The only nod in the direction of civic defence appeared to be a smal hut by the side of the road, beside a flimsy, bleached wooden barrier before which Quelgrum brought the vehicle to a stop.

Grimm noted the horses' wild, staring eyes, their fitful y-flicking tails and their nervous whickers and whinnies.

Wonderful. This place even makes the animals uneasy.

"Hel o! Anybody there?" Quelgrum cried in a commanding, parade-ground bel ow, to be greeted by a wal of silence.

Grimm frowned. "We can just drive round this, General. It doesn't seem much of an obstacle to me."

"I think you may be right, Lord Baron. We don't want to hang around here al day."

As the General raised the reins, a dishevel ed man walked out of the hut. He wore a strange melange of armour: faded, cracking leather, rusty scraps of chain mail and dented fragments of steel plate al figured in his bizarre clothing. Grimm noted that the wooden shaft of the guard's halberd was warped and parched, and the head was dul and pitted. This, clearly, was not a man of arms who took pride in the condition of his equipment, or of his appearance.

"Byersel? Whassit?" The guard spoke in a guttural, almost impenetrable accent.

"I'd love to put this fel ow through a few weeks' basic training," the General muttered to Grimm. "I'd soon shape him up, I promise you." In a louder voice, he addressed the shabbily-dressed man. "What's that? Speak up, can't you, man?"

"Just who ju fink y'are? Comin' in here, shoutin' th'bloody odds *sif you owned the bloody place!" the scruffy watchman whined. "Gotta job t'do, ain't I? Buy or sel , what's it to be?"

Quelgrum shrugged. "We must be here to buy, I suppose, watchman. We don't have anything to sel ."

"Show me the colour o'yer money, then."

Grimm saw the General's jaw tighten, and put his hand on the soldier's arm. "We don't want to start trouble before we've even got here, General," he muttered.

Cursing under his breath, Quelgrum showed his money-pouch to the untidy, il -mannered moron.

"There's plenty here."

The drab little man smiled, displaying a mouthful of decaying, broken teeth. It was not a friendly smile.

"Gimme eight gold, else yer can't come in."

Quelgrum exploded. "Eight gold pieces, just to enter this stinking hel hole? The whole place isn't worth a copper groat!"

"You must want sumfink." The guard's face bore a mask of naked, feral avarice. "Else you wouldn't be here. There's some fings you can only get at Yoren; fink I don't know that? You must want sumfink awful bad to come here, a man wiv your money. Gimme eight golds, and I'l let yer froo."

"I'l give you the back of my bloody hand!" the General snapped.

"*Ere, *old up, mate. You don't want to freaten me!" The shabby sentinel brandished his corroded weapon. "I ain't afraid o'you. That'l be nine golds now, so *and it over or piss off."

This is going nowhere, Grimm thought. It's time to use a little persuasion.

His Mage Sight showed the guard's mind as a grey, greasy worm squirming in a soupy sea of muck, unprotected and vulnerable. It was a simple matter to grasp hold of the slimy tentacle and push. A fragment of the Questor's personal spel -language burst from his lips: "Th'kak'ka sh'tat! "

The sentinel was stronger than he looked, and the Questor needed to use more power than he had intended, but the wretched man's slack jaw and limp posture told him he had succeeded. The guard's eyes glazed over, and he lowered his halberd.

"Here are ten gold pieces," Grimm said, forcing his wil into the watchman's psyche as he held out his empty hand. "I think you wil find this in order. Be so kind as to lift this barrier, and we wil be on our way." Despite the unexpected resistance, Grimm felt no more than an irritating tickle at the margins of his sensorium.

"Yeah, that's good. Fank you, guv'nor," the guard said in a dul monotone.

"When we have left, you wil not remember us." Grimm added a little extra thaumaturgic emphasis to push his wil home.

The watchman's only response was a vague grunt, but he raised the barrier, his eyes wide and unseeing.

"I'd love to have you in my army," Quelgrum said as the wagon rol ed into Yoren.

"Yeah, I've always wanted ter be a sojer," the man absently said, wearing a vague, beatific smile, as if he had received some unexpected bounty.

The General smiled. "I thought so. Thank you for your invaluable assistance."

With that, they were in the town of Yoren, leaving the irritating little man behind.

"If you can cast spel s like that, Lord Baron, we shouldn't have any trouble here," Quelgrum said.

The Questor shook his head. "It's not that simple, General, I'm afraid. Every attempt at Compulsion robs me of some strength, in direct proportion to the intel ect and wil power of the subject, and it requires absolute concentration. The subject also needs to be off-guard and unprepared. Each attempt to dominate a man carries a risk of an undesired Resonance in the spel , and I don't want to take that risk any more often than I need to."

"A resonance; what is that, Lord Grimm?"

