation, but now he saw their true purpose. He carried a charm that would return any projectile to its sender, but the Revenants weren't stupid: they might just as easily fill the building with soporific or narcotic smoke.

  Artur's brown eyes pleaded with him, and the Questor's heart went out to a boy who had been brought up in a madhouse.

  Poor little tyke: he's not to blame for all this, may the Names help him.

  Above all, Grimm knew he must remain strong and ready for the least opportunity. And, in truth, he was hungry after so many days on dried rations and meagre offerings from sparse areas of woodland.

  "I'm sorry, Artur,” he said, his voice full of compassion. “I won't make you do something you don't like. Perhaps I will try a little of your food, after all."

  His warning charm remained cool and black, and Grimm found himself relishing the splendid fare. However, at the back of his mind, he remained painfully aware that a blameless woman would die the next day unless he or his companions could do something to prevent it.

  But what can we do? he wondered as he shovelled the victuals down his throat and stared at the steel-reinforced stone walls. We must get out of here!

  ****

  "Hail, strangers!"

  As Shakkar and Erik approached the centre of the town, a burly, young man in blue robes confronted them, his hand raised in a warning gesture.

  "Stand aside, friend,” Erik said, raising his machine-pistol. “Our argument's not with you, but with Revenant Murar. Bring him to us, or we'll have to get nasty."

  The Sergeant flicked the safety catch to the ‘off’ position and drew back the weapon's slide with an ominous clacking sound.

  "Do I make myself clear?"

  The blue-clad man eyed the black weapon with a look of mingled disgust and disdain. “I don't know what that… thing is, but you can't touch a Revenant with any filthy Realster weapon,” he growled. “Try it, if you don't believe me. I'm a Revenant, too."

  The muscular man stood squarely before the Sergeant, his eyes dark pools of defiance. Erik took up the first pressure, but he wondered if he could just kill an unarmed man in cold blood…

  He decided he could not. In any case, he found himself more than a little unnerved by the man's mocking, contemptuous expression. Even the fearsome Shakkar seemed a little uncomfortable.

  "Just fetch Murar, will you?” the demon rumbled. “Or there will be trouble between us."

  "I don't think I will,” the man said, stepping forward. “You cannot touch me, stranger."

  "That's far enough,” Erik warned. “I'll open fire if you take one more step."

  The bulky Brianstonian continued to advance as Erik unleashed a short burst of fire over his head. His former scruples nullified by a primordial fear of contagious madness, the sergeant lowered the weapon and loosed a stream of bullets into the man's chest, the thickest part of his body.

  The Revenant staggered as the bullets hit him, but he did not slow. Panicking, Erik held his finger on the trigger, to no effect. As the hammer clacked once on an empty chamber and the chattering sound stopped, the man raised a ham-like fist and launched it straight into the point of Erik's jaw, sending his helmet flying from his head. The stunned Sergeant fell like a toppled pencil, as blackness took him

  ****

  Shakkar had often seen Quelgrum's men practicing with their armaments. He knew the damage these Technological weapons could do to wood and stone: more than even he, a full demon, could wreak upon such substances. To see frail, mortal flesh withstanding such an onslaught stunned him, and his mighty, taloned fists dropped to his side as the blue-robed human continued to approach, undeterred and still smiling.

  The demon had always regarded humans as weak, if resourceful, creatures. No mortal, not even Grimm Afelnor, had ever bested him in physical combat. Nonetheless, this man seemed to be made of stone, and Shakkar felt the inner stirrings of naked fear, an emotion to which he was not accustomed.

  He drew back his shovel-sized hand to strike, but the Revenant merely shook his head, as if in pity. A senseless, nameless terror subsumed Shakkar, and he found himself frozen in indecision. As if in a dream, the Revenant seemed to stroke the demon's chest with his balled fist, and Shakkar flew backwards to the dirt, propelled by incredible force. He scrambled to his feet, but, for the first time in his life, a mere mortal scared him. Shakkar staggered away from the smiling Revenant, his chest burning from the impact.

  He steadied himself, charged forward and threw a mighty blow at the human's temple.

