don't think I can keep ‘em off forever-here they come again!'
'Lord Baron-we must leave, now!” Shakkar urged, as the mob of Breeders grew closer.
'Get out, Questor Grimm,” Tordun said, his eyes flicking back and forth at the massing crowd. “I'm not at my best at the moment, but I can still fight.'
Even Guy now appeared worried, his face pale and sweaty. “Kill them!” he urged. “Between the two of us, we can wreak a lot of damage!'
Grimm shook his head and invoked a ward, an invisible, hemispherical wall between his group and the angry Breeders.
'These people haven't done anything wrong,” he yelled, as the irate crowd began to batter at the magical barrier. “They're misguided, yes, but that's not their fault. Promise me, on your honour as a Guild Mage, that you'll just hold them back until I return. In any case, you'd never be able to manage fifty death spells without War-maker at your side. Our only hope is to confront Gruon and dispel this bloody fantasy.
Guy turned to the demon. “Take me, Shakkar,” he said. “Questor Grimm seems to be doing well enough here. I will wake this Gruon creature.'
Shakkar shook his head. “My duty is not to you, mage, but to the Lord Baron. I am taking him with me, one way or the other.'
Guy shrugged. “I think you're making a big mistake, demon, going with this lightweight excuse for a Questor, but I guess you hold the cards at the moment…
'…All right, Dragonbluster, hand it over, but hurry up,'
In his days as an Adept, Grimm had practiced the transfer of spells between one Questor and another at great length with his friend, Dalquist, and the handover was smooth and uninterrupted.
Without waiting for acknowledgement from his Baron, the demon swept up his mortal burden in his arms and surged towards the ceiling.
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Chapter 22: Gruon Awakes!
'This is Sergeant Erik, one of your loyal soldiers,” Shakkar said, as the mage and the demon rose through the ragged hole in the dome and into the sky.
Grimm saw a man, clad in the green uniform of Quelgrum's army, his face fixed in a determined grimace as he lay at the rim of the dome, his metal weapon intermittently spitting fire. The mage saw no reason to distract him.
'Fly north, until we're out of sight, and then head south-west,” he advised. “With any luck, the dream- creatures will assume that we're fleeing the coop, rather than threatening Uncle Gruon's nap.'
As Shakkar flew higher, Grimm saw crowds of Brianstonians wandering aimlessly around the building, impeding the approach of a monstrous, wheeled, wooden structure built on several levels.
The mobile tower was manned by men wearing the robes Grimm had come to associate with Revenants. Several dream-people pulled the machine, falling occasionally under the impact of Erik's projectile ammunition, but they were soon replaced by others.
Wood? Grimm thought, looking at the structure. At last, there's something I can use my magic on!
Pointing at the tower, he launched a spell of Dissolution at one of the main beams of the siege engine. The support crumbled to dust and the machine lurched to a halt, leaning over to one side.
Several Revenants spilled out, tumbling to the ground, and Grimm followed up with a scorching fireball to the foot of the engine. The dry wood caught light in an instant, and avid, green flames began to consume the structure. Within a few moments, the whole machine was in flames, and Grimm smiled as, with a loud bang, several metal cylinders inside it exploded, sending a grey cloud of heavy vapour over the crowd. Within seconds, citizens began to sink to the ground, whereupon they lay still. Only the remaining Revenants appeared unaffected.
'All I need now is… Redeemer!” he said, ending the sentence with a hopeful shout as he pronounced the name of his Mage Staff.
For a handful of heartbeats, nothing happened, and the Questor feared that the rod might be locked away in another iron-clad enclosure, impeding his sorcerous imperative. However, as Shakkar flapped westwards, the young mage saw a slender, gleaming, black shape flying towards him, and he extended his right hand.
The staff smacked into his palm, and he closed his fist around the black, brass-shod baton with its seven gold rings. Now he felt a whole mage once more.
A Mage Staff might, on occasion, teleport itself into its owner's hand if the path between them was blocked, or it would fly through the air if the way was clear. Grimm guessed that the Revenants had left the staff in the street where it had fallen, perhaps after a few fruitless, painful attempts to pick it up.
'Over there, Shakkar!” he cried, pointing towards a familiar building as the demon began a long, leisurely bank to the south-west.
As he drew nearer, Grimm saw that the magnificent marble structure he had seen during his astral travels looked even more opulent in the red evening sunlight. This was no fantasy; it was as solid and impressive as it had appeared to his spirit avatar.
The demon descended, landing on the steps at the entrance to the mausoleum. The area was deserted, as Grimm had hoped. As Shakkar released him, he dashed inside the building while the demon remained outside.
The tomb's interior was no less impressive than its exterior, with bold, red flags depicting a stylised, golden dragon adorning the marble walls. Rows of pews filled the chamber. An ornate granite altar, perhaps eight feet tall, stood in front of him, with wooden steps at its rear.
Ascending the steps, Grimm saw a wide cone falling from the ceiling and feeding into the top of the altar. This, he guessed, was where the Revenants fed the sleeping Gruon his diet of human blood, pouring the precious fluid into a tube leading directly to the somnolent dragon's gut. Straining his ears, Grimm heard a slow, deep, repeating rumble that seemed to arise from below the tomb's floor; Gruon must be directly below him.
Despite the pristine tiled floor, he recalled the chaotic jumble of rocks entombing the dragon; how was he to reach the creature?
He might make a start by disintegrating the altar, but the massive block of granite might take him hours to dissolve, and he could not be certain that his distracting ploy had succeeded.
The thing must weigh ten tons, at least, he thought. I'll never be able to budge it on my own.
'Shakkar!'
The demon forced himself into the tomb, dislodging a couple of decorative pillars in the process. Despite the narrowness of the doorway, the ceiling, fortunately, was high enough for Shakkar to stand without stooping.
'I am at your command, Lord Baron,” the demon rumbled.
'Can you move that?” asked Grimm, pointing to the grey altar. “It's in our way, and it may be our only means of access to Gruon.'
'I can try,” the demon said, flexing his boulder-like biceps and taking up position in front of the stone block. After several deep breaths, Shakkar leaned over, placed his ample shoulder against the face of the altar and began to push. Tendons stood out like hawsers beneath the demon's grey, leathery skin, muscle upon muscle bunching in his shoulders, legs and arms as he exerted himself.
Sweat began to drip from Shakkar's heavy, overhanging brows, and the demon bared his teeth in a ferocious grimace. Grimm added his own meagre effort to the enterprise, pressing his back against the altar and tensing his leg muscles. Still the stone block did not tumble.
'Try pushing nearer the top, Shakkar,” Grimm grunted through clenched teeth. “We only need to overbalance the altar, not push it out of the way.'
The demon adjusted his stance, and the granite block rocked a little. Grimm groaned with the effort, giving every iota of his physical strength. At last, the mage felt his knotted muscles giving way, and he collapsed to the tiled floor. After a further few moments, even the mighty Shakkar gave up and slumped to the ground, resting his back against the stone.
