"You can tell me all about your ingenuity when we have time, Thribble," he said.
"Xylox; this 'pestilential netherworld imp' has a name: Thribble. I would remind you that Thribble has saved both our lives, Brother Mage, and he proved instrumental in the liberation of the city of Crar from the odious Starmor. I do think you might be a little more appreciative of his efforts on our behalf." The mage dropped to one knee, and the demon hopped into Grimm's robe pocket with an athletic leap.
"All I know is that your good demon friend used some form of Technology to liberate us. That gives me mixed feelings about the affair," the older Questor replied, as implacable and unbending as ever. "My mind is on more important matters, such as the defeat of Armitage, the ransoming of our companions and the resumption of our sworn Quest: the responsibility for which is mine alone. If you have quite finished your happy reunion, we have a task to do."
Grimm sighed. Xylox was as unyielding as granite, and as warm. "I haven't forgotten, Questor Xylox. Let's do it."
"We will do the deed in full solemnity and gravity, as Guild Mages should, Questor Grimm. I remind you that I want to hear only formal Mage Speech from now on. This is a serious task, and it must be approached in a serious manner."
Grimm thought the omission of a few trifling vernacular expressions and contractions from his speech would make little difference to the hapless victims of his magic. Nonetheless, he agreed that the two Questors needed to present a united front. It seemed it might be easier to destroy the Shest Mountains with a toothpick than to change the ingrained ways of the proud, pompous Xylox. The two thaumaturges might face sufficient opposition from Armitage's minions, without adding to it through pointless rivalry, bickering and vituperation.
"I concur, Brother Mage; Mage Speech it will be. I accept your authority as senior Questor, without reservation."
Xylox replied with a curt nod, accepting the fealty he doubtless saw as his right. He moved towards the door, placing a hand upon it. The twisted portal jerked and juddered, but the tracks on which it slid seemed too buckled to allow it to open. The grizzled mage raised a hand and muttered a nonsense phrase. The door burst from its tracks, impacted the opposite wall with a loud clang and clattered to the floor.
"I think Administrator Armitage may now be aware that we are no longer under his control," Grimm said, smiling.
The older man failed to conceal the trace of a smug smile. "It is just as well," he said. "He should know he has made the worst and last mistake of his life in inviting the wrath of Xylox the Mighty! It will allow him to reflect upon his folly before he dies."
The senior Questor made a bold step into the corridor, to be greeted by a stuttering chorus of small explosions. He staggered as if hit by a myriad of tiny fists, but he then turned to Grimm, apparently unscathed.
"This corridor is now pacified," he intoned, with evident satisfaction. "My Charm of Missile Reversal seems to work as well with these accursed Technological weapons as with crossbow bolts."
Grimm stepped into the passageway and saw a tangled heap of bodies at one end. He guessed the hapless guards had attempted to use projectile weapons against the magically protected mage. The projectiles had been reflected back against them, to devastating effect.
"Armitage, I declare myself your nemesis and your executioner!" Xylox screamed into the void. "Tremble and quail, for your end is at hand!"
****
Armitage sat in a comfortable, high-backed leather chair in the Control Room, his eyes locked on the screen before him as the two mages engaged in their life-and-death struggle. He had been fascinated by the Illusionists and Mentalists he had studied earlier, but he rubbed his hands with surpassing glee at the savage display of implacable, unalloyed destruction that unfolded before his rapt eyes. General Quelgrum would take possession of a tamed, controlled harbinger of death and destruction, a flesh-and-bone weapon beyond imagining, and Armitage would have a preserved specimen to study at his leisure, and detailed data on the mind functions of such beings in full flight. He could not have been more satisfied at the outcome of his little experiments, and he made copious notes as the various magical energies impacted, coalesced and clashed.
Glass shattered, metal buckled, and the formerly pristine Lab Six was converted into a twisted, battered hulk in the space of a few minutes while the two test-subjects hurled matter and energy at each other, with an intensity and fury that sundered the sturdiest of materials without apparent degradation of the human specimens themselves.
The older subject was slammed to the ground, and the younger mage moved to stand over him. Just as it seemed as if the outcome of the battle was inevitable, the prostrate specimen lashed out with his staff, and it was his younger rival who now sprawled on the floor.
The two mages staggered to their feet, and Armitage saw their lips moving. The microphone in the room had been disabled long before, but the expressions on the two subjects' faces showed that fighting spirit was still strong within each of them. Further entertainment and edification seemed to lie in store, and the Haven man settled back in his chair to witness the final confrontation.
The younger subject drew back his hands, a snarl of defiance on his lips, and the other specimen prepared himself for another spell. Armitage leaned towards the monitor in expectation of another titanic onslaught, but he gaped as a booming voice-his own voice! — blasted from the Control Room's speakers with shattering volume.
"Stop what you are doing at once! I am your despised enemy. You remember all that I have done to you, and you hate me for it. This order cannot be countermanded, and you will under no circumstances obey any other order of mine!"
The two mages stopped in their tracks. Bemusement and confusion flitted across their faces, to be replaced by expressions of resolve and hatred, not directed to each other, but to some common foe.
Armitage could not fathom the source of the false voice, but he knew his plan had miscarried, and a cold, lambent frisson of fear lashed through his every nerve. "Terrence!"
Armitage shrieked the name with an urgency born of pure panic, and the senior Technician rushed to his side, his forehead furrowed and his jaw slack.
"I swear that was nothing of my doing, Administrator," Terrence gasped. "It must have been that treacherous, whining wretch, Deeks. I've warned you about him before."
"Deeks! This is the Administrator. Come here!" Armitage yelled, but the portly Technician did not respond. Terrence rushed away, but he returned a few moments later, his expression blank.
"He's not here, Administrator."
Fighting to counter the panic rising within him, the Administrator turned to his junior. "D'you think that fake message will affect the security teams at all?"
The Technician shook his head, distracted. "They'll all have heard it, Armitage, but they're all Phase Three Pacified. The implants will sense any deviation from nominal and adjust neurotransmitter levels accordingly. It's a more robust method of control than Augmented Vocal Control."
"Good," Armitage snapped, grabbing a microphone. "Team Seven, Team Eight, security alert, Section Brown Nine, room 115. Respond with extreme prejudice to all non-Haven personnel. Immediate."
With a sick feeling of anxiety, he turned back to the monitor. The older subject, Xylox, had just blown out the door of the Test Lab, but the guards would be there in a moment or two. He switched to the corridor circuit, and was relieved to see the arrival of armed guards; at least they were still loyal to him. He breathed a sigh of relief, and he felt a moment of embarrassment at his momentary funk. As the older subject stepped into the corridor, the guards opened fire with automatic weapons, which spat hot, leaden death at the mage.