Weapon of the Guild [The Chronicles of Grimm Dragonblaster, Book 2] (9 page)

The cowled sorcerer made no assault against the group, uttering instead an infuriating, condescending laugh that moved Grimm to fury. He battered Starmor with bolts of naked energy, joined by his companions in a concerted attack.

Crest launched his whip against the magical ward again and again in a series of loud cracks. Dalquist screamed and attacked the unseen wall with his staff, raising a shower of blue sparks. Harvel slashed at the shadowy shape with his sword, snarling in rage. The assaults continued, blending into a cacophony of anger until Grimm felt his knees trembling with exhaustion.

The panting mage shook his head in a futile attempt to summon greater energy, but he knew he was spent. Looking around himself, he saw Harvel's shirt hanging open and sweat running down the swordsman's face. A red-faced Dalquist swayed on unsteady feet, and Crest, his face contorted in anger, looked in no better shape than his human allies.

"What a pitiful group of misfits you are,” Starmor said and giggled, stepping from the shadows to reveal a bone-white, cadaverous face. “You have amused me a little, so I will spare your worthless lives for a while longer, if only to give me further pleasure."

He smiled at the exhausted group. “Still, you need your beauty sleep—especially the long-eared freak and the puny child. You must not be lacking in strength for the trials ahead. When you awake, you will wish I had killed you here and now, so may your dreams be sweet." Starmor raised a bony, clawed hand and shouted, “Sleep, my children!" Grimm knew no more.

* * * *

The young mage awoke, aware of a bright light shining in his face. Opening his eyes, he saw a bright globe hanging overhead, burning in a black sky. He was lying on a stone floor beside a shallow circular indentation. Jagged scraps of shattered bones and torn, russet-soaked rags lay all around him, and he gave an involuntary shudder.

He seemed to be on a raised circular dais about fifty feet in diameter, but he could see no details beyond its perimeter. Rising to his feet, he walked to the edge and looked over. With a frisson of vertiginous horror, Grimm realised he was standing on a huge stone cylinder, its sides fading into an inky black. No bottom to the pillar was visible, and he shivered again. Why had Starmor sent him to this place? To starve him to death? To imprison him?

Mastering his giddiness, he looked again over the edge of the cylinder, this time using his Mage Sight. Even to his magically-enhanced senses, the bottom of the pillar vanished into darkness, and he perceived no end to the stark, black void surrounding it. Grimm could envision a clumsy flight-spell, but there seemed little point in venturing into that endless blackness. He saw no walls, no ceiling and no floor, and he realised he must be in some dimension removed from the normal world. He could conceive of no Questor spell to allow him to escape. This, of course, was the main limitation of a Mage Questor, although it was usually of little import; if he could not visualise the forces needed to execute his desires, then he was lost.

Grimm sat down, disconsolate, and he racked his brain, but only one possibility came to mind; one he had learned by rote in his Neophyte days. He knew he could visualise his home world well enough to return home from any location by using the standard Minor Magic spell of Relocation, but, without knowing where he was, he knew the expenditure of energy was well beyond him. The energy requirements of the spell increased in proportion to the square of the distance to his goal, and it was not intended for use over long distances; more than a hundred feet or so. Even if he succeeded, he might end up anywhere, from the bottom of the sea to the vast, airless expanse of outer space. The chances of arriving at any inhabitable location were negligible, and the spell he had in mind would draw the last dregs of power left to him, until he had either arrived at the location he had in mind or had perished. In Grimm's estimation, the latter case was far more probable. He would need far more power than he had at his disposal: more energy even than he had unleashed in his Breakout. Perhaps.
Maybe this is just a powerful illusion
, he thought.
Perhaps I'm still in Starmor's loathsome turret
. Grimm muttered a few syllables and focused his mind on reality, as he had been taught to do in such situations. His heart pounded and his eyes bulged, but the vision before remained as strong. Preparing himself for a second assault on the supposed illusion, he heard a rustling, rhythmic sound like the beating of some huge bird's wings, and he looked up.

Circling high above, Grimm saw a vast, bat-winged shape, drawing ever closer in a lazy spiral. As it alighted on the stone pillar, ten feet away from him, he saw hugely muscled humanoid arms with long, vicious talons jutting from heavily-knuckled parodies of human hands. Grimm felt the cold, clammy touch of fear at the sight of the creature's burning red eyes and its cavernous, fang-filled maw. This demon must be nine feet in height, and its aura told of mighty magical power within. Grimm had read of such creatures, but the reality was far more fearsome than any written description.

