"I feel perfectly all right, Tordun!"
Tordun shook his head, his lips pursed and his eyebrows raised. "That is the trouble with the sun's rays, Foster," he said. "They can affect a man without his knowledge. I recommend that you try not to over-exert yourself for a couple of days, at least; we have all suffered much, and I think we owe it to Armitage to be in the best condition if we're to serve the General well."
Foster looked around him. The other members of the group all stood outside the open flap of the tent, wearing similar expressions of concern and worry.
"Well, I don't really know what you're talking about," the pilot grumbled, "but I suppose I might have caught a touch of sunburn without knowing it."
Xylox nodded. "Better that you stay out of the sun until the General's men arrive to rescue us, Foster. Do you know how they are to locate us, or how long it may be before they appear?"
Foster shrugged. "That umbrella-shaped device is a radio beacon. They can home onto that through triangulation, they and should have no trouble finding us once they lock on. Those beauties have a transmission range of over a hundred miles in the desert on a clear day; you just bounce the signal off the Heaviside Layer and there you are. There was one of those things in the helicopter, but it was trashed when we hit the mountain."
The two mages, the warriors and the girl looked blank at the pilot's stranger words.
"It'd take too long to explain, I'm afraid, folks," Foster said, shrugging. "Don't worry, they'll find us, sure enough."
"As for how long it'll take, I'd guess that we're about forty miles out; if they're coming by ground transport, I'd guess an hour, hour and a half."
"I can't wait," Crest said. "I thought the mountains were bad enough, but I'd sooner be up in that snow and ice than down here."
Two hours or so passed before a small, hazy cloud appeared in the distance. As Grimm watched, it seemed to grow bigger and closer with every minute.
"Oh, yes! That'll be them, all right," Foster said, with a look of immense relief. His old, ebullient self seemed to be coming back to the fore. "I guess they must have been held up for some reason; it's not easy to keep some of these old vehicles going in these desert conditions."
"Or perhaps we are just further away than you thought, Foster," Grimm said, sensing an opening. It seemed quite probable that the pilot's crude desert navigation techniques had resulted in a considerable error in location, but the flier had seemed so confident in his abilities that this could be used to further convince him of his infirmity.
"It would not be surprising if you were a little confused, with the condition that you are in."
Foster gave a slow, contemplative nod. "Perhaps you're right, mage," he sighed. "Perhaps I have been pushing myself a little too hard recently. Yes, that's quite possible."
Grimm, who had always considered Mage Speech verbose and clumsy, began to appreciate that its weight and gravitas could serve to sway an argument on occasions.
The yellow cloud grew closer, until a dark shape began to emerge in its centre, shimmering and wavering. It seemed to be hovering above the surface of the desert, but Foster explained that this was just an illusion caused by the heat of the sand. It approached ever nearer over the next ten minutes, revealing itself as a bizarre creation. It had two, black-shod wheels at the front, and a line of smaller wheels towards the rear, surrounded by some sort of belt or chain. As the vehicle came to a halt, belching black smoke from its rear end, Grimm saw that the machine's battered structure bore many rough-and-ready repairs, patches and amendments.
This thing must date back to around the time of the Final Devastation, he thought, shaking his head in wonder. It was almost incredible that such a mechanical monster had survived through all these centuries, and it was a fine tribute to the machine's sturdy construction. Although the young mage recognized only too well the destruction that Technology had wrought on the world, he did not regard it with the same rabid loathing that his colleague, Xylox, did; it did hold a certain fascination, speaking of the intelligence and ingenuity of its long-dead creators.
Foster stepped forward, as a green-garbed man climbed out of the front of the battered conveyance and strode towards the Haven pilot.
He was tall and spare, and all Grimm could see of the hair under his green cap was a layer of dark fuzz, like sandy-coloured baize. The man's steps were measured and confident, and he flicked a hand to his right temple in a smooth, formal gesture.
"I'm Major Fremd: at your service. You seem in need of some help."
"I'm Pilot Foster from Haven, Major. Are we ever glad to see you!"
"I presume it's a delivery for the General; what happened, Foster?" the Major demanded. "This isn't the normal delivery route, and there doesn't seem to have been any advance notification."
Foster's brow furrowed; Grimm knew Xylox's reconstruction of the pilot's memories had been, of necessity, sketchy at best. The young mage hoped that the confusion this engendered would give further credence to the assertion that the flier had become disoriented by the desert heat.
