With a bump, Grimm was again.
His first sensations were of numb legs and an aching back, but he knew it was better to be alive and hurting than to be a lost soul. He fell backwards and opened his eyes to see Numal standing over him.
'Grimm!” the Necromancer said, helping the Questor to sit up. “It's good to see you back. Sister Mercia's methods seem to be working at last!'
'How are Drex and Tordun, Numal?'
'They're still sick, but the disease seems to abate almost as quickly as it came. All the cells are open, and the Sister's making sure nobody else is infected. Isn't that good news?'
Grimm managed to stand, aided by the Necromancer. Tordun's former, gaping wounds seemed to shrink as he watched, and the grey tone of the giant albino's skin had fadeed from grey to its normal, healthy pallor.
The younger mage smiled. “Very good news, Necromancer Numal,” he said. “Now, I must see Drex.'
'I'll take you,” the older mage said, with an answering grin, escorting the Questor to the door. “What did you say to Lizaveta to change her mind over locking us in?'
'I appealed to her better instincts,” Grimm said, wincing as the blood returned to his legs. “Then, I found out she didn't have any, so I changed her mind permanently.'
'A Geas? A Compulsion?” the older man queried, as they reached the stairwell.
'No; I just turned a little light on,” Grimm said. “I-'
He and Numal started at the distant sound of a horrified, feminine scream. “I think somebody's just found her,” he said. “She's dead, Numal.'
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Chapter 16: Happy Ever After
Grimm heard a second scream, louder than the first, tinged with hysteria, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck bristling. As a spirit entity, he had terminated the Prioress’ life without compunction, knowing that he needed to return to his body, and that any kind of compact or deal with her would be betrayed, but he now felt a vague, growing sense of unease. Numal did not hesitate, running up the stairs. Now that sensation and strength had at last returned to Grimm's legs, he followed the Necromancer.
Nuns seemed to be running from every direction, hurrying through the doorway to a large, marbled hall. Grimm and Numal stopped in their tracks, cut off by the stampede of white, starched robes.
'It's good to see you well, Baron Grimm,” a familiar voice shouted behind the mage. “What in Perdition is going on? A nun came to open the cells, and then we heard those screams.'
Grimm spun around to see General Quelgrum and Sergeant Erik approaching, and he smiled, relieved that his companions appeared to have been spared the dread plague.
'I'm glad to see you're unhurt, General, Sergeant,” Grimm said. “I killed Lizaveta with a burst of energy from inside her body. Don't ask how,” he continued, waving his raised hands as the General's mouth opened to speak. “It's a long story. I don't know what happened, but it seems to have been pretty effective.'
The stream of running women lessened, and Grimm said, “I want to see the effects of my handiwork.'
His tone was more callous than he had intended; his returning emotions screamed that he had killed an old woman, no matter how misguided or malevolent. Grimm had done what he had felt was necessary, but he did not like it.
Nonetheless, he had to know he had succeeded.
'Is that wise?” Numal asked. “Most of the nuns won't know who we are or why we're here and there may be some of Lizaveta's acolytes around.'
'The Anointed Score,” Grimm replied, nodding. “The Prioress herself couldn't beat me, even when they took my magic. Now I have it back, they would do better to stay out of my way.'
With a confident stride, he led the way into the large hall, towards the throng of nuns clustered in the centre. Some wept, others bore twisted expressions of horror, and some wore blank, uncomprehending expressions, but none of them noticed the ragged-robed Questor merging with the crowd.
He heard brief, hushed snatches of conversation from the horde of nuns: “…some kind of brainstorm… a tragedy… awful… what shall we do?
At last, he drew close enough to see the fallen figure, and he gulped, grimacing as he fought to retain the contents of his stomach. His head spun as he saw what had once been a living, breathing woman.
Lizaveta's dull eyes bulged from their sockets. Her head lay in a wet, ruddy lake. A few curved, pale sticks sprung from the red-stained robe, and Grimm realised they were ribs, thrust through the chest wall by the energy volcano that had erupted within her body. An engorged, brown tongue extended from between the lips of the corpse.
Grimm could stand no more. His head spinning, he turned tail and fled whence he had come, drawing whooping breaths as he pushed his way through the throng of nuns, straight past Numal and Quelgrum, shaking his head, speechless with horror at what he had done. He ran headlong back down the stairs towards Lizaveta's chamber and sat at their foot, trying to collect his thoughts.
'I had to do it,” he muttered, trying to convince himself that those shattered remains in the hall were the result of a justifiable act. “She didn't suffer; it was quick, almost instantaneous. I took the only chance I was ever going to get to beat her. She deserved to die; sooner or later, I would have been convinced I needed to kill Horin so that Guy could take over. After what she did to Drex…'
Drex!
This spell had been ugly, but more merciful than the fate the Prioress had in mind for him. However, as a result of that impulsive, instinctive act, Drex might continue to hate him. He doubted that she could control him as she had, denied the support of the Prioress’ mighty Geomantic power, but the knowledge that she would continue to hate and oppose him was almost unbearable. However long it took, he swore he would bring her back… somehow. The vow gave him new purpose, sustaining him.
As he rose to his feet, he heard footsteps behind him and turned around to see the green-clad figures of General Quelgrum and Sergeant Erik.
'That was messy, Lord Grimm,” the officer said, “but unavoidable.'
'I know, General, but it was disgusting, and it threw me for a minute. I'm all right now. I just want to see how Drex and Tordun are.'
The General frowned. “We'll have to leave them here, Lord Baron. We should make our exit while we still can.'
'I'm not abandoning Drex,” Grimm replied, his voice low and intense, “and I won't leave Tordun here to become some mindless slave or puppet. Thribble's around here somewhere, too, and I mean to find him.'
Quelgrum's lowered brows showed no sign of conciliation. “Noble sentiments, Lord Baron: I wish I could echo them. However, the Sisters won't stay stunned forever. Sooner or later, the Score will come for us, and we'll be back where we started. We have no weapons, no transport and no chance of finding any.
'I insist we leave now, while we still have the chance!'
The old man's eyes gleamed like chips of black diamond.
'All right,” Grimm said. “You, Erik and Numal may leave now. I'm almost sure I can handle the Score if they come knocking, and I won't leave the others behind.'
'What about Questor Guy, Lord Mage?” Erik asked.
'What about Guy?” Grimm demanded. “For all we know, he's already-'
He stopped, seeing a familiar, black-robed figure standing at the top of the stairs. The General and the Sergeant turned to face Guy Great Flame, behind whom stood a white-faced Numal.
'Taking my name in vain, eh, Dragonblaster? So you thought you'd leave me here, did you? That's no way to treat a brother Questor.'
Grimm's eyes narrowed. He did not trust Guy an inch, and he had no idea what wiles Lizaveta might have worked on her favoured grandson. He considered direct confrontation but decided against it. He engaged his Mage Sight, seeing in Guy's aura shades of mendacity, disdain and contempt-in other words, just what he expected to see. He saw no sign of unfamiliar hues that might indicate the grip of Geomantic ensorcelment, but he now knew
