At last, the door swung open, and a pair of green-clad men rushed into the room: their expressions belligerent and wary, their weapons at the ready.
"What's all this?" one cried. "What-"
Two staves crashed down in unison. No common lump of wood could ever compare to the effect of a well-wielded Mage Staff; the two men crumpled to the floor in an instant and lay there, immobile.
Tordun, Crest and Drexelica leapt from the beds, clutching their improvised spears.
"Tordun, Crest, take the guards' weapons," Grimm directed.
"Countenancing the use of such blasphemous Technological tools is hardly proper for a Guild Mage!" Xylox snapped, some of his old fire returning.
"It is better than trying to oppose them with crude metal poles," Grimm riposted. "Despite the Guild's animosity towards the unchecked use of Technology, the Oath contains no clauses prohibiting its use in times of peril."
"Very well," the older man said after a long pause. "Since our situation is far from optimal, I will permit it."
"Do you think their uniforms will fit you?" Grimm asked the fighters. "If we appear to be under armed escort, we may make better progress without attracting undue attention."
"This fellow's clothes should fit me," Crest declared, stepping over to the prone form of the smaller guard.
Tordun looked at the larger of the two men. "He is well-built, but a little on the short side," he said. "However, I am prepared to wear anything other than this skimpy shift."
In a trice, the two guards were stripped to their undergarments, without ceremony. Crest and Tordun seemed to have more regard for their own modesty in the presence of a young girl, as each slipped on the uniform trousers before doffing his white robe.
When they were dressed, Grimm regarded the two fighters with a critical eye. Crest's uniform was a reasonable, if spare, fit. On the other hand, Tordun's was stretched tight over his massive frame, challenging the seams and buttons of the clothes to the limit. The taut jacket arms left six inches of pale skin visible at the wrists, and the trousers were no better-fitting, sufficing only to preserve the albino's modesty in an uneasy truce between burgeoning muscle and the strength of the garment's needlework. The effect was almost ludicrous, but it would have to do.
"How does this work?" Crest said, inspecting his firearm with a dubious eye. It was similar to the one Tordun held, although far cruder in finish and form. The weapon must be a more recent attempt to duplicate the smooth, shining article in the albino's hands.
"You saw this type of weapon used at Haven," Grimm reminded him. "The pellets emerge from the open end of the machine, and they are activated by pressing that lever."
Grimm saw other knobs and levers on the side of the firearm, and he hoped its use was as simple as he had said, but he dare not risk testing the article, for fear of attracting attention.
Tordun trussed and gagged the unconscious guards, using sheets from the beds. The speed and efficacy of his movements implied that he had done this before on several occasions.
Crest moved with caution to the open door and scanned the corridor.
"The coast's clear," he declared.
The desperate escape attempt was on!
****
"Colonel Perfuco, reporting as ordered, Sir!"
Quelgrum thought the salute a little sloppy, but, then again, the mage was only a relative newcomer to army ways.
"What's going on between you and Armitage, Perfuco?" he demanded.
"I am sure I do not know what you mean, Sir," the Mentalist replied, swivelling his eyes from side to side and raising and lowering his eyebrows in a rapid sequence. Quelgrum guessed that this was intended as some kind of signal, but its significance escaped him.
The door opened, and Armitage entered the office, clutching a wad of paper to his chest.
"Ah, Armitage, thank you for gracing us with your presence at last," the General said, his tone acidic.
"I'm sorry, General," the scientist replied. "I was very busy."
Quelgrum's anger and frustration seemed to wash over and through him in a hot flood. He sighed, rubbing his aching brow with a weary gesture.
"Gentlemen; let me make it as plain as I can. What in HELL'S NAME is going on around here?" he screamed, at the end of his tether. "If it's some sort of game, then I'd be ever so grateful if you'd be kind enough to let me in on the damn rules!"
"I'm sorry, General; I really do not know what you mean," Perfuco said, repeating his bizarre facial ritual with even more urgency.
"Everything's just fine," Armitage said, smiling like some sort of imbecile.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Quelgrum hissed, clasping his forehead. "Just…"
He was interrupted by a beep from the intercom, which flashed red, indicating urgency. The General stabbed his thumb down on the relevant button as if he was trying to push it through the table.
"Yes?"
"Lieutenant Harman here, Sir! There's some sort of disturbance in Corridor D-6, and gunfire is being exchanged. I've got garbled reports of men down, and we have a fire alert in the corridor."
"We'll be right there, Lieutenant," the General snapped, almost glad that there was something concrete on which he could fasten his attention. "Perfuco, Armitage, this can wait."
Quelgrum took a holstered pistol from a desk drawer. After checking that the weapon was loaded, he strapped it on.
"Sound General Quarters, Lieutenant!" he barked into the intercom. "Call out the guard!
"Come with me, gentlemen," the old soldier said, smiling. "We seem to be at war."
War was something Quelgrum knew only too well, and he almost felt relieved.
****
Grimm loosed another withering burst of green fire down the corridor, and he heard Xylox, at the rear of the group, scream another incantation in his own spell-language. Cries of agony and dismay rang out before being snuffed out in an instant.
Occasional bangs came from Crest's firearm, felling soldiers twenty feet away and more. Although Tordun's own machine did not appear to function, he hurled shattered lumps of masonry at his foes with deadly accuracy and force.
There seemed no end to the stream of soldiers pouring into the passageway, and Grimm felt his confidence beginning to ebb.
He still had some power left in reserve, but he was expending it at a prodigious rate. The group had the advantage of being able to counter assaults from either end of each corridor, but it seemed that the restrictive warren of tunnels acted against them. Only a few men opposed then at each juncture, requiring the expenditure of more energy for each small group of attackers.
At each new branch in the route, more soldiers appeared, ready to spit Technological death at the adventurers. Grimm had a fresh spell ready on his lips at each juncture, but he knew each assault was costing him too much.
I may have bitten off a little more than I can chew here…
Another corridor, a few steps closer to Quelgrum's chamber. Another volley of fire, barely countered. The end could not be far.
As Grimm readied himself for what might prove the last assault, a familiar, deep, commanding voice surged into the void.
"Cease fire! Cease fire, you men!"
Grimm stayed his next spell, although he kept his remaining thaumaturgic energy in an ordered form, ready to unleash at a moment's notice. He had used the same, simple Fire spell so many times now that he no longer required a chant to unleash it. He saw a white flag, a handkerchief attached to a rod, waving from the next corridor junction, and the young mage knew what that universal symbol meant: a request to parlay.
"All right, General," he said, in a hoarse, scratchy voice. "Come into the corridor, alone, where we can see you. You have my word as a Guild Mage that we will not harm you, if you do not break the compact. We will talk."