"It's a little technical, General," Grimm responded, "but the upshot would be that I'd be stuck inside the spel , pouring ever greater quantities of energy into it but unable to withdraw. That man was alone, and I could see from his aura that he was a weak character, so the risk was negligible. If we'd been in the middle of a large, noisy, bel igerent crowd baying for our blood, I wouldn't have tried it. It's not a battlefield spel . It's more a useful tool than a war-winning weapon."

"Stil , at least the streets seem fairly quiet." The soldier waved a hand towards the vacant thoroughfares.

"I don't know what al the fuss is about."

It is quiet; too damn' quiet for my liking, Grimm thought as he surveyed the empty, narrow street.

He noted the rows of tal buildings at either side . If we're attacked front and rear, we're trapped.

Surely Quelgrum can see that.

As if reading the Questor's mind, the General said, "I'd sooner be on open ground, but I don't think we've too much to worry about, Baron Grimm. After al , it's a town, not a war zone."

As if to mock Quelgrum's hubris, a knot of men, maybe fifteen strong, stepped out of one of the side al eys, blocking the way. Like the watchmen at the gate, they wore a patchwork of armour, and they al carried notched but serviceable weapons: swords, axes, and pikes among them.

"You boys doing a little shopping?" Quelgrum said, his voice sounding easy and untroubled. "Or are you just sightseeing?"

A grubby, grey-haired, scarred man, whom Grimm supposed must be the leader of this group of bravoes, stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of an ancient-looking cutlass in a simple leather scabbard.

"Shoppin', it looks like. Nice wagon you got here, friend; if'n you'l gift-wrap it for us, I fink we'l take it."

"Wel , friend," the soldier said, "I real y don't think you can afford it, so I think we'l just mark it down as *No Sale', if it's al the same to you."

"I fink you c'n do a little better than that, old fel er. What say you give us the cart, and mebbe a bit extra, and we give you your lives? Sounds like a good deal to me. Whatcher got in the back?"

"Trouble, friend." The General pul ed a string that col apsed the wagon's canvas cover to reveal Crest, Harvel, Tordun, Guy and Numal.

"Gentlemen, we've got company. Would you care to introduce yourselves?"

The three warriors and the two mages climbed out of the vehicle, and Grimm could swear that the raiding party's leader blanched at the sight of the mighty albino drawing himself to his ful , impressive height, even though the heavy coat of grime on the man's face made it difficult to tel .

"The market's closed, boys," Quelgrum breathed, "so why don't you just make your way home, and we'l say no more about it?"

The Questor smiled at the expressions of doubt and dismay on the faces of several of the ruffians, and at the susurration of worried voices amongst them as they gaped at each other with wide eyes. However, it seemed that the scarred, older brigand was made of sterner stuff.

Silencing his chattering underlings with a wave of the hand, he smiled.

"My, ain't you got a pretty col ection o'friends. So *ave I."

Putting two grimy fingers into his mouth, he emitted a piercing whistle, and Grimm spun around to see another group of men emerging from an al ey behind them, weapons at the ready. It was as he had feared; they were trapped.

Quelgrum stepped down from the wagon, his eyes hooded, dangerous. As he approached the leader of the group, the scarred bravo drew his sword.

"That's far enough, mate; no need to be a bloody hero, is there? There's seven o'you and thirty of us.

Even wiv the big white fel er, it's stil not very good odds, is it? Now, why don't you just hand over what you've got, and we'l cal it quits, eh?"

"Over my dead body," the General said, through gritted teeth.

"Sounds a fair price to me, old-timer. GET *EM, LADS!"

As the raiders surged forward, Grimm shouted, "Redeemer, to me!" and his staff flew to his hand as he flung himself down from the vehicle.

Crest ran forward and unleashed his deadly whip, lashing it into the attacking horde. Several men fel , dropping their weapons and clutching their eyes as the snake-like weapon did its work.

The young Questor realised that although the narrow street made escape impossible, it also worked against the attackers, since they could not attack en masse. He stepped forward, brandishing Redeemer and braining three men in one stroke. Another ruffian made the mistake of trying to grab the staff, and fel twitching to the ground. A true Mage Staff was much more than a status symbol; it was also a dangerous weapon.

Quelgrum's leathery, liver-spotted right fist shot forward, catching a bold raider on the jaw and fel ing him. The leader of the group struggled to bring his sword into play, hampered as he was by the crush of men around him, and the General's hand, fingers locked into the form of a blade, stabbed into the expanse of flesh under the ruffian's breastbone. The man col apsed, fighting for breath and dropping his weapon. With that, the brief battle was over, as the remainder of the able-bodied attackers dispersed and fled as best they could.

Grimm looked behind him to see a number of fal en ruffians. Harvel's sword dripped with blood, and Tordun waved his own red-stained broadsword, bel owing defiance at the few retreating raiders. Guy looked cool and calm, and Numal was pale-faced but uninjured, his mage staff raised over his head.

