"Perhaps your eyebrows and hair would agree with me,” he continued, eyeing the hairless pink arcs above the Great Flame's eyes, and the uneven, semi-scorched mop that had replaced his normal, artful coiffure.
Now I understand what Mage Speech is all about, flashed a thought through his brain, bringing sudden understanding. I always thought cutting out vernacular, contractions and everything was just another petty restriction, but it helps you keep your distance-and that's what I have to do here.
"Even so,” Guy said, “I think I ought to have some say-"
"We have a problem here, Brother Mage,” Grimm said, his dark eyes hooded.
"What's that, Dragonblaster?” Guy's expression suggested he did not really care about the answer to his question. Still, Grimm felt a small shiver of relief at the fact that the older mage had evidently decided to abandon his former, sarcastic nickname for Grimm-Dragonbluster.
"The problem is that you are labouring under the delusion that I am in command of this expedition and you are the second-in-command,” the younger Questor replied."
Without giving Guy a chance to respond, he continued, “The fact of the matter, distasteful as it may appear to you, is that I am in charge, as decreed by the Lord Dominie, and you are not! Do you have a problem with that, Great Flame?” He fixed his gaze on Guy's glacier-blue eyes with the intensity only a Questor could command.
Guy was no dilettante; he matched Grimm's stare with the same cool glare of authority, and several moments passed in silence.
At last, Necromancer Numal broke the deadlock with a plaintive cry from within the wagon: “Well, are we stopping here or not, Questor Grimm?"
Not looking away from Guy's fierce gaze for a moment, Grimm said, “We will be moving on, Brother Mage."
As if on cue, Quelgrum flicked the reins and the obedient horses trotted back onto the road. Grimm's eyes began to water, and he felt a mild flush of pleasure as he saw traces of moisture around the older Questor's lower eyelids.
"You are welcome to stay here if you wish, Questor Guy,” Grimm said. “Shakkar, please begin a survey of the region around Rendale."
"At once, Lord Baron,” the demon rumbled, rising back into the sky and beating his way south-west on thundering wings, the sound diminishing as he climbed into the blue expanse.
After a few more moments of staring, Guy nodded slowly. “All right, Questor Grimm, if that's the way you want to play it; I'll go along with you-for now."
Ending the staring match, he nodded, and, muttering, “Play your puerile, little games of ascendancy if you want to,” he ducked back under the wagon's canvas cover.
Grimm flicked a swift glance at Quelgrum, as the soldier guided the vehicle with sure, confident hands with the ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Do you find something amusing in that exchange, General?” he demanded.
"Not at all, Lord Baron,” the soldier replied. “As a matter of fact, I thought you handled that situation well. For what it's worth, I also agree whole-heartedly with your decision."
Grimm nodded, feeling a distinct glow of pleasure at the General's assessment, but he said nothing.
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Chapter 32: Preparations
Within quarter of an hour, the wagon was back on the open road, heading south-west. The Anjarians had paid the travellers little heed, and the vehicle's progress had not been impeded. For a little while, Grimm continued to worry about the lingering effects of recent strain on the party, but the conversation in the rear of the vehicle seemed as animated and good-tempered as ever. Putting his fears behind him, he turned his attention to the matter of the Quest, and how it might be expedited.
Do we turn up en masse, knock at the door and demand to see the Prioress? he wondered. Do we blast our way in and proceed to destroy the place?
His mind returned to Horin's order: “I wish you to confront this odious cult directly and, if necessary, to destroy it.” It had all sounded so simple and clear-cut in the comfort of the Dominie's chamber, but the young mage began to feel grave misgivings squirming in his entrails. What to do?
You can't do this alone, Grimm, he thought. Quelgrum is the most experienced warrior of all of us; I'm sure he has an opinion.
Almost as if he had read the Questor's mind, Quelgrum leaned over and said, “Have you given any thought about how we're going to carry this off, Lord Baron?” He kept his voice low.
"I… I wanted to ask your advice on our tactics, General,” the young mage said. “Have you any recommendations to offer?"
"A few,” the soldier admitted. “For a start, it's always a good idea to hide your true numbers, especially if your force is small. Keep ‘em guessing. My advice would be for you and me to approach the Priory, with the others out of sight."
Grimm nodded. “I agree with you in principle, General. However, I recommend that I make the initial approach alone. I have some experience now of the kinds of tricks Geomantic magic can play with the unwary mind, and I'm unlikely to be caught napping."
"Under those circumstances, Lord Baron,” Quelgrum said, “I insist on a thorough reconnaissance of the area before we do anything. If at all possible, I would advise you to post Sergeant Erik and me behind any available cover, so we can lay down suppressing fire with our rifles if anything untoward happens. I fancy even a witch will find a rifle bullet troublesome if she doesn't expect it.
"I'd also advise you not to enter the Priory; persuade this Lizaveta woman to come out to you. We can't protect you if you go inside."
"What if Lizaveta won't come out?” Grimm asked. “What if she insists on me entering the Priory?"
The General rubbed his chin. “Then that's probably the time to up the ante…"
Grimm furrowed his brow; the soldier's words meant little to him.
"I mean, to make a few vague threats. Make it clear that it's not a request, and that there will be dire consequences if she won't come out. Don't be too specific, but let them know we're ready for trouble."
"And then, General?"
"Well, if the old lady still won't play ball, I'd advise you to leave,” the General said. “Assuming we've got some kind of defensible position, the Sergeant and I can lob rifle-grenades at the door, the windows and the walls from a distance. We've still got plenty of ammunition; incendiary, armour-piercing and high-explosive. We should be able to crack the place open like an egg."
"I don't want to cause any unnecessary bloodshed, if we can avoid it,” Grimm said. He had no idea of the capabilities of most of Quelgrum's arsenal, and he worried that many, or even most, of the Prioress’ charges might be unaware of her evil ways. “I don't want the deaths of a score or more innocent women on my conscience. Your explosive weapons may be a little too indiscriminate, General."
"Then we'll throw down some fire just short of the Priory, Lord Baron, just to show them a sample of what we can do. Perhaps you and Questor Guy would like to display a few of your own fireworks, just to add some emphasis. The main thing is not to let them guess exactly how many there are of us, or what kind of weaponry we have at our disposal.
"After our little demonstration, you can return to negotiation. That's when you go pot limit-sorry, Lord Baron-when you tell them that the whole place will be wiped out if the old lady doesn't appear. If that doesn't work, we'll have to reconsider our options. Whatever happens, we shouldn't commit to a firm plan until we know the lie of the land."
Grimm mulled over the soldier's suggestions for the next few miles, as the wagon jounced and bobbled over the road's numerous ruts and irregularities. Try as he might, he could not think of a better scheme than Quelgrum had proposed.
"Very well, General,” he said at last. “I'll go along with that."
Kargan awoke to a fierce throbbing in his right temple; he touched a finger to his head and felt a lump the size of a small egg, wincing at the contact. Opening his eyes, he saw he was lying on a straw mattress in a small room. On a stool beside him sat Mistress Drima.