At last, the Questor let go of the reins of consciousness; he allowed the blackness to descend, as an echoing tumult filled his head.
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Chapter 35: Retribution
After drifting for a while in a strange, disjointed reverie, Grimm awoke and opened his eyes. His head throbbed, and several moments passed before his vision cleared. He was lying on a comfortable, white bed, and Tordun and another, older man were standing over him.
"I'm still alive!” he croaked. “What's happening?"
"I'm Dr. Hubin, the Pit physician,” Tordun's grey-bearded companion said. “You've been unconscious for a few minutes, since you cannoned head-first into the Pit wall. It's a wonder you didn't cave your skull in, youngster."
"Keller's influence over us seems to have gone,” the pale swordsman said. “Most of the other fighters have gone looking for Keller, but I wanted to stay here until I knew you were all right. Questor Grimm ...
I'm sorry I—"
"Don't worry about it, Tordun.” Grimm cut off the albino with a wave of his hand. “I can't begin to imagine what that bastard, Keller, did to you, but you still tried to resist."
He levered himself upright, and felt his head swim.
"Take it easy, boy.” Hubin put a firm but fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Rest a while."
"I can't, Doctor; Crest and Harvel need medical attention, and I need to get to Keller before the fighters kill him!"
"I will accompany Questor Grimm, Doctor.” Grimm winced as Tordun's basso rumble vibrated his aching skull.
The swordsman helped the Questor to his feet, and Grimm felt surprised at the unsteadiness of his legs.
With gratitude, he clung to the mighty arm offered him.
"How badly injured are these men, Questor Grimm, and where are they?” Hubin asked. “I have several other patients I need to treat, you understand."
Grimm saw several occupied beds in the large, gleaming room, and he realised these held the fighters he had felled in self-defence. He suppressed a pang of guilt that threatened to unman him.
"They've been shot by the Mansion House guards’ metal weapons,” he said, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the bleeding, battered men. “I believe they're in the bushes to the right of the entrance, but I don't know how badly hurt they are. The last time I saw them, they were bleeding and unconscious, and I'm worried about them."
"Very well, mage,” the doctor said at last, his face locked in a mask of ... what? Disapproval? Distaste?
Hatred? Grimm could not tell. “I'll treat them first. Your victims are either dead or likely to live, even if some of them may never speak or walk again. You've done well, butcher."
Grimm's first instinct was to defend himself: he had had no choice but to strike out when attacked, and he felt the medical man's condemnation of his was unfair. However, more of Magemaster Crohn's words rang in his mind:
"When it comes to a choice between regarded with pity, with hatred or with fear, Adept Grimm, always eschew pity; a pitiful mage is a lesser mage. The life of a Guild man is not a popularity contest."
Still leaning on Tordun's supportive arm, he leaned forward to look the physician straight in the eyes.
"I was merciful, Hubin,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Just be grateful that I did not leave you a roomful of unidentifiable chunks of flesh. See to it that you take good care of my friends; I'll be keeping an eye on you."
He held his intense, piercing Questor gaze on the grey-haired man's eyes for a long time before he relented. The doctor did not seem quite so defiant now.
"Very well, magic-user; you've made your position quite clear,” Hubin said, not daring to meet Grimm's glare. “Let's go, then."
The albino led Grimm out of the maze of corridors, followed by the sullen physician, and the mage felt a little guilty at how he had treated the old man. Nonetheless, this was no time to languish in self-pity or doubt; he had a mission to accomplish, and good friends to save. He also knew Keller might hold information that could exonerate his beloved, disgraced grandfather. He only hoped he would not be too late to save the worthless life of the despicable Pit-master while there was still time.
As the three men ascended the staircase to the top level of the Pit building, Grimm became aware of shouts and cries, and he saw a crowd of angry men clustered around the form of ... Numal! The old mage appeared to be holding the warriors at bay with his staff, but he looked to be losing the battle.
Grimm let go of Tordun's arm and yelled, “What is happening? What are you doing here, Numal?"
