"I first met Questor Grimm only a few months ago," Quelgrum said in a pleasant, avuncular baritone. "I tried to control him and his fellow wizard-I'm sorry, that's mage-and they and another colleague fought my army and me to a standstill. I might still have beaten them, but only at the cost of many lives I'd sworn never to waste in a fruitless battle. As I now know, the threat of overwhelming opposing force was untrue. Nonetheless, our confrontation had already cost us dear, so I don't regret the decision I made then."
"I'd have thought you'd have been pretty angry to discover you'd been duped, General," Harvel said. "Yet here you are accepting Questor Grimm, here, as your lord and master. It seems a little odd to me."
Quelgrum shrugged. "It was a perfectly legitimate ruse of war, Harvel. I've done similar things myself on occasions, when we were outnumbered or outgunned. In any case, I never wanted to be a mighty warlord; all I ever sought was a home for my charges, somewhere we'd be respected rather than just used. Baron Grimm has provided us with that home.
"Warrior Crest; you were present at that last battle. Did Questor Grimm seem unduly scared or cautious to you?"
Crest snorted. "Far from it, General. He's no coward, I know that, and I don't need you to convince me. I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust and respect him."
"But perhaps you still think this is overkill, or you're unhappy about the necessity of the Quest."
"It's necessary, General, I'm convinced of that. I've given Questor Grimm my word, and I'll do my utmost to fulfil it. All the same, I don't have to like it."
"I've been fighting all my life for one man or another," Quelgrum snapped. "Do you think I enjoyed it? I'm no bloodthirsty sadist, and I hate to waste anybody's life. Of course you don't have to like what's ahead. But you do need to believe in it, heart and soul. If Questor Grimm's worried about this woman and her Order, you can bet that they're not just helpless little old ladies."
"We know that, Quelgrum!" Harvel said. "Sure, she's a menace to society, or whatever, and we'll go along with it. I don't understand what the problem is here. I've offered my sword to this enterprise, and I never do that if I'm not fully committed. What's the bloody issue here? We've said we'll do it, and we will! I don't understand the problem."
"I think I understand the problem, swordsman," Guy said in a lazy voice, stretching like a cat. "You think my dear grandmother's just a misunderstood, sweet little old lady, don't you?"
"Of course not, Questor Guy," Harvel said, bristling. "We already know she's a powerful witch, and she's no push-over. You've told us all about her before. It's just that Crest and I prefer a stand-up fight with armed opponents."
"You think that because Grimm and I beat her in High Lodge, we can do it again, don't you?" Guy wore a boyish smile on his face, but his eyes glittered. "That wasn't her main power base; she'll be ten times as dangerous on her home ground."
Harvel sighed. "That's all very well, Questor. Still, it seems to me that you mages will be doing all the glory stuff, and we footsloggers will just be sorting out the local ruffians and riff-raff on the way. Like I said, we'll do it, but we prefer straight stand-up fights like we had here in Crar, where we all pulled together."
"Leave it, gentlemen. I think we'll just have to soldier on as we are, Lord Baron," the General said, turning towards Grimm. "Crest and Harvel have committed themselves to the Quest, and I don't think we can ask any more of them."
"I know, General, and I am grateful for that," the young Questor said. For some reason, he felt hot tears rising, and he swallowed hard. "I just wanted…"
The old soldier's eyes fixed on Grimm's. "You wanted a crusade, didn't you, Baron, with flags waving and hearts singing? Just accept that you've got two loyal men with you who don't quite see the righteousness of your cause the way you do. I'm sorry; I felt the same way when I was your age. Just be grateful that they trust you enough to go along with you. Don't try to sell them your dream, your vision. We're ready to go, so let's do it!"
"Well said, General!" Harvel crowed. "Let's just get on with it. If I'd wanted a bloody sermon, I'd have gone to church!"
"Harvel's right, though I hate to admit it," Crest said. "Face it, Questor, heroic speeches aren't going to get the job done. Let's go! That's all we want, not some kind of pep talk."
"Amen, padre," Guy muttered, rising to his feet.
"Wagon's waiting outside, gents," Quelgrum said, as Crest, Harvel, Numal and Guy rose to their feet and left the room. Feeling empty, Grimm made to follow suit, but the General stayed the mage with a hand on his shoulder.