"Um, I can't quite seem to remember, Major," Foster confessed, rubbing his sweaty, sunburnt forehead. "Administrator Armitage had a couple of magic-users to deliver to the General. I do know there was some urgency about it for some reason, so I took a helicopter out. We got caught in some vicious cross-winds, and we crashed in the mountains. This is our third day in the desert, but I must have caught a little too much sun. The memories are a little hazy."
Grimm suppressed a smile. The deception seemed to be working well.
"Major Fremd, I am Questor Xylox," the senior mage said, stepping forward. "Administrator Armitage asked us to aid the General in his struggle. We were only too happy to comply, of course."
"Questor?" The major raised an eyebrow. "What sort of designation is that? Are you one of those damned magic-users?"
Xylox drew himself to his full height. "Not just any magic-user, Major; we Questors can cast any kind of magic to which we put our minds, and Armitage thought the General might be interested in acquiring our talents. Senior Technician Terrence told us that the communication equipment was damaged in the storm, so Haven was unable to contact you.
"Needless to say, we are more than happy to put ourselves at the disposition of such a distinguished friend of the Administrator. Questor Grimm, here, and I wish only to carry out our friend Armitage's wishes."
Fremd turned back to Foster. "Fully Pacified, of course?"
"Of course, Major," the pilot replied, as if affronted. "Level Two; the Administrator didn't want to mess with these guys' brains too much, but they do seem to be loyal enough."
"They don't all look like magic-users," the soldier said, looking suspicious. "The big guy, the skinny one in black and the girl: what about them? I understood Armitage needed all the women he could get, and we're hardly short of trained fighters."
Foster's mouth opened and closed, and he bore a look of complete confusion. "I can't remember, Major. There was some good reason for sending them, but I don't recall it."
"If I might explain," Xylox said, his voice as smooth as oiled silk. "The girl is sterile, with no useful skills, and so of little use to Haven. She is also the slave and body-servant of our large friend, Tordun, who begged Armitage to send her along with him."
Drexelica's look shot daggers at the senior Questor, but she seemed to have the good sense to keep her mouth shut.
"The Administrator thought Tordun might be a useful addition to your forces. He is immensely strong, and he is accustomed to discipline; he wishes only to serve."
"I am more than happy to be of service in any capacity required of me," Tordun rumbled, "as long as I have my sweet little concubine with me. I have big appetites, as do my colleagues. We share the girl around from time to time."
Grimm put a controlling hand on Drex's tense shoulder, which trembled with suppressed fury. "Take it easy, Drexelica," he muttered. "This is just make-believe. Tordun has always behaved like a gentleman towards you, and you know it."
The girl relaxed a little, although the continuing tremors in her body made it plain that a measure of anger remained within her.
"And the little, skinny guy?" the major said. "He doesn't look like much of an asset to this man's army, or anybody else's. The kid looks like a wet streak of nothing, if you ask me. I can't see him lasting five minutes on the parade ground. The big fellow might be useful, but I don't think that little guy'll be worth a wet fart."
Crest maintained a calm expression, but Grimm's Mage Sight showed him the rage boiling within the thief.
"Do not be swayed by appearances, Major. Our friend, Crest, is a tactical genius," Xylox said, as self-assured and calm as ever; it was obvious to Grimm that he had rehearsed this speech well in advance. "He has the ability to assess the most complex tactical situations at a glance. There is not much call for that sort of ability at Haven, but Armitage thought he might make a valuable officer in the General's force."
Fremd pressed his right hand to his furrowed forehead, pushing up his sweat-stained cap and then pulling it back over his brow to its exact, original position with a determined motion.
"Very well," he said, his expression easing back to a neutral state. "We can't hang around here in the heat forever, I guess. If Armitage wants to hand you guys over to the General, I won't argue. Climb on the truck and we'll get going. General Q can sort you out."
The rear of the vehicle was covered with canvas, and the officer pulled aside a flap to let Grimm and his colleagues climb aboard. The interior of the conveyance was dirty and musty, but it looked inviting to Grimm; he felt eager to clamber into the strange, metal machine, if it represented the group's deliverance from the sapping inferno of the desert.
"All aboard?" the major called, climbing into the right front of the truck, next to another green-clad man. "Okay, Corporal, let's get back to base."
"I just need to get my sword from the cart," Tordun said.
The major snorted. "A sword? You won't need that where you're going, meatball-we have somewhat more sophisticated equipment at our disposal. Just leave the cutlery behind; the spell-caster said you could follow orders, so why don't you prove it? Just get in the wagon."
