The group of ensorcelled guards parted impassively as Grimm entered the inn, closing ranks again as he closed the door. Dalquist stepped forward to greet the mage, who shook his head
"So your plan was unsuccessful," the older man said. "We both knew it was a risk. Tell me what transpired between you and Starmor; perhaps we can salvage something from the situation."
Before replying, Grimm lit his pipe and gulped down more of the acrid smoke, sucking it into his lungs as if his life depended on it. His mind began to calm, and he nodded to the senior mage.
"Dalquist," he said, "I cannot reach Starmor. He is surrounded by a bubble of force like the one he placed around us. It extends into the walls and floor of the tower, so that assaults from all sides are precluded. Starmor's terms are that we surrender the Eye and submit to him as servants with our wills intact, or to join the tortured souls in his tower; hardly an appealing choice to have to make."
"Did you agree to this, Grimm?" Dalquist asked, perhaps suspicious that Grimm's will might have been subsumed by Starmor's magic.
Grimm shook his head. "Of course I did not, Dalquist! For all Starmor's promises to leave our minds untouched, he must consider us too dangerous to be left untamed; he will almost certainly break his word as soon as he has the Eye back in his possession. We have twenty-five minutes in which to announce our decision and no more. I do not think that our friend Starmor will offer us an extension. Nonetheless, I may have the germ of another plan.
"Starmor must have been weakened by our previous attack, and the strain of maintaining his powerful ward must be considerable. I believe that, even in his weakened state, a frontal assault against the ward will be unsuccessful. At the first sign of hostility, Starmor will order the Crarians against us en masse, and I doubt even we can prevail against such an attack."
Harvel grimaced. "So far, mage, you don't quite fill me with confidence. What is this marvellous plan you mentioned?"
"Patience, Harvel," Grimm said, sighing. "Dalquist, from what you told me, the Eye seems to be able to penetrate all but the most potent magical shields. What I wondered was if it would be possible to follow its rays of power to the interior of Starmor's ward; to hitch a ride on the power of the Eye, so to speak. I fancy that even Starmor would have to relinquish his ward in the face of a determined direct attack. Otherwise, why does he need it to protect himself from us?"
Dalquist rubbed his forehead. "Your idea may have some merit, Grimm, but I do not know how it can be achieved. The Eye seems to work on no principle I can fathom; its power is like nothing I have ever encountered. To ride such waves would require an understanding of their form and feel. I don't know how to do this, and I don't think you do, either."
Grimm felt a movement in the pocket of his robes, and a small head popped into view. Grimm had all but forgotten the presence of Thribble.
"The Eye is not a human periapt," the demon declared. "It was fashioned by demons your fellow mages summoned for the task. It is beyond your mortal skills to do as you have suggested. Only a demon or its master can access its powers directly. For a human to do so might require months of undisturbed study."
Grimm considered the matter. If the small demon spoke the truth, and there was little reason to consider otherwise, then the plan would fail. Conscious of the little time remaining until the end of Starmor's period of grace, he still allowed his mind to race through alternative solutions.
"Thribble, could you pass along the Eye's webs of force?" Dalquist asked, before Grimm could put the thought into words.
The demon snorted; a brief sound like a high-pitched hiccup. "Of course I could, Questor; such energies are as plain to my kind as a road or a river would be to you humans, once pointed out to us. Nonetheless, I cannot conceive of being more than a mild irritation to a mighty being like Starmor. My powers are, I must admit, limited in this regard."
Grimm thought for a brief moment. "Demon, could Shakkar achieve the feat? I feel sure he would pose a far more potent problem for an unprepared Starmor than you could. At the moment, Shakkar is confined in a cage near Starmor's throne, and his fury is evident."
"I understand Shakkar has been stripped of his capacity for magic," the demon replied, furrowing his tiny brow. "Your proposal seems to lack merit. Even if his power is yet weak, as you suggest, I feel sure Starmor's magic will be more than a match for him."
Grimm smiled, feeling his plan coalescing into clarity. "I do not intend for Shakkar to defeat Starmor;" he droned, "just to focus his attention. The Baron cannot hope to fight Shakkar with physical force. He will need to use powerful spells, and he may have to relinquish his magical shield to do so."
"In such a case, the deed might be possible," the tiny demon allowed, rubbing his stubbly chin, "although you would need to act before Starmor recognised what was afoot. Shakkar would need to strike before his own hate and rage began to fill the sphere, since that would only serve to empower his captor. Speed and co-ordination would be of the absolute essence. Another problem is that, although we demons have a skill analogous to your magic sight, we need to have unfamiliar patterns of energy shown to us before we can see them. I do not fancy you can do this without attracting Master Starmor's attention."
