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 clouds 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.
