Dragonblaster cogd-5

by Alastair J. Archibald

  Shakkar thumped to the floor, and the angry Realsters paused in their assault. As several of the attackers broke from the main group and turned towards him,

  Grimm held up Redeemer and shouted, “Stop! Stop right there, or I'll use magic on you!"

  A slender, red-headed man of maybe twenty years yelled, “You robbed us of our birthright! We have worked all our lives to gain Gruon's blessing, and you've stolen that from us!"

  "If you want to die, feel free!” Grimm snapped, his patience with these suicidal idiots wearing thin. “Gruon is awake and wreaking destruction outside. If you want to meet him, then I can arrange that! Just remember that we, too, are Realsters like you, and we'd prefer not to die.

  "We regard our most treasured condition as life rather than death, and we'd rather hang onto it as long as we can. If you'll agree to stop your attack, you can all meet Uncle Gruon. If not, you'll die here, and you'll never see him at all. If death is all you want, I can oblige you there, too!"

  The mage allowed a trace of green fire to flare at his fingertips, his mouth compressed into an angry, frustrated slit.

  Several moments passed while the Breeders muttered and argued, until a sturdy, fleshy man stepped forward, whom Grimm recognised as the ringleader of the initial assault.

  "What do you propose, mage-filth?"

  "You want to meet Gruon, and we just want to get out of here,” Grimm said. “Those aims aren't incompatible. Just stop your attack, and we'll let you out. Is that agreed?"

  A loud roar sounded from outside, followed by mingled screams of joy and pain, and the man nodded. “Agreed. All right, let us meet Uncle.” The other Breeders signalled their assent.

  Grimm turned to the pale, sweaty Guy Great Flame, and said, “You can drop the ward now, Brother Mage."

  Guy's shoulders slumped as he cut off the stream of spell-energy. “Well, you took your sweet time, didn't you, wonder-boy?” he hissed. “I suppose you just-"

  "Shut up for once in your life, and give your mouth a rest, Guy!” Grimm snapped, wandering over to the half-elf and showing him the key-stub.

  "Think you can pick the lock this key fits, Crest?"

  The slender thief cocked his head on one side for a few moments, as he examined the small piece of metal. “Complicated,” he said, “but I've never yet met a lock I couldn't master. The Revenants might have taken my whip and throwing-knives, but at least they left me my lock-picks."

  Crest lifted his leather jacket's right lapel, to show a number of slender metal objects hidden behind it. “Let's go,” he said.

  The demon walked over to the thief, and Grimm asked, “Can you take us both, Shakkar? I may be able to shield Crest from the dragon's fire."

  The Seneschal eyed the two mortals. “Neither of you is a heavyweight, Lord Baron,” he declared. “I believe I can."

  The building shook as another of the dragon's blows hit home, and shards of stone fell to the floor.

  "Better make it fast,” Harvel said with a nervous smile. “It sounds like Uncle Gruon's getting eager to introduce himself to us in person."

  Grimm nodded. “Let's do it, Lord Seneschal."

  Breath whooshed from Grimm's lungs, as Shakkar took him and Crest in a tight grip and shot towards the dome's shattered apex. He shut his eyes as the demon hurtled through the air.

  In a few moments, he felt his feet touching solid ground again, and he opened his eyes. He was outside the Breeder compound's outer door.

  The building shuddered again, and Shakkar released his mortal burden.

  "We may not have much time, Crest,” Grimm said, rubbing his aching ribs as the huge building trembled again.

  The half-elf drew a succession of spindly implements from his jacket and knelt before the first, oversized lock, his expression calm and intent.

  "It'll take me a few moments, Questor,” he said, as the mage honed his senses for the first signs of the approach of the golden destroyer.

  Grimm nodded, clamping down on his emotions as the building shuddered again.

  Crest nodded, probing the lock with a succession of tools. Despite the sounds of devastation around him, the thief appeared unaffected, his entire attention focused on the problem at hand.

  Gruon howled, and Grimm could tell the golden dragon was getting ever closer.

  Come on, Crest, he thought, drawing Redeemer close to his side. We don't have an awful lot of time, now.

  The lock emitted a decisive click, and Crest grinned. “That's got it. One down, one to go!"

  With a theatrical flourish, the thief flung the first door wide and scuttled inside the small inner hall. Grimm heard the growing sound of thumping and turned to face the demon.

  "Hold still, Shakkar,” he muttered. “Gruon's on his way, and that room's too small for the three of us."

  As the dragon hove into view, the demon growled, drawing Gruon's attention. The feral, green eyes fastened on him, and Grimm spread himself out in the narrow doorway, trusting in his borrowed charm to protect him if the 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.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  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."

