Grimm awoke to the cold shock of a jet of water in his face. He gasped at the icy impact and forced his crusted eyelids open. Drexelica stood before him, holding an empty bucket. In place of her grubby street clothes, she wore a simple, white habit and a wimple.
Prioress Lizaveta stood behind her, and Grimm tried to leap to his feet, but he could not. Looking down, he saw the strong ropes binding him to a sturdy chair bolted to the stone floor. He tested his bonds and found them quite unyielding. His injuries were painful, but none seemed incapacitating.
"Now, you may imagine that a simple Questor spell will have those ropes off you in a trice,” Lizaveta said. “However, while you have been lounging there at your ease, Sister Weranda has used her link with you to impose a few little ground rules for you to follow during your stay here.
"Rule One: you can cast no magic without express permission. Rule Two: you will obey Sister Weranda in all things, at all times. Rule Three: you cannot cast mind-changing, offensive or incapacitating magic on either of us. This final condition overrides the other two."
Grimm felt an upsurge of hope; his mind seemed unimpaired. He remembered the euphoric sense of intoxication he had felt while under Madeleine's spell at High Lodge, and he felt no such disorientation now.
If Lizaveta felt that confident, he thought, she'd have ordered Drex to make me obey her, instead. Still, I'd better play along with her.
"So what happens now?” he croaked through dry, cracked lips, putting as much resigned despair as he could into his voice. “Why don't you just kill me?"
"I may do so in time, Questor Grimm, but I have a job for you first. You're going to kill Lord Horin for me.” She smiled, revealing a set of small, yellowed teeth.
She's insane, Grimm thought. I know a little of how Geomantic magic works, and I know it can't force someone to do something he hasn't at least half a mind to do. She can't make me kill Horin-she can't!
"He doesn't believe you, Reverend Mother,” Drex said. “May I give Grimm a demonstration?"
Lizaveta nodded. “Of course, Sister Weranda, please continue."
Drex leaned towards Grimm with her face inches away from his. “How pathetic you look, Grimm.” She laughed, but the sound was a harsh, hollow imitation of her normal laugh.
"I want you to cast a spell of light,” she said, “just a harmless little glowing ball, nothing more. I've seen you do that a few times now."
Grimm nodded. They'll never know if I cast a Light spell or not, he thought. Still, perhaps I'll play along a little longer, to make them think they really have me cowed.
He had no need of his personal spell-language for such a basic spell; all he needed was a simple effort of will.
In a moment, the glowing, blue sphere appeared, hovering over his head like a guardian angel.
"Very good,” Drex said, clapping her hands in a parody of congratulations. “Perhaps you thought of using a different spell; a more potent one?"
Grimm's heart leapt, but he kept his expression impassive.
Is Drex reading my mind? Surely not; if she wanted to convince me of that, she'd have told me before now.
"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't,” he said aloud. “But what's the point? You seem to have every advantage over me."
"I thought you'd say that,” the girl said. “Well; perhaps we could take things a little further. Reverend Mother, may I show Master Afelnor the full extent of our control over him?"
Lizaveta nodded. “Please do, Sister."
"Now, Grimm,” Drex said, “I order you to put Mother Lizaveta and me to sleep with your magic."
Grimm hesitated. “You might hurt yourself when you fall, Drex,” he said. “I wouldn't want that."
"We will sit during the exercise.” Lizaveta fetched a pair of stools from the corner of the chamber. The two women sat opposite Grimm.
"Well, go ahead, Grimm,” Drex said. “Do as I told you. We can't hurt ourselves now."
They really think I'm ensorcelled!
The mage considered the characteristics of impending sleep: heavy eyelids, wandering thoughts and lassitude. Now visualising the effect he wanted, he let the energies within him build and concentrate, confident that his Questor language would pattern it in the correct fashion. He had no direct control over what he shouted when casting, but it always achieved the desired effect.
Just a pinch of power; I don't want to put Drex in a coma, he thought, readying himself to release his spell.
Nothing emerged from his lips, and Grimm blinked in surprise. He felt the ordered threads of thaumaturgic force awaiting his bidding, but he could not unleash them. The knot of energy expanded, swelling like a bone-dry, sponge pressed into a sheet and dropped in water. His heart began to pound.
