She raised her eyes with the air of a martyr. “Since the Reverend Mother wills it, I will comply,” she said, clasping her hands together in prayer. “It will be a burden, but I will bear it.'
Grimm turned to General Quelgrum. “Do we have transport yet, General? I don't want to stay here a moment longer than necessary.'
'Sergeant Erik and Necromancer Numal have been trying to arrange some transport, Lord Baron,” the soldier said. “They should be reporting back to the Main Hall in forty minutes or so.'
'That's excellent, General,” Grimm replied. He turned to Sister Mercia. “How is Tordun, Sister?'
The young nun regarded him with wary, frightened eyes; this was not the compassionate, deferent healer he had first met in Lizaveta's private chamber.
'I will look,” she said, her voice sullen and distrustful. “I gave him a narcotic earlier on, to speed his recovery. He may wake up soon.'
She brushed past him in a flurry of white. Then she stopped and turned around, her head lowered.
'You are a destroyer and a killer, Lord Mage,” she said, her voice tremulous and full of passion. “I hope you are at ease with your conscience, but I cannot find it in my heart to forgive what you have done. I will try not to hate you, but you make that very difficult. May the Names forgive you; you have not only killed the body of our Reverend Mother, but you have also destroyed the peace of our Order.'
Grimm's heart was heavy; he had no idea how this poor, virtuous young woman had suffered under Lizaveta's regime, but he recognised the truth in her words.
A destroyer… a killer, he thought, rubbing his beard in agitation. She's right: I am. Is that how I want to spend the rest of my life? I just feel so tired.
A rush of memories assaulted his mind, spinning it around like a solid blow from a heavyweight prize-fighter: the brutal assault on Lizaveta; the destruction of the beautiful, golden dragon, Gruon; the killing of the bar-room assailant on his first Quest; his violent explosion of wrath in the Scholasticate yard.
All he had ever done as a Questor was to kill; to destroy; to brutalise. His reward was seven thin gold rings on a staff he had made himself. He was rich beyond the dreams of most men, but he was not free; the Guild still held the lien on his soul and his will. Everything he had, including his life, could be stripped from him in a moment by the whim of a distant, unaccountable authority.
'I won't let you down, Granfer. The name of Afelnor will shine again; I swear it.'
The last of a series of memories to swim into his consciousness was that of this solemn vow by a tearful, determined youth. The memory gave Grimm strength and resolve.
Yes, he had killed and destroyed. That he had done so at the behest of the Guild did not matter; he had killed nobody who deserved to live. He had never killed for pleasure, for personal gain or for the approval of others, and he never would.
'I'm sorry, Sister Mercia,” he said, bending to look into her accusing eyes. “I'm sorry for your lost serenity and your shattered dreams. I'm sorry for your loss of innocence. I'm not sorry for what I have done, and I'd do it again and again, if I had to. Life's easy when others make all your decisions for you, but that isn't freedom.
'Freedom is the ability to make your own decisions, Mercia. If I have forced that freedom upon you, I apologise. Your beloved Prioress was an evil, manipulating woman, and my only wish is that I'd known enough to blast her spirit into nothingness when I had the chance.
'You are a healer, a preserver of life, and I am a killer. I accept my role, and I won't apologise for it. It's part of who I am.'
'Well spoken, Lord Mage,” a familiar voice rumbled, and Grimm looked up to see the pale, imposing figure of Tordun standing in the corridor.
'Listen to him, little angel,” the albino said, “People like you are precious, but you must also recognise what needs to be changed. Sometimes, the only way to change something is to tear it down and start again. For that, you need a destroyer. Like me.'
'Like Questor Grimm.” Mercia's brow furrowed, as if she were trying to make sense of something abstruse and contradictory. Shaking her head, she continued down the corridor and disappeared from sight.
Well, that's a start, Grimm thought. Perhaps confusion is the first step on the road to acceptance.
'Warrior Tordun, I'm so happy to see you looking so well,” he said.
'…were very worried about you,” finished a smiling Quelgrum, who had started to speak at the same time as the Questor.
Tordun blinked myopically. “I did not catch all of that,” he said, “but I do appreciate the sentiments. I feel quite fit to travel, and my eyesight has even improved a little-I can now distinguish colours and faces.'
'I saw how he lusted after me,” Drex muttered. “Another Name-cursed pervert… the oversized ogler.' 'Foul rapist', ‘old lecher’ and now ‘oversized ogler', Grimm thought, his heart beating a little faster. So that's how it works-Drex has a little mantra or nickname for each of us. If we can erase those simple stereotypes, perhaps we can bring Drex back.
'That's good news,” the beaming General said to Tordun. He turned to Grimm, snapping off an impeccable salute. “Lord Baron,” he said, “All we need now is to meet up with Sergeant Erik and Necromancer Numal, procure some transport, and we can be out of here.'
'That's not quite all, General,” Grimm said. “We also need to rescue poor Thribble-I won't leave him here.'
He turned around to face Drex. “Where is the small demon?” he asked.
'I cannot see why you care so much for a stunted reptile,” grumbled Drex. “However, in the interests of removing the pollution of your filthy presence from the Priory, I can tell you that he is in the Reverend Mother's private chapel, on the lowest level of the building. I can take you.'
'No, thank you, Sister Weranda,” Grimm said. “I prefer to find my own way, without a chaperone. We will go to the Great Hall to wait for our other two colleagues-I don't feel confident to leave you without at least one mage in attendance.'
'The fumbling pederast?” Drex scoffed. “He's no true mage.'
'I trust his Mage Staff to keep you in check,” Grimm said.
'Well, at least I will feel a little less threatened by Numal,” she said. “He is no more than a fumbling ped…'
As Drex's voice faltered to a halt, Grimm now felt sure the key to her ensorcelment lay in the application of trite, basic labels or insults for each member of the party. He pretended not to have noticed her verbal slip, covering his smile by turning it into a sneeze.
Grimm wiped his nose with a silk handkerchief from one of his robe's many pockets and turned towards Quelgrum. “Let's get to the Hall, General,” he said. “This dust is playing havoc with my sinuses.'
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 20: Blood!
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?'
