The doctor left without a word, and Grimm felt almost overjoyed as the tiny demon, Thribble, ran to his feet.
"I prefer your pocket to Numal's!” the imp crowed, hopping onto the mage's extended hand.
"I'm glad to have you aboard once more, demon,” Grimm said. “Quests wouldn't be the same without you."
With the underworld creature back in his pocket, Grimm felt the team was complete once more.
Numal, still in Guy's body, sat upright and conscious. He looked weak, but otherwise little the worse for wear.
"Right, Numal,” the Necromancer's mouth said, behind which remained the mind of Guy Great Flame.
“You've had my body long enough. Do whatever you have to do to get me back inside it."
"I can't do that,” Numal-Guy said, in a similar, slurred monotone. “I don't think your body has enough strength in it to cast the spell at this time, and I haven't yet mastered your vocal organs. A miscasting could be disastrous."
"I was able to cast spells well enough from your body, Grandfather,” Guy-Numal said, twisting his borrowed face into a rough facsimile of a sneer. “I think you just want to hang on to a young, virile body while you have the chance.
"Perhaps I can persuade you to change your mind."
The Questor smiled and produced a small, beige box studded with coloured excrescences.
Grimm guessed the Technological artefact had something to do with the hated collars of enslavement, and he knocked the box from the liver-spotted hand.
Guy-Numal spun around, his face a red mask of fury.
"Just who the hell do you think you are, wonder-boy? I was only joking with Granddad, here. Just butt out and mind your own bloody business; you don't own me!"
Grimm felt a hot, angry rush of blood spreading through his face; he might have disparaged Numal's powers and courage on occasion, but the Necromancer had, for once at least, acted with great bravery, and Grimm felt the fact should be acknowledged.
"Just a moment, Great Flame,” he said. “We both know that Questor magic isn't the same as rune magic.
Precision is everything with a runic spell: pronunciation, cadence and tone are all vital factors. Almost any old gibberish will do for a Questor spell.
"Numal's done a very brave thing here, and it's about time you acknowledged it! Without his courageous actions, we might all have been killed. As it is, we've won: we need to get on with our Quest as a team, not bicker about who's trying to cheat whom! No, I don't own you, but I am in charge of this bloody Quest, at the behest of Lord Dominie Horin; this is not a democracy, my friend, and it's high time you realised that!"
Realising he had left Redeemer in the Pit, he summoned it, and it appeared in his upraised right hand in an instant. Looking Guy-Numal straight in the eyes, he smashed the staff's brass shoe into the brown artefact with full force, shattering it into fragments.
"Right! That's it!” Guy-Numal cried. “You've been asking for this for a while now. Let's have it out! You and me, right here, right now!"
Grimm's rage evaporated, and he felt only calm. “I don't think you're in any condition to oppose a young, virile Seventh Level Questor, are you ... Granddad?"
If Guy had had the ability to kill with the power of his gaze alone, Grimm knew he would be a smoking pile of ash at that very moment. However, the older Questor's borrowed eyes were the first to look away.
"All right, youngster. You win—this time. We'll be having a few words later on, though; believe me!"
Grimm bit off an acidic rejoinder as the bruised, battered Quelgrum hobbled into the leafy refuge.
"We've got company,” he said. “Looks almost like a delegation, but they are armed, and there are quite a lot of them."
"I'll go, General.” The young Questor felt relieved that the General's interruption had defused a nasty situation. Turning his back on his still-irate colleague, he strode out of the bushes, holding his head high.
Although the large lump on the back of his head still throbbed, he felt much better than he had.
As he strode onto the greensward between the Pit and Mansion House, he saw the General had not exaggerated; a veritable army was approaching. Twenty-five or thirty green-uniformed men, weapons at the ready, surrounded a short, white-haired man dressed in a black suit.
His voice full of bravado he did not feel, Grimm cried “That's far enough, gentlemen. You must be aware that your Technological weapons will have no effect on me. The least assault upon me will bring down a rain of destruction you cannot begin to imagine."
