Questor cogd-3
Page 19
Xylox was a Questor of the old school, loyal to his House and his Guild unto death, but he had always prided himself as an even-handed and fair man. Had he been fair to Questor Grimm? On the very first occasion the two mages had met, Xylox had taken one look at the young Questor's gaudy, expensive attire, and he had taken an instant dislike to the boy. He had considered Grimm a dilettante; a primping fop.
Xylox fingers caressed an angry, red weal on his right cheek, a legacy of the unwilling battle Armitage had forced the two mages to fight.
The boy is indeed powerful, and I was untruthful when I implied that he had not hurt me in our fight, the Questor thought, feeling a cold, queasy unease at the knowledge that he had lied to a fellow mage.
Why have I felt such disregard for the boy? I have been excoriating him for his ease with Seculars, his taste in clothes and a freely-admitted interest in Technology. With the possible exception of inviting the thief-girl into our midst, he has acquitted himself well in this Quest. It would be to the detriment of our House if I were to allow my personal prejudices to taint the career of such a promising addition to the fold.
"Questor Grimm; I am sorry," Xylox whispered, after a very long pause. "Let us not dwell on the past. We may have a difficult road ahead of us, and I would rather travel it in a spirit of co-operation and mutual respect. I swear it, on my name, and on my reputation as a Mage Questor.
"From now on, I will seek to rebuke you only where your acts and attitudes impact on the conduct of the Quest. Let us start again, in the interests of amity and good relations. Should you proffer me advice, I promise to give it a fair, even-handed assessment, and I will take it in the spirit in which it is given."
The older mage extended his right arm, and, for the first time, the two mages clasped hands; if not in friendship, then in a closer understanding between them.
"I also apologise, Questor Xylox," Grimm said. "I, too, may have been blinded on occasion by false pride, and I commit myself to the successful conclusion of this Quest as your loyal aide, advisor and fellow mage."
It seemed like a new beginning, and the Questors' hands remained entwined for a few moments, before they disengaged and sat opposite each other. A few moments of contemplative silence passed before Xylox spoke again.
"Have you any concerns to relate to me, or any advice, at this time, Questor Grimm?"
Grimm seemed to relax, as if all tension had been released from his body. "I do have one concern, Brother Mage," the youth admitted. "You have persuaded Foster that all is well at Haven, and that we are all happy, deluded slaves of Armitage. I imagine the General will arrange transport for him back to the mountains, once he has delivered us. What do you think will happen when he arrives to find Haven desolate and deserted? These people seem to have Technological means of communicating over long distances in an instant, and it might not go well with us if this deception were uncovered."
Xylox bent his mind to the issue; the youth had raised a valid and worrying point. "You would perhaps recommend some sort of… accident for our Technological friend?" he hazarded.
The young sorcerer shook his head. "Foster is our passport into the General's demesnes; we need him. After our exertions, we both lack the strength to persuade him to delay his departure by magical means. I suggest we find more mundane means to compel him to put off his return to Haven. Have you noticed how he seems a little unsteady on his feet, and, perhaps, a trifle confused? Dehydration must be the cause; he is in no condition to travel."
Xylox found a rare smile creeping across his face; this Questor was more resourceful than he had at first thought.
"I must admit to some concern at Brother Foster's infirmity, Questor Grimm. Perhaps he is in need of a… spell of convalescence. I will brief the other members of the team to this effect; I am sure that we can reach a consensus on this issue."
"Foster said that a vehicle would be despatched to us in short order; I suggest that we work together on this. One of us also needs to convince Foster of his infirmity; I think that Tordun might be an excellent choice."
"Tordun?" Xylox exploded, a frown on his face. "He despises Foster with a passion, as do I!"
Grimm essayed a faint smile, his lips cracked and bleeding. "Just so: he can say that he realises now how ill the flier has been, because he had been so diligent in carrying out his mission. I do not think Tordun will enjoy expressing tender concern for Foster, but he is, nonetheless, intelligent, and I am sure that he is a reasonable actor. Words of pity from our white-haired colleague might work better than an impassioned plea from either of us."
"Very well; you may tackle Tordun, and I will ensure that the other members of the team are alert, on their guard, and of a like mind by the time the conveyance arrives here. I admit, still, to some misgivings as to how we will defeat the General, but we will cross that bridge when we reach it. Let's get started!"
Xylox realised he had lapsed from his usual, formal, Mage Speech for a heartbeat, but he no longer cared.
Yes; even this inexperienced Questor is worth more than a disparate group of Seculars, he thought.
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Chapter 21: Rescue!
"I feel perfectly all right, Tordun!"
Tordun shook his head, his lips pursed and his eyebrows raised. "That is the trouble with the sun's rays, Foster," he said. "They can affect a man without his knowledge. I recommend that you try not to over-exert yourself for a couple of days, at least; we have all suffered much, and I think we owe it to Armitage to be in the best condition if we're to serve the General well."
Foster looked around him. The other members of the group all stood outside the open flap of the tent, wearing similar expressions of concern and worry.
"Well, I don't really know what you're talking about," the pilot grumbled, "but I suppose I might have caught a touch of sunburn without knowing it."
