General Quelgrum had no intention of abandoning Baron Grimm. His first priority was to procure transport and supplies for the journey to Crar, since the party's wagon had been destroyed by the marauding zombies in Merrydeath Road. He also wanted to retrieve his weapons, even though he knew ammunition would be unobtainable.
As three nuns laid the dead Prioress’ shattered body on a makeshift bier in the main hall of the Priory, another group began to mop the bloodstains from the marble floor.
"I don't reckon any of these ladies carry any weight around here, General,” Sergeant Erik observed. “We need whatever passes for an officer around here."
Quelgrum nodded. “That would be a member of the Anointed Score, Sergeant. Still, I'd rather not deal with them if we can avoid it; I was entertained by one of them when I was first taken prisoner. She told me how she'd take great pleasure in breaking me, and how she looked forward to having me crawl to her, pleading for punishment."
"Perhaps there's a nun who acts as an ostler or a wrangler, or some such,” Numal hazarded. “If we…"
The Necromancer's voice faded away, and he stared past the General's right shoulder. Quelgrum turned to see a tall, slender, middle-aged nun, and he recognised her as the one who had so enjoyed baiting him.
"Sister Kellen,” he said. “Are you going to threaten me again? Or do you want me to beg for forgiveness?"
The nun did not meet his stern gaze, looking instead at the floor. “I am sorry, my lord,” she whispered. “I was under a spell when first we met; a spell augmented by many years of pain and suffering. After the Reverend Mother's death, things seem much clearer. She was an evil, manipulative woman; I see that, now. I will aid you in any way I can."
Quelgrum jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the reverent nuns tending to Lizaveta's corpse. “Is this how you treat a despised slave-mistress, someone who stole your mind?"
"I do not mourn Prioress Lizaveta's passing,” Kellen said, “but the loss of guidance, leadership and stability. Brutal as her reign may have been, I found comfort in its routine and constancy.
"Only we of the Score live with the shame of knowing the acts to which the Reverend Mother drove us, as we revelled in the power she gave us. All the Sisters know the lash and the discipline, but few, indeed, know the inner workings of the Order. That is the shame, the dishonour, with which I must live."
Kellen bowed her head; her shoulders began to shake. Quelgrum heard a few sobs from under the nun's lowered cowl, but he felt in no mood to comfort the woman.
"Should I cry, Sister?” he asked, with a humourless, contemptuous laugh. “She's dead, and, I say, good riddance to her."
Kellen stiffened and straightened up, this time looking the General straight in the eyes. “What do you want, General?” she asked, her voice cold. “We are a poor Order, and material goods hold little interest for us; if it is money you want, we cannot oblige you. I did not expect you to understand our traditions, but I do ask you to respect them."
"I want a cart or a wagon, four horses and provisions for five men for at least three weeks,” Quelgrum said. He knew a direct journey to Crar would not take that long, but he wanted to give Brianston and Yoren the widest possible berth.
"I see,” the nun said, her expression impenetrable. “What else?"
"You say you have no money,” the old soldier said, “but you still have the gold you stole from us-yes, stole, saintly Sister-and our other effects. If such things are unimportant to you, you won't mind giving them back, will you?
"We're not thieves. All we want is transport to replace what your late, beloved Prioress’ undead friends destroyed, and our property."
Kellen shrugged and nodded.
"Very well, General,” she said in a husky voice. “It will take a few days to arrange food and transport for you; the other mage took our cart, our only pair of horses, and a large quantity of provisions. I have no idea where the Reverend Mother secreted your goods, but I will do my best to return them to you."
"The other mage?” Numal said, his brows raised.
"Questor Guy,” Kellen said, and the Necromancer nodded.
"I see,” he said, his tone level, slowly nodding. “I suppose it was too much to ask that he share his transport with the likes of us."
"Your internecine squabbles have nothing to do with us,” the nun snapped, and Quelgrum saw a trace of the old Sister Kellen. “I will do my best. If that is not enough for you, then take your chances on the road."
Soft-hard, Quelgrum thought. I've interrogated enough people in my time to recognise the approach. If that's the way she wants to play her little game, let's just test the water.
"Very well, Sister,” he said, cold and business-like. “We spent our time here in cold, hard cells, and I won't go back to one. I don't want to impose too much on your poor Order's generosity, so give us what we need to build a temporary shelter outside. We'll stay there until we can leave. All we'll want then is firewood and daily food."
