Grimm heard a second scream, louder than the first, tinged with hysteria, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck bristling. As a spirit entity, he had terminated the Prioress’ life without compunction, knowing that he needed to return to his body, and that any kind of compact or deal with her would be betrayed, but he now felt a vague, growing sense of unease. Numal did not hesitate, running up the stairs. Now that sensation and strength had at last returned to Grimm's legs, he followed the Necromancer.
Nuns seemed to be running from every direction, hurrying through the doorway to a large, marbled hall. Grimm and Numal stopped in their tracks, cut off by the stampede of white, starched robes.
"It's good to see you well, Baron Grimm,” a familiar voice shouted behind the mage. “What in Perdition is going on? A nun came to open the cells, and then we heard those screams."
Grimm spun around to see General Quelgrum and Sergeant Erik approaching, and he smiled, relieved that his companions appeared to have been spared the dread plague.
"I'm glad to see you're unhurt, General, Sergeant,” Grimm said. “I killed Lizaveta with a burst of energy from inside her body. Don't ask how,” he continued, waving his raised hands as the General's mouth opened to speak. “It's a long story. I don't know what happened, but it seems to have been pretty effective."
The stream of running women lessened, and Grimm said, “I want to see the effects of my handiwork."
His tone was more callous than he had intended; his returning emotions screamed that he had killed an old woman, no matter how misguided or malevolent. Grimm had done what he had felt was necessary, but he did not like it.
Nonetheless, he had to know he had succeeded.
"Is that wise?” Numal asked. “Most of the nuns won't know who we are or why we're here and there may be some of Lizaveta's acolytes around."
"The Anointed Score,” Grimm replied, nodding. “The Prioress herself couldn't beat me, even when they took my magic. Now I have it back, they would do better to stay out of my way."
With a confident stride, he led the way into the large hall, towards the throng of nuns clustered in the centre. Some wept, others bore twisted expressions of horror, and some wore blank, uncomprehending expressions, but none of them noticed the ragged-robed Questor merging with the crowd.
He heard brief, hushed snatches of conversation from the horde of nuns: “…some kind of brainstorm… a tragedy… awful… what shall we do?
At last, he drew close enough to see the fallen figure, and he gulped, grimacing as he fought to retain the contents of his stomach. His head spun as he saw what had once been a living, breathing woman.
Lizaveta's dull eyes bulged from their sockets. Her head lay in a wet, ruddy lake. A few curved, pale sticks sprung from the red-stained robe, and Grimm realised they were ribs, thrust through the chest wall by the energy volcano that had erupted within her body. An engorged, brown tongue extended from between the lips of the corpse.
Grimm could stand no more. His head spinning, he turned tail and fled whence he had come, drawing whooping breaths as he pushed his way through the throng of nuns, straight past Numal and Quelgrum, shaking his head, speechless with horror at what he had done. He ran headlong back down the stairs towards Lizaveta's chamber and sat at their foot, trying to collect his thoughts.
"I had to do it,” he muttered, trying to convince himself that those shattered remains in the hall were the result of a justifiable act. “She didn't suffer; it was quick, almost instantaneous. I took the only chance I was ever going to get to beat her. She deserved to die; sooner or later, I would have been convinced I needed to kill Horin so that Guy could take over. After what she did to Drex…"
Drex!
This spell had been ugly, but more merciful than the fate the Prioress had in mind for him. However, as a result of that impulsive, instinctive act, Drex might continue to hate him. He doubted that she could control him as she had, denied the support of the Prioress’ mighty Geomantic power, but the knowledge that she would continue to hate and oppose him was almost unbearable. However long it took, he swore he would bring her back… somehow. The vow gave him new purpose, sustaining him.
As he rose to his feet, he heard footsteps behind him and turned around to see the green-clad figures of General Quelgrum and Sergeant Erik.
"That was messy, Lord Grimm,” the officer said, “but unavoidable."
"I know, General, but it was disgusting, and it threw me for a minute. I'm all right now. I just want to see how Drex and Tordun are."
