Perfect, Guy thought. This bastard's going to suffer.
"What… what do you want?" Keller stuttered, his eyes wide in confusion.
Guy smiled slowly; to judge from Keller's reaction, he guessed his borrowed face must be distorted into some ghastly grimace. This was all to the good: it would enhance the experience.
"Quickly, human; be swift! Time grows short!"
Thribble's urgent squeak brought the Questor out of his reverie.
"I want you to turn off all those bloody collars," Guy-Numal growled. If you want to quibble about it, try this!"
Guy cast a spell of which he always felt inordinately proud, and Keller fell to the floor, screaming in agony. The mage had exercised this particular magic on only a few occasions, since it required a man to be restrained and unresisting, but the Pit-master's consuming dread appeared to work just as well as physical confinement.
Guy held the spell on the slender man for only a few moments; he did not want Keller disabled or killed-yet.
As the Pit-master recovered, the Questor smelled the acrid scent of ammonia, and smiled again as he saw a dark patch spreading across the front of Keller's buff-coloured trousers.
"I'll do it; I'll do it!" the hapless, soiled man bleated. "Look!"
He drew a small, grey implement from his pocket and ran his trembling fingers across a number of coloured keys on its surface.
"It's done, I swear; they're all off!" Keller screamed, his eyes wide and terrified. "Let me go! I had no choice in this-they made me do it!" he jabbered, drooling in panic.
"All in good time, Keller." Guy-Numal began to appreciate the disconcerting effect his involuntary, dull monotone seemed to have on the worthless little man. "You just wait here while I check.
"K'zaat'az'er!"
He lifted the grey pad from the frozen Keller's nerveless fingers and walked out of the Pit. As he entered the bushes, he saw his own body, lying pale and still, and he turned to the battered General Quelgrum.
"How am I?" he barked.
"He's… you're all right, I think." The General bent to check the supine body.
"You're still breathing, and he… you seem relaxed now, if unconscious. Whatever you've done, it seems to have worked.
"Now, where's Questor Grimm?"
Guy-Numal spread his borrowed hands. "I have no idea, old man. The Pit was all but empty when I went in. I think he's a lost cause. I just want a little more friendly discourse with our good friend, Keller. I recommend we move on then."
Quelgrum rose to his full height, and Guy realised just how threatening the old man's presence could be.
". recommend we don't," the General said, his voice blurred by his swollen mouth. "This time, I'm coming with you, and I want to know that Baron Grimm's dead before I abandon him. Is that all right with you… old man?
"Remember, you'll need Numal to return you to your own body. Perhaps he'll prefer to stay where he is if I don't prevail upon him to do the right thing, and, right now, I might be persuaded to advise him to remain where he is. Without my advice, I doubt he'll change his mind-would you, in his circumstances?"
Guy-Numal shot a sharp look at the soldier, unsure if the old man was bluffing or not.
"All right, Quelgrum. Just don't slow me down too much; I want to have a little fun with that skinny bastard. I've got his funny little device in my hand, so I don't think he can do much more. He was scared out of his wits when I last saw him, and I froze him in place. I don't think he'll be any trouble."
"You don't think?" Quelgrum expostulated. "These people seem to shake off Questor mind-control spells like other people shake off flies! What makes you think he's under this spell?"
Guy-Numal smiled. "My body says he is."
"What about Questor Grimm? Keller may be relying on your bloody egocentrism! He may be laughing at you now, just waiting to send a bunch of Pit fighters against us!"
"All right, old man; keep your hair on. We'll check," Numal said's mouth. "He's dead, whatever happens."
****
Grimm had dropped Redeemer in his fall, and he called for the staff as the insectoid mass of writhing fighters began to pull him in. The obedient, reliable baton flew into his hand as ever, but his panic swamped any kind of cohesive response. For the first time since his Outbreak, he miscast a spell, spewing purposeless energy into the air in a blue mist.
Not them; me! The inner voice was imperative, and he did not wait to consider the alternatives.
"Utch'katch!"
With this impulsive spell, born of sheer panic, he burst from his opponents' grip and cannoned into the far wall of the Pit. Light and pain bloomed in his head, and Grimm knew he was losing his hold on consciousness. Redeemer slipped from his fingers and he could not seem to call it to hand. Multi-coloured lights played around the inside of his cranium, and his thoughts drifted. Darkness began to descend over his eyes, and a buzzing sound filled his brain.
As if from far away, he heard the admonishing voice of Magemaster Crohn in his head: "You used far more energy than was required in that spell, Afelnor, as usual. I see we need to work upon your powers of control once more. We all know you have power; the trick is to use the least amount necessary for the desired result to be achieved."
He staggered to his feet as if drunken, his legs devoid of control or strength, to see a wide wall of bodies surging towards him.
As his stunned, befuddled mind sought solutions, the human mass stopped in its headlong, fanatical rush. Grimm shook his head, as if he could shake some sense into his impact-addled brain, and tried to ready himself for the next assault. It did not come.
One fighter stood over him, bafflement filling his face. Still wary, Grimm picked up Redeemer and held it before him in trembling, ineffectual hands, as he tried to control his rambling thoughts.
At last, the warrior spoke. "Who are you?"
"I am Grimm Afelnor, called the Dragonblaster. Who are you?" Grimm remained wary. Could this muscular assassin be playing with him, before the end?
"Why am I fighting you?" the huge man rumbled, his expression bemused and unsure. "I'm…"
To Grimm's surprise, and even horror, the titanic fighter burst into tears, and the mage felt wetness at the corners of his own eyes. A distant part of his mind registered that Redeemer had once more slipped from his fingers, but he felt too stunned to care.
"I don't know," he said, giving vent to the pent emotions within him as he laughed. "I have no quarrel with you." Nothing seemed right, and the mage had lost all sense of self-preservation. His head rang, and he had had enough; all he wanted was to lie down, and never to wake again.
As the other warriors began to stand and shake their heads, Grimm saw Tordun surge forward, and he tried to move. He could not do so.
The white warrior swept the mage up in his arms. As if in a dream, Grimm heard him say "Our true enemy, Keller, awaits us; he must not be allowed to live!"
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 madness. 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."
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