Kellen laughed. “I am sorry, General,” she said. “If I seemed too harsh in my concern for the Order's future, I apologise; I would not dream of allowing you to languish outside in the cold, after the way you have been treated. We have comfortable and serviceable guest suites here, and I invite you to rest there while we satisfy your requirements. All I ask is that you do not trouble the worried Sisters during your stay. As I said, they know nothing of the ugly truth about the Order."
Quelgrum nodded in apparent acquiescence, but he felt his suspicions confirmed. She wants us to stay here, he thought, I'll bet the only reason she doesn't attack us is because her power was somehow tied up with Lizaveta. I don't know what she and the Score intend for us, but it must involve the Baron.
"I must discuss this with Baron Grimm first,” he said, his stern tone brooking no argument.
Kellen's lower lip trembled for just a few heartbeats. “I will see what I can do, my lord,” she said at last, the very image of the dutiful penitent. “Will you please wait here?"
"Of course,” the General said. “Where else would we go?"
The nun rushed off, and the soldier looked at the women tending to the corpse and the floor. They moved like clumsy machines, their faces as expressionless as stone. Quelgrum believed that they had no idea of Lizaveta's true personality or acts, but he did not believe that the Score had exchanged the dowdy mantle of slavery for the glowing cloak of enlightenment.
The General said to the other men, “It's a trick, as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow. They'll give us a series of delays, problems and reasons why we should stay just a little longer, just a few days more… until they spring whatever trap they have in mind."
"Why don't we just walk out then, General?” Erik asked. “There aren't so many of them here, and I don't think they could stop us. Anjar looked all right; I bet they'll sell us what we need."
"I won't go without Baron Grimm,” Quelgrum replied. “We're without weapons, food, transport or money. The good merchants of Anjar won't just give us what we need, and I reckon we'd starve on the road; this isn't exactly a good hunting ground. On the other hand, perhaps Baron Grimm can magic us out of here."
Grimm turned towards Drex, staring into her large, beautiful eyes. “I want to find Thribble,” he said. “I hate to think of him imprisoned."
"Later, my love.” Drex leaned her head on his shoulder and looked up at him with an adoring expression. “I've missed you so much. Can't it wait? I'm sure he's happy where he is."
The young Questor felt his heart pounding, wanting to release his long-pent emotions more than anything… almost anything. He had expected a Drexelica enslaved by weeks of torture, ready to tear out his heart with her bare hands, and he had found, instead, a willing, compliant lover who craved his touch.
It's too good, he thought. This isn't the dreamy, drunken infatuation I felt for Madeleine, back in High Lodge. It's not the hungry lust for blood I felt at Yoren… but it still feels false. What in Perdition is wrong here?
He looked down again into Drex's pleading face, but he began to feel revulsion rather than love. This woman did not merely want to be with him; she wanted to possess him.
I don't know her, he thought, with a cold rush of realisation. It looks like Drex, it sounds like her, and it smells like her; but it's not her.
"I'm sorry, Drex,” he said. “I won't be able to sleep while Thribble remains in a cage. Can't we get him out before we… do anything else?"
"Is saving your little demon more important than spending time with me?” Drex demanded. “I thought you loved me."
She licked her lips and waggled her hips in a flirty gyration, looking less like Drex than ever. Without thinking, Grimm accessed his Mage Sight, but, as soon as he did so, he chided himself as a fool. In place of a normal, variegated field of colours, he saw only the impenetrable, immaculate white aura of a witch, as he should have expected.
He wanted Drex, his Drex, more than anything in the world, but this young woman seemed a mere caricature of the girl he loved.
She's been through a nightmare, he thought. I'd have to be a fool to think it wouldn't have changed her, but I just don't recognise her.
"Can't we do both?” he pleaded, trying to buy time. “Thribble's my friend. Come on, Drex, it wouldn't take long to release him."
"I'm beginning to think you don't-"
She cut off her words at the appearance of a woman Grimm recognised as Sister Kellen, one of the Anointed Score; one of the nuns who had abused him.
While Kellen was still at the end of the long corridor, Drex turned to him and said, “This won't take long,” she said, proffering another dazzling smile. “Excuse me for a moment."
She looks like her feet are on fire, Grimm thought, as the image of his beloved hurried to meet the nun. What's so urgent?