The short man, his eyes shifting in a nervous manner, stepped forward. “I am Elor Chudel, mage."
So this puny-looking man was the elusive owner of Mansion House! Grimm had expected a sepulchral figure with eyebrows like lightning-bolts, and he suppressed an unbecoming laugh.
"I wish to discuss mutually acceptable terms,” Chudel said, in a high-pitched, almost musical voice.
"I am only willing to discuss terms of your surrender, Chudel. You have no choice in the matter."
"I am an honest businessman, Lord Mage! Perhaps I am guilty of tweaking people's emotions in order to heighten their enjoyment, but no more than that."
"You are a filthy, manipulative slaver, Chudel! You are responsible for torturing men into putting on a bloody, degrading spectacle for the gratification of artificially enhanced blood-lust. You are a foul carbuncle on the arse of the human race, and not fit to live!"
"I was weak,” Chudel said, spreading his hands wide in supplication. “Yoren is a poor town. I fulfilled a perceived need and put money in the town's coffers, but I perceive now that I may have been over-zealous. I give you my word that the Pit will now be an honest spectacle. We will use no more pheromones in Mansion House and the Pit, and our fighters will be willing volunteers. If only you will spare us, I will swear to run this establishment on honest lines from now on."
Chudel's performance almost convinced Grimm; the large, pleading eyes, the tremulous hint of desperation in the proprietor's voice, and the subtle quivering of his lower lip spoke of an honest but misguided man, trying to make his way in an unforgiving world in the only way he could.
However, the mage knew he had made grave errors of trust before: the witch, Madeleine and her mistress, Prioress Lizaveta among the beneficiaries of his misplaced beliefs.
Chudel might have appeared a pathetic morsel of humanity, but Grimm now knew better than to trust blind instinct. Invoking the talent he had had since childhood, he invoked his Mage Sight. In place of the shifting patterns of colours he had been able to interpret for so long, he saw a blank, white nothingness, the sign of witch magic, and he guessed its source.
"If you are trying to gain my sympathy, scum, you are going about it the wrong way,” he snapped. “I know you are under the protection of Prioress Lizaveta, the woman who betrayed my grandfather."
Chudel sank to his knees, his eyes wide. “What were we to do, mage?” he pleaded. “The Prioress has been Yoren's patron for many years. When she told us another Questor, the grandson of Loras Afelnor, was approaching, we feared for our lives. Prioress Lizaveta cast a spell on Mansion House, so that our minds could not be affected by mind-magic, and she reminded us that we owed her for her protection.
You have no idea what she could have done if we'd refused to aid her by preventing you from finding her."
Grimm shook his head.
"Save your speeches, Chudel,” he growled. “Regardless of your complicity with Lizaveta, this place is an abomination, and I intend to burn it to the ground."
"You are a monster!” Chudel screamed. “There are innocent people inside the House!"
"Then I suggest you arrange an immediate evacuation, Chudel. The audience is at an end!"
At that moment, a guard launched a stream of bullets at the lone Questor, to be joined swiftly by his comrades, and Grimm laughed as the projectiles flew back to their sources, repelled by the invaluable gem he had borrowed from High Lodge.
Chudel seemed to ha
ve a charmed life; as the armed guard around him collapsed, not one of the small, deadly projectiles struck him.
I must see if I can't buy one of these gems when I get back, Grimm thought, marvelling at the efficacy of the magical shield Horin had lent him.
He pretended not to have noticed the fusillade, holding Chudel's wide, terrified eyes in a steely gaze that only another Questor could hope to equal in intensity.
"You have tried my patience enough, small man,” he said. “In ten minutes, I expect to see our wagon at the entrance, with all our weapons and belongings aboard. If there is any further attempt upon me within that time, I will wait no longer before visiting my wrath upon you and yours.
"Time is ticking away, Chudel; I recommend that you do not tarry. I rather fancy that the freed Pit fighters, once they have finished with Keller, will turn their interest on you."
"What of the countless, blameless employees of Mansion House?” Chudel pleaded. “What do you leave us, apart from destitution?"
