Quelgrum turned to Sergeant Erik. “Sergeant, I don't believe dear Sister Kellen's little story. I want you to covertly reconnoitre the Priory and its grounds. I want to know if there's any transport here they're not telling us about. Take note of any of the Anointed Score you see: the ones who met us at the gate when we were escorted here. Are they huddled together, cooking up some nasty little surprise for us? If they are, I want to know about it."
Erik snapped to attention, performing a parade-ground perfect salute. “Yes, Sir. What do I do if one of the nuns challenges me?"
"I don't know, Sergeant. Tell them… tell them you're looking for the jakes or something! Use your imagination. Just try to stay out of sight if you can. I'll meet you back here in an hour, if I'm able."
"I understand, Sir, but what if the nuns take you by surprise? How will I know?"
Quelgrum shrugged. “By the clock at the end of the hall: if I'm not back here within an hour, get out of here by any means possible. Go to Anjar, and, if I don't turn up there within two days, get back to Crar any way you can. Give Colonel Shandimar the codeword ‘Blazon', and he'll get the whole army out here to raze the damn’ place to the ground."
Erik surged to attention and saluted crisply. “Orders received and understood, Sir! Wait for one hour, go to Anjar, wait two days and report to base if no further contact with you. Codeword is ‘Blazon'."
"Excuse me, General,” Necromancer Numal said, standing just behind Erik. “I'd like to go with the Sergeant. If there's any trouble, a Mage Staff is a pretty good weapon. We Mage Necromancers also have some affinity with shadows."
While Quelgrum doubted Numal's reliability under fire, a lack of offensive weaponry might be a major disadvantage. Since encountering the zombies in Merrydeath Road, the Necromancer had become somewhat more outgoing and confident, and the General did not want to crush those nascent qualities. He felt encouraged that Numal had volunteered his services for an uncertain mission.
"You're not under my command, Lord Mage,” he said, “you're a free agent, as far as I'm concerned. If you want to go with Erik, I can't stop you. I just ask you to defer to the Sergeant in tactical matters."
"Orders received and understood, General,” the mage said, touching his right brow in a creditable attempt at a salute.
As Numal turned to follow Erik, Quelgrum said, “Lord Mage?"
"Yes, General?” the Necromancer replied, stopping and turning his head.
"Thank you."
Numal just nodded and hurried away.
Quelgrum sighed; it felt as if a lifetime of conflict, command and responsibility had lodged in his chest in one, solid, heavy mass.
Why does everybody expect me to make all the bloody decisions?
Numal wanted me to make his mind up for him, and he's not even in my army.
Is it just my rank, does something about me make people think I'll solve all their freaking problems? Have I got a tattoo on my forehead that says ‘Get your decisions here, free to all-comers'?
What have I to show for a life of service, other than scars? I should be at home, dandling grandchildren on my knees, a loving, supportive wife at my side. I'm tired of fighting and making decisions. If I ever get back to Crar, Shandimar can have the bloody army! Why do I still need to fight at my age?
Another part of his mind shot back, Because nobody will fight without somebody to take responsibility or lead the way. It's relatively easy to be a common soldier. He may have to fight and die, but somebody else thinks for him. That doesn't come easily to many people. Ordinary soldiers don't have to worry about food, drink, clothing or housing. Many soldiers prefer to follow orders without thinking; the removal of individual responsibility makes it easier for them. Committee discussions or arguments delay action, and usually lead to unsatisfactory compromises. If an army were some democratic commune, where every order was debated, there'd be chaos!
Quelgrum's inner dialogue stuttered to a halt, as the General saw the unmistakeable, wand-thin figure of Sister Kellen emerging from the archway to the stairs and approaching him.
"May I inquire where your companions are, General?” she asked.
Quelgrum shrugged. “We've been cramped up for days, madam. Sergeant Erik wanted to stretch his legs, and Necromancer Numal chose to join him. I have no idea where they went. What of my request to see Baron Grimm?"
