Questor

by Alastair J. Archibald

  Despite the pain in his head, he had not forgotten his solemn promise to Xylox to use only formal speech until the Quest was resolved.

  "Ah, Questor Grimm, you were a little too unwary of more mundane threats, such as this.” The thief lifted a thick rod of metal from the perforated metal floor. “You were hit on the head; nothing more. Just give thanks to your little friend, Thribble. He managed to free Tordun and me in time to save your skins."

  The imp's grey, stubbly head popped up from one of Crest's many pockets.

  "Yes, it was once again your trusty, quick-thinking friend, Thribble, who saved you, human!” the tiny demon crowed. “I sent the message that freed you from Armitage's rule, I stopped them from shooting noxious vapours at you, and I freed the two warriors; what stories I shall have to tell, when I return to my own kind!"

  "Your modesty and humility overwhelm me, Thribble,” Grimm said to his netherworld friend, in a deadpan voice. “Nonetheless, I thank you for our deliverance. You are a resourceful fellow, and it is good to have you around. I will not try to leave you behind again; as far as I am concerned, you may accompany me on all my future Quests.

  "If any,” he muttered: Xylox's threat to have the young Questor dismissed from the Guild still hung over his head like a dark thundercloud.

  "Thank you, Questor Grimm,” the demon replied. “Humility is one of my besetting virtues; indeed, I believe that I am one of the most modest..."

  "A soldier is approaching!” Tordun cried from the doorway, cutting off Thribble's self-indulgent monologue. “He is waving a white flag of truce; what should I do?"

  "Is he alone?” Xylox asked.

  "So it seems,” the mountainous albino rumbled.

  "Let him come,” Xylox said. “A single man can pose little threat to the four of us."

  "Very well, Haven man,” Tordun yelled into the corridor. “Approach with your hands in plain sight, and leave any thoughts of deception or misguided heroism at the door. We have Armitage here, a lot of important-looking machinery, and a pair of very angry Questors with sore heads."

  After a few minutes, the swordsman stepped away from the vacant doorway, revealing a tall, grey-haired, muscular man whose bulk was enhanced by a heavy cloth jacket like a long tabard, descending almost to the level of his knees. He wore a grey helmet that encompassed his skull, with various appendages and protrusions extending from the bizarre headgear. Although he wore several weapon holsters and bandoliers, these were all empty.

  Xylox stepped into the opening, and Tordun covered the cowering Armitage, who still hunched under his console.

  "I will accept nothing from you except your unconditional surrender,” Xylox said, folding his arms across his chest. “There is little more to say; you should now know what we can do to you if you dare to oppose us"

  "That's unacceptable,” the security guard growled. “We have all exits from the hub covered and, even if you should manage to fight your way past us, you would not survive in the mountains. We have a stalemate; we're not going anywhere, and neither are you.

  "Every man in the squad is willing to die to defend Haven, ready to give his life to save Administrator Armitage. I wish to discuss terms acceptable to all of us.

  "We've seen what happens to men who fire guns at you, but simple slug-throwers aren't our only defence. We have other weapons: potent weapons you wouldn't believe. We've held off using them for the moment, but we'll use them if we have to, even if they kill us along with you."

  Xylox turned his strong Questor gaze on the guard, but the grey-haired man matched it in intensity without the slightest blink.

  "What terms have you in mind?” Xylox asked.

  "Our first condition is the immediate cessation of all hostilities,” the guard replied.

  The Questor gave a non-committal grunt. “Next?"

  "Second condition: you agree to release Administrator Armitage unharmed."

  "So far, guardian,” the senior mage said, “your conditions seem to be to your advantage only. I trust you have something to offer us in return?"

  "I'm coming to that,” the guard snapped, wiping a grimy bead of sweat from his right eyebrow. “I'd be grateful if you'd let me present all the terms before you come to any decision."

  "Very well; what are your other stipulations, if any?"

  "We still have the girl who came with you. We will agree to release her unharmed and unmolested if you'll allow us to take a small tissue sample; I'm told a simple swab from the inside of a cheek should be enough. If you refuse, I can't guarantee her safety."