Tordun looked at Xylox, who gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. Tordun rolled his eyes, adopting the attitude of a martyr, and turned his back on his beloved blade.
The first sign of the General's base Grimm saw was an enormous, sheer, bowed wall, almost the same colour as the sand. Looking as if it had grown from the very desert, it cast a long, long shadow to the east; a mighty fortification indeed. It had various square openings that Grimm took to be either arrow-slits or openings for boiling oil or the like.
The vehicle took a slender, climbing path to the left of the vast wall, until they were on a level with the lofty parapet of the structure. A high barricade constructed of knotty wire extended as far as the eye could see, with various inner walls dividing the outside world from a more robust construction that looked as large as a fair-sized, walled town. Grimm saw a gate in the wire fence, beside which stood a tall box, like a tiny house, from which a soldier emerged, a Technological weapon at the ready.
On seeing Fremd, the soldier snapped into a position of attention and saluted. "Ident, please, Major," the man said, in a respectful tone.
The officer produced a small booklet from the breast pocket of his uniform. The sentry inspected it, handed it back and again gave his stylised salute, which the major returned with crisp efficiency. The man stepped back into his little hut, and the gate opened to admit the vehicle. A similar routine took place at each of three further gates, until the truck, at last, gained access to the central enclosure.
"Now we are inside, Questor Grimm, how would you suggest that we proceed from here?" Xylox muttered, his mouth close to the young mage's ear.
"That all depends on how the General treats us," Grimm responded, as the metal wagon rumbled and clattered through the last gate. "With any luck, he will allow us an opportunity to recuperate before he tries to interrogate us or put us to whatever use he has in mind for us."
The main compound was enormous; an open, rectangular area, perhaps three hundred by three hundred and fifty yards, surrounded on all sides by tall, boxy buildings.
A huge group of identically-dressed men, wearing large, heavy-looking backpacks and carrying Technological weapons, marched and wheeled in unison within the quadrangle, following the commands of a short, stout, stubble-headed instructor who delivered his orders at a phenomenal volume and at a bewildering rate.
The rattling vehicle moved around the perimeter of the noisy courtyard, the din of its motive unit almost inaudible over the metronomic crunch of the booted feet moving in unison, and the bawled orders of the instructor. It stopped at an archway between two of the buildings; across this opening was a horizontal red-and-white striped pole, like a barber's sign. At the approach of the vehicle, another green-uniformed man approached and gave a salute to the driver, his heels clicking together.
The officer sitting next to the driver returned the salute, and said, "Major Fremd, Hawk Patrol; new intake for GHQ." His voice was clipped, and the consonants rattled from his lips as if he were spitting out pips.
"ID, please, Major," the guard replied, in a similar voice; it seemed to Grimm that pronouns and articles were at a premium within this organisation. The staccato, stylised vocal delivery must be the military equivalent of Xylox's beloved Mage Speech, intended to keep the speaker at arm's length from the person he was addressing.
Fremd took the card from his breast pocket and presented it to the sentry, whose eyes flicked from the small rectangular piece of pasteboard, then to the major, and back again.
"ID accepted, Major," the guard said, returning the card and snapping into a salute. The watchman stepped to the side of the archway and lifted the striped barrier.
The vehicle rolled smoothly through the opening into another, smaller, courtyard, stopping next to a metal and glass doorway. In front of the twin doors stood a pair of armed guards, weapons slanted across their chests. The same routine of salute-present-salute took place, and the two guards stepped aside from the door, clicking their heels together in unison. Fremd exited the vehicle and opened the flap at the back.
"Time to get out and walk, people," the Major said, leading them into the main building. The doors hissed and slid aside as he slid his card through a slot. The interior of the building was clean and spacious, but Grimm felt far more impressed by the encompassing feeling of wonderful, icy, coolness. He stripped off his stained silk burnoose and dropped it to the floor, drinking in the glorious, fresh air, his eyes shut in ecstasy and his head thrown back. Opening them again, he saw all the others standing in similar postures, even including the imperturbable Xylox.
The chamber was carpeted in dark blue, and the walls of the room bore framed pictures of men and women in green uniforms. Fremd stood by a semi-circular desk, at which sat a young woman in the same attire. Her hair was not cropped like the major's, but it was screwed back in a severe bun. She wore a pair of small round spectacles, and she looked a little like Grimm's schoolteacher grandmother, but without the laughter lines that garlanded Gramma Drima's face. She wore a strange black headdress which looped over the top of her head. The right side of the headgear extended over her ear, and a slender stalk curved over her cheek, hovering at the right margin of her lips. She tapped her left ear and spoke, although she seemed to be staring into space rather than addressing anyone in the room.
