Perhaps fifteen minutes had now passed since Grimm had blasted the doors of the Pit, and Numal risked extending his head from the safe concealment of the bushes. He saw nothing, but, straining his ears over the ever-weakening moans of the stricken Guy, he heard the distinct sound of rapturous applause from inside the Pit building. He found this both bizarre and disturbing, but he had no idea of what it might portend; however, he felt sure it could not be good.
Ducking back into the greenery, Numal slapped his brow, trapped in a prison of indecision. If Grimm, a Questor, was in trouble, what could a humble Necromancer hope to do?
As he wrestled with his doubts and fears, he felt something tugging gently at his robe, which caused him to start. Was this a rat, or some other vermin? The Necromancer shuddered, and he shook his right leg in an attempt to dislodge the nagging creature.
"Necromancer, stop! It is I, Thribble!"
The thready, high-pitched voice was at the limit of his hearing, but the words were just clear enough. Against the background of the grey wool of his robe, Numal made out the shape of the small demon climbing up the rough material like a mountaineer scaling a sheer rock-face, blowing out his cheeks with the effort.
Numal scooped the demon into his hand.
"What is it, demon? Is Questor Grimm in trouble?"
"He is, human," Thribble panted. "Pit-master Keller has marshalled all the fighters at his disposal to destroy the mage. Even your monstrous, pale companion, Tordun, is amongst his assailants. From their expressions, they are not under their own control. Questor Grimm is heavily outnumbered, and I fear he cannot destroy all of his opponents. He continues to fight, but the end cannot be long."
Numal felt a pang of helpless distress. "If a Seventh Level Questor can't hope to beat these men, what do you think a superannuated Necromancer can do to help him?"
"You are not completely helpless, mortal; you have your magic stick, do you not?"
Numal suppressed an inappropriate laugh. "So does Grimm, yet you say he cannot defeat his opponents, even aided by his powerful magic. Perhaps I could manifest a lost soul or two, to try to frighten the fighters, but I doubt it would be of any use."
"Perhaps it will not be necessary to face the pugilists," Thribble said. "Keller seems to be their guiding influence. Perhaps all that is needed is to defeat Keller, and this man is no fighter."
"Nor am I, demon, and I'm scared! I'm just a bloody coward!"
Numal's heartfelt words seemed to have little effect on the demon, or on General Q.
"Everybody gets scared, mage." The soldier's swollen mouth made it sound as if he had both cheeks full of marbles. "Show me a man without fear and I'll show you a dead man. You have no choice about whether you have fear or not. You do have a choice when it comes to submitting to that fear or not.
"I was fifteen years old when I fought my first battle, at the behest of my hated lord and master. I was a shepherd, and I'd just spent six months' slavery in a mine for attacking an overseer with my crook, after he beat me with a cudgel for complaining about the inadequate rations.
"I'd had eight weeks' training in swordplay, and I was so scared that I nearly fouled my breeches, but I fought. Since then, I've seen countless young recruits who thought they were too frightened to fight.
"I remember one young lad of about seventeen years of age, who fought beside me when we took on a band of brigands who tried to take over our base. We were outnumbered two to one, and I overheard him telling one of his friends he was worried he'd be too scared to fight. I stood beside him as we lined up for the start of the battle, and I saw him struggling with his emotions."
"I suppose you're going to tell me that he went on to a glorious career as a warlord, General," Numal said.
"No: he died in my arms." The General's expression was like stone. "But he told me before he died that he wasn't afraid any more. He was proud that he'd been a part of our victory, and he wasn't scared of death any more."
Numal snorted. "Very inspirational, General. But that boy didn't have to face the enemy alone. That's what I'd have to do, and I'm not going to. That's the end of it."
Quelgrum levered himself to his feet and glowered at the mage. "Perhaps you're right, Numal. Perhaps you are just a bloody coward. I'll do it myself."
Part of the Necromancer's psyche felt relieved that someone else would face the danger instead of him, but he knew the old soldier was in no condition to fight.
"You can't, General;" he pleaded. "It's all you can do to stand up!"
"If you don't go, I will. Don't try to stop me."