"Not quite the heroic departure you expected, eh, son?"
Grimm gulped, staying the tears. He had wanted so much to have a triumphant chorus of fervent voices, as he led his men into battle in a righteous confrontation between good and evil. Now it seemed that he had been sidelined and abandoned; Quelgrum, Crest and Harvel were really in charge of the expedition. He nodded, unable to speak.
"I was about your age when I first led a group of men into battle, and I felt much the same way," the warrior said. "I was so damned proud to be in command at last. I tried to do the same thing as you did; a vainglorious, silly speech about how good it was to die with a true heart, and about the nobility of our cause. I might as well have been talking to a wall; my little speech fell on deaf ears. My sergeant saved me from making too much of a fool of myself. He said, 'Lieutenant, you can tell us what to do, but don't tell us what to think or feel. Don't try to do our jobs for us, please. We know what to do, and we'll do it, no matter what happens. You can't ask for more than that.''
"Being in command means trusting your men; you can't do everything yourself. I believe they told you that at the start. It's not easy to take your hands off, but you'll never be a leader of men unless you learn to do that.
"You can command what they do, but not how they think or feel. Crest and Harvel-well, you may know them better than I do, but they're old soldiers-and I understand soldiers. Just trust them to do their jobs, and don't preach to them. Keep your hands on the reins, but loosely. Give them room to breathe, and to think, and things'll go a lot smoother, I promise you. It can take a while to learn just how loose those reins should be, but you'll learn."
Grimm nodded. "I guess you're right, General. Crest and Harvel must have been in all kinds of battles, and I suppose they've heard it all before. If they just want to get on with it, I can't complain about that. I just wanted to make my first Quest as Senior Mage… well, special."
Grimm sighed. "Oh, well, I suppose we'd better go. Don't worry, General; I think I may have learnt an important lesson here."
"That's the spirit!" Quelgrum said, clapping an impersonal hand on the young mage's shoulder. "Come on, they'll be getting impatient."
****
Grimm sat beside the General as the older man drove the wagon through the streets of Crar. His disappointment at his failure to enthuse his team dissolved as his eyes took in the glory of the morning; the deep-blue sky, the muted sunlight highlighting the bright colours of the refurbished marketplace, and the sweet smell of the air. Behind him, he heard Crest and Harvel arguing, each trying to out-boast the other as usual, and even Guy seemed to be joining in the impromptu brag-fest.
Despite his earlier bleak mood, Grimm smiled.
The city gates opened as the wagon approached. The full light of the sun streamed through, almost like a celestial benison on the Quest
"It's a good day to be out, eh, Lord Baron?" Quelgrum said, grinning.
"It certainly is, General."
At the foot of the city way-post, Grimm saw a hunched, hooded man, who looked up as they drew near, although his face was in shadow.
Could it be… it must be!
He knew only one man who would cover himself from head to foot on a glorious, sunny morning like this.
"Hold up, General!" Grimm said, scrambling from the wagon as Quelgrum brought it to a halt.
"Tordun!" he crowed, smiling. "I'm so glad you could make it."
The tit
anic albino rose to his full height, dwarfing the tall, slender mage with his sheer bulk. "I heard you might need some help, Questor," the giant warrior rumbled. "So here I am."
"How long have you been waiting here? Why didn't you enter the city?"
"I've been here two days. I thought Miss Drexelica might be around," the albino muttered, and Grimm understood his reticence.
Despite Tordun's imposing physical presence and battle prowess, the mage knew the muscular swordsman was as nervous and halting as a callow adolescent in the presence of the fairer sex. On their one Quest together, Questor Xylox had decreed that Tordun should share a tent with Drex, pretending to be her lover. This charade continued in Quelgrum's desert encampment. It appeared that the albino was too embarrassed to confront the girl again, despite the fact that he had been a model of propriety in her presence.
"Greetings, General," the pale titan said, changing the subject.
"Hello, Tordun," Quelgrum said with a polite nod. "It's good to have you aboard. I'm sure Miss Drexelica will be sorry to have missed you." The old soldier's eyes twinkled. "She's Baron Grimm's housekeeper now,"
Grimm was sure he had not fooled the General for a moment with this story, and he hid his embarrassment under the guise of suppressing a cough. This was just a little good-natured ribbing.