"I think you underestimate us, friend demon," Dalquist said. "I may have that matter in hand. We have little time to consider the matter further, so we'll go with this plan.
"Grimm; you will give Shakkar the spell to send Starmor to the pillar. It would be better if we were all stripped of our emotions as you are, but I feel the risk is too great for us all to become dependent upon the herbs you carry, especially if the plan is unsuccessful.
"Starmor should be shielded from our emotions while his ward remains in place. We will take the Eye to him whilst feigning reluctant acquiescence to his tainted offer. Grimm, you will act as our spokesperson and approach the throne as closely as you dare. With luck, I may be able to achieve a Telepathic rapport with Shakkar, acquaint him with the plan and show him the peculiarities of the Eye's magic."
Grimm nodded. "I agree, Dalquist."
"I imagine he'll order us to toss the gem towards him and to leave the tower," the older mage continued. "I'll then withdraw the Eye from the extra-dimensional cubby-hole where I've been keeping it. Since I have some skill with Telepathy, I will extend my Mage Sight towards Shakkar and show him the Eye's lines of force. If this attack causes the Baron to drop the shield, even for a heartbeat, you will stand ready to dispatch our enemy to his deserts. I don't feel at all confident about our success, since the margins for error are slender at best, but the scheme seems to be the only option offering any hope at all. I don't relish the prospect of becoming another wailing face on Starmor's stairwell."
"Dalquist, Starmor was able to pain his captive souls even whilst sitting in his force bubble," Grimm said, frowning. "It may be that he can strike without warning, without dropping the shield for a moment."
Dalquist laughed. "I told you, Grimm: there's nothing certain about this. It's a gamble, pure and simple. I'm gambling that the whole tower is an integral adjunct of Starmor's power. You told us that his ward extended into the structure of the tower itself. To me, this seems a sheer waste of much-needed power, when a smaller shield surrounding just Starmor's own body would seem a better and more cost-effective solution. I'm willing to bet his magic can't extend outside the sphere any more than ours can. I think he needs to be in contact with the fabric of the tower itself right now; and the new tower is not yet as steeped in power as its predecessor was."
A broad smile spread over the older mage's face. "If Starmor's magic is anything like ours, it will take far more power to restart a spell than to leave it running; he won't dare drop it while we're around. I'll bet he's still sitting in his ward, just waiting for us."
Had Grimm's mind been under his full control, he knew Dalquist's decisive reasoning would have impressed him. Even in his untroubled state of mind, this idea had not occurred to him.
Perhaps the sense of urgency imparted by emotions has its advantages! he thought. Perhaps this is why Starmor made his offer to allow us to serve with our minds intact.
"A sound point indeed, Dalquist," he replied. "I admit it had not occurred to me to question the extra use of power needed to resume such a ward; power that Starmor can surely ill afford."
As the effect of the herbal fumes on his brain again began to fade, Grimm felt strong emotions rising inside him once more.
"Let's do it!" he cried, and Harvel and Crest nodded fiercely.
One pull on the pipe calmed him; another deep draught of smoke, and Grimm was once more as an impassive automaton.
"I am ready," he muttered.
As one in their determination, the warriors and the Questors made their way through the doors of the tavern.
The former landlord stepped forward from the large group of slaves in front of the inn.
"You will surrender the gem to me," the burly man rasped in a dull monotone. "I will take it to Lord Starmor."
"I will talk only to the puppet-master, not to his plaything. I do not yet trust my soul to Starmor's tender mercies," Dalquist snapped, shaking his head. "If you stand in our way, he will have many fewer subjects to control before we are defeated. Step aside!"
Some human spark yet glimmered in the landlord's spell-addled eyes, as if some basic urge for self-preservation still flickered within him. He stood aside.
It is unwise to anger even a heavily-outnumbered Questor, Grimm thought with the last, dulled edges of pride.
Ten minutes remained until the expiry of Starmor's deadline, so the group did not hurry: every moment the demon sat within his ward might weaken him further. In his depleted state, the Baron would hardly dare risk a second demolition of the tower, his power base. He might be able to soak up the tortured emotions of his vassals in order to strengthen himself, but he might then risk the destruction of the tower, knowing that the adventurers must now know of its importance to him. Starmor must stay as he was, linked intimately to his abode.
As the group approached the tower, Grimm could tell the keening of the imprisoned souls had lessened. Presumably, Starmor was guarding his strength against the possibility of perfidy. Nonetheless, on reaching the throne chamber, the demon still assumed a confident grin. Shakkar, fangs bared, battered futilely at the shining bars of his cage.