The General frowned. “We'll have to leave them here, Lord Baron. We should make our exit while we still can."
"I'm not abandoning Drex,” Grimm replied, his voice low and intense, “and I won't leave Tordun here to become some mindless slave or puppet. Thribble's around here somewhere, too, and I mean to find him."
Quelgrum's lowered brows showed no sign of conciliation. “Noble sentiments, Lord Baron: I wish I could echo them. However, the Sisters won't stay stunned forever. Sooner or later, the Score will come for us, and we'll be back where we started. We have no weapons, no transport and no chance of finding any.
"I insist we leave now, while we still have the chance!"
The old man's eyes gleamed like chips of black diamond.
"All right,” Grimm said. “You, Erik and Numal may leave now. I'm almost sure I can handle the Score if they come knocking, and I won't leave the others behind."
"What about Questor Guy, Lord Mage?” Erik asked.
"What about Guy?” Grimm demanded. “For all we know, he's already-"
He stopped, seeing a familiar, black-robed figure standing at the top of the stairs. The General and the Sergeant turned to face Guy Great Flame, behind whom stood a white-faced Numal.
"Taking my name in vain, eh, Dragonblaster? So you thought you'd leave me here, did you? That's no way to treat a brother Questor."
Grimm's eyes narrowed. He did not trust Guy an inch, and he had no idea what wiles Lizaveta might have worked on her favoured grandson. He considered direct confrontation but decided against it. He engaged his Mage Sight, seeing in Guy's aura shades of mendacity, disdain and contempt-in other words, just what he expected to see. He saw no sign of unfamiliar hues that might indicate the grip of Geomantic ensorcelment, but he now knew this most basic of mage skills was not an infallible guide.
"I'm glad you're safe, Questor Guy,” he said at last. He refused to be drawn by Guy's taunting, teasing sneer, which reminded him of his Scholasticate nemesis, Shumal.
"Don't worry on my behalf, youngster,” the Great Flame said. “I've been well-treated since I've been here. I just told my ever-present Sisters whatever they wanted to hear. Yes, I'd like to be Dominie some day, when I'm old, doddering and grey, but I'll make a lot more money as a Questor-"
Guy stopped in mid-speech, and he gaped. “You really thought I'd gone over to her side, didn't you?” he said, his eyes wide. “That was touching faith in your brother mage, I must say! I'll have you know that I like being a Seventh Rank Mage Questor; it keeps me in good clothes, good food and good wine.
"Dear Grandma always thought she could turn me around her little finger, ever since I was young, but I always knew the right things to say. I thought I'd have a nice little sinecure as a paid Student, and she sent me to the Guild as a bloody Charity case. I suffered plenty, Dragonblaster, as you did, and I'm not about to give up a lucrative, hard-earned career as a Questor to satisfy her insane lust for power. I know you don't like me, youngster, but I'm not about to change for you or anyone else! Oh, well, kiss my arse or go to Hell; I'm off."
Guy spun on his heel and began to walk away.
"Questor Guy!” Grimm felt an unexpected surge of kinship with the independent, headstrong mage. He had no brother or sister, and he felt the absence of that close relationship. Although he would have hated Guy as his sibling, Grimm still felt a link with him, as someone who had faced the same Ordeal he had. He knew Lizaveta could be subtle, but he had no reason to disbelieve the proud Questor.
"What is it, Dragonblaster?” Guy demanded, turning around. “Do you want to kiss me? Not my style, I'm afraid; fancy a little match-up outside, instead?"
Now, that's just pure Guy, Grimm thought. I hate to acknowledge it, but he's a Questor, after all; perhaps he really has resisted whatever Lizaveta threw at him. After all, I did.
"Not right now, Great Flame,” he said. “Just take care of yourself until we can meet up in a more congenial location. Then, I'll give you a fight to remember!"
"Sounds good to me, Dragonblaster. I wouldn't miss it for the world. It's a date."
Guy winked and blew a kiss over his shoulder as he left, heading for the main hall.
