For a moment, a dim spark of hope flowered, as the mage saw Murar take out a large, ornate key. Those heavy, iron gauntlets might impede his magic, but Grimm knew they would make excellent physical weapons against the Revenant. He would not relish the thought of braining an old man and a girl, solidified dreams though they might be, but he would not hesitate to do so if he got the chance.
Murar unfastened the fetters from the wall, and Grimm tensed himself to strike. As the last chains fell free, he slammed a gauntleted fist against the old man's temple, and it felt as if he had punched a mountain. The blow had not the slightest effect on the smiling Revenant, although it should have cracked his skull at least.
Murar frowned. “Naughty boy, Blessed One! That was foolish; you are not a part of our adored Uncle's Dream, so you cannot do anything to me, one of his Chosen Ones. It pleases him to keep me as I am. The ordinary citizens may be susceptible to violence, but not we beloved Revenants. Your magic might be able to affect me, but not your physical presence. Come on, now, and we'll soon get those nasty chains off you."
With the last of his resistance gone, the Questor allowed himself to be led out of the chamber. Holding the end of one of the chains, the Revenant, his head held high, took him out of the stark chamber into pandemonium.
Vast crowds of cheering people greeted Grimm's eyes, howling, hooting and pressing in upon him. He was jostled and bumped as the joyous Dream-people swarmed, each person trying to touch him. They slipped, fell and trampled on each other, heedless, reckless and eager to lay hands on this physical embodiment of their desire to survive.
On occasion, Grimm lashed out with his metal-clad hands, striking members of the encroaching horde. Some fell, but the mage's armoured fists rebounded from the skulls of others: Revenants, he guessed.
At last, Murar and Elamma ushered the mage to a solid, metal-bound door in a wall of yellow stone, which was criss-crossed with a fine tracery of metal wire. The Revenant midwife produced a key and opened the door to reveal a second at the end of a small vestibule, about six feet wide and five feet long.
With a firm, guiding hand, Elamma ushered Grimm inside, and the mage heard the portal behind him close with a decisive click. The rapturous clamour of the crowd was snuffed out, and the mage found himself alone in the tiny chamber.
Grimm had no especial fear of enclosed spaces, but, fettered and bound as he was, it seemed as if the walls were closing in on him. His breathing became swift and shallow, his heart began to pound, and he felt a cold sweat trickling down his body.
The mage spun around as he heard a clank behind him, and he saw a small slit open in the shining door, on the left-hand side.
"Blessed One,” called the voice of Murar. “Be so good as to stand to one side."
Grimm did as he was bidden, and he saw a slender, metal rod extending into the chamber through the slit. He felt his irrational fear giving way to puzzlement as the rod grew longer, and he realised that the narrow shaft was an immensely long key.
They aren't taking any chances with us, he thought. They've obviously thought this whole thing out in detail. I can only imagine the mage they captured before gave them a full Questor demonstration before he was subdued.
The mage wondered how Murar would be able to fit the long key into its mating lock, but he noticed that the latter was at the end of a long conical cavity, guiding the key into its appointed place. This also gave Grimm some idea of the great thickness of the door.
Clever: these people are not idiots, by any stretch of the imagination.
As the rod began to slide into the cone, he glanced at the slit and saw a large cross at its key's far end. This would ensure that it could not be pulled through the slot from Grimm's side; another sensible security measure, he thought with a sardonic smile.
A loud, mechanical clank told him the door was unlocked, and the key withdrew.
"You may now open the door, Blessed One. Please close it behind you."
"What if I refuse?” Grimm asked, although he guessed the answer to his question.
"None of you will receive any food or water until you are safely inside, Lord Grimm. Please be co-operative, we beg you, for their sakes."
Deciding his position was hopeless, Grimm forced the door open with his shoulder, and stumbled into an 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…