The soldier surged forward. Numal moved to block Quelgrum, but the soldier shot out his bruised left fist to strike the mage on the jaw, just hard enough to make the Necromancer stumble and fall.
The pain of the blow was subsumed by the realisation that the soldier had not held back in the least; the soldier had hit him with all the force available to him. The man was all but finished, yet still prepared to take on an overwhelming force.
"No, wait, Quelgrum!" he shouted, as the General stumbled out of the bushes. "There must be something else we… can do!"
Quelgrum paused, and turned back to face the mage.
"It seems to me your magic isn't any great shakes, mage, and your willpower certainly isn't any better. Forget it, coward. You can spend the rest of your life starting at shadows, for all I care."
"Perhaps there is something I can do," Numal said, feeling a little sick at the knowledge that the old soldier would surely die if he attempted to save Grimm. "It's not something I want to do, and I'm not even sure if I can. But I will try."
Quelgrum stepped back into the bushes.
"What's the big plan, then, mage?"
Despite the General's swollen, disfigured face, Numal saw the ghost of a contemptuous sneer on the soldier's face.
"Necromancy involves the manipulation of souls," he said, the words tumbling, unbidden, from his mouth. "I might, perhaps, be able to perform a spell of Juxtaposition. I've never attempted one before, but I know the runes."
"Let's just pretend for a moment that I'm just a simple soldier, and not a bloody Guild Mage," the soldier said in a sardonic tone. "What the hell is a spell of Juxtaposition?"
"I can maybe exchange my soul with Questor Guy's," Numal said, flicking a nervous glance at the now-silent, twitching form of the fallen mage. "He would inhabit my body, free to perform his Questor magic. He can do more than I ever could."
"He's all but finished, Necromancer. He's as weak as a new-born kitten!"
"That's just his body, General. He'd have mine to play with, and all its strength."
The General frowned and looked down at the twitching, groaning Questor. "Guy's in terrible pain. Do you think you can face that?"
"I'll have to."
"Not bad for a craven coward, Numal." Quelgrum clapped the mage on the shoulder and forced his swollen mouth into a smile.
The Necromancer knew he must move quickly, before the dread demons of fear overwhelmed him. Kneeling down beside the quivering form of the Questor, he put down his staff and applied both palms to Guy's forehead. "Hold him still, please, General."
As Numal patterned his mind for the spell, he felt a welcome sense of calm washing over him. There was no room in a mage's mind for both fear and precision.
While his mouth spat out complex, flawless syllables, he groped in the ether for Guy's soul. As he found it, he gasped at the shock of unimaginable, electric anguish, but the runes continued to issue from his throat; exact, perfect. A last pang of joy at the realisation that the spell was complete was swamped by agony.
He was in pain; he was pain…
****
Guy felt himself swirling through the all-consuming agony, drifting away from his body.
This must be it. I never thought it would end like this.
With a sudden shock, the Questor realised that the torment was gone, and he looked down at his own body, lying, twitching on the ground. Is this it? he wondered. Am I
dead?
"Quickly now, mage," a familiar, mortal voice said. "Grimm must be saved, and Numal, too!" It was Quelgrum.
The Questor rose to his feet-or someone's feet-and felt an unaccustomed ache in his knees as he did so. His arms felt too short, and his entire body felt… wrong, somehow.
"What's going on?" Guy said in a harsh voice, struggling with an unfamiliar throat and tongue. "Where the hell am I? What's the matter with my damned body? I feel like an old man."
"You are; you're in Numal's body, Questor Guy," Quelgrum said. "He's just done a very brave thing.
"Explanations must wait; you have to defeat Keller, so Questor Grimm and Numal can be saved."
Guy felt shocked, realising he now inhabited a body over thirty years older than his own, but, for the moment, he was just glad to be free of the pain.
"Don't worry, Quelgrum; I'm more than happy enough to take on Keller for my own reasons. That bastard put that damned collar on me, and he's going to suffer for that. He's a dead man! I swear I'll-"
"Move it!" Quelgrum snapped in a parade-ground voice, cutting off the mage. "The sooner you do this, the sooner you get back to your own body."
