Dragonblaster

last maybe ten months, but the large, pale warrior should satisfy Uncle for far longer.'

'What is all this nonsense about uncles, sleep and dreams, Murar? You are as real as I! Let me go, and I will show you!'

Murar stopped rocking and looked the mage directly in the eye. He sighed, and addressed Grimm as if he were instructing a small child. “You can show me nothing, mage. I know all. I and my brethren exist only through the dreams of our beloved Uncle Gruon.'

Grimm invoked his Mage Sight: the old man appeared to possess a human aura and appropriate mass. What he was saying made no sense at all.

He must be mad. My only hope seems to be that I can try to talk him into some sort of sanity. Perhaps I'd better start by humouring him.

'All right,” he said. “If you're a dream, then what am I?'

Murar blinked. “Why, you're alive, Blessed One. You're real. Don't you know that?'

'Of course I do! I just-'

'Then why did you ask?” The old man returned to his humming and rocking.

Grimm shifted his position, easing the stress on his shoulders and knees.

I've got to find some way to get through to this crazy man, he thought. But where do I start?

'Look,” he said. “Of course I know I'm alive! I just don't understand what you're saying. I can see you and hear you. How can I see someone else's dream? You must admit that is a strange phenomenon.'

'I didn't say it wasn't.” The old man did not seem perturbed in the least. “But it's true. Our adored Uncle lies beneath the city. While he sleeps and dreams, we live. Should he wake, we will die. It is as simple as that. You will ensure that he continues to sleep for many, many years.'

The old man resumed his nodding, his eyes closed, and Grimm began to fight waves of sheer panic. Deprived of magic and trussed up at the whim of a town of mad people, he felt more helpless than he ever had.

Let's suppose they're not insane, he thought, trying to force himself into a rational frame of mind. I believed the people of Crar were crazy, at first, but they were just under Starmor's spell. Perhaps some underworld entity makes them believe these bizarre fantasies.

'Thribble,” he muttered. “Are you there?” He felt immense relief as the grey, stubble-haired head emerged from his right pocket.

'I have heard all, human,” the demon declared.

'Could this be some demon spell?'

'None of which I am aware, Lord Grimm,” the minuscule creature squeaked.

'Is it possible that some class of demon of which you are unaware could… dream reality, Thribble?'

'Most improbable, Lord Grimm; I am widely travelled within the demonlands, and I have never heard of such a bizarre manifestation.'

So we're in a town of lunatics after all. There's got to be some way out of this. If I can-what?

The once-red reptilian carving was now a bright lime-green.

That thing was scarlet a moment ago!

Murar opened his eyes and cooed in apparent pleasure. “What a delightful little creature!” he cried. “Welcome, monster!'

'Monster!” Thribble shrilled in an outraged tone. “I'll have you know-'

The old man, with surprising alacrity, snatched the demon by his head and inspected him.

'Your dreams do you credit with their clarity and solidity, Blessed One. Even while awake, you maintain the illusion!'

'I am not a dream, mortal. Unhand me at once!'

'It speaks, too!'

Thribble opened his mouth to its full extent and sank his tiny, needle-like teeth into Murar's thumb.

'Ouch!'

Murar dropped the demon, which scurried to the door and disappeared.

The aged watchman sucked his wounded digit and smiled. “You are an hallucinatory genius, Blessed One, and I congratulate you! It will be a pity to lose you.'

'What do you mean, Murar?'

'This is how we keep Uncle Gruon asleep, by feeding him the blood of what we call Realsters, or Blessed Ones. Uncle likes human blood. When he has had enough, he sleeps, and we live.

'Blood is extracted from the Blessed One's body and siphoned into Uncle's gullet, until the Sacrifice can spare no more. I can assure you that, when you die, your body will be treated with the greatest respect, and you will be accorded the most solemn of funeral rites!'

Grimm clamped down on his warring emotions. “See here, Murar. You must be aware of the logical fallacies in your suppositions.'

'Not really,” the old man said, inspecting his nails. “What are they?'

'Well… how long have you lived, Murar? That is, how far do your memories go back?'

Murar cocked his head on one side. “Two, maybe three hundred years, I suppose.'

'There you are! You said the city was created by Uncle Gruon around fifty years ago, yet you claim to remember long before your supposed creation. How can that be?'

The rocking man smiled. “I am not in my dotage, sacrifice, no matter what you may think. I said that the city was created by Uncle fifty years ago in its present form. Uncle Gruon has had many dreams over the last millennium, until we discovered the means of keeping him asleep and dreaming.'

'But if, as you claim, Brianston's citizens die on Gruon's waking, how can you be aware of these earlier incarnations of the city?'

Murar snorted. “You are mortal. Have you never had the same dream on several occasions? I am the product of one of Uncle's recurrent reveries; those of my kind are called Revenants. I have been reincarnated on over seventy occasions, and I am the senior Revenant of the city,” he said, with an evangelistic gleam in his eye.

Grimm saw how the internal logic in the man's delusions could make dissuasion difficult. Nonetheless, it was important to show him the errors in his thinking. “All right,” he said, suppressing his fear. “Why has it taken you so long to come up with this plan, if you have returned so often?

'It took many returns to construct Uncle's crypt, and he demolished many of our previous attempts. On his last awakening, he brought down a large pile of our masonry on his head and rendered himself unconscious. This gave us the time to complete the present structure around him, and we came upon a party of travellers. Most of them went to feed Uncle and keep him satiated and somnolent, but two males and two females were kept as breeding stock. Their offspring, and those of other Blessed Ones have maintained the current dream for most of that time, but we have been careful not to be too greedy. Your arrival is a veritable cornucopia!'

In frustration, Grimm rattled his heavy chains, but they were as perdurable as ever.

'You cannot shake such iron fetters free from a solid stone wall, Blessed One,” Murar said, wagging his finger as if chiding a small child. “Spare yourself the futile effort. Much of the city is a product of Uncle's dreaming, but our guest chambers are real enough.'

Be calm, Grimm admonished himself. There must be some way to shake this madman's delusions!

'How did you discover that blood makes Gruon sleep?” he demanded. “Surely he eats during his waking periods, when you are not around?'

'We are not idiots, Blessed One. On many occasions, we have found the desiccated corpses of animals around Uncle's sleeping form. Lady Elamma, who acts as midwife to the brood stock, is a frequent Revenant like me. It was she who first noted that Uncle slept longer-much longer-after dining on human blood. Another Revenant, Lord Korak, was born as a stonemason, and he supervised the building of the Sleep Chamber over the space of many generations. Other Revenants retained their earthly skills and memories through numerous regenerations, and each played his or her part in our plan. Since then, scores of Realsters have passed through here, adding to the Blessed Dream Time.'

Grimm cudgelled his brains for further ideas.

Lizaveta's party must have come through here! he realised. Why didn't they take her?

He asked Murar as much.

The Revenant laughed. “Dream-stuff we may be, but we smell magic as easily as you can smell the scent of a rotting pig. We could all tell that the old lady who passed through here used a different sort of magic to you,