He thought for a moment that Kellen stumbled when Drex approached her, but he realised it was an aborted curtsey. Even his sensitive ears could not make out the two women's conversation, but there was no mistaking the older nun's deferent pose and Drexelica's domineering attitude.
He heard but a few disjointed phrases: “No, absolutely not… “; “…he insists…"; “Must I repeat… some excuse… succumbed to the disease. Get…” However, there was no mistaking the authoritarian tone of Drex's voice.
Grimm saw her flick a nervous glance at him, and he made a show of looking at his feet, at the ceiling and into the cell, as if unconcerned. Nonetheless, his suspicions strengthened; somehow, the spirit of Lizaveta must have entered Drex's body.
She couldn't beat me through torture, or through the false emotions she flung at me, so she's trying to use my love for Drex now. I'll bet that after a night in bed with me, she reckons I'll be eating out of her hand.
He felt a moment of cold horror at the thought of having kissed the Prioress, when he thought he had kissed Drex, but he determined that he would go no further than that, regardless of her blandishments. As he inspected his nails, he saw an approaching shadow, and he looked up to see her returning down the corridor, alone.
"Is everything all right, Drex?” he asked innocently. “Was Sister Kellen giving you any trouble?"
"No trouble at all, Grimm,” she said, smiling. “She wanted to apologise for treating me so badly. Since the Prioress’ spell ended with her death, Kellen has lived in shame, and she only wanted to expiate it. I was a little angry with her at first, but I forgave her.
"Now; where were we? I believe we were discussing a little night-time entertainment."
Her tone was intense, almost desperate, and Grimm nodded.
She's lost her powers, he thought. This Priory was Lizaveta's source of energy, her main sphere of influence, and she's trying to re-establish the link from within an unfamiliar body. She wants to gain control over me first, and she thinks sex is the best way to do it. Lizaveta told me so many times that this would be where it would end: with me loving her, desiring her…
His heart began to pound. Is my Drex still in there? Has Lizaveta, somehow, thrown out her spirit?
If she's killed Drex, then so much the worse for her! Whatever my true worth, I am a Guild Questor of the Seventh Rank, and I will honour my destiny! Who is Lizaveta to oppose me?
"What do you want?” he demanded, his voice as cold and hard as a flint. “Shall we dance here?"
"If you want,” the image of Drex said. “I'd prefer somewhere more private, but-"
"Shall we perform in front of Sister Judan? Perhaps you'd prefer it in the Main Hall?"
"What is the matter with you, Grimm?” she cried. “I just wanted-"
"You wanted my soul, Lizaveta!” Grimm felt the hot blood pounding in his head and his chest. “You wanted to take possession of more than my body; don't bother to deny it. I hate you, and I will destroy you!"
Almost in a trance, he raised his right hand and spat out the nonsense phrase, “Ap'shgat'oye'madas!"
A green stream of sheer hatred exploded from his hand, hammering the stone roof over his head, showering the corridor with tiny, pale motes. A red-glowing, wagon-sized hole in the ceiling showed the hall above, with the confused faces of several frightened nuns peering through it.
"I am power!” he screamed, ignoring the rain of pulverised material. “I am your nemesis, woman; I will kill you, one way or another! Release Drex, and I will spare you my righteous wrath; deny me, and I will make you suffer more than the worst nightmare you ever tried to give me! I do not beguile my victims-I destroy them! I will tear this stinking hell-place apart, if I have to!
"I am destruction!"
With a sheer effort of will, Grimm shattered the cell in which he had been tortured, blasting the stone walls apart as if they were made of rice-paper. He felt apprehensive no longer; he was the Dragonblaster, the avenger of the family name this female demon had tried to immure since before he was born!
He clutched Redeemer, one friend who would never betray him as long as he lived, feeling its warmth and its empowering strength.
"I won't hesitate to destroy Drex's body if you've expunged her soul,” he snarled. “I can make you suffer more than you would believe.
"Choose: quit Drex's body and give her back to me, or see what a true, unfettered Questor can do to you. You told me, many times, that a woman understands more of pain than a man ever can; but what does a shrivelled, unemotional husk like you understand of insecurity, grief, blasted hopes and self-doubt? Thanks to you, witch, I understand those feelings well now."
Grimm raised his arms over his head, letting the motes of blue mage-light play around his body like cerulean fireflies. He could not be beaten, and he knew it, revelling in and savouring his arcane strength for the first time in his life. He laughed: a hacking, humourless sound.
"I am power!"
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