enormous, open area. He pushed the door shut, and, after a few moments, he heard the lock closing.
He regarded the large courtyard with some wonder. Doors led from all sides, and, high above him, he saw a metal chair suspended from the domed ceiling. The area was well-lit, but Grimm saw no obvious means of illumination. The walls contained a profusion of small square openings, whose purpose he could not guess.
Oh, well; I suppose I'll have plenty of time to find out, he told himself. It doesn't look as if I'm going anywhere.
He saw a small figure emerging from one of the side doors and coming towards him. The woman had grey hair and a lined face, and she approached him with a hunched, hesitant gait.
'I am Arland,” the aged woman declared. “I hold the rank of Second Breeder here, and I welcome you to your new home.'
'I'm Grimm Dragonblaster, Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, and I have no intention of staying here any longer than I have to!'
'Everyone says that at first,” Arland replied, “but they soon come to appreciate their new life in Uncle's service.'
Grimm prepared to issue a sharp retort, but he realised that this woman might well have spent her entire life imprisoned in Brianston, and he refrained from doing so.
Instead, he said, “How do I get these chains off, or isn't that part of the plan?'
'I have the key,” the grey-haired woman replied. “Hold still and I'll soon have the chains off you.'
In a few moments, Arland removed Grimm's chains, his metal helmet and his confining gauntlets. As the weighty iron impediments fell to the paved floor, the mage stretched and grimaced, relieving the various stresses from his complaining muscles, while the lady regarded him with sympathetic eyes.
'They're taking a bit of a risk by giving you the key, aren't they?” he said.
'Not really, Master Grimm. You won't be wearing the chains any more, in any case. When you're called for Sacrifice, they put you to sleep somehow.'
The Questor stared at the woman. She talks as if this is all perfectly normal!
'How long have you been here, Arland?'
'I've lived all my life here. Of course, it was quite a bit smaller when I was young. Every now and then, you wake up and you see they've added another section to it. I know it looks a little bare here, but the rooms are nice, and we have parties and celebrations sometimes. Tomorrow is my last birthday, and we'll be allowed balloons, garlands and wine. You'll come to my celebration, won't you, Master Grimm? It is my last birthday, after all.'
'Just what do you mean by ‘last birthday', Arland?” Grimm asked, hoping that the obvious answer was the incorrect one.
'Of course, Master Grimm; you're new, and you don't understand,” she said with a proud smile illuminating her face. “I have had a full and productive life. I've given birth to seventeen children for the cause, and my thirty- fifth birthday is tomorrow. We female Breeders aren't allowed any more offspring after that time, so I'll be ready to go to my reward in Uncle's bosom. He will reward me for the fulsome gift I will give him.'
Grimm almost staggered with astonishment. She's thirty-five years old? She looks twice that age!
His heart filled with anger and pity for this poor, wizened woman, who should have been in the prime of her life. She's been aged far beyond her years by seventeen enforced births, and she's going to be slaughtered to sate the appetite of a sleeping monster! Yet she sounds as happy as if she were preparing to marry the man of her dreams…
'Arland, don't you even want to get out of here?” he said.
The grey-haired woman's clear, wide-open, blue eyes were at odds with her ancient appearance, and they spoke of astonishment and incomprehension.
'Of course not!” Her eyes were as wide as if Grimm had asked her if she liked to eat baked baby. “How can you say such a thing? This is to be my reward for a lifetime of service! I'll forgive you for your ignorance; you are new here, after all, but I'll thank you to put such thoughts out of your mind at once! You ought to be happy for me!'
Shaking her head, her eyes moist and hurt, Arland began to walk away. “Wait,” Grimm cried. “Where are my friends?'
Without turning round or speaking, the Breeder indicated a pair of doors with a curt double stab of her right thumb. With that, she was gone.
The nearest portal was a flimsy, wooden structure, and it swung open at Grimm's merest touch.
'Hello, Grimm. Welcome to our new home. How do you like it?'
Guy, unkempt and haggard, stood at the entrance of a room about fifteen feet square, in which were several thin mattresses. On one of the mattresses lay an immobile, supine Tordun, covered by a brown blanket. General Quelgrum and Harvel knelt by the fallen giant, with an ashen Crest and Numal standing by.
'Is he…'
Guy snorted. “Of course not, idiot! Do you think Quelgrum'd be bothering so much over a bloody corpse?'
'He's not far off it, though,” the General said, ignoring the older Questor's sarcastic words. “They took a lot of blood out of him. A weaker man would have died after losing that much. I'm just giving him as much water as I can. I've seen men on the battlefield in this condition. He needs water, sleep and red meat. Still, at least we don't have a major wound and the risk of infection; the bastards took it from his heel, and there's only a tiny cut, clotted shut now.'
Grimm envisioned an unending line of such vigils stretching years into an uncertain future.
'We can't put up with this!” he burst out.
'Outstanding, wonder-boy,” Guy drawled. “Why don't we just go and ask them to let us out? You never know, they may have a change in heart!'
'Shut up, Guy!” Numal cried. “We've got enough to handle without your bitching!'
The older Questor rounded on the Necromancer. “Who rattled your cage, Grandfather? Do you fancy a turn around the courtyard with me? Fancy your chances?'
Harvel scrambled to his feet, his face red, and he pushed his face close to Guy's. “Necromancer Numal's right, Questor! We need to keep together, not fight each other!'
'I'll take both of you on at once, if you like,” Guy snarled, blue sparks coruscating around his fingertips. “We aren't getting out of here alive, and it's about time you realised it!
'Stay where you are, big-ears,” he said, as a weaponless Crest stirred in the corner of the room.
'So, you're just another filthy-” began the half-elf.
'Just shut up, all of you!” Grimm's shout reverberated around the room, and silence reigned for a few moments. “Why don't we just kill each other? That'll teach them, won't it?'
'Got some master-plan, have you, youngster?” Guy snarled. “Please, don't keep us in suspense. We're all dying to hear it, I'm sure.'
'Maybe I have,” Grimm replied. “If you'd just shove your ego back into your arse, where it belongs, I might be able to give us a chance of getting out of here.'
Guy waved his hands in apparent acquiescence. “All right, marvel-man. So you've got this wonderful plan to wake up Uncle Gruon, snug in his sepulchre, separated from us by thick stone and iron walls. We're all agog to hear this golden idea that we poor imbeciles can't see. Maybe you can just…'
Grimm glared at the older mage, who finally stopped his ranting and shrugged.
'Thank you, Questor Guy,” he said. “No, I don't have a plan to wake Gruon up. But what if we gave him a nightmare instead? I may know how to do that, at least.'
'Really, wonder-boy?'
'Really, super-mage. And we'll do it right here, and right now!'
'Can't it wait until Tordun is better?” the General asked.
Grimm shook his head. “I'm afraid not, General. A woman will die tomorrow if I don't try this. It may work, it may make things worse, but I think we're all agreed that we should try to get out of here. We've got to try something, at least.'
Guy shrugged. “All right. If you've got some half-brained plan, I suppose we might as well give it a spin!'
Grimm tried not to wince at the term ‘half-brained'. If his hastily-conceived, nascent plan failed, he might well end up like that.
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