When the woman had finished talking, she and Major Fremd exchanged salutes, and the major, nodding to the party, exited the room. For a moment, the clamour of the parade ground rang again through the hall, to be cut off by the hiss of the glass doors. The woman stood up and surveyed the group with a critical eye. As she stepped from behind her desk, Grimm tried not to stare at the fact that her green skirt came down only to her knees, revealing a pair of shapely calves; he had never seen a woman dressed in such a revealing manner before. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he could feel Drexelica's eyes boring into him.
"I am Lieutenant Harman," said the woman, sweeping a rather disparaging gaze around the dishevelled group. "If you would be so kind as to pick up your belongings, General Quelgrum will see you now. Please follow me."
"Lieutenant; we have come a long way, and we are very tired," Xylox said. "If we are to give the General our best impression, it might be best if we were able to wash, eat and rest for a while before we are introduced."
"Impossible," the severe-looking woman said. "General Quelgrum has expressed a desire to see you at this time. It is my duty to take you. Please come with me; the General is a busy man, and he doesn't like to be kept waiting."
The senior mage opened his mouth as if to speak, and then shut it again. Grimm also could see little point in arguing if they were to keep up the pretence of being Armitage's willing slaves.
Grimm shot Xylox a troubled glance. After all their tribulations in Griven, in the mountains, in Haven and in the desert, they were, at last, about to meet the man whose actions were behind their Quest, a powerful man they had sworn to defeat at all costs; but they were as defenceless as newborn babes.
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Chapter 22: An Audience with the General
Lieutenant Harman led the party down a long corridor. Sentries stood at various points along the passageway, and they seemed alert and ready for action.
A male sentry led the men into one room, while Lieutenant Harman took Drexelica into another. The guard subjected each of his charges to a dispassionate, but very thorough, search, causing Grimm, for one, severe embarrassment at the soldier's intimate inspection of his various orifices.
With evident chagrin, Crest surrendered his daggers and whip, while Tordun gave up a knuckleduster and a knife concealed in his right boot. The sentry placed the confiscated weapons in a sturdy, metal-walled locker, which he locked.
Grimm rued his temporary lack of power; with his magic, he would have found it a simple matter to convince the soldier that he had already searched them.
The guard eyed the two Questors' staves, Nemesis and Redeemer, and Xylox advised the soldier that these rods were mere badges of rank.
The soldier eyed the slender staves for a few moments, but he seemed unaware of the deadly potential they contained, since he nodded in assent.
I'm glad he didn't object to Xylox's magic pendant of Missile Reversal, Grimm thought. He must think it's just a gaudy adornment.
Seeming satisfied that his proteges had been stripped of all offensive weapons, the guard went to another locker, scanned the men with a critical eye and produced five green uniforms similar to his own, handing one to each. Grimm felt more than happy to surrender his stiff, stained, tattered robes, and he found the green uniform surprisingly comfortable. Stout, black leather boots completed the ensemble; they felt heavy and clumsy on his feet, but they fit well enough.
It seemed strange to wear clothes which conformed so well to the outline of his body, but he felt less embarrassed when he saw Xylox and Crest attired in a similar manner. Xylox, in particular, seemed unhappy, and Grimm could see why; the mage carried a considerable pot-belly before him, which was well hidden by his habitual, shapeless robes.
Foster's expression suggested that there was nothing unusual about these procedures, and Grimm guessed the pilot had visited the compound before.
As Grimm expected, Tordun posed rather more of a problem to clothe; it seemed that even the largest uniform in the locker was too small for him. The guard eyed the huge albino and shrugged. While the white-haired man stood naked, without apparent shame, showing a muscular body with many scars, the soldier took the albino's robes and inspected them in great detail. After feeling along each seam and fold, the man appeared satisfied, and he handed the robes back to the pale-skinned giant without a word. However, he retained Tordun's battle armour.
The guard appraised his charges once more and nodded.
Grimm wondered for a moment if the man was mute, but the sentry then said, "You'll do."
He led them back into the corridor, where Lieutenant Harman was waiting with Drex, who now wore a green outfit like her stern duenna's. The Grivense girl's hair was tied back in a long queue, and her lower legs were now on display beneath the knee-length skirt. Although red and blistered, Grimm saw that they were well-proportioned, and of a pleasing form. He tried not to stare, despite the fact that Drexelica did not appear in the least ashamed to have her lower legs on display.
