'Rendale Priory! They went to Rendale Priory!” the fat man screamed as Erik bent the finger almost at right angles to the plane of the back of his hand. “It's about eighty miles south of here! It's the truth, I swear!'
Erik snorted. He released the finger and took out a glittering knife with a broad blade. “Perhaps we'll start on your balls after all, big man.” He began to cut the buttons from Chudel's trousers with the large blade. “Your voice is pretty high as it is, so I reckon you'd make a sensational soprano.'
'It's Rendale! I swear on my life-I swear on my mother's life…'
'He's tellin’ the truth, mate,” one of the prostrate guards said. “That old bitch Prioress is there. Thass where they went, orright? I don't have much time fer the old sod, but ‘e does pay me wages. Go about forty miles due south to Brianston, then it's south-east to Anjar, then south-west to Rendale. Not sure of the distances, though.'
Erik paused for a moment, his knife poised over Chudel's privities, but he sheathed the weapon and stood.
'I reckon you're a soprano already, Chudel,” he said. “If your voice goes any higher, only the dogs'll hear you, and I don't see why they should have to suffer alone.
'Shall we leave, Lord Seneschal? There's plenty of daylight left, and it's nice flying weather.'
Shakkar grimaced. His back muscles, so long unaccustomed to flight, blazed as if red-hot wires were piercing them. However, he was not about to admit as much in front of these wretched prisoners.
'Very well, Sergeant,” the demon said.'Let us depart. We can walk down to the gates; I will take my bearings from there.'
'Wait a minute!” one of the trussed guards yelled as the demon and the soldier walked away. “Aren't you goin’ ter let us go first?'
'I'll let you work that out for yourselves, friends,” Erik called over his left shoulder. “Consider it a challenge.'
The protests of the prone men faded as Shakkar and Erik neared the gateway.
'Sergeant Erik,” Shakkar said, feeling hot and embarrassed. “I am afraid I do not feel in any condition to fly again today. We will start again tomorrow. For now, we walk.'
'That's all right, Lord Seneschal. I know the drill: bums and backpacks.” The soldier adjusted his webbing and assumed a steady, mile-eating gait. “Let me know when you want to stop.'
Several minutes of silence ensued as the pair marched together, but Shakkar felt the need to ask a question. He felt no especial brief for the odious Chudel, but he found the concept of torture, even the torture of a mere human, distasteful.
'Sergeant?'
'Yes, Lord Seneschal?'
'You would not truly have emasculated that man, would you?'
'Let's just say I called his bluff, Lord Shakkar. If he'd held out, I don't know if I'd have done it or not. I'm just glad he didn't push me far enough to find out.'
Shakkar nodded, wordless. Although he would never have admitted as much, he also felt glad that the soldier had not needed to carry out his threat.
As the afternoon wore on, the Sergeant's pace was easy for the demon to match, but Shakkar felt an unaccustomed torpor seeping into his bones. He had not slept for many years, but he thought he might well do so tonight.
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Chapter 13: ‘Just A Dream'
I've got to stop waking up like this, Grimm thought, as his consciousness bloomed into the bright awareness of a sharp pain in his head.
He opened his eyes and found himself hanging from chains on a rough-cast wall. The metal manacles holding his hands and feet were thick and heavy, but he was surprised to see they were lined with soft, yielding leather. The purpose of the strange, gleaming gauntlets on his hands was beyond him.
On the wall opposite him, the young mage saw a strange red crest, resembling the face of some bizarre type of reptile or lizard. The carving was rendered in exquisite detail; so much so, that it almost seemed alive. Large amber eyes with pupils like vertical slits appeared to be watching him. For a moment, he could swear that he saw the carved eyes blink, but he dismissed the idea at once.
That bang on the head must have affected me more than I thought…
Grimm shook his head and felt an unaccustomed weight. He guessed he was wearing some sort of helmet, but it, too, seemed well-padded. If this was incarceration, it seemed odd that his captors should go to so much trouble to keep him comfortable.
The room was small, and the only occupant, except for Grimm, was an old man, asleep in the embrace of a rocking-chair. The only window was barred, showing views of the impossibly beautiful city beyond. The walls were made of large stone blocks, whose joints were all but invisible in their closeness. The single door looked to be constructed of solid oak. Impregnable as his bonds would have seemed to a mere Secular, he was not unduly worried.
Once I've summoned Redeemer, I can probably lever these chains from the wall, and it doesn't look as if the old man here will be able to put up much resistance.
'Redeemer, come here,” he muttered.
Nothing happened, and Grimm felt a frisson of panic. Had the knock on his head deprived him of his powers? No; that could not be: no simple blow could deprive a Guild Mage of his innate abilities. Perhaps the simple summoning required a certain level of volume.
'Redeemer, come to me!'
Still the staff failed to appear, and the old man opened his eyes at the Questor's shout.
'Ah, beloved, welcome to Brianston,” the man said, his face crinkling into a friendly smile. “We are so glad you are here. I am Murar, and I am the fortunate one chosen to be your attendant.'
Grimm yanked and rattled his heavy chains, but they seemed fixed fast to the wall.
'Please be careful, Blessed One. I would not wish you to be harmed.'
'What's going on here? How dare you abduct a Guild Questor of the Seventh Rank? Let me go, or, I warn you, I will be forced to use magic on you!'
'You cannot, Blessed One,” the old man said with a blissful smile. “You are bound with pure iron, a metal immune to all sorcery. Please accept your destiny with the dignity befitting your noble status.'
'Aghshaa!” the mage screamed, trying to invoke a spell of Dissolution on his fetters. Nothing happened, and Grimm's heart began to pound in his chest. He attempted three more spells, to no greater effect.
'I told you, Lord Mage, you have no magic here. You are to be a Saviour of our city, and for that we thank you.'
Grimm struggled to bring his rampant emotions under his control. “If I'm so blessed, why am I chained in this way?” he demanded. “Why don't you just let me go?'
'Because otherwise you might try to escape,” the white-haired man said, as if it were the most reasonable explanation in the world. Humming softly to himself, Murar began to rock back and forth in his chair.
Is this some kind of madman? Grimm wondered. He seems sane enough, but he's talking arrant nonsense. I can see he idolises me for some strange reason, but the whole situation is crazy!
'Look, Murar,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I can see there's some sort of misunderstanding here-'
Murar beamed as he continued to work his creaking chair. “There is no misunderstanding, Lord Mage, except on your part. We do not love you, as a person, but what you represent to us. You are life and happiness, continuance and joy. We are but the insubstantial dreams of Uncle Gruon, but your presence offers us continued existence. Thanks to you, Uncle Gruon will continue to dream. This is good.
'The city in its present form has lasted for fifty years. With your help, it will live at least another decade. You alone will satisfy our beloved, sleeping Uncle for at least fourteen months. Your friend with the strange ears will