  The blue-clad figure did not even attempt to avoid the grey fist as the strike landed. He grunted and absorbed the impact, his smile undiminished, flinging the demon away with the merest prod of his right index finger.

  As he sprawled, supine and helpless, Shakkar saw the tiny, grey form of Thribble lying near the fallen Erik. He scrabbled forward as the vengeful mortal stalked him, leisurely and unhurried. To his relief, both the soldier and the minuscule demon seemed to be breathing freely, and Thribble sat up, shaking his fuzzy head.

  "What is the matter, Shakkar?"

  The demon seemed to be made of solid rubber, unaffected by his tumble.

  "I cannot take him, Thribble,” Shakkar gasped, despite the shame he felt at such an admission. “He is too strong. I cannot touch him."

  As a shadow fell across him, the grey titan lashed out with a trunk-like arm, knocking his nemesis from his feet, but, otherwise, seeming not to affect him at all.

  "They are afraid of magic, I believe,” Thribble hazarded.

  "I do not have any magic, thanks to that forsworn bastard, Starmor,” Shakkar growled. “This mortal seems impermeable to even my physical strength."

  "Murar did say that…"

  As the ominous shadow fell, Shakkar lashed out again, but the human hopped nimbly away. This time, the Revenant drew a long, heavy club from behind him and approached again.

  "It's time to say goodnight, Realster,” he growled.

  "…but I bit him, and he cried out!” Thribble squealed. “Don't hit him, Shakkar! Use your claws, your teeth!"

  As the smiling mortal raised the club to its apex, Shakkar, still lying on his back, kicked out with his feet, their black claws extended. The weapon fell to the ground, and the Revenant g
azed stupidly at a thin line of slashes in his garment, red fluid staining the blue silk.

  In an instant, Shakkar was on his feet, grasping the human in his sabre-like talons. The panicking man struggled, but he could not escape the clinging, black claws.

  "You… hurt me,” the Revenant whined, as if he could not believe what had happened.

  Shakkar bared his sabre-like teeth."The young mage and his companions, Revenant. Take me to them, now. Otherwise, you will die slowly, while I dine on your flesh."

  Shakkar dug his claws deeper into his enemy's body. “I prefer live meat, so you may not die for many hours."

  The Revenant appeared to be in shock, shaking his head, his eyes blank. “A Realster can't hurt a Revenant,” he mumbled. “So it is written."

  "Then it's written wrongly, pig-sweat,” Erik growled, rubbing his head and rising onto unsteady feet. “There are ordinary Realsters, and there are extraordinary Realsters. You picked on the wrong sort, my friend."

  The Sergeant picked up his helmet and seated it back on his head, taking his time fastening the chinstrap. Then he retrieved his weapon, ejected a small, black box from it and pushed in another from a pouch on his belt.

  "I don't think our friend here is a whole lot of use, Seneschal Shakkar,” he said. “Just tear his freakin’ head off, and we'll see if we can't find someone a little more helpful."

  The Revenant squirmed in Shakkar's adamantine talons to no effect. “Kill me, monster,” he cried, “but don't consume me, please!"

  Shakkar laughed long and loud, once more confident in his superiority. “Take us to Baron Grimm and his companions, or I shall savour your entrails while you live."

  "I'll… I'll take you,” the Revenant stammered. “Don't hurt me."

  "Sergeant Erik,” the demon boomed, “I order you to shoot anyone who opposes us. I will deal with anyone who does not fall."

  Shakkar pulled one hand from the hapless human's ribs, extending his obsidian claws to their full, gleaming length. “You may be sure of that."

  His other hand's talons ground into the wounded Revenant's midriff. “Do we understand each other, mortal?"

  "Understood, Realster!” the man groaned. “I'll take you, I promise!"

  Another robed man ran towards the demon, raising a heavy, wooden baton, and Shakkar did not hesitate. With one, smooth stroke, the assailant lost his head in a fine spray of blood.

  "Sergeant Erik,” he said, “I think it only right to say that we are now at war."

  Erik grinned. “That's what I've trained for, Lord Seneschal. I must say, I prefer it to all this diplomatic stuff."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 21: Shakkar's Arrival

  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.