The male guard and the female officer exchanged their ritual salutes, and the lieutenant turned to her charges.
"The General is only to be addressed by his rank, or by the honorific, 'Sir'," she said, as if reciting a familiar litany. "Keep your mouths shut unless you are asked a direct question or otherwise given explicit permission to speak. Maintain a respectful distance from the General at all times. Is that understood?"
"Understood!" Foster snapped, and Grimm and his companions either nodded or otherwise acknowledged Harman's terse instructions.
"This way, please," the female officer said, despite the fact that there was only one obvious route. She led the group to the end of the corridor, where Grimm saw a metal door with a panel of illuminated, numbered cartouches, like those he had seen at Haven.
"Please turn around," the lieutenant said, and her charges complied. Grimm heard a series of strange bleeps, and the now-familiar hiss of a sliding door.
"Go in."
Lieutenant Harman would benefit from a series of Magemaster Faffel's lessons in Courtly Graces, thought Grimm. Even she'd crumble after a few sessions with that crabbed old bastard.
The party walked into a tiny room with a single entrance, and Grimm wondered if they were to be imprisoned in this metal cell, but the stern woman followed them into the small chamber, as the door slid closed.
He saw another of the glowing panels on the far wall, and Harman pushed a number at the top of it. Grimm felt a brief moment of vertiginous panic as his stomach seemed to fall to the level of his feet, and he realised that the whole room must be accelerating upwards. From the shocked expressions of all his companions except Xylox, the young mage knew they felt no more sanguine than he about the alien experience.
As the chamber rose, the numbers on the panel turned red in numeric sequence until the top cartouche was lit, and Grimm's stomach returned to its customary position. The door hissed open, and the Questor felt no surprise to see a pair of sentries waiting outside, weapons at the ready; the General seemed to treat his personal security with the utmost seriousness. Harman stepped from the small room, and the guards stood aside.
"This way." The lieutenant strode down a short corridor and the group followed her. Grimm did not need to turn around to know that the armed sentries' eyes and weapons were trained on them at every step.
To Grimm's surprise, the door at the end of the passageway was an ordinary, if ornate, wooden portal with heavy hinges, and Harman gave it a firm rap with her balled fist.
"Enter." The voice was deep and rich; the green-clad woman opened the door in a fluid movement.
The General's chamber was opulent, oak-panelled and fitted with a heavy, deep-blue carpet. Polished brass sconces threw a warm, golden glow onto the high ceiling, and Grimm, ever the bibliophile, gaped at the impressive collection of books arrayed around the panelled walls. A mahogany desk, the size of a small boat, commanded the centre of the room, behind which sat an imposing-looking man.
The General had a lined, leathery face, a map of a human life made flesh, and an ugly scar marred his right cheek. He was bald, and his uniform seemed little more ornate than those of the sentries outside the door; despite the officer's impressive, forbidding appearance, Grimm felt surprised to see lines betokening humour around the margins of the military man's ice-blue eyes and his mouth.
Harman clicked her heels, standing ramrod-straight. She presented a crisp salute, which the General returned in a languid, almost bored, manner.
"New intake from Haven, Sir!" the female officer said.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Quelgrum said. "That will be all for now."
Harman clicked her heels again and exited the room.
"Please excuse Lieutenant Harman's manner," the General said in a surprisingly warm manner. "She's a very efficient officer, and I don't know what I'd do without her; she has a most retentive memory for facts and faces. However, she can be a little overbearing at times, I know.
"Mr. Foster; I believe we've met before," the soldier said in an amicable tone, rising to his feet and extending his hand. He was not a tall man, but his presence seemed to fill the room.
"That's right, Sir," the pilot said, his eyes aglow, taking the General's hand and pumping it in with enthusiasm. "That was three years ago, when I took you on a tour of Haven."
"So it was. How is Administrator Armitage, these days? I'm rather surprised he didn't tell me you were coming."
Foster looked a little confused, but the little fiction that had been constructed for him by Xylox soon took hold.
"Comms were out, General," Foster said. "We had a very bad storm, I'm afraid. The Administrator thought you'd be very interested in these two magic-users and their companions. We found them in the mountains, suffering from altitude sickness, and we took them in. Don't worry, Sir, they've all been Pacified."
"A regrettable necessity," Quelgrum said, with a slight sigh. "I'd rather have a man with his mind intact, a man who served because he wanted to, but I guess that desperate times call for desperate measures. Which ones are the spell-casters?"
"This is Questor Xylox," Foster replied, indicating the older mage, "and this is Questor Grimm."