"Questor Grimm, my dear, witless friend!" Starmor said. "I trust you have convinced your friends of the futility of opposing me? You may be able to inconvenience me, but only at the cost of your precious mortal souls. Surrender the Eye to me and live. Oppose me, and suffer a fate far worse than the most anguishing death you can imagine. What is your answer?"
Grimm sensed an upsurge in Dalquist's aura. Shakkar's restless clattering ceased, and the young mage guessed that the senior mage was contacting the demon and outlining the plan to him.
"I have discussed your offer with my companions, Starmor," he said, "and I must say that we remain unconvinced of the value of your word. While we all feel that we have little choice in the matter, we would ask for some proof of your good faith."
"I offer none," the demon replied, snorting. "I wish for a few good, keen minds about me as well as my useful but thoughtless vassals, as I have told you. You may take my word for this, and serve me as equals, or you may rot as my playthings; it is all the same to me. Surrender the Eye and live, or have it taken from you and suffer eternal torment. It is a simple matter, so I will allow you no further cogitation on the subject. Do you accept my kind offer or not?"
From the corner of his eye, Grimm saw Dalquist give the slightest of nods. "Very well, Starmor," he sighed, "you leave us little choice. Dalquist?"
Dalquist muttered and the gem appeared in his hand, and the young mage saw the demon Baron lean forward, his eyes narrowed in an expression of the purest avarice.
"Leave the gem on the floor," Starmor growled in a hoarse voice. "My slaves will escort you back to the inn until I am ready for you. You must-"
A blue flash filled the chamber. In the blink of an eye, Shakkar disappeared from his cage and reappeared next to the Baron's throne. Without a moment's hesitation, the scaly behemoth launched a savage, ferocious assault upon Starmor. The Baron screamed and flung a vicious spell at Shakkar as eager talons reached for him. The magic threw the titan back, but Shakkar just snarled and surged forward again.
Grimm tensed himself, waiting for the ward to fail, his mind patterned for his spell of Translocation.
Starmor held off the huge demon with a succession of spells, but Grimm guessed that Shakkar's hatred was offset by the very violence of the attack. At any moment, the shield must fail!
At last, Shakkar landed a solid blow, laying the Baron's cheek open. As he fell to the floor, Starmor's voice boomed, seeming to reverberate from the very walls of the tower. "Kill the intruders! Kill them all!"
At that moment, the ward failed, and Grimm shrieked out the syllables of the short-range Translocation spell, with the full power of a Mage Questor behind it. Starmor disappeared, and Shakkar was left flailing savagely at thin air.
"He is gone!" Dalquist crowed. "The people of Crar are free! We have succeeded, and we still have the Eye!"
Harvel shivered. "I don't want to spend a moment further in this awful monstrosity of a palace, Questor Dalquist. May we leave now?"
Dalquist smiled. "I think we will all welcome that, swordsman." He led the party back down the staircase, into the street. Shakkar was the last to emerge.
Townspeople were converging on the party from all directions, although they walked in complete silence.
"This must be a welcoming committee," Crest observed. "It's no more than we deserve."
"No welcoming committee, this," Dalquist growled. "Look at them! Do they look like happy revellers? No: Starmor's last spell persists. He has sent the people of Crar to destroy us!"
The impassive features of the approaching throng unnerved even the drug-ridden Grimm. Some carried scythes, swords, mattocks or pitchforks, while others bore simple planks of wood or kitchen knives. The greater part of the growing horde bore no weapons, but they held their hands before them, clawing at the air. Men, women and children-the whole of the populace seemed bent on the party's destruction.
Shakkar growled and bared his fangs, roaring at the crowd, but his fearsome presence seemed to leave the assailants unaffected.
As the first assailant approached, bearing a grass-hook, Crest's whip lashed out, flinging the Crarian to one side, unconscious.
Harvel's rapier hissed free of its waxed scabbard and neatly skewered a muscular, hammer-wielding man clad in a blacksmith's leather apron and dungarees. For a brief moment, Grimm saw in the dead man the image of his own grandfather, Loras, but he shook his head to free himself of the vision.
"There are too many of them!" he cried. "Dalquist, we need a ward, and I have no idea how to raise one!"
The senior mage nodded and began to chant, his face a mask of concentration. The ward materialised just as the main group of ensorcelled Crarians reached them. The avid bite of the magical shield made them yelp in pain as they touched it, yet they came at it again and again, crowding around the adventurers, pressing and clawing against the invisible wall.
"I can-ah!-I can maintain this-ugh!-spell for no more than ten minutes, maybe less," Dalquist said, gasping every time one of the assailants impacted the ward. "I am open to suggestions, gentlemen!"
