'I can do that,” Mercia declared. “I have set many broken bones in my time as a Healer.'
'Grimm said, “Before we do that, we'll need to remove the wheel. Can we prop up the front of the wagon and hammer out the retaining spike?'
'You need no prop, Lord Baron,” Shakkar said, with what might have been a disdainful sniff. “I can lift and hold this vehicle as easily as I can draw breath.'
'I can hammer out the spike with a rock,” Tordun offered.
The wheel was removed in less than a minute. Shakkar's biceps scarcely seemed to twitch as he hoisted up the front of the vehicle. Tordun struck three times with a grapefruit-sized rock he found at the side of the road, swinging the wheel free with only a soft grunt to show his exertion.
In a few moments more, the metal rim was off, and the damaged spokes were pulled from the hub. On Grimm's advice, Tordun took care to pull only on the undamaged portions of the spokes, nearest to the hub. He bore off the freed booty to the waiting Mercia, who began to wrest the spokes into a semblance of their former shape with surprising strength. When she pronounced herself satisfied, Numal took the damaged members from her and began to chant.
Drex sat on a grassy bank at the side of the road, feeling numb and lonely. Not even her faithful, former protector, Shakkar, cast her so much as a glance as he regarded Numal's performance.
She saw Grimm standing next to Mercia, leaning on his staff like an old, huddled man: he, too, seemed intent only on the Necromancer's actions. Sergeant Erik and General Quelgrum chatted idly about some insignificant, tedious, military matter, but she saw the older soldier's gaze fall often on the young Healer.
Tordun sat under a large tree, protecting his pale, sensitive skin from the sun's rays. Despite his damaged eyes, he looked at peace.
What about ME? Where's my happiness? she wanted to scream, but she knew that would be unseemly behaviour for a member of the Anointed Score.
She began to notice how the Necromancer's knotted, liver-spotted hands caressed the damaged wood in a soft, rhythmic motion as he crooned and muttered to it.
Just as Grimm once held me.
The unwelcome thought popped into her unwary mind, and she could not dismiss it. She found her breathing becoming short and stuttering, no matter how she tried to retain her image of purity and aloofness. Something sensuous about the Necromancer's movements struck her, and she could not erase it from her mind.
His hands look just like Grimm's hands did on me…
Fugitive images flickered into reality and, just as swiftly, disappeared: the large bed in the white tower at Crar; Grimm leaning over her, his face flushed and sweaty, but peaceful; idyllic mornings, spent at her beloved's side.
What followed that blissful, guilt-free congress? Whips, chains and imprecations! Endless hours of torment, of kneeling on sharp stones, of cleaning the dried blood from her white robes! The chants-the unending, droning paeans of submission, abjection and self-denial!
Drex saw Mercia lean close to Grimm and whisper something in his ear, smiling as she did so. Grimm smiled in return as he replied.
Something snapped inside her, shattering with a tumultuous crash within her mind.
'He's mine,” she whispered, feeling a powerful surge of long-suppressed passion and possessiveness.
'He's MINE, you little bitch!” she cried, as she leapt to her feet. “Get away from Grimm!'
Silence reigned; the birds in the trees and the insects in the grass stopped singing, and Drex saw every eye fixed on her. Numal continued to chant, but even he stared at her.
'He's… he's mine,” she whispered, as hot tears tickled at the margins of her eyes. Drex stayed them for as long as she could, but then gave rein to her dammed-up emotions. She began to sob, her shoulders shaking and her body heaving. She closed her eyes in an attempt to stem the sudden flood, but she could not do so. After a few moments, she felt a strong arm around her shoulder, drawing her forwards. She tried to resist, but the arm was too strong for her.
'It's all right, my love,” a soft, familiar voice said, with just a trace of tremulousness. “I'm here; I'll always be here, if you'll have me.'
She buried her head in Grimm's chest, hearing his swift, shallow heartbeat echoing her own, and she clasped him tight in her arms.
'You didn't rape me, Grimm,” she whispered, not knowing if he heard her or not, but she did not care. “Never. Never!
'I'm sorry, Grimm.” Her voice grew louder, stronger. “I'm… I'm yours, and I always will be.'
'It'll be all right now, Drex.'
Drexelica felt his voice rumble in his chest as she crushed her head into it, not daring to relinquish her hold on him.
Drex's sobbing subsided to a gentle quiver as Grimm sat with her beside the road. He kept his arm around her, as if he could draw all the pain and anguish from her. He felt glad that the other travellers had the gentility to leave them alone. He felt quite at peace, at terms with what and who he was. He was many men, but this particular man was the one he most wanted to be. This was the Drex he loved; not one of Lizaveta's facsimiles, even though he knew the Prioress’ soul remained somewhere within her body.
'Will we be going back to Crar?” she asked, looking up at him with moist eyes.
'Eventually,” he said, “one way or another.'
'And just what be you meaning by ‘one way or another', Grimm Afelnor?” she demanded, and the mage felt overjoyed at the brief resurgence of the unfussy Grivense patois she had been at such pains to eradicate from her diction.
'I want to tell everyone about it: Lord Thorn; Lord Horin; everyone. I want to scream it from the rooftops: ‘I love Drex!'” he said.
'So why can't you, Grimm?'
'I've broken Guild Law just by letting you into my life,” he said, with an unhappy shrug. “You know that. I'll still owe the House for my tuition for many more years; that's why I've tried to keep our relationship a secret. I don't want to live with that any longer, but they do have a hold over me. Perhaps they'll accept money in lieu of my continued service-I'm rich enough now-but they don't have to. And… even if I can give up my service to the Guild, I'll also have to give up working to redeem my family name. That means so much to me.'
'Then don't,” she said, with stark finality, her mouth fixed in a firm, determined line. “I don't mind being your secret lover, as long as I'm your only lover. I'll be your docile housekeeper, or anything you want me to be, as long as I'm yours. As long as I don't have to hide, and as long as I can be me.'
'I have a Quest to complete,” he said, “and it involves you, too. We have to return to High Lodge, with your soul cargo intact.
'We have to, Drex, otherwise we'll never be free. If we just run away, they'll hunt us down, and I'll be just another damned Oathbreaker like Granfer.'
'I hate the old witch, now I remember what she put me through,” the girl whispered, with fierce intensity. “How she tried to turn me against you, and how she made us both suffer. I'd give almost anything not to have to go through it. However, if I have to deliver the evil cow to your High bloody Lodge just so we can stay together, I'll do it.'
Grimm rubbed his forehead. “I don't know what they'll do to find out the truth, Drex,” he said. “I don't know what Lizaveta will say to them. The whole… thing between us may come out. I don't know if I can stop it.'
'Then we'll face it together,” Drex said, her expression looking stern but loving. “They can't kill us… can they?'
'They won't kill you,” Grimm said, shaking his head. “Don't worry about that. I'm pretty sure they won't kill me either-I'm too valuable to them as a Questor-but they could do something to make me a little more…