Guy called for his staff, revelling in the sting as the magical weapon smacked into his outstretched hand.
"Very well, old man. I'm not any keener at being in Grandpa's body than he is at being in mine. Demon, you come with me; you might just come in useful."
He held out his left hand in an imperious manner. Thribble rolled his eyes, but said nothing as he hopped onto the extended appendage.
Slipping the demon into his pocket, the mage felt the joints of his body grind as he moved out of the bushes and around the rotunda. The sooner he ditched this worn-out shell and returned to his own, youthful body, the better!
As he reached the Pit entrance, he saw two heavily-muscled men standing in the entrance.
"Hold, old man!" one cried, a cauliflower-eared veteran of some forty years. "Yield or die!"
"Over your dead body, cretin," Guy-Numal said, launching a vengeance-fuelled ball of ice-cold energy against the two men. In an instant, the warriors' faces turned paler even than Tordun's, and the mage stepped forward. With one sweep of his staff, the frozen pair shattered into tiny pieces.
"It's good to be back," the Questor muttered, stepping inside the Pit building, ready to hurl death at any who opposed him. To his surprise, the brightly-lit arena seemed empty. The domed ceiling was no more: Afelnor's handiwork, he guessed. From all around, he heard spectral applause and cheers, and guessed that Keller was behind this.
"Demon, can you find the source of this cursed noise?" he shouted, scooping Thribble from his pocket and holding the imp to his ear.
"The sound emerges from several loci, human." Thribble pointed toward various black, rectangular excrescences around the walls. "But the ultimate source seems to be that little hut."
Guy strained his eyes and saw a small cubicle to his right, nestled against the short wall at the rear of the dished auditorium, surveying the Pit. The hut had no apparent door.
No problem, he thought, readying himself for another spell. Let's make a real entrance!
"Be careful, mortal," the demon said. "You must not kill Keller before he dispels his foul, Technological influence over the fighters. Grimm must be saved!"
Guy suspected that the younger Questor was already beyond all help, but he wanted his own young, healthy body back. The imp's words made sense, so Guy backed off much of the energy he had allocated to the spell.
"Good advice, demon," he admitted. "Keller can live-at least for now."
Despite difficulty in mastering the nuances of Numal's vocal tract, the mage knew this would have no effect on his spell; a common runic spell might require perfect tone and diction, but a Questor spell was another matter. Only the pattern mattered.
"Let's give Mister Keller a little surprise, shall we?" he said, readying himself to cast.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 34: An Echoing Tumult
"All right, boys; who's first?"
Grimm spoke with a confidence he did not feel. He stood with his back against the end wall of the short corridor, as the maddened horde of fighters approached inexorably. His only advantage lay in the fact that the narrow passageway forced the warriors to advance in a column instead of en masse.
If I hadn't wasted all my power so quickly, these fellows would be easy meat, he thought, mustering a rueful grin. What a time to learn such a vital lesson!
He held Redeemer before him, forming a horizontal barrier. To reach him, someone would have to touch the staff, and that might make things interesting.
Come on, you over-muscled morons. Come on!
At last, the front row of men approached him, and a foolhardy or ignorant soul tried to snatch the staff from Grimm's grasp. As his questing finger touched the staff, the man cannoned backwards as if he had been punched by a bad-tempered bear, spilling other men to the ground.
Seizing the moment, Grimm stepped forward and swung Redeemer back and forth, rendering the fallen men unconscious or dead. A small wall of inert bodies now lay between him and his attackers, and the young mage began to feel more confident.
Divide and conquer, he thought. I can't beat them all at once, but maybe I can take them out a few at a time.
"Bad move, gentlemen!" he shouted, as much for his own morale as for any other effect. "This round's mine, I believe."
However, he soon realised he had been over-confident; these ensorcelled men were focused on only one goal: the elimination of Grimm Afelnor. They had no thought for the preservation of their own lives. As the main mass of fighters stepped back, a single warrior stepped over the bodies, his hands weaving in a complex, baffling pattern. As Grimm feinted with Redeemer, the attacker hooked the staff from the Questor's grip. As expected, the assailant flew backwards, unconscious, but Grimm was now unarmed.
