'Crest, you lazy sod! Having back trouble, as in 'you can't get off it'?'
The swordsman ran forward to take the elf in a bear hug, and then seemed to think better of it.
'Harvel, you bibulous old fool!' Crest cried. 'Is it last night's drink doing the talking, or have you started again?'
Within the space of a heartbeat, the two were again trading insults, as if nothing had happened, and Grimm felt a broad smile spreading over his mouth.
The young mage turned around, hearing footsteps behind him, and he offered a polite nod to Dalquist as the older Questor stepped into the bar.
'Crest is well again,' he cried. 'Isn't that wonderful news?'
Dalquist nodded, smiling and taking the elf's right hand in a firm, friendly grasp.
'It is indeed, Questor Grimm! Why, I feared you were all but dead, Crest. It is good to see you standing on your feet again. How do you feel?'
Crest shrugged. 'Thank you, Questor. I feel a bit weak, but not too much worse than I might after a long night on the tiles. I'm ready for just about anything, but I think I could do with some breakfast before we leave.'
Harvel nodded. 'I hate to agree with you, Crest, but that sounds like a wonderful plan. I guess the landlord is still in his bed, but I'll wake him up, if you like.'
'Do it, Harvel,' Crest advised. 'I'm starving.'
'I feel a little hungry, too,' Grimm admitted.
'Some food would be welcome,' Dalquist said. 'Do you know where the man sleeps? I think he owes us at least a final meal before we leave here, after all we've done for this town.'
Harvel pointed towards a small door at the back of the bar. 'I'm sure he lives through there,' he said. 'Don't worry; I'll have some breakfast waiting here for us in a minute.'
The swordsman ran toward the bar and bounced backward, sitting down with a heavy thump.
'What in the Names…' Harvel spat, and Crest laughed.
'I thought you could hold your liquor better than that, Harvel! Maybe you-'
'That wasn't drink, elf,' Harvel interjected, scrambling to his feet. From the warrior's wide eyes and chalk- white face, Grimm knew this was no jape. 'I tell you, I hit a solid wall in the middle of an empty room!'
The thief raised his right eyebrow in apparent disbelief and opened his mouth to speak. Before a word emerged, Dalquist stepped forward and waved his hands in an almost frantic manner, and the elf stayed his tongue.
'Harvel did not lie, Crest,' the Questor said. 'My Mage Sight tells me there is a magical ward around this tavern-a powerful one. It is all around us-we are trapped!'
Chapter 8: Trapped
Harvel frowned and strode to the door. The handle refused to budge. The swordsman stepped back, tried a mighty shoulder-charge and rebounded, earning nothing but a bruised shoulder. The door was sold oak, four inches thick and cross-braced, and the four hinges were made of study wrought iron.
Crest's probed with his lock-picks and swore the door was unlocked.
'Stand aside!' Grimm cried, loosing a spell at the portal. The magic power splashed against the ward and bounced.
'Duck!' he yelled as the spell splashed back and spent itself uselessly against shelves of bottles, turning them into glittering dust. Harvel and Crest seemed unimpressed by this spectacular but dangerous tour de force.
Dalquist stepped forward. 'That was a careless choice of magic, Questor Grimm! What we need is a non- reflective spell, not a third-order Fulminary!
'I call this charm Insidious Chaos,' he continued, sounding as if he were lecturing a group of indolent Students. 'In runic magic, it might be considered an Invasive form of the second instance.'
A long burst of thought-language sent sinuous tendrils of force burrowing into the wood, but the permeating magic absorbed them in a second.
For twenty minutes, the two Questors tried a number of spells on the door, the windows, the floor and the ceiling. The magic had no effect, except to raise the temperature in the tavern until everybody began to sweat. A moment of hope arose when the floor behind the bar shattered at Dalquist's command, but the liquor cellar's stone walls proved an impassable barrier, as did the attic ceiling. Grimm sent a tendril of force up through the chimney, but it was absorbed in an instant.
Finally, both Grimm and Dalquist admitted defeat.
'Have you any ideas, Harvel?' Dalquist asked, with a tired sigh.
The swordsman shrugged. 'A rapier is good for many things, Lord Mage, but heavy-duty demolition work is not among them.'
Crest shook his head. 'My whip can open a man's skin to the bones, but I don't think it will do much against solid oak or masonry. Perhaps the windows might respond to a little persuasion?'
Uncoiling the glistening, black length of his whip, Crest let fly with a skilful, practiced flick of the wrist. No sound arose as the weapon struck the glass, and not even the slightest fissure appeared in the window.
Their resources thwarted, the adventurers slumped into chairs and sat, unspeaking for many minutes. Grimm felt anxiousness growing within him, as a hint of claustrophobia began to rise. He took the pipe and sucked in another dose of the acrid smoke, rather sooner than he had wished to do so. As the drugs took hold once more, his head cleared and his thoughts began to sharpen.
Eyes blazing with drug-fuelled intensity, Grimm spun round to face his brother Questor. 'Information, Dalquist. A demon of information is what we need! He might be able to tell us what we need to know to defeat the ward.'
Dalquist frowned. 'I have to bow to your greater knowledge, Brother Mage. I admit I've never been interested in Diabolism, but your idea appears unfeasible to me. It seems no magic can pass in or out of this building. How could you possibly summon a demon through this ward? From what I can remember of Elementary Diabolism, you have to travel to the demon-lands, and I have already tried Astral Projection without success.'
Grimm smiled. Although the Magemasters had taught him only the very basic rules of Diabolism, as they had with Dalquist, the ancient tome called the Omnidaemoniad had been one of his favourite books in the Scholasticate library. Although no demon-master, he felt his Questor's sleight and his book-learning might bring success. In any case, he had nothing to lose.
'The demon-lands are separated from our world in dimension only, Dalquist,' he said. 'Just like Starmor's prison-worlds were.
'In a sense, part of the Netherworld is in here with us, but outside the three-dimensional framework of the ward. I only need to create a small rift in the four-dimensional continuum and extend a portion of my psyche into it. Although I might be able only to stretch my mind a small way into the demon dimension, I should be able to make contact and bring back at least some kind of demon. This I can do without leaving this room.'
'And why should any demon want to aid us, Questor? I imagine many of their kind have little liking for us mortals,' Harvel said, looking somewhat nervous. 'If you were to succeed, what of the danger of bringing back some human-hating monster that might tear us to pieces-a demon like your hot-headed friend, Shakkar?'
'As I understand it, Harvel,' Grimm replied, 'a demon can only pass into this world if the caller wills it. Their auras are pretty similar to a human's, and I should easily be able to detect hatred or deception before I allowed a hostile demon to pass into our world. In any case, I think I could only open a very small portal; a titan like Shakkar could never pass through. A Specialist Diabolist of high rank might be able to summon an army of such demons and force them to do his bidding, but I'm no such Specialist. A small demon of Information, however, may be all we require to effect our escape.'
Dalquist shrugged. Grimm sat cross-legged on the floor, his eyes vacant but meditative. 'Let the magic find its own route,' was one of a Questor's watchwords.
