Alastair Archibald: Dark Priory

Such bravery! Even after all Drex has undergone, her first thought is still for the task ahead of us.

"This is Prioress Lizaveta's private chamber,” Drex whispered. “We'll catch her when she returns to put on her devotional robes."

Drex opened the door to reveal an empty room decked with glorious, tasteful brocades and tapestries.

"Come in, boys,” she said. “Don't be frightened of an old lady's boudoir."

Grimm and Guy did as they were bidden.

Grimm gazed in wonder at the room's splendour; not at all what he had expected of a nun's private apartments.

"I'll wait to the right of the door, Guy,” he declared. “You take the left."

Drex shook her head. “Not a good idea, Grimm; Lizaveta always sends at least two of the Score ahead of her before she enters, and they always check behind the door first. Let's hide in her inner sanctum; nobody dares enter there without her express permission.” She indicated the door with a grubby hand. “In there."

Grimm's hand was on the door handle almost before his rational brain had time to react; something about Drex's tone brooked no argument, and he felt almost helpless to resist her.

Grimm's suspicious, well-trained, Questor's mind shot a hot, warning message into his consciousness: Something's wrong here. I don't like thisThis is Drex! the emotional, uncontrolled portion of his brain snapped back. I'd trust her with my lifeHe spun around, startled, as he heard the door close with a bang behind him. In the doorway stood Drex, wearing a cool smile, and flanked by two grey-garbed nuns bearing staves. Behind them stood the unmistakable figure of Prioress Lizaveta, whose expression suggested a cat who had cornered a particularly tasty morsel.

Grimm felt a cold, jagged spear of horror lance through his body. His mouth moved, but he found himself incapable of speech or movement.

"Welcome to Rendale, gentlemen,” the Prioress purred. “Sister Weranda played her part well, did she not?"

Guy raised War-maker and hissed. “I don't care how many ensorcelled sluts you command, old hag. Now, you're going to get what you deserve!"

"Ah, there you are, my dear bastard grandson! You didn't really think I'd let any kin of mine grow up to be a Guild Questor without taking a few precautions, did you?

"Quondam febrifuge!"

Guy snarled and lowered his brows, but he stopped short of decisive action. His lips moved, but no sound emerged. Guy shut his eyes, baring his clenched teeth, and beads of sweat began to garland his face. After a few further moments, he groaned and sank to the floor, dropping War-maker and clutching his stomach.

"Oh, dear,” Lizaveta said, smiling. “Dear Guy's developed a nasty tummy-ache. It's his own fault; he's such a naughty boy for trying to cast horrible spells on his devoted grandmother."

"Your little game's over, Prioress,” Grimm growled, regaining his power of speech. “If we don't return to our camp by dawn, our companions will attack the Priory with all the Technological power at their disposal. It's over: your little family code-phrases won't work on me, I fancy."

He began to gather his power, intending to cast a spell of paralysis over the women.

"Ah, you are so right, dear Grimm,” Lizaveta replied. “I have no direct hold on you… yet. However, Sister Weranda, here, does, and she doesn't want you to attack me, do you, my dear?"

She's trying to confuse me, Grimm thought, trying to concentrate on his spell. However, no matter how he tried, he could not seem to focus on his magic.

"You wouldn't cast a spell on me, would you, darling?” Drexelica said, and Grimm could not resist the urge to look into those innocent eyes.

"What's the matter with you, Drex?” he gasped, abandoning the struggle to control his wayward powers. “You're a fighter-so fight her!"

"My name is Weranda, Guild scum,” Drex declared. “I really can't tell what I ever saw in you. Mother Lizaveta has shown me how you tried to enslave me. All I feel now for you is utter contempt, you damned rapist!"

She spat at him, and Grimm, feeling confused and weak, shook his head in disbelief as the spittle ran down his face.

"Oh, and don't hold out too much hope for that bunch of misfits you call friends,” she said. “They'll soon have their own problems to deal with. They'll be much too busy to worry about you."

Lizaveta said, “Sisters, you may begin.” The two nuns stepped forward and acted in unison, slamming their staves into his stomach. As Grimm groaned and collapsed onto his knees, the true beating began, each blow causing pain beyond his imagining. He held on for as long as he could, trying to protect his head, his entrails and his manhood, but the blows came in quick succession, too quickly for him to react.

At last, a solid blow contacted his right temple and he fell into the welcoming arms of Morpheus.

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Grimm awoke to the cold shock of a jet of water in his face. He gasped at the icy impact and forced his crusted eyelids open. Drexelica stood before him, holding an empty bucket. In place of her grubby street clothes, she wore a simple, white habit and a wimple.

Prioress Lizaveta stood behind her, and Grimm tried to leap to his feet, but he could not. Looking down, he saw the strong ropes binding him to a sturdy chair bolted to the stone floor. He tested his bonds and found them quite unyielding. His injuries were painful, but none seemed incapacitating.

"Now, you may imagine that a simple Questor spell will have those ropes off you in a trice,” Lizaveta said. “However, while you have been lounging there at your ease, Sister Weranda has used her link with you to impose a few little ground rules for you to follow during your stay here.

"Rule One: you can cast no magic without express permission. Rule Two: you will obey Sister Weranda in all things, at all times. Rule Three: you cannot cast mind-changing, offensive or incapacitating magic on either of us. This final condition overrides the other two."

Grimm felt an upsurge of hope; his mind seemed unimpaired. He remembered the euphoric sense of intoxication he had felt while under Madeleine's spell at High Lodge, and he felt no such disorientation now.

If Lizaveta felt that confident, he thought, she'd have ordered Drex to make me obey her, instead. Still, I'd better play along with her.

"So what happens now?” he croaked through dry, cracked lips, putting as much resigned despair as he could into his voice. “Why don't you just kill me?"

"I may do so in time, Questor Grimm, but I have a job for you first. You're going to kill Lord Horin for me.” She smiled, revealing a set of small, yellowed teeth.

She's insane, Grimm thought. I know a little of how Geomantic magic works, and I know it can't force someone to do something he hasn't at least half a mind to do. She can't make me kill Horin-she can't!

"He doesn't believe you, Reverend Mother,” Drex said. “May I give Grimm a demonstration?"

Lizaveta nodded. “Of course, Sister Weranda, please continue."

Drex leaned towards Grimm with her face inches away from his. “How pathetic you look, Grimm.” She laughed, but the sound was a harsh, hollow imitation of her normal laugh.

"I want you to cast a spell of light,” she said, “just a harmless little glowing ball, nothing more. I've seen you do that a few times now."

Grimm nodded. They'll never know if I cast a Light spell or not, he thought. Still, perhaps I'll play along a little longer, to make them think they really have me cowed.

He had no need of his personal spell-language for such a basic spell; all he needed was a simple effort of will.

In a moment, the glowing, blue sphere appeared, hovering over his head like a guardian angel.