"I can supply you with further energy for the spell, Dalquist," Grimm suggested, feeling cold fear flooding through his nerves as the effect of his drugs began to wear off. "They must become exhausted, eventually, even with Starmor's hex on them."
"Most of the-oh!-Crarians are just milling around," Dalquist replied, his face wreathed in perspiration, "waiting for their chance to attack us. Twenty minutes more would just delay the inevitable. We couldn't hope to fight them all, especially in an enclosed space such as this."
"Can't you just transport us out of here, mage?" Harvel suggested, twitching his rapier nervously as another assault on the ward caused Dalquist to squeeze his eyes tightly shut with effort.
"Not through the ward, blademaster. The moment I drop it, we will all be dead in a heartbeat, well before I could complete the spell. A spell of Mental Control might well reach outside this wall but I am no mighty Mentalist. I couldn't hope to contact so many minds at once. What of you, Grimm? Have you any ideas? This-aagh!-this is getting desperate, my friend!"
Grimm shivered as a thick stream of blood from an attacker's skin-shorn knuckles ran down the invisible partition between the comrades and the mindless automata that would destroy them.
"I'm trying to think my way around the problem, Dalquist," he said, "but I can't make the mental link between a Directed spell and an Area effect. If I used all my energy, I could perhaps coerce the nearest ten people to attack the others, but that wouldn't even dent the forces arrayed against us."
"I would aid you, good mage," Shakkar rumbled, "but I have little power of my own since you cast your spell on Starmor's punishment pillar."
Dalquist groaned as another assault hit home, and he staggered.
"Well, then," Crest said, "it looks like we've lost, friends. "I didn't think it would end like this, but I'll fight with you to the last." He lifted the handle of his whip. "That's small comfort, I know, but I won't allow myself to be killed without showing this rag-tag assortment of hooligans what a true warrior can do."
"Small comfort indeed, Crest," Harvel replied. "These wretches don't even know what they are doing, and I hate to fight against these poor puppets. Still, I don't think we have any choice; I won't die with my sword sheathed."
Grimm considered the alternatives; there seemed to be none.
Dalquist fell to his knees. "I can't hold the spell much longer," he gasped, clutching his temples. "This is it!"
"Hold firm for a moment, mage," a familiar voice squeaked from Grimm's pocket. "I have an idea."
Dalquist gritted his teeth and nodded. "I'll try, demon."
"Can you pass your power to me, Questor Grimm?" Thribble demanded. "I believe that Starrmor's spell is no more than the force of his voice, combined with earlier spells of obedience. Having heard his voice once, I feel sure I can mimic it perfectly; that is one of my best talents.
"It is only a theory of mine; I am a poor spell-caster, and I have only a lay-demon's knowledge of magic, but it seems to me that you have little choice; your friend Dalquist can surely withstand this battering for a few minutes more at most. Have you, Questor Grimm, the ability to use your magic to amplify my voice so that all may hear? I will tell them to ignore you and attack each other. From the clamour outside, it seems Questor Dalquist's ward does not impede sound."
Grimm gulped, burgeoning emotions beginning to crowd in on his psyche as the mindless Crarians battered and crushed themselves against Dalquist's spell-wall.
I'll need a huge amount of power, he thought, licking dry lips. Sound intensity and magical force decrease as the square of distance. If I'm to make Thribble's order loud and clear to throughout the town, I dare not hold back on the spell, but the principle seems… sound.
Grimm smiled at the unintentional pun.
He knew that, if Thribble's theory was incorrect, he would be in no position to pose any kind of threat to the ravening horde of Crarians after he had unleashed his power; and yet, as the demon had said, he had little choice. On the other hand, he could not bear to see these blameless automata butcher each other. Dalquist raised his grey, sweaty, drawn face towards his friend; his eyes wide and imploring.
"Your idea seems to be our only hope of salvation, Thribble," Grimm said, "but may I suggest an alteration? Tell the Crarians that they are all released from Starmor's spells and that they're free men and women."
Thribble looked a little dubious. "I think my way is better," he said with a touch of sullenness.
"Perhaps you have a little less regard for human life than I do, Thribble, being not of our kind. I have no desire to pit these witless puppets against each other. I don't demand this of you; I only request it. Please do as I ask. Once my power is unleashed, your words will be broadcast, whatever they may be. We are all in your hands. Go to it, demon."
Grimm drew a deep breath. "Friends, block your ears," he advised "This is going to be loud!"
The human members of the group complied with Grimm's exhortation, plugging their ears as best they could. Thribble seemed little concerned.
