embarrassment, 'but I'm doing the best I can.'
The old soldier smiled and spread his hands wide. 'I'm only jesting, Lord Baron; I'm with you. The best form of defence is attack; that's the oldest dictum of war I know. We're unprepared; we're nervous, and we're angry, and you're still trying to be the charismatic commander. Trust me: it doesn't suit you right now, although it may work better later on. A simple 'let's go' works better in just about all cases.'
In a louder voice, the General said, 'I'm with you, Lord Grimm. Let's go!' As Quelgrum had said, this motivated the men better than pompous rhetoric.
As one man, they surged towards the milling crowd in front of the Pit doors. Grimm felt unsure of what the outcome might be. He realised that the team had moved outside their mandate by risking the outcome of the Quest, just to save one man who might be in no danger.
Mr. Chudel might flee from the destruction of the Pit, and Grimm's group might never learn where Lizaveta had gone. However, the Questor did not care. He was not acting for honour, for the poor, duped souls who trooped here every night, or even for the Guild, but for Grimm Afelnor. He wanted destruction; he wanted revenge for having been turned into a smiling fool.
And, by the Names, he would have it.
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Chapter 31: 'Let's Raise The Roof!'
A large group of fight-lovers had already begun to assemble outside the Pit, but the young mage felt in no mood to wait in line; he eyed the heavy, oak doors, with a view to affecting a simpler, more expedient method of entry. He still harboured worries about the ever-present pheromones in the building's atmosphere, but he kept these doubts to himself.
I think a little ventilation would be just the thing, Grimm thought, assessing the building's destructibility. Although the walls of the Pit were constructed of solid, unyielding stone, the mage guessed the high, domed roof was suspended by timber alone. He remembered the previous night's revelries, when the invisible Master of Ceremonies had exhorted the audience to cheer, as he introduced a pair of combatants: 'Ladeez 'n' gennelmen, let's really raise the roof for the next two fighters!'
If they want the roof razed, who am I to argue? An open-air spectacle will be just the thing!
He saw a pair of figures running towards them. He recognised the more slender of the two men as Keller, but he could not identify the Pit-master's scarred, bulky companion.
'Ah, gentlemen, I was afraid we'd lost you,' Keller said, wheezing a little. Although the bald man seemed nonchalant, his trembling hands betokened nervousness. 'I see you couldn't wait any longer. Of course, we don't normally open up for another hour or so, but I'm sure we can make an exception for our most honoured guests…'
'Thank you very much for your kind offer, Keller,' Guy drawled, continuing to stride towards the dark grey edifice. 'We would greatly prefer to affect our own entry, if you have no objection.'
Keller's broad smile now seemed a little strained, his brows knitted in incomprehension as he trotted beside the Questor. The Pit-master appeared quite ludicrous, making small, hopping movements in an attempt to keep up. Grimm relished the slender man's apparent bafflement, noting that Guy had used Mage Speech for the first time since the group had arrived at Mansion House; this meant that serious business was at hand.
'I don't understand. What do you mean by 'affecting your own entry', Guy?'
'To you, worm, I am 'Questor Guy,'' the mage snapped. 'Your foul deception is discovered, so you may abandon all pretence of amicability. This is your last exposition, Keller. The show is over.'
Grimm saw the Pit-master's face turn from pink to white in a few seconds, as if sick realisation had began to sink into his brain. Guy raised his staff, ready to strike, and the younger Questor felt a shock of alarm; only the Pit-master might be able to guide the group through the intricacies of the Technological maze that might await them.
'Wait, Guy, we need-'
The scarred man chose that moment to leap towards Guy, before the mage could land his blow. In a moment, Keller's scarred companion, moving faster than seemed possible for such a large man, snapped a gaudy ring around the Questor's neck. In shock, Guy dropped his staff and clutched at the lustrous ring, trying in vain to remove it.
Keller retreated, reaching a hand into his pocket, and Guy fell to the ground, thrashing and flailing in the throes of some kind of seizure.
Grimm swung Redeemer in a wide arc at the larger assailant, but the muscle-bound man danced away, out of range of the staff.
'Nice try, Guild filth,' he spat.
Harvel rushed in, and the muscular man swung a blurring haymaker that landed flush on the point of the swordsman's chin. Harvel collapsed as if pole-axed, and the warrior turned at once on the advancing Quelgrum, who wore a grim smile on his lips.
'I believe this is my dance,' the older man hissed, and the two fighters began to circle each other, each waiting for an opening.
As Keller raced towards the sanctuary of the Pit building, Grimm readied a spell to launch at the fighter. His concentration was interrupted by Crest's urgent call: 'Questor Grimm! We've got company!'
The elf had not lied. Grimm saw six, green-clad man rushing towards the diminished party, Technological projectile weapons at the ready, and swore. Guy and Harvel were hors-de-combat; Quelgrum was engaged with the muscular fighter; Crest was weaponless, and Numal had no offensive magic save his staff. What had seemed to be a simple manner had turned into a debacle.
The Questor shouted, 'Stand behind me! They can't hurt me!'
He faced the sentries as Crest and Numal obeyed his curt command. One of the guards raised his weapon, fired and fell in an instant, as Grimm's borrowed Charm of Reversal did its work, sending the invisible projectile back to its origin. The young mage first saw the value of such a charm when he borrowed Xylox's periapt in the depths of Haven.
The green-clad warriors fell back in disarray, and Grimm felt a shiver of satisfaction run through him. He drew his power into a taut, neat skein of fibres of force, and pointed at the group of soldiers.
'Sk'k'kaatema!'
The mage felt the energy leaping from his brain, running in a thrilling stream along the nerves of his extended arm until it erupted from the tip of his right index finger.
Nothing happened, but Grimm did not expect any immediate reaction. He knew the spell had taken hold, literally, of two of the men.
The Questor grunted as he clasped his right hand into a fist and thrust it skywards. With shouts and screams of dismay, the sentries flew up into the air, spilling equipment from their pockets as they tumbled upwards, with arms and legs flailing.
Remembering a phrase he had heard from Foster, the Haven pilot, Grimm muttered, 'Happy landings, gentlemen,' and he released his hold on the hapless soldiers.
From forty feet in the air the two men fell, accelerating as they plummeted. Their screams were cut off by a pair of sickening thuds that blended into one. Grimm had no doubt at all that they were dead.
The horrified expressions on the survivors' faces reminded Grimm of the two bullies, Shumal and Ruvin, when he had felt the first, uncontrolled stirrings of vengeful, destructive, Questor energy within him at Arnor House. As he watched the remaining green-clothed men fleeing in complete disorder, he realised that he was ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times more dangerous than he had been at his power's first, undisciplined awakening. By attempting to enslave him, they had not just insulted Grimm Dragonblaster, but his House, his Guild and his name.
They would pay: the Questor would not rest until this abominable establishment had been reduced to its very foundations!
Grimm turned towards Quelgrum and his burly opponent. Neither man's face was unblemished, but the mage