Unthinking, he shouldered past the enraged, milling warriors to stand before the Necromancer, who had his back to the remains of a small cubicle. Behind Numal lay the fallen, unmoving form of Keller, and Grimm felt a cold shock run down his spine.
"Numal; he's not dead, is he? I need to talk to him!"
The Necromancer's mouth worked, but only a few guttural sounds emerged, as if Numal had difficulty co-ordinating his tongue, lips and throat.
A deep voice boomed behind Grimm. “Step aside, youngster. We've got business to finish here."
He spun around to see a heavily-muscled man who overtopped him by several inches. The man's expression was not friendly.
"So have I, warrior,” the young Questor snarled. “And . need him alive!"
"Do yourself a favour, kid; I'm being more than fair here.” The fighter raised a large, knotted fist. “Get out of my way and you won't be hurt. We have no quarrel with you; our argument is with Keller, but we're in no mood to negotiate. We're losing patience with Old Father Time, here."
Tordun interposed himself between Grimm and the enraged fighter. “If you want to fight someone, you could always start with me,” he growled. “I am no fonder of the Pit-master than you, but the Questor, here, has a prior claim over all of us."
"You're just a new boy, Tordun,” a man from the back cried. “I've been enslaved by this sick bastard for nigh on six years, and some of the other men have been fighting under the collar for much longer than that."
Another fighter forced his way forward. His face was a patchwork of swellings and livid scars, and his eyes blazed with an almost feral light. “I've been under Keller's spell for fifteen years,” he said. “I almost died three times after a beating and I've killed two good friends, thanks to this bloody collar. And you reckon you've got more claim on him than us? You don't look much older than fifteen years yourself, conjuror. If you've really got an older grudge than that, it must've been in a previous life! Stand aside!"
A fierce susurration of assent rose from the other warriors, and only the threatening bulk of Tordun stayed a direct assault
Grimm let the pejorative term, ‘conjuror', slide, and he faced the new interlocutor. “I have little claim on Keller for my own sake,” he said, forcing his voice into a calm, passive tone, although his emotions blazed inside him.
"Thirty years ago, my grandfather was a Mage Questor like me He was stripped of his powers and expelled from the Guild in disgrace after an evil witch's spell. I know Keller knows something about it, and I want to hear the truth from his lips."
" Expelled? That doesn't sound too bad,” a man called from somewhere in the crowd. “It's a hell of a lot better than being enslaved. Get out of the way, mage, and give us our rightful revenge.” A cheering chorus of agreement greeted this sally, but the fighters still hung back. However, Grimm could tell their wrath would not be contained for long.
" Pauper! Traitor's spawn! Rat's bastard!" the Questor screamed, giving vent to all the frustration and anger in his body. “From the age of seven until I gained my Guild ring, I spent scarcely a single day without hearing some such insult; many were much worse. Most were accompanied by beatings, and I lacked the size or the skill to fight back, unlike you. Most of the Students in my House regarded me as something lower than pond-scum, and my lowly, despised station ensured I was put through a frightful, awful ordeal that drove me to the very brink of madn
ess. During that time, I was beaten almost into unconsciousness nearly every day, and I was not permitted to fight back! You, at least, are allowed to retaliate against your assailants.
"My grandfather, Loras, whose name should be hallowed throughout the Guild, is remembered as a renegade and a turncoat, who tried to murder a man for the sake of his own advancement! You have a decade of vengeance to expunge; I have a man's reputation to restore: his self-respect; his name; his life!
"I do not ask that Keller's life be spared, just that he be allowed to live long enough to tell me what I need to know to exonerate my grandfather. I have no quarrel with any of you, but I will fight to keep him alive for long enough to obtain the information I crave. That is all I want from him; then, you may have him.
"Is that acceptable?"
The fighters muttered and grumbled to each other, and the apparent spokesman nodded. “Ten minutes,”
he said. “No more than that."
The large man put two fingers in his mouth and whistled; Grimm winced at the volume of the piercing sound. The angry fighters retreated to the margins of the Pit, but they gathered around the only exit, preventing any chance of egress.
