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Chapter 34: An Echoing Tumult
'All right, boys; who's first?'
Grimm spoke with a confidence he did not feel. He stood with his back against the end wall of the short corridor, as the maddened horde of fighters approached inexorably. His only advantage lay in the fact that the narrow passageway forced the warriors to advance in a column instead of en masse.
If I hadn't wasted all my power so quickly, these fellows would be easy meat, he thought, mustering a rueful grin. What a time to learn such a vital lesson!
He held Redeemer before him, forming a horizontal barrier. To reach him, someone would have to touch the staff, and that might make things interesting.
Come on, you over-muscled morons. Come on!
At last, the front row of men approached him, and a foolhardy or ignorant soul tried to snatch the staff from Grimm's grasp. As his questing finger touched the staff, the man cannoned backwards as if he had been punched by a bad-tempered bear, spilling other men to the ground.
Seizing the moment, Grimm stepped forward and swung Redeemer back and forth, rendering the fallen men unconscious or dead. A small wall of inert bodies now lay between him and his attackers, and the young mage began to feel more confident.
Divide and conquer, he thought. I can't beat them all at once, but maybe I can take them out a few at a time.
'Bad move, gentlemen!' he shouted, as much for his own morale as for any other effect. 'This round's mine, I believe.'
However, he soon realised he had been over-confident; these ensorcelled men were focused on only one goal: the elimination of Grimm Afelnor. They had no thought for the preservation of their own lives. As the main mass of fighters stepped back, a single warrior stepped over the bodies, his hands weaving in a complex, baffling pattern. As Grimm feinted with Redeemer, the attacker hooked the staff from the Questor's grip. As expected, the assailant flew backwards, unconscious, but Grimm was now unarmed.
Seeing their foe deprived of his weapon, the gladiators surged forward again.
Be calm, Grimm!
With a word, the magical staff flew back to his hand, and the Questor dispatched another five attackers. He resumed his former defensive posture, realising the men would learn from this abortive attack. Nonetheless, the advantage was once more on Grimm's side, and he awaited the next stratagem with a certain detached interest.
Now, Tordun was in the vanguard of the opposing force. Sweat ran down the albino's face, which was contorted in a complex expression of mingled ferocity, pain and despair.
'Tordun, don't do this,' the mage said in the calmest voice he could muster. 'You're a fighter, so fight Keller, not me!'
'Cannot… help… it,' the former White Titan gasped. 'It's too strong. The image-boxes… blind him!'
With that, Tordun collapsed to the ground, contorting and flailing. The twitching albino's bulk impeded the advancing warriors, and Grimm scanned the walls and ceilings for any evidence of the 'image-boxes' Tordun had mentioned.
At last he saw them; grey cubes clinging to the walls of the corridor, almost blending into the dull decor, betrayed only by the gleam of their glass eyes. Four were within the reach of Redeemer, and the Questor dispatched them with a swift series of blows, moving back to his guard position just in time to fell another two assailants. The others, with the exception of the thrashing Tordun, regrouped to plan their next move. The attacking horde seemed barely weakened, and Grimm's resolution weakened. Over thirty men remained, and their determination seemed as strong as ever.
The mage saw other boxes, arrayed down the corridor, swivelling into position, orientating their crystalline gaze upon him, and Grimm groaned with frustration. Only adrenalin was keeping him on his feet, and that was fading fast. If only he had the strength to…
The strength! The Questor realised he had forgotten about the spells he had cast on Redeemer back in his tower. In addition to runic cantrips for light, heat and a dozen other minor spells, Grimm had also poured his own energy into the staff for later use.
Drawing Redeemer close to his chest, the mage called upon the much-needed strength hidden within the gleaming, black rod. As the Questor felt the vitality flooding back into every fibre of his body, the fighters made another attack, and he laughed with joy. He was whole again!
'Sk'tallek'ye!'
The nonsense syllables burst from his dry lips, and the whole wall of warriors flew backwards. Although not badly injured, they tumbled in disarray, as if caught in a mighty wind. Like an avenging angel, the mage strode forward, sweeping Redeemer along first one wall and then the other. The metal and glass boxes were no more.
Grimm, free of the constricting corridor, tried to run for the passageway from which the fighters had emerged, but he realised he was back in the field of view of more of Keller's Technological eyes. A hand caught his ankle, and he tripped.
'Great work from the outclassed Questor!' the mocking voice of Pit-master Keller boomed from high above, as Grimm sprawled on the floor. 'But this series of desperation moves could just prove to be too little, too late! See now, as the victorious Pit champions-'
The hateful voice cut off, but the fighters lost none of their zeal. Grimm felt himself pulled inexorably backwards towards the throng, his slender right leg in the grip of a huge, iron fist, which was soon joined by others. He tried to marshal his thoughts, to focus his power, but panic began to subsume him. It looked as if he were being drawn into the maw of a huge, many-legged insect…
Guy smiled as the wooden wall of the kiosk faded into dust, revelling in Keller's terrified, wide-eyed gape as the Pit-master whirled around on his small, wheeled chair. The small room contained all kinds of bizarre Technological equipment, which the mage vowed to destroy once he had achieved his ultimate aim.
'You don't seem to have much of an audience tonight, Keller,' he grunted in a guttural, grinding manner that only seemed to add to the Pit-master's fear.
'You!' the slight man gasped. 'But you're only-'
'I'm your worst nightmare, worm,' the young mage said in the old Necromancer's body. His gruff, slurred delivery was due to the Questor's difficulty in controlling Numal's larynx, but he rather liked the sepulchral effect of his new voice. Even the way he swayed on his unfamiliar legs seemed to heighten Keller's terror.
Perfect, Guy thought. This bastard's going to suffer.
'What… what do you want?' Keller stuttered, his eyes wide in confusion.
Guy smiled slowly; to judge from Keller's reaction, he guessed his borrowed face must be distorted into some ghastly grimace. This was all to the good: it would enhance the experience.
'Quickly, human; be swift! Time grows short!'
Thribble's urgent squeak brought the Questor out of his reverie.
'I want you to turn off all those bloody collars,' Guy-Numal growled. If you want to quibble about it, try this!'
Guy cast a spell of which he always felt inordinately proud, and Keller fell to the floor, screaming in agony. The mage had exercised this particular magic on only a few occasions, since it required a man to be restrained and unresisting, but the Pit-master's consuming dread appeared to work just as well as physical confinement.
Guy held the spell on the slender man for only a few moments; he did not want Keller disabled or killed- yet.
