"That's an awful lot of ‘mights and ‘could bes', boy,” Guy drawled, leaning against the door.
"Have you anything better, Guy?” Grimm snapped, his guts churning with nervous energy. “Perhaps you'd rather give us your own brilliant plan?"
"Oh, no, wonder-boy,” said the older mage, smiling. “If you want to risk what little brain you have on some wildcat scheme, who am I to stop you?"
Grimm clenched his teeth. It's all a bloody game for him, he thought. Still, I'm not going to show him just how scared I really am!
"Well, that's all right then, Great Flame."
Numal, who seemed to know more about Astral Projection than the other members of the party, touched the young Questor on the shoulder.
"Is that wise, Questor Grimm? You don't even know what sort of mind you'll find. The results could be disastrous!"
Grimm forced himself not to pull away from the sexually confused Necromancer's touch. “Thanks for the concern, Numal, but I don't think we have an awful lot of choice in the matter. I'll trust you to hold on tight to my astral cord and yank me back into the real world if you sense any trouble."
"I don't know if I can,” the older mage admitted with a shrug.
Grimm forced a friendly smile onto his face. “Well, just do your best. Look, Numal,” he said, “all of you! Do you all want to end up as drained husks, fodder for some nightmare creature, or would you rather we gave him a nightmare? I know what I'd rather do."
Crest stood up from a deep crouch, his head reaching the level of Grimm's chest. “There is an ethical aspect to this, Questor: do we really have the right to risk killing all these people? They're only doing what they have to for survival, the same as we would, if we were in their straits."
Well, that's all right then, Crest! So we'll just sit here and wait for them to bleed us dry… no, that's not helpful!
"It's us or them, Crest,” he said. “If you really have a serious moral objection, I won't do it."
"Bugger that!” Guy said. “Any port's good in a storm, I say."
"In any case,” the elf continued, shooting a hard glance at the senior Questor, “Suppose you do wake Gruon up; that doesn't get us out of this bloody mausoleum, does it?"
Grimm almost winced; he had not expected opposition from such a loyal companion: from Guy, perhaps, but not from the nimble, reliable half-elf.
"I saw a chair hanging from the ceiling in the central reservation, Crest,” he said, trying to look unworried. “That must be where they extract the Sacrifices for their blood-lettings. I imagine there's an opening, or at least a thinly-protected area, over that. If I get back alive, I reckon I could reach it and blast a way through. If I can't, I'll bet the Great Flame, here, could."
Guy shrugged. “I suppose I could, at that."
"As for the ethical consideration, these people are not human…” Grimm did not need to access his Mage Sight to recognise Crest's surging anger, and he knew he had chosen his words poorly.
"Neither am I, mage.” The slender warrior frowned, and Grimm noted his bunched biceps. “Perhaps I'm just as expendable as…"
Grimm's entrails felt like a cold, solid lump within him. “Look, Crest, I'm sorry. I spoke hastily. I regard you as just another…"
"Freak? Mutant? Is that it?” Crest snarled. “Some bloody sport-"
"That's not fair, Crest, and you bloody well know it!” Harvel snapped at his great friend. “Catch hold of yourself! Questor Grimm has never treated you as anything other than a valued companion and an equal. Has he? Has he?"
Crest stopped in mid-tirade and nodded, his head bowed. “I'm sorry, Questor Grimm. I had no cause to sound off like that at you. I know you didn't mean any slur when you used that word, ‘human'. It's just that I've had it flung at me so many times… I'm sorry."
Grimm breathed a sigh of relief; Harvel had defused a nasty situation before it erupted into meaningless violence. “I didn't choose my words carefully enough, Crest, and I apologise. Tensions are running high here, and I guess we're all a little highly-strung at the moment. What I meant to say is that these people are not really alive at all, except in Gruon's dreams. If they ‘die', they could be reborn whenever he falls asleep. Once we die, I have no idea what happens to us, but I'm sure we'll never be reborn just as we are, if at all. Whatever happens to the people of Brianston, they won't die a slow, painful death like their ‘sacrifices'.
"Now, I'm pretty nervous about what I intend to do, but I'll risk it if, and only if, you all agree to it. I may make things worse than they are; I don't know. All I do know is that we have to do something, and soon. The prospect of launching myself into an unknown mind scares the living daylights out of me, so I need to do it soon, before I lose the nerve."
Crest looked into Grimm's eyes and nodded. “Well met, Questor. I want to die in battle, or in some willing woman's bed, but not as some pathetic, subdued milk cow. I accept your rationale. I only argued because I'm nervous, too. Go ahead."
I wish you hadn't said that, Grimm thought, scanning the faces of his other conscious companions. All seemed happy for him to risk his soul, although the mage acknowledged that most of them had no idea of the danger involved in the process.
"I'm glad to hear that, Crest,” he said. “Are we agreed?"
Somebody say ‘no', a part of him pleaded, while he tried to suppress the renegade voice.
However, no more dissenting voices were raised. The only response was that of the formerly worried Numaclass="underline" “It's worth a try, Grimm."
The worried mage lay down beside the sleeping Tordun and folded his arms across his chest. He closed his eyes and pulled back self-pitying tears; these would not help. After a few, deep breaths, he nodded to the hovering Numal.
"I'm ready.” The delivery was not as cool and forceful as Grimm had wished. “Let's go; please keep a close eye on me. I've never done this before."
He began to drift away, and he looked down at his slight, pathetic body as he began to rise above it. Now, all human cares and worries had flown away from him, and he was only keen to see what happened next, free of physical and mental fetters.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 16: Voyage of Discovery
Grimm tried to clear his mind of all extraneous thoughts, as he had been taught in Magemaster Faffel's meditation classes. However, he had always found meditation to be an unpleasant and almost painful discipline. It was no easier, he found, when one intended to invade the mind of a creature of unknown origin and species, and his mind roiled and twisted, denying him the quietude he sought.
The more he tried to force himself to relax, the more uneasy he became.
How can you nag yourself into serenity? he asked himself. It's a logical impossibility! I'm going to need some sort of soporific…
Despite Grimm's loss of Redeemer, his abductors had left him his pouch of medicinal herbs, and the mage's thoughts drifted to the linen bag and its contents.
One herb in particular came to mind: Trina.
Don't go there, the Questor thought, suppressing a shiver. You know, only too well, what that stuff can do to you…!
The Barony of Crar had once been a ghastly parody of a real town, its citizens forced into grotesque stereotypes by the demon Baron, Starmor. The Questor and his companions, Dalquist, Crest and Harvel had faced the lone Starmor and attacked him with magic and more mundane weapons, but to no effect.
As a result of this abortive confrontation, Starmor banished Grimm to an extra-dimensional pillar, whose guardian was his now-fast friend and Seneschal, Shakkar. Having persuaded Shakkar not to eat him, Grimm learned from the titanic, grey-green creature that Starmor's powers were derived from strong, negative emotions, such as fear and anger. With a fair knowledge of medicinal herbs, gleaned from Arnor House's well-stocked Scholasticate Library, Grimm had selected the strong narcotic, Trina, to suppress his emotions, and a stimulant, Virion, to give him strength of purpose. He had inhaled a goodly quantity of fumes from a smouldering heap of the substances, and this had allowed the mage to face Starmor alone.