Although Drex seemed to have accepted her malign fate, Grimm did not trust her for a moment. Despite niggling demands from his bladder as he waited with Quelgrum in the hall, he dismissed the discomfort; he dared not take his eyes from his former beloved.
It seemed an age had passed by the time Numal and Erik came into view, walking from a side corridor. Quelgrum wandered across the cracked marble floor towards the two men before they had come within twenty yards. Grimm saw the urgent expression on Erik's face as the Sergeant reported to his senior, although he could not make out the two soldiers’ words. The Questor glanced at Drex: her expression appeared bored, disinterested, her eyes focused only on the high, vaulted ceiling, but he guessed that she, too, was trying to make out Erik and Quelgrum's conversation. However, he knew his ears were more sensitive than hers.
Quelgrum sauntered over to the group, accompanied by Necromancer Numal. “Lord Baron;” he said, saluting, “Sergeant Erik would like your opinion on a few horses he saw grazing in a nearby field. I don't know much about horseflesh, but I thought you might have a better idea, having been born in a smithy."
"Why does he not approach?” Drex demanded, her eyes hooded. “Why does he skulk in the shadows and whisper?"
"That, dear lady, is a situation of your own making,” the General said, with a sardonic smile. “He seems to think you don't like him for some reason."
"I'll go, General,” Grimm said, feigning a resolute sigh. “It'll give me something to do, I suppose."
He trusted in Numal's Mage Staff to keep order in his absence, and he sauntered over to the green-clad soldier with every appearance of resignation, resisting the urge to run. As he approached, Erik snapped into another of his crisp salutes.
"Sergeant Erik reporting, Lord Baron!” he said, his right hand quivering at his temple. “I have news to-"
"That's all right, Sergeant,” Grimm said. “I'm not a soldier, so you needn't bother with the military formalities. What's going on?"
"Would you mind coming down here, please, Lord Baron?” Erik asked, jerking a thumb towards the corridor from which he had emerged. “We're meant to be looking at some horses."
Shrugging, Grimm followed the soldier into the passageway, and Erik beckoned him into a dimly-lit culvert half-way along it.
"Some of those Score women are planning something for tonight,” Erik muttered at last, his eyes blazing. “I didn't catch everything, but I know it involves a sacrifice at midnight, in the Lower Chapel. I heard the Prioress’ name mentioned. There were eight nuns, and they all seemed to be fighting for the chance to be the… the lucky one."
Grimm slowly nodded. “I imagine they're looking either to reincarnate Lizaveta, or to link another of their number with the Priory, giving her its power,” he said, rubbing his beard, “presumably Sister Judan. Either way could spell trouble."
"It certainly could, Sir,” the Sergeant said, his eyes gleaming. “Necromancer Numal said it made him think of the crypt under High Lodge. I didn't understand what he meant, but he said you'd know, Sir."
Of course! Grimm thought. That was how Lizaveta gained power at High Lodge: the blood of sacrifices, all linked to her in some way. The blood soaked into the earth, giving some sort of perverted communion with its power. I thwarted her by drawing the blood out of the ground, severing her link with it.
Geomancy, as its name suggested, derived from the earth's inner energies; the deeper the link, the greater the power. Many witches communed with trees or half-buried rocks, and their power was slight, giving only access to minor skills. Lizaveta had perverted the art, linking life-blood with earth-magic to give her almost unlimited strength. At this time, sequestered in a borrowed body, her powers were diminished; Drex and the others of the Score had no such link to the depths of the earth. It seemed as if members of the Score were attempting to re-establish this Geomantic communion.
"…after all, you know a lot more about nags than I do, Lord Baron,” Erik said suddenly, and Grimm nodded.
"I'll take a look at them, Sergeant,” was his immediate response, and he saw one of the nuns passing down the corridor. When she had passed, he nodded.
"I think I know what to do, Sergeant,” he said. “I think I may be able stop this little cabal's plans."
"That's good to know, Sir,” Erik said, with a deep sigh. “Anyway, Sir, I did see some horses nearby; would you take a look at them? We don't want to go back too soon, and the nags might help to get us back to civilisation."
Grimm nodded. “Very well, Sergeant; we should have plenty of time, if your information's correct."