I can't turn it off! I can'tWith the discipline of a battle-hardened Mage Questor, Grimm crushed his rising panic, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. He shut his eyes and tried to force himself to relax, a seeming impossibility for a Secular, perhaps, but not for a Guild Mage. Nonetheless, the power within him began to rise to incredible, uncontrollable levels.
It's a Resonance! I'm trapped inside it, and I can't stop it!
This time, the traitorous, terrified thought went unchallenged. Grimm now knew he was fighting for his life.
He felt as if his body and soul were trying to explode into a million pieces, and he shuddered with the effort to contain them. Sweat ran down Grimm's face as he struggled to contain the roiling forces within him.
"Help me!” The strangled, desperate cry seemed to come from far away, but the mage knew this hoarse, terrified voice was his.
"All right, Grimm; you can stop now."
In an instant, Grimm regained control of his magic, dispersing it into harmless motes within his mind. For several moments, he rolled in his chair, incapable of speech as he drew whooping gasps of air into his burning lungs.
Drex smiled. “Do you see, Grimm? I have total control over you and your emotions. Back in your camp, I found it so easy to manipulate your emotions. When I wanted you angry, you were angry. When I wanted you to crawl, you fawned like a naughty puppy seeking forgiveness. Your infatuation for me gives me all the control I need."
"I never knew you liked dogs so much, Drex,” Grimm croaked. “I'll buy you one when we're out of this."
Drexelica leapt to her feet and lunged towards the Questor, slapping him hard on the left cheek. Grimm ignored the brief burning; he had suffered far worse physical punishment in his time.
"My name is Weranda!” she screamed. “Don't ever be flippant with me again, rapist!"
"So I'm a rapist, am I? I seem to remember our physical relationship was your idea, my darling."
Drex screwed up her face in an expression of wild, unreasoning hatred, drawing back her small, clenched fist to strike again.
Yes, get angry, Drex! Grimm thought, willing her to hit him. Forget whatever Lizaveta told you and fight!
Lizaveta took Drex's right wrist in her scrawny hand. “You'll never hurt him that way, Sister. This creature is a Mage Questor! I'm sure he's been through a lot worse than being pummelled by a girl; even a witch such as you."
Drexelica dipped into a deep curtsey as soon as the Prioress released her. “Forgive me, Reverend Mother,” she said, almost touching her forehead to the floor. “I lost control of my emotions, and I beg forgiveness."
Grimm's head lolled onto his heaving chest, and he knew true desolation. Drex had not even put up a token fight against Lizaveta's influence. He burned with shame that his former lover had been able to mould his behaviour with such ease.
"I will overlook your transgression on this occasion.” Lizaveta's voice sounded like footsteps crunching through a carpet of desiccated corpses. “Just remember, Sister Weranda: women's emotions are like a free, trickling stream; those of men are like a dammed lake, waiting to be released. Women use their emotions; men are controlled by them.
"You were correct to chastise your subject for insolence, Sister, but incorrect in your choice of method. Your link with the subject is the emotion he feels for you; you maintain that link only through the iron control of your own will. Always remember that."
"I will, Reverend Mother,” Drex replied, sinking deeper into her curtsey.
"You may leave us for the time being, Sister,” Lizaveta said. “The others of the Score may require your assistance in dealing with Afelnor's friends. I understand the spell is quite potent. I will call you if I need you again."
"May I ask the form of this spell, Reverend Mother?"
"Indeed, my dear; at this moment, the ground is opening up all around them, disgorging an army of undead warriors, all thirsting for blood. The name of Merrydeath Road is no mere jest. Your friends stand no chance at all."
Grimm shivered. He, like many others, had an ingrained, instinctive horror of zombies. He knew from the Deeds of the Questors that such beings existed, and that they knew neither fear nor the slightest concept of surrender.
Perhaps Necromancer Numal will know how to deal with them. After all, he reasoned, Numal's imposed discipline involved communication with the dead. Nonetheless, Grimm had severe doubts about Numal's courage.
As Drexelica backed out of the room and closed the door, Grimm felt his entrails begin to quiver. Tied to his chair, bereft of magic except what his captors allowed him, he knew true despair.
Lizaveta rose from her chair and walked slowly around the trussed magic-user. “So, the mighty Loras Afelnor's grandson is mine at last. You and I will soon know each other well, my dear; very well indeed."
