The young man pressed his face to the glass. "I can't see anything, Sir," he said.
Long moments passed. "Just a minute; I think I've got something. Hold her steady, Sir."
The pilot found it hard to hold the vehicle steady, since it was getting into ground effect now, but Moore fought the bucking joystick and kept the machine on a more or less even keel.
"Got 'em!" the Flying Officer crowed. "Seven bodies; looks like they're alive. Yes, they're waving."
Moore keyed the radio. "Control, this is Observer Four; seven stragglers, grid ref, one-one-eight, two-six-niner. I'm dropping a beacon." Grasping a lever, Moore pulled it to release a radio tag.
"Observer Four, Control," the voice in the pilot's headset crackled. "Roger that; one-one-eight, two-six-niner. Will dispatch vehicle soonest. Get back to base this time."
"Roger, Control; Observer Four, returning to base, this time."
****
"Did he see us?" Crest asked Foster.
"I don't know… oh!"
At that moment, a strange object, like a metal bottle with a very long, thin neck, thumped into the sand perhaps fifty feet away.
"It's a radio tag," he said, with immense relief. "We're found! Let's get the tents up so we can get out of this damn sun. A vehicle should be on its way within a couple of hours. We're saved!"
Grimm and Xylox looked at each other, each with embarrassment written on his face. Both had almost lost control, their common Quest forgotten.
"I am sorry, Questor Xylox," Grimm muttered. "I do not know what came over me."
For once, the older mage failed to respond with a sarcastic or cutting rejoinder. "We will say no more on the matter," was all he said.
The senior mage must also have stared into the deep, red pit of anger, and it appeared that the incident had scared him more than any fearsome beast or demon.
"Oh, there is one more thing, Questor Grimm," the older man said.
"Yes, Brother Mage?" Grimm's tone was wary.
"I will trouble you for the return of the bauble I lent you when we were in Haven."
Grimm started. He had almost forgotten the potent charm of Missile Reversal hanging around his neck. With a feeling of deep regret, he returned it to its owner, who donned it with a rare half-smile of gratitude.
"Now we have resolved that issue, I advise that we hide from the sun's rays," Xylox said. "It looks as if our prey may be coming to us; that is most gratifying."
"How do you suggest we face General Q in our current condition?" Grimm asked.
The two mages stood together whilst Drexelica, Tordun, Crest and Foster busied themselves with the erection of the tents.
"We will deal with that problem when we come to it," the older mage intoned. "I hope the General will wish us to be well fed and rested before he tests us. If so, may the Names help him!"
"I hope you are right, Questor Xylox." Grimm sighed. "Otherwise, things might get rather messy for us."
The young mage had not forgotten what he had heard in Haven; that Armitage had been planning to dissect the loser of the battle between Grimm and Xylox. He just hoped that the General was rather more cautious with his prizes.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 20: Reconciliation
Now that rescue seemed at hand, every member of the party took his fill of what remained of the water. Thribble popped out from Grimm's pocket, having been overlooked, as he often was, and said that he was a little thirsty. The minuscule demon gulped down a thimbleful of water and declared himself sated.
"What of your theory of cubes of flesh, Questor Grimm?" Crest asked. "Surely the imp must have been losing water at a far greater rate than any of us. I would've expected him to be a shrivelled husk by now, even if he was hiding in your pocket, out of the direct sun."
"Cubes of flesh?" the underworld creature said, his tiny brow furrowed. "What are you talking about, human? I have been asleep for most of the past two days."
Grimm reprised his earlier speech concerning the ratio of a body's surface area to its volume, and admitted that he, too, felt puzzled by Thribble's healthy, grey complexion.
"Oh, you are talking about the square-cube ratio," Thribble declared, his expression brightening. "I understand this well, and I comprehend your bafflement,"
"Just remember, man, that we are not all disgusting bags of mortal goo. We minor demons do not lose heat through vulgar perspiration but by direct radiation; the surface area to volume ratio allows us to do this. We must eat and keep active to warm ourselves in frigid temperatures, such as those in which you humans seem to thrive. In climates such as this, we bask and are somnolent; this is a pleasant temperature for me."
"But you admit to thirst, demon," the half-elf continued, "so even you must have been losing water, somehow."
"Even I need to drink sometimes, whip-master," Thribble said. "I last tasted water in Grimm's chamber at Arnor, before this Quest began. I would have said something before now, but the warm sun made me sleepy."
"I am glad you are happy," Grimm said, "but I wish to seek shelter from this merciless solar onslaught."
Thribble possessed little that might be termed a neck, but he contrived, somehow, to shrug. "If you wish, Questor Grimm," he squeaked. "Good day to you, Master Crest." He hopped back into Grimm's pocket, his home away from home.
****
Grimm sat opposite Xylox in their tent, and each mage avoided the other's eyes. Xylox spoke first, in a halting voice.
"I am prepared to put your earlier outburst down to temporary insanity induced by solar radiation," he said. "In a spirit of reconciliation, and in the interests of amicable relations, I am prepared to say nothing of the affair in my eventual report to Lord Prelate Thorn. The inevitable reprimand for your earlier conduct should suffice as discipline."
Grimm rubbed his burgeoning, unkempt beard. He knew his earlier reaction had been exacerbated by the merciless rays of the sun, but he still felt that the pompous Xylox was long overdue for a rebuke.
"Questor Xylox," Grimm said, "If any attempt at reconciliation was made, it was on my part, when I attempted to congratulate you for your handling of the growing tensions within the group. I still stand by that.
"However, you chose to throw that back in my face by belittling and denigrating my abilities as a Questor. I admit that my reactions were extreme, but I feel that some reaction was justified. I would remind you that I was not the first to raise his staff: you were."
"I was justified in seeking to chastise you; your vile posturing offended me," the older mage declared, rising to his feet. "As junior Questor, you owed me humility and respect, not bluster and braggadocio."
Grimm remained seated and silent, his eyes burning, and Xylox sat back down.
"You are the senior mage here; I cannot, and will not, deny that," the slender sorcerer said in a low, but intense, voice. "However, humility and respect run both ways. Whether you approve of it or no, I am a Mage Questor of the Fifth Rank, not some fumbling, helpless Neophyte, still wet behind the ears."
The middle-aged thaumaturge opened his mouth to speak, and Grimm stemmed his words with a sharp gesture of his hand; his red-rimmed eyes seeming to burn within his haggard face like burning coals.
"I will speak, Xylox!" he cried, choosing to omit the polite prefix of 'Questor'. "I, too, hold a Guild rank worthy of respect; respect that you have been studious, even gleeful, to deny at every opportunity. You do not mock me out of concern for our Quest, but because you enjoy mockery of what you regard as your inferiors, and because you mourn a lost youth; do not seek to deny it."
The older magic-user leapt to his feet, his impressive brows lowered over his eyes like grey thunderclouds hovering over a pair of blue lakes.