"I regret that that Questor Grimm is very sick and in quarantine.” Sister Kellen's face was now the very picture of contrition and sorrow. “The illness struck him with frightening ferocity after he visited your sick friend, Tordun. For your own safety, I beg you to stay away from him. I will pray for him, and I urge you to do the same. He may not survive."
"I don't believe you, Sister,” Quelgrum said, battling a born peasant's ingrained dread of capricious disease. “I saw him only about quarter of an hour ago, and he was in perfect health!"
Kellen shook her head. “The infection is swifter than any mortal disease, General. It took us all by surprise. Everyone is forbidden to see him, by the order of Sister Judan. Only our Healer, Sister Mercia is permitted to attend him, and she is locked in the room with him.
"I am so sorry."
Quelgrum's eyes scanned the nun's face, A lifetime of dealing with men and women, of interrogations and court-martial, had given him what amounted almost to a sixth sense, enabling him to detect the most delicate scents of deceit and falsehood. This lie-sense was not infallible, but it was more than capable of detecting the outright stench of dishonesty, and this nun dissembled poorly.
Her eyes were a touch too wide, the tremble in her lower lip just a trifle overdone.
The woman was lying.
"Very well, Sister,” he said, not taking his eyes off Kellen for an instant. “In that case, we will talk with Sister Weranda. She must be worried."
Kellen cringed like a peasant slave before her high-born, imperious master. “Impossible, I am afraid, my Lord. Sister Judan's order is that nobody is allowed to enter or leave the cell block. She would be angry with me. You have no idea how stern Sister Judan can be when she is balked. I would be very grateful if you spared me her wrath."
She fluttered her eyelids in what might have been an alluring gesture in a younger woman: however, on Kellen, it looked as brash and insincere as a Countess affecting gutter patois in order to ingratiate herself with a rough-hewn labourer.
Bad move, Quelgrum thought. First, it was concern for Baron Grimm; then, for us. Now, she's trying to make me feel pity or passion for her. She's just looking for a leverAt that moment, he felt the floor tremble. A tracery of cracks appeared in the marble, leading from the vicinity of the slave block. The General heard several screams and turned to see Lizaveta's bier almost toppled, as several nuns fought to keep it upright. When the tremor passed, they went back to their work, as if nothing had happened.
These nuns astound me, he thought. They seem to be able to accept anything weird that happens around them. I guess that's due to years of being punished for asking questions.
"I didn't know there were earthquakes in this region, Sister."
Kellen smiled… again, just a little too widely. “Ah, yes… it is quite bad sometimes, General. That was a mild one, I assure you."
"So why are this marble floor and these stone walls so undamaged, if these earth tremors are a common event?"
Kellen just shrugged, and the old soldier lost patience with this verbal fencing.
"You're lying, Sister,” he said. “That was no earth tremor, and you know it. Questor Grimm is no sicker than you or me, is he? That was his doing, wasn't it? Admit it!"
The nun's face contorted into an ugly grimace. “Do not try to browbeat me, General,” she said. “I can make you regret it, I promise you."
"But you choose not to, in your bounteous mercy,” he said, with a contemptuous laugh. He raised a large, liver-spotted fist whose protruding knuckles bore an intricate tracery of white and pink scars.
"I've never hit a lady before,” he said, “but I really don't think you qualify, Kellen. Get out of my way; I'm in no mood to argue. I've just about had a gutful of this place. Stand aside; or I swear I'll knock you to the floor."
"I have Geomantic powers,” she warned him.
Quelgrum swore under his breath, and made to barge past the slender nun, who made a balletic jump backwards, raising her hands as if to cast a spell. He looked at her with an expression of sheer contempt.
"I don't have time for this,” he said, landing his meaty left fist on the point of her jaw, pulling the blow only a little. Kellen's eyes rolled upwards as she crumpled to the floor like a collapsing house.
With a trace of disgust, the General saw that the paper-thin skin over his two larger knuckles had split, sending a thin tracery of red over the back of his left hand.
"I'm getting too old for hand-to-hand combat,” he muttered, stepping over the unconscious woman and racing down the stairs.
