unprotected and vulnerable. It was a simple matter to grasp hold of the slimy tentacle and push. A fragment of the Questor's personal spell-language burst from his lips: 'Th'kak'ka sh'tat!'
The sentinel was stronger than he looked, and the Questor needed to use more power than he had intended, but the wretched man's slack jaw and limp posture told him he had succeeded. The guard's eyes glazed over, and he lowered his halberd.
'Here are ten gold pieces,' Grimm said, forcing his will into the watchman's psyche as he held out his empty hand. 'I think you will find this in order. Be so kind as to lift this barrier, and we will be on our way.' Despite the unexpected resistance, Grimm felt no more than an irritating tickle at the margins of his sensorium.
'Yeah, that's good. Fank you, guv'nor,' the guard said in a dull monotone.
'When we have left, you will not remember us.' Grimm added a little extra thaumaturgic emphasis to push his will home.
The watchman's only response was a vague grunt, but he raised the barrier, his eyes wide and unseeing.
'I'd love to have you in my army,' Quelgrum said as the wagon rolled into Yoren.
'Yeah, I've always wanted ter be a sojer,' the man absently said, wearing a vague, beatific smile, as if he had received some unexpected bounty.
The General smiled. 'I thought so. Thank you for your invaluable assistance.'
With that, they were in the town of Yoren, leaving the irritating little man behind.
'If you can cast spells like that, Lord Baron, we shouldn't have any trouble here,' Quelgrum said.
The Questor shook his head. 'It's not that simple, General, I'm afraid. Every attempt at Compulsion robs me of some strength, in direct proportion to the intellect and willpower of the subject, and it requires absolute concentration. The subject also needs to be off-guard and unprepared. Each attempt to dominate a man carries a risk of an undesired Resonance in the spell, and I don't want to take that risk any more often than I need to.'
'A resonance; what is that, Lord Grimm?'
'It's a little technical, General,' Grimm responded, 'but the upshot would be that I'd be stuck inside the spell, pouring ever greater quantities of energy into it but unable to withdraw. That man was alone, and I could see from his aura that he was a weak character, so the risk was negligible. If we'd been in the middle of a large, noisy, belligerent crowd baying for our blood, I wouldn't have tried it. It's not a battlefield spell. It's more a useful tool than a war-winning weapon.'
'Still, at least the streets seem fairly quiet.' The soldier waved a hand towards the vacant thoroughfares. 'I don't know what all the fuss is about.'
It is quiet; too damn' quiet for my liking, Grimm thought as he surveyed the empty, narrow street.
He noted the rows of tall buildings at either side. If we're attacked front and rear, we're trapped. Surely Quelgrum can see that.
As if reading the Questor's mind, the General said, 'I'd sooner be on open ground, but I don't think we've too much to worry about, Baron Grimm. After all, it's a town, not a war zone.'
As if to mock Quelgrum's hubris, a knot of men, maybe fifteen strong, stepped out of one of the side alleys, blocking the way. Like the watchmen at the gate, they wore a patchwork of armour, and they all carried notched but serviceable weapons: swords, axes, and pikes among them.
'You boys doing a little shopping?' Quelgrum said, his voice sounding easy and untroubled. 'Or are you just sightseeing?'
A grubby, grey-haired, scarred man, whom Grimm supposed must be the leader of this group of bravoes, stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of an ancient-looking cutlass in a simple leather scabbard.
'Shoppin', it looks like. Nice wagon you got here, friend; if'n you'll gift-wrap it for us, I fink we'll take it.'
'Well, friend,' the soldier said, 'I really don't think you can afford it, so I think we'll just mark it down as 'No Sale', if it's all the same to you.'
'I fink you c'n do a little better than that, old feller. What say you give us the cart, and mebbe a bit extra, and we give you your lives? Sounds like a good deal to me. Whatcher got in the back?'
'Trouble, friend.' The General pulled a string that collapsed the wagon's canvas cover to reveal Crest, Harvel, Tordun, Guy and Numal. 'Gentlemen, we've got company. Would you care to introduce yourselves?'
