further threat to us, or to innocents?'
Grimm smiled. 'I agree that we can cast no magic through this barrier,' he admitted, 'but we will surely meet with Starmor again, and he fears no magic we can throw at him. I propose that we ready a spell to dispatch our evil friend to the pillar where he attempted to imprison me, and cast it as soon as he confronts us. I know it well enough to visualise it, although I could never hope to point out its physical location to you. I think even Starmor would find it hard to escape from there.'
Dalquist's brow furrowed. 'Surely, Starmor knows his way back to Crar from his own construction, Grimm!' he said with a humourless laugh. 'He would be back in this dimension within an instant!'
'Dalquist, I'm not yet some drooling, drug-crazed imbecile,' Grimm replied, looking straight into the older mage's eyes. 'When I confronted Starmor with my emotions masked, he seemed to lose all his power. The prison pillar is now empty and devoid of a single soul. As far as I can tell, Starmor can do nothing without the close proximity of powerful emotions to give him strength for his magic and, even then, he can only use it against the source of the emotions. Isn't that true, Thribble? You seem to know Starmor better than we do.'
'Questor Grimm, Starmor's power walks on two legs,' the tiny demon piped. 'He can cast mighty magic only against those displaying emotions such as rage, fear or despair, as you have rightly said. However, this is limited to those within a distance of a hundred yards or so if he is out of sight of his tower, and then only if his victims hold no magical powers of their own. The reason you are here is, without doubt, that he has enslaved the people of this town to rebuild the tower you destroyed. His terror-structures are his major sources of power.
'When the tower is complete, he will regain his full strength once more. However, if you can get close enough to Starmor to cast the spell you have proposed, and banish him to a place of true solitude, his energies may be reduced to such a low level that he would be unable to effect an escape. Your plan is not without merit, young mortal.'
Grimm breathed a deep sigh of relief that an avenue of hope yet existed.
Harvel spoke. 'We are well within the range that you mentioned, friend Thribble,' he said. 'Why does that bastard, Starmor, not enslave us?'
'He is a cunning being, warrior, but his resources are not infinite. Before he can take a mortal soul, he must first fight its bearer. He has done that before and lost. He will want to ensure that his power is at its absolute maximum before he faces you again.'
'We will try Grimm's plan,' Dalquist said, firmly, reasserting his control over the Quest. 'When Starmor comes for us, Grimm, I advise you to take a dose of your herbs sufficient to dull the emotions. You may then approach Starmor without fear and attempt to banish him to the pillar. With hope, that will be the last that we or the people of Crar will see of him.
'If you act swiftly, Grimm, we may prevail. For now, we should rest and recoup our energies, so that we are as strong as we may be when Starmor comes for us.'
With that, Dalquist adopted a position of meditation and sat motionless. Grimm followed suit; he knew nothing would be gained by futile effort, and everything depended on the patient marshalling of his inner strength.
The two warrior friends debated the merits of raiding the inn's liquor but decided against it, choosing to lounge instead in a pair of plush, comfortable seats.
The rest of the day passed with maddening languor for them, as the two Questors sat motionless for hour upon hour, locked into uncanny, mannequin-like immobility. Harvel and Crest's conversation became fitful, and then ceased.
Harvel began to hone his fine rapier with an oiled whetstone, dressing out the least flaw and bringing the blade to razor sharpness. Crest did the same with his numerous daggers and then cleaned and oiled his whip, so it would be supple when needed for combat. The two warriors had spent many evenings together in this manner, preparing for battle and each found comfort in the refuge of familiar ritual and the closeness of a trusted companion.
Each fighter, having tended to the tools of his trade, put himself through a fixed regimen of exercise, testing and stretching each major muscle group, grunting at the effort and the aching, whilst relishing the complaints from each muscle and tendon. Glowing from the effects of their exertions they shook hands and grasped forearms in wordless amity before moving back to their chairs. Then, they sat and waited.
At six in the morning, the main door to the tavern was flung wide. The landlord of the inn stood in the opening, with a score of heavily armed citizens at his back. All were filthy, coated in grime, dust and blood, each with a dull, blank expression on his face.
The landlord spoke in a rusty, stilted, emotionless voice. 'You will accompany us to Lord Starmor's tower. He is displeased at your depredations, and he summons you for punishment. The punishment will be swift and merciful if you comply. Otherwise, your torments will be slow and agonising.'
Grimm looked at Dalquist, who responded with the faintest of nods. The young Questor took out his ready- filled pipe and lit it, drawing in the acrid fumes as if he was consuming nectar. The men-at-arms drew closer, threatening, but they did nothing while Grimm emptied the bowl of his pipe.
Grimm swayed and nearly fell, but he was now better accustomed to the effects of the herbs, and he managed to remain on his feet, feeling his human cares and worries melting away from him.
Dalquist stepped forward and addressed the landlord, who seemed to have noticed nothing amiss in the junior mage's swift change in demeanour.
'We do not respond well to threats, landlord,' he blustered. 'Had Starmor the power, he would have summoned us directly, or arrived here in person. Yet he cannot do so; he dare not.
'I offer a counter-proposal; we shall send our emissary, Questor Grimm, to parlay with your master. Starmor now knows well the folly of opposing even a single Guild Mage, let alone two. We wish to come to an arrangement suitable to all, without further bloodshed. If Starmor seeks to bully or threaten us, it will cost him dear. Now we know his methods, we shall risk no headlong assault. Instead, we shall concentrate on the destruction of his tower and the annihilation of his bonded slaves.'
The landlord appeared to be considering Dalquist's proposal at some length, but Grimm guessed Starmor had been using the wretched man's senses as his own, and that the demon Baron was the one preparing to speak.
'Very well, Questor,' the enslaved barkeeper croaked. 'Let your emissary approach the Tower.' The group of Crarians turned as one and filed out of the inn, and the impassive Grimm followed them.
A new, dark tower loomed over the city: a baleful presence, dominating the land. The soft moans of torment now had amplified into a deafening cacophony of mordant screams and moans that would have chilled Grimm's spine, were he in possession of his normal palette of emotions. It seemed Starmor had not been idle; the humanoid demon had stolen the tortured souls of many more hapless Crarian citizens in order to recharge the loathsome edifice.
At the point of a halberd, Grimm was ushered up the winding staircase of tortured faces until he reached Starmor's throne chamber, and the screams of the lost souls reduced into gentle moans. The decor was as yet incomplete, and the furniture was sparse, but the grand throne stood in its former place, with an unsettlingly smiling Starmor sitting on it.
Hanging from the ceiling swung an enormous simulacrum of a birdcage, with a listless Shakkar confined inside. Grimm's Sight told him that another mighty ward prevented the demon from escape.
'Well, stripling; we meet again,' Starmor sneered, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. 'I trust you see now the futility of opposing me. You did well to destroy my tower, but you should have fled when you had the chance. Remaining here was a bad mistake, and I intend to show you the error of your ways in full rigour.
'I understand from my minions that you wish to strike some kind of deal. The only bargain I offer is this; surrender the Eye of Myrrn to me, and I will spare your lives. In return for my forbearance, you will submit to my service for a period of five years.'
