The sleeping dragon's deep, regular heartbeat filled spirit-Grimm's sensorium, and he searched for the buried essence of the mage, blotting out all impressions of Gruon. Images, sounds, alien thoughts entered his mind and passed through it like leaves in a fast-flowing stream.
Garropode, where are you?
He followed the thick, sticky tentacles of dream-stuff, navigating the heavy currents of consciousness to their source. Nameless and formless, he drifted through Gruon's mind until he saw a grey, worm-like form at its centre. A faint glow of triumph leaked through from his buried consciousness as he entered the pallid form.
Garropode, you are mine!
Awareness wafted into his mind.
Grimm, you shall not have me!
Resistance: the Questor recognised it, flowed around it and squeezed.
I am the stronger. I will prevail! The proud, human imperative rushed to the fore, and Grimm amplified the power within him.
Mine! Mine!
With a dull pop, the young mage plunged into the source of the Brianston dream, gathering and garnering, clutching it to him. In an instant, the entity, the essence of Garropode ceased to be, and spirit-Grimm knew he had won.
Twisting through a strange angle, into a small void without form or feature, he released the bundle of dream-energy, simultaneously rushing upwards to his crude, mortal form.
He gasped like a drowning man washed up on the shore, coughing out the sick, subsumed essence of the conquered mage within him.
'Lord Baron! Are you all right?'
Grimm found himself sprawled upon the floor of Gruon's temple, and saw the twin forms of Shakkar and Murar. He had succeeded!
'All right,” he grunted, pushing himself to his feet. Turning to the Revenant, he said, “Whatever remains of Garropode is now dedicated to the continuance of Brianston, Murar. I now demand that you free my companions and the other humans from their bondage.'
Murar's eyes narrowed. “How do I know what you say is true, Realster? All I saw was that you closed your eyes for a few moments.'
'You are in absolutely no position to haggle, Revenant,” the demon rumbled.
Buoyed up by his easy victory, Grimm shrugged. “I can prove it,” he said, smiling. Leaning over to the void in the floor, he uttered the syllables of the spell of Inner Clarity. After a few moments, a gout of blue flame shot from the hole, and a feral, angry roar echoed up from the chamber below.
'Uncle is awake, and I still live!” Murar gasped. “You spoke truth, Realster, and I thank you. I will-'
The floor began to shake, and motes of dust drifted down from the ceiling.
Grimm had assumed the dragon to be a relatively small creature, perhaps the size of a horse or a cow. The powerful, thrusting impacts under the jumbled tons of rock spoke of something far, far greater and stronger, and he felt the clammy hands of uncertainty upon him.
'I fear you may have made a grave error, Lord Baron,” Shakkar said, echoing the mage's own thoughts, as a powerful blow jerked the mass of stone up by two or three inches. Another mighty impact flung sizable boulders free of the hole, and Grimm had to duck to avoid decapitation.
'I think it might be a good idea to get out of here, Murar,” he muttered as the entire structure trembled with greater and greater frequency.
'I think you're right, Realster.'
The mage, the demon and the Revenant fled from the shaking mausoleum into a nervously-chattering crowd of Brianstonians.
Pillars tumbled to the ground and the pointed roof of the structure leaned over at a precipitous angle for a few moments before crashing down. A tumultuous roar arose from the ground, and a long, sinuous neck, topped by a reptilian head the size of a wagon, snaked out of the crumbling ruins. From the long snout, a plume of shimmering blue flame shot into the early evening sky, and an ear-splitting roar shook the ground.
Brianstonians screamed and fled, and Grimm stared at the vision with a mixture of horror and astonishment. Even with maybe three-quarters of his bulk beneath the ground, Gruon towered thirty or forty feet in the air, and the young mage knew he had made a bad mistake.
He felt transfixed as Gruon's earth-shattering, affronted scream shook the ground, and the dragon ripped himself free of his prison and began to clamber out of the pit.
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Chapter 23: The Golden Creation
Grimm craned his neck as the dragon, Gruon, unwound himself from his rocky prison of so many years. Eighty, ninety, a hundred feet into the air rose the majestic beast, his scaly, golden hide gleaming in the dusk light. As a mighty, trumpeting bellow shook the ground, the Questor thought the giant creature was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Despite the cold, sick fear coursing through him, Grimm recognised the transcendent grandeur of Garropode's creation.
The Questor had borrowed a magical gem from the Lord Dominie that was supposed to protect him against fire, but he had little desire to test the efficacy of the small charm against the golden creature's potent flame weapon. In addition to this, the deceptively slender-looking tail looked capable of being whipped around in an instant, and the fearsome blue, metallic claws at the end of each of the four scaled legs must be at least three feet in length.
Uncertain of what to do, Grimm glanced at the Revenant, Murar, at his right side. The dream man crouched on hands and knees before the magnificent form of the dragon, in a position of sincere obeisance, and the mage wondered if the Revenant's action might not be the best possible defence: the dragon's head, smoke drifting from the slit nostrils, oriented first on Grimm, then on Shakkar, but the emerald eyes, slitted like those of some giant cat, seemed to ignore the squatting figure. To test his theory, Grimm froze, and the golden beast seemed to lose interest in him, concentrating instead on Shakkar.
'Lord Baron, we must get out of here, now!” the demon urged, who was dwarfed by the towering dragon.
'He can't see us if we don't move, Shakkar,” Grimm said from the corner of his mouth. “Stand still for a few moments, and, with any luck, he'll wander off. If we try to run, I'm not sure we can outdistance Gruon or his flame.'
The demon did as Grimm advised, and the mage saw Gruon waving his head back and forth for a few moments, as if confused or uncertain. Then, with a snort and a small belch of flame from his nostrils, the scaly creation began to wander off into the city, the ground trembling with each step.
Grimm said, “Give me the keys to the roundhouse, Murar. I don't know if we can beat this thing or not, but we're going to need a greater force than this if we're to have any chance against him.'
The Revenant stared blankly, seeming oblivious to Grimm's words. “This is punishment for our pride. There is nothing left to do but to atone for our hubris, to be cleansed in the merciful, all-consuming fire of Uncle. It is justice…'
Grimm saw the fervid, feverish gleam in Murar's eyes, and guessed that the old man had surrendered his rationality. There could be no reasoning with him, and the mage knew his best course of action might be to humour the almost catatonic Revenant.
'You are right, Murar,” he said. “All the people of Brianston should have the right to share in Gruon's mercy, including the Breeders. Give me the keys, and I'll make sure that all are cleansed.'