  Grimm gaped; he realised he had spared no thought for Drexelica since he had first fallen under Armitage's technological spell. He was moved to speak, but he held his tongue for the moment.

  "If we agree, what can you offer in return?” Xylox inquired, as if bored beyond measure.

  "We'll give you aerial transport out of here, and down to the plain."

  Xylox made an elaborate show of studying his immaculate fingernails. “I presume you will allow us to mull over your terms for a while; shall we say ten minutes? I warn you that I may have counter-proposals of my own, and you may not find them appealing."

  "Believe me, wizard ... I mean, mage,” the guard said, correcting himself as the Questor's expression darkened, “I'm more than happy to accept a little give and take, as long as you accept our basic conditions."

  "Ten minutes, then, Haven lackey,” the senior mage said.

  "You may return to your fellows,” he added, as the guard showed no sign of movement. “I prefer that we discuss your proposal without you looking over our shoulders."

  The man hesitated. “If you were to exchange me for Administrator Armitage, it would be a sign of good faith on your behalf.” The grey-haired guard's voice held more than a trace of hope.

  "Unacceptable,” the mage replied. “If you are as willing to die for your leader as you have indicated, holding you to ransom might provide little surety. Go, and allow us to deliberate in peace."

  The guard backed away slowly, frowning, but he departed in any case. Xylox turned back to face Grimm and the two warriors.

  "What is your assessment of the terms offered, Questor Grimm?"

  Grimm rubbed his aching temples. The pain in his head was not helped by the intermittent flashing of the overhead illuminations.

  "They have Drexelica,” he said, shrugging. “There is no telling what they might be prepared to do to her."

  "We are engaged in a war with Technology, Questor Grimm,” the older thaumaturge intoned. “In a war, there are often unfortunate casualties. I would remind you that our first duty is to our sworn Quest. The fate of one larcenous street waif is of little import, compared to the well-being of our Guild. Have you forgotten your Oath so soon?"

  Grimm felt anger at Xylox's callous attitude rising like acrid bile within him, but he forced himself to keep his tone civil and courteous.

  "Questor Xylox, I have not forgotten my Oath; I acknowledge my duty to our Quest, even if it be my last. Nonetheless, I also have a duty to this young girl, and I cannot accept that her potential death, torture, ravishment, enslavement or disfigurement is a trifling, insignificant price to pay for our success. I ask your leave to ascertain that she is unharmed before we commit to any course of action."

  Xylox shook his head. “At this moment, we seem to have the upper hand. The girl is of little account. If I were to allow you to leave, I would be surrendering a far more potent playing card. I cannot, and will not, allow it."

  Grimm's anger boiled over. “You talk of living, breathing human beings as playing cards, insignificant tokens to be gambled at will. You have already told me how you will ensure that I am finished as a Guild Questor; I cannot, therefore, be such a great asset to you. You openly despise and belittle me at every opportunity, even though you only survived our enforced conflict by recourse to the extra reserves of energy you held in your staff."

  The older magic-user opened his mouth to speak, his face suffused with red ire
, but Grimm stepped closer to him, cutting the mage off with a furious gesture of his hand.

  "Xylox the Mighty,” he hissed, in a low voice so that the warriors might not overhear what passed between the two Questors. “You have taken evident glee in implying, on many occasions, that you have the very power of life or death over me, but you have already told me that I might as well be dead. I will assist you as best I am able on this Quest, but not at the cost of Drexelica's life; is that clear? I ask your permission as Senior Questor to ensure that the girl is well, and to secure her return, but, if you deny me, I will defy you.

  "Are you still so certain that you can defeat me in open magical combat? I think not. I do not wish to oppose you, but I have nothing to lose. I would almost rather die here than be stripped of my hard-earned status as a Guild Mage by some faceless Conclave. I ask your permission, and I would far rather that I had my Senior Questor's approbation for my actions than his refusal. I would sooner fight the minions of Armitage than my brother mage, for I owe you, at least, the respect due to your rank, whilst I owe these slaves of Technology nothing but defiance. Nonetheless, I will not allow a poor, defenceless girl to be abused at the hands of a group of mindless fanatics.

