He put his ear against Grimm's chest and felt relieved to hear a steady heartbeat. It was fast, but strong, and the mage's life seemed in no immediate danger. The next necessity was to check for blood loss. Erik noted a large area of matted hair on the back of the Baron's head, but the blood seemed to have clotted. He found several other bleeding wounds, but none was life-threatening.
The Sergeant reached up under the Questor's robes, feeling for localised swellings that might indicate serious internal bleeding. As his hands assessed the integrity of the large blood vessels running from Grimm's groin to his thighs, he heard a faint, sibilant sound and froze.
With a sudden shock of awareness, he realised that Grimm was trying to speak, although he could not make out the words. His heart pounding anew, this time with hope, he slid forward and put his ear to the mage's lips.
"Speak to me, Lord Baron,” he said.
Grimm's answering voice seemed no louder than the sound of a breeze ruffling the leaves of a distant copse, but Erik could make out the words: “I said, ‘If you touch me there again, Sergeant, you'll have to marry me.’ I-"
The Baron's words ended in a sharp gasp, followed by an agonised groan.
"Don't worry, Lord Baron,” Erik said, louder than he had intended. “I'll get you out of here. I'll just-"
For a moment, the Sergeant thought Grimm had groaned again, before he realised that the sound had come from the rubble around Redeemer, which had begun to trickle away from the ledge.
"Fight, man!” Erik shouted, as he saw Grimm's half-open eyelids flicker. “I'm getting you out of here, but you have to help me. Don't you dare die on me, or… or I'll be court-martialled! Do you want that?"
The ominous creaking ceased, but he knew he dared not wait for a response; he must act quickly. “Don't go away,” Erik said. “I'll be back in a few moments."
He began to crawl backwards, and he heard the faint rejoinder, “I'm not going anywhere, Sergeant."
As he stood up, Thribble asked him, “How is Questor Grimm, Sergeant?"
"It's touch-and-go, Thribble. Talk to him, and get him to answer if you can. He has to stay awake."
He cupped his hands in front of him, and the grey imp hopped into them. He lowered Thribble to the ground, and the demon scurried into Grimm's corner.
Erik removed the two improvised ropes from Numal's staff and tied them into a single length. He had no idea if the makeshift line would support a man's weight, but he dared not risk delaying the operation longer in the hope of finding a better substitute.
Crawling back under the stone block, he saw Thribble's bleak expression, but he dared not stop to enquire further. Kneeling beside the motionless mage, he fastened the rope under Grimm's armpits with a sturdy bowline.
Erik eyed the young man's damaged leg, and he knew a broken thigh-bone would mean death if it were to puncture a large blood-vessel. However, he could delay no longer.
"This will hurt, Lord Baron,” he said, not knowing if the Questor heard his words or not. “I'm sorry, but it's the only way."
Grabbing the prone mage under the armpits, he began to turn him around to haul him over the rubble, eliciting a sharp cry.
That's good, he thought, grunting with the effort. Dead men don't feel pain.
"Come on, Thribble,” he gasped. “We're getting out of here."
With painful lethargy, the Sergeant lugged Baron Grimm from under the looming block, which teetered over as one of Redeemer's ends slipped downwards.
At last, he and his burden emerged into the rock-strewn clearing, but he knew the danger was not over; if Redeemer moved much more, the resultant collapse might bring tons of rubble down onto them.
"I've got him, Tordun!” Erik yelled. “Get ready to pull; I'm throwing a rope up to you… now!"
The line snaked upwards as he hurled it towards the edge of the pit. For a moment, it seemed to hang in mid-air, and he thought the albino had caught it. Then, it fluttered back to the floor in a heavy, sinuous coil, and he drew a deep breath. Trying to ignore the ominous creaking, he gathered it up and threw it again. This time, he saw a pair of hands scrabbling for the rope, the end of the tether waving tantalising inches from Tordun's outstretched fingertips before it collapsed once more.
Erik heard a slithering, hissing sound, and he realised that some of the smaller debris was beginning to escape into the chamber as the block tilted further.
"Come on, Tordun!” he screamed, coiling the line for a third throw. “Catch the bloody thing! We don't have much longer.
"Three… two… one… now!"
For what seemed an age, the slender, knotted rope arced into the air, uncoiling as it went, and Erik held his breath. The albino's fingers stretched out again, and the rope began to descend, tickling Tordun's left palm as it began to pick up speed. With a convulsive clench of his fist, the pale giant's hand closed over the line and held it.
"I have it!” he shouted.
"Pull, Tordun! Pull!” Erik tried to ignore the hissing, intensifying rain of detritus pattering down around him. He stepped back, almost slipping on the rubble, as Grimm began to rise towards the light. The rope creaked, but it held.
At last, the mage's feet disappeared over the ledge. After a few moments more, Erik saw Tordun's hands extending over the hole again, and the looped end of the rope dropped back down.
Without waiting, the Sergeant scooped the tiny demon up and shoved him into his right jacket pocket, ignoring Thribble's indignant squeak of protest. He wriggled into the loop, so that it rested under his armpits.
"Pull, Tordun!"
He gasped as his feet jerked off the ground, taking a firm hold on the rope. At last, he saw the rim of the opening just above him, and he hauled himself over it, gasping and groaning with the effort.
We made it! The words screamed in the Sergeant's brain, and he felt a warm sense of achievement.
Rising onto unsteady legs, he saw the young nun, Mercia, bending over Baron Grimm's dusty figure. As he approached them, the healer looked up and proffered him a dreamy smile, her face almost radiant.
"He'll live,” she said. “He has a bad concussion. He also has a dislocated leg, a couple of broken ribs and some internal bleeding; but I can mend them, given time, even with the little magic left to me."
Erik answered the nun with a bright smile, but he felt his heart surge as the ground gave a sudden heave. Tearing his eyes from the healer and stepping back, he saw the huge rock quiver and jump upward, sending a mighty burst of rubble into the chamber.
He shivered, as he realised that the rain of stones could have killed him.
"What have you kept in here, Sergeant?” Thribble demanded, pushing his head out from Erik's pocket. “It was awful!"
Erik burst out in a long, loud guffaw, stopping only when he heard a high-pitched, hysterical note invading his laughter.
He wanted a good, strong drink, but he would wait until the operation was finished. Plenty of work still lay ahead.
After his exertions in the cramped chamber, he stretched his muscles for a few minutes before turning to address the assembled nuns.
"Ladies,” he said. “We've made a good start, but there's still a lot to do. Do you feel up to it?"
He felt almost disappointed to hear the women's loud, enthusiastic cheer of assent, but he managed to raise a cheerful smile.
"Right, ladies,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “I recommend we start our efforts over there."
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Chapter 27: Accusations
Loras Afelnor hardly noticed the weight of the iron chains on his hands and feet as Questor Olaf led him and Magemaster Kargan down from the back of the wagon.
I almost forgot what High Lodge looked like, he thought, gazing in wonder at the fantastic, towering edifice, its gleaming, white turrets seeming almost to pierce the sky.