Xylox nodded. "Better that you stay out of the sun until the General's men arrive to rescue us, Foster. Do you know how they are to locate us, or how long it may be before they appear?"
Foster shrugged. "That umbrella-shaped device is a radio beacon. They can home onto that through triangulation, they and should have no trouble finding us once they lock on. Those beauties have a transmission range of over a hundred miles in the desert on a clear day; you just bounce the signal off the Heaviside Layer and there you are. There was one of those things in the helicopter, but it was trashed when we hit the mountain."
The two mages, the warriors and the girl looked blank at the pilot's stranger words.
"It'd take too long to explain, I'm afraid, folks," Foster said, shrugging. "Don't worry, they'll find us, sure enough."
"As for how long it'll take, I'd guess that we're about forty miles out; if they're coming by ground transport, I'd guess an hour, hour and a half."
"I can't wait," Crest said. "I thought the mountains were bad enough, but I'd sooner be up in that snow and ice than down here."
****
Two hours or so passed before a small, hazy cloud appeared in the distance. As Grimm watched, it seemed to grow bigger and closer with every minute.
"Oh, yes! That'll be them, all right," Foster said, with a look of immense relief. His old, ebullient self seemed to be coming back to the fore. "I guess they must have been held up for some reason; it's not easy to keep some of these old vehicles going in these desert conditions."
"Or perhaps we are just further away than you thought, Foster," Grimm said, sensing an opening. It seemed quite probable that the pilot's crude desert navigation techniques had resulted in a considerable error in location, but the flier had seemed so confident in his abilities that this could be used to further convince him of his infirmity.
"It would not be surprising if you were a little confused, with the condition that you are in."
Foster gave a slow, contemplative nod. "Perhaps you're right, mage," he sighed. "Perhaps I have been pushing myself a little too hard recently. Yes, that's quite possible."
The yellow cloud grew closer, until a dark shape began to emerge in its centre, shimmering and wavering. It seemed to be hovering above the surface of the desert, but Foster explained that this was just an illusion caused by the heat of the sand. It approached ever nearer over the next ten minutes, revealing itself as a bizarre creation. It had two, black-shod wheels at the front, and a line of smaller wheels towards the rear, surrounded by some sort of belt or chain. As the vehicle came to a halt, belching black smoke from its rear end, Grimm saw that the machine's battered structure bore many rough-and-ready repairs, patches and amendments.
This thing must date back to around the time of the Final Devastation, he thought, shaking his head in wonder. It was almost incredible that such a mechanical monster had survived through all these centuries, and it was a fine tribute to the machine's sturdy construction. Although the young mage recognized only too well the destruction that Technology had wrought on the world, he did not regard it with the same rabid loathing that his colleague, Xylox, did; it did hold a certain fascination, speaking of the intelligence and ingenuity of its long-dead creators.
Foster stepped forward, as a green-garbed man climbed out of the front of the battered conveyance and strode towards the Haven pilot.
He was tall and spare, and all Grimm could see of the hair under his green cap was a layer of dark fuzz, like sandy-coloured baize. The man's steps were measured and confident, and he flicked a hand to his right temple in a smooth, formal gesture.
"I'm Major Fremd: at your service. You seem in need of some help."
"I'm Pilot Foster from Haven, Major. Are we ever glad to see you!"
"I presume it's a delivery for the General; what happened, Foster?" the Major demanded. "This isn't the normal delivery route, and there doesn't seem to have been any advance notification."
Foster's brow furrowed; Grimm knew Xylox's reconstruction of the pilot's memories had been, of necessity, sketchy at best. The young mage hoped that the confusion this engendered would give further credence to the assertion that the flier had become disoriented by the desert heat.
"Um, I can't quite seem to remember, Major," Foster confessed, rubbing his sweaty, sunburnt forehead. "Administrator Armitage had a couple of magic-users to deliver to the General. I do know there was some urgency about it for some reason, so I took a helicopter out. We got caught in some vicious cross-winds, and we crashed in the mountains. This is our third day in the desert, but I must have caught a little too much sun. The memories are a little hazy."
Grimm suppressed a smile. The deception seemed to be working well.
"Major Fremd, I am Questor Xylox," the senior mage said, stepping forward. "Administrator Armitage asked us to aid the General in his struggle. We were only too happy to comply, of course."
"Questor?" The major raised an eyebrow. "What sort of designation is that? Are you one of those damned magic-users?"
Xylox drew himself to his full height. "Not just any magic-user, Major; we Questors can cast any kind of magic to which we put our minds, and Armitage thought the General might be interested in acquiring our talents. Senior Technician Terrence told us that the communication equipment was damaged in the storm, so Haven was unable to contact you.
"Needless to say, we are more than happy to put ourselves at the disposition of such a distinguished friend of the Administrator. Questor Grimm, here, and I wish only to carry out our friend Armitage's wishes."
Fremd turned back to Foster. "Fully Pacified, of course?"
"Of course, Major," the pilot replied, as if affronted. "Level Two; the Administrator didn't want to mess with these guys' brains too much, but they do seem to be loyal enough."
