"Tordun," was the mage's prompt reply. "He is larger than Crest, and so he needs more water to fill his frame."
"That may prove to be incorrect; kindly consider before you answer!" Foster snapped, putting in Grimm's mind the image of his former tutor, Magemaster Crohn, lecturing a class of obtuse Students.
"Let us assume that each man has a full load of water within his body," the pilot continued, sounding even more like the irascible Magemaster. It even seemed as if the Haven man had adopted the old mage's rigid, formal Mage Speech.
"The job of sweat is to cool the body. Perspiration takes place over the entire area of the skin, whereas water storage is within the volume of the body. Are we agreed on that?"
Foster seemed to take the group's lack of response as acquiescence. "Crest loses a greater percentage of his body water through perspiration than does the estimable Tordun."
Expressions of disbelief bloomed like desert flowers among the rebellious group, but Foster did not waver. "Imagine a cubic block of human flesh, a yard on each side," he said. "There are six square faces measuring one square yard each. The volume is one cubic yard."
"Granted," Xylox said, his eyes hooded, wary, and not admitting anything.
"The total surface area is six square yards; one square yard for each face."
Grimm began to see where the argument was heading.
"The ratio of the area of sweating skin is six square yards, so its ratio to the bulk of the water-retaining body, one cubic yard, is six to one."
Seeing no overt opposition, Foster continued, "Imagine that this block of flesh represents Crest."
Seeing puzzled looks on the faces of his audience, he rushed on, without waiting for verbal objections, "I know he doesn't look like that, and that he's bigger than that, but let's just suppose for a moment; all right? This is just pretending."
Xylox twisted his face into an elaborate yawn. "If it amuses you, Foster, I am prepared to pretend that Crest is a gelatinous cube." His tone was acerbic, but the pilot seemed to choose to take this as acceptance.
"Now, let us imagine a second such cube of the same size and dimensions, joined to the first," he said.
"Oh, yes, let's," Crest said in a bored voice, but the flyer ignored him.
"The volume is now two cubic yards. Would anybody care to tell me the surface area; that is, the sweating area, and the ratio between that area and the volume?"
"No, I wouldn't!" Tordun snapped. "I've just about had enough of your fairy tales! What good does all this stupid pretending do?"
Grimm felt as if as if a lightning bolt had seared through his brain; he remembered his Scholasticate classes in logic, and he now saw the gist of Foster's argument.
"Excuse me, Tordun, but I think that I can see what Foster is driving at," the young magic-user said. "He is not playing some silly game; I understand what he is saying, and it is true."
Foster shot a look of sheer gratitude at the mage. "Questor Grimm, would you be as good as to explain this simple concept to everybody?" Despite the desperate, pleading tone in the pilot's voice, the thaumaturge still heard the echo of the didactic Crohn's classroom voice.
"The area of the shape's surface is ten square yards," the mage said. "The volume is two cubic yards, so the ratio is now five to one."
"Exactly!" Foster said, clapping his hands.
"Outstanding," was Crest's languid, sarcastic remark. "So what does this have to do with how much water everybody drinks?"
"Is it not plain?" Grimm cried. "Bigger people have proportionately greater volume, which stores the water, than surface area, which sweats it off, as compared to smaller people! Crest needs less water than Tordun to drink his fill, but he loses water at a much faster rate than the larger man, so he needs to drink more often."
"So how do we choose suitable quantities of water for all?" Xylox asked, who still bore a dubious expression after this arcane manipulation of numbers.
"We cannot," Grimm replied, who was now persuaded. "Foster has been right, all along. We should all drink what our bodies demand. Tordun will require more water than Crest when he drinks, but our estimable, whip-wielding friend will need to drink more often.
"We cannot say which man will need to drink more, so it is better to drink to satisfy our thirsts. I hate to say it, but I agree with Foster in all regards. If we wait here, we waste water without progress, and we lose strength through lack of food. If we continue now, we may spend a day or two without water, but we should survive. We must continue!"
A long time passed while Xylox, Tordun and Crest considered Grimm's words. In the end, it was Tordun who spoke first.
"Ah, forget it, Foster. I'm not going on any further."
"Oh, well, let us just lie here and talk over old times, shall we?" the young mage snapped. "I assure you I was as ready as any of you to stay here, but I am now convinced that we must move on. If you wish to die, I will join you. Should you desire life, I suggest that you make the effort to continue. It is up to you."
"In any case," Foster said, "Armitage wants us to go to the General, and who are we to argue?" He spoke as if offering a rare treat.
Tordun opened his twisted mouth, as if to offer a sour rebuke, but Grimm felt as if a sharp, cold spear had run through his head, and he could see that the two warriors had received a similar mental rebuke.
"Very well, Foster," Xylox said. "If Armitage wishes it so, we must go. Questor Grimm; kindly inform the girl that we will leave with her or without her. We will adopt Foster's plan, in furtherance of our beloved Administrator's wishes."
"I understand, Brother Mage," the younger magic-user replied. "Who are we to ignore Armitage's wishes?"
For the sake of the Quest, it seemed better to simulate a fanatical adherence to the dead Administrator's commands than to show complete independence of mind. Grimm understood the reason for Xylox's volte-face, and he knew the warriors had been shown the same truth.
"Break camp!" Foster shouted, with new confidence, and the painful routine started anew.
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Chapter 19: Confrontation and Deliverance
Foster forged ahead, as he had on the previous two days, and Crest approached Xylox, who was trudging along near his fellow Questor.
"What was that little barb you sent me?" the thief demanded, stopping the mages in their tracks. His chin jutted in an aggressive manner.
"I have convinced Foster that we have been pacified by Armitage; that we are his happy, willing slaves," the senior mage declared. "It would not look right if we exhibited too much initiative and opposition. I therefore expect you and Tordun to control your tempers."
"Oh, you expect it, do you, magic-user?" Crest snarled, bridling in an instant. He raised his fist as if to strike, but Xylox, quick as thought, interposed his staff, Nemesis, between them.
Crest pulled his punch, but his knuckles brushed the ebon rod, and he yelped, jerking his hand back in sudden pain. He stuffed the offending extremity into his mouth, as if it had been burnt, regardless of the indignity of the pose.
"Do not even think of attacking a Mage Questor, elf!" Xylox snapped. "A Mage Staff is a powerful weapon; do not forget that. Your actions only reinforce my point. You and Tordun are charged with hormones of aggression. I feel the pull of my own, just as strongly as you; however, the discipline of a Guild Mage keeps them well in check.
"I am willing to dismiss your aborted attempt upon me as an act of desperation, born of discomfort, hunger and worry. However, I will tolerate no more of these displays of naked aggression. I suggest you inform your brother-in-arms of this and remind him that both of you have taken an oath to serve on this Quest for as long as it may take. Do I make myself clear, or do I have to dissolve our agreement and regard you as our enemy?"