At Grimm's approach, the General looked up from his work. “Good morning, Lord Baron. How are the warriors?'
'Good morning, General. I think we're about ready to leave. Crest and Harvel seem to be up to arguing again, so there can't be too much wrong.'
The soldier nodded. “Tordun's out running again. He told me yesterday that he's worried about his fitness. He wants to be on the road again, and so do I. Still, there's the problem of Questor Guy and Necromancer Numal. It'd be better for all of us if they were back in their own bodies.'
'I've been thinking about that, General, and I've got a couple of ideas on the subject. Do you know where they are?'
'Questor Guy's off in the woods, checking the snares, and Necromancer Numal's collecting firewood. They should be back soon.'
Grimm sat beside the military man while Quelgrum reassembled his weapons with impressive speed.
'To look at you, General, nobody would ever think you'd once been a shepherd,” he said.
'It's like riding a bicycle, mage. Once learnt, never forgotten.'
Grimm frowned. “What's a bicycle, General?'
Quelgrum laughed. “I keep forgetting how little you mages know about machines,” he said. “A bicycle is-ah! Here come our two strays.'
Grimm noticed that the two juxtaposed souls seemed to avoid each other's eyes, and that they were silent as they strode into the camp. He rose to his feet.
'Gentlemen!” the Questor called. “I've been thinking about your little problem, and I'd like to try out a couple of techniques.'
'The sooner the better,” Guy/Numal said. “Let's go.'
Numal/Guy nodded vigorously. “I agree. What do you have in mind?'
'Numal, the problem seems to be that you aren't confident enough to cast the spell using Guy's voice-box. What if I were to cast the spell?'
Numal/Guy shrugged. “I've heard you Questors can do a lot of different types of spell, but the Juxtaposition one is complex; as a Specialist Necromancer, I was only just able to carry it off. Do you really think you can come up with some Questor analogue of the rune magic? Remember that the souls have to cross over at the same time: if one body is left soulless, it may die.'
Grimm shook his head. “I wouldn't know where to start,” he confessed. “Even so, I can read runes as well as the next mage; if you were to write down the spell, I should be able to recite it.'
'That wouldn't work, Grimm. You know as well as I how magic works. The incantation has to come from the caster's own mouth.'
'That's not quite right, Numal. The spell has to come from the caster's brain. I have some experience of astral travel now. I believe I could implant my psyche in your borrowed head, while using my own voice to cast the spell. I would be linked to my body through my ‘silver cord', and you could use our shared voice to pattern your mind for the casting. I'd read the spell through your-or rather, Guy's-eyes.
'Guy, it's your body. I ask your permission to try this… this ‘spell transplant'. I have no idea if it'll work or not.'
Guy/Numal shrugged. “I'm willing to try anything. I've had enough of this creaking geriatric shell.'
'And you, Numal?'
The Necromancer's borrowed face furrowed with evident doubt. “I suppose so, Grimm. I don't like it; the consequences could be disastrous for both of us.'
Grimm spread his hands, palms upwards, before him. “I don't think you're ever going to feel confident enough to chant the spell using Guy's throat. We've got to do something.'
'I know,” Numal said, “and I do agree, in principle. Still, you said you had a couple of ideas. What's the other one?'
'Those red-and-white toadstools,” Grimm said, pointing to a clump of gaudy fungi clustered around a tree, “have some interesting properties. If you both ate some, you might start spontaneously to travel on the astral plane. I could try to snap your silver cords and transfer your straying souls back into your respective bodies, before they knew what had happened.'
'I think I prefer the first plan.'
'I hate to admit it, but I agree with Grandpa here.'
'Right,” Grimm said. “Then that's what we'll try first. Numal, please write out the spell as best you can remember it.'
While the Necromancer busied himself with parchment and pencil, Grimm fought the cold, clammy demons of doubt and fear. He had no idea of whether his plan would work, but he knew that something must be done.
At last, Numal looked up. “It's all there, Grimm. Go ahead.'
Grimm drew several deep breaths. He felt an urgent desire to calm himself with the drugs that had once enslaved him: Trina and Virion. Nonetheless, he had no desire to risk becoming an unwilling vassal to the insidious herbs again.
'Have you any advice, Numal?'
The Necromancer nodded. “Questor Guy, please lie down beside me, remaining as still as you can. General Quelgrum, please hold the paper so I can see it. Questor Grimm, please… do take care.'
Grimm nodded, too full for words.
The two transposed mages lay down side-by-side, and Grimm adopted a pose of meditation, sitting by their heads. Quelgrum crouched beside Numal/Guy, holding the transcribed spell in front of the Necromancer's borrowed eyes.
'A little nearer, please, General,” Guy's voice said. “That's it: hold it just there.'
Grimm began to chant in his personal spell-language: “Ushuryaia, demtoril, appshaya. Ushuryaia, demtoril…'
The drone of the repetitive incantation calmed him, and he began to relax, concentrating on nothing but the meaningless, powerful words. Grimm's eyes closed, and he felt warmth beginning to spread through him. He was drifting… flying…
Far below him, the mage's astral projection saw the two mages and his own body.
A simple effort of will… down… down.
A moment of claustrophobic confusion came over him, and he fought to ignore the alien thoughts threatening to subsume him.
Just a little shift… there!
With a shock of realisation, spirit-Grimm knew he was looking through another's eyes. Numal's thoughts washed into his psyche, and he resisted them as best he could.
Concentrate on the runes!
The spiky symbols filled his field of vision, and he seized control of the shared eyes, scanning the document. For a moment, he felt lost, as he tried to reassert simultaneous command of his own, distant body. The evanescent silver cord rippled and stretched, but spirit-Grimm managed to maintain a tenuous grasp on his own physical manifestation.
Such a strange feeling… he thought, drifting for a moment before regaining his sense of purpose. Read, Questor! Read it!
As if from far away, yet still inside his own head, he heard fluent, crisp syllables. On several occasions, he felt the spell starting to drift as he struggled to maintain control, but he carried on. At last, he knew he had botched a joining-rune, giving it a rising cadence rather than a falling one. At once, he was swimming in a sea of nausea that threatened to consume him. Spiky bolts of pain shot through his, or somebody's, head, like bolts from a crossbow.
It hurts!
A miscast, a calm, mental voice said, as somebody's entrails roiled and bucked. We failed; we can't afford another mistake. Try again
Grimm's distant voice moaned, as the mage tried to maintain the integrity of this strange, dual personality.
We hurt!