Grimm, satisfied he would be left unmolested for the moment, turned to the Necromancer.
"What's going on, Numal?” he demanded. “Is Keller still alive?"
The grey-haired mage nodded, and spoke in the same strange, strangled monotone he had used before.
“We were just having a friendly little discussion when this mob of bruisers turned up, and I readied myself for a little bit of action. Then I found that this worn-out wreck of a body didn't have a hell of a lot of energy in it. I'm almost glad you turned up, youngster. I thought you were done for."
Grimm rubbed his aching left temple, confused; this did not sound like the effeminate, timid Numal at all.
He shook his head, uncomprehending.
"I'm Guy Great Flame, dimwit.” the grey-haired man said in the same grinding monotone. “I'm in Numal's body for now, and he's in mine. It's some kind of bloody Necromancer spell. If you want to play with the old boy for a while, it doesn't bother me, I suppose. All I want to do now is to get back to my own body."
Grimm nodded slowly; it all made a certain, bizarre sense now. He decided that deeper explanations could wait until later, and he knelt by the side of the fallen Pit-master, slapping Keller's cheeks until the erstwhile Master of Ceremonies opened his eyes.
"Don't hurt me!” the man screamed. “I swear I'll tell you everything I can, as long as you don't hurt me!”
Keller tried to scramble away, despite the fact that his back was already against the far wall of the cubicle.
"You don't have any choice, filth.” Grimm breathed, feeling righteous wrath burn through him. “Tell me what you know about Loras Afelnor and Prioress Lizaveta, or I'll make you wish I'd left you to the tender mercies of your former slaves! Talk, or suffer; it's all the same to me!"
Keller's empty, pleading eyes told the mage that the Pit-master had lost all sense of resistance.
"I don't know it all,” Keller said, “but I do know that Loras Afelnor destroyed the slave market in this town about forty years ago. Slavery was the only means of survival for Yoren at the time, and he ruined us in a single day."
"My heart bleeds for you,” Grimm growled. “Keep talking; by my reckoning, your good friends from the Pit will be coming for you in about nine minutes. What about Prioress Lizaveta?"
"She told me she'd fixed him,” the Pit-master babbled. “She cast a spell over the whole Mansion House so that we couldn't be tainted by Guild mind-magic, and she said we didn't have to worry about old Loras any more.
"Don't hurt me!"
"I know damned well she fixed him,” Grimm snapped, in no mood to extend any kind of warmth towards the pathetic man. “What did she say she'd done to him?"
Keller's eyes flicked around, as if he were trying to find some way to escape from his desperate situation, but his gaze came back to the Questor's unremitting, intense stare.
"She said she'd made him attack some man; I don't know who, I swear,” the Pit-master babbled, his face sweaty and furtive. “But she said he'd know nothing about it, and that it'd finish him. He'd never be able to bother ... someone again."
Grimm shot a magical pang of pain at the wretched man. “Who would he be unable to bother? Talk, you bastard, talk! "
"I'm trying to!” the Master of Ceremonies screamed, now appearing small and insignificant. Grimm knew he could crush this pathetic bug in an instant, but he preferred to stay his hand in the hope of further revelations. His Mage Sight told him that all of the craven man's statements to him so far had been true.
"Keller; I know I cannot coerce your mind through magic,” he said, his voice soft but urgent, “but I will know the moment you utter the least lie. All Guild Mages can do this, but none of them can deal out punishment the way a Questor can.
"A single evasion or mistruth will condemn you to an unimaginably painful and slow death, I assure you.
Only absolute, literal truth without prevarication or evasion will preserve your miserable life.
"Do you understand, worm?"
Keller nodded, his eyes wide and terrified. Grimm suppressed a smile. This was as it should be.
"I will not hurt you for telling the truth, whatever it may be,” he said, and the cool voice seemed to come from outside him. “But a lie, any lie, will bring instant, agonising retribution. Do not worry about telling me what I want to hear, but, rather, fear my wrath if you try to mislead me in any way.
