you. That sounds like your bailiwick, now, doesn't it? I'm not asking you to perform a miracle. I just want you to think! The Virion fumes will work for forty-five minutes at most. I want us to come up with a plan of action before that time elapses. So let's get to it!'
Grimm did not feel ready to tell the Necromancer of his addiction to Virion after the defeat of Starmor on his first Quest; he knew that he must appear strong and indomitable, at least for the moment, if he were to motivate the jittery mage.
'You told me the disease was not contagious,” he said. “Can you tell me why this variant is so active?'
Numal shrugged. “I was evidently wrong,” he said, his lips extending into a sulky pout. “I'm sorry.'
We don't have time for this! the Questor thought, clenching his fists. We're going to squabble like fractious children for hours at this rate.
'Stop acting like a damned adolescent, Numal!” he said, frowning. “I don't want blame, accusations or excuses-I'm trying to come up with some data on which we can work. In your opinion as a Mage Necromancer, why is this disease so different from the ailment you described? The effects are the same, but it progresses much faster. Why might that be so?'
Numal's face was still blank; he looked more like a village idiot than a Guild Mage.
How on Earth did a man this obtuse ever win the Guild ring? he wondered.
'Do you know how to animate a corpse, even if you can't do it yourself?'
'It depends.” Numal sighed. “There's a Third Rank spell for animating a body dead for less than two hours, a Fifth Rank spell for corpses up to a week old, and a Seventh Rank spell for rotted creatures or skeletons.'
Now we we're getting somewhere! Grimm thought.
'In what condition were the creatures that attacked you, Numal?'
The older mage's eyes rolled. “Oh, they were long gone,” he said. “All of them were pretty far gone, and most were just skeletons. Only Seventh Rank magic and a huge amount of power could have animated all of them.'
The Questor nodded. “Do you know why each type of cadaver needs a different spell?” he asked. “Is a different principle involved for each?'
Numal began to give his usual, non-committal gesture but then stopped in mid-shrug, his face clearing. “There is, Grimm!” he said, wide-eyed, in a sudden access of enthusiasm. “I see what you're getting at here. The easiest spell involves accessing the intact nervous system, before corruption takes hold. The Fifth Rank magic requires the mage to insert intricate webs of force in place of the decayed nerves. The ultimate spell involves the mage extending a field of energy from his soul, animating the dead matter.
'If disease germs were affected, there's no telling…'
The Necromancer's voice faltered for a moment, and his face fell. “No, that's not the answer. The full spell is selective. Corruptive influences aren't included in the animation.'
Despite his worry, Grimm smiled, and he patted the older mage's left shoulder in encouragement. “It wasn't a Thaumaturgic spell, Numal,” he said. “It was Geomantic. I suspect Lizaveta wasn't sufficiently careful in her application, and she energised the disease agents along with the corpses, making them more virulent. Does that make sense?'
Numal nodded slowly. “I suppose it does. Necromancy is a difficult discipline, and we're barred from any unauthorised research.
'Still, how does that help us, Questor Grimm? Even if we know what's going on, we're no closer to finding the answer to the sickness.'
It was Grimm's turn to shrug. “I'm not sure,” he said, “but I think I have the ghost of an idea.'
He sighed. “I wish I hadn't said that; I don't think I'm going to enjoy this at all.'
As a bemused-looking Numal looked on, Grimm sank to the floor in a cross-legged stance of meditation and began to chant.
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Chapter 15: The Inner Light
Grimm was familiar now with the techniques of Astral Projection, but he had never before considered what he was about to attempt. He guessed that Lizaveta's spell had given the disease germs a form of sentience. If he was wrong, if he had failed to take into account any one of a number of relevant factors, then Drex and Tordun would be condemned to a creeping, agonising death; however, this was his only plan, and he was determined to try it.
He felt the familiar lurch and brief moment of disorientation as his spirit left his body. He looked down from the ceiling to see his body, eyes closed, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
That's the easy bit, he thought. Now, it gets… interesting.
Spirit-Grimm regarded the stricken albino, assessing the crimson-black gashes that stood in stark contrast to the warrior's otherwise livid skin.
Yes… just there!
He willed himself to shrink, as he had done when facing the disembodied, insane mage, Garropode, within the brain of the dream-dragon, Gruon. The infected area on the albino's flesh appeared to grow, looking now like a vast chasm in a desert of snow. Still he shrank, further and further…
Single hairs now stood like scaly, curving, translucent tree-trunks, rising from islands of pale pink. Then, the descending spirit saw only the wound's steep walls, exuding heavy, bulging, straw-yellow droplets. Spirit-Grimm headed for one of these, imagining he felt a brief moment of tension before he popped into the yellow globe.
This is the true battleground for Tordun's life, he thought, remembering his lessons in Basic Healing. The germ theory of disease was one artefact from the reign of Science that had survived the Guild's ruthless suppression of the ancient arts, and Grimm was familiar with it.
He knew he needed to shrink further to distinguish the tiny combatants in this life-and-death struggle, and he maintained his remorseless diminution of scale. The pale liquid became viscid and mucilaginous, but spirit-Grimm's insubstantial form felt no impediment or pressure as he continued to decrease in size. Had he possessed his mortal senses and emotions, he might have felt terrified at this dizzying descent into the invisible, but he knew only determination, empowering him, driving him on and in.
Now, the formless fluid began to clear, as enmeshed tendrils and motes came into view, and spirit-Grimm tried to make sense of the scene: a frenzied dance of particles with gelatinous, translucent, blue blobs swimming into view and fading to grey as they tangled with a greater number of green, barbed cylinders, which writhed and multiplied as he watched, lengthening and splitting into two, four, eight, sixteen… an inexorable, exponential increase.
Spirit-Grimm stopped shrinking and floated in the midst of the microscopic battlefield, surveying the conflict that was killing his friend. The blue fighters tried to envelop the invaders, but the attackers seemed to shimmer and slip from their grasp, shooting sharp, whip-like tendrils into the hapless defenders, killing them before moving on to fly upwards and outwards. A hundred, a thousand, ten thousand valiant sentries died before him in moments. The blue warriors came in a dazzling variety of shapes and forms, trying to subsume the green assailants, but they were too slow; the tiny, mindless soldiers were helpless in the face of the invaders’ ruthless, ever-changing strategies. The battle was more one-sided than any in the bloody history of humankind, and the corporeal Grimm might have felt horror at the microscopic carnage. However, his spirit body felt only wonder at the intricacies of the mortal drama unfolding before him.
There!
Life, control, self-determination; animalistic and cunning, remorseless…
Spirit-Grimm reached towards one of the rapacious, green cylinders. Despite his tiny size, he had all the Guild-honed willpower of a Mage Questor; the battle of wills was over in a moment.
You are mine, he commanded. The tiny creature struggled for the briefest of moments and ceased its depredations.
We are going on a journey, he told the mindless creature. Up!
Spirit-Grimm flew up from the battlefield, carrying his green prisoner with him at an acceleration that would have crushed any mortal being to paste in an instant. The precipitous valley now lay far below him, and spirit-