The General stepped forward, inspecting the mages with a keen eye. "I'm not familiar with your nomenclature, Questor Xylox. What makes you guys so special that Armitage would send you to me in the middle of a fierce snowstorm?"
"If my understanding is correct, General," Xylox said, "you have been concentrating your efforts on acquiring the skills of Mentalists and Illusionists. However, such mages are limited in their talents, as are most Specialists. My colleague, Questor Grimm, and I have the ability to cast any kind of magic, without resorting to scrolls or spell-books. We mature at a far younger age than do mages of other classifications, so we may have an active career of several decades."
Quelgrum rubbed his chin. "Interesting; yes, very interesting. Would you care to demonstrate some of this magic for me, Questor Xylox?"
"I regret that I am quite unable to do so, General," Xylox replied. "Administrator Armitage and Senior Technician Terrence put us through a rigorous series of magical tests before we left Haven. Foster's vehicle crashed in the mountains, and we have spent the last three days making our way through the desert. My colleague and I are all but exhausted, and we will require several days of rest before we are able to demonstrate our full capabilities."
Quelgrum slapped his right hand against his domed forehead. "Of course, my dear fellows; how remiss of me! You must feel quite drained and shattered after your ordeal; please accept my apologies for my callousness, and accept my hospitality for as long as is needed to restore you to full health.
"Pilot Foster; I can have a transport available for you by tonight. I imagine you'll want to get back to Haven as soon as possible."
The flier looked uncertain. "I'm sorry, Sir," he said. "My memory seems a little hazy after our trek through the desert, and I don't feel quite right. Perhaps I'd be better off for a couple of days' rest, too."
"No problem, Foster," the General replied, his voice reassuring and amicable. "I'll get in touch with Haven and tell them you're all right, but you may be a little late."
Xylox shot a sharp glance at Grimm, who gave a slight shrug. With any luck, failure to communicate with the mountain complex might be attributed to the continuing storm; in any case, the two Questors could do little in their current state. They had little choice but to try to brazen out any suspicion that might arise from any complications that arose.
"I trust you'll all have dinner with me tonight?" Quelgrum said.
"Dinner!" Tordun cried. "That is the sweetest word I have heard in the last three days!"
Grimm expected the General to rebuke the titanic albino for speaking out of turn, but the soldier's leathery face crinkled into a warm smile, instead.
"Then that's agreed," he said. "I'm sure the ever-efficient Lieutenant Harman can find suitable quarters for you. I understand you'd like to be domiciled with Miss…" He consulted a piece of paper on his desk. "Miss Drexelica, is that right?"
Drex stood rigid, her face as expressionless as stone, but she said nothing. Tordun looked little happier, but he nodded.
"If it's convenient, General," the sunburnt albino said, shuffling from foot to foot. Grimm was sure that only the ruddy burns on Tordun's face hid a hot, embarrassed flush.
"I'm sure I can get you a billet together," the officer said. "I'll wager a man of your size has appetites to match; am I right?"
"So I've always said," Tordun replied, with a rather queasy-looking smile.
"And you, Miss Drexelica? Are you happy with the arrangement? We don't tolerate slavery here."
Grimm thought this sounded odd from a man who was abducting Guild Mages and subjecting them to his will. Despite himself, he found himself beginning to warm to this charismatic tyrant. Drex cast her eyes towards Grimm for an instant, and the mage managed a slight nod as he met her gaze.
"Tordun is my protector," the girl said. "I will only feel safe with him."
"Then that's arranged," the General said. "Whatever else you may have heard, Miss Drexelica, we don't make war on young ladies."
Drex's face flushed, and she dropped her eyes. Grimm was sure she had never before been called a 'young lady' in her whole life.
The warlord stepped back to his desk and pushed a button. "Lieutenant Harman?"
A buzz arose from the bureau, just recognisable as a human voice. "General?"
"Our guests will need some accommodation for the night; I think we'll keep them out of the general barracks for the moment. One room for four?" he said, eying the two mages, Crest and Foster, who nodded.
"Yes, a room for four and one of the married couples' quarters."
Tordun looked anywhere but at Drex's blazing eyes, but neither of them uttered a word of dissension concerning the arrangement.
The General sat down behind his desk as a soldier entered the room. "If you good people will be so kind as to excuse me, I have a battle to win with an army of paper. I'll see you this evening, after you've had a good rest; good day to you."
The audience seemed at an end, as Quelgrum rose to his feet and walked away, after offering a polite bow.
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