"I want a clear statement from you: to your certain knowledge, did Prioress Lizaveta cast a spell on Loras Afelnor, so that he would disgrace himself in the eyes of the Guild? Did she ensorcel him so that he attacked a man without his own volition? Was that the act that assured his expulsion from the Guild?"
Keller looked from Tordun, to Grimm, and back again, and his expression bordered on sheer panic.
"Just the truth, Keller,” Grimm said. “Whatever the truth may be, I swear I will not hurt you for telling it.
Any lie will bring you anguish beyond imagining."
Keller drew a whooping draught of air, his eyes threatening to burst from his face. “Lizaveta is ... a very powerful witch. She made Loras Afelnor attack a very important man in the Guild,” he gasped. “And she cast the spell so he wouldn't ever remember it. That's all I know; I swear it, mage."
Grimm felt a smile spreading across his face, and he knew it was not an amicable one. “Well done Keller.
I see you spoke the truth. I have one more, very important question for you: where is the evil bitch's priory? If you tell me that, you won't see me again, I promise."
"She'll kill me, Questor!” the man screamed. “You don't know what she's like!"
It did not even need a spell-phrase; the Questor just concentrated a stream of energy at the floor. The concrete began to smoke and spall, as small, angry, glowing fragments flew away, and the stone-like material turned an evil, glowing blood-red.
" She's in Rendale! ” Keller yelled, as if the words had been ripped from his very soul. “Rendale, I tell you! It's about eighty miles south of here. Take the south road to Brianston, then go thirty miles south-east onto Merrydeath Road. Anjar is five miles to the east of that, and Rendale's twenty miles south-west of Anjar, on the Ijar Road."
"Thank you, Keller.” Grimm smiled. “That's all I need to know. Thribble, did you hear all that?"
He patted his pocket, before remembering that the demon had left him. To his great relief, he heard a familiar, high voice from Numal-Guy's robe: “All heard and registered, mage. I'll be happy to tell anyone in your Guild, if they should ask me."
The young mage smiled; he had all the evidence he could ask for. The Guild Presidium would surely accept the word of a Divulgent demon, after due investigation! Mage Sight would reveal that the imp was giving the unvarnished truth, as he had heard it. Grimm swore he would extract a more detailed account from
the Prioress herself, when they met again.
"Thank you, Keller. That is all."
"You'll let me live?” the Pit-master pleaded. “You swore! "
"I swore I wouldn't hurt you if you told the truth, Keller. As far as I can tell, you have done that, so I'll leave you alone. Instead, I'll leave you to the welcoming party this concerned group of men has planned for you.
"Goodbye, Keller."
The Questor turned to the mass of assembled fighters, and said, “He's all yours, gentlemen. Enjoy."
He felt in no mood to query the toss, and he turned to Guy-Numal, ignoring the Pit-master's pitiful pleas as his former slaves converged upon him.
"Let's see how Crest and Harvel are doing, Guy,” he shouted, over the growing tumult. “After that, I'm just about in the mood to destroy this whole, stinking slave-pen."
Guy laughed. Perhaps it was just his unfamiliarity with Numal's vocal tract, but the sound seemed to drip with evil.
"I'd like that a lot.” The older mage grinned. “Once I'm back in my own body, I'll be just about ready to do just that. You're a man after my own heart, Questor Grimm!"
The young mage was not sure if that was a compliment or not, but he nodded, as the maddened fighters tore into the hapless body of their former master.
"Come on, Tordun. Let's get back to our own kind."
"Brianston it is,” the albino said. If he was concerned about the shift in Grimm's personality, he did not show it.
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Chapter 36: Farewell To Yoren
Grimm felt a refreshing wind of relief blow through him as Dr. Hubin told him that neither Crest nor Harvel harboured life-threatening injuries. Crest's skull had been scored by a projectile (which, Grimm learned, was properly called a ‘bullet'), but he was otherwise unhurt. Harvel had been hit in the left shoulder by one bullet, and a second had passed clean through his midriff. However, by a miracle, the second bullet had missed all his vital organs and major blood vessels. Although the doctor had immobilised Harvel's left arm with a sling, the warrior's sword arm was unaffected.
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