this most basic of mage skills was not an infallible guide.
'I'm glad you're safe, Questor Guy,” he said at last. He refused to be drawn by Guy's taunting, teasing sneer, which reminded him of his Scholasticate nemesis, Shumal.
'Don't worry on my behalf, youngster,” the Great Flame said. “I've been well-treated since I've been here. I just told my ever-present Sisters whatever they wanted to hear. Yes, I'd like to be Dominie some day, when I'm old, doddering and grey, but I'll make a lot more money as a Questor-'
Guy stopped in mid-speech, and he gaped. “You really thought I'd gone over to her side, didn't you?” he said, his eyes wide. “That was touching faith in your brother mage, I must say! I'll have you know that I like being a Seventh Rank Mage Questor; it keeps me in good clothes, good food and good wine.
'Dear Grandma always thought she could turn me around her little finger, ever since I was young, but I always knew the right things to say. I thought I'd have a nice little sinecure as a paid Student, and she sent me to the Guild as a bloody Charity case. I suffered plenty, Dragonblaster, as you did, and I'm not about to give up a lucrative, hard-earned career as a Questor to satisfy her insane lust for power. I know you don't like me, youngster, but I'm not about to change for you or anyone else! Oh, well, kiss my arse or go to Hell; I'm off.'
Guy spun on his heel and began to walk away.
'Questor Guy!” Grimm felt an unexpected surge of kinship with the independent, headstrong mage. He had no brother or sister, and he felt the absence of that close relationship. Although he would have hated Guy as his sibling, Grimm still felt a link with him, as someone who had faced the same Ordeal he had. He knew Lizaveta could be subtle, but he had no reason to disbelieve the proud Questor.
'What is it, Dragonblaster?” Guy demanded, turning around. “Do you want to kiss me? Not my style, I'm afraid; fancy a little match-up outside, instead?'
Now, that's just pure Guy, Grimm thought. I hate to acknowledge it, but he's a Questor, after all; perhaps he really has resisted whatever Lizaveta threw at him. After all, I did.
'Not right now, Great Flame,” he said. “Just take care of yourself until we can meet up in a more congenial location. Then, I'll give you a fight to remember!'
'Sounds good to me, Dragonblaster. I wouldn't miss it for the world. It's a date.'
Guy winked and blew a kiss over his shoulder as he left, heading for the main hall.
Grimm shook his head in perplexity. The older mage's sudden mood swings seemed bizarre, but, perhaps, the Questor Ordeal affected people in different ways; this might just be the Great Flame's way of dealing with the lingering after-effects of his own torments.
'General Quelgrum; Sergeant Erik; Necromancer Numal,” the Questor said. “I want you to go back to Anjar and wait for me. I have a few errands still to do.'
Without waiting for an answer, Grimm marched down the corridor to the cell block; he wanted to see Drex, no matter what her reaction to him might be. All the doors were open, and, in the fifth cell on the left-his own former prison-he saw Sister Mercia crouched over a pale figure lying on a rude straw mattress and covered by a grey blanket.
On Grimm's entrance, the young nun looked up and proffered a weary smile. “Greetings, Lord Mage,” she said, brushing a few rogue tendrils of hair from her eyes. “I must apologise for the poor condition of your quarters; the guest suites must all be occupied.'
She really has no idea, thought the mage. She still thinks we were honoured guests. It's strange that she doesn't ask about those screams; perhaps they're not all that uncommon in this awful place.
How is… Sister Weranda?” he asked, with a catch in his voice. “Will she…'
Mercia laughed; a merry, tinkling sound that seemed at odds with the austere Priory. “Don't worry, Lord Mage,” she said, her face beaming, open and guileless. “Your concern for our dear Sister is gratifying. She improves at an encouraging rate, and I think I'll soon be able to leave the remainder of her treatment to the Names and her own bodily defences. She is young and strong, and I have every reason to believe she'll make a full recovery.'
