Dragonblaster

anything much larger than a starving rat.

'What about over there?” The demon pointed to a strange, domed structure to the right of the ruins, at the bottom of a slight declivity. The hemispherical roof of the circular building looked like an egg with its top smashed in, but the edifice appeared otherwise intact. He realised that the soldier, almost three feet shorter than he, might not be able to see the shattered rotunda. “It is just down the hill, to the right. I will lead the way.'

The grey giant and the green-uniformed Sergeant made their way down the slope, past some wilted, blackened bushes.

'Looks like it could be more magic,” Erik said, as the building hove into full view. “That dome looks as if it burst from the inside.'

The soldier picked up a fallen, hand-written placard. “One Night Only: Tordun, the White Titan,” he read. “So they were here.” He laughed. “One night only: looks as if they were right about that!'

Shakkar nodded. “It seems as if the performance brought the house down.'

Erik stared at the demon, his eyes wide and his brows raised. “Was that a joke, Lord Seneschal? I'm surprised!'

Shakkar shrugged. “It is a human phrase I have heard, which seemed to fit the occasion. I understand that such a phrase with two meanings is, on occasion, held by those of your species to be amusing. Did you find it humorous?'

'Well, you're going to have to work on the delivery and timing a little, Sir, but I'm still impressed. I didn't know demons had a sense of humour.'

'We do not as a rule, Sergeant. However, since I have been forced to live among your kind, I have found it expedient to adopt your customs from time to time…

'Hold on, Sergeant: I hear movement inside the structure.'

Slanting his metal weapon across his chest, Erik darted to the left of the wide entrance, motioning Shakkar to the right. For once, the demon decided to defer to the soldier's experience and authority.

'Attention in there!” Erik shouted. “We mean you no harm; we just want to ask a few questions…'

He was interrupted by a stuttering explosion of noise.

'I'm no linguist, but that's a language I understand.” Erik pulled a strange glass-eyed mask over his face. He took a cylindrical, fist-sized article from his belt and grasped a ring at its top.

The demon thought he recognised the object: a weapon the humans called a ‘grenade', designed to fill a small area with tiny, sharp shards of metal. He knew such a weapon could tear soft human flesh to rags.

The demon raised a warning hand. “Hold, Sergeant: we want them alive!'

'It's all right, Lord Seneschal. Just trust me: I do know what I'm doing.” Erik's voice was distorted by his strange mask, but intelligible.

The soldier pulled the ring from the object, allowing a metal arm to spring from its side, nodded three times and tossed the green cylinder into the building. A loud explosion sounded from within the rotunda, and Shakkar shielded his eyes from a blazing flash of light.

In quick succession, the Sergeant tossed two more of the explosive items into the opening, and a thick smoke began to issue from the doorway and the hole in the dome.

In a few moments, three green-clad men staggered out, accompanied by a man in a strange suit of clothes. All were coughing, gasping and retching and their legs seemed barely able to support them. Their faces were wet with tears, and they collapsed onto the grass.

The Sergeant soon deprived the incapacitated men of their weapons and secured their hands behind their backs with thin white strips of some unknown material. He leapt into the opening, firing his weapon in short bursts, but Shakkar heard no answering fire.

In a few moments, the soldier emerged, whipped off his mask and saluted. “The area is pacified, Sir! There doesn't seem to be anyone else in residence.'

Shakkar felt impressed: the Sergeant's action had been swift and decisive. He began to realise that the human's occasional juvenile inanity might be a nervous reaction, born of inactivity.

'Well done, Sergeant!'

'It's my job, Sir. Everything else is just training and waiting. I live for this kind of action. If you don't mind, I'd like to deal with these fellows in my own way.'

Shakkar shrugged. “You do seem to know what you are doing, Sergeant. Please carry on.'

Erik turned to a uniformed man, and attracted his attention with a none-too-gentle boot to the ribs.

'That wasn't too friendly,” he said. “Stupid, too. All we wanted to do was to ask about some friends of ours, but you had to up the ante, didn't you? That was really amateurish, opening fire like that.'

The sentry gasped and grimaced as the leather boot struck home. “We never meant you no harm, sodjer-boy; we fought you was the wizard an’ his frien's, come back to finish us off. Mister Chudel, ‘ere, ‘e's the man in charge.” He indicated the prone figure in black with a resentful nod.

'Thanks,” Erik said.

As far as Shakkar could tell, the human seemed to be enjoying himself and obtaining useful results, so he remained silent. The soldier turned to the rotund, red-faced man.

'You: Chudel!'

The round man groaned and turned his head. “What do you… what the hell's that!” The pained expression was washed away by one of pure terror, as Chudel's gaze fell upon the towering form of Shakkar.

'This is Lord Seneschal Shakkar,” Erik said. “He's not quite as forgiving or friendly as me, so I suggest you don't do or say anything to annoy him. He doesn't like humans all that much.'

Shakkar rewarded the corpulent mortal with a generous display of fangs, and all colour fled from Chudel's face.

'What do you want?” the black-clad man babbled. “I'll tell you whatever you want to hear. Just don't set your monster on me!'

Erik ground the open end of his weapon into Chudel's fleshy gut, provoking an anguished squeal. “That's ‘Lord Shakkar’ to you, worm,” he said. “Now, why don't we start with what happened here?'

'It was a party we had staying here: three mages and four warriors. The young mage did most of this. Most of the others ran off when he burnt down the Mansion House, but I had nowhere else to go.'

Chudel groaned. “I'm getting a cramp. Can't I at least sit up?'

'I don't think so,” Erik said. “I don't want you getting too comfortable just yet. Don't worry; if you're nice and co-operative and tell us just what we want to know, we'll be on our way in a few minutes. Of course, if I have to use any extra persuasion, it'll last a little longer. I'm sure you wouldn't want that.'

'What more do you want?” the bound man asked. “One of the warriors was a renowned fist-fighter called Tordun. I didn't recognise the others.'

'We know who they are, fat man; we don't need to know anything else about them. We just need to know where they went when they left.'

'I don't know,” Chudel said, his voice wheedling and pleading. “You've got to believe me!'

Erik shot a glance at Shakkar, his eyebrows raised in question. The demon shook his head; he could see and interpret human auras, and he knew the mortal was lying.

The Sergeant nodded in reply, as if a suspicion had been confirmed.

'I thought not,” he muttered. In a louder voice, he said, “That wasn't the most convincing lie I've ever heard. Which bone do you want broken first, fat boy?

'No preference? Very well, I think we'll start with your fingers, then move to the toes, then the kneecaps… I'll leave your balls ‘til last, I think.'

Erik removed the long blade from the end of his metal weapon. “Or I could take ‘em off right now, if you prefer. Get it over with, as it were.'

Chudel's eyes bulged, his face suffused with terror. “I can't tell you what I don't know, man!'

Erik sighed and took a firm, even brutal hold of the man's pudgy right hand. “I think we'll try the right index finger first. By all means, scream if you want to.'

The soldier grabbed the digit and began to bend it backwards.

'Ready to talk yet, Mister Chudel?'

'I can't!” Chudel yelled, his cherry-red face streaming with sweat. “I swear I can't!'

'Sorry, Chudel. Here goes the finger…'