Turning right into the cell corridor, he saw a scene of devastation: pale dust floated through the air, and the floor was littered with fragments and larger pieces of stone. As he stepped into the haze, he saw a large, ragged hole in the ceiling, with Questor Grimm and Drexelica standing underneath it. Grimm's face was twisted in anger as he looked down at the girl. Drexelica, her back toward the General, seemed to be standing up to him. Behind Grimm stood the ashen-faced figures of Sister Judan and a younger nun the old soldier did not recognise.
The young mage looked up as Quelgrum approached. “Treachery is afoot, General,” he said, his dark eyes glittering. “Lizaveta's spirit has possessed Drex's body, and, I think she's trying to re-establish her link with the structure of the Priory; the source of her Geomantic power."
"Approach no further, General,” the body of Drexelica said, turning to face Quelgrum, and the military man saw that she held a small dagger poised between her breasts. Her face bore a cool smile, and her voice was calm. “If you attempt to surprise me, I will kill this body and move on to another; yours, perhaps."
"That's an empty threat, Prioress, and you know it,” Grimm said, shaking his head. “You'll need a female body with Geomantic sleight. It wouldn't break my heart if I were forced to destroy Sister Judan, I assure you."
Grimm stood still and closed his eyes, and Drexelica-Lizaveta shook her head.
"Stop that!” she shouted, “When you gather your crude tendrils of magic, I can see it as easily as you can breathe. If you think to destroy my dagger, I'll kill the girl before you ever complete the spell. There are many witches in this Priory apart from Sister Judan, and my roving spirit will not be contained by stone walls."
The General saw the Baron gripping his staff tighter, but Grimm did not speak.
Quelgrum's mind spun like a top as he tried to collect his thoughts. This seemed to be a classic stand-off. If Drexelica's body were to die, there was no telling where Lizaveta's essence might go; every moment of inaction might make her stronger. It seemed imperative to contain the situation in this narrow corridor, if at all possible, but this impasse could not continue forever.
It seemed that Lizaveta had come to the same conclusion, as her avatar turned back to Grimm and said, “We have a difficult situation, do we not? Perhaps we can come to some sort of compromise… a compact, if you will."
Baron Grimm's face was expressionless, his eyes hooded. “What do you propose, witch?” he asked.
"I have something you want,” she said, “your loved one. She has no love for you in her present form, but I can remove her conditioning, if you wish. She is still here, but subordinated to my will. I can relinquish until a more suitable, willing host comes to light."
Quelgrum saw a flicker of hope, a frisson of indecision in Grimm's eyes, and he felt moved to speak.
"And just what do you gain from this, Prioress?” he demanded. “Won't Lady Drexelica need to die before you can move to another luckless host?"
"Questor Grimm's colleagues in Arnor House and High Lodge will be able to extract me from this body, I'm sure,” she said, still facing Grimm. “Thaumaturgy is a crude, mechanistic art, but it can still achieve many ends that Geomancy cannot."
"I don't believe you, Prioress,” Grimm said. “I think if you still had the power to transmigrate, you'd kill Drex in an instant, just to escape.
"I think you're trapped right now, and you're just trying to buy time. You tried to infatuate me because that would let you access my powers, augmenting your own. Lord Horin would never consider liberating your soul just so I could have Drex back. He'll destroy her to be rid of you. You offer nothing."
Good man! Quelgrum thought, pleased that Grimm seemed unprepared to clutch at this thin, insubstantial straw. Don't trust her an inch.
"I have something else you want, Grimm perhaps even more than the return of your slut,” Drex said in a low, almost seductive voice. “I, and only I, can prove your grandfather's innocence beyond a doubt. Only I can provide the proof that will clear your family name. I offer to accompany you to High Lodge and do this in exchange for my soul's freedom, as sworn by the High Dominie on his name and on his Guild Ring. You can have everything: your lover; the redemption of your name; Loras’ total exoneration.
"All I ask is for the freedom of my spirit; I swear it on my name, my craft and my soul. Deny me this, and I'll kill the girl and seek my fortune where I may; it's in your hands. That is my final offer, Grimm. Take it or leave it."
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