  "With this in mind, Xylox the Mighty, do I have your permission to leave while you seek a negotiated settlement to our quandary? When I have returned with or without Drexelica, you may treat me as you will for my insubordination, and I will not resist. Those are my terms, Xylox Ceras, Mage Questor of the Seventh Rank, called ‘the Mighty'; take them, or leave them."

  * * * *

  Deeks bundled the girl along the corridors of Haven, now with little regard for the ever-present security cameras. He had injected such a quantity of sedatives into her that her feet barely supported her, and she trailed behind him like some awkward, numb appendage, her small hand limp and livid in his firm grip. He was almost beginning to agree with Redmond's advice, that the little bitch was more trouble than she was worth.

  After several minutes spent in hustling the semi-comatose female through the corridors, he reached his goal: the unoccupied Cell Block One. For as long as Deeks could remember, the unit had been unused; nonetheless, he knew that its various computer terminals in the Admin Area were fully maintained, in case the derelict cell block might ever be needed for potential malcontents.

  This made him smile. He, Technician Deeks, the arch-malcontent, would use this place of confinement as his power base.

  He let the girl tumble to the floor as he took his security pass from his pocket, sweeping it through the card slot with a practiced gesture. The high-pitched beep and the red light showed him that he was refused entry even from this disregarded area. The Technician frowned. It seemed as if that paranoid bastard, Terrence, had contrived to block his access to even the most remote zones.

  "Come on, girl,” muttered the tech, grabbing the supine female's hand once more. “It looks like we need a little social engineering here. A little time on a terminal, any terminal, and I'll have everything I want."

  He dragged her back down the corridor, muttering under his breath.

  * * * *

  "Since you appear intent upon this lunacy, Questor Grimm,” Xylox muttered, rubbing his beard, “I have decided to allow your request, despite serious misgivings to the contrary."

  He paused for a few moments, enunciating his words with care. “With regard to your dismissal from the Guild, I have decided that your magical talents may well be of some little worth, after all. Perhaps your worth as an asset outstrips, on balance, the risk posed by your irreverent attitude. On our return, I offer to recommend that Lord Thorn issue you a severe reprimand for insubordination. I will recommend that no further action be taken against you.

  "I make no secret of the fact that I disapprove of your often reckless attitude, Questor Grimm. However, I recognise you as a powerful and capable magic-user, and it seems to me that your dismissal might, perhaps, represent a tangible loss to our Guild."

  Xylox's tones were measured and solemn, as if his conclusions had been reached only after deep reflection, but he knew only too well that Prelate Thorn would be unlikely to dismiss one of his three prized Questors to the House scullery because his superior had found him to be defiant and confrontational. Such qualities were almost expected of a Guild Questor. Xylox remembered only too well the heated arguments he had had with his own superior, Questor Olaf, called the Demonscourge, over the unequal partition of booty after his second Quest.

  Questor Grimm's mouth fell open, until it seemed as if it might hit the floor.

  "I thank you, Questor Xylox,” he breathed, “from the bottom of my heart. I wish only to serve the Guild to which I have sworn my allegiance, but I cannot allow myself to ignore the dictates of my conscience. Your consent will allow me to follow both courses. Thank you."

  Grimm's dark eyes gleamed, as if he had been reprieved from a death sentence at the very last moment, and Xylox assumed the weary expression of a man who had struggled for many a long hour with his troublesome conscience. The senior mage stepped towards the huddled Armitage.

  "You, excrement, are still our prisoner,” he hissed. “Warrior Tordun, I ask you to attend. If Armitage moves from this spot, you have my permission to kill him; indeed, I expect you to do so,"

  Tordun leered at his cowering captive. “It will be my pleasure, Questor. The only reason the worm still breathes is because I thought his knowledge might be of some use to you. If not, I'll be only too happy to terminate his miserable existence."

  Armitage's face was ashen, but he said nothing. All fight seemed to have left him.

  Grimm, seeming rejuvenated by his reprieve from banishment, swung around to face the skulking Administrator.