Seeing their foe deprived of his weapon, the gladiators surged forward again.
Be calm, Grimm!
With a word, the magical staff flew back to his hand, and the Questor dispatched another five attackers. He resumed his former defensive posture, realising the men would learn from this abortive attack. Nonetheless, the advantage was once more on Grimm's side, and he awaited the next stratagem with a certain detached interest.
Now, Tordun was in the vanguard of the opposing force. Sweat ran down the albino's face, which was contorted in a complex expression of mingled ferocity, pain and despair.
"Tordun, don't do this," the mage said in the calmest voice he could muster. "You're a fighter, so fight Keller, not me!"
"Cannot… help… it," the former White Titan gasped. "It's too strong. The image-boxes… blind him!"
With that, Tordun collapsed to the ground, contorting and flailing. The twitching albino's bulk impeded the advancing warriors, and Grimm scanned the walls and ceilings for any evidence of the 'image-boxes' Tordun had mentioned.
At last he saw them; grey cubes clinging to the walls of the corridor, almost blending into the dull decor, betrayed only by the gleam of their glass eyes. Four were within the reach of Redeemer, and the Questor dispatched them with a swift series of blows, moving back to his guard position just in time to fell another two assailants. The others, with the exception of the thrashing Tordun, regrouped to plan their next move. The attacking horde seemed barely weakened, and Grimm's resolution weakened. Over thirty men remained, and their determination seemed as strong as ever.
The mage saw other boxes, arrayed down the corridor, swivelling into position, orientating their crystalline gaze upon him, and Grimm groaned with frustration. Only adrenalin was keeping him on his feet, and that was fading fast. If only he had the strength to…
The strength! The Questor realised he had forgotten about the spells he had cast on Redeemer back in his tower. In addition to runic cantrips for light, heat and a dozen other minor spells, Grimm had also poured his own energy into the staff for later use.
<
br /> Drawing Redeemer close to his chest, the mage called upon the much-needed strength hidden within the gleaming, black rod. As the Questor felt the vitality flooding back into every fibre of his body, the fighters made another attack, and he laughed with joy. He was whole again!
"Sk'tallek'ye!"
The nonsense syllables burst from his dry lips, and the whole wall of warriors flew backwards. Although not badly injured, they tumbled in disarray, as if caught in a mighty wind. Like an avenging angel, the mage strode forward, sweeping Redeemer along first one wall and then the other. The metal and glass boxes were no more.
Grimm, free of the constricting corridor, tried to run for the passageway from which the fighters had emerged, but he realised he was back in the field of view of more of Keller's Technological eyes. A hand caught his ankle, and he tripped.
"Great work from the outclassed Questor!" the mocking voice of Pit-master Keller boomed from high above, as Grimm sprawled on the floor. "But this series of desperation moves could just prove to be too little, too late! See now, as the victorious Pit champions-"
The hateful voice cut off, but the fighters lost none of their zeal. Grimm felt himself pulled inexorably backwards towards the throng, his slender right leg in the grip of a huge, iron fist, which was soon joined by others. He tried to marshal his thoughts, to focus his power, but panic began to subsume him. It looked as if he were being drawn into the maw of a huge, many-legged insect…
****
Guy smiled as the wooden wall of the kiosk faded into dust, revelling in Keller's terrified, wide-eyed gape as the Pit-master whirled around on his small, wheeled chair. The small room contained all kinds of bizarre Technological equipment, which the mage vowed to destroy once he had achieved his ultimate aim.
"You don't seem to have much of an audience tonight, Keller," he grunted in a guttural, grinding manner that only seemed to add to the Pit-master's fear.
"You!" the slight man gasped. "But you're only-"
"I'm your worst nightmare, worm," the young mage said in the old Necromancer's body. His gruff, slurred delivery was due to the Questor's difficulty in controlling Numal's larynx, but he rather liked the sepulchral effect of his new voice. Even the way he swayed on his unfamiliar legs seemed to heighten Keller's terror.
Truth and Deception cogd-4 Page 30
