"I can fly you all out of here, Questor,” Shakkar declared.
Guy flipped a contemptuous thumb at the holes in the wall. “What? One or two at a time? While you're doing that, the Revenants can fill this place with noxious vapours, demon. That'll really put a crimp on the operation, won't it? Great idea."
Grimm regarded the myriad, small openings, and he realised the older Questor might have a valid point. Would it be possible to block all the holes? Surely not; many, if not most, of them were far out of the reach of human arms, and Grimm could not trust his primitive spell of flight to keep him stable long enough to block even one.
"My colleague, Sergeant Erik, waits atop the building,” the demon said. “He carries Technological weapons, and he should be able to deter any interlopers, at least for a short while."
Guy hawked and spat. “Bloody Technology; I hate it! I'm surprised even at you, wonder-boy,” he said, turning to Grimm, his mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust.
The young Questor shrugged. “It may be our best hope, right now,” he said. “Only one of us needs to escape, and to wake Gruon. If only-"
He felt a rough hand on his shoulder and wheeled around. Facing him was a bulky, angry-looking male Breeder. The man's body might be soft and obese, but Grimm guessed there was muscle underneath the flab.
"What's going on here, mage? What is this abomination you have brought into our midst? And what's this blasphemous talk of waking Uncle?"
"Shakkar has come here to save us,” Grimm said. “All of us, including you."
"Save us?” the Breeder spat. “We have everything we need here, a simple, happy life in the service of Uncle. What do you offer but purposeless conflict?
"We refuse to aid you in this… this sacrilege!"
"What about me, Grimm?” the female Breeder, Arland, cried. “It's to be my last birthday celebration tomorrow! If you wake Uncle, you'll be murdering our providers, the Revenants and Dreamsters! You must be some kind of a monster!"
Other Breeders began to murmur and close in on Grimm's group. The situation seemed ugly.
The mage spat a single word at his rotund assailant: “G-shaat!"
It was not a potent spell, but it sufficed to send the male Breeder rolling away from him. The dull susurration from the milling crowd grew louder, and the young Questor began to worry.
I hadn't counted on this, he thought. They seem to want to remain slaves to those Names-forsaken dream-people!
In the distance, he heard a series of dull crumps, and an urgent voice sounded from the hole in the dome: “They're coming with some kind of siege engine, Lord Seneschal! I've tossed a few stun-grenades their way, but I don't think I can keep ‘em off forever-here they come again!"
"Lord Baron-we must leave, now!” Shakkar urged, as the mob of Breeders grew closer.
"Get out, Questor Grimm,” Tordun said, his eyes flicking back and forth at the massing crowd. “I'm not at my best at the moment, but I can still fight."
Even Guy now appeared worried, his face pale and sweaty. “Kill them!” he urged. “Between the two of us, we can wreak a lot of damage!"
Grimm shook his head and invoked a ward, an invisible, hemispherical wall between his group and the angry Breeders.
"These people haven't done anything wrong,” he yelled, as the irate crowd began to batter at the magical barrier. “They're misguided, yes, but that's not their fault. Promise me, on your honour as a Guild Mage, that you'll just hold them back until I return. In any case, you'd never be able to manage fifty death spells without War-maker at your side. Our only hope is to confront Gruon and dispel this bloody fantasy.
Guy turned to the demon. “Take me, Shakkar,” he said. “Questor Grimm seems to be doing well enough here. I will wake this Gruon creature."
Shakkar shook his head. “My duty is not to you, mage, but to the Lord Baron. I am taking him with me, one way or the other."
Guy shrugged. “I think you're making a big mistake, demon, going with this lightweight excuse for a Questor, but I guess you hold the cards at the moment…
"…All right, Dragonbluster, hand it over, but hurry up,"
In his days as an Adept, Grimm had practiced the transfer of spells between one Questor and another at great length with his friend, Dalquist, and the handover was smooth and uninterrupted.
Without waiting for acknowledgement from his Baron, the demon swept up his mortal burden in his arms and surged towards the ceiling.
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Chapter 22: Gruon Awakes!
"This is Sergeant Erik, one of your loyal soldiers,” Shakkar said, as the mage and the demon rose through the ragged hole in the dome and into the sky.
Grimm saw a man, clad in the green uniform of Quelgrum's army, his face fixed in a determined grimace as he lay at the rim of the dome, his metal weapon intermittently spitting fire. The mage saw no reason to distract him.
"Fly north, until we're out of sight, and then head south-west,” he advised. “With any luck, the dream-creatures will assume that we're fleeing the coop, rather than threatening Uncle Gruon's nap."
As Shakkar flew higher, Grimm saw crowds of Brianstonians wandering aimlessly around the building, impeding the approach of a monstrous, wheeled, wooden structure built on several levels.
The mobile tower was manned by men wearing the robes Grimm had come to associate with Revenants. Several dream-people pulled the machine, falling occasionally under the impact of Erik's projectile ammunition, but they were soon replaced by others.
Wood? Grimm thought, looking at the structure. At last, there's something I can use my magic on!
Pointing at the tower, he launched a spell of Dissolution at one of the main beams of the siege engine. The support crumbled to dust and the machine lurched to a halt, leaning over to one side.
Several Revenants spilled out, tumbling to the ground, and Grimm followed up with a scorching fireball to the foot of the engine. The dry wood caught light in an instant, and avid, green flames began to consume the structure. Within a few moments, the whole machine was in flames, and Grimm smiled as, with a loud bang, several metal cylinders inside it exploded, sending a grey cloud of heavy vapour over the crowd. Within seconds, citizens began to sink to the ground, whereupon they lay still. Only the remaining Revenants appeared unaffected.
"All I need now is… Redeemer!” he said, ending the sentence with a hopeful shout as he pronounced the name of his Mage Staff.
For a handful of heartbeats, nothing happened, and the Questor feared that the rod might be locked away in another iron-clad enclosure, impeding his sorcerous imperative. However, as Shakkar flapped westwards, the young mage saw a slender, gleaming, black shape flying towards him, and he extended his right hand.
The staff smacked into his palm, and he closed his fist around the black, brass-shod baton with its seven gold rings. Now he felt a whole mage once more.
A Mage Staff might, on occasion, teleport itself into its owner's hand if the path between them was blocked, or it would fly through the air if the way was clear. Grimm guessed that the Revenants had left the staff in the street where it had fallen, perhaps after a few fruitless, painful attempts to pick it up.
"Over there, Shakkar!” he cried, pointing towards a familiar building as the demon began a long, leisurely bank to the south-west.
As he drew nearer, Grimm saw that the magnificent marble structure he had seen during his astral travels looked even more opulent in the red evening sunlight. This was no fantasy; it was as solid and impressive as it had appeared to his spirit avatar.
The demon descended, landing on the steps at the entrance to the mausoleum. The area was deserted, as Grimm had hoped. As Shakkar released him, he dashed inside the building while the demon remained outside.
The tomb's interior was no less impressive than its exterior, with bold, red flags depicting a stylised, golden dragon adorning the marble walls. Rows of pews filled the chamber. An ornate granite altar, perhaps eight feet tall, stood in front of him, with wooden steps at its rear.