Weapon of the Guild [The Chronicles of Grimm Dragonblaster, Book 2] by Alastair J. Archibald

to kneel before me. I do not ask this in order to humble or belittle you, but I must lay my hands upon your head."
    Shakkar stared into Grimm's eyes for a few seconds, as if looking into the mage's soul, but he sank to his knees.
    Grimm closed his eyes, placing his hands lightly on Shakkar's ridged head, and he began to mutter in his personal spell-tongue. A faint blue coruscation played across his slender hands as he drew Shakkar's essence into himself. The mage's brow began to furrow and bead with sweat as he fought to contain the demon's mighty energy. His hands began to shake a little, but the steady chant did not waver one iota, thanks to Magemaster's Crohn's strict tutelage. Long moments passed before Grimm removed his hands and opened his eyes, feeling them burning with potent magical power. His voice seemed to blaze with energy.
    "Thank you, Shakkar,” he cried, his voice cracking with joy. “At this moment, I feel as if I have enough strength to move mountains. I know I could obliterate even a mighty demon like you in a moment." Shakkar stood, his heavy brow clouding, but Grimm waved a hand and shook his head. “Do not worry, friend demon. I will not break our pact. I will keep my word to you in every respect. Your remaining hours on this dismal cylinder are numbered. I will rescue you and my companions or die in the attempt." He opened the leather bag at his waist, bringing forth two pouches, one deep blue and the other bright green.
    "These herbs are Trina and Virion,” he said. “They are the substances I need to carry out the task awaiting me in the mortal world. I need you to find dry tinder or the like to build a fire." Shakkar seemed to show no offence at the fact that this mortal had issued him with an order. Moving at an astonishing speed for such a behemoth, he gathered up dry lichen, blood-stained rags and splintered hafts of weapons from the surface of the pillar, eagerly laying them in a pile at Grimm's feet.
    "Here is your tinder, mortal. Have you a flint?"
    Grimm growled, “I'm a Questor, Shakkar. I don't need any bloody flint.” His nerves felt more than a little frayed, and he had begun to find his pose of cool confidence difficult to maintain. Remembering his time with the often-irascible Crohn, he pointed at the motley assortment of items and directed the tiniest portion of his will towards it. This spell was so basic that he did not even need to speak or gesture. Fire leapt in the middle of the pyre and took hold, and Grimm again thought of his earlier explosive experiments.
    Taking forth his pouches of herbs, he considered what the dosage should be. He knew the quantities he would need for the treatment of the sick, but he feared this might be insufficient for the task ahead. With as much aplomb as he could manage, he took forth a considerable quantity of each herb, muttered an incantation to invoke a spell of immunity to flame, thrust his hand into the fire and breathed in the fumes. A creeping torpor seemed to seep into Grimm's bones.
    No more strife, no more difficult decisions to make ... it's so easy... He sank to his knees and gave a languorous sigh. The struggle was over and he needed to fight no more. With a rapturous smile on his face, the young Questor's eyes first bulged and then closed. He toppled onto his side, snorted once and lay as still as a corpse.
Chapter 7: Chains
    Shakkar looked at the fallen mage and grimaced in a manner of which only his kind was capable. He had bided his time in this loathsome prison for a seemingly interminable period; his only sustenance, the few mortals that Starmor had chosen to send him. For the first time since his banishment to this dismal pillar, he had seen and believed in the hope of salvation. But now Grimm was dead. With genuine sorrow, he bent to consume the body of a human he had begun to regard as a friend. However, even a demon had to eat, and he could not stomach cold meat. Shakkar opened his fearsome jaws and prepared to eat the