He was a rabbit-warren, with small, fugitive creatures scuttling through his enormous, cavernous limbs, into his vastly-extended fingers and toes. Grimm had ceased to be: in his place was a busy community of burrowing creatures, running over and under and through him.
I am an… it… I am eternity! I am… nothing!
The rhythm of the universe sang in his head, a sweet symphony of nothingness; a pretty fugue for a bland, meaningless and worthless life. From leagues away came the faint, sonorous, repetitive crescendo: Murderer, Traitor's Spawn, Heretic, Pauper…
Long, loud laughter… somebody's arms and legs hurt, but he was not certain whose…
Someone was crying, but nobody's grief could be this powerful…
A long scream, drifting off into a long, dark corridor…
The world rumbled, shuddered and hurt.
Rough hands. Hot, sweet coffee. Too much!
'That's… that's enough.” This time, Grimm knew the spluttered words were his own. “Thank you.'
Opening his eyes, he looked up to see Numal standing over him. The Questor found himself lying on a straw mattress in one of the Breeder cells, covered by a thin, woollen blanket.
'How long has it been, Numal?” he croaked.
'Two days,” the Necromancer replied, his face ashen. “I was quite good at Herbalism and Healing, so I've been tending you.'
'I failed us all, again,” Grimm said. “I guess I don't have the self-control or presence to lead a group of adventurers. I don't know what came over me there…'
The Necromancer shook his head. “It wasn't loss of self-control, Grimm, it was concussion,” he said. “It's a wonder you managed to stay conscious as long as you did after that explosion.'
The door opened, and Quelgrum walked in, a metal weapon in its accustomed place at his side. “Good to see you back with us, Lord Baron,” he said. “How do you feel?'
Grimm shrugged. “Numb. Strange.'
With Numal's aid, he managed to sit up, the blanket sliding to the floor. He was naked, but he did not care.
'What's been happening since I've been away, General?” he demanded, his tone rather more brusque than he had intended.
The soldier shrugged. “I've been talking to Revenant Murar at some length, Lord Baron, and giving advice on the reconstruction of Brianston. A few of the older Breeders have been co-opted onto the Council alongside the Revenants. Most of them realise they don't really want to die just yet, after all, and I think they're beginning to persuade a lot of the others. Murar's issued an edict that the Sacrifices are at an end.
'It's not exactly one big, happy family yet, but just give it time. After all, they've got to change their whole accustomed way of life.'
'Crest, Tordun and the others-how are they?'
'Crest got a decent burial,” the General said. “Some of the Breeders have erected a little monument to him; they realise that, by getting in the way of the blast, he saved a lot of them. Tordun's still poorly, but he's regained at least some of his eyesight. He can already tell the difference between light and shadow, although I reckon his fighting days are over.
'Questor Guy is working off a lot of energy by helping with the demolition work, although you'd think he was running the whole thing.
'However, the real force behind the work is Seneschal Shakkar. There's even talk of erecting a statue to him, too, although Guy thinks there should be one of him, instead-he's a little tetchy about the affair.'
'That sounds like my dear Brother Mage,” Grimm said, smiling. “How is Harvel?'
The General shrugged. “A little… strange; he won't be coming with us, Lord Baron. He says he's had it with a warrior's life, and he wants to be a farmer here in Brianston. He's taken Crest's death quite badly.'
Grimm sighed and nodded. “They were like brothers.'
'Harvel doesn't blame you at all, Questor Grimm. Some of the Breeders and the other citizens weren't too keen on you after you defeated Gruon, but he stood up to them. He wants to see you before we leave.'
Grimm shook his head. “I'm not sure that's a good idea, General. Perhaps it's better if-'
'Is there room in here for another one?” a cheery, familiar voice called, and the mage turned to see Harvel squeezing into the room. Grimm felt astonished to see plain working clothes instead of the warrior's usual, colourful regalia.
'I heard you were awake, Questor Grimm,” he said, smiling.
'Harvel, I'm so sorry about-'
'Enough said, Lord Mage,” the sword-master said, quickly. “The life of a warrior is a dangerous one, and both Crest and I knew the risks when we signed up.'
'But now you've had enough?'
Harvel nodded. “I'm getting too old and too slow for this way of life, mage. Sooner or later, some young upstart will come along and hand me my head. Crest's death has made me think a lot about myself, and I've decided to take things a little easier from now on. I find this new life agrees with me.'
'It does look good on you, Harvel,” the Questor agreed, admiring the warrior's tanned, athletic appearance.
Harvel grasped Grimm's right hand in his own. “Good luck, Questor. I do hope you find what you're looking for-I have.'
With that, he was gone.
'When can we leave, General?” Grimm asked, thinking ahead to the Quest. He wanted, more than anything, to be able to bury the memory of this bizarre town. The soldier sat on the mattress beside him.
'Whenever you feel fit enough, Lord Baron,” Quelgrum said. “Perhaps a few days-'
'I feel fit enough right now, General. I'd like to have a meeting with the whole team as soon as possible. We have a job to do, and we've wasted too much time as it is.'
The old soldier looked Grimm right in the eyes, and nodded slowly. “If you're sure you're all right,” he said.
'I am. And get me some Names-cursed clothes!'
'At once, Lord Baron!'
The remaining members of the team, now including Shakkar and Sergeant Erik, stood before the young Questor in the roundhouse's main plaza.
'We leave tonight,” Grimm declared, resplendent in new blue-and-yellow silk robes. “The Quest goes on.'
'My, aren't we the cool one?” Guy said, with more than a trace of the expected sneer. “Still think you can handle it without blubbing your eyes out?'
Grimm knew he should feel angry at the older Questor's habitual disdain for him, but he did not.
'I apologise to all of you for my earlier, juvenile outburst,” he said, his voice loud and clear. “My attitude was unbecoming of a Guild Mage, and I assure you now that it will not recur. My duty comes first, and I will not forget that. Are you all with me?'
All signalled their enthusiastic assent except for Guy, who rolled his eyes.
'So our little Dragonbluster is getting all tough now, is he? Isn't that nice? Perhaps we can-'
'My cognomen is Dragonblaster, Questor Guy; a title now earned in deed. Do not forget it again!'
He locked his eyes on Guy's, compressing his mouth into a tight slit. Long moments passed as each mage stared at the other. Grimm felt his own, dark eyes watering as he poured his inner strength into the stare.
A bead of sweat ran down the Guy's right cheek, and the younger mage thought he saw a trace of a quiver in Guy's lips. Still, he did not look away.
At last, Guy averted his eyes. “All right, youngster; if it means that much to you, I won't forget it,” he