Grimm shook his head in perplexity. The older mage's sudden mood swings seemed bizarre, but, perhaps, the Questor Ordeal affected people in different ways; this might just be the Great Flame's way of dealing with the lingering after-effects of his own torments.
"General Quelgrum; Sergeant Erik; Necromancer Numal,” the Questor said. “I want you to go back to Anjar and wait for me. I have a few errands still to do."
Without waiting for an answer, Grimm marched down the corridor to the cell block; he wanted to see Drex, no matter what her reaction to him might be. All the doors were open, and, in the fifth cell on the left-his own former prison-he saw Sister Mercia crouched over a pale figure lying on a rude straw mattress and covered by a grey blanket.
On Grimm's entrance, the young nun looked up and proffered a weary smile. “Greetings, Lord Mage,” she said, brushing a few rogue tendrils of hair from her eyes. “I must apologise for the poor condition of your quarters; the guest suites must all be occupied."
She really has no idea, thought the mage. She still thinks we were honoured guests. It's strange that she doesn't ask about those screams; perhaps they're not all that uncommon in this awful place.
How is… Sister Weranda?” he asked, with a catch in his voice. “Will she…"
Mercia laughed; a merry, tinkling sound that seemed at odds with the austere Priory. “Don't worry, Lord Mage,” she said, her face beaming, open and guileless. “Your concern for our dear Sister is gratifying. She improves at an encouraging rate, and I think I'll soon be able to leave the remainder of her treatment to the Names and her own bodily defences. She is young and strong, and I have every reason to believe she'll make a full recovery."
Grimm sighed in relief; where there was life, there was hope.
"Sister Judan is almost healed,” Mercia said, her cheerful grin intensifying. “Isn't that good news? Her wounds were relatively light, and the infection didn't have time to advance far."
Alarm bells rang in Grimm's head; Judan was the senior Sister of the Score, and he knew he would have to face her, sooner or later. Perhaps it was better to cross that river now, while she was still relatively weak.
"May I see Sister Judan?” he asked.
"Of course, Lord Mage,” Mercia said, her cheeks dimpling. “She is poorly but awake. She's convalescing in the next room. Soon, she can move back to her own cell, but I judged it better that she rest here for a little while before trying to walk. The illness has taken a lot out of her, as you might imagine."
"Thank you, Sister,” he said. “Your dedication to your craft is an inspiration to us all."
Mercia shrugged, her complexion reddening a little. “We all do what we can,” she said. “That's what a community is all about, isn't it?"
As the young nun turned to tend to her patient once more, Grimm stepped back into the corridor. He felt a brief pang of disappointment that his other companions were not in evidence.
Oh, well, he thought. I ordered them to go, after all.
As he walked to the next cell, he saw Judan sitting cross-legged on the flagstones, in the same position of prayer in which he had last seen her, lips moving in silent prayer. He cleared his throat, eliciting no response.
"Sister Judan,” he said, and the nun opened her eyes.
"The Reverend Mother has passed on,” she said, her tone and her eyes accusing him, scorching him. “You murdered her!"
Grimm nodded. “Aren't you going to call down the wrath of the Score upon me, Sister?” he asked.
"The Score is shattered.” The nun's face reddened, and she shook with evidently sincere rage. “I cannot hear their thoughts, and I cannot converse with them. Our common link was through the Reverend Mother, and you have destroyed her. May the Names forgive you, assassin, for I cannot. Kill me if you wish; without the Reverend Mother's strength to succour and support me, I doubt I have enough power to stop you.
"Go or stay, mage, as you will. You have destroyed something serene, something beautiful; have the decency to allow me to mourn its passing in my own way."
She shut her eyes and bent again to her prayers.
"Serene? Beautiful?” the Questor replied, burning with indignation and disbelief at the woman's sanctimonious manner. “You worked to rob me of my mind so I could murder another person. Was that serenity? Was that beauty?"
"It was necessary,” Judan mumbled. “Go away, and do not disturb me again. I never want to see you again. I was raised here from an early age, and you have destroyed the inner peace I fought for years to attain. Just go away."
