Uncertain of what to do, Grimm glanced at the Revenant, Murar, at his right side. The dream man crouched on hands and knees before the magnificent form of the dragon, in a position of sincere obeisance, and the mage wondered if the Revenant's action might not be the best possible defence: the dragon's head, smoke drifting from the slit nostrils, oriented first on Grimm, then on Shakkar, but the emerald eyes, slitted like those of some giant cat, seemed to ignore the squatting figure. To test his theory, Grimm froze, and the golden beast seemed to lose interest in him, concentrating instead on Shakkar.
"Lord Baron, we must get out of here, now!” the demon urged, who was dwarfed by the towering dragon.
"He can't see us if we don't move, Shakkar,” Grimm said from the corner of his mouth. “Stand still for a few moments, and, with any luck, he'll wander off. If we try to run, I'm not sure we can outdistance Gruon or his flame."
The demon did as Grimm advised, and the mage saw Gruon waving his head back and forth for a few moments, as if confused or uncertain. Then, with a snort and a small belch of flame from his nostrils, the scaly creation began to wander off into the city, the ground trembling with each step.
Grimm said, “Give me the keys to the roundhouse, Murar. I don't know if we can beat this thing or not, but we're going to need a greater force than this if we're to have any chance against him."
The Revenant stared blankly, seeming oblivious to Grimm's words. “This is punishment for our pride. There is nothing left to do but to atone for our hubris, to be cleansed in the merciful, all-consuming fire of Uncle. It is justice…"
Grimm saw the fervid, feverish gleam in Murar's eyes, and guessed that the old man had surrendered his rationality. There could be no reasoning with him, and the mage knew his best course of action might be to humour the almost catatonic Revenant.
"You are right, Murar,” he said. “All the people of Brianston should have the right to share in Gruon's mercy, including the Breeders. Give me the keys, and I'll make sure that all are cleansed."
Murar nodded slowly. “Yes, that is right and just. All should share in Uncle's bounty."
He fumbled in a pocket and produced a stub of a key, with a threaded section at one end. Grimm shook his head, and tried to keep his voice calm and gentle.
"There are two keys, Murar,” he said, “a short one for the outer door, and a much longer key for the inner one. I'll need both keys to release the Breeders."
Murar shook his head, his eyes bright with evangelical fervour. “It's all I have, Blessed Sacrifice. This is the last section of the key to the inner door. The other sections are held by other Revenants. Elamma, the Protector, holds the outer key."
Grimm stared at the useless three-inch stub, his entrails churning with frustration.
Perhaps I could pick the locks, he mused, but he noted the key's complex angles and projections. Despite his early life in his grandfather's smithy, he had no idea of the workings of locks, and he realised that his chances of success were slim. Perhaps the only chance was for Shakkar to lift the prisoners out through the ragged hole in the rotunda's roof.
He stifled a groan as he realised how long that process might take.
I guess we don't have much choice-I'm no locksmith or thief…
Thief! All we need to do is to free Crest! I'm sure he can open the doors, if anyone can.
"Shakkar,” he said, his voice trembling with intensity, “we must get Crest out; he's a master thief! Surely he can pick the lock, if anyone can."
"Very well, Lord Baron.” The demon shook dust and detritus from his wings, “but I insist you stay here, safe from the dragon."
Grimm shook his head. “I'm responsible for this mess, Shakkar. In any case, I'm not sure anywhere's safe from Gruon. If he takes to his wings, he could level the whole place. I'm coming with you. That's… that's an order, Lord Seneschal."
It felt strange to issue such an imperative to the towering, grey being, but Shakkar nodded slowly. “Very well, Lord Baron,” he said, his voice free of the least trace of rancour. “I will take you."
The demon hoisted the young mage into the air and headed for the rotunda, and Grimm saw a trail of destruction as they approached it. Gruon stalked through the streets, knocking down real and imaginary walls and small buildings with his tail, scorching the hapless Brianstonians with his fiery breath.
The casual carnage appalled the mage, its effect undiminished by the fact that some of the citizens sang joyously as they burned. The walls of the roundhouse bore mute testament to the sheer power of the dragon, with deep scars and blackened areas on its thick walls, and Grimm feared the golden creature might bring the whole structure down on the heads of his companions and the Breeders inside.
At least Gruon seems more interested by the Brianstonians than by us, he thought, as Shakkar came to a halt over the jagged opening in the dome and began to descend into the interior.
The scene inside the roundhouse was no less chaotic than the streets of Brianston, as hordes of Breeders, their faces contorted in rage, hammered at the invisible walls of Guy's ward.
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.