dragon's fire struck him.
Gruon lowered his red-crested head until it was almost level with Grimm's, and the mage tried not to gag at the golden creature's oily, stifling breath. The reptilian snout hovered over him, and Grimm saw the nostrils opening and closing in a regular, rhythmic sequence. The gleaming, green eyes seemed to bore into him, and he saw no trace of compassion or mercy in those emerald orbs.
He flicked a glance down at the small, magical gem at his breast. It looked puny and pathetic, incapable of protecting him against Gruon's ferocious stream of death. He held his breath, and he could tell even the fearless Shakkar was doing the same.
The dragon snorted, stomped and thrashed his tail, and a stray Brianstonian came into view, his face suffused with joy. “Take me to your bosom, beloved Uncle-'
Faster than thought, the slender head whipped around. The joyous celebrant turned to ash in an instant, consumed by a gust of shimmering, blue flame. Gruon began to wander towards the carbonised remains, and Grimm suppressed a sigh of relief as the dragon walked away.
We've made it! he thought. All we need to do is-
'Got it!” crowed Crest, from inside the vestibule, and the dragon stopped in his tracks at the joyous cry.
Gruon snorted, knocking a building to its foundations with a single blow of his muscular tail, and Grimm stumbled, revealing himself to the dragon's limited sight as the cold, green eyes focused on him.
'Crest, Shakkar!” he screamed, as the dragon began to turn. “Get inside, and get everyone away from the doorway! NOW!'
He had no idea if his order had been obeyed or not; all he saw was the cold, vengeful mask of Gruon, whose attention was now, undeniably, locked upon him.
The dragon roared, paining the mage's ears. Gruon closed his mouth, and a blue wall of flame hit Grimm like a tidal wave, washing over him and threatening to consume him. He crouched, as if it might lessen the effect of the scorching stream, but he felt the temperature rising as the heat of the dragon's ire began to overcome the small gem's protection.
As the blue flames licked at him, Grimm felt the angry stirrings of affronted testosterone within him.
Damn you, dream-lizard! he raged in his head. I'm not about to submit to this!
'Ag-hi'y'AAAAAR” he yelled, launching a spell of Dissolution at the enormous creature's head. He shut his eyes, giving the spell all power he could spare, and he heard a deafening scream from the dragon as the magic lashed its scaly body.
Jerking his eyes open, he saw Gruon backing away, but he felt a cold tremor of horror run down his spine.
The potent spell did little more than darken a few scales around the dragon's face. However, Grimm also noted the golden being's tightly-shut eyes, and the tight concentration of scales around the focus of the spell.
Without waiting to think further, he spat a spell he thought of as ‘Ice Spears’ at the creature, and he saw Gruon's scales close around the impact points of the sharp spikes, extracted from the humid air. The projectiles shattered harmlessly on the beast's metallic hide.
Nonetheless, Gruon stepped backwards again demolishing another small building behind him, and Grimm knew he had at least surprised the dragon.
His innate power exhausted, the mage drew on Redeemer's stored energy and repulsed the golden, metallic beast, sending him flying backwards in a cartwheel of wings and legs. Gruon floundered and screamed in rage as he thrashed.
From behind him, he dimly heard the voice of Quelgrum: “That's all we need, Lord Baron! Let's get out of here!'
However, the Questor shook his head, revelling at the heady sensation of the hot, angry blood pounding within him. He shook off a hand on his right shoulder, hungry for victory.
The dragon closed his mouth and spat a further gout of fire at Grimm, this time knocking the mage from his feet.
Gruon is mine! the mage thought, scrambling to his feet. He's scared of me!
The dragon lurched from the rubble and howled, launching a blue tower of fire into the evening sky. Grimm spat another spell, and the magnificent monster's scales contracted again in response, snuffing the flame in an instant.
Those scales are strong on the outside, but can they protect Gruon from the inside? the young Questor wondered, feeling strong arms closing around him. I know now you can't launch flame with your mouth open.
With almost contemptuous ease, he shook off the constraining arms and looked at the uncertain face of the dragon. That huge maw, with its spear-like teeth, began to open, and Grimm smiled.
Open wide, he thought, and his subconscious drove him to an act his conscious mind would never have considered: launching himself bodily into the gaping mouth.
Wedging the indestructible Redeemer into Gruon's jaws, Grimm slid into the tunnel-sized throat, slipping past huge, yellow teeth into a slimy, red passage into a cavernous, acidic pool.
The Questor gagged at the heavy, metallic odours assailing his nose, and he snapped a strong ward around himself. Despite his disgusting surroundings, he smiled, protected from the corrosive slime around him by his swift, instinctive spell. Here, Gruon could not harm him.
Without bothering to create illumination, Grimm launched a bolt of flame upward through the slimy gullet.
'Say goodnight, Uncle,” he said, and his world flashed into a formless void of pain, heat, clamour and unconsciousness in the space of a single heartbeat.
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Chapter 24: Reawakening
Grimm heard nothing but pops, squeals and whines at first. Bright spots of light danced in his closed eyes, and he wondered if he were dead and in some bizarre, formless Purgatory.
'…up, Lord Baron! Please wake up!'
From some dark recess of his brain, Grimm recognised Shakkar's deep, rumbling voice, and he sought to comply with the urgent entreaty. He tried to open his eyes, but he gave up the effort; it felt as if some sadistic torturer were thrusting sharp, red-hot needles into them.
As awareness flooded through him, he felt a myriad aches and pains clamouring and competing for his attention: his head felt as if it had been split open with an axe, his arms and legs ached abominably, his lungs burned, and even the individual hairs on his head and body seemed to hurt.
At last, he managed to open his eyes and keep them open, although the bright speckles continued to play on his retinas. He was lying at the bottom of a deep pit, with Shakkar and Quelgrum standing over him.
'I'm all right,” Grimm croaked “What… what happened here?'
'Gruon's dead,” Quelgrum said, in a hushed, reverent tone. “He just exploded. We found you in the crater. What on earth did you do, Questor?'
'I cast a small Fire spell at him,” Grimm said, his voice growing stronger by the minute.
'That was a small spell?” The warrior's disbelief was patent in his wide eyes.
'I cast it on him from the inside,” the Questor said, managing to sit up. “I saw his scales contract every time he was attacked, blocking swords, spears and spells. I hopped down his throat to see what a spell from the inside would do. I had no idea this would happen.'
'I think I can guess,” Quelgrum declared. “I imagine Gruon was full of some inflammable liquid or gas that combusted on exposure to the air; to produce flame, he snorted a small amount of the stuff out from his nostrils. You set the whole lot off at once. I'm astonished to see you're unhurt.'
'Not exactly,” Grimm said, rubbing his brow and face. “I was under the protection of a ward, and I have a gem that protects me against flame.
'Or, at least, that's what it's supposed to do,” he continued, looking down at the scorched rags he now wore. His bare arms were scaly and lobster-pink, as if he had been exposed to the full desert sun for too long, and he felt crisp, crumbly nodules in his beard. “Still, I guess I got off pretty lightly, under the circumstances.'