  "You: Armitage!” he barked, his face grave. “Where is the girl, Drexelica, being held? Tell me now, or I will make you beg for death. I can do this with less trouble or time than it takes me to blow my nose, and I will do so with pleasure, should you demur."

  Armitage staggered to his feet, and his mouth worked to no effect for a few moments, before his voice became audible.

  "She ... she's in Lab Three, Black Seven, mage. She's not scheduled for surgery until this evening; I'll tell Technician Redmond to cancel the operation, if you like."

  The Administrator moved his right hand to a wheel on the panel at his side.

  "Keep your hands where I can see them!” the young mage snapped. “You know only too well that I will have no idea whether you are contacting this ‘Lab Three', or summoning additional guards. I know how to find my own way to your Black Sector."

  Xylox nodded. For the first time since he had met the junior Questor, he wore a smile of approbation on his lips.

  This urchin seems to have more presence about him than I thought...

  * * * *

  Questor Grimm stepped to the empty space where the Control Room door had once been.

  "I wish to make an additional demand!” he shouted into the corridor. After a few moments’ pause, the guard appeared, still bearing his white flag of truce.

  "Are you ready to agree to our terms?” the security man called.

  "Not yet,” the young mage replied. “You offered to release the girl, Drexelica, unharmed to us, as part of the deal; I demand to see that she is in good health before we commit ourselves to any course of action. This is a point on which I will not move. Armitage will remain here with my comrades as surety against our safe return."

  After a long pause, Grimm feared that Drex might already be dead, and that the guard's bluff had been called. However, the grey-helmed man slowly nodded. “Very well, mage. You may go, accompanied by two guards: for your own safety, of course."

  Xylox stepped towards Grimm.

  "Brother Mage,” he said. “I do not think they will cause you any trouble, but I wish to be sure that you will be safe.” He held out a red gem on a silver chain, which Grimm recognised as his colleague's prized Charm of Missile Reversal.

  "Questor Xylox; I am deeply
touched by your solicitude,” he whispered, without the least trace of sarcasm in his voice. “I know what this gem means to you, and I thank you."

  "I just wanted to ensure the safety of the Guild's investment,” the older mage muttered, who did not meet his junior's gaze. “They have already seen that projectile weapons have no effect on me, so I doubt that they will try to use them against me again.

  "Remember,” Xylox continued, adding a little steel to his voice, “I expect that gem to be returned. This is only a temporary loan."

  "I understand, Brother Mage.” Grimm suppressed a smile.

  Is Xylox's stony façade cracking at last? Could it be that this mighty Questor is displaying signs of humanity?

  "I thank you for your consideration, Questor Xylox,” he said, keeping his expression respectful.

  Grimm stepped into the corridor, striding with confidence and some speed towards the chief security guard, coming to an abrupt halt just in front of him. The guard's face turned pale, but he held his ground.

  "Emerson! Tattler!" the muscular man called, and two uniformed men-at-arms appeared. Both stood several inches shorter than Grimm, and their wide eyes betrayed terror.

  "Right, you two; take this man to Black Seven, Laboratory Six,” the security chief snapped. “He is not your prisoner, and you are not to use any force against him unless he attacks you.

  "Well, get on with it, then! Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?"

  The guards moved, one to each side of Grimm. The mage looked down at each and frowned.

  "I advise you to do as he says,” he breathed. “My patience is not inexhaustible."

  The mage hurried down the corridor with his two hangers-on in pursuit.

  * * * *

  Deeks bent over the prone form of Technician Redmond and tossed his bloodstained clipboard to the floor.

  "Sorry, Redders,” he said. “You should have let me on your terminal when I asked."

  Stepping over the equally unresponsive Drexelica, the Technician seated himself at the console, humming as he accessed the central control database. “Don't worry, my love,” he crooned, leering at the drugged girl. “In a few moments, a bloody army won't be able to get in here. And then, you and I can have all the time we want together, while the security guards dance to my tune for a change. We can canoodle to our hearts’ content while they concentrate on taking out Armitage and your erstwhile friends for me."