'I will accompany Questor Grimm, Doctor.' Grimm winced as Tordun's basso rumble vibrated his aching skull.
The swordsman helped the Questor to his feet, and Grimm felt surprised at the unsteadiness of his legs. With gratitude, he clung to the mighty arm offered him.
'How badly injured are these men, Questor Grimm, and where are they?' Hubin asked. 'I have several other patients I need to treat, you understand.'
Grimm saw several occupied beds in the large, gleaming room, and he realised these held the fighters he had felled in self-defence. He suppressed a pang of guilt that threatened to unman him.
'They've been shot by the Mansion House guards' metal weapons,' he said, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the bleeding, battered men. 'I believe they're in the bushes to the right of the entrance, but I don't know how badly hurt they are. The last time I saw them, they were bleeding and unconscious, and I'm worried about them.'
'Very well, mage,' the doctor said at last, his face locked in a mask of… what? Disapproval? Distaste? Hatred? Grimm could not tell. 'I'll treat them first. Your victims are either dead or likely to live, even if some of them may never speak or walk again. You've done well, butcher.'
Grimm's first instinct was to defend himself: he had had no choice but to strike out when attacked, and he felt the medical man's condemnation of his was unfair. However, more of Magemaster Crohn's words rang in his mind:
'When it comes to a choice between regarded with pity, with hatred or with fear, Adept Grimm, always eschew pity; a pitiful mage is a lesser mage. The life of a Guild man is not a popularity contest.'
Still leaning on Tordun's supportive arm, he leaned forward to look the physician straight in the eyes.
'I was merciful, Hubin,' he said, his voice low and dangerous. 'Just be grateful that I did not leave you a roomful of unidentifiable chunks of flesh. See to it that you take good care of my friends; I'll be keeping an eye on you.'
He held his intense, piercing Questor gaze on the grey-haired man's eyes for a long time before he relented. The doctor did not seem quite so defiant now.
'Very well, magic-user; you've made your position quite clear,' Hubin said, not daring to meet Grimm's glare. 'Let's go, then.'
The albino led Grimm out of the maze of corridors, followed by the sullen physician, and the mage felt a little guilty at how he had treated the old man. Nonetheless, this was no time to languish in self-pity or doubt; he had a mission to accomplish, and good friends to save. He also knew Keller might hold information that could exonerate his beloved, disgraced grandfather. He only hoped he would not be too late to save the worthless life of the despicable Pit-master while there was still time.
As the three men ascended the staircase to the top level of the Pit building, Grimm became aware of shouts and cries, and he saw a crowd of angry men clustered around the form of… Numal! The old mage appeared to be holding the warriors at bay with his staff, but he looked to be losing the battle.
Grimm let go of Tordun's arm and yelled, 'What is happening? What are you doing here, Numal?'
Unthinking, he shouldered past the enraged, milling warriors to stand before the Necromancer, who had his back to the remains of a small cubicle. Behind Numal lay the fallen, unmoving form of Keller, and Grimm felt a cold shock run down his spine.
'Numal; he's not dead, is he? I need to talk to him!'
The Necromancer's mouth worked, but only a few guttural sounds emerged, as if Numal had difficulty co- ordinating his tongue, lips and throat.
A deep voice boomed behind Grimm. 'Step aside, youngster. We've got business to finish here.'
He spun around to see a heavily-muscled man who overtopped him by several inches. The man's expression was not friendly.
'So have I, warrior,' the young Questor snarled. 'And. need him alive!'
'Do yourself a favour, kid; I'm being more than fair here.' The fighter raised a large, knotted fist. 'Get out of my way and you won't be hurt. We have no quarrel with you; our argument is with Keller, but we're in no mood to negotiate. We're losing patience with Old Father Time, here.'
Tordun interposed himself between Grimm and the enraged fighter. 'If you want to fight someone, you could always start with me,' he growled. 'I am no fonder of the Pit-master than you, but the Questor, here, has a prior claim over all of us.'
'You're just a new boy, Tordun,' a man from the back cried. 'I've been enslaved by this sick bastard for nigh on six years, and some of the other men have been fighting under the collar for much longer than that.'
Another fighter forced his way forward. His face was a patchwork of swellings and livid scars, and his eyes blazed with an almost feral light. 'I've been under Keller's spell for fifteen years,' he said. 'I almost died three times after a beating and I've killed two good friends, thanks to this bloody collar. And you reckon you've got more claim on him than us? You don't look much older than fifteen years yourself, conjuror. If you've really got an older grudge than that, it must've been in a previous life! Stand aside!'
A fierce susurration of assent rose from the other warriors, and only the threatening bulk of Tordun stayed a direct assault
Grimm let the pejorative term, 'conjuror', slide, and he faced the new interlocutor. 'I have little claim on Keller for my own sake,' he said, forcing his voice into a calm, passive tone, although his emotions blazed inside him.
'Thirty years ago, my grandfather was a Mage Questor like me He was stripped of his powers and expelled from the Guild in disgrace after an evil witch's spell. I know Keller knows something about it, and I want to hear the truth from his lips.'
'Expelled? That doesn't sound too bad,' a man called from somewhere in the crowd. 'It's a hell of a lot better than being enslaved. Get out of the way, mage, and give us our rightful revenge.' A cheering chorus of agreement greeted this sally, but the fighters still hung back. However, Grimm could tell their wrath would not be contained for long.
'Pauper! Traitor's spawn! Rat's bastard!' the Questor screamed, giving vent to all the frustration and anger in his body. 'From the age of seven until I gained my Guild ring, I spent scarcely a single day without hearing some such insult; many were much worse. Most were accompanied by beatings, and I lacked the size or the skill to fight back, unlike you. Most of the Students in my House regarded me as something lower than pond-scum, and my lowly, despised station ensured I was put through a frightful, awful ordeal that drove me to the very brink of madness. During that time, I was beaten almost into unconsciousness nearly every day, and I was not permitted to fight back! You, at least, are allowed to retaliate against your assailants.
'My grandfather, Loras, whose name should be hallowed throughout the Guild, is remembered as a renegade and a turncoat, who tried to murder a man for the sake of his own advancement! You have a decade of vengeance to expunge; I have a man's reputation to restore: his self-respect; his name; his life!
'I do not ask that Keller's life be spared, just that he be allowed to live long enough to tell me what I need to know to exonerate my grandfather. I have no quarrel with any of you, but I will fight to keep him alive for long enough to obtain the information I crave. That is all I want from him; then, you may have him.
'Is that acceptable?'
The fighters muttered and grumbled to each other, and the apparent spokesman nodded. 'Ten minutes,' he said. 'No more than that.'
The large man put two fingers in his mouth and whistled; Grimm winced at the volume of the piercing sound. The angry fighters retreated to the margins of the Pit, but they gathered around the only exit, preventing any chance of egress.
Grimm, satisfied he would be left unmolested for the moment, turned to the Necromancer.
'What's going on, Numal?' he demanded. 'Is Keller still alive?'
The grey-haired mage nodded, and spoke in the same strange, strangled monotone he had used before. 'We were just having a friendly little discussion when this mob of bruisers turned up, and I readied myself for a little bit of action. Then I found that this worn-out wreck of a body didn't have a hell of a lot of energy in it. I'm almost glad you turned up, youngster. I thought you were done for.'
Grimm rubbed his aching left temple, confused; this did not sound like the effeminate, timid Numal at all. He shook his head, uncomprehending.
