Alastair Archibald - Truth and Deception

"I don't know," he said, giving vent to the pent emotions within him as he laughed. "I have no quarrel with you." Nothing seemed right, and the mage had lost all sense of self-preservation. His head rang, and he had had enough; all he wanted was to lie down, and never to wake again.

As the other warriors began to stand and shake their heads, Grimm saw Tordun surge forward, and he tried to move. He could not do so.

The white warrior swept the mage up in his arms. As if in a dream, Grimm heard him say "Our true enemy, Keller, awaits us; he must not be allowed to live!"

At last, the Questor let go of the reins of consciousness; he allowed the blackness to descend, as an echoing tumult filled his head.

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After drifting for a while in a strange, disjointed reverie, Grimm awoke and opened his eyes. His head throbbed, and several moments passed before his vision cleared. He was lying on a comfortable, white bed, and Tordun and another, older man were standing over him.

"I'm still alive!" he croaked. "What's happening?"

"I'm Dr. Hubin, the Pit physician," Tordun's grey-bearded companion said. "You've been unconscious for a few minutes, since you cannoned head-first into the Pit wall. It's a wonder you didn't cave your skull in, youngster."

"Keller's influence over us seems to have gone," the pale swordsman said. "Most of the other fighters have gone looking for Keller, but I wanted to stay here until I knew you were all right. Questor Grimm… I'm sorry I-"

"Don't worry about it, Tordun." Grimm cut off the albino with a wave of his hand. "I can't begin to imagine what that bastard, Keller, did to you, but you still tried to resist."

He levered himself upright, and felt his head swim.

"Take it easy, boy." Hubin put a firm but fatherly hand on his shoulder. "Rest a while."

"I can't, Doctor; Crest and Harvel need medical attention, and I need to get to Keller before the fighters kill him!"

"I will accompany Questor Grimm, Doctor." Grimm winced as Tordun's basso rumble vibrated his aching skull.

The swordsman helped the Questor to his feet, and Grimm felt surprised at the unsteadiness of his legs. With gratitude, he clung to the mighty arm offered him.

"How badly injured are these men, Questor Grimm, and where are they?" Hubin asked. "I have several other patients I need to treat, you understand."

Grimm saw several occupied beds in the large, gleaming room, and he realised these held the fighters he had felled in self-defence. He suppressed a pang of guilt that threatened to unman him.

"They've been shot by the Mansion House guards' metal weapons," he said, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the bleeding, battered men. "I believe they're in the bushes to the right of the entrance, but I don't know how badly hurt they are. The last time I saw them, they were bleeding and unconscious, and I'm worried about them."

"Very well, mage," the doctor said at last, his face locked in a mask of… what? Disapproval? Distaste? Hatred? Grimm could not tell. "I'll treat them first. Your victims are either dead or likely to live, even if some of them may never speak or walk again. You've done well, butcher."

Grimm's first instinct was to defend himself: he had had no choice but to strike out when attacked, and he felt the medical man's condemnation of his was unfair. However, more of Magemaster Crohn's words rang in his mind:

"When it comes to a choice between regarded with pity, with hatred or with fear, Adept Grimm, always eschew pity; a pitiful mage is a lesser mage. The life of a Guild man is not a popularity contest."

Still leaning on Tordun's supportive arm, he leaned forward to look the physician straight in the eyes.

"I was merciful, Hubin," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Just be grateful that I did not leave you a roomful of unidentifiable chunks of flesh. See to it that you take good care of my friends; I'll be keeping an eye on you."

He held his intense, piercing Questor gaze on the grey-haired man's eyes for a long time before he relented. The doctor did not seem quite so defiant now.

"Very well, magic-user; you've made your position quite clear," Hubin said, not daring to meet Grimm's glare. "Let's go, then."

The albino led Grimm out of the maze of corridors, followed by the sullen physician, and the mage felt a little guilty at how he had treated the old man. Nonetheless, this was no time to languish in self-pity or doubt; he had a mission to accomplish, and good friends to save. He also knew Keller might hold information that could exonerate his beloved, disgraced grandfather. He only hoped he would not be too late to save the worthless life of the despicable Pit-master while there was still time.

As the three men ascended the staircase to the top level of the Pit building, Grimm became aware of shouts and cries, and he saw a crowd of angry men clustered around the form of… Numal! The old mage appeared to be holding the warriors at bay with his staff, but he looked to be losing the battle.

Grimm let go of Tordun's arm and yelled, "What is happening? What are you doing here, Numal?"

Unthinking, he shouldered past the enraged, milling warriors to stand before the Necromancer, who had his back to the remains of a small cubicle. Behind Numal lay the fallen, unmoving form of Keller, and Grimm felt a cold shock run down his spine.

"Numal; he's not dead, is he? I need to talk to him!"

The Necromancer's mouth worked, but only a few guttural sounds emerged, as if Numal had difficulty co-ordinating his tongue, lips and throat.

A deep voice boomed behind Grimm. "Step aside, youngster. We've got business to finish here."

He spun around to see a heavily-muscled man who overtopped him by several inches. The man's expression was not friendly.

"So have I, warrior," the young Questor snarled. "And. need him alive!"

"Do yourself a favour, kid; I'm being more than fair here." The fighter raised a large, knotted fist. "Get out of my way and you won't be hurt. We have no quarrel with you; our argument is with Keller, but we're in no mood to negotiate. We're losing patience with Old Father Time, here."

Tordun interposed himself between Grimm and the enraged fighter. "If you want to fight someone, you could always start with me," he growled. "I am no fonder of the Pit-master than you, but the Questor, here, has a prior claim over all of us."

"You're just a new boy, Tordun," a man from the back cried. "I've been enslaved by this sick bastard for nigh on six years, and some of the other men have been fighting under the collar for much longer than that."

Another fighter forced his way forward. His face was a patchwork of swellings and livid scars, and his eyes blazed with an almost feral light. "I've been under Keller's spell for fifteen years," he said. "I almost died three times after a beating and I've killed two good friends, thanks to this bloody collar. And you reckon you've got more claim on him than us? You don't look much older than fifteen years yourself, conjuror. If you've really got an older grudge than that, it must've been in a previous life! Stand aside!"

A fierce susurration of assent rose from the other warriors, and only the threatening bulk of Tordun stayed a direct assault

Grimm let the pejorative term, 'conjuror', slide, and he faced the new interlocutor. "I have little claim on Keller for my own sake," he said, forcing his voice into a calm, passive tone, although his emotions blazed inside him.

"Thirty years ago, my grandfather was a Mage Questor like me He was stripped of his powers and expelled from the Guild in disgrace after an evil witch's spell. I know Keller knows something about it, and I want to hear the truth from his lips."