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Each fighter, having tended to the tools of his trade, put himself through a
fixed regimen of exercise, testing and stretching each major muscle group,
grunting at the effort and the aching, whilst relishing the complaints from
each muscle and tendon. Glowing from the effects of their exertions they shook
hands and grasped forearms in wordless amity before moving back to their
chairs. Then, they sat and waited.
* * * *
At six in the morning, the main door to the tavern was flung wide. The
landlord of the inn stood in the opening, with a score of heavily armed
citizens at his back. All were filthy, coated in grime, dust and blood, each
with a dull, blank expression on his face.
The landlord spoke in a rusty, stilted, emotionless voice. You will accompany
us to Lord Starmor's tower. He is displeased at your depredations, and he
summons you for punishment. The punishment will be swift and merciful if you
comply. Otherwise, your torments will be slow and agonising."
Grimm looked at Dalquist, who responded with the faintest of nods. The young
Questor took out his ready-filled pipe and lit it, drawing in the acrid fumes
as if he was consuming nectar. The men-at-arms drew closer, threatening, but
they did nothing while Grimm emptied the bowl of his pipe.
Grimm swayed and nearly fell, but he was now better accustomed to the effects
of the herbs, and he managed to remain on his feet, feeling his human cares
and worries melting away from him.
Dalquist stepped forward and addressed the landlord, who seemed to have
noticed nothing amiss in the junior mage's swift change in demeanour.
"We do not respond well to threats, landlord, he blustered. Had Starmor the
power, he would have summoned us directly, or arrived here in person. Yet he
cannot do so; he dare not.
"I offer a counter-proposal; we shall send our emissary, Questor Grimm, to
parlay with your master. Starmor now knows well the folly of opposing even a
single Guild Mage, let alone two. We wish to come to an arrangement suitable
to all, without further bloodshed. If Starmor seeks to bully or threaten us,
it will cost him dear. Now we know his methods, we shall risk no headlong
assault. Instead, we shall concentrate on the destruction of his tower and the
annihilation of his bonded slaves."
The landlord appeared to be considering Dalquist's proposal at some length,
but Grimm guessed Starmor had been using the wretched man's senses as his own,
and that the demon Baron was the one preparing to speak.
"Very well, Questor, the enslaved barkeeper croaked. Let your emissary
approach the Tower. The group of Crarians turned as one and filed out of the
inn, and the impassive Grimm followed them.
A new, dark tower loomed over the city: a baleful presence, dominating the
land. The soft moans of torment now had amplified into a deafening cacophony
of mordant screams and moans that would have chilled Grimm's spine, were he in
possession of his normal palette of emotions. It seemed Starmor had not been
idle; the humanoid demon had stolen the tortured souls of many more hapless
Crarian citizens in order to recharge the loathsome edifice.
At the point of a halberd, Grimm was ushered up the winding staircase of
tortured faces until he reached Starmor's throne chamber, and the screams of
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the lost souls reduced into gentle moans. The decor was as yet incomplete, and
the furniture was sparse, but the grand throne stood in its former place, with
an unsettlingly smiling Starmor sitting on it.
Hanging from the ceiling swung an enormous simulacrum of a birdcage, with a
listless Shakkar confined inside. Grimm's Sight told him that another mighty
ward prevented the demon from escape.
"Well, stripling; we meet again, Starmor sneered, leaning forward until his
elbows rested on his knees. I trust you see now the futility of opposing me.
You did well to destroy my tower, but you should have fled when you had the
chance. Remaining here was a bad mistake, and I intend to show you the error
of your ways in full rigour.
"I understand from my minions that you wish to strike some kind of deal. The
only bargain I offer is this; surrender the Eye of Myrrn to me, and I will
spare your lives. In return for my forbearance, you will submit to my service
for a period of five years."
"My companions and I prefer death to the prospect of becoming mindless
slaves, Grimm said in a cold monotone, subtly inching his way towards
Starmor. He would need to touch the demon in order to carry out his spell of
Translocation. With his emotions suppressed, he felt certain he had managed to
conceal his intent from his enemy.
"You need not fear on that score, mage, Starmor droned, sitting up straight
in his throne. I have need of competent souls with their wits intact. I swear
to leave your minds unaltered, although I will punish the least transgression
with unmitigated severity.
"Serve me in good faith, and I will treat you well. Refuse me, and I will
begin my retribution with your warrior friends. They will take their places in
the structure of my tower, and their agonies will far surpass any that the
most fiendish torturer could inflict; agonies that will last not for hours or
days, but for decades, centuries. Agonies that you could never hope to
alleviate, although I can stop them in an instant. I have no use for these two
creatures, but I will allow them their bodies and their free will only while
you obey me. Your first transgression will result in a painful lesson visited
upon the one called Harvel; a second will see his soul imprisoned within the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