"They don't all look like magic-users," the soldier said, looking suspicious. "The big guy, the skinny one in black and the girl: what about them? I understood Armitage needed all the women he could get, and we're hardly short of trained fighters."
Foster's mouth opened and closed, and he bore a look of complete confusion. "I can't remember, Major. There was some good reason for sending them, but I don't recall it."
"If I might explain," Xylox said, his voice as smooth as oiled silk. "The girl is sterile, with no useful skills, and so of little use to Haven. She is also the slave and body-servant of our large friend, Tordun, who begged Armitage to send her along with him."
Drexelica's look shot daggers at the senior Questor, but she seemed to have the good sense to keep her mouth shut.
"The Administrator thought Tordun might be a useful addition to your forces. He is immensely strong, and he is accustomed to discipline; he wishes only to serve."
"I am more than happy to be of service in any capacity required of me," Tordun rumbled, "as long as I have my sweet little concubine with me. I have big appetites, as do my colleagues. We share the girl around from time to time."
Grimm put a controlling hand on Drex's tense shoulder, which trembled with suppressed fury. "Take it easy, Drexelica," he muttered. "This is just make-believe. Tordun has always behaved like a gentleman towards you, and you know it."
The girl relaxed a little, although the continuing tremors in her body made it plain that a measure of anger remained within her.
"And the little, skinny guy?" the major said. "He doesn't look like much of an asset to this man's army, or anybody else's. The kid looks like a wet streak of nothing, if you ask me. I can't see him lasting five minutes on the parade ground. The big fellow might be useful, but I don't think that little guy'll be worth a wet fart."
Crest maintained a calm expression, but Grimm's Mage Sight showed him the rage boiling within the thief.
"Do not be swayed by appearances, Major. Our friend, Crest, is a tactical genius," Xylox said, as self-assured and calm as ever; it was obvious to Grimm that he had rehearsed this speech well in advance. "He has the ability to assess the most complex tactical situations at a glance. There is not much call for that sort of ability at Haven, but Armitage thought he might make a valuable officer in the General's force."
Fremd pressed his right hand to his furrowed forehead, pushing up his sweat-stained cap and then pulling it back over his brow to its exact, original position with a determined motion.
"Very well," he said, his expression easing back to a neutral state. "We can't hang around here in the heat forever, I guess. If Armitage wants to hand you guys over to the General, I won't argue. Climb on the truck and we'll get going. General Q can sort you out."
The rear of the vehicle was covered with canvas, and the officer pulled aside a flap to let Grimm and his colleagues climb aboard. The interior of the conveyance was dirty and musty, but it looked inviting to Grimm; he felt eager to clamber into the strange, metal machine, if it represented the group's deliverance from the sapping inferno of the desert.
"All aboard?" the major called, climbing into the right front of the truck, next to another green-clad man. "Okay, Corporal, let's get back to base."
"I just need to get my sword from the cart," Tordun said.
The major snorted. "A sword? You won't need that where you're going, meatball-we have somewhat more sophisticated equipment at our disposal. Just leave the cutlery behind; the spell-caster said you could follow orders, so why don't you prove it? Just get in the wagon."
Tordun looked at Xylox, who gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. Tordun rolled his eyes, adopting the attitude of a martyr, and turned his back on his beloved blade.
****
The first sign of the General's base Grimm saw was an enormous, sheer, bowed wall, almost the same colour as the sand. Looking as if it had grown from the very desert, it cast a long, long shadow to the east; a mighty fortification indeed. It had various square openings that Grimm took to be either arrow-slits or openings for boiling oil or the like.
The vehicle took a slender, climbing path to the left of the v
ast wall, until they were on a level with the lofty parapet of the structure. A high barricade constructed of knotty wire extended as far as the eye could see, with various inner walls dividing the outside world from a more robust construction that looked as large as a fair-sized, walled town. Grimm saw a gate in the wire fence, beside which stood a tall box, like a tiny house, from which a soldier emerged, a Technological weapon at the ready.
On seeing Fremd, the soldier snapped into a position of attention and saluted. "Ident, please, Major," the man said, in a respectful tone.
The officer produced a small booklet from the breast pocket of his uniform. The sentry inspected it, handed it back and again gave his stylised salute, which the major returned with crisp efficiency. The man stepped back into his little hut, and the gate opened to admit the vehicle. A similar routine took place at each of three further gates, until the truck, at last, gained access to the central enclosure.
"Now we are inside, Questor Grimm, how would you suggest that we proceed from here?" Xylox muttered, his mouth close to the young mage's ear.
"That all depends on how the General treats us," Grimm responded, as the metal wagon rumbled and clattered through the last gate. "With any luck, he will allow us an opportunity to recuperate before he tries to interrogate us or put us to whatever use he has in mind for us."
The main compound was enormous; an open, rectangular area, perhaps three hundred by three hundred and fifty yards, surrounded on all sides by tall, boxy buildings.
A huge group of identically-dressed men, wearing large, heavy-looking backpacks and carrying Technological weapons, marched and wheeled in unison within the quadrangle, following the commands of a short, stout, stubble-headed instructor who delivered his orders at a phenomenal volume and at a bewildering rate.