Grimm sighed in relief; where there was life, there was hope.
'Sister Judan is almost healed,” Mercia said, her cheerful grin intensifying. “Isn't that good news? Her wounds were relatively light, and the infection didn't have time to advance far.'
Alarm bells rang in Grimm's head; Judan was the senior Sister of the Score, and he knew he would have to face her, sooner or later. Perhaps it was better to cross that river now, while she was still relatively weak.
'May I see Sister Judan?” he asked.
'Of course, Lord Mage,” Mercia said, her cheeks dimpling. “She is poorly but awake. She's convalescing in the next room. Soon, she can move back to her own cell, but I judged it better that she rest here for a little while before trying to walk. The illness has taken a lot out of her, as you might imagine.'
'Thank you, Sister,” he said. “Your dedication to your craft is an inspiration to us all.'
Mercia shrugged, her complexion reddening a little. “We all do what we can,” she said. “That's what a community is all about, isn't it?'
As the young nun turned to tend to her patient once more, Grimm stepped back into the corridor. He felt a brief pang of disappointment that his other companions were not in evidence.
Oh, well, he thought. I ordered them to go, after all.
As he walked to the next cell, he saw Judan sitting cross-legged on the flagstones, in the same position of prayer in which he had last seen her, lips moving in silent prayer. He cleared his throat, eliciting no response.
'Sister Judan,” he said, and the nun opened her eyes.
'The Reverend Mother has passed on,” she said, her tone and her eyes accusing him, scorching him. “You murdered her!'
Grimm nodded. “Aren't you going to call down the wrath of the Score upon me, Sister?” he asked.
'The Score is shattered.” The nun's face reddened, and she shook with evidently sincere rage. “I cannot hear their thoughts, and I cannot converse with them. Our common link was through the Reverend Mother, and you have destroyed her. May the Names forgive you, assassin, for I cannot. Kill me if you wish; without the Reverend Mother's strength to succour and support me, I doubt I have enough power to stop you.
'Go or stay, mage, as you will. You have destroyed something serene, something beautiful; have the decency to allow me to mourn its passing in my own way.'
She shut her eyes and bent again to her prayers.
'Serene? Beautiful?” the Questor replied, burning with indignation and disbelief at the woman's sanctimonious manner. “You worked to rob me of my mind so I could murder another person. Was that serenity? Was that beauty?'
'It was necessary,” Judan mumbled. “Go away, and do not disturb me again. I never want to see you again. I was raised here from an early age, and you have destroyed the inner peace I fought for years to attain. Just go away.'
Grimm had been prepared to face the Score in their anger and their power, but he felt almost robbed by Judan's pathetic acquiescence. His Quest was over, and he had won, but he felt only emptiness instead of triumphant joy.
Judan swayed, moaning, lost in some religious trance, and Grimm left the dismal cell, unsure of what to do.
Outside the next cell stood Sister Mercia, her face transfigured by an expression of transcendental joy.
'Lord Mage,” she said, “Sister Weranda is conscious now, and she wishes to see you. If you'll excuse me, I wish to check on Master Tordun's condition.'
Grimm nodded; his heart leaden, as the young nun hurried back down the corridor. As a member of the Score, Drex must also be aware of Lizaveta's death, and, no doubt, she wished to give him a magic-addled tirade of hate.
'Grimm! My love!” a familiar voice called; Grimm's heart leapt.
He rushed into the cell, to see a smiling Drex on her feet, her arms open. She was pale, but she seemed strong, just as he remembered and knew her from their brief, idyllic tryst in Crar.
'Kiss me, my darling!” she cried. “I have felt so worried about you!'
Grimm needed no further encouragement. He rushed over to meet her, tears prickling on his eyelids, and swept her up, his lips seeking hers. Drex's mouth seemed to devour his, the fury of his lover's fierce, almost animalistic, passion both overpowering and gratifying him. He drank deep, taking in her strength; her joy; her