"Hold, demon! I am a powerful mage!” he cried, but the demon leapt at him with talons extended and jaws agape. With dread drying his mouth, he managed to utter a fire spell. A scorching torrent of flame issued forth from his outstretched hands. White fire washed over the demon, knocking it back over the precipice, but to Grimm's dismay, the monster reappeared a few seconds later, quite unaffected by the potent spell.

The demon laughed, a horrid, grating sound, and a deep rumble issued from the thin lips. “Human: strike at me as you will. Your powers are no threat to me. No single mage has ever bested me, although many have tried: by ice, by flame and by contest of wills. You are powerful for one so small, but no mortal magic-user has ever mustered enough force to overcome me."

It's not real!
Grimm told himself.
This must be an illusion!

He engaged his Mage Sight and scanned the titanic creature for the signs of deception; to his horror, he saw none. This demon was no mere illusion.

"Perhaps you will acknowledge me now as real,” the fanged monster growled. The young Questor nodded. He forced himself to stand straighter, looking the demon in the eye, although he had to crane his neck in order to do so. He spoke in the formal tones of Mage Speech; if he were to die, it would be as a Guild Mage.

"I am Grimm Afelnor, demon; a Mage Questor of Arnor House. I see now I have been foolish to attempt to overcome you; however, I am even stronger in defence than attack. If you try to kill me, you will see the true power of a Guild Mage. Until now, I have been toying with you." The demon's booming laughter hammered at the mage's eardrums, and Grimm had to fight to remain on his feet. “Fine words from one so small and so drained of strength! I had intended to tear off your head and consume you, but I admire your spirit. I ate last only a month or so ago, and so I am not yet famished. Some stimulating conversation might well whet my appetite. While you continue to interest me, you may live. I am Shakkar, and I am well pleased that you have come to brighten my interminable imprisonment for a few heartbeats."

"You have the knack of making a visitor feel instantly at home, Shakkar,” Grimm shot back, his heart pounding. “I always appreciate such a pleasant welcoming speech."

"You flung fire at me,” Shakkar rumbled, shrugging. “Should I regard you as a friend?"

"You launched yourself at me without provocation, Shakkar,” Grimm protested. “I was defending myself. Had you stopped for a moment to parlay, I should not have launched my assault. Your appearance startled me, but it was only your attack on me that moved me to cast magic at you. If you attack me again, you will see I am capable of producing more than just fireballs." The demon laughed again. “I have the Sight, as do all demons,” he said, “and I can tell your powers are all but extinguished. You will only bore me with further empty threats; I will then eat you. If you can offer stimulating repartee, I may allow you to live a little longer. Are a few more hours of life so unappealing to you?"

Grimm sighed, realising he could never browbeat this titan. His Sight showed him the wealth of power within Shakkar; Mage Speech and bluster would never serve to cow the demon.

"All right, Shakkar,” he sighed, spreading his hands in surrender. “You're right, I can't beat you. So what happens now? We talk for a few hours, and then you eat me. That thought tends to cramp my conversation a mite. So, while I try to think of something interesting to say, why not tell me a little of yourself? I never heard of such an impressive example of Demonkind as you are. I can see you are full of magical energies, and I have never read of a demon with such power in any of the House grimoires."

"Aye, human,” the demon said. “I was indeed once a great user of magic, and I ventured into your world in hopes of conquest. I fought many a potent magic-user, and I defeated them all with ease." The demon's broad shoulders seemed to slump a little, as if he bemoaned the puny nature of humankind.

"I grew bored with the vainglory and useless pomp of mortals. I thought this moribund dimension unworthy of me, until I met Starmor and fought him. I expected an easy victory, as usual, but he prevailed, to my great horror. I expected him to destroy me, but he accepted me as his trusted lieutenant. I gave my word to serve him as best I could. He brought me here, to a small and poor town, and I helped Starmor to bring it to prosperity; after years of battles and confrontation, I found peace.

