Alastair Archibald: Dragonblaster

"You are welcome to stay here if you wish, Questor Guy,” Grimm said. “Shakkar, please begin a survey of the region around Rendale."

"At once, Lord Baron,” the demon rumbled, rising back into the sky and beating his way south-west on thundering wings, the sound diminishing as he climbed into the blue expanse.

After a few more moments of staring, Guy nodded slowly. “All right, Questor Grimm, if that's the way you want to play it; I'll go along with you-for now."

Ending the staring match, he nodded, and, muttering, “Play your puerile, little games of ascendancy if you want to,” he ducked back under the wagon's canvas cover.

Grimm flicked a swift glance at Quelgrum, as the soldier guided the vehicle with sure, confident hands with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Do you find something amusing in that exchange, General?” he demanded.

"Not at all, Lord Baron,” the soldier replied. “As a matter of fact, I thought you handled that situation well. For what it's worth, I also agree whole-heartedly with your decision."

Grimm nodded, feeling a distinct glow of pleasure at the General's assessment, but he said nothing.

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Within quarter of an hour, the wagon was back on the open road, heading south-west. The Anjarians had paid the travellers little heed, and the vehicle's progress had not been impeded. For a little while, Grimm continued to worry about the lingering effects of recent strain on the party, but the conversation in the rear of the vehicle seemed as animated and good-tempered as ever. Putting his fears behind him, he turned his attention to the matter of the Quest, and how it might be expedited.

Do we turn up en masse, knock at the door and demand to see the Prioress? he wondered. Do we blast our way in and proceed to destroy the place?

His mind returned to Horin's order: “I wish you to confront this odious cult directly and, if necessary, to destroy it.” It had all sounded so simple and clear-cut in the comfort of the Dominie's chamber, but the young mage began to feel grave misgivings squirming in his entrails. What to do?

You can't do this alone, Grimm, he thought. Quelgrum is the most experienced warrior of all of us; I'm sure he has an opinion.

Almost as if he had read the Questor's mind, Quelgrum leaned over and said, “Have you given any thought about how we're going to carry this off, Lord Baron?” He kept his voice low.

"I… I wanted to ask your advice on our tactics, General,” the young mage said. “Have you any recommendations to offer?"

"A few,” the soldier admitted. “For a start, it's always a good idea to hide your true numbers, especially if your force is small. Keep ‘em guessing. My advice would be for you and me to approach the Priory, with the others out of sight."

Grimm nodded. “I agree with you in principle, General. However, I recommend that I make the initial approach alone. I have some experience now of the kinds of tricks Geomantic magic can play with the unwary mind, and I'm unlikely to be caught napping."

"Under those circumstances, Lord Baron,” Quelgrum said, “I insist on a thorough reconnaissance of the area before we do anything. If at all possible, I would advise you to post Sergeant Erik and me behind any available cover, so we can lay down suppressing fire with our rifles if anything untoward happens. I fancy even a witch will find a rifle bullet troublesome if she doesn't expect it.

"I'd also advise you not to enter the Priory; persuade this Lizaveta woman to come out to you. We can't protect you if you go inside."

"What if Lizaveta won't come out?” Grimm asked. “What if she insists on me entering the Priory?"

The General rubbed his chin. “Then that's probably the time to up the ante…"

Grimm furrowed his brow; the soldier's words meant little to him.

"I mean, to make a few vague threats. Make it clear that it's not a request, and that there will be dire consequences if she won't come out. Don't be too specific, but let them know we're ready for trouble."

"And then, General?"

"Well, if the old lady still won't play ball, I'd advise you to leave,” the General said. “Assuming we've got some kind of defensible position, the Sergeant and I can lob rifle-grenades at the door, the windows and the walls from a distance. We've still got plenty of ammunition; incendiary, armour-piercing and high-explosive. We should be able to crack the place open like an egg."

"I don't want to cause any unnecessary bloodshed, if we can avoid it,” Grimm said. He had no idea of the capabilities of most of Quelgrum's arsenal, and he worried that many, or even most, of the Prioress’ charges might be unaware of her evil ways. “I don't want the deaths of a score or more innocent women on my conscience. Your explosive weapons may be a little too indiscriminate, General."

"Then we'll throw down some fire just short of the Priory, Lord Baron, just to show them a sample of what we can do. Perhaps you and Questor Guy would like to display a few of your own fireworks, just to add some emphasis. The main thing is not to let them guess exactly how many there are of us, or what kind of weaponry we have at our disposal.

"After our little demonstration, you can return to negotiation. That's when you go pot limit-sorry, Lord Baron-when you tell them that the whole place will be wiped out if the old lady doesn't appear. If that doesn't work, we'll have to reconsider our options. Whatever happens, we shouldn't commit to a firm plan until we know the lie of the land."

Grimm mulled over the soldier's suggestions for the next few miles, as the wagon jounced and bobbled over the road's numerous ruts and irregularities. Try as he might, he could not think of a better scheme than Quelgrum had proposed.

"Very well, General,” he said at last. “I'll go along with that."

Kargan awoke to a fierce throbbing in his right temple; he touched a finger to his head and felt a lump the size of a small egg, wincing at the contact. Opening his eyes, he saw he was lying on a straw mattress in a small room. On a stool beside him sat Mistress Drima.

"Are you feeling better, Magemaster Kargan?” Loras’ wife asked in a pleasant, soothing contralto. “You had quite a fall there."

I wonder if she sings, thought the Mentalist, ever the musical epicure. I hope that lovely voice isn't marred by a pair of useless ears…

"Some of my teeth seem to be loose,” he said, probing his dental armoury with a careful tongue, “but I seem to be all right, otherwise."

"Loras is full of praise for you,” Drima said, smiling, and Kargan could see a clear trace of moisture around her eyes. “He wants to talk to you as soon as you're able to see him; he says you can restore his powers."

Kargan started, sending a red-hot thread of pain through his head. Loras has had sensual relations with a woman at least once, he thought. Questor Grimm is the proof of that.

Guild lore prescribed strict celibacy for all mages; the least dalliance with a member of the distaff sex would cause the loss of all thaumaturgic ability. Kargan wondered how best to remind Loras of this basic fact. Nonetheless, after his former, vainglorious boasts, he had to try to soften the blow as best he could. He knew the former Questor must be aware of this basic tenet of Thaumaturgy.

"I'm ready, Mistress Drima,” the mage declared, levering himself into a sitting position, his vision blurring for a moment, “although Questor Loras may not like my answer.” He swayed a moment, as the pain in his head surged.

Drima sighed, took a bottle and wetted a cloth with its contents. Kargan allowed her to dab the cloth on his aching temple. “Witch hazel,” she said, as the Mentalist winced a little at the contact. “It should draw the bruise out."