The three warriors and the two mages climbed out of the vehicle, and Grimm could swear that the raiding party's leader blanched at the sight of the mighty albino drawing himself to his full, impressive height, even though the heavy coat of grime on the man's face made it difficult to tell.
'The market's closed, boys,' Quelgrum breathed, 'so why don't you just make your way home, and we'll say no more about it?'
The Questor smiled at the expressions of doubt and dismay on the faces of several of the ruffians, and at the susurration of worried voices amongst them as they gaped at each other with wide eyes. However, it seemed that the scarred, older brigand was made of sterner stuff. Silencing his chattering underlings with a wave of the hand, he smiled.
'My, ain't you got a pretty collection o'friends. So 'ave I.'
Putting two grimy fingers into his mouth, he emitted a piercing whistle, and Grimm spun around to see another group of men emerging from an alley behind them, weapons at the ready. It was as he had feared; they were trapped.
Quelgrum stepped down from the wagon, his eyes hooded, dangerous. As he approached the leader of the group, the scarred bravo drew his sword.
'That's far enough, mate; no need to be a bloody hero, is there? There's seven o'you and thirty of us. Even wiv the big white feller, it's still not very good odds, is it? Now, why don't you just hand over what you've got, and we'll call it quits, eh?'
'Over my dead body,' the General said, through gritted teeth.
'Sounds a fair price to me, old-timer. GET 'EM, LADS!'
As the raiders surged forward, Grimm shouted, 'Redeemer, to me!' and his staff flew to his hand as he flung himself down from the vehicle.
Crest ran forward and unleashed his deadly whip, lashing it into the attacking horde. Several men fell, dropping their weapons and clutching their eyes as the snake-like weapon did its work.
The young Questor realised that although the narrow street made escape impossible, it also worked against the attackers, since they could not attack en masse. He stepped forward, brandishing Redeemer and braining three men in one stroke. Another ruffian made the mistake of trying to grab the staff, and fell twitching to the ground. A true Mage Staff was much more than a status symbol; it was also a dangerous weapon.
Quelgrum's leathery, liver-spotted right fist shot forward, catching a bold raider on the jaw and felling him. The leader of the group struggled to bring his sword into play, hampered as he was by the crush of men around him, and the General's hand, fingers locked into the form of a blade, stabbed into the expanse of flesh under the ruffian's breastbone. The man collapsed, fighting for breath and dropping his weapon. With that, the brief battle was over, as the remainder of the able-bodied attackers dispersed and fled as best they could.
Grimm looked behind him to see a number of fallen ruffians. Harvel's sword dripped with blood, and Tordun waved his own red-stained broadsword, bellowing defiance at the few retreating raiders. Guy looked cool and calm, and Numal was pale-faced but uninjured, his mage staff raised over his head.
'Well, that wasn't too bad, was it?' Quelgrum said to Grimm in a cheerful voice. The General grasped the gasping, retching leader of the attackers by the neck and hauled him upright, so that the two men's faces met.
'This is your lucky day, scum,' the old soldier breathed. 'Tangling with us should have been the last mistake you ever made in your miserable life but, against my better judgement, I'll let you live. Perhaps I'm getting sentimental in my old age, but just be thankful for it. Just tell everyone you meet that nobody messes around with us. Take a good look,' he said, taking the man's lower jaw in his hand and twisting it around, 'and just remember that we didn't even break into a sweat here. You're honoured. I don't usually waste my time brawling with amateurs-I just kill them like the vermin they are. In your case, I'll make a rare exception, so you can advise your pathetic friends to forget trying to make a quick fortune. Now, is that understood, dung-heap?'
The hapless man struggled in vain against the soldier's iron grip. 'I ain't afeared o-'
His head rocked as Quelgrum swept his right hand back in a vicious arc across the assailant's face, maintaining a firm hold on his jerkin with the other.