Grimm had been prepared to face the Score in their anger and their power, but he felt almost robbed by Judan's pathetic acquiescence. His Quest was over, and he had won, but he felt only emptiness instead of triumphant joy.
Judan swayed, moaning, lost in some religious trance, and Grimm left the dismal cell, unsure of what to do.
Outside the next cell stood Sister Mercia, her face transfigured by an expression of transcendental joy.
"Lord Mage,” she said, “Sister Weranda is conscious now, and she wishes to see you. If you'll excuse me, I wish to check on Master Tordun's condition."
Grimm nodded; his heart leaden, as the young nun hurried back down the corridor. As a member of the Score, Drex must also be aware of Lizaveta's death, and, no doubt, she wished to give him a magic-addled tirade of hate.
"Grimm! My love!” a familiar voice called; Grimm's heart leapt.
He rushed into the cell, to see a smiling Drex on her feet, her arms open. She was pale, but she seemed strong, just as he remembered and knew her from their brief, idyllic tryst in Crar.
"Kiss me, my darling!” she cried. “I have felt so worried about you!"
Grimm needed no further encouragement. He rushed over to meet her, tears prickling on his eyelids, and swept her up, his lips seeking hers. Drex's mouth seemed to devour his, the fury of his lover's fierce, almost animalistic, passion both overpowering and gratifying him. He drank deep, taking in her strength; her joy; her love.
At last, the long, dreamy kiss ended, and he held Drex at arms’ length, his heart almost bursting with happiness.
"Everything's all right now, my love,” she said. “I can't tell you how happy I feel."
"I must ensure the remaining members of the Score pose no further threat,” Grimm said, his heart pounding. “I need to find Thribble and some transport out of this hellhole, but there's no reason why we can't go home after that."
"The Score won't trouble you now,” Drex said, her eyes gleaming. “Why not rest here a while, so Tordun can heal, and I can regain my strength? The Order will need leadership until a new Prioress can be found. It wouldn't be right to abandon them at this difficult time. Just wait a few days, and I'm sure everything will become clearer."
Grimm felt a hot flash of astonishment run through him. “After all you've been through, I'd have thought you'd have jumped at the chance of getting out of here, Drex!"
"I feel safe, now,” she said, nestling close to him. “I have my very own Mage Questor to protect me. I feel some kinship with these poor women, and I can't just abandon them."
The mage blinked, vacillating between the desire to escape this awful place and the wish to please the woman he loved. He buried his face in Drex's wimple and tried to collect his thoughts.
"Drex; I-"
"Lord Mage,” a soft voice from the doorway said, and Grimm looked up to see the dumpy figure of Sister Judan.
"What is it?” he snapped.
"I have communed with the spirits,” the nun said, her face calm, almost beatific. “The scales have fallen from my eyes, and I see how you have been wronged. Your vengeance was just, at least in your own eyes, and I have no right to judge you. Please, Lord Mage, stay a while and help us in our hour of need. You will not be beaten or tortured again; I swear it on my head and on the blessed Names."
"Please, Grimm,” Drex said, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Just stay a little longer."
Grimm, almost drowning in confusion, closed his eyes and looked into himself.
Am I ensorcelled? he wondered. Is Drex still under a spell; is she trying to trick me?
Opening his eyes, he pointed his left forefinger at the far wall and muttered a brief, nonsense syllable. A small, bright globe, spinning and sparkling, formed on the extended digit, detached and flew to the wall, spreading over it until the small chamber was suffused in warm, cheerful luminescence. While he had his power under his control, he knew he was still whole and a formidable opponent.
"Very well,” he said, on pure impulse. “I'll stay a while."
He stepped back from Drex, so he could look her straight in the eyes. “I'm only doing this for you, my love,” he said. “You know that, don't you?"
She smiled. “Of course, darling,” she said, her voice laden with warmth and happiness. “You have no idea how much I appreciate that. Later tonight, I'll show you just how happy I am."
Grimm felt a hot flush on his cheeks.
He smiled.
Drex seemed her old self again.
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