Grimm's Sight showed him that the ward was wavering and faltering. Little time remained; the senior mage was ashen and could surely prevail little longer against the brutal onslaught of the Crarians. Looking downwards, he saw Thribble's nod and unleashed energy from his inmost being, trusting to the demon to see reason. Words were unnecessary, as the power was unleashed from Grimm's inner being like water from a broken dam.
A voice, indistinguishable from that of Starmor, boomed from the demon, impossibly, agonisingly loud:
"Crarians! You are now free from my earlier edicts. You are free to fulfil your lives as you will!"
Grimm held the power on, feeling his strength waning at an alarming rate, but he dared not hold back. The adventurers were protected from most of the sound, since it was being driven outward from the centre of the ward, but the volume was still phenomenal. The torrent of naked power seemed to scorch the Questor's very soul, and he moaned in torment, feeling like a candle in the heart of a blacksmith's forge.
The Crarians flinched and staggered as Grimm's energy hit them, sinking deep into their very bones, but they did not stop.
"Your lives are your own," Starmor's voice roared. "Rejoice in the joy of freedom and your own wills. You are free!"
The Crarians halted, confused, and Dalquist croaked "Another assault and I'm done, friends. Let's hope the spell was successful."
The Crarians had been driven back by the sheer power of the sonic blast. They stood, stunned, for a few seconds more, until Dalquist sank to the ground, utterly spent, as the ward failed at last.
Grimm continued to hammer Thribble's message into the attackers' ears and minds for a few seconds longer and then, with a helpless gesture, he dropped to his knees, gasping and holding his hands to his pounding temples.
The would-be assailants regrouped as if to launch their final assault. Harvel and Crest stood firm, ready to give their all, but the Crarians stopped in their approach, their jaws slack and their brows furrowed.
Weapons began to fall from the townspeople's nerveless hands, first with isolated, metallic tinkles and then in an ever-increasing clatter. The befuddled Crarians looked around, confused and uncomprehending. Some pressed their palms to their ears, and Grimm guessed that the battering voice had robbed them of their hearing.
He levered himself to unsteady feet with the aid of Redeemer, shaking with the effort to remain conscious.
"People of Crar!" he husked, feeling as if his throat were filled with sharp shards of flint. "The evil Starmor is no more. Pursue your lives as you will: seek the fulfilment of your dreams and desires. Your lives, so long subject to the will of the odious Starmor, are your own once more, and yours alone. Live!"
Grimm gasped once more and slumped to the ground, prone and unmoving.
Many of the Crarians stared with blank eyes, perhaps still deaf, but others showed the beginnings of comprehension and wonderment at being freed from Starmor's influence. Some hugged and kissed their neighbours while tears rolled down their cheeks. Some dared timorously to approach Dalquist, Crest and Harvel with open arms, according them the same treatment. They took care to avoid the titanic Shakkar, who growled as they approached.
Dalquist waved them away as best he could and, concerned, he knelt to examine Grimm. The young Questor was ashen, breathing in swift, shallow pants, and he seemed close to death, and the tall mage bit his lip, feeling cold uncertainty sinking into his bones. Grimm had expended his entire store of energy in one mighty explosion of will, and Dalquist feared his young friend had overextended himself. He shook the fallen youth by the shoulders and shouted in his ear, in a vain attempt to recall him to consciousness.
The once-murderous throng began to disperse; some singing and some weeping openly. Only a few remained, and one man, dressed in the soiled rags of what had once been costly attire, approached Dalquist, and the mage looked up from his fallen companion.
"Lord Mage," the old man said in a hesitant voice, "we are all in your debt, beyond what words can express. My name is Querl, and I was once the city's chief physician. Your friend seems in urgent need of medical attention, and I offer my services in humility. I have a few small sleights of magic, which help me in the pursuance of my duties. May I attend the young magic-user?"
Dalquist, feeling the direst concern at Grimm's condition, waved Querl towards his unmoving companion. The physician knelt, took Grimm's pulse and held a small mirror under the Questor's nose. He made a few passes over Grimm's brow, muttering a few terse phrases of gibberish.
"Well, Healer," Dalquist said, his voice tense, "how is Questor Grimm? Will he live?"
Looking up from his charge, Querl shrugged.
"His soul has retreated to another place," he asserted. "His body functions only at a low level, but I am reasonably confident that, with care, it will live.
"Nonetheless, I have no idea if his wandering soul will ever find its way back home. He needs warmth, sustenance and constant attention. He is on a long and difficult journey from which many never return. The next forty-eight hours are critical, and we must find him a warm and comfortable resting place."