  With a cold shock, he realised that Gruon had been almost directly outside the entrance to the Breeder pen. The explosion might have been channelled straight into the roundhouse!

  "How's everybody else?” he asked, his voice panicky and his eyes wide as he tried to scramble to his feet. “The Breeders, the others-"

  "It's not pretty, Lord Baron,” the General said, putting a firm hand on the Questor's right shoulder. “I won't sugar-coat it for you or try to pretend otherwise. Three Breeders are dead; a dozen others are injured; Questor Guy's lost his eyebrows and most of his beard. Erik was lucky enough to fall into a crowd of Brianstonians who broke his fall; he has a badly sprained ankle. Numal's concussed."

  "Crest and Tordun; what about them, General?"

  The soldier's grip on his shoulder tightened. “Tordun may have lost his sight, Lord Baron. We don't know yet-"

  "And Crest? What about Crest?” Grimm cried, his voice an octave above its normal register.

  "Crest is dead, Lord Baron,” Shakkar rumbled. “He had his back to the full force of the blast. It is only because of him that the death toll is not worse."

  Grimm groaned, feeling hot tears prickling at his eyes and a lump in his throat. He had never been close to the half-elf; nobody was, save Harvel. However, he had known the nimble, resourceful thief since his very first Quest. The cheerful exchange of insults between Crest and his foppish friend had brightened up some dark times; now, that morale-boosting banter would be lost.

  I did this! Grimm slapped a hand over his eyes in an attempt to blot out the thought of the loss of his companion. Just because I wanted to show Guy I was the stronger mage!

  He bit his trembling lower lip, shaking with the effort not to break down as he had after his first abortive expedition in the astral plane.

  "Four dead here; maybe a score more outside the walls,” Quelgrum said. “With the doors wide open, Gruon could have torched all of us, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have rested until everyone in Brianston was dead. That's not much consolation right now, I know, but that's warfare."

  "I didn't have to wake him up!” The words ripped through Grimm's larynx like blades. “I could have let him sleep on, and we'd have been out of here by now. Crest would still be alive."

  "Do you think the Brianstonians would have been willing to take the risk of allowing Gruon to wake?” Shakkar demanded. “They might have been happy to let us leave, but, sooner or later, they would have started their sacrifices again. If not, they would have been facing a massacre. You have ended the slavery of generations of mortals. You should feel proud of that."

  Grimm tried to concentrate, but he could not tear his mind from the image of the living Crest, arguing with his bosom friend, Harvel.

  "I don't,” Grimm said, fighting his combative emotions. “Maybe I will in a few years, but I just feel empty right now."

  The mage knew he could not face the Breeders or his other companions at this time, and that inaction might make him increasingly morbid. Part of him wanted to raze this abomination to the ground, to destroy every living Revenant and Dreamster, whilst another recognised the irrational hatred within him.

&nbs
p; "I need to see Murar,” Grimm said, in a harsh monotone, “right now. Is he still alive?” With a grunt, he managed to rise to his feet and remain upright.

  The General's brow furrowed. “Is that wise, Lord Baron?"

  Grimm looked the old soldier right in the eyes. “Let me get this straight, General,” he said. “I want to kill the old bastard with every fibre of my being. But I won't. Before we leave here, I want to ensure that every Realster here is respected and treated the same as any other Brianstonian. I also want to get our wagon and supplies back. If you won't come with me, I'll go alone. When we've finished, we'll be on our way."

  Shakkar and Quelgrum exchanged worried glances. “We'll go with you, Lord Grimm,” the General said. “You may be a little… unpopular right now, if the truth gets out. You did kill their ‘god', after all."

  Grimm tried to smile, but he knew that his mouth had just twisted into a humourless, twisted grimace. “I don't care about, ‘popular',” he growled. “Right now, I'd be happy with ‘feared'. If that's the only reaction I can muster, I'll be satisfied.

  "Redeemer!"

  The obedient, indestructible staff slapped into his open palm. Not waiting for a reaction from his companions, Grimm began to stride out of the massive crater, his confidence increasing as his legs grew stronger.

  As he rounded the corner, with the demon and the soldier at his back, he saw a crowd of weeping Brianstonians. One of them wore the robes of a Revenant, and he pointed at the mage. “That's Uncle's killer,” he spat, his face contorted in a grimace of rage. “He-"

  "And how many of you were killed by your so-called ‘loving Uncle'?” Grimm demanded, cutting the Revenant off. “If death's all you want, I can oblige you right now, you dragon-loving vampire! Where's Murar?

  "I asked where Murar is, blood-drinker! Answer me!"

  The force of the mage's demand, aided by just a hint of magical Compulsion, seemed to mollify the Revenant, but he still retained a trace of defiance.