"For several years, Crar was a peaceful and wealthy town. Then, Starmor became bored with his easy conquest. He sought my aid in creating the monstrosity it now is. It amused him to see the people acting as he wished, acting out the roles he had written for them. I demurred at aiding him in this. I have few qualms about killing humans who attack me, or about eating them should I starve, but what Starmor wanted for the people of Crar was worse than death. When he began to turn the citizens into automata, I lost my self-control. I attacked him with all the magic and strength at my disposal, but all to no avail. Starmor banished me to this pillar, and I have been here for the last ten years." Grimm spoke with the eloquence that desperation sometimes brings. “Shakkar, surely you can use your magic to find a way out of here? I know what to do, but I am too weak. I can see you have much more power than I do. Surely you can assay a spell of Relocation? It is one of my Guild's simplest and most reliable spells, the only disadvantage being the vastly increased stores of energy required when you do not know where you are. If you don't know the spell, I could probably teach it to you in a day or so. You have more than enough power to return both of us to Crar."

Shakkar growled, and his tail whipped back and forth in an agitated manner. “Once, I could have moved mountains with my magic and, as you have seen, I have ample power to do so, should I so choose,” the demon rumbled.

"However, that misbegotten, forsworn cur, Starmor, somehow contrived to deprive me of my capacity to form the simplest spell. All I have left me is the Sight; my magic has deserted me. Shakkar snarled, “No doubt you find this amusing, human! You have magic but insufficient power to do what is needed; I have power aplenty, but no magic."

Grimm shook his head. “I find no humour in our predicament, Shakkar. However, I do see a possible solution to the problem. We mages are trained to be able to tap into another's store of energy, if that person consents. If the person is weak-willed, their power can be drained forcibly by a strong magic-user, although I know well I could never take your power from you. Nor would I choose to do so if I could. I am certain that, if you would allow me to use your energies, I could return to Crar and summon you by name into a magic pentacle."

Shakkar shook his head. “Starmor would know at once you had returned. He would send you straight back here."

"Would he so? I believe I might have the means to defeat him." Shakkar laughed so long and loud that golden tears flowed from his ruby eyes. “This is a man who crushed me with ease, a mighty demon at the height of my powers, mortal. Do you believe you can face him alone and prevail? Forgive me if I find just a little amusement in this. I do not wish to mock you, but the concept seems ludicrous to me."

"Listen, demon,” Grimm snarled, forgetting his fear of the titan as a nascent thought coalesced into crystal clarity. “I think I know how Starmor defeated you, as he did my party. If the Baron is so powerful, why did he tarry so long before attacking us, instead of crushing us in an instant?

"I'll warrant he spent time in insulting you, belittling you and enraging you before he finally attacked you. He seemed to take considerable pleasure in encouraging our fury before he at last subdued us. His loathsome city of men and women constrained to live out their lives as helpless puppets seems designed to ensure that anger, despair and terror are maintained within the walls of Crar. Why should Starmor expend such effort on the preservation of negative emotions? For the purposes of idle amusement alone?

I think not. He maintains this foul mockery of a thriving city because he needs the hatred his control over his subjects inspires. His awful tower, with its wailing images of imprisoned souls; is that only to deter the casual thief? A strong set of locks and some dogs would surely achieve the same end." Shakkar's tail whipped to and fro in frenzy as the demon considered Grimm's words. “The figures in Starmor's tower are not images,” he said at last. “They are the imprisoned souls of those foolish enough to oppose him. Starmor burnt them to death, and stole their spirits as they expired, imprisoning them within the walls of his castle. This was another reason why I chose to rebel against the Baron." Grimm gaped. What kind of monster chose to torture his foes, even after they were dead?

"You were correct in your assumption,” the demon admitted, hanging his huge head. “Starmor took control after he had spent much time excoriating me and rousing me to the heights of rage.

"Perhaps you have divined the source of his power, man; even so, I fail to see what you can do to thwart him. You are human, with the complex, overpowering baggage of emotions all humans possess. Even should you escape this turret, how will you hide them from Starmor?" Grimm shrugged. “I have a few powders, potions and herbs for medicinal treatment, and I have a little skill in Herbalism. I know the leaf of the Trina bush has the power to calm a man raving with the most manic rage. Under its influence, I might remain calm and placid in the face of the most terrifying peril. Starmor's powers against me would then be useless. I have some Trina leaves with me." Shakkar bared his fangs in a ghastly parody of a smile. “I have seen such men in the grip of like substances,” he growled. “Such a man would laugh while his arm was sawn off, but he would have no thought or will of his own while the drug's effects persisted. The gutters of your cities are full of those who have given their lives over to such herbs."