"Burn in Hell, witch.” Grimm knew it was a feeble sally, but it made him feel a little better. “You can't make me do anything I don't want to do, and I have no intention of killing Horin. He's not suffering an agonising decline like Prelate Geral was, and you'll never convince me otherwise."
Lizaveta clapped her hands. “Excellent! Domination is always more effective when the subject fights back. Sister Weranda didn't surrender to the Order for quite some time. She needed to be broken, as do you.
"After that, you'll come to love me as you've never loved before."
"Never!” Grimm vowed. “All I want is to see you die, hag."
Lizaveta smiled and muttered a few strange words. Grimm shuddered as if a projectile had hit him, and he gasped. His heart pounded and his tongue, already dry, felt like a lump of wood. He could not tear his eyes from the wizened old woman.
"This is infatuation, Grimm.” Lizaveta's voice did not seem as harsh and unpleasant as it once had. “The first manifestation of love."
"I feel it, Prioress,” Grimm forced the words past his parched lips and tongue, “but I still detest you. It's a false emotion. It comes from you, not from me."
"Shall we kiss him?” the Prioress crooned, leaning close to Grimm, her lips only inches away from his. “Shall we make sweet communion together?"
"If you try, I'll bite your tongue off!"
Lizaveta laughed, and Grimm fought to retain his hatred for the Prioress. He dug his fingernails into his palms and bit his lower lip hard, denying the overwhelming sensations of desire.
I am a Mage Questor! he screamed inside his head. She cannot overcome my will, however powerful she may be!
"I believe you could, young Afelnor,” the nun said. “You are indeed powerful, as I hoped, so I won't risk you breaking the control we have over you. Changing your mind will be a challenge, and I have never been one to shrink from a challenge. I am also very, very patient."
"So am I.” Grimm gasped. “So why not spare us both the bother? The spells you placed on me only worked because I didn't want to hurt Drex, and I don't want to kill the Dominie. You can't make me kill him, so forget the idea. Thorn will never be Dominie as long as I have breath in my body."
Lizaveta cackled again, this time shaking with mirth as tears rolled down her cheeks. “My traitorous son thinks I know so little of his pathetic machinations, but I know full well he intended you to kill me so I would leave him in peace. Thorn is no longer my son, and he lives only because it amuses me to let him think he knows something I don't. I have tolerated his disobedience and treachery for long enough. I don't care what happens to him at all."
Grimm felt a cold shock tingle through his nervous system. “Then why do you still want me to kill Horin, if Thorn isn't to take his place?"
"I have another candidate for the role, Lord Mage. He is a poor specimen, but I think I will find him far easier to control than my traitorous son. Also, unlike Thorn, he has ambition. I can work on that desire with ease."
"Not Guy!” Grimm screamed, his heart pounding. “If that egotistic, petty oaf ever becomes Dominie…"
He could not bring himself to think of the consequences.
"That's not something you need to worry about, Grimm Afelnor. I learnt much from dealing with Loras, I don't need to worry about your death revealing my magic this time. I shall use neither Geas nor Compulsion, my dear. By the time you commit the act, you will truly believe that what you are doing is right.
"You will stand trial and condemn yourself, with joy running through your heart as you do so. You will be condemned to death and executed as a traitor, and Guy will rise in the eyes of the Guild, even if he is not declared Dominie on the spot after discovering your treason. The evidence, of course, will be absolutely incontrovertible."
She's insane. I'm in the hands of a madwoman, and I can't escape!
"And now, my darling Questor, we need to work on making you love me; and you will love me."
Thribble! Surely Thribble will find a way out of this! I'll bet he's sneaking around the Priory even now!
"If you are wondering about your charming little pet imp,” the Prioress said, “don't worry; we discovered and captured him shortly after you came here. He is a most engaging little toy, and I will take great care of him."
She can read my mind! The thought blazed through the young mage's cerebrum like a raging forest fire.
He was truly helpless!
Grimm gritted his teeth and waited for the inevitable emotional assault. He had no idea what he could do to overcome this lunatic, but he intended to fight to the last iota of his resistance.
"Shall we begin?” the old woman said, as if offering some great treat. “Fight me as much as you wish-we have many avenues to explore. This, for example, is self-pity, something I'm sure you know well…"
[Back to Table of Contents]