"Sergeant Erik's horses are fit only for the knacker's yard, General,” the Questor said, as he walked back to the Main Hall, with Erik in tow. “I believe the Sisters told the truth about the lack of transport around here. I'd suggest that you try to get our money back, and we'll take our chances in Anjar; it's not far. I don't want to stay here a moment longer than necessary."
"It will be dark in a few hours,” Drex said, shrugging. “Why do we not wait until the morning? I'm hungry-aren't you? We have plenty of good food here.” Her manner was almost friendly and enticing.
Now, that's just a little too friendly, Grimm thought. Whatever's going on, Drex and Lizaveta seem to be in on it; and they don't want us to leave until the fun starts.
He turned towards her, reminding himself that she was not the woman he loved. He knew she was suspicious, and he thought it best if his story was as plausible as possible.
"Sister Weranda; Prioress Lizaveta; whoever I'm talking to,” he said, his mouth compressed into a tight line, his lips barely moving, “I don't want us to spend another moment in this hell-hole. I don't know what you're planning, but I doubt it's anything for our benefit. We're moving out of here, right now. Is that acceptable to you, or must I tear this hell-damned place down to the bedrock? I promise you, I can, and I will, if I have to."
He saw Drex's lips open, as if she were about to speak, but her eyes began to wander before a word emerged; he had no doubt she was in commune with her inner mistress.
At last, she sighed and waved her hands, as if she were resigned to his will. “There is no need to show your power,” she said. “We… I have no desire to keep you here any longer than you wish to stay."
"It does not matter. Our power has a long reach, you foul rapist."
Drex did not say those words, but they lit up in Grimm's inner brain, anyway, as if she had.
Not for much longer, he thought, if I have anything to do with it.
He nodded. “In that case, I ask you to accompany my friends to Anjar. I'll catch up with you very soon, once I've rescued Thribble from the Chapel. I trust this will be acceptable to you."
Drex shrugged. “If you must, Questor; it's only an old Chapel, and we hardly use it. All I ask is that you do not damage the sconces, ornaments or icons. Some of them are irreplaceable."
Her tone was level and casual, but Grimm guessed she was trying to blind him as to the Chapel's true importance.
"I won't touch them, Sister,” he said. “You have my word as a mage."
"Perhaps it would be better if Sister Judan or I escorted you,” Drex said, still maintaining her air of complete unconcern. “It's easy to get lost in the catacombs."
"I have an excellent sense of direction,” Grimm declared, “and I don't trust you not to try Geomancy on me again. I know where the Chapel lies, more or less, and I should be able to sense Thribble as I approach."
This last was a lie, but the Questor did not wish to reveal that he knew the Chapel's true purpose. He hoped that Lizaveta did not know that the loss of her magic in High Lodge was due to Grimm's destruction of her power centre in the crypts.
"Very well, mage,” she said, turning to General Quelgrum. “Will you shackle me, old man, so you can abuse me more easily later on? I won't resist, but I will despise you all the more."
"I won't shackle you, young lady,” the soldier said. “Not unless I have to, and even then we won't molest you. You have my word on that. You can show your good faith by returning our gold."
"If it will remove your foul, masculine stench from these hallowed walls,” Drex said, with the air of a martyr. “Come with me."
"Where shall we meet, Lord Baron?” Quelgrum asked. “Do you want us to return here?"
Grimm shook his head. “Definitely not, General,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “As soon as you have the gold, I want you to head back up Merrydeath Road while it's still light. I'll either catch up with you on the road, or I'll meet you in Anjar. I don't trust these lovely ladies any further than I could throw them if I had both hands tied behind my back. Every moment we spend here increases the risk of them trying something."
"Our magic came from the Reverend Mother,” Drex said, with a disdainful snort. “It's gone. Are you scared of a few powerless women, mighty mage?"
"Understood, Lord Baron,” Quelgrum said, ignoring the theatrical outburst. “We'll get the money and be out of here as soon as possible.” He looked down at Drex. “By your leave, Sister?"
She gave another dismissive snort and spun on her heel, striding away, the other members of the team hurrying after her.