"I leave you your miserable lives,” Grimm growled. “Nobody here is blameless, worm; be grateful that I do not choose to destroy you all. But I will, if you deviate from my terms by one iota."
* * * *
Chudel ran into the reception hall as if possessed, ringing a bell reserved for emergencies. As staff members flooded into the vestibule, he screamed, “Get everybody out! That bastard mage is going to destroy Mansion House in less than ten minutes, and I don't think we can stop him. He's onto our little game, he knows that old cow Lizaveta's involved in it, and she's next on his list! Save what you can, but move! Somebody get his group's stuff, and load it into their wagon. I don't want him any more annoyed than he is now! Hurry!" The girl behind the counter blanched and ran to the back room as a mad panic ensued. With trembling hands, she removed a wooden box from a desk drawer and extracted a glass ball from it.
Forcing herself to be calm, she placed her hands on the globe and concentrated.
"Mother Prioress, are you there?"
After a few seconds, she felt the mind of her superior slither into her sensorium.
"What is it, Sister Mandrine? Is that fat fool, Chudel, complaining about his dues again? Is he—"
"Mother Prioress, we have a problem. A Guild Questor is here, Grimm Afelnor by name, and he intends to destroy Mansion House in its entirety. I believe he's related to the Afelnor who all but destroyed—"
"I know who he is, fool! Get on with it!"
"I think he intends to attack the Priory next, Reverend Mother!"
"Of course he does, witless one. I should have known better than to trust that pompous bag of wind, Chudel, to protect my interests."
"Shall I return to the Priory, Reverend Mother?"
"Perhaps that is best," came the Prioress's dry, dusty mental message. "I owe you punishment for interrupting me, girl; you will pay for that transgression later."
With that, the mental connection was severed, and Mandrine quailed. She knew Lizaveta's punishments well, but she knew better than to disobey the Prioress. As the sounds of panic outside the small room grew into tumult, she packed the globe back in its box, and, tucking it under her arm, ran out to retrieve her effects from her own small room.
* * * *
As Quelgrum drove the wagon away from the blazing ruins of Mansion House, the young Questor looked back with some satisfaction at the destruction he had caused. A great evil had been destroyed here, and he had prevailed.
"Look out, Lizaveta, I'm coming!” he muttered, looking back at the road ahead. “Your time is coming to an end."
In a louder voice, Grimm asked, “What's the next town on the itinerary, General?"
"Brianston, Lord Baron,” Quelgrum said after consulting his map. “I don't know much about it, but it should be a picnic after this bloody place."
"I think we'd better rest on the plain for a few days, General. We need some time for healing and recuperation, and I don't think Guy will be happy until we get him back in his own body; if he's ever happy, that is."
"I agree, Lord Mage. I hate to admit it, but I'm not as young as I used to be, and that fight has really taken it out of me."
"Brianston,” the Questor mused. “It sounds like a nice, normal place to me."
"Don't bet on it,” the General warned him. “I won't be happy until we're out of this whole damned region.
If we rest up on Blagor Hill, here, we should be able to spot any unwanted incursions well in advance."
"We're in your hands, General. I just want you to know that I'm not about to take anything for granted, now. I've learnt a lot from this."
"We've all learnt a lot, Baron. I just want to say that I think you're beginning to shape up as a leader of men. Just think with your head a little more, and your guts a little less, and I think you'll be fine. It's a lesson I learned many years ago, and I've never forgotten it."
Grimm opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again. Nothing more needed to be said. Through overconfidence and misplaced trust, he had been lucky not to waste the life of a valued companion. He vowed never to make that mistake again. From now on, he would trust nobody.
The wagon rolled onwards, past the now unmanned checkpoints, out of Yoren and onto the wide, open plain.
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About the Author
Alastair is employed as the quality manager at an electronics company. In addition to writing, he is a keen guitarist, singer and songwriter, and he also enjoys playing pool. Alastair lives in southeast England. To learn more about Alastair and his books, visit his website at: ajarchibald.wcpauthor.com/ .
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