"Wel , that wasn't too bad, was it?" Quelgrum said to Grimm in a cheerful voice. The General grasped the gasping, retching leader of the attackers by the neck and hauled him upright, so that the two men's faces met.

"This is your lucky day, scum," the old soldier breathed. "Tangling with us should have been the last mistake you ever made in your miserable life but, against my better judgement, I'l let you live. Perhaps I'm getting sentimental in my old age, but just be thankful for it. Just tel everyone you meet that nobody messes around with us. Take a good look," he said, taking the man's lower jaw in his hand and twisting it around, "and just remember that we didn't even break into a sweat here. You're honoured. I don't usual y waste my time brawling with amateurs-I just kil them like the vermin they are. In your case, I'l make a rare exception, so you can advise your pathetic friends to forget trying to make a quick fortune. Now, is that understood, dung-heap?"

The hapless man struggled in vain against the soldier's iron grip. "I ain't afeared o-"

His head rocked as Quelgrum swept his right hand back in a vicious arc across the assailant's face, maintaining a firm hold on his jerkin with the other.

"Answer the question, vermin. I asked you if you understood what I said."

"Understood, Cap'n," muttered the ruffian, wiping a bloody drool from the corner of his mouth.

"That's *General', rat, and don't forget it." The military man hauled the dangling wretch closer to him, until the two men's noses almost met. His eyes glittered with what Grimm took to be maniacal blood-lust held in check by an adamantine wil -or, perhaps, that was just the impression the soldier sought to create.

"My name is Sleafel Quelgrum," the General hissed, "although some know me better as *General Q'. You may have heard that name, but if you haven't, you'd better ask around. Your friends, if you have any real friends, which I doubt, may tel you that I eat my enemies after defeating them.

However, that's not true; I'm picky about what I eat."

His upper lip curled, and his nose wrinkled in an expression of pure disgust as he tossed the raider to the flagstones.

"If you ever cross me or my companions again, I'l leave you in the gutter for your vermin brethren to eat, instead. Now make yourself scarce, ordure."

The General punctuated his last order with a boot to the unfortunate attacker's rear end as the man scrambled to his feet. With a last yelp, the thug staggered into a side al ey.

Al Grimm could hear was the soft moaning of a few maimed men. With some satisfaction, he saw the attacker who had foolishly tried to grab Redeemer sitting, quivering, by the side of the road, his eyes vacant. He felt pleased that he had managed to curb his instinct to expend his magical power in a profligate manner, and gratified that he had fel ed three raiders with a single, swift blow of his staff.

"That was just getting interesting," Tordun complained, cleaning his red-stained blade on a fal en man's jerkin. "It's a shame they had no staying power."

Grimm rol ed his eyes. "So much for not starting any trouble, General."

"We didn't, Lord Baron; we just finished it. There was no diplomatic way out of that, believe me.

Perhaps we'l get a little respect around here from now on."

Grimm sighed. After this little scuffle, any self-respecting ruffian in Yoren will be lusting for our blood, he thought. Still, perhaps we'll get a little co-operation when we ask for information concerning the Sisters' whereabouts.

"Right! Let's mount up and move on!" the General cried. "There must be somewhere to stay around here, although I'd sleep with a dagger under my pil ow if I were you."

We've been in Yoren ten minutes, and we've already been in a fight, Grimm thought. That doesn't bode well for the rest of our time here. Oh, well, I can't say I wasn't warned.

Let's just hope we can get some information quickly and move on. I don't want to have to stay here a moment longer than necessary.

Nonetheless, as the wagon rol ed past, or over, bodies of the fal en, into the grey centre of the town, he felt a certain satisfaction in the way the team- his team-had performed when threatened. It wouldn't do to take Yoren lightly, but Grimm felt confident that, if this was the strongest resistance the group would face in the town, he and his companions would prevail.

Chapter 25: Sightseeing.

As General Quelgrum drove the wagon into the centre of Yoren, Grimm noted that even the sun had fled into hiding behind gathering clouds, making the dilapidated town seem even more depressing. There was a market square of sorts, but, instead of bright stal s with enthusiastic barkers crying the quality of their wares, the mage saw only a few shabby kiosks with long queues of dowdy folk, their eyes fixed on the ground before them as each waited his or her turn.

"I think it'd be better if we camped out on the plain tonight, General," Grimm said. "I'm worried I'l catch something if we stay here."

"I've stayed in worse bil ets than this, Lord Baron," the old soldier replied, and Grimm shot him a quizzical glance, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Wel ; not too many, I'l have to admit, and not without an army to back me up. Perhaps you're right.

"Stil , I wonder what we're going to do with the wagon and our baggage while we wander around town.

We're going to have to get out and walk at some point. Even in a place like this, I imagine that secure lodgings can be bought for some price."

"I could put a magical ward around it, if necessary; a spel proof against any physical incursion," Grimm suggested.

"And that's a nice, simple spel , is it?"