Grimm waited until they were out of sight and accessed his Mage Sight, concentrating hard. During his sessions with Lizaveta and her cohorts, he had learned to recognise the almost invisible green wisps of Geomancy, and he saw them now. The tendrils of power imparted a vague, unpleasant odour of burning brimstone to his sensorium, at the very limit of his perception. This ‘Mage Smell’ was a new concept to him, but, then, Geomancy was a very different discipline to Thaumaturgy, and it must have different rules and precepts. Slowly, carefully, he began to turn, assessing the concentration of Geomantic power in each quadrant.
Ah; there it is, he thought, detecting the direction of increasing magical flux. West it is. This will be something new to present to the Mage Scholars if or when I get back.
He smiled. “Thank you, Lizaveta,” he muttered. “Without your gentle attentions, I'd never have made this useful discovery."
With a determined tread, he walked towards his goal.
Grimm lost count of the twists and turns as he descended into the bowels of Rendale Priory, but there was no mistaking the acrid odour's ever-increasing intensity. He passed several nuns on the way, but none impeded his progress or challenged him. With each deeper level he met fewer women, until the corridors were deserted.
The sulphurous smell was almost overpowering, as Grimm approached a black, gnarled door, and he felt this must be the entrance to the Lower Chapel. Taking a deep breath, he twisted the iron ring and stepped inside.
The place was cold and forbidding. Although several brightly-flickering torches lit the chamber, Grimm had the overwhelming and contradictory sensation of utter darkness. Realising he no longer needed his new magical sense to guide him, he dismissed it, and the scene cleared.
"Friend Grimm!” a familiar voice squeaked to his right, and he turned to see an ornate cage of grey metal hanging from the ceiling, its bars closely-spaced. Inside it stood the tiny form of Thribble, jumping up and down in agitation, causing the cage to swing from side to side.
"I knew you would come,” the netherworld creature said. “Something about these bars prevents me from using my powers of translocation; please let me out."
Grimm smiled. “It's good to see you, Thribble, I imagine they're made of pure iron-the metal seems to block magic. Don't worry. I'll soon have you out of there."
The cage's delicate-looking, ornate padlock looked a likely target.
"Stand back, Thribble,” he counselled, hoisting Redeemer. With a single blow, the staff shattered the lock, and the cage door swung open.
Grimm held out his left hand, and the demon jumped into it with a joyous cry.
"You must tell me of your adventures since we were parted,” the demon shrilled. “I want to hear everything. All that ugly old woman ever did was to set me swinging here and mock me. I need more stories."
"Later, Thribble,” Grimm said, opening his pocket for his friend to hop inside. “I have a more urgent task to perform right now."
"Very well, human,” the minuscule demon grumbled, hopping into the pocket. “I will wait,” he added in his now-muffled falsetto.
Scanning the floor, Grimm made out a shallow, but distinct hollow in the flagstones. Just as in High Lodge, the stones were set in dry mortar, a perfect medium to absorb sacrificial blood.
"It must be here,” he muttered. “All I have to do is to get the blood out, and this damn Priory should lose its power."
He knelt in the centre of the depression, his mind reaching deep into the earth as he gathered his power and began to chant. He soon felt the pull of the lost souls trapped in the soil beneath the Chapel. As he concentrated on them, he became aware of a thin, red mist filling the room, and he smiled.
The spirits of a bleating lamb, a new-born baby, a goat and a full-grown woman escaped the clutches of the earth, each rejoicing with its new-found freedom after… how long? He did not know, but he felt happiness at their release.
Still the red mist poured into the Chapel, getting thicker and thicker, and he sneezed. The ruddy fountain darkened the chamber, showing no sign of weakening, but Grimm did not stop.
As his eyes began to water, he raised his right hand and screamed “Ajer'ning mand'krint!"
He added more power. Another, more vicious, spell, and the hole widened and became more ragged, extending to the next level up, and the next.
The souls of birds, pigs, men, lizards and other species flew away in increasing numbers, but the dusty flow of dried blood did not diminish. Coughing, his eyes streaming, Grimm blasted an opening all the way to the roof of the Priory, shooting the ruddy powder into the late afternoon sky.
The mage heard a low groan from beneath the floor, and he felt the whole building tremble, but he now felt unable to stop himself. The whole Priory was soaked in blood, founded on it, and he was determined to free Rendale from its pernicious influence. Laughing and crying in equal measures, he continued to reach down, down into the very bedrock beneath the Chapel, with no further care for his life or his safety.
All that remained was the desire to free these imprisoned souls.
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