"Sorry, Sir,” the unseen man replied, with just a little too much emphasis on the inappropriate honorific. “'Ang on, can't you?"
Loras heard a whip crack, and he just managed to stop himself from cannoning back into Olaf as the vehicle surged forward.
****
Quelgrum wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling it running down his back and sides as he heaved and strained at the long, wooden lever. He had not engaged in such sustained physical effort since his long-ago time as a serf in Garley Province, and only then under a whip-wielding overseer's constant encouragement. He envied Shakkar and Tordun: although weakened, they seemed to cope far better than he as they worked. Quelgrum was determined that his team would be the first to move one of the bigger stone blocks away from the rubble.
Grunting, he hoisted himself off the ground, exerting all his weight on the end of the lever, aided by ten uncomplaining, silent nuns. He tried not to envy Sergeant Erik, who walked around the ruins, directing the operation.
"Easy there!” Erik called to one of the ten teams. “The fulcrum's crumbling-back off carefully and choose another one."
Quelgrum saw that his team's lever, a former roof-beam, was distinctly bowed, but it seemed in no danger of immediate breakage. Then, his feet touched the ground, and he saw the target block begin to wobble.
"Come on, ladies!” he yelled. “Move back towards me… nearer… that's it! Now, heave! It's going…!"
The stone gave a sudden lurch and tumbled away from the pile of rubble, rolling end over end and settling onto the grass in a cloud of dust. The General tumbled backwards at the sudden release of resistance, wincing as the nun in front of him fell backwards into his groin.
I know I always tell the drill-sergeants to put the Privates through the wringer, he thought, as the sharp, sickening pain shot through his lower body and stabbed into his entrails. Lizaveta obviously gave these ladies similar instructions.
"Well done!” Erik cried, running towards the sprawling group. “That's the spirit!"
Some of the nuns on Quelgrum's team raised hoarse cheers as they rose to their feet, but the old soldier could only grunt as he tottered upright. The pain in his vitals had subsided to a more tolerable, dull, throbbing ache, but he felt the weight of every one of his sixty-odd years bearing down on him.
"Where next, Sergeant?” he croaked, as Erik surveyed his group's assigned area, near what had been the main entrance to the now-shattered Priory.
"That one, perhaps?” He pointed towards another block of similar size.
The Sergeant shook his head. “I don't think so, Sir,” he said. “It looks a little precarious. If we disturb it too much, it could just fall down to a lower level, taking a lot of other stuff with it. I'd advise clearing away some of the smaller rubble, so we can see what's going on."
The ground rumbled, and Shakkar's team cheered as another block fell away from the main mass of the ruins.
"There's a body!” one of the nuns shouted, and Quelgrum's heart leapt. “She's still alive!"
The old soldier felt a moment of disappointment at the feminine pronoun, but he suppressed it: at least the clearing operation was of some use. Several nuns rushed to the site and helped to extricate the casualty.
Another, louder, cheer arose from Tordun's team as another block rolled away from the ruins.
"Excuse me, Sir,” Erik said. “I'm needed. I advise you to continue clearing this area, carefully. Make sure your footing's firm before you start carrying away the material."
He dashed away, and Quelgrum saw the nuns on his team looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. Again, he wondered why everybody always looked to him for guidance and leadership. Even as a junior member of his renegade group of serfs, people had expected him to provide the answers. Why?
Because I always do, he answered himself with a rueful, twisted smile. Not everyone can make rapid decisions in a crisis.
He forced himself to stand up straight, and he invoked his habitual parade-ground voice. “You four ladies:” he barked, jabbing his right forefinger towards a quartet of women, “start clearing away the rocks around the opening on this side. You four can go around to the other side and do the same. Be careful not to let anything big fall into the hole, and lie flat on the rubble so you don't exert too much pressure."
He turned to the two remaining nuns, both stout ladies of middle age. “I'd like you ladies to lean over the hole and listen for any sounds of life as we remove the rubble."
The women went to their work in an enthusiastic manner; none raised the least protest at the soldier's assumption of authority. Quelgrum went in search of Necromancer Numal, who was aiding the other teams by indicating the probable positions of bodies with sticks inserted in the rubble. His face was a dull, grey mask of strain as he ran through a series of identical chants, hardly stopping to draw breath.
When the mage stopped to mop his brown, the soldier asked him, “How goes it, Necromancer Numal?"
"It's hard work, General,” Numal said, “even though I'm not doing any heavy lifting. It's a demanding enough spell if you're trying to find even a single body. There must be dozens down there. I have no idea how many of them are still alive."
"Have you located Baron Grimm's body yet?"
Numal shook his head and brushed his hair from his eyes. “All the bodies I've located so far were women."
"Does that mean he might still be alive?” the General asked.
Numal shrugged. “Necromancers don't deal with the living,” he said. “It could mean he's alive, but it could also mean that he's just buried too deep; stone attenuates the death-sign far more than soil does. I won't give up, though. I've located nine bodies so far."
"Good man, Lord Mage,” Quelgrum said, clapping Numal on the shoulder in encouragement.
He looked towards the western sky, where the baleful, ruddy sun hung a scant finger-width above the horizon.
"We'll need fires,” he muttered, more to himself than to Numal. “It'll be dark soon."
"I can do better than that, General,” the Necromancer declared. “Mage Light's a cheap spell; I should be able to spare enough energy to cast light over the whole area, and a steady, white light would be far better than a flickering fire. I should be able to keep it going all night, if need be."
Quelgrum felt a surge of pride.
I didn't think much of Numal at first, he thought. I thought he was a slack, useless coward then, but he's certainly pulling his weight now.
"We couldn't even think of doing this without you, Lord Mage,” he said, smiling in appreciation. “Seneschal Shakkar's and Tordun's strength are essential to the work, but, without knowing where to dig, we'd all just be floundering in the dark."
Numal's face brightened, and Quelgrum realised the Necromancer must have little experience of encouragement and praise.
"You're doing a fine job, Necromancer,” he declared, patting the mage's shoulder once more. “With your help, we'll get through this.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to my team."
The painstaking, arduous work continued apace, and Quelgrum now felt strong enough to aid the nuns in their task. By now, a deep, black void had been revealed, over which hung many, many tons of stone.
What's holding all this lot up? he wondered, gazing down into the pitch-black depths. A wooden beam couldn't support all this stone.
Leaning forward as far as he dared, he saw a faint gleam within the gloom. His arm reached towards it. He cried out, his head exploding with blazing light, and fell backwards, tumbling down the rubble-pile and banging his head on a rock. As his head whirled, and he tried to bring his twitching eyes into focus, he saw three nuns racing towards him, their faces pale with concern.
"Are you all right, General?” the nearest nun cried, whose name he could not remember. “What's the matter? Do you need help?"