Dragonblaster cogd-5

by Alastair J. Archibald

  ****

  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.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 22: Gruon Awakes!

  "This is Sergeant Erik, one of your loyal soldiers,” Shakkar said, as the mage and the demon rose through the ragged hole in the dome and into the sky.

  Grimm saw a man, clad in the green uniform of Quelgrum's army, his face fixed in a determined grimace as he lay at the rim of the dome, his metal weapon intermittently spitting fire. The mage saw no reason to distract him.

  "Fly north, until we're out of sight, and then head south-west,” he advised. “With any luck, the dream-creatures will assume that we're fleeing the coop, rather than threatening Uncle Gruon's nap."

  As Shakkar flew higher, Grimm saw crowds of Brianstonians wandering aimlessly around the building, impeding the approach of a monstrous, wheeled, wooden structure built on several levels.

  The mobile tower was manned by men wearing the robes Grimm had come to associate with Revenants. Several dream-people pulled the machine, falling occasionally under the impact of Erik's projectile ammunition, but they were soon replaced by others.

  Wood? Grimm thought, looking at the structure. At last, there's something I can use my magic on!

  Pointing at the tower, he launched a spell of Dissolution at one of the main beams of the siege engine. The support crumbled to dust and the machine lurched to a halt, leaning over to one side.

  Several Revenants spilled out, tumbling to the ground, and Grimm followed up with a scorching fireball to the foot of the engine. The dry wood caught light in an instant, and avid, green flames began to consume the structure. Within a few moments, the whole machine was in flames, and Grimm smiled as, with a loud bang, several metal cylinders inside it exploded, sending a grey cloud of heavy vapour over the crowd. Within seconds, citizens began to sink to the ground, whereupon they lay still. Only the remaining Revenants appeared unaffected.

  "All I need now is… Redeemer!” he said, ending the sentence with a hopeful shout as he pronounced the name of his Mage Staff.

  For a handful of heartbeats, nothing happened, and the Questor feared that the rod might be locked away in another iron-clad enclosure, impeding his sorcerous imperative. However, as Shakkar flapped westwards, the young mage saw a slender, gleaming, black shape flying towards him, and he extended his right hand.

  The staff smacked into his palm, and he closed his fist around the black, brass-shod baton with its seven gold rings. Now he felt a whole mage once more.

  A Mage Staff might, on occasion, teleport itself into its owner's hand if the path between them was blocked, or it would fly through the air if the way was clear. Grimm guessed that the Revenants had left the staff in the street where it had fallen, perhaps after a few fruitless, painful attempts to pick it up.

  "Over there, Shakkar!” he cried, pointing towards a familiar building as the demon began a long, leisurely bank to the south-west.

  As he drew nearer, Grimm saw that the magnificent marble structure he had seen during his astral travels looked even more opulent in the red evening sunlight. This was no fantasy; it was as solid and impressive as it had appeared to his spirit avatar.

  The demon descended, landing on the steps at the entrance to the mausoleum. The area was deserted, as Grimm had hoped. As Shakkar released him, he dashed inside the building while the demon remained outside.

  The tomb's interior was no less impressive than its exterior, with bold, red flags depicting a stylised, golden dragon adorning the marble walls. Rows of pews filled the chamber. An ornate granite altar, perhaps eight feet tall, stood in front of him, with wooden steps at its rear.

  Ascending the steps, Grimm saw a wide cone falling from the ceiling and feeding into the top of the altar. This, he guessed, was where the Revenants fed the sleeping Gruon his diet of human blood, pouring the precious fluid into a tube leading directly to the somnolent dragon's gut. Straining his ears, Grimm heard a slow, deep, repeating rumble that seemed to arise from below the tomb's floor; Gruon must be directly below him.

  Despite the pristine tiled floor, he recalled the chaotic jumble of rocks entombing the dragon; how was he to reach the creature?

  He might make a start by disintegrating the altar, but the massive block of granite might take him hours to di
ssolve, and he could not be certain that his distracting ploy had succeeded.

  The thing must weigh ten tons, at least, he thought. I'll never be able to budge it on my own.

  "Shakkar!"

  The demon forced himself into the tomb, dislodging a couple of decorative pillars in the process. Despite the narrowness of the doorway, the ceiling, fortunately, was high enough for Shakkar to stand without stooping.

  "I am at your command, Lord Baron,” the demon rumbled.

  "Can you move that?” asked Grimm, pointing to the grey altar. “It's in our way, and it may be our only means of access to Gruon."

  "I can try,” the demon said, flexing his boulder-like biceps and taking up position in front of the stone block. After several deep breaths, Shakkar leaned over, placed his ample shoulder against the face of the altar and began to push. Tendons stood out like hawsers beneath the demon's grey, leathery skin, muscle upon muscle bunching in his shoulders, legs and arms as he exerted himself.

  Sweat began to drip from Shakkar's heavy, overhanging brows, and the demon bared his teeth in a ferocious grimace. Grimm added his own meagre effort to the enterprise, pressing his back against the altar and tensing his leg muscles. Still the stone block did not tumble.

  "Try pushing nearer the top, Shakkar,” Grimm grunted through clenched teeth. “We only need to overbalance the altar, not push it out of the way."

  The demon adjusted his stance, and the granite block rocked a little. Grimm groaned with the effort, giving every iota of his physical strength. At last, the mage felt his knotted muscles giving way, and he collapsed to the tiled floor. After a further few moments, even the mighty Shakkar gave up and slumped to the ground, resting his back against the stone.

  Grimm waited a few moments to recover his breath, and to allow his pounding heartbeat to return to a more normal level.

  "Right,” Grimm said, returning to his feet. “This time, we act together. Launch yourself at it, Shakkar. This time, we'll give it all we've got in one push-don't try to ration your strength."