beer-barrel and an angry she-bear. He stood well over six feet in height, and his shoulders seemed almost as broad. The bartender might be a little corpulent, but Grimm could tell that plenty of muscle lay beneath the layers of blubber.
'Now, what's going on here?' the barman demanded. 'If you think twelve gold pieces are going to cover your bar bill, you've got another think coming! Come back inside, and we'll discuss it. I may be able to make a discount in your case…'
The barrel-shaped man's eyes widened as he saw the unconscious doorman nestled in Quelgrum's left arm. 'What's happened to Challer, here?'
'I'll handle this, granddad,' Guy muttered to Numal, compressing his mouth into a grim, humourless slit and striding towards the steward. He babbled in his personal magic tongue, following the chant with the clear word, 'Sleep!'
The still-standing barman shouted, 'You needn't try any of your foul Guild mind-magic with me! I'll call the-'
Guy cursed under his breath. Instead of trying another spell, he whipped Nemesis around in a blurring arc, catching the portly man on the left temple. Grimm heard a sickening crack, and the bartender fell like an overbalanced pencil.
'Lovely,' the older mage said, with a satisfied smile, turning a single syllable into three. This time, his cheerful expression seemed genuine and unforced. 'I enjoyed that.'
'Is he dead?' Numal asked, his face pale.
'Who cares, old man?' Guy's expression resembled that of a cream-sated cat.
The concept of a Necromancer being scared at the prospect of a dead body struck Grimm as intensely amusing, and he burst into laughter.
'Don't worry; this is just me laughing,' he said, between a pair of paroxysms. With some effort, he regained control, mastering the hysteria that threatened to overwhelm him.
'I'm sorry about that,' he said to nobody in particular. 'I'm just relieved to be out of that… whatever it is.'
'I think I know what it is,' Quelgrum said. All heads turned to face the old soldier, who still cradled the unconscious Challer. The General lowered the slender man onto the greensward at his side.
'Well, don't just keep us in suspense, General!' Harvel cried. 'Tell us what it is, and what we can do against it!'
'I believe you've met Administrator Armitage from Haven Station, Lord Baron?'
Grimm nodded, suppressing a shiver at his memories of his travails within Armitage's steel fortress in the Shest Mountains.
'Well, once Armitage told me he had experimented with the control of malcontents by what he called 'pheromones'. They're perfectly natural substances, and we all have them. I don't fully understand it myself, but they influence the way we feel and act. I think they're spewing them into the air in Mansion House. We're pulling them into our bodies with every breath.
'I think they have similar substance in the Pit, to turn us all into bloodthirsty maniacs, and to make us bet all our money. Whatever it is, the air holds the key. Thank you, Questor Grimm, for showing us the way. I should have realised, when my serious doubts began to fade away for no reason. Thank you for saving me from myself.'
The young mage heard a chorus of thanks from the other members of the party, and felt almost embarrassed at the sincerity of the responses.
Even the acerbic, sardonic Questor Guy chose to speak: 'I'd probably have spotted it myself before long, youngster, but thanks, anyway.'
The remark seemed to the young mage like pure Guy, and he felt much happier after hearing it. 'Right, gentlemen; what do we do now?' he said, confident that his thoughts were once more his own. It was time to put this Quest back on track! 'Come on, fellows! We still haven't seen Chudel, and Tordun may be in danger. What's the betting they've persuaded him to fight for them?'
'Tordun in danger?' Crest said. 'With all due respect, Questor Grimm, I think the man can take care of himself, even if he's addled out of his mind by some sort of chemical influence. He's a big boy now. Better think how we can take care of ourselves in there, without weapons.'
'Crest's right,' Guy said. 'Forget about Tordun for the moment. How do we avoid the effects of these damned pheromone things?'
'What about this Chudel fellow?' Harvel demanded. 'Come on, mage, you were the one who said it: we've got a mission to fulfil. What do we do?'
Grimm rubbed his brow, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. For the first time, he realised- truly realised-the meaning of authority. For the first time in his life, he knew he could look to nobody else to make a decision for him; even Quelgrum stood silent, looking to him for guidance. This was his call, and his alone.
The young man felt small, incapable and helpless for a few moments. He felt horrified that all these older, more experienced men sought his guidance, but he knew he must be strong, even if he had no idea of how to proceed.
Quelgrum told you what to do, back in Crar! he reminded himself. 'Don't try to do everything; delegate what you can't do!' Guy is just waiting for you to make a fool of yourself; don't give him the satisfaction of floundering.
He felt the first stirrings of a plan in his mind, and smiled.
'Right, everybody, pay attention!' he said, unconsciously mimicking Quelgrum's military style. Even if the General noticed this, he did not betray the fact in his face.
'Going back inside Mansion House will soon turn us into smiling idiots; we know that. On the other hand, the Pit will be opening soon. Tordun is probably in there, so that's where we'll go.' It sounded so simple to Grimm, almost idiotic in its simplicity; but it was a plan of sorts.
'And just how are we supposed to control ourselves in there?' Guy's tone was as sour as it ever had been. 'They've got these bloody pheromone things in the air there, as well as in the main house.'
Grimm yearned for Quelgrum to interrupt with some Technological insight or advice, but the General did not speak. The Questor cleared his throat, trying to buy a little time for thought.
This stratagem did not work; his mind seemed no clearer, and all eyes were still fixed upon him. It felt as if it were time to say something; anything…
'Mansion House makes us happy, and the Pit makes us angry and overconfident,' he said at last. 'I'm hoping we can turn those feelings to our advantage.' The young mage wished he felt more confident about his hastily- assembled half-theory as the other members of the group stared at him.
'They're going to be looking for us,' he continued, sure of this fact, at least. 'They expect us to be at the Pit tonight, so they can spring some sort of surprise on us. We'll be there, but ready for action.'
He began to realise he was enjoying this. 'If they want a 'fight', they've got one!' he cried. 'We're not going to stand in line, like good little boys; we're going to barge in with full force. All right; I know there are no swords or daggers, but use your imagination. Punches, knee-thrusts into the groin, head-butts, anything! Don't worry about the really big fellows; Questor Guy and I will take care of them.'
'Thank you so much, Brother Mage,' Guy muttered. 'What about these wonderful magical wards they seem to have?'
'Don't worry, Questor Guy!' Grimm crowed, borne on a natural wave of emotion that owed nothing to pheromones. 'They certainly don't seem immune to a Mage Staff, and the only spells we've tried on them so far are Compulsions: other magic may prove more effective.
'We have three Mage Staves between us, and two of us have more lethal spells in our armouries than mere Compulsions. From what the barman said, I get the feeling they think mind-magic is our limit; they won't know what hit them! Stand by; the Pit'll be opening soon.
'Don't worry: judgement is at hand!'
Guy shrugged and rolled his eyes, while Crest and Numal gave feeble cheers, even if their manner was a little florid.
'Not bad, I suppose,' Quelgrum drawled to Grimm, out of the hearing of the other men. 'You could always have said 'Glory or Destiny awaits;' that's always a good one.'
'I have no idea how this works, General,' Grimm, muttered, his cheeks white with suppressed anger and