"General," the swordsman replied, proffering a polite half-bow. Turning to the mage, he said "May I join you, Questor Grimm?"
"Please do, Tordun. I'm just relieved you came. I…"
An angry-looking head popped out from under the canvas cover of the wagon. "What's the bloody hold-up here? I…" Guy said, and Grimm smiled at the wide-eyed astonishment on the magic-user's face as he beheld the pasty man-mountain. At last, it seemed, somebody had managed to render the moody Questor speechless!
"Guy Great Flame, may I present Tordun, of whom I've told you so much? Tordun, this is Questor Guy, called the Great Flame. I'm sure you'll get on well together."
"Greetings, Lord Questor Guy," the albino said, and Grimm could have sworn that the ground trembled at the sound.
Wordless, Guy nodded, ducking back into the wagon as Tordun climbed aboard.
"Are we ready to go now, Lord Baron?" the General asked from his lofty perch. "Is everyone aboard now?"
With a broad smile on his face as he remounted the vehicle, Grimm said, "This is the full complement, I'm pleased to say. Heaven help Lizaveta, with Tordun on our side!"
The wagon rolled on and the albino's deep bass voice joined the cheery chorus in the back, but Grimm was pleased to note that Guy's voice was somewhat more subdued than it had been.
Quelgrum turned left at a fork in the road, past a leaning signpost reading 'YOREN-30 MILES'.
Grimm knew both Crest and Harvel regarded Yoren as a dangerous place, but he could no longer bring himself to worry about it, with Tordun on his side. Everything would be fine.
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Chapter 24: Yoren
As the wagon rolled towards Yoren, it seemed to Grimm as if all colour had been washed out of the land. The afternoon sun still shone as brightly, but the young mage was struck by the town's dilapidated appearance, which seemed to dominate the landscape, depressing and subsuming it. He saw an endless expanse of grey stone, from ancient, crumbling remains of city walls to small, boxy dwellings. Even the flagstones of the ramshackle streets and thoroughfares seemed to be made of the same dull-coloured substance. The conurbation appeared not so much to have been designed as thrown together by some giant, petulant child who had discarded his unwanted toys.
Imaginative architecture and town planning don't seem high on the list of priorities here, he thought, with a wry smile, reflecting on the cheerful appearance of the reborn city of Crar.
The Questor saw no towering battlements, portcullises, forts or other protection against possible invasion; Yoren seemed defenceless.
Not too surprising, I suppose. Who'd want to take over this benighted hole? If some insane horde of barbarian raiders stormed in here and demolished the place, it'd probably improve it no end. And from what I've heard of the gentle people of Yoren, a band of marauding savages would probably be regarded as a minor public nuisance.
The only nod in the direction of civic defence appeared to be a small hut by the side of the road, beside a flimsy, bleached wooden barrier before which Quelgrum brought the vehicle to a stop.
Grimm noted the horses' wild, staring eyes, their fitfully-flicking tails and their nervous whickers and whinnies.
Wonderful. This place even makes the animals uneasy.
"Hello! Anybody there?" Quelgrum cried in a commanding, parade-ground bellow, to be greeted by a wall of silence.
Grimm frowned. "We can just drive round this, General. It doesn't seem much of an obstacle to me."
"I think you may be right, Lord Baron. We don't want to hang around here all day."
As the General raised the reins, a dishevelled man walked out of the hut. He wore a strange melange of armour: faded, cracking leather, rusty scraps of chain mail and dented fragments of steel plate all figured in his bizarre clothing. Grimm noted that the wooden shaft of the guard's halberd was warped and parched, and the head was dull and pitted. This, clearly, was not a man of arms who took pride in the condition of his equipment, or of his appearance.
"Byersel? Whassit?" The guard spoke in a guttural, almost impenetrable accent.
"I'd love to put this fellow through a few weeks' basic training," the General muttered to Grimm. "I'd soon shape him up, I promise you." In a louder voice, he addressed the shabbily-dressed man. "What's that? Speak up, can't you, man?"
