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Chapter 31: Fulfilment
Quelgrum felt the cold, slimy worm of worry gnawing at his heart. Armitage's behaviour when questioned had been bizarre in the extreme. The General knew the Professor had never been subjected to the mental conditioning known as Pacification, but he had acted as if he had been. The only sensible explanation seemed to be that Colonel Perfuco, the Mage Mentalist, had brought about Armitage's change in personality.
The soldier knew there was little love lost between his Chief Scientist and his new Head of Security, but this had, so far, been limited to a simmering resentment that filled the air when the two were in close proximity. Quelgrum had found this rivalry amusing, but never before had he thought that it would ever go as far as direct confrontation.
Where the Hell was that damned mage? Many soldiers reported that they had been questioned by the Colonel, but Quelgrum could see little pattern in the Mentalist's meanderings; he seemed to be scurrying through the rabbit-warren of the complex's corridors almost at random.
Had the conflict between Perfuco's Guild Oath and his chemically-reinforced change of loyalties driven the thaumaturge over the edge? Quelgrum knew nothing of magic or Technology, except how to use both to his own ends, and he began to worry that he might have sown the seeds of his own downfall by trying to shackle two such powerful, antagonistic, capricious disciplines together.
Quelgrum looked down at his crisp, ornate uniform. He might well have melded a disparate group of loners and misfits into a mighty, disciplined army, but the shade of the frightened, insecure farm slave lurked behind the polished facade of the confident, commanding military man at all times. Pride born of astonishing success had pushed the hapless, helpless serf into the background of the General's complex psyche for many years; he had begun almost to believe in his own invulnerability and infallibility. Now, however, Quelgrum found himself assaulted by uncertainty and anxiety. He had never managed fully to shake off the twin demons of peasant superstition and self-doubt, and they now seemed to return to castigate him without mercy.
The General, however, was no snivelling coward. Despite the roiling emotions threatening to overwhelm him, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and crushed his worries into a small, crumpled ball in the pit of his stomach. He smashed his meaty right fist into his left palm three times and drove himself to focus on the issue at hand. Why was he bouncing from pillar to post in an attempt to track down a possible renegade, when he had fifteen-hundred loyal men and women at his command to do it for him?
With new determination in his stride, he made his way back to his office. Although he lacked any real comprehension of Technology, he had faith in its efficacy as a tool, and he would use it to track down this seemingly unhinged officer. The crisp salutes he received on his way gladdened his heart, and he returned each in the professional manner in which it had been presented. If there were two things he really understood and trusted with all his heart, they were the human spirit and the power of discipline
These were good people, and they would give their all for him.
****
"How do you feel, Questor Xylox?" Grimm asked, a cool smile on his face.
"Powerful and dangerous, Brother Mage," Xylox replied, "and ready for the fray." The senior Questor seemed to have forgotten his earlier embarrassment at his incongruous, revealing attire.
With ruthless efficiency, Tordun stripped the metal stands that had held the bottles of insidious drugs, converting them into effective, if makeshift, weapons. Crest smashed all the bottles, muffling the sound of their destruction with sheets and blankets. He converted the beds' leather straps into bandoliers, into which he forced numerous glass shards for use as impromptu throwing knives.
Grimm knew that, as a fighting force, the group appeared woefully inadequate, but he also knew the team's morale was high; that had to be considered a powerful factor in its favour.
For the first time in his life, Grimm Afelnor felt in full control of his own destiny-he felt replete, fulfilled, and downright happy! Drexelica stood at his side, beaming, and the Questor wondered for a moment if she were using her earth magic upon him, forcing him to feel this way, but he realised he did not care. Granfer Loras would be so proud of him at this moment, he thought…
Granfer Loras! The reviled Oathbreaker, the Outcast, disgraced Questor, the renegade… a man who had been betrayed, reviled and beguiled. In Grimm's current, ebullient state, the thought of his beloved relative toiling in his forge just to make ends meet only added to his determination.
I will survive, Grandfather, he vowed to himself, renewing his own, personal oath. I will live to see you exonerated and returned to your former status. I do this for you!
"Brother Mage," Xylox said, interrupting his fellow Questor's reverie, "should we attack now or wait for an alarm to be raised?" His tone was deferent, even reverent, but it carried an unmistakable undercurrent of urgency.
Brought back to the present with an abrupt jerk, Grimm turned to his colleague. It gratified and astonished him to see the change in the former overbearing, self-important martinet's bearing.
Xylox has asked me, the despised blacksmith's boy for advice! the young mage thought. This is like a religious conversion!
He knew this feeling of invincibility could not last forever. He must act now!
A tinny but recognisable voice boomed from the corridor. "This is the General. Colonel Perfuco, Professor Armitage, report immediately to my office. I repeat: report immediately to my office!"
Although the message was crackling and distorted, the urgent tone in Quelgrum's voice rang through.
"The decision seems to have been taken out of our hands. We attack," Grimm said, in a resonant, commanding voice that seemed as if it came from someone else.
Tordun tried the door. "It's locked, Questor, and there doesn't seem to be any way of opening it from this side."
"We do not need to worry about that, Tordun," Xylox replied. "There must be guards outside; if we make enough noise, they will surely open it for us. I suggest that you make the commotion, while Questor Grimm and I stand on either side of the doorway. Our staves should make short work of any luckless Secular who enters; that way, we retain our magical energy for more desperate engagements."
The change in Xylox's attitude was remarkable. The word 'suggest' had hitherto seemed all but absent from his vocabulary.
"I concur," Grimm said, taking up position at the left of the door, with Redeemer at the ready.
Xylox muttered a single word: "Nemesis". His staff shimmered into solidity in his outstretched hand, summoned from wherever it had been stored.
"Right, Tordun," Grimm said. "It might be better if you were to lie on the bed opposite the door, so the guards' attention is directed towards you, with Crest and Drexelica flanking you. Try to sound confused and befuddled; we do not want the guards to be too suspicious when they enter."
"They'll notice that the stands and bottles are gone, for sure," Crest said.
Grimm tapped Redeemer's brass head. "It will all be over by then," he said, with a wry smile.
It was done as Grimm had suggested, and the young mage hoped there were not too many armed guards waiting in the passage; otherwise, it might get messy.
Tordun proved to be a good actor as he began to moan and thrash on the bed. "Lemme out of 'ere! Lemme go!" he bawled, slurring his voice.
As no response was immediately apparent-these guards seem singularly inefficient, thought Grimm-the warrior began to raise his voice, adding imprecations and obscenities at an ever-increasing volume.