"Just who ju fink y'are? Comin' in here, shoutin' th'bloody odds 'sif you owned the bloody place!" the scruffy watchman whined. "Gotta job t'do, ain't I? Buy or sell, what's it to be?"
Quelgrum shrugged. "We must be here to buy, I suppose, watchman. We don't have anything to sell."
"Show me the colour o'yer money, then."
Grimm saw the General's jaw tighten, and put his hand on the soldier's arm. "We don't want to start trouble before we've even got here, General," he muttered.
Cursing under his breath, Quelgrum showed his money-pouch to the untidy, ill-mannered moron. "There's plenty here."
The drab little man smiled, displaying a mouthful of decaying, broken teeth. It was not a friendly smile. "Gimme eight gold, else yer can't come in."
Quelgrum exploded. "Eight gold pieces, just to enter this stinking hellhole? The whole place isn't worth a copper groat!"
"You must want sumfink." The guard's face bore a mask of naked, feral avarice. "Else you wouldn't be here. There's some fings you can only get at Yoren; fink I don't know that? You must want sumfink awful bad to come here, a man wiv your money. Gimme eight golds, and I'll let yer froo."
"I'll give you the back of my bloody hand!" the General snapped.
"'Ere, 'old up, mate. You don't want to freaten me!" The shabby sentinel brandished his corroded weapon. "I ain't afraid o'you. That'll be nine golds now, so 'and it over or piss off."
This is going nowhere, Grimm thought. It's time to use a little persuasion.
His Mage Sight showed the guard's mind as a grey, greasy worm squirming in a soupy sea of muck, unprotected and vulnerable. It was a simple matter to grasp hold of the slimy tentacle and push. A fragment of the Questor's personal spell-language burst from his lips: "Th'kak'ka sh'tat!"
The sentinel was stronger than he looked, and the Questor needed to use more power than he had intended, but the wretched man's slack jaw and limp posture told him he had succeeded. The guard's eyes glazed over, and he lowered his halberd.
"Here are ten gold pieces," Grimm said, forcing his will into the watchman's psyche as he held out his empty hand. "I think you will find this in order. Be so kind as to lift this barrier, and we will be on our way." Despite the unexpected resistance, Grimm felt no more than an irritating tickle at the margins of his sensorium.
"Yeah, that's good. Fank you, guv'nor," the
guard said in a dull monotone.
"When we have left, you will not remember us." Grimm added a little extra thaumaturgic emphasis to push his will home.
The watchman's only response was a vague grunt, but he raised the barrier, his eyes wide and unseeing.
"I'd love to have you in my army," Quelgrum said as the wagon rolled into Yoren.
"Yeah, I've always wanted ter be a sojer," the man absently said, wearing a vague, beatific smile, as if he had received some unexpected bounty.
The General smiled. "I thought so. Thank you for your invaluable assistance."
With that, they were in the town of Yoren, leaving the irritating little man behind.
"If you can cast spells like that, Lord Baron, we shouldn't have any trouble here," Quelgrum said.
The Questor shook his head. "It's not that simple, General, I'm afraid. Every attempt at Compulsion robs me of some strength, in direct proportion to the intellect and willpower of the subject, and it requires absolute concentration. The subject also needs to be off-guard and unprepared. Each attempt to dominate a man carries a risk of an undesired Resonance in the spell, and I don't want to take that risk any more often than I need to."
"A resonance; what is that, Lord Grimm?"
"It's a little technical, General," Grimm responded, "but the upshot would be that I'd be stuck inside the spell, pouring ever greater quantities of energy into it but unable to withdraw. That man was alone, and I could see from his aura that he was a weak character, so the risk was negligible. If we'd been in the middle of a large, noisy, belligerent crowd baying for our blood, I wouldn't have tried it. It's not a battlefield spell. It's more a useful tool than a war-winning weapon."
"Still, at least the streets seem fairly quiet." The soldier waved a hand towards the vacant thoroughfares. "I don't know what all the fuss is about."
It is quiet; too damn' quiet for my liking, Grimm thought as he surveyed the empty, narrow street.
He noted the rows of tall buildings at either side. If we're attacked front and rear